Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Castiel should’ve listened to Dean. 

Why did he never listen? 

Perhaps if Cas had, the rest of the angels could’ve been spared the indignity, the suffering. 

The fatal descent into mortality and madness. 

It was all Castiel’s fault. 

Why didn’t he listen?

He rushed to Heaven, confident he could save the day, only to realize he was the final piece of his brethren’s undoing. 

How cruel that the one angel so devoted to humanity was the very being meant to condemn the angel race. 

Metatron had been waiting for him, unbothered to contain his triumphant glee like a hunter that snagged his prey. Though he had been a Scribe, he was no less ready or eager to get his hands dirty. 

Castiel stumbled onto Naomi’s dead form and all the other angels who served her as Ion once had. For his trouble, an angel blade was pushed into Castiel’s back but not to obliterate the seraph. 

“Hello, Castiel,” Metatron grinned. He shoved the wounded angel into an interrogation chair, one of Naomi’s. “How magnanimous of you to join us.” 

“What have you done?” Castiel said in horror as he fruitlessly fought the restraints that now trapped him at Metatron’s mercy. The former Scribe placed the sharp tip of his blade at Castiel’s tender throat. 

“I want you to picture something with me,” Metatron said with condescension. “You’re a lowly little angel, basically a nobody, wondering why you even exist in the first place when your Creator appears before you, plucks you from obscurity to sit at His Feet and contribute to His Greatness. You see I,” Metatron pointed to himself. “I was chosen to take down God’s Word. The honor, the privilege, you could never understand.” Metatron dug the blade harder. Cas could feel the blood pooling out of his wounded back. “But then, God left. The ache I felt when He was gone was the closest I ever felt to dying. Then that bitch –” the Scribe spat at the dead Naomi, “and the archangels set upon me like bloodhounds, intent on tearing me apart, not giving a damn about what would be left of me in the process! What else could I do but run? I was run out of my own home!” He yelled in bitter rage. “So now, after thousands of years, I finally get some overdue payback. She had to die,” Metatron said of Naomi, “and from what I’ve heard, the archangels aren’t a problem anymore, so now it’s time the rest of you learn what it’s like to run around in the dirt. Now you –” Castiel leaned back as best he could from Metatron as the Scribe pushed his face too close to the wheezing seraph’s, “you have a crucial role to play in this. You see, I've been working on a spell. I take the heart of a Nephilim, a pluck of Cupid’s bow, but I need one more ingredient.” Cas groaned as his throat was slit, giving way to his angelic grace. Metatron held up a vial as he siphoned all of Castiel’s celestial energy, all that made Cas a cosmic being, leaving only the mortal coil that was once James Novak of Illinois. “The grace of an angel who loved humanity more than his own kind. That Dean Winchester certainly is the end of you, isn’t he?” Metatron taunted with an arrogant smirk. 

Castiel couldn’t talk from his injuries, but the fury in his eyes said it all. “Now, Castiel — don’t look at me like that. You can’t see it now, but I just did you a favor,” Metatron touched the former angel’s cut throat, and his whole human body was healed instantly. Cas could feel the grace, but it felt wrong — dirty, twisted by a deep-seated hatred. “Stop worrying about Heaven and angels and master plans. None of it concerns you any longer. You’re finally human now, so go live life to the fullest, get a wife, make babies, or hell, go screw that human you love so much,” Metatron winked at him. “And when you finally shuffle off this mortal coil, I’ll come find you, and you can tell me your story.” 

In a flash, Castiel was gone, banished from Heaven, from the realm of his birth into the land of mortals, into the masterpiece that was God’s Work: Earth. 

The first thing Cas felt was fatigue. The second was a mild hunger. But the third was fear — not for himself but for his former kin. Castiel looked up to the night sky. He wasn’t even sure where he was anymore, but as he watched the skies turn, the fear morphed into sorrow. Thousands of angels began to fall from the skies above. Many of them likely didn’t even know what was happening or why. They descended, crashing into the Earth for no reason other than Metatron’s spite. 

That was when Castiel swore he would wipe Metatron from existence if it were the last thing he ever did. But the anger dissipated from Cas, for the fourth thing he felt was longing. 

“Dean,” he whispered to no one as he was now forced to be entirely cut off from any of Dean’s future prayers. He silently prayed that the hunter was safe and his brother Sam, the one Dean cherished most, but Castiel thought sadly that the prayers would be pointless. 

This was as godless a time as any. God Himself certainly wouldn’t answer any prayers now.

They stuffed Crowley into the trunk, and thankfully, the demon was quiet for once as the others debated on how to proceed. Whatever happened to the angels, it was clear that they couldn’t turn to Cas for help. 

That is, if he was still alive. 

Marion made a call. “Bessie? Baby? How are you feeling?” 

“I’m feeling better, baby,” Bessie responded, sensing the urgency in Marion’s voice. It’d been weeks since Crowley attacked The Fizzles Folly, where Bessie had been guarding Kevin. “What’s wrong?” 

“You mean you haven’t seen the sky?” 

“Hang on,” Marion could hear Bessie move on the other line, likely towards a window. When Marion left her, she’d still been recuperating. “Holy shit.” 

“You could say that again.” 

“Wait, what about Cas?” Bessie asked worriedly. 

“That’s what I need you to figure out for me, hun,” Marion said. “I need you to track him down for me. Here’s hoping that noble fool can still get to a phone. If I get any leads, you’ll be my first call.”

Sam was catatonic – the best news Dean or Jess could hope for under the circumstances. The trials wreaked havoc on Sam’s body, but his soul more so. It was still in tatters. Jess could see it, and she didn’t want to discover what would happen if it finally fell apart. 

Though at this point, it was a reasonably confident guess. 

“We need to get him to a hospital,” Dean declared, but Marion stopped him in his tracks. 

“Ain’t no doctor capable of fixing what happened to him,” Marion argued. “You take him there, and they won’t even know what to do. They can’t even make him comfortable.” 

“And I’m supposed to trust you to save him?!” Dean shot back. 

“I warned you not to embark on these trials in the fuckin’ first place, but you refused to listen to me!” Marion yelled. “I knew you’d fuck it up the second your brother’s life was in jeopardy! Now you comin’ at me when I’ve done nothin’ but keep him alive, you dumbfuck!” 

“Then I’m prayin’,” Dean said defiantly. 

“To who? God?” Marion exclaimed angrily. “No one’s heard or seen Him since before the time of the pharaohs! The angels are falling out of the damn sky!” 

The Fall was still ensuing as they spoke, baffling scientists everywhere. They didn’t know how to explain it, though not for lack of trying. 

“There’s got to be somethin’ – there’s always somethin’,” the elder Winchester said, refusing to waver in his determination to keep Sam alive. 

Dean got on his knees as Marion went back to Sam’s unconscious form in a huff. He closed his eyes, took a breath, and bowed. 

“Cas, buddy, are you there? I don’t know what happened to you in Heaven, but Sammy's hurt. He's dying. I need your help. I don't care that the angels fell. Whatever you did or didn't do about that doesn't matter to me, okay? We'll work it out. But please, man, I need you here."

He waited a few moments, but there was no telltale flutter of wings to be heard. Whatever happened to Castiel, he was indisposed and thus unable to help. 

Damn, if that didn’t scare the shit out of Dean. 

But he couldn’t fall apart right now – one crisis at a time. He couldn’t do anything about Cas, but he could keep trying to save Sammy. 

“Okay then,” Dean steeled himself. “Listen up. This one goes out to any angel with their ears on. This is Dean Winchester... And I need your help. I’m in the campgrounds of Pope Haven in Randolph, New York. The first one who can help me gets my help in return, and you know that ain’t nothin’. It’s no secret that we haven’t seen eye to eye. But you know that I am good for my word, and I wouldn’t be askin’ if I wasn’t needin’ so…someone please come. Save my brother.” A tear escaped from Dean’s eye. He hated feeling like this; helpless to do a damn thing, forced to rely on others to save the day, being at the mercy of those he’d rather avoid or destroy. 

All Dean could do now was hope, and in the hunter’s experience, hope never helped a damn thing.

Sam felt off. 

But he couldn’t figure out why. He had the oddest sense that he was forgetting something. 

He sat in the Impala beside Dean, who was in the driver’s seat, the car zipping along the road. Yet, Sam couldn’t see a thing outside. Nothing but darkness encroached the running vehicle on all sides. 

It was a familiar setting, though: Dean behind the wheel and Sam by his side. But there was a nagging feeling that Sam wouldn't allow Sam peace. 

Where was Jess?

An overwhelming wave of pain washed over his body. “Ah!” Sam cried.

“Sammy?” Dean asked, shaking Sam's broad shoulder a bit. “You alright?”

“No…” Sam said with a trembling voice. Something was wrong…so very wrong. 

But what was it?

“No?” Dean echoed. “Well, c’mon, baby brother, use your words.”

“Where are we?” Sam asked, pointing out the endless darkness surrounding them and the car.

“I…don't know,” Dean answered with total sincerity. He had an odd smile on his face.

“Where are we going?” Sam asked worriedly. 

“I don't know,” Dean’s smile got wider. “You don't like that answer, do you?”

“Then why are you driving the car?” Sam asked. His eyes went to the dash; Dean was going over eighty, which wasn’t unusual. They were always on the go, rushing to embark on a new case, save the day, and crash at some motel when the madness and violence settled. 

“Because that's what I do, Sammy,” Dean replied. “I drive the car, you sit there, and we just go, man. Movin’ from place to place, kickin’ ass like a couple of cowboys. Ain't that grand?”

Sam regarded his brother with an expression that screamed anxiety. But it bothered Dean none. 

“You know I never asked you – why lawyer?”

“What?”

“You made all this fuss about going to school, and the next time I see you after you left for Cali, you’re fussin’ about some interview for law school that you can't miss. So why lawyer?”

“I wanted to make a difference in the world,” Sam answered him. Dean chuckled. 

“I guarantee you you've made more difference fightin’ monsters than at court,” Dean argued. “Lawyers are so…scummy.”

“We break the law all the time; we commit credit card fraud almost daily,” Sam countered.

Dean shrugged, “You still want that, don't you? Go legit, pretty wife, adorable rugrats, picket fence, big, fluffy dog?”

“Yes,” Sam said, but Dean knew this already. 

“Yeah, of course, you do,” Dean said with a bitter smile. “It's a real shame though.”

“What is?” Sam felt his whole body grow icy cold.

“Well, I don't know how else to say this, but you're dying, Sam.” Sam prayed he misheard Dean over the roar of the Impala’s engine. They were over ninety now. 

Sam’s lack of response didn’t deter Dean. “All this darkness here? That's your brain cells goin’ to shit. This is not a drill. You're in big trouble this time. You gotta wonder if this is how it went for Bobby.”

“Bobby?”

“Yeah, remember? He got a bullet in his head, and it was the point of no return. Fucker fought hard, but Death won out in the end. Poor son of a bitch,” Dean said sadly. “You were talkin’ a pretty good game last night. Guess we're about to find out if you were serious.”

“About what?” Sam asked cautiously. 

“About dying. It’s too bad you stopped just before finishing that trial. If you do die, I guess it'll be for nothing.” Dean shrugged again. “Oh well.”

“So this right here,” Sam gestured between himself and his brother. “This is all in my head?”

“Yup,” Dean confirmed. “Given all that hurtful shit you said, I guess it's nice that this is your go-to for when you're losing your life. Unless it's actually your worst nightmare to be stuck with me,” Dean spat acerbically, “since it's such hell to be with me in the first place, right Sammy?”

“I'm sorry,” Sam said softly. 

“Why be sorry?” Dean asked. “Now I know where we stand with each other. But you know Sam, I don't care if you hate me. Just don't leave me. I'm never gonna let you leave, Sam.” Dean sped up the car. They must have been driving well over 100 miles per hour. 

“Never.”

A crash was the last thing Sam remembered until he woke up.

“Sam?” He heard Jessica’s voice before he dared open his eyes.

“Baby?” Sam asked hopefully. They were in bed, and the room was dark. It wasn’t their apartment in California, though. This place was new. 

“Hey,” Jess said. She was in a flattering nightgown, and her hair was longer and wavy. She looked at Sam concernedly. “Are you okay, baby?”

“Um,” Sam blinked repeatedly in a stupor as he ran his hands down his chest. Where did Dean go? It was as if the car accident never happened. Was that a dream, or is this a dream right now?

Jess frowned. “You’re as white as a sheet,” she said, touching his forehead, which was drenched in sweat. “I don’t think it’s a fever, but…I guess we can’t rule it out until we get you to a doctor.” 

A loud bang was heard downstairs. Wait, they had a downstairs? 

Were they inside a house?

“Oh, that’ll be the kid,” Jess said with an annoyed huff, but a ghost of a smile lingered on her lips. She got off the bed and put on her night robe, intent on going downstairs. Sam clambered out of bed himself, but he felt faint. His legs stubbornly refused to function normally as he wobbled with each step. He clung to the stair rail as he descended to the ground floor. On the way, Sam spotted a bathroom and another bedroom.

“Good morning, sweetie,” Jess said happily to the person downstairs. She could be heard from the kitchen area, which Sam eventually reached, passing by a warmly decorated living room littered with pictures of him and Jess—wedding pictures, trips to various cities, beaches, and parks, and their college graduation photos. “Someone woke up with an appetite this morning, huh?”

The other inhabitant said nothing, but Sam could audibly hear someone munching. Sam saw Jess tinkering about in the brightly lit kitchen as she gathered ingredients and cookware from fully stocked cabinets. Still, the other person sat at the modest table situated in the middle of the room. It was a young boy, his hair trimmed short and clean, but his hands were dirty – stained with blood. 

“Baby, say good morning to your daddy,” Jess told the child. Sam stood aghast in horror as the boy slowly turned to face the Winchester, face covered in blood as the child’s breakfast was revealed to be intestines – likely that of a human given the size – along with a massive bowl of blood. 

The boy’s mouth opened to reveal a massive set of sharp bloody teeth with bits of skin lodged in between various teeth and gums, his eyes red. 

Before Sam could scream, he blinked and found himself in a completely different area. 

Sam felt like he was losing his fucking mind. It harkened back to the days when he was stuck with Lucifer or just after he escaped the Cage and left the devil behind. 

Now, the younger Winchester stood alone in a forest clearing in the glow of the setting sun. It was quiet, peaceful, and pleasantly warm. Sam could spot a cabin down a very long path, all the way on the other side of the trees. It would take him time to get there since there was no car or bike to be seen. He exhaled, started to head there on foot, and pondered over all he’d seen. 

The last thing he remembered – what was the last thing he remembered? Dean was talking about some of the things Sam had apparently said. 

“All that hurtful shit you said….”

“I wanted to leave you!”

“I don’t want to hurt your feelings…”

Sam stopped being able to breathe. He felt unseasonably hot, like he’d been pushed into a pool of lava and burned alive. It hurt so damn bad.

What the fuck was happening?

With Jess contributing some of her energy, she and Marion continued to sustain Sam's life force so the younger Winchester wouldn't succumb to the devastating effects of the demon trials that endangered Sam in the first place. 

But the task was easier said than done. Both Marion and Jess were demons, but the energy that burned within Sam was celestial. If he had an angel inside of him already, it wouldn't have harmed the hunter, but Sam's soul was entirely exposed to the powers burgeoning within from the trials. It was like a structurally damaged wall wanting to burst. Marion and Jess could only do so much. 

The other problem was explaining all this to Dean, who was only interested in hearing about what could guarantee his brother's survival. 

Soon enough, Dean started to get his wish as two angels approached their collective position. 

“Aw shit, they actually showed up,” Marion said tensely. 

“Could they help him?” Jess asked her friend. She was equally anxious as Dean about saving Sam's life. 

“If they even want to,” Marion replied. “The Winchesters are the reason Castiel, one of their own, broke team and personally killed dozens of angels. It could be said that all the shit that's gone wrong is cuz of these two,” Marion pointed at the increasingly anxious Dean and the comatose Sam. “Cuz the angel man only did what he did for these two.”

Jess frowned as the two demons watched Dean interact with their new guests. 

It appeared that one of the angels, one dressed in a business suit, wasn't interested in being a healer, as the two demons overheard the suited angel demanding Castiel's current location. The other angel that appeared was taller, clad in jeans and a black leather jacket, and held the angel in a suit back from attacking Dean. 

The taller angel preached compassion, but the other broke free. Dean was ready, though, and stabbed his would-be assailant with an angel blade he had on his person. While Dean was in a desperate bind to get his brother some vital help, he was ready to defend himself against any angel with less-than-peaceful intentions. 

“You gonna try something stupid?” Dean asked the remaining angel. 

“I only came to answer your prayer, young man,” The angel said earnestly. He spotted the comatose Sam up ahead. “I take it that's your brother over there. Why are there demons here? They seem to be attempting to sustain the man with their own spiritual energy…”

“Never mind them,” Dean held up the angel blade tightly. “How do I know you're not gonna try to hurt me like he did?” Dean pointed to the dead angel at their feet. 

“I have no intention of harming you, but I imagine many angels do, or at least Castiel. Many of my kind are holding him responsible for the fall.”

“He wouldn't do this,” Dean insisted. 

“I won't disagree with you, but I cannot control the beliefs of my brethren. 

“But you could put in a good word for him, right?” Dean asked him. 

The angel shrugged. “I suppose…”

“You will put in a good word for him,” Dean urged In a commanding tone. 

The angel blinked. “I thought I was here to heal your brother.”

Dean glared at the angel.

“I will do what I can,” the angel promised. “But your brother takes precedence, does he not?” 

“What’s your name?” Dean questioned instead of giving him an answer. 

“Ezekiel,” the angel responded. “Believe it or not, some of us still believe in the mission of protecting humans. That means we believe in Castiel as well as you.”

Dean observed Ezekiel cautiously. The hunter kept the blade at his side but moved it away from his new angelic ally. 

“I can sense your unease, but why pray to the rest of us if you are so distrustful?” Ezekiel asked the human before him. 

“I don’t got much in the way of options,” Dean offered as an answer. 

Ezekiel nodded. “If you truly do not trust me…then perhaps I should go.” 

“Now hang on,” Dean put the blade away entirely. “Look, I’ve been burned in the past by you feathery jerks. I mean, look what Metatron did in the last twenty-four hours.” 

“Metatron?” Ezekiel looked surprised. “Are you implying that the Scribe caused the Fall?”

“Yeah, it’s all his fault,” Dean said. “I’m willing to stake my life on that.” 

“If you feel so strongly about it,” Ezekiel noted, “then the others should know.” 

“Cool,” Dean said. “You can come look at my brother now, but I'll put you down if there is any funny business. Got it?” 

“I have no intention to cause your brother further harm, but I understand,” Ezekiel replied. Dean gestured for the angel to walk ahead of him towards Sam. The angel complied. Marion spotted the two approaching. 

“Alright, get up,” Dean said to the demons. “It’s his turn,” nodding his head towards the angel. 

“Just like that?” Marion shot up irately. “You don’t even know this dude.”

“He’s an angel, what’s to know?” Dean replied. “I want him to try; now stand aside.” 

“He could be lying,” Marion argued. 

“I assure you I’m doing nothing of the sort,” Ezekiel said. 

“Of course, you’re gonna say that!” Marion stressed. “That’s all you’re gonna say!” 

“He ain’t your brother,” Dean told her. “He’s mine. And I say that Ezekiel gets to try.” 

“But what if Marion’s right?” Jess asked. “She’s been right about other things before.” 

“You two can’t save him,” Dean replied. “So, as far as I’m concerned, you’re all but useless to me, no offense.” 

“We’re the ones who’ve kept him alive thus far, you ungrateful little shit!” Marion barked, “All this after I warned you not to get mixed up in those trials, you fuckin’ jackass!”

Ezekiel looked on in confusion as the others continued their dispute. 

“That doesn’t matter right now! What matters is saving Sam!” Dean yelled. 

“What good is saving Sam if you keep putting him in life-threatening situations and then barter your own like it’s chump change, huh? Huh, ya dumbfuck?” Marion shot back just as angrily. 

“This young man doesn’t have time for your arguing,” Ezekiel pointed to Sam. “He needs help urgently. Every second is vital.” 

“Yeah,” Dean stared Marion down. “So stand aside.” 

“One: you don’t give me orders, ever!” Marion shouted in the hunter’s face. “Two: you keep treatin’ me as your fuckin’ enemy, you’re not gonna like how that fuckin’ ends, cuz I’m gettin’ dead tired of your fuckin’ attitude, puffin’ your chest like it’s gonna scare anybody, and three: you will fuckin’ regret this, as God, Satan or who the fuck ever else as my witness you fuck!”

“Are you stating that you are unwilling to leave?” Ezekiel asked the demon, eyes glowing. 

“Ain’t nobody scared of you, you feathery bitch! I’ll go -- but in fuckin’ protest!” Marion shouted. “And lemme tell you something: he gets fucked up,” she pointed to Sam, “it’s your ass,” she jabbed an angry finger in the angel’s direction, “you understand that?” She marched off in a huff. 

Dean and Ezekiel turned to Jess. She looked between the two of them as they stared at her expectantly. “I’m not leaving,” she said. 

“You gonna get in the way?” Dean said, hostility edging in his voice. 

“No,” Jess said incredulously. “But I’m not leaving him.” 

Dean turned to the angel, “Alright, do your thing.” 

“I will do what I can,” Ezekiel said as he squatted down Sam’s comatose body.

“What do you mean?” Dean said urgently. “I thought you said you would heal him.” 

“I was hurt in the Fall,” the angel confessed. “I’m telling you this as I don’t want there to be secrets between us. But even if I were at full capacity with my power, even then…the state of this young man’s soul is…” the angel shook his head. “I’ll do what I can. Even just a bit of grace can go a long way in his recovery. But restoring him to how he was…it will take time.” 

“How much time?” Dean pressed. 

“Weeks, months even.” Ezekiel guessed.  

Shit. “Well, go on,” Dean said. Ezekiel complied, using his grace to begin healing Sam, but the angel kept a frown on his face. 

“What now?” Dean remarked when the grimace wouldn’t let up from the angel’s face.

“Your prayer was heard by every angel who survived the Fall,” Ezekiel noted. “An open prayer like that…” 

“You sayin’ others will come?”

“It’s only a matter of time before they do,” Ezekiel warned him. 

“Then I’ll be ready for them,” Dean began to cut into his hand, ready to set up some angel-banishing sigils in the area. Let them try anything; Dean would banish them all to hell.

Sure enough, five of them did. Dean asked the ones who arrived with great hostility: since they were kicked out of Heaven, what would happen to angels if they were forcibly ejected from Earth?

A question without an answer. The angels wailed as they were banished.

“Sam!” The hunter heard Jess cry. Dean rushed back to watch Sam, albeit still unconscious, convulsing madly. 

“His vitals are dropping,” Ezekiel informed the elder Winchester. 

“I thought you could fix him!” Dean yelled desperately. 

“There's still a chance, but it would be unconventional,” Ezekiel said. 

“What?”

“I could try healing him from the inside,” Ezekiel explained, “That way, I'd be working from the source of the problem. “

“You're talking possession?” Dean asked anxiously. The angel nodded. 

Jess looked at them in horror as she held Sam's hand, “Possession? No, you can’t! Not after what the devil put him through!”

“Shut up!” Dean barked at her. “Don't you think I know that?!” He turned to the angel. “Sam's not gonna say yes to being possessed by anything, no matter what. Is there no other way to save him?"

“Not with so little time left,” The angel stated gravely.

Dean turned to Jess. “You gotta go.”

Jess held the hunter’s gaze. “You can't do this.” She shook her head in outrage. “He'll never forgive it. He'll never forgive you for this.”

“Are you saying you are unwilling to comply?” Ezekiel asked the demon as he did Marion, eyes glowing. 

“Get outta here,” Dean demanded. “Right now.”

Jessica's eyes burned with anger. But she couldn't fight off an angel. She'd die, and Dean wouldn't even tell Sam anything, the bastard. 

And they had a son out there. 

Jess backed away slowly, giving one sorrowful look at her beloved as she dispersed. She couldn't even warn him. They wouldn't let her. 

At Jessica's departure, there was no one else left in the way to prevent what was necessary. “If I'm gonna seriously consider this, you gotta prove how bad Sam is,” Dean said. He had to be sure if he was going to cross the line.

The angel grabbed Dean's hand without further preamble.

The walk to the cabin felt endless. Sam felt worse with each step as if every cell he was made of begged him not to go further. But what else was he going to do?

He wondered where Jess was. Flashes of their time together kept flaring through his mind like a song stuck in Sam’s head. 

He wondered where Dean, Cas, Kevin, and Marion were, too. Together they were a merry band of misfits. 

He was going to miss them. 

Wait – miss? Where was he going?

He made it to the cabin door. The younger Winchester felt a chill wash over him as he opened the door. It was, in fact, the first time all day that he felt anything other than heat festering inside his body.

“Hello, Sam,” Death greeted, perched on an old armchair in the quiet, little cottage that appeared so large from the outside. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

The ancient entity took Sam aback. What the hell was he doing here? The young hunter approached the opposite vacant armchair as he sat across the being, who appeared intent on taking his soul into the afterlife.

Afterlife. Sam was dying. 

Sam watched Death carefully. “I’ll bet you’re getting off on this.”

“Not in the way you think,” Death responded. “When I heard it was you, I had to come myself. I consider it quite the honor to be collecting the likes of Sam Winchester. I try not to pass judgment, not my bag, you see, but I must say…well played, my boy.”

It just occurred to Sam right then – the last thing he remembered before his collapse. “I have a son.”

Death nodded, “Indeed you do. You’re not supposed to, though.”

“What?” 

“The boy, he’s not supposed to have been born. That woman of yours, Jessica Lee Moore, was supposed to have died on November 2, 2005, and never be heard from again.” Death stated matter-of-factly. 

“She did die.” Sam reminded the entity grimly. 

“Yet she returned from the dead as a demon at the hand of that demon, Marion. She wasn’t supposed to emerge into this world, for that matter, either. And her lover, Bessie – she was never meant to become a demon either. She was meant to die very young at the hands of her older husband.”

“What are you saying?” Sam said, voice level, “That the sequence of events has gone out of whack?”

“Precisely.”

“Because of who? Of what?” Sam challenged.

“That Marion certainly is meddlesome, isn’t she?”

“You're blaming her for all this?” Sam questioned. 

“She was the one who restored Jessica from death, even if it was as a demon. She's also responsible for turning Bessie into one all those years ago. Both for sentimental reasons.”

Bessie and Marion seemed intimate, but how sentimental was it for the older demon to resurrect Jess?

“Marion was aware of how much you loved her,” Death answered, apparently able to read Sam's thoughts. Convenient, since he was technically in Sam’s mind right now. 

“So you’re saying Marion is purposefully disrupting the past? To what end? Change the future?” Sam wondered aloud. 

“That would be my guess,” Death mused. “But that doesn’t really matter now.” 

Right, because Sam was dying right now.

“I don’t want to leave them behind,” Sam said, “Jess, my son. If he’s out there, I have to find him. I have to try, but I guess you don’t care about that, right?”

“Sam, your soul is irrevocably damaged on a fundamental level,” Death stated. “That is unless…”

Unless what? 

But Sam wouldn’t get the answer as Dean burst through the cabin door. 

“Sam!” Dean hollered as he rushed into the cabin. He spotted Death and sputtered, “I would’ve brought cronuts, but…”

Death held up a hand in the air. “Please. Say what you must to your brother.”

Dean nodded, focusing on Sam. 

“Why are you here?” Sam asked Death, “Is he really here?”

“You gotta fight, Sam!” Dean pleaded. “We can still fix this! You don’t have to go with him. It’s not his time yet!” The elder Winchester said to Death. 

“That is for Sam to decide,” the entity said plainly. 

“Sam, listen,” Dean urged, “You gotta let me in, you gotta let me help. I sold my soul last time to bail you out. Maybe it ain’t right, and maybe it don’t make sense, and maybe I am better off just mournin’ you, but I can’t!” Dean shook his head desperately. “It ain’t in me to watch you die, Sam. It just ain’t! So, please! Just let me help you!”

“What about Jess?” Sam asked. “Where is she? What has she said?”

“She wants you to live; of course, she wants you to live,” Dean said. “She’s in love with you. Now you’re gonna leave her behind after everything it took to get you back together?”

That’s right, Sam recalled. His reconciliation with Jess was like a dream. Despite the odds, Jess and Sam had found their way back to each other, to a place that was even better than before. Their relationship was now fortified with honesty and intimacy – a beautiful center in the cruelest of storms. 

“Okay,” Sam nodded.

“That’s a yes?” Dean asked. 

“Yes,” Sam said, unsure why his brother questioned that. But when Dean approached him, his body morphed into a taller stranger of a man. He smiled at him victoriously. 

And it would be the last thing Sam remembered for the next three months. 

He’ll never forgive you for this. 

Jessica’s words nagged at Dean’s mind like a persistent bee that wouldn’t fuck off. It was cumbersome as all hell. But he did the right thing. 

He did. 

Sam would live. 

That’s what matters.

Sam’s body finally moved as Ezekiel, wearing the younger Winchester, stood up stiffly, and the angel adjusted to the human flesh he was situated in. 

The sight of a newly possessed Sam was going to be something Dean had to get used to.

“So?” Dean asked. 

“There is much work to be done,” Ezekiel said. Even Sam’s voice sounded different. Much like Jimmy did from Cas. If only Cas hadn’t gotten fucked up, Dean wouldn’t be in this mess. Neither would Sam. But it was fine. 

Sam was alive. That was all that mattered. 

“He’s gonna wake up, though, right?” Dean pressed. 

Ezekiel nodded, “In time.”

“Does he feel you inside?” the older Winchester wondered. 

“He will not sense me, no. There is no reason for Sam to know I am in here at all,” Ezekiel assured.  

“How could he not?” Dean asked anxiously. 

“Sam mustn’t become aware of my presence inside his body,” the angel stressed. “If your brother realizes an angel possesses him, he will eject me immediately. Upon my forceful ejection, Sam will die.”

“Then we keep it a secret,” For now. Dean would tell Sam. He just needed a little time. Sam would forgive him. He had to. They were family. 

He’ll never forgive you for this.

“If you desire, I can erase this unpleasantness from his memory. He will not remember any of this,” the angel offered. Dean frowned. Tricking Sam into taking an angel inside his body was one thing, but manipulating his mind, too?

“Tell me what he remembers right now.”

Sores were forming at the bottom of his feet. Castiel had been walking for hours in the forest Metatron had banished him to. While the former angel enjoyed the solace of nature, so much worry made the newly mortal Castiel’s body heavy.

Did any angels become wounded in the Fall?

Was Sam alright after the demon trials? Did he see them through, or did Dean stop him? 

More importantly, how was Dean?

Whenever the freckled-faced hunter flashed in Castiel’s mind, his heart thundered furiously. Cas wondered if he was having heart troubles. 

His stomach kept making noise as well. He was hungry. Thankfully, the one thing Castiel had retained was his wealth of knowledge about the Earth. He knew what he could consume from the forest he was surrounded by, even though there wasn’t much to forage. His body craved red meat. His lips were dry. Castiel kept catching himself, licking his lips out of thirst. It made the former angel think about Dean and how often the hunter would like his own lips. 

No! He shouldn’t think about that. He had to focus on escaping this forest. 

Eventually, Castiel found an open road. But there were no vehicles to be seen for miles. Castiel frowned. 

Now what?

A car approached Castiel in time as the former angel sat upon the rock-filled dirt to give his legs a break. He’d been walking since before dawn. He could hear a song blaring from the vehicle rather loudly as it arrived at Castiel’s current position.

Get your motor runnin’

Head out on the highway

Looking for adventure

In whatever comes our way

Yeah, darlin’ gonna make it happen.

Take the world in a love embrace

Fire all of your guns at once

And explode in space

The car was a bright, flaring red as none other than Bessie emerged from the driver’s seat. “Hiya there, suga,” she flashed him a giant grin. “I’ve been lookin’ all over for you.” 

Oh dear. “Have you?” 

“Of course! Marion and I figured you’d need a lift!”

“Is Dean alright?” Castiel asked the demon. “Is Sam?” 

“Frankly, I don’t really know. But I’m sure Marion does!” Bessie said. “C’mon. What do you say we go for a ride?”

“Will you take me to the bunker?” the former angel asked her.

“Sure,” Bessie agreed. “Gonna be a long drive, though. We’re gonna have to stop along the way to give those fine, strong legs of yours a break.” She gave him a once over, brimming with a hunger that Castiel didn’t know how to feel about.

Cas felt himself swallow deeply. “Would you happen to have some water?” 

“I sure do,” Bessie fished a bottle from the backseat area as the ex-angel entered the front passenger seat. “I got some snacks too if you’re feelin’ peckish.” 

They sped off in the car, leaving the forest behind.

“So what’s the deal?” Bessie asked. “You're mortal now?”

“More or less,” Castiel lamented. “Metatron, the Scribe – he stole my grace to enact a banishing spell that caused the Fall of so many angels.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” Bessie sympathized. Castiel welcomed her sympathy. “I’m happy to help you get revenge.”

“I might take you up on that offer,” Castiel replied ominously.

Bessie smirked, “Happy to please, suga.”

Born to be wild…

Chapter Text

Dean ultimately thought against the mind wipe. There couldn’t be much that Sam could remember. Between all the human blood Sam himself gave to Crowley from his own veins, the collapse, and subsequent coma, who knows what Sam could actually recall? 

He’ll never forgive you for this.

Yeah, that thought scared him out of it, too. Dean had done enough to preserve Sam’s life. He wouldn’t do any more than that. The fewer reasons he gave Sam to be pissed about, the better Dean’s chances were for forgiveness.

‘Zeke’ let Sam out to play, and Dean caught him up on what happened. 

“Cas is human?” Sam remarked in surprise. Ezekiel had finally let Sam regain his faculties. The younger Winchester seemed fine – as if the last few days hadn’t transpired. He didn’t ask about Jess or anything else (yet), but he kept checking his phone every so often. Dean wondered if Jess had reached out to him through there – or if Marion did. 

Shit, I should’ve taken his phone, Dean thought.

He’ll never forgive you for this.

“Yup, pretty much,” Dean chose to reply to his brother’s remark as the elder Winchester slowly and selectively brought Sam up to speed. “No wings, no grace, or whatever else he had.”

Sam gave Dean a sympathetic frown, “You must be worried about him.”

Dean furrowed his eyebrows. “Must I?” Why must he? “The dorky little guy’s been a fish outta water. You know how he gets sometimes. He gets clueless.” 

“Has he reached out at all?” Sam asked.

“No,” Dean answered with a frown. “But I’m sure he’ll turn up sooner or later.” He fuckin’ better. “We got bigger worries anyhow.”

“You mean the fallen angels?” Dean had told Sam about that, too.

“Thanks to Meta-douche, we now have a couple of thousand confused loose nukes walking around down here,” Dean said in a huff.

“What do you think they’ll do?” 

“Who knows?” Dean figured that wouldn’t end well.

“What about Crowley?” Sam chose to ask then.

Dean had been so preoccupied with Sam that he pretty much forgot about Crowley since he shoved him into the trunk of his Baby. Gratefully, the former king didn’t make a fuss. The demon trap cuffs and painted barrier on the trunk door certainly worked in the hunter’s favor.

“I would've loved nothing better than to ice that limey bitch. But then I thought to myself, what would Sam Winchester do?” Dean said.

Sam quirked an eyebrow. “I would’ve tanked the bastard. Or at least let Marion do the honors.”

“Oh well. I picked door number two,” Dean revealed the demon stowed away in the trunk of the Impala. “I figured the King of Hell might know a few things, so why not Zero Dark Thirty his ass?” Dean chuckled, “The old junk in my trunk.” Hot damn, was he funny. 

The Winchesters decided to return to the bunker and await Castiel’s return – and stash away their demon bounty, of course.

On the long drive back, Dean kept curtly glancing at his brother. Sam seemed to be more or less himself. It appeared that this Ezekiel was an angel of his word.

Dean got a call on his cell. “Yeah?”

“Dean?” He could hear Castiel’s gravelly voice on the line.

“Holy shit, Cas!” Dean exclaimed. “You alright, buddy?” It’d been wishful thinking on Dean’s part, making so many assumptions about Castiel’s situation, but it was good to hear his voice.

“I’m alive,” Castiel offered, “and safe. But what about you and Sam? Are you both alright?”

“You know us,” Dean replied, “We’re survivors.”

“So you’re okay?” 

“We’re fine,” Dean insisted. “Where are you?” 

“I’m on the road. Metatron sent me to a forest in Colorado, but I’m on my way back to the bunker,” Cas informed.

Thank God. “Good. Holler if you need anything.”

“Oh, he sure will, honey,” But it hadn’t been Cas who responded but the demon Bessie. So she was still around – great. Bessie ended the call as Dean heard a click on his end.

“Castiel intends to arrive at our destination?” Ezekiel returned, his posture more rigid than stone. 

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged. “What of it?”

“He cannot,” Ezekiel said. “It is not safe for both he and I to be positioned in the same area. There are many angels that wish to harm Castiel for the Fall.”

“But he didn’t do it. Besides, he's suffered more than the rest of you guys,” Dean argued. “He has no grace for cryin’ out loud.”

“His grace is gone?” Ezekiel echoed. “Then I suppose it is a non-issue.”

Dean should be content with that answer as it seemed like Zeke was caving on the issue. “seeing as Castiel will eventually fade out of existence without his grace.”

“What?”

“It is the most likely result, given his circumstances, if Castiel’s grace has indeed been siphoned out. The grace of an angel is equivalent to the soul of a human: without his grace, not only will the angel become mortal and frail, but he’ll die, as he is nothing without his grace. Unless Metatron has plans for him or Castiel finds some other means of survival,” Ezekiel said, “though any means of doing so are improbable.”

No. 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Ezekiel added. “I can sense your grief. How much you care for him. I’ve heard how much he’s given for your sake–“

“Shut up,” Dean bit out. “Just shut up and let me drive the damn car in peace. And let Sam out, will ya? If you take the wheel too often, the kid’s gonna start asking questions. He ain’t stupid.”

The angel in the passenger seat regarded him quietly for a moment but obliged Dean and let Sam return to consciousness. 

“So Cas is coming to the bunker?” Sam piped up happily. “That’s good news, right?”

Dean was gonna have to get used to the switching between his brother and the angel. “Yeah,” Dean cleared his throat. “Good news.”

The hunters finally returned to the bunker, taking extra care to bind their captive demon tightly from head to toe, covering his eyes and ears with a set of soundproofing headphones and a bag for the demon-possessed head. 

Dean went in first but nearly caught an arrow in the head. “Whoa!” 

“Dean!” Kevin shouted from below, “You are alive.”

“I said he was, didn't I?” Marion was here. Great. Would she know what happened? Would Jess have told her?

“Only cuz Kat-miss here can’t shoot for shit,” Dean quipped, pulling the arrow out of the impaled handrail. 

“Kevin’s a work in progress,” Marion replied. Dean took note of her eyes. They were cold. Angry. “He’ll get there.”

“I thought the world was ending!” Kevin said. “The whole place went on lockdown, my phone signal went out, and all those lights came on as an alarm blared for hours,” the young prophet said, pointing to the nearby world map table. 

“Next time the world is ending, use a gun,” Dean replied. 

“During the end of days, bullets are a finite resource, cuz no more gun factories making bullets,” Marion chirped, her eyes still raging with silent fury directed solely at Dean. 

Dean rolled his eyes and signaled Sam to enter the bunker with their incapacitated guest. 

Kevin recognized him immediately. Marion’s face incensed even further. The she-demon held Kevin back as the Winchesters descended the steps, escorting Crowley into a spare dungeon the Men of Letters thought to build into this space. 

They really did think of everything. 

The two hunters dragged their captive into an embedded devil's trap in the back of the dungeon, behind a set of shelves that can block off the corner. Sam grabbed some more cuffs to bind Crowley even further while Dean finally pulled off the bag of the demon's head. 

“Hello, b–” Crowley tried for the regular greeting, but Dean punched him squarely in the face. 

“I'm never gonna get tired of that,” Dean smirked. 

The captive demon spotted the various torture implements strung up on the wall to his right. “Homey. Where did you find this darling little treehouse?”

Neither Winchester answered him. “Give us the names of every demon currently possessing people,” Sam demanded. 

“Now, why would I do such a thing?” the demon wondered. 

“I saw you break down Crowley,” Sam said. “You still have that human blood inside you. You're not the same demon you were. That means part of you is still human.” 

“Pfft. And? In my time I was no bloody Mother Teresa. I was a shit dad. Far from a decent, upstanding person. Besides, what will you do to force my compliance?” The demon challenged. “You know what I respect? Conviction. You two had me going for a second. I truly believed for a moment that it was gonna happen. That Moose here would seal the gates of Hell forever. But you managed to muck that up, didn't ya? You can try to make up for it all you want, but at the end of the day, when it actually mattered, you couldn't go through it. So piss off!”

“We could torture you,” Dean threatened. 

“Thirty measly years under Alastair's heel, and you fancy yourself a torturer? Hah! I've done stuff to loads of people that he couldn't have even conceived in his dizziest daydreams,” Crowley sneered. “But by all means. I can't wait to see Sam dressed in a leather bustier with stilettos, putting the S-A-M into S-And-M. Honestly, what can you do to me that I haven't done to myself when I'm bored?"

If Crowley wasn't willing to negotiate, fine. The brothers just left him alone in the dungeon, using the rolling shelves to hide the demon away and shutting off the lights. Perhaps he'll be in a more cooperative mood in a few days. 

As the Winchesters emerged from the bunker's dungeon and ventured into the library area, Kevin descended upon them. “Why is Crowley here? Why the hell is he even still alive?”

“We need him, alright?” Dean said. 

“What could you possibly need him for?” Kevin demanded hotly. 

“If we can get him to name all the demons he's got running around topside, we can hunt them all down,” Sam told the young prophet. 

“So you can clean up your mess?” Kevin said harshly. 

“Watch it,” Dean cautioned, taken aback.

“What, dish it, but you can't take it?” Marion sassed. “It's just like he said…”

“I'm gonna die because of what you chose not to do. And after the hell I put myself through to read that damn tablet because it was no fucking cakewalk! But because you're so selfish, I'm gonna die for nothing!” Kevin cried. Tears formed in his eyes this time. “And I don't care if I'm not supposed to cry, if it's not manly or dignified! I've been denied everything this past year, and dignity is part of that! So fuck you!” The kid stalked off in a fury. 

“He gets like that a lot, you know,” Marion commented. “Well, you wouldn't know cuz you two are always on the move, never sit still anywhere – but me, Bessie, and Jess,” The demon stared at Dean pointedly, “We've had to babysit him, and he gets hit with – I guess people call ‘em panic attacks now? Anyway, he'll be fine one minute, then flip out the next, but a death sentence tends to rile people up, you know?”

“Oh yeah, thanks for reminding me — what the fuck, Marion?” Dean snapped at Marion. “You told Kevin he was gonna die?!” 

Unapologetically, Marion said, “Yes, I did. You wanna know why? Because at Kevin's age, Sam was off doin’ the college thing and falling in love. You were probably balls deep in some pussy, livin’ life on the lam like some modern-day cowboy. But Kevin – he’s not gonna live to be twenty-one. He’s gonna die, gutted like a young soldier on the battlefield, scared and helpless as all hell. I figured the kid should know what’s up. If he’s throwing a bitch fit, let him. It’s not like you’ll have to put up with him much longer.” 

Dean got in her face, “How could you possibly know that Kevin’s gonna die? How did you know Bobby was gonna go? Or Jo or Ellen? How the fuck do you know about Ash?”

“Any answer I give you would only piss you off even more,” Marion was unfazed by Dean’s fury. “But you know what pisses me off? Kevin gets fucked over cuz you can’t bear to lose your precious Sammy. That’s why he dies, Dean. Cuz of you and your pathetic codependent bullshit. What’s one dead kid compared to your baby brother, huh?!”

Dean glared at her. His form loomed over her meat suit.

“What, am I being unfair? You wanna punch me in my face?” Marion voiced the angry thoughts blaring in the hunter’s head, incensing Dean even more. “Not that you could, but takin’ it out on me doesn’t change a damn thing. Kevin’s as fucked as your brother.” 

“What?” Sam said, looking between the demon and his brother. He was missing something here. 

“You’re the one who fed him demon blood,” Dean reminded the demon. 

“That demon blood was the only thing keeping him from leavin his mortal fuckin coil!,” Marion argued. “It’s not like you came up with any good ideas! But if you wanna do the job you love to boast about, I actually do have an idea about saving Kevin.” 

Sam and Dean exchanged a wary glance.

“I thought you said he was a dead man,” Dean replied. 

“That’s what fate says,” Marion replied. “And if it were anyone else, I wouldn’t really care. Humans were born to die; I’ve already told you all that. But this is Kevin. I care for that little man. He deserves a fair shake, the one thing he’s been denied ever since he got dragged kickin’ and screamin’ into this supernatural nonsense. But it’ll cost him. It’ll cost him dearly. Now – you in?” 

It was hard to look at Kevin for the next few hours as they set the stage for Marion’s plan to spare Kevin an untimely death. Dean had called Cas (he had to confirm the demon wasn’t up to anything shady). The hunter was alarmed when the former angel responded with grave urgency, “You cannot do this,” he stressed. “You cannot let her, Dean. It is strictly forbidden, and it is so for a reason.”

Marion swiped the phone from Dean's hand, summoning it into her grasp while preparing a large spell circle. “So Dean called you up, bitchin’ and moanin’ about my plans,” Marion replied calmly, continuing her preparations without a spare glance in the angry hunter’s direction. “Figures. Why can no one appreciate what I’m tryin’ to do for the kid?” 

“Because it’s forbidden,” Cas repeated, but Dean was unclear about the reason Cas was getting at. 

“I understand the risks, Castiel,” Marion said, her voice level. 

“Does his mother?” Castiel challenged, as Marion indeed had collected Kevin’s mother – as the demon explained it, Mrs. Tran was the most vital part of the plan.

“Yeah,” Marion replied. “She does.” Cas shook his head in disbelief. 

“Mom!” On cue, the woman cautiously approached the spell circle with Kevin on her trail. It was clear that Linda also caught her son up on the plan. “You can’t do this!” 

“Five more minutes, Linda,” Marion resumed her preparations, but Kevin started tampering with the integrity of the circle. 

“Kevin, what the fuck –” Kevin slapped her harshly in the face, making Dean’s eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. He whistled in response. 

“How could you?!” Kevin yelled at the demon, who was stiller than a statue after Kevin’s strike. “I actually trusted you! Was everything before this some underhanded attempt to butter me up before you stab me in the back?” 

Marion sniffed as she faced the young prophet, face cool. “Considering what’s about to go down, I’mma let that shit slide, but don’t push it, kid. I don’t have to do this.” The demon tossed the phone back to Dean, who caught it with a belligerent frown.

“Don’t make it sound like it's some grand favor!” Kevin seethed in outrage. 

“Clearly, you didn’t let your mom finish what she was sayin’, or you’d fuckin’ get it,” Marion frowned. “You wouldn’t like it, but you’d get it and say thank you. Not to me,” Marion said quickly before Kevin could get another word in. “Your mother.” 

“Kevin,” Linda grabbed her son by the shoulder so he could face her, leaving Marion to finish her prep. “This wasn’t an easy decision, but given the circumstances, I don’t regret what’s about to happen.” 

“How can you say that?” Kevin said in desperation. 

“Kevin, I don’t want to leave you,” Linda said, “but if what these people told me is true, if you’re going to die this soon before you’ve even lived your life, without any other means to protect you, then the choice is clear.” 

“No,” Kevin shook his head fervently, “this isn’t fair; you can’t do this. You shouldn’t have to–” 

Linda held up her hand to shush him. “Honey,” both her hands were on his shoulders now. As she took in his face, it startled her to think of Kevin’s father. Her son looked so much like him in this moment. It reminded her of when she first met the man who would grant her a child. What a blessing it had been then. Then it hit her. 

She would never see the love of her life again. The prospect of a reunion in the afterlife was a conciliatory thought she had presented to herself at his funeral and repeatedly throughout the years, even though she practiced no faith that preached such things. But if she went through with this hasty plan, it guaranteed that Linda would never know peace, not in the way she was raised to expect. There would be no second life or second chances; there would be no Heaven or hell. 

There wouldn’t even be emptiness. 

But it was worth it. 

It had to be, for Kevin would live. 

“I’m gonna say it again, just so that we’re crystal fuckin’ clear,” Marion said in the presence of the elder Winchester and the Trans. “The deal here is – this spell, in essence, is a prayer – not to any gods or any powerful forces but the very universe itself. There’s no guarantees, I told you that,” the demon faced Linda, “this is a wish, a very desperate one that will echo across space and time because of the devastating effects upon completion of the spell. This is why, in part, it is forbidden, not because of the complexity of the spell but of what is required of the one willing to step forward and become sacrifice itself. To give yourself wholly for nothing in return but utter annihilation of the one valuable thing any human could ever truly possess – their soul. Linda, upon the completion of this spell, your soul will be gone. You won’t just die – you will be taken from existence itself. You, the you that raised Kevin, that lived your life up to these final moments, will be gone forever. Part of the reason why this spell is so powerful is the precious uniqueness of the human soul, its singularity and individuality. Each soul is a snowflake; no two ever quite the same. God Himself couldn’t undo this sacrifice; he could make Linda Tran return to Earth, but it wouldn’t be the you that dies today and surrenders her soul like this because of how He designed souls in the first place. Otherwise, this spell wouldn’t work due to the lack of power to drive it. Now Linda, are you ready?”

“Will my son be saved?” Linda asked, the only thing on her mind. 

“Merely think upon the desire you long for most in this life you’re giving up, and the wish will take hold the second your soul is erased,” Marion answered solemnly. “In short, yes, when the spell is done and your soul is gone, your son will be spared his fate. The plan is to have your sacrifice encase Kevin like a protective barrier from what is meant to kill him, ensuring his survival for years to come. But there is no true guarantee. Do you understand?”

Linda exhaled shakily, “I understand.” 

“Mom,” Kevin said weakly. 

“Mrs. Tran,” Dean approached the woman. “This is crazy.” 

“Do you have kids?” Linda asked the hunter without facing him. 

“Yeah actually, I do.” Dean thought of Chloe – her small, adorable face. Her green eyes and how her existence broke Dean’s heart.

“If your child was in true danger, and you were told with absolute confidence that they would die horribly and die young, but then also tell you of a way to stop them from dying, ensuring them more time on this Earth, even if it meant you cease to exist, would you not do this?”

Dean chose not to say anything. 

“No!” Kevin wrapped his arms around his mother as if that would deter her. In truth, whenever she made a decision, it was easier to move a mountain. “I won’t let you do this!” 

“Kevin…” 

“There’s no guarantee it will work!” 

“Kevin…” 

“You could be dying for nothing!” 

“KEVIN!” Linda bawled and Kevin cried with her. He cried so hard, he couldn’t even see her anymore. 

“I’ve already lost everything,” Kevin said woefully. “Don’t make me lose you too.” 

Linda held Kevin’s face up by the chin. “Kevin,” she said softly. “I’m going to tell you the truth, because this will be my only chance to do it. I want you to hear it. I need you to hear it.” She inhaled deeply as she began. 

“In all honesty, I never wanted to have kids,” She chuckled ruefully, “When I was young, younger than you, I had it in my head that I was gonna take over the world and be an incredibly successful businesswoman. But the first ultrasound I had where I could see you inside me, the first time I felt you kick, I fell in love. The world changed in my eyes somewhat because everything made me think of you and how you were going to live in this world. I had my worries and my concerns. As you know by now, this world isn’t an easy place to live in. The older you get, the harder it is. On the worst days, it feels like everything’s out to get you, meant to break you. But on the best days, it feels like nothing could hurt you or tear you down. Life’s funny that way. But life also surprises you. Kevin, you were my first big surprise and the best one I’ve ever gotten. The next was your father’s passing. I never thought he could die so young. And now here we are.” Linda gazed upon the circle that awaited her. 

“I could’ve never imagined that it would end like this,” Linda said with a sad sense of sincerity. “There comes a time where a parent is severed away from their child, when the door is closed forever but, I guess you never see it coming. At least, you never want to. Too hard to imagine.” Such regret was exchanged in the eyes between mother and son. Linda brought her son close into her arms into the tightest hug she’d ever given him. 

Kevin felt like he was gonna break into ten thousand pieces. 

“You are not nothing, Kevin,” Linda fought to keep the sobs down. “You are precious. You are someone who is precious. I need you to remember that. And live Kevin. If there is anything you do after this. It’s live. Live the way you want to for as long as you can. I don’t need you to be president or a doctor or anything other than safe and content. Just live, Kevin.” 

“Mom,” Kevin couldn’t even breathe without crying. 

Linda let him go while she still had the strength to go through with this. 

“It’s gonna hurt,” Marion warned her. “It’ll make childbirth feel like a spa day.” 

Linda laughed as she didn’t know what else to do. She chose to keep looking at her son, so that she may retain the will to not waver. 

“Are you ready?” Marion repeated grimly. Linda gave her a trembling nod. 

“Answer these questions with nothing less than total sincerity,” Marion instructed. 

“Who are you, that walks into this circle of existence?”

“Linda Tran.” 

“For whom or what have you stepped into the ring for?” 

“My son, Kevin Tran.” 

“Are you willing to give away all that you are, and all that is irreplaceable for the sake of your charge?” 

The circle began to glow. 

“I am.” 

“And what is it that you most desire?” 

“I want my son, Kevin Tran, to be protected against the supernatural for the remainder of his life. He is not to be killed by any unnatural force of any plane. Grant my wish, and you can take all that I am and all that I will ever be.” 

“So you have wished for it, so it shall be.” Marion began to chant in Latin. Kevin and Dean watched in horror as Linda’s body began to burn with an eerie glow permeating through to her very soul. The mother wailed as pain was all she was allowed to know. Her flesh burned away slowly, then, her bones, and all that remained was her bright soul. It illuminated as brightly as a star, threatening to blind Dean and Kevin but within minutes, even the soul faded to nothing as the circle that once surrounded Linda Tran disappeared. 

“There,” Marion sighed. “It's done.”

Kevin fell to his knees, his body violently shaking as he wept for his non-existent mother. 

“I'm sorry. I really am,” Marion said. She kept her distance from the grieving young man. “Your life is yours again, Kevin. You can leave. You walk away from all of this. Everything. Because for the first time ever, you're actually safe.”

Kevin looked at her. 

“You're safe,” Marion repeated. “You wanna hate me for the rest of your life? Fine. I'm not in this to be your friend. I just saved your life, even if that means I killed your mom.”

Kevin looked so old and weary. But his eyes were filled with acrimony. 

“You wanted out, Kevin,” Marion said grimly. “This was the only way I thought possible.

“So what's to stop me from killing you?” Kevin asked coldly. 

Marion gave him a rueful smile. “Living is the best revenge, Kevin. I'll be dead in seven years, and you'll still be here, living however the fuck you want.”

Dean was as stunned as Kevin seemed to be.

“November 12, 2020,” the demon informed. “That’s the big day. The day I die, for good this time.”

“You’re serious?” Kevin said. “I can’t tell if you’re serious.”

“I die for this asshole,” Marion jerked her head in Dean’s direction. “And his giant baby brother.” She sighed, “I suppose it’s pretty honorable in the vast ways one can go. But you, Kevin, you’re gonna be just fine. You’ll be on your own for a while, but not forever, because one day, somehow, by some miracle, there will be people who come into your life—good people who grow to care for you as much as you care for them. You play your cards right; you could even have a couple of kids if you want, if she wants – whatever woman is smart enough to stick around. You’re gonna be okay, Kevin. You just gotta live, that’s all,” Marion advised. “Just live and forget all about this shit. Get a tattoo if you want to honor her, put up a nice plaque in her name, but the best way to honor your mother is to live.”

Kevin looked over at the spot where his mother was, tears still falling out of his eyes. 

Marion stood up to walk away. “See you never, Kevin.” She said desolately.

Dean felt horribly for the kid, as one who had the misfortune of losing his own mother, but even Dean had the consolation of knowing his mother was at peace. 

Kevin couldn’t even have that. 

But if this granted Kevin safety and freedom from the supernatural, then perhaps it was worth it in the end. 

Time would tell.

Dean left the kid there. He couldn’t worry about Kevin. He had bigger problems to fret about.

“Yeah?” Marion was on the phone. She had it on speaker.

“This is Dean Winchester’s number, but you’re not a Winchester. Who are you?” A sinister female voice crooned on the other end. It was Abaddon.

“Right.” Marion pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can we just get on with the threats?”

“What?”

“Threats, the threats – you don’t know what a threat is?” Marion snapped. “Make one, or I’m blockin’ this number.” 

“Do you know who the fuck I am?” Abaddon yelled harshly over the phone. 

“Yeah, the dumb bitch who got chopped up into demonic sushi by a couple of hicks,” Marion smirked then. “Rookie move, sweetheart.”

“I’m gonna gut you slowly bitch,” Abaddon promised. 

“Sounds like a lovely evening, doll,” Marion voiced without hesitation.

“If the Winchesters are there,” Abaddon said coldly. “Tell them I have some humans they may want to keep alive.” 

“Is that all?” Marion stated, unimpressed. 

“44.053051 by -123.127860,” Abaddon provided. “Irv Franklin and Tracy Bell. They have until noon tomorrow, or they’re dead.” 

“So you want these two human nincompoops to rush over at the drop of a dime to what is no doubt a deathtrap for two other idiots who signed their lives away to hunt the supernatural?” Marion recapped. She sighed. “And they’re stupid enough to do it too,” she lamented about the Winchesters. 

“That’s what I’m counting on,” Abaddon sneered. 

Marion held Dean’s gaze as the hunter overheard the entire exchange. 

“How about a trade instead?” Marion proposed. 

“No,” Abaddon refused.

“I have Crowley,” Marion said over the phone. Dean launched himself at the demon. He tried to take his phone, but the demon was too quick.

“Really?” Abaddon wasn’t inclined to believe her. 

“The usurper would’ve disappeared somehow. Heard you dropped by and got roasted for your troubles,” Marion persisted over the phone, expertly dodging all of Dean’s dogged attempts. “Awful, sorry about that, by the way. Glad to see it didn’t slow you down.” 

“Hmpf. What it would take you couldn’t possibly be capable of,” Abaddon said. 

“Sure enough. But you’ve been gone a long time. Been meetin’ some resistance from the folks back home, no?” 

“Nothing I can’t snuff out on my own,” Abaddon maintained. 

“But wouldn’t it drive home the new world order if you could mount Crowley’s little bitch ass head on a big ass pike? Wouldn’t that make your life that much easier and your rise to power so much smoother?” Marion countered. 

“You have him?” 

“I do,” Marion emphasized. “We can deliver him to you at noon tomorrow, just like you wanted.

Abaddon thought it over and then asked. “If you’re lying–” 

“I’ll die slowly, painfully in every way I fear helpless and afraid, yada yada yada. Guess you’ll see when the time comes tomorrow. Keep those hostages nice and warm. Kisses!” Marion ended the call.

“That’s gonna be fun.” Marion exhaled. Dean scowled at her, sore as he was about the whole ordeal.

“What the fuck!” Dean snapped at the demon. “You takin’ phone calls from the bad guy? Callin’ the shots? Who do you think you are?”

“One of the few motherfuckers alive still willing to help your ungrateful bitch ass,” Marion replied. “I call the shots cuz I know what the fuck I’m doin’.”

“Oh yeah? So what’s your plan?”

Marion stared at the human blankly. “I don’t have one yet.”

Dean frowned, jaw set. 

“But how’s about you and I cook one up together, as horrible a prospect that is for the both of us,” Marion gave him the side-eye.  

“I’ll pass,” Dean started to walk away from the demon until she pointed out, “I promised I would hand deliver Crowley to her Majesty. How do you think she’s gonna take it when she doesn’t see him, huh?”

“We need him here,” Dean asserted.

“Except your logic is flawed on that argument, sweetie,” Marion argued. “As of today, Crowley’s been AWOL for three days, which, in case you’ve forgotten, is already several weeks Hell-wise. Every hour he’s gone, torn away from his precious throne, siphons away his power, leaving another to rise up and snatch the crown. And Abaddon finna be that one. Which is exactly what we’re gonna tell Crowley to get on board.” 

“On board with what?” Dean asked. 

“You want info from that demonic son of a bitch? You’re gonna have to get on his good side. It’s your only hope. We put him in a threatening situation, protect him, bring him back here safe and sound, and he might be willing to throw you some crumbs after you bribe the limey bitch with some Macallan. I can get that, no problem,” Marion said. 

“What about Abaddon?”

“She wants to be a leader. Hard to do without followers,” Marion pointed out. “We take out whatever goons she’s bullied into serving her, get the fuck outta there, and leave her twistin’ in the wind. Speakin’ of which,'' Marion pulled out her own phone. “I gotta call Jess. You remember Jess, don’t ya, Dean?”

She knew. 

Of course, she knew. 

“Had to talk her off the ledge when she fuckin’ called me not two days ago,” Marion got in the hunter’s face. “She was right about one thing: he’ll never forgive you. Not this. Not what you’ve done. You went too far. You forget yourself, Dean. When it comes to family, one can only forgive so much. You may not see that yet, but someday, that’ll change.” Marion walked away, calling Jess on her cell. Dean couldn’t discern what she was saying to the other demon as the hunter’s head was filled with those haunting words. 

He’ll never forgive you for this.

When it comes to family, one can only forgive so much.

No! 

They were wrong. 

They had to be.

Sam, Dean, and Marion arrived at the designated location as Abaddon had requested, arriving just under thirty minutes before noon. While Dean drove the Impala, Marion said to the others. “We good on the plan?”

“Sure,” Dean said, shrugging, “what's the worst that could go wrong?”

“We all die horribly,” Marion replied. “But don't be such a Debbie downer.” 

“How do we know Crowley will keep his end?” Sam asked, equally apprehensive as his brother.

“We trust Crowley's desire to live and regain his seat in hell,” Marion reminded the hunters. “iight, pull up over here.”

Dean grumbled as he parked the car. He really didn't care to be ordered around, much less by Marion. The demon paid him no mind. 

“Shouldn't we aim to kill her, though?” Sam asked about Abaddon. 

“I told you, man,” Marion cautioned, “she's way above your pay grade. Entire angel battalions wouldn't be able to put her down, just hurt her enough to piss her off. That's what privilege earns you, I guess.”

“There's gotta be a way,” Sam said.

“And I'm sure you two will crack the case, but it ain't gonna be today,” Marion tapped Dean on the shoulder. “C'mon.” 

“Ugh,” Dean groaned, “Now?”

“Now's as good a time as any,” the demon said.

Dean sighed as he rolled up the sleeve of his jacket and shirt, exposing the skin of his forearm.

Marion bit into his arm without delay, her teeth digging into his flesh painfully. After five seconds, she weaned off Dean's arm. 

“Do you have to bite so fuckin’ hard?” the hunter griped. Sam bore a sympathetic expression for his brother.

“Hey, drinking from the fountain of you ain't no prize,” Marion said, grabbing and tossing some juice and crackers in Dean’s direction. “Now, inhale that shit before you faint or something.”

Dean hid the bite mark and aggressively opened the bottle of juice and wrapper of crackers. “I wasn't gonna faint.”

“Whatever you say, princess,” Marion sat back, licking away the fresh blood from around her mouth, “Now drive on before her Highness starts getting more suspicious.”

The demon queen prospect directed the group to Eugene, Oregon. It was an abandoned town, apparently contaminated with something severe enough to make everyone vacate in record time. All the signs had been eroded by rust and time. The vehicles suffered the same fate. Weather had worn down the vacant buildings left standing in the small ghost town. 

Sam did a quick Google search on the area based on the provided coordinates. Upon discovering the contamination present in the town, the brothers went in search of protective suits and were happy to find some to spare in the bunker. 

“Picking a poisoned town to debilitate her enemy further,” Marion surveyed the devastation, inhaling the polluted air. “Well played.”

“Stop your stupid girl crush on this bitch,” Dean grumbled. “The sooner we get this done, the better.” The hunter moved to cover his junk protectively. 

Sam smiled wryly at his brother as he walked to the trunk to fish Crowley out of the car. Everyone agreed, much to Crowley's chagrin, that it would be more convincing for the captive to arrive in as much discomfort as possible. “That's not gonna help.” 

“It doesn't hurt,” Dean replied as Sam pulled their bounty out of the trunk. They even put a muzzle on the former despot, figuring it'd look good to Abaddon. Crowley had been assured it was all a ploy. Let the redheaded demon think she's won. 

All the better for her not to see the knife coming. 

“Be ready for anything,” Marion warned the Winchesters in a hushed tone before loudly saying. “Yo! We’re here, on time, as promised. Come out with the sorry sons of bitches that got taken hostage, or we’re rollin’ outta here with the demon of the hour!”

A door opened up ahead, one belonging to an old diner. A young woman, gagged and bound, was roughly shoved out of the rundown establishment. She fell onto the floor harshly, rolling around and causing more bruises and cuts to appear on her brown skin. Two demons posing as active duty soldiers clad in blue camo emerged, both armed with semi-automatic guns. Abaddon appeared next, still in black leather with her now trademark red hair in full display, as vibrant as the painted red lips on her arrogant smirk.

“Figured you’d want the girl first,” the demon remarked as Dean rushed over to the human captive. The hunter helped her up, her eyes flitting up to Sam Winchester, who was taken aback by the anger in the woman’s eyes. Dean found it odd, too, but chose not to speak on it. The young woman stood up as she was freed from her restraints and ran for it without another word. 

“Now, hand over Crowley,” Abaddon’s eyes shone brightly as she saw her prize, her smile growing wider as she spotted the muzzle on the demon’s face. “And I’ll let you take this one, too,” she forced another human captive out of the restaurant with her telepathic power alone. It was a man this time, older than both the Winchester brothers but younger than Bobby. Both brothers recognized him to be Irv Franklin, one of Bobby’s old hunting buddies. 

Marion gripped her former boss tightly. Here we go, she thought at him as together they marched toward the other demons. 

Abaddon’s eyes never left Crowley as the captive demon approached her with every step, just as Marion hoped. “You certainly don’t disappoint, do you?”

“I aim to please,” Marion replied promptly. 

Abaddon gave her a once over. “Shame, I have to kill you now.” 

“Oh, do you?” Marion didn’t sound too surprised about Abaddon’s declaration. 

“Yeah,” Abaddon said, “because you are running around with Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle Dum over there, and it doesn’t sit right with me.” She scoffed. “A demon actually cooperating with humans.” The older demon shook her head. “I don’t know of any lower form of being.” 

Marion wasn’t offended. “Was it the comment about getting hacked by a couple of humans?” 

“Certainly didn’t help,” the fiery demon replied. 

Marion nodded. “Alrighty then.” 

The soldier demons aimed their guns at Sam and Dean, who hadn’t moved from beside the Impala. The hunters kept their cool as the supposed attack never came. 

“Um…” Marion uttered awkwardly, “Are y’all gonna shoot or…” the demons were planning to use their weapons, but it appeared the guns were jammed. 

“What the fuck?” One of them complained while the other kept hitting the gun – as if that would work. 

Abaddon exhaled angrily.

“It’s so hard to find competent help these days,” Marion quipped. Just then, both of the soldier demons were shot down with a sniper bullet. 

Marion smiled. Jess made it, after all. Thank fuck. If she weren’t so gone on Sam, Marion would’ve fucked the shit outta her.

Combining their power, Crowley and Marion launched their attack on Abaddon. They pushed her forcefully inside the former restaurant and slammed the doors shut with some sealing magic. It wouldn’t hurt her, certainly wouldn’t kill her. Still, it would keep her out of the way long enough to save the captive human, ensure the Winchesters’ safety, and curry enough of Crowley’s favor sufficiently to get on his good side despite his captivity. 

They held Abaddon back while Sam and Dean moved ahead, running to free Irv while they still had the chance. But the older hunter wouldn’t budge. 

“No,” Irv said to the brothers. “Leave me; I can try to buy you time.” 

“I know he’s not fuckin’ serious right now,” Marion snapped as she maintained her position. 

“This is on me,” Irv continued, “ I was in a dive – I was sloppy, lonely, and I met some girl. Next thing I know, I'm strapped to a bed, and the woman’s twisting things that ain't supposed to be twisted.” The man shook his head in shame. “Been torturing hunters. She's trying to get intel on you boys, and it ain’t to give you a damn Christmas card. Please, let me do this.” 

“Fine by me,” Marion said. Both she and Crowley took a step back as Jess arrived at their position. 

“Okay, I’ve dealt with everybody,” Jess informed her friend. 

“Of course you did, you beautiful, competent badass,” Marion smiled at her. “Let’s bail.” 

“Wait!” Dean shouted. “C’mon Irv,” he urged the older hunter. “Don’t give up like this.” 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Irv responded. “But I can’t live with what I’ve done. I’ve had my time. This is as good a time to die as any. Good luck, son.” He shoved both Winchesters out of the way. Jess grabbed Sam, and Marion caught Dean, and in an instant, everyone was inside the Impala, with Marion behind the wheel this time as she sped off and left Irv at Abaddon’s mercy.

“Dammit, turn back!” Dean huffed at the demon at the wheel. 

“Nope,” Marion said firmly. “Not gonna happen.” 

“We can’t just leave him behind,” Sam urged. 

“You heard what the man said,” Marion replied. “He’s volunteered; he’s lived his life, he wants to die, let him.” 

“Dammit, woman, if you don’t turn this car back–” Dean shouted, but Sam hollered, “Watch out!” He pointed dead ahead, causing Marion to step on the brakes. She narrowly avoided running down the young lady who’d escaped earlier. She planted herself on the road, waiting for the group. Her eyes were focused on Sam. He noticed the burning resentment that shone through, just as when she’d left them earlier. 

“Sam–” Dean said, but Sam exited the car. The others followed suit, except for Crowley – Marion had bound his wrists tightly together, leaving the muzzle on his face. He huffed, annoyed he remained immobile. 

“Are you Sam Winchester?” The young woman asked. 

“I am,” Sam said warily, but his eyes bore sadness as he replied. 

“I thought so,” she nodded angrily. “And running around with demons no less,” gesturing rudely in Marion, Jess, and Crowley’s direction. “Guess the rumors are true.” 

“Rumors?” Dean asked, but he was ignored. 

“My family died cuz of you,” the woman accused. “The demon that butchered my parents boasted about some dumb kid letting out Lucifer way back when. Wouldn’t shut up about it, like it was celebrating! That was all your fault!” 

Sam held the woman’s angry gaze shamefully. “I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry doesn't bring them back!” 

“Nothing ever does,” Sam said quietly. He handed her his gun as he sank to his knees. 

“Sam, what are you doing?” Dean cried in a panicked voice. Jess and Marion stilled. 

“Do what you have to,” Sam said mournfully. The young woman took the gun and shot Sam, point blank, in the head. 

“SAM!” Dean ran to his brother’s side as the younger Winchester fell onto his back. But Sam didn’t die. 

He couldn’t because of the angelic guest living inside of his body. 

The young woman, Tracy Bell, looked down coldly at the would-be corpse of Sam Winchester,  and as she stood there contemplating if her quest for vengeance was worthwhile, she and the others were horrified to see the body still moving. Sam’s eyes changed as the younger Winchester checked out and the angel Ezekiel took control. 

As the angel stood up on Sam’s feet, he appeared taller, looking less like a human and more like a monster. He towered over Tracy threateningly as he sharply grabbed the young woman by the throat, choking her severely. Tracy scratched at Sam’s large hand, but he wouldn’t budge for anything.

“Hey!” Marion shouted. She held a handgun. “I got angel-killing bullets in this gun, courtesy of the bitch in the car!” She jerked her head in Crowley’s direction. “You kill the girl; I put you down! Sure, Sam would die with you, but you know what? Sam’s a child of destiny, and I’m willing to chip in all my bets on the hunch that God ain’t done with the likes of Sam Winchester, so put. Her. Down!” 

Ezekiel glared at the demon but complied, dropping Tracy instantly. The young woman collapsed to the ground, clutching at her own throat as she coughed deeply, trying to get some air back into her lungs. Ezekiel pushed the bullet lodged in Sam’s head out with the force of his grace as he stormed back into the Impala without saying a word. Crowley kept staring at him with a bizarre expression. 

“If you want to keep your eyes, demon, I suggest looking elsewhere,” Ezekiel said. “The stench of you is unbearable enough.”

Dean watched the angel wearing his brother with great trepidation. He saw Marion hovering over the young woman and felt himself numb. What the hell was Sam thinking? Had Ezekiel not been inside him, Sam would be dead. Did he know? Could he have known? What would it mean if Sam was aware of what Dean had done?

He’ll never forgive you for this. 

No, Sam couldn’t have known. Could he?

“Get away from me!” Tracy shouted, voice hoarse. 

“Could you give me some credit?” Marion scoffed. “I did save your life just now.” 

Tracy glared at her. “I don’t wanna owe you anything.” 

“Believe me, honey, you don’t. You’re right to hate us demons. I’ve done my fair share of killin’. I don’t pretend to be a good person. Then again, I’m not a person. Haven’t been one for a long time. You’re gonna want some water. Probably some fresh tea for the throat there,” Marion pointed to the woman’s bruised throat. She watched as Tracy stumbled back onto her feet. 

“You know, I think it’s a lot like swimming in the ocean,” Marion mused. “Hunting us supernatural folk. You can be a good swimmer, hell, an Olympic-grade swimmer and still die in the water. It could be drowning, pneumonia, a wave, or a shark, but sooner or later, you always die.” 

“I’m not afraid to die,” Tracy said in defiance. 

“Your kind never is,” Marion said with a wry smirk. “But you should avoid dying in vain. Worried about your buddy back there?” 

“He wasn’t my buddy,” Tracy spat.

“He’s dead now, just so you know,” Marion informed her nonchalantly. “He insisted on sacrificin’ himself.”

“Oh,” Tracy's wrathful mask cracked. 

“That's all you can say? Damn, that's cold,” Marion said. “Way I see it; you can waste your life hunting all the demons in the world, but if you actually want to make a difference? Become a doctor. You can never have too little of them. And if you wanna intervene on some supernatural nonsense that comes your way, sure fuck ‘em up. That's all I'm saying.” The demon left the young woman be. 

“Happy trails, Tracy Bell.”

The Impala roared to life with Dean back at the wheel as it sped on down the road, leaving the young woman behind. 

Sam eventually came to, and no one commented on it. Jess chewed her lip as Sam perked up at the sight of his beloved. She tried relaxing, opting to savor the time with her man as best she could despite the circumstances. Nobody brought up the showdown that occurred just hours ago. Sam didn't even appear to remember. 

Dean never felt shittier. 

As Sam escorted the still-captive and gagged Crowley to the dungeon on the other side of the bunker, Kevin was found by the exit, equipped with a backpack full of all the belongings he could stuff inside. 

Marion and Dean stopped at the sight of the young prophet. Jess noticed as well but chose to follow her man into the dungeon. 

“You're leaving?” Dean asked. 

“I am,” Earlier, Kevin sat outside beside the spot where his mother had ceased to be, mourning the only family he'd ever known. But in the hours since everyone else had departed for their supernatural business, Kevin stayed behind in the bunker, debating his path. He wandered around the quiet and empty quarters and found the tablets he'd lost his peace over when he discovered something alarming. 

Kevin handed over the tablets to Dean. “I can't read them anymore. They look like gibberish to me now, as I imagine they do to you.”

“What?”

When Kevin realized he lost the ability to read the tablets, he stood rooted to the spot, staring blankly at the ancient etchings of stone. By habit, he squinted his eyes. The young man kept at it until he got a migraine. But then he started to laugh. What was he doing, he wondered as he fell onto the floor, and his laughter morphed into sobs. 

“I'm not a prophet any more,” Kevin stated, “I guess when my mom…” He closed his eyes, unable to finish the sentence, “It revoked my powers. Another cost to going against fate, I guess.” He glanced at Marion. 

“Then I guess that settles it,” Marion noted. 

Kevin nodded solemnly. “Yeah. I'm free.”

“I hear Amsterdam is nice this year.”

“Yeah,” Kevin replied. “I've heard that too.”

Marion handed him a letter. “Here. I know you don't want anything from me, but this will get you into any college you want if you’re still into that sorta thing.”

Kevin stared at the envelope. He looked back up at Marion. “Keep it. Maybe Sam can use it. School was always too stressful for me anyway.” The young man walked to the steps leading to the bunker’s exit.

“You don't want a ride?” Dean asked him. 

Kevin smiled. “No. I'm good.”

“You sure? That's a lot of walking to do,” Dean pressed.

“You're protected from the supernatural but not the natural. Cold can still kill you. So can bears,” Marion pointed out. 

“The walk will do me good,” Kevin said. “I've got some emergency supplies, a flare gun, and I'm a Wing Chun sifu level practitioner.”

Dean looked lost, but Marion said, “Damn,” sounding very impressed. 

“Like I said,” Kevin said. “I'm good.”

“Goodbye, Kevin,” Marion said sincerely. 

“See you never kid,” Dean gave him a wistful look. 

“I'm gonna be waiting on that date, Marion,” was the last thing Kevin said before he walked out of the bunker and out of the supernatural orbit. 

“You and me both, kid,” Marion whispered to no one. But Dean heard her, observing as the demon headed towards the library. 

Not ten minutes later, an arrival prompted everyone to rush over to the entrance as Bessie rushed down the steps leading outside, visibly distressed. 

“Marion, come quick!” the red-headed demon said, disheveled and bleeding. “The angel man is in trouble!”

“Cas?” Dean said, as Sam and Jess finally caught up, Crowley safely stashed away. “What'd you do to him?”

“Yes, because, of course, she did something to him,” Marion snapped acerbically. “What's wrong, baby?”

“He's been taken by a reaper,” Bessie replied, “For questionin’ - all them angels are lookin’ for someone to pay.”

“And they want Cas to be crucified,” Marion sucked her teeth. “Great.”

“Let's go gank the bitch then,” Dean rushed up the stairs first. 

“Um, there are faster ways to travel,” Marion pointed out. 

“Where is he?” Dean demanded, turning to Bessie. 

“Detroit,” Bessie supplied. 

“Shit, that’s a lot of drivin’,” Marion said, giving Dean a look. 

“Time Castiel doesn’t have,” Bessie urged. “She looked ready to kill him. Let’s go.” Bessie marched over to Dean, and the two disappeared.

Marion faced Jess and Sam. “You two comin’?” But Sam wasn’t the one who responded. 

“There is a fair chance that Castiel has already been slain,” the angel cautioned.

“That’s what we’re gonna go find out,” Marion said pointedly. “Now, if you don’t want either one of us to blow the whistle on your secret invasion, you’ll come over and put some of that angel grace to good use.” 

Ezekiel narrowed his eyes at the demons. Jess grimaced. 

“It doesn’t help to threaten him,” Jess cautioned her friend. 

“Doesn’t help that he’s a shady son of a bitch either,” Marion responded in turn, “but here we all are. After you.” 

All three vanished. 

The group found themselves in Detroit, in the middle of some alleyway. “I tracked them as far as here,” Bessie explained.

“Alright, we got minutes, people,” Marion clapped her hands together. “Let’s fuckin’ do this.”

“Wait, Zeke,” Dean addressed the angel who arrived with them. “Can you track him?” 

“That’s a tall order,” Bessie stated. “Seeing as Castiel had a special warding tattoo put on his meaty abs.” 

“What?” Dean said in alarm.

“He insisted,” Bessie shrugged. “Thought it prudent since word on the angel radio is that the Fall is all Castiel’s fault. Nothing has been said about Metatron.” 

“Fuck!” Dean ran his hands through his hair in worry. “Remind me again, he gave himself up to a reaper cuz of what? You?” 

Bessie’s face darkened. “I didn’t ask him to do that.” 

“Watch it, boy,” Marion warned the elder Winchester. “Don’t talk to my girl like that.” 

“It’s her fault Cas is gettin’ waterboarded!” The hunter argued. 

“If you wanna play the blamin’ game, Dean-o, then try pointin’ the finger at yourself,” Marion said hotly. “Cuz if dear old Cas hadn’t broken team to help your bratty ass, he’d be fine and dandy lest you forget that you’re the one that set him down on the path of self-destruction. Way to rub off on the dude.” 

“Fuck you!” Dean shouted. 

“Enough!” Ezekiel hollered. “I cannot locate the reaper who has Castiel with your endless prattle!” It was the best chance they had to find Cas. Since Cas warded himself against other celestials, if Zeke could find the reaper, they’d find Cas – hopefully.

If he was still alive.

Marion and Dean glared at each other. 

“No, baby,” Bessie said to her lover. “It is my fault. I should’ve been prepared for anything. I dropped the ball. I’m sorry.” 

“You got nothin’ to be sorry for, baby,” Marion said softly to the redhead. “You did your best.” Dean rolled his eyes and paced maddingly as Jess watched the scene unfold. Her eyes drifted to Sam’s form and wondered how deeply the younger Winchester was buried under the angelic might of Ezekiel. She wanted so badly to warn her beloved. But how? Then there was her son. She was trying her best to track him alone without Sam’s help, but then Marion called for her help. 

The blood trace spell was working, but only up to a point. It appeared her child had the ability to transport himself anywhere at any given moment. He must know he was being tracked, and Jess needed to get him to stop. 

“I believe I’ve located the reaper,” Ezekiel finally said, breaking Jessica’s train of thought. 

“Where at?” 

“Ah!” Castiel cried. It wasn’t the first time he suffered corporal punishment, but to experience it as a mortal was horrifying. He always had angel grace to fall back on when he got hurt, but with that power gone, Castiel was never so vulnerable. He wondered if he would die tonight, so soon after the Fall. If this violent reaper would be the last thing he’d ever see. 

If he never saw Dean again. 

The regret bloomed inside of Castiel’s being. There was so much he never dared say, never gave voice to. As an angel, he could repress it better, occupy his mind with other things, but now Castiel couldn’t find the strength to push it down now—these feelings…feelings for Dean. 

He hadn’t been human long, but he was beginning to understand. And it was all so terribly sad. 

“You know, if it had been me,” the reaper taunted menacingly as she loomed over her victim, “I wouldn’t have surrendered, least of all for a filthy demon whore like her.” This reaper took the form of a young redheaded woman, no more than the age of twenty-five. She had cornered Castiel and Bessie as the unlikely pair of travel companions as they rested in a motel room. Bessie had been cuddling up to the ex-angel in the privacy of the single bedroom they'd been given for the evening. It wasn’t the first time the demon had sprung her charms onto Castiel. He had been bamboozled last night as he was the first time. He wasn’t a figure to be desired or lusted after, yet the likes of Meg, Marion, and Bessie all wanted him despite being their natural enemy, angel that he was. Perhaps that fact alone was what made him so alluring to the trio of female demons. 

The taboo of it all.

Castiel certainly was more open-minded than the rest of his kind; that much was apparent to the former seraph. But to be chased for sexual pleasure wasn’t something Castiel ever thought he’d have to get accustomed to. He didn’t know how Dean dealt with it. Perhaps he could ask the hunter if Cas ever got the chance to look into those green eyes again. 

Dean always had such beautiful eyes. 

“You would have captured me anyway,” Castiel said with gritted teeth, watching another cut mar his exposed abdomen. “And Bessie would’ve died for nothing.” 

“Bessie?” The reaper repeated mockingly. “What a stupid name.” She cut him again. Castiel groaned. The angel blade was a terrifyingly effective weapon. It cut so deep.

“I don’t understand why you’re torturing me. You could just scan the part of my brain that retains memory. You can find out everything I know by force of will alone; I couldn’t stop you as I am now!” Castiel said. 

“Because you deserve to suffer, Castiel,” the reaper declared. “You deserve to burn for all that’s happened. The Fall is just the straw that broke the camel’s back. Ever since you first rebelled, things have gotten worse and worse.” 

“Metatron is the one who caused the Fall, not I!” Cas yelled desperately.

“You made it so easy for him to succeed!” The reaper shot back. “Why did God ever bother making you?! You’re such a hopeless failure, Castiel! But don’t worry, I’ll correct that right now!”

The door in the apartment the reaper had dragged Castiel to burst open as Dean led the charge to rescue the helpless Cas. But the reaper elected to run Castiel through with the angel blade in her hand, this time deep enough to kill. 

“Cas!” Dean lunged for the reaper, but she was ready for him, slamming both Winchesters across the walls. Sam flew into a closet, and Dean almost flew out the window. Occupied with dispatching the humans, the demons struck next, initially hidden, as they began their barrage on the unsuspecting enemy. Marion and Jess held the reaper by the arms as Bessie beat her down blow for blow. 

Dean took the blade lodged in Castiel’s gut and took his chance. 

“That’s for the beautiful angel man you brutalized, you witch!” Bessie cried as Dean stabbed the reaper in the back, light emanating from her human vessel as she died. The reaper fell into a heap, never to move again. 

In the next breath, everyone shifted their attention to Cas, except Sam, who remained unconscious in the closet. Jess went to him as Dean rushed over to Castiel, dropping the blade in his hand.

“Cas. Cas. Cas!” Dean cried, but the ex-angel wouldn’t respond. He remained still as death. Marion looked on sadly as Bessie was on the verge of tears. Dean clutched at Castiel’s face desperately, trying to cling to the mad hope that somehow Cas could survive, lips trembling at the cold, hard truth as the former angel succumbed to his wounds. “No.” He whispered brokenly, heart plummeting to his stomach, blood going cold. 

After everything they’d been put through, Castiel was gone. 

Again. 

Why did it hurt worse each time?

“Sam, he’s gone, he’s–” But it wasn’t Sam who emerged from the closet. It was Ezekiel. He chose not to say anything but lumbered over to where Castiel lay motionless and bleeding. Extending Sam’s long arm, Ezekiel used his grace to heal the former seraph’s wounds, each cut closing up miraculously no matter how deep. Only one question kept blaring in Dean’s mind as healing occurred. 

Was it too late? 

Or was it just in time?

It took a moment, but Castiel stirred and took a deep breath as he realized where he was. Sam stumbled back, this time Jess catching him as he fell. 

Bessie wasn’t the only one who breathed a sigh of relief. Marion did, too, but Dean felt a weight dissipate from his entire body. 

Castiel lived. 

He should check on Sam. 

“Dean…” Castiel uttered, beckoning the hunter’s attention once more. 

“Hey. Hey! Yeah,” Dean stuttered as he took in Castiel’s blue eyes. For a brief, horrible moment, he despaired that he’d never look into those eyes again. 

“And Sam…” Castiel said as he spotted Sam coming to, for real this time. “All of you.”

“Cas, you’re okay?” Sam expressed with disorientation. How the fuck did he get here? Natural light came in from outside into an apartment he didn’t recognize. Some redheaded woman lay freshly dead on the floor. Why was Cas tied up to a chair? 

Dean elected to hide relief with a standard look of admonishment, “Never do that again!” He barked at Castiel. As Dean saw it, Cas was expressly forbidden from dying. The fact that he wasn’t an angel anymore was no excuse. 

“All right,” Cas blinked. “But I'm confused. I know she stabbed me, but I'm – well, I don't appear to be dead.”

Shit. Dean would have to devise a lie to account for Castiel’s miraculous recovery without revealing the truth about Sam. 

“I made a deal with her,” Dean gestured to the dead reaper at his feet. “Told her I’d let her walk if she fixed you up.” 

Castiel cocked his head at the hunter. “You lied.” He said with an odd smile. 

“Yeah, I do that.” Whatever made him buy it.

They were all transported to the bunker since they left without a vehicle. When they reached the library, Dean dragged Cas by the arm and told the others that he and Cas would grab burritos or whatever Castiel wanted to eat. Sam watched him go with a frown on his face and distrust in his eyes. 

Shit! The kid was catching on. Oh well. Dean would deal with that later and hoped the girls would pitch in for once and help ease Sam into the delusion that everything was fine. 

No – everything was fine. 

It was just a little complicated. 

Complicated – Sam’s been hacked by an angel, and you took down the firewall. 

“Cas, talk to me, man,” Dean said suddenly, startling the ex-angel in the front passenger seat. He needed to distract himself from his worries about Sammy and Cas was right there, at Dean's side once again. The ex-angel and the hunter rode away from the bunker in the Impala.

Perhaps Cas was tired?

“About?” Cas rubbed his eyes. Ah, he was tired, Dean noted fondly in his mind—anything to distract from the moral catastrophe weighing on him. 

“You’re human now, more or less,” Dean pointed out. “How’s that going?” 

“It’s certainly an adjustment. There are so many things I never even considered before. There really is a lot to being human, isn't there?” Castiel reflected audibly. 

“It ain’t all burritos and strippers, my friend,” Dean said with a wry smile. “You’re good with burritos, right?” 

Castiel nodded. “I’m finding most foods enjoyable, if not a little greasy or unhealthy at times, but I’m just so grateful for the privilege to eat.” He shook his head. “There are so many out there who are starving, Dean. People without homes to rest in.” 

“Yeah,” Dean had been among such a downtrodden demographic. But his father had prepared him to climb out of those dark spots. If not for him…who knows where Dean would be? Or Sam, for that matter – Dean had to keep him fed for most of their childhood. 

“But there's more to humanity than survival,” Cas said. “You look for purpose and mustn’t be defeated by anger or despair.” 

Dean nodded and shrugged. Sure, he mused.  

“Or hedonism, for that matter,” Cas added. 

Dean’s eyebrows raised. “Excuse me?”

“My time with Bessie has certainly been educational.” 

“Oh?” Dean couldn’t wipe the grin off his face for anything. Though she may have been a demon, Bessie certainly had a sexy meat suit on. 

“The reason why the reaper caught us so easily was that we stopped at this motel for the evening. Bessie insisted that I rest every set of hours since I was mortal now, and mortals need sleep. The problem was that I couldn’t sleep, so she offered to give me a massage.”

“Oh?” Dean said excitedly, shifting in his seat. He loved it when porn bled into real life.

“For some reason, she removed all her clothes,” Castiel noted. “Bessie said it was a technique called Nuru? She had me take off all my clothes as well, which, in all honesty, I was glad for since I’d been wearing them continuously for multiple days. That never used to bother me.” 

“So?” Dean urged eagerly. “What happened next?” 

“Bessie got me on the bed, and she got on top of me,” Cas supplied. “We were skin to skin. It was very warm…and wet.” 

“And?” Dean waggled his eyebrows in amusement.

“Well, we didn’t have sex. That’s when the reaper came in and took me hostage. She was going to kill Bessie, and well, I consider Bessie my friend. So I surrendered on the condition that she be spared.”

“Wow,” Dean remarked, “so close to the field goal.” 

“I don’t know if I could actually go through with it,” Cas confessed. “It was all happening so fast…” 

“Yeah, but you like her, right?” Dean said as they finally reached some drive-thru places. 

“When thinking of Bessie, I usually associate her with her true form -- a giant beast spewing acid with dozens of tentacles –, but now, when I look at her, it’s easy to forget –”

“That she’s Hell’s bitch?” Dean quipped. 

Cas looked at him disapprovingly. “Bessie has been very good to me. I’ve been in vulnerable positions in her presence, and yet she’s never taken advantage of that. Although she’s been overzealous in her approach and attention, she’s…kind to me. And such kindness…well, it’s a precious commodity.” 

“Yeah,” Dean sobered up a bit, “yeah, it is.” But what did Cas mean by that? Sure, the world could be hard on anyone, and the road hadn’t been easy for Castiel since his initial rebellion. Was the now-mortal Cas talking about something specific? Dean couldn’t help but wonder. 

“What do you want to order?” Human Cas had quite the appetite. Dean had to get him four burritos stuffed with all the fixings and an extra large soda before Cas was satisfied. Dean couldn’t help but smile at his friend as he gorged on the food happily. Cas caught his gaze, and Dean vainly tried to regain his stoic façade. 

“What?” 

“What?” They both said awkwardly and simultaneously. Dean cleared his throat. “Um…we should stop by a Kmart or something. Get you some things.” 

“Like what?” 

“Chapstick for one,” Dean said. “As long as I’ve known you, you’ve had some dry–ass lips.” Castiel automatically touched his mouth. 

“Oh,” he remarked. “I never noticed.” 

“Seriously?” Dean scoffed. “You never– okay.” He shook his head, smile re-emerging. “Well, it’s either that or drinking some water. I’m not one for drinking water myself, but I have to admit, it makes all the difference. Don’t wanna be kissing no girls with dry lips, lemme tell you.” 

“Is it that noticeable?” Cas was still touching his lips. 

“Well, yeah.” At least it was to Dean. 

“I didn’t know you spent so much time looking at my lips.” 

Dean’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. “Pfft. I don’t. You just have really big…dry lips.” He finished lamely. “Anyone could see that…from space.”

Castiel merely looked at him. “Chapstick. Got it.” 

When Dean and Cas returned to the bunker, Marion, Bessie, and Jess were gone. Only Sam remained, and once again, he wasn’t Sam. 

Dean really needed to get a handle on how often the angel would show himself. The elder Winchester was at a loss to explain the last day to his brother, should he ask—no doubt Sam would have questions about how much time had passed. 

Cas went off into the library as Ezekiel cornered Dean. 

“Castiel cannot stay here. He will bring the angels down on all of us,” Ezekiel urged. 

“You can’t just keep takin’ over Sam like this,” Dean replied, “my brother ain’t stupid. He probably already thinks something’s wrong.” 

“We cannot stand an incursion,” the angel pointed out. 

“Who says they’re coming at all?” Dean countered.

“That reaper didn’t target Castiel without reason,” Ezekiel argued. “Someone is sending reapers after him, and soon, it won’t just end with the reapers. The angels are coming together, amassing a large force. They’re not united yet, but enough of them ally with each other that it won’t matter. They’ll destroy us.” 

“Look,” Dean said sternly. “You brought back Cas, and I’m grateful for that. But I can’t just set him aside. He’s basically human now, as weak as he’s ever been. I can't turn him out after everything he’s done for me. I just can’t.” 

“Castiel is in danger, and if he is here, I am in danger,” Ezekiel said. 

“The bunker is safe.” 

“But not indestructible, not impenetrable.”

“You could try vouching for him, like you said.” Dean pleaded. 

“No one would heed my words, not for him,” the angel stated. “If you don’t make Castiel leave this place, then I will have to vacate these premises.”

Dean could feel his heart plummet. “You can’t. It’s too soon. Sam isn’t ready.” 

“I know,” Ezekiel replied mournfully. “I am sorry.” 

Fuck! Dean ran his hands through his hair stressfully. All that he’d done, he couldn’t let Sam die. Not now. 

Not ever. 

Then, there was no other choice. 

Every step felt so heavy, almost like his body didn’t want to cooperate with what Dean was about to do. 

Castiel spotted Dean’s approach. He looked so happy and comfortable. It was the most at ease Dean could recall observing Cas to be. 

Fuck…

“Cas…can we talk?” Dean said as he stopped by the table, placing his hand stiffly on the surface. Was his voice echoing? It felt like his voice was echoing. 

“Certainly, Dean,” Cas looked up at the hunter, blue eyes full of trust. “You know I enjoy our talks. Our time together.” 

Fuck…this was so hard. Maybe he shouldn’t do it. Maybe he should put up a fight, Dean wondered. Find some way to get Cas to stick around. 

But Sam…

Dean shut his eyes, swallowed deeply, and steeled himself for his next words. 

He had to rip it out like a bandaid. 

“Listen…you can’t stay.” 

The joy seeped out of Castiel’s face like blood from a deep wound. Confusion struck him hard, along with pain. Castiel wasn’t sure, but it felt like his chest was hurting. 

Why was his chest hurting?

“Oh,” Cas uttered quietly. 

Dean should say something. 

But what the fuck was he gonna say?

Castiel stood upright, chair dragging as he moved. He kept blinking, and his eyes were wet. 

Holy shit – was he crying?

Dean’s chest tightened with woe, his heart pounding in a panic – no, I fucked up. I have to take it back. I can hide him. I can –

“Okay,” Cas said shakily as he made for the exit. 

Dean should stop him; his mind, body, and heart roared at him. At least to give him some money. 

But Cas was quick, even if he wasn’t a mighty angel anymore. He was out the door so fast. It felt like a second, but it wasn’t. It couldn’t have been. 

Time was lost on the pair of them. 

“Cas…” Dean blinked and realized Cas was gone. He ran for the door. “Cas!” Dean stumbled outside, and water poured all over him. It was raining, and a storm was raging outside. 

When did it start raining?

He couldn’t see where Cas went. 

He had no earthly idea. 

Dean had done a lot of things for Sam’s sake. Given up plenty, walked away from countless people and opportunities that arguably could’ve enriched Dean’s life. The elder Winchester always told himself that it was worth it no matter the sacrifice because he was giving it up for his family. That family was all that mattered in the end. 

But now? The word family felt so hollow. Half the time, Sam wasn’t even Sam anymore. 

He’ll never forgive you. 

At this point, Castiel wouldn’t forgive Dean either. 

Dean walked back into the bunker in defeat, the door slamming behind him loudly. Castiel wasn’t even forty feet away. Even over the sound of the pouring rain some yards away, Cas heard it.

Even over the sobs that wracked through his mortal body.

Chapter Text

Castiel lost sense of time. He’d been out in the rain for so long. It was cold, rough and unforgiving. He was likely to fall ill from being exposed to the elements, mortal that he was. But the former seraph couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

Dean didn’t want him. It was understandable. Castiel could no longer serve a purpose to the Winchesters and their tireless cause of protecting the humans from supernatural enemies. 

Before, he’d been an angel of the Lord, fresh from the realm of Heaven, fierce and formidable. Powerful like nothing else, mighty enough to strike fear in demons and the like, inspiring awe in humans. But now, all that was gone. 

Now, Castiel was worthless.

“Castiel?” He shrunk further into his body at the sound of his name. “Castiel, sweetheart, what are you doing all the way out here?” 

It was Bessie. But he couldn’t respond. 

“C’mon now, darling,” she beckoned softly. “You’re gonna get sick.” The demon approached him slowly. His body wasn’t small, but Castiel was determined to curl himself into a ball, shy away from her, and hide from the world as the pathetic failure he was.

“What happened?” She asked with sincere concern. “Why are you even out here?” 

Her questions made him cry harder. 

“Oh honey,” Bessie uttered sadly. 

It took countless minutes of coaxing, but Bessie wouldn’t leave him be, and Castiel didn’t have the energy to make her go. She wouldn’t touch him, merely sitting at his side as the sorrow moved through Castiel in waves. 

He couldn’t just stay here forever. Castiel knew that. 

Dean wouldn’t want him to linger because Dean didn’t want Castiel in the bunker. The hunter certainly wouldn’t want the former angel to hang out in the surrounding area, either.

“Castiel, please,” Bessie pleaded once more. “Come with me. We need to get you out of the cold.” 

Indeed, it was cold. He could feel something forming in his throat; his eyes were sore, and he couldn’t stop shivering. 

At last, the former seraph relented, letting Bessie escort him to her car. Castiel couldn’t bear to look at the bunker door anymore. But the ache never dissipated as they drove farther and farther away. 

Dean.

They drove for hours, the sun rising and setting. Perhaps the demon believed the drive would do Castiel some good. He never really cared for car rides before when he was still an angel with wings. The former seraph only tolerated them for –

No, he shouldn’t dwell on that hunter anymore. 

Bessie kept her gaze fixed on the road, taking care not to speak or fill the space with inane conversation – which Castiel was thankful for. They eventually stopped at a house – modest and quiet, but the former angel didn’t care for much else. He silently followed Bessie inside and didn’t ask any questions. 

As Castiel walked in, his body was grateful for the warmth of the interior, but his clothes were still moist from the rain. 

“Castiel?” Bessie approached him. She wanted to dry his clothes. The demon quickly set aside some spare clothes for the mortal man. 

“You can go into the bathroom or the room over there to change,” Bessie pointed out where he could go. “I’ll be in the kitchen. I need to fix you up somethin’ warm to eat.” They hadn’t stopped anywhere en route to this home. Castiel wasn’t up for eating, but his stomach was unbearably empty. He supposed he had to eat at some point. 

Castiel silently entered the bedroom, and Bessie gestured for him to enter. He wiped at his wet body with a fresh towel after discarding all the wet clothes that now lay on a clumped pile in the corner of the room. Within minutes, he could smell something stemming from the kitchen. Whatever it was made Castiel’s mouth salivate, but his heart couldn’t share in his body’s eagerness.

“Do the clothes fit?” Bessie asked. 

“Well enough,” Castiel replied. “Thank you.”

“The food’s ready,” she told him. “It’s on the table, follow me.” Wordlessly, the former seraph followed Bessie over to a table where a bowl of food lay waiting to be consumed.

Castiel sat at the table, taking the spoon beside the bowl. “Careful,” the demon cautioned. “It’s hot.” Castiel merely stared at her. 

“Blow,” Bessie advised him. She took the spoon gently, scooped up a portion of the bowl’s contents, and demonstrated what to do as she blew onto the steaming pile of heated food with her own breath. Slowly, Bessie moved the food over towards Castiel’s lips. 

He opened his mouth. The flavor was good, and the heat was comforting. Castiel wondered why the demon even had food ready to be eaten. It's not like she required sustenance. 

“Did you cook this for me?” He asked. 

“Yes,” Bessie confessed, “I figured that as you are now, you can finally enjoy food, and I wanted you to have some of my cooking to eat. The last time I made this, it wasn't so great.”

“Last time?”

Bessie became almost shy as she wouldn’t meet his eyes then. “Everyone’s got a past, suga, even I. Back in my day, I was a wife. Young and carted off to the first man that could make my daddy an offer for my hand. He was a brute, boorish, and impatient. He hated my cooking. I never managed to make anything edible.”

Castiel let her talk, willing to listen.

“He loved to beat me up. It was the only thing he was ever good at. But when I was at my lowest, she came into my life,” Bessie finished with a dreamy sigh.

“Marion,” Castiel uttered knowingly. Bessie nodded with a fond smile. “She may be a demon of wrath, but she came into my life like an angel. She was everything I wanted. Fierce, powerful, unafraid, especially of men. She took my husband down with a quickness so that he couldn’t fight back or escape. She left his fate to me. It took her one minute to suss out what our marriage was like.”

“What did you do?” Cas asked her.

“I slit his throat,” Bessie replied. “Just ten minutes before she showed up, he was choking the shit outta me. Probably would’ve died that day if Marion hadn’t shown up when she did.”

“She saved you,” Cas said. 

“More than that, suga,” Bessie declared, eyes brimming with pride. “She empowered me. Upon the fresh remains of my good-for-nothin’ husband, Marion turned me into the fabulous creature I am today.” The demon gestured to herself. 

“Weren’t you afraid?” Cas questioned. 

“I was terrified,” Bessie answered. “I had no idea what future lay ahead for me. But I knew livin’ without her would be no life for me. Best I could’ve hoped for is to work as some whore at a third-rate saloon or get another hateful, cowardly man to make me his wife. If I had remarried, I would’ve had to wait on him hand and foot while he disrespected me and robbed me of my voice and my dignity. No.”

“I knew what she was. I knew she was a demon. At that point, I just didn’t care,” Bessie divulged. “I felt abandoned by God, so I walked away from Him. If I have to burn in Hell for that, so be it.” 

Cas watched her as she kept talking.

“After all, we didn’t do good. We killed, we stole, we hurt people. More than a few were innocent. Women and children, too. But as far as I was concerned, Marion was my guide. Where she would walk, I would follow, no matter the blood. But eventually, it all just got to her.” 

“Marion?” 

“Yes,” Bessie said. “She lost sense of herself. In what she was doin’, why she was doin’ it. She’d disappear for days at a time, on and off for nearly a decade, but one day she sat me down and explained it all to me, as best she could.”

Castiel waited for Bessie to continue.

“She said it started to come to her in a dream, which was insane, considerin’ demons don't dream. But she confirmed that it was, and they came from another her.” 

Cas furrowed his eyebrows. 

“I asked Marion how there could be another her,” Bessie recalled. “I asked if she had a twin or some long-lost relative out there, but she said it wasn’t like that. That this was different, this other her stemmed from another world, another Earth.” 

Marion figured out there were other universes.

“The things she saw in that dream were signs that she couldn’t ignore,” Bessie said forebodingly, “of what was to come.” 

So maybe that’s why she’s so involved, Cas mused. He nodded, ingesting more of the dish before him.

“So the stew — do you like it?” Bessie asked. Her eyes were so earnest and brown. Beautiful even. 

But nothing like Dean's.

“Yes,” Castiel replied. “It is a pleasant dish.”

Bessie beamed. “Thank you for the rave review.” She stood up. “Do you want anything else? I have a fully stocked fridge.”

“No thank you,” Castiel said in a dispirited tone.

Bessie gave him a sympathetic look. She walked, pausing right behind the ex-angel. She chanced a touch at his broad shoulders. 

“You know,” Bessie squeezed him. “I can still give you that massage. We never finished.” 

Castiel stopped eating. He never expected this level of attention from Bessie, which he could recall from when he first met her. 

It was after his body fell apart from the ruthless invasion of the Leviathans. He washed up somewhere in Colorado, his memory in tatters. The fallen angel couldn't even remember his own name. 

Not long after he regained consciousness, a woman named Daphne found him. She described herself as a Christian woman.

Daphne had taken him to her home, fed and clothed the newly resurrected Castiel. She asked him for his name, but he couldn't supply one, so she used her computer to find him a name - a name he could use to identify himself anew. 

That is how he came to be Emmanuel. 

While he forgot much of himself, not all his former glory was lost. He retained the ability to heal as he discovered when Daphne cut herself in the kitchen, and at a single touch - he healed her. He wondered then if he could heal others. 

A question he could never answer. 

She had come for him then. Her hair was a violent shade of red. Her brown eyes were perceptive and devious, and she had an attractive body that could rattle the most disciplined man. Castiel, then Emmanuel, could see her true face. It was terrifying. 

“Hello there,” the beastly woman only addressed him, ignoring Daphne. 

“You-you're not human,” Emmanuel said in fear. 

“Still have that tactless air about yourself, I see,” her red lips spilled into a smirk. 

“Leave, or I'll call the police,” Daphne asserted, looking between her husband and the intruder. 

“Call them,” the woman said calmly. “Tell them that this man's true wife has come for her beloved, and you are standing in the way of our family, keeping him to yourself. You selfish harlots. He has a daughter, you know.”

The stranger held up a missing poster that indeed bore his face. It was old—from 2009. His name apparently was James Novak, however, not Emmanuel or anything else.

“It's taken so many years, my darling,” the stranger approached Emmanuel, her true ghastly nature compelling the man to shrink. “But I found you at last.”

“A daughter?” Daphne echoed. 

“Yes. Claire Novak. I'm Amelia.” But her brown eyes remained fixed on Emmanuel. “Come, my love. It's time to go home, where you belong.” She tossed the old crinkly poster over to Daphne. “Here, you can keep that. I don't need it anymore.”

"But," Daphne uttered while the strange woman was pushing Emmanuel out the door, "he just said you were a demon." 

"Ma'am, my husband has suffered mental issues for some time. It's not the first time he's forgotten himself," the purported Amelia claimed. "Just call the police; they can tell you everything." They were out the door and off the street before Daphne could do anything else.

Daphne did keep the poster. She even called the helpline outlined in bold at the bottom. A woman answered her call, telling her everything. James Novak, a native of Pontiac, Illinois, was a decent salesman for AM radio. He was a devout member of the local clergy. He began to descend into madness as he proclaimed to his wife that he was speaking to an angel from Heaven and later departed from his family home, leaving his wife and only daughter behind. No one had seen him since. The police never made any progress. 

“It's a good thing the man is back where he belongs,” the lady said happily. “We were starting to believe he was lost to us forever.”

But Daphne didn't know that if she had fought to keep Emmanuel, she would've met a grisly end. Bessie was prepared to kill her to get Castiel out of that house. 

The demon dragged the confused man with her as they walked. “Are you really my wife?” Gripping him tightly, she ignored him as an unnatural force took hold of the fallen angel then. In the blink of an eye, Emmanuel found himself in a totally different area. His head whipped wildly as he took in the strange surroundings. 

“Wha— what have you done?” 

“I transported you with me to another part of Colorado.” She said with a smile.

“That is impossible,” He said, but his eyes saw nothing familiar. 

“You'll find that many things are possible,” Bessie’s eyes traveled up his form. 

Emmanuel backed away from her nervously but knew she wouldn't let him go. “What do you want of me?”

“We've been looking for you, angel.” She replied sweetly. 

“Angel?” He was confused. “Is that a flirtation?”

The demon woman winked at him. “It's whatever you want it to be.”

“I don't understand,” Emmanuel said. 

“I know, honey, but that woman I took you from, you didn't belong with her,” she said. 

“I belong with you? You said you were my wife,” He said. 

“Oh, I lied about that,” the stranger shrugged sheepishly. “I needed to get you away from that lady without killing her.”

Emmanuel stuttered, “Why would you need to kill her?”

“Only if she wasn't willing to let you go,” She maintained. “I mean you no harm, honest.”

“Then why did you take me?” He asked. 

“We need your help,” she replied. 

“Who's we?”

“Hiya there, angel,” another stranger emerged as if out of thin air, startling Emmanuel.

“Oh heavens!” He exclaimed. 

The women giggled. This new woman had a face as equally terrifying as the stranger who abducted him out of the safe home with Daphne.

“I didn't mean to give you a scare,” the new woman, with darker skin and bouncy dark curls that adorned her human face, said. Her eyes were almost warm, if not for the true demonic visage that lay underneath. “I just wanted to make sure you’re good.”

“What do you want of me?” Emmanuel asked fearfully, eyes bulging out of his head. 

“Holy shit,” The new woman's face fell. “He's actually scared of us.”

“Yeah,” the abductor frowned. 

“Hey, what's your name?” The brown woman asked. 

“Emmanuel,” he said. 

The demons exchanged a glance. “Aw shit.”

“No, sweetie,” the red-headed woman said. “It's Castiel.”

They told him the startling tale. They couldn't tell him everything, only what they knew to be true of the angel Castiel.

“So you've been around since before the dinosaurs, right? And you're this badass ancient warrior who gets sent down to hell to rescue one human soul.” The one who called herself Marion started. 

“His name is Dean,” The one who called herself Bessie clarified.

“Dean,” he scrunched up his eyes but couldn't put a face to the name.

“Wow, he can't even remember him,” Bessie told her companion. 

“That's gonna go over well,” Marion said. She kept regaling Castiel's exploits, “So this Dean guy becomes super important to you because after you save his soul and return him to Earth, you become friends. Very intimate, intense friends.” 

Castiel cocked his head. What odd phrasing she chose to use just then.

“Anyway, Dean turns to you for help in a dire moment of need to spare his younger brother a horrible fate, and you oblige, noble, selfless angel that you are!” Bessie continued. 

“At great personal cost, mind you, but does he thank you? No. Ungrateful bitch,” Marion spat. 

“Yes, you become an enemy of your people, the angel race in Heaven above, but that doesn't matter, for you protected your precious Dean,” Bessie said with a mirthful twinkle in her brown eyes. 

“You bail Dean out a bunch of times. Don't worry; it'll come back to you eventually.”

“This Dean is a human?” They both nodded.

“Then how do I know you demons?” The two demons exchanged an amused glance.

“We're frequent co-conspirators in the fight for free will and junk,” Marion said as Bessie giggled. “We're nice demons.”

“Rather nice for demons.” Bessie winked at him. 

“That doesn't sound right…” Castiel said dubiously. 

“Yet we haven't hurt you at all,” Marion argued. 

“And you won't hurt me?” He asked. 

“We have no reason to, angel-face. You're our friend. So what if you went a little power crazy in the midst of your godhood?” Marion mentioned.

“What?” Castiel blinked.

“In another quest to save your beloved Dean, you took on a little too much power,” Marion elaborated. “You went a little mad, but who doesn't go a little mad sometimes?”

“Did I harm anyone?” Castiel asked. He hoped they were lying. 

“Yeah, you did. But most of them had it coming,” Marion answered. 

Castiel bore a shameful expression. 

“Feeling guilty is good, I guess. Us demon folk don't really do remorse.” Marion said. 

“I suppose not,” Castiel said, unable to look at his hosts. “Is that why I cannot remember my past? Is the loss of my memory punishment?”

Both demons shrugged. “Who knows when it comes to you.”

“If it's all the same to you,” he said, wrapping his arms around himself. “I'd rather go by Emmanuel.”

Bessie and Marion exchanged a look. Marion stood up, “Alright, angel face. Whatever gets you through the night. Bessie's gonna stick around and look after ya, seeing as you probably don't even know what two plus two is.”

“Four,” Emmanuel answered.  

Marion smiled pitifully at him. “Sure, man,” The demon indeed made herself scarce, leaving only one to lurk constantly by the supposed angel. 

Bessie's gaze persisted Emmanuel all around the house that was his new home, unnerving the man to no end. He was thankful he didn't have to eat or drink as he wouldn't trust anything Bessie would have prepared. That didn't discourage her from attempting to feed him. 

The demon took it upon herself to take the opportunity to play house; Bessie being the wife and Emmanuel the overwhelmed husband. 

“Oh, c'mon now, suga, lemme take care of you.” Bessie would say often as the two remained alone in the house. She'd frequently get as close as she could before Emmanuel could escape. But she never trapped him or bound his body. Bessie seemed to become addicted to the chase. The more he ran, the further she'd go. That's why, in two weeks, Bessie began disrobing. 

“What are you doing?” Emmanuel asked nervously, gesturing to Bessie’s latest fashion choice of walking with only a bra to cover her upper body. She constantly wore perfume, changing every few days in an attempt to lure the man closer to her. To invite him in. 

“I'm feeling stuffy, wearing all these layers,” she'd say. “I needed to get more comfortable. You are more than welcome to shed off those clothes, you know.”

Emmanuel clung to his sweater, which tactfully covered the t-shirt on top of his tank top. “I don't think so.” He stuttered. “Please put on a shirt.”

Bessie smiled. “No.”

By the third week, she would walk completely naked all around the house. 

“Oh dear,” Emmanuel was startled when his eyes bore witness to the naked human body standing before him. 

“What?” Bessie feigned innocence. “It's just a body sweetie.”

Emmanuel kept his eyes transfixed on the ceiling. Bessie approached him carefully. 

“What is it?” She crooned. “Is it my breasts? My pussy?” She enunciated the words lasciviously. 

He screwed his eyes tight, swallowing deeply. He felt out of breath. He wasn't sure he wouldn't faint. 

“You're starting to hurt my feelings, suga.” She retreated, but the attempts of seduction wouldn't cease. 

When helping him prepare a bath, Bessie would linger a little too long, her eyes consuming the very rare sight of Emmanuel’s naked body. “Hold on, suga,” she'd say, “I have to ensure it's not too cold. Can't have you catch a cold.” He'd say that because of his power, it was unlikely he'd contract a disease, but she never listened. 

In the night, she would creep around, using the excuse of keeping watch while he slept in case anyone dared to invade the house and cause harm to the angel man. She would change into the skimpiest lingerie in the evenings that left little to the imagination. 

He was so grateful when the others arrived. Emmanuel kept feeling like he was being tested (tempted) by this demonic woman, and while he resisted, his strength eroded by the day. She had been overzealous in her attention, but…

Later, when Castiel was himself again, and the Fall of the Angels had just occurred the night before, he crossed paths again with Bessie. They hadn't been alone together since the ex-angel had identified as Emmanuel. 

“I'm sorry, by the way,” Bessie said as she manned the wheel. “About the Fall. I'm sure you find that odd, but I am truly sorry for it. I can't imagine what those angels are going through.”

“They wouldn't extend such sympathy to you if the positions were reversed.” If Sam had followed through with his quest of sealing Hell forever, she and the others, Marion and Jess, would be long gone.

“Sure,” Bessie shrugged, “but being thrown out of your home like that, probably none of them even knows what or why.”

“Me,” Castiel said forlornly. “I am the reason. Metatron stole my grace for the spell that banished everyone.”

Bessie raised her eyebrows. “Oh my. That bastard's gonna get what's comin' to him.”

“Yes,” Castiel declared darkly. “He is.”

Bessie regarded him then with an expression akin to concern. “Don't go Darkseid on me, angel.”

“I'm not an angel. Not anymore,” Castiel noted sadly.

“You'll always be an angel to me,” Bessie smiled at him. It was the first time he felt warm since he lost his grace. 

As the travelers neared Lebanon, Kansas, they reached a motel. When the manager handed Bessie the keys to a single bedroom, Castiel felt his stomach flip over.

“Here we are,” Bessie said as the two entered their lodging. She shut the door behind Castiel as he entered. He stood awkwardly as his gaze shifted over to the bed. 

“So stiff you are,” Bessie noted with a giggle. “Gonna make me nervous,” she sat on the corner of the bed, platting on it gently for Castiel to do the same. “C’mon now, sit next to me. I won’t bite you, I promise.”

It’s not like he could very well stand all night. All the boundless energy he once had was lost. Castiel shuffled over to sit beside the demon. He could feel her eyes travel his body.

“Don’t you want to take those clothes off? You can go and take a shower; maybe it’ll make you feel better.” 

He stared at Bessie blankly, her suggestions making him realize that he never ran the baths when he’d forgotten himself. It was always Bessie who prepared them for Castiel.

“Do you want me to run a bath for you?” 

“Why are you helping me?” Castiel asked the demon. 

Bessie held his searching gaze. “I’d heard about you. The angel that rebelled against Heaven above. Some called you defective, stupid.”

“Perhaps they were right,” Castiel said dejectedly.

“No. I know better.” Bessie replied. “You walked away from everything you ever knew to stand up for what mattered most. I’ve been an admirer of yours ever since. I think you’re incredible. I’ll always think that, no matter what happens.”

Castiel shook his head in disbelief. “I’ve made mistakes.” 

“Who hasn’t?” Bessie scoffed. “What separates people is what drives them day and night - your mistakes are proof of that. You fell from Heaven for rebellion but did it to spare your humans a horrible fate. You allied with Crowley, of all people, but did it to stop the archangels. You took on the power of God to try and make the world a better place and killed angels to stop them from being man’s executioners. You tried to save your kind from Metatron because you care despite everything that’s gone on. You care, Castiel, and that makes you special. You’re good. So good.” Bessie cupped his face in her hands. They were soft and warm. Was he weak for enjoying the touch?

He couldn’t help but wonder then if this was what Dean felt all those nights in Purgatory. If the warmth was why he kept cuddling up every chance the hunter got.

“You know, I could make you feel better,” Bessie suggested. “If you’re willing to let me…” 

So he let her. She called it a Nuru massage. Castiel knew that in the Japanese language, "nuru" means to smear or something similar, but what Bessie did was not what he initially thought. 

And yet…

It felt good. She was so warm, Bessie became like fire but she never burned. She had stripped herself bare of all her clothing and bade Castiel to do the same. The demon used a hydrating lotion and lathered it all over Castiel’s nude form as she proceeded to rub her own body to massage his exposed back. He was able to feel every part of her bare form.

“Do you feel better?” Bessie groaned out as she kept up her movements, making Castiel moan. It incensed her further.

“I do,” Castiel offered hazily. His body never felt better. 

“Do you,” Her bare breasts kept grazing along his broad back. “Want to turn over?” 

Should he? If he did…his penis felt like hard steel.

“Okay,” Castiel said breathlessly, shifting his body around as Bessie lifted herself away. Castiel’s eyes traversed the demon woman’s naked body. It was glistening from the translucent lotion that spread all over her breasts, midsection, and slim thighs. Even her red locks of hair shimmering as the ends were moist. 

Bessie gave him a bright smile, “Are you ready for the ride of your life?” 

Castiel didn’t even know what to say, which was timely as that’s when the reaper April decided to reveal herself. 

“I can still give you that massage," Bessie mentioned carefully, "We never finished.”

When she brought up the massage, Castiel’s loins heated despite his depressed demeanor. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea…

But the desperation to feel good again overtook his senses.

“Okay,” Castiel heard himself say. Bessie grabbed his hand and led him to the bedroom where he changed earlier. She looked him in the eye first, giving him an encouraging smile before starting to disrobe the ex-angel entirely. It reminded Castiel of the call girl Dean had demanded he deflower himself with. Another memory tainted by Dean. 

No. I shouldn’t think about him anymore. It hurt far too much. 

“Chin up, angel,” Bessie said softly. “I’m gonna make you feel so much better.” Castiel hoped she could. 

He wasn’t nervous, he wasn’t eager, he just let Bessie do all that she wanted.

It was a breath of fresh air to receive such attention and loving affection from this woman who, at one point, Castiel would’ve considered another monster to eradicate. She still had that lotion from last time, rubbing it all over their bodies as Bessie and Castiel fell into the bed, the pair of them bouncing upon impact. 

After lounging in miserable cold, it felt damn good to be coated in sinful warmth.

She got wetter the whole time. Her breasts practically melted in Castiel’s mouth. He turned off his mind, reacting solely on physical instinct. Bessie pulled at his dark strands of hair as his strong arms wrapped around her slim waist. She sat atop his hard body as his hard cock plunged deeply into her pussy. 

Bessie screamed wantonly as Castiel began to move inside her, as roughly as possible, which she adored. He moved her onto her back as he kept pounding her, over and over, as wildly as she wanted. But he was mortal now, so it didn’t take long, not nearly long enough for Castiel to cum.

“Ah!” He groaned as the semen spilled out from his dick into her eager womb. Bessie dug her nails into his broad backside, scratching him in satisfaction as she took in all he could give.

Castiel collapsed; Bessie chuckled as she felt the weight of him on her body, his chest pushing down on her tits. 

“I’m sorry, that was embarrassingly short,” the ex-angel said sheepishly.

“Better than most virgins,” Bessie replied breathlessly. “Better than most men, period.” She patted his sweaty head.

“Are you satisfied?” He asked her.

“And that’s why you’re better,” Bessie said. She peeked at his girth. “bigger too.” She said with a pleased smirk. “But since you asked, I can go again if you’re up for it.”

“Certainly,” Castiel said, sounding nearly content. Nearly, which unnerved Bessie; she could sense some sorrow was still plaguing the former angel.

The demon frowned. “What’s wrong, angel?” He never did say what troubled him so.

Castiel regarded his newfound lover. It wasn’t a secret…he supposed he could tell her—but it was so humiliating.

“Dean kicked me out of the bunker.”

Dean couldn’t remember the last time his brother rested. It was starting to freak him out. When he wasn’t running errands, Sam was exercising. When he wasn’t exercising, he remained in the bunker library, sifting through all the gathered knowledge the books and tomes had to offer. Gadreel hadn’t made a peep since his ultimatum that pushed Castiel out the door.

“Dean?” The hunter heard his brother’s voice as he slowly walked down the steps into the bunker. Great, another mess to clean up.

“What the hell happened today?” Sam asked, suspicion setting into his green eyes. “It feels like a blur.”

“Hunts are like that sometimes,” Dean said dismissively. He didn’t have the energy to bullshit his brother, not now, not after Cas.

“That’s not what I mean,” Sam replied. “I feel like I’ve lost hours of the day, plural. We were in Detroit, and I don’t even remember how I got there. Then we’re suddenly back here. I think Cas was in trouble, speaking of which, where is he?” 

The question made Dean’s heart drop in dismay. “He’s off running around with Bessie and Marion. Livin’ the vida loca and all that.” He hoped it was true, but he had no way of knowing for sure. Dean hadn’t heard from the former angel since his departure from the bunker. 

From when you kicked him out of the bunker, his traitorous mind supplied.

Sam frowned. “Really? Damn, that sucks.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, downcast.

“Is he okay?”

The elder Winchester shrugged. “You know, Cas. He always bounces back…eventually.”

“Yeah, but he’s human now. You sure you wanna leave him with those two? They’re enough for anyone to handle,” Sam said, a mix of concern and amusement on his face. 

“I just spoke to him,” Dean lied. “It’s an adjustment, but he’s happy.” But the tone in his brother’s voice didn’t placate Sam, who furrowed his eyebrows in worry. 

Just then, Marion stormed into the bunker. Her irate eyes found who they were searching for. 

“Marion? What’re you—” the demon swiftly punched Dean’s face. He fell onto his back sharply with a stunned expression.

“That was for Cas.” She disappeared in the next breath. 

“What the hell was that?” Sam wondered anxiously. But Dean knew. The elder Winchester was more than aware so he couldn’t even get angry at the demon. Deep down, he believed he deserved that punch. 

Cas, Dean thought forlornly.

Chapter Text

“That was nice,” Cas said as he and Bessie lay in bed after their second round this morning. He was busy looking up at the ceiling, unable to look the she-demon in the eye despite what they just shared.

“Is that all, suga?” Bessie teased with a knowing smirk. “Maybe I’m losing my touch. I used to get paid the worth of a whole house for what I just did to you.”

“Oh no,” Cas stammered, “I think you were exce—”

“I’m joshin’ you, hun,” Bessie slapped his bicep playfully. “Honest. I’m glad you had fun. You did have fun, right?”

“I did,” Cas affirmed. “Thank you.”

Bessie fetched him some water and fresh towels to clean up.

“Oh, thank you,” Cas said. Bessie watched him as he wiped away the excess semen after gulping down all the water in the glass the she-demon handed him.

“So I had an idea,” she said, “but feel free to shoot me down if you ain’t for it, angel.”

“Bessie, please,” Cas replied, “I’m not an angel anymore.”

“Hey,” Bessie caressed his stubbled face, “once an angel, always an angel. You’ll never be less in my eyes, suga.”

Castiel held her warm gaze, “What was your idea?”

Bessie bit her lip lasciviously.

Sam hadn’t heard from Jess in days. Something was wrong. But what was worse, he couldn't remember certain things. Several hours of the last few days…or was it weeks? Waking up, going to sleep, bathing, eating, jogging? Sam couldn’t remember most of it. He hadn’t felt this bad since…

Since he’d been possessed. 

But that was impossible…right?

Why would he be possessed anyway? He still had the tattoo, which should bar any demon that would try. 

But what if it wasn’t a demon?

No. Not anything else. Ghosts, that didn’t make sense. Specters — Sam would’ve had to touch something, and he was careful not to touch anything strange, especially in the bunker. From what he skimmed through the catalog, quite a few cursed objects could spur such a thing.

Everything’s fine. 

“Everything’s fine.” Sam echoed strangely. It had to be…

Right?

He dialed Jessica’s number. He knew it by heart, of course. “Hey, Jess. It’s me. Again. Sorry, but I miss you. I miss talking to you and hearing your voice. I know you’re busy, but it’s funny…I can’t remember what you’re doing out there, away from me. Jesus, I sound like a possessive jerk. It’s just…when I finally got you back in my life…it helps to know you’re back, that you’re here. That no matter how bad or out of control my life gets, you’re there, ready to listen and take care of me. Or me to take care of you. Just call me back…please.”

Ten minutes later, he got a message. It was a picture of a teddy bear—one that very much resembled the one Sam had won Jess at the county fair they drove to for their fifth date. 

They had a lot of fun that day, despite the childish games, shitty food, and bumpy rides. It was the first time Sam recalled laughing so freely without a care in the world. 

I saw this, and it made me think of you, the text from Jess read.

It made Sam smile. 

Did you buy it?   He replied via text.   If you do, you can pretend it’s me cuddling you. 

You should get one, too. I love you. I’m sorry I’ve been so distant. I found something important. I’ll come back tomorrow. We can talk then, I promise.

Something important. What could it be?

Sam couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling coiling in the back of his head. 

I made you cookies—

“Ah!”

“Sam?” Dean popped his head into Sam’s room. “Everything okay?”

“Um,” Sam opened his eyes. He kept getting migraines, the frequency surging as the days flew by. Should he go to a hospital? “Yeah. Nothing some aspirin won’t fix.”

“Atta boy. Listen, I gotta head out for a few days,” Dean said.

Oh? “A case?”

“Maybe. It’s Cas. He might’ve found something. He needs me to head out to help.”

“Just you?” Sam asked. 

“I mean, yeah,” Dean said dismissively. “Anyway, I called Jess.”

He called Jess? Sam thought that was odd. Dean could barely stand Jess, but he called her ? How did he even know her number? And she answered Dean when she didn’t for Sam?

What the fuck?

“You called Jess?” 

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. It was to get your girl here so you wouldn’t be alone.” Dean said. “I figured you two could make the most of having so much space for yourselves.” He gave Sam a wink.

“Right.” He should tell Dean about Jessica’s texts. She told Sam she wouldn’t return until the next day, but if Jess told Dean she would come sooner…

“You sure you’re good?” Dean asked once more.

“I'm fine, Dean.” Sam maintained. 

No, you're not. A small voice declared in Sam's mind.

“Alright, I'll call when I get out there.” Dean slammed his hand on Sam's door. He went off to pack for his trip. But Dean naturally wasn't honest with his brother, though it was about something different for once. 

The other day, Dean received an SMS message from Bessie, of all people. Naturally, she knew what went down with Cas, and Dean was aware at this point that Cas was staying with her and Marion, as the two female demons were never far apart.

When Dean checked the message on his phone, he realized it was a video. One of Cas and Bessie together. They were naked, and they were fucking. He received the video at midnight. 

Dean was floored, speechless. For a moment, he thought he was being punked or spammed, hacked somehow on his phone since he knew people could do that nowadays — but that wasn't the case. It was a quick video, no more than thirty seconds of raw footage of Cas just pounding the shit outta Bessie's pink, hairless, wet pussy.

Dean's dick never got so hard so fast. He nearly cracked his phone from gripping it so tightly. 

Dean had been worried about Cas, wondering how he was fairing out in the big bad world after the hunter showed him the door. 

But Cas was fine, more than fine, given how carefree he looked in the frame that captured the former angel's face. He'd been sweaty, too. So sweaty, practically glistening. He groaned so roughly, and Bessie moaned so sweetly. 

Knowing that it was him pounding her vagina and hearing those slick sounds….

If it hadn't been so short, it would’ve been some of the best amateur porn Dean ever saw. After involuntarily watching the clip for an hour straight, he couldn't touch the phone for a while. His thumb had a mind of its own as it had automatically rewound the video from the beginning repeatedly. Dean prayed Sam was asleep or unable to hear what he was hearing, let alone how Dean was reacting. His body had gone from shock to arousal to post-orgasmic bliss in that same hour.

Dean blamed it on the fact he hadn't seen any action for some time. How could he? He didn't have the time between Sam's quest to die shutting Hell down and Cas going off to lose his grace.

However, it was alarming to experience such a reaction to Bessie…and Cas. Later, Cas called Dean. Dean answered his phone without a thought and didn't realize who he was speaking to until he heard the voice on the other line.

“Dean.”

“Cas?” Dean became rigid when he recognized the former angel's voice. 

“Hello,” Cas stated awkwardly.

“Uh, hi,” Dean said, glad to hear his voice despite everything. He missed the son of a bitch. 

“I might have a case for you,” was the next thing Cas chose to say.

“Oh, is that right?” Cas always tended to cut to the chase.

“Yes, four missing in Rexford, Idaho. All are presumed dead, but none of the bodies have been released to their loved ones. There are reports of strange substances at the scenes.”

“So you're in Idaho?” Dean asked. 

“I'm close enough that it drew my eye.” 

“So you wanna meet up at the latest scene?” Dean suggested as he overheard some background noise on Castiel's end. 

“Um…okay, I can do that.” Cas finally said back.

“Alright, can you text me the info?”

“I will. Goodbye, Dean.” The ex-angel hung up the phone without a reply from Dean. The hunter wasn't sure, but Cas sounded bereft at the end of the call. 

No, it's fine. Stop being a girl. He chided himself as he rushed to bag the essentials for the road. 

Jess was already by the entrance as Dean headed towards the garage where his Baby awaited. Sam had his arms around her, holding her tightly. 

“I missed you,” Dean could hear Sam say. The couple didn't notice Dean’s presence yet. 

“I miss you too,” Jess said. Sam noted the same melancholy tone that Dean did, which made the elder Winchester stiffen with tension. 

“But I'm right here, babe,” Sam said, anxiety seeping into his voice. 

“I'm sorry, brain fart,” Jess finally said after a moment. “So, what have you been up to?”

“Not much after Cas. Hey, listen –” Dean took that as his cue to interrupt the lovebirds.

“Oh good, you made it,” Dean said as he carried his bags, setting them down for the moment. Jess took a step back from the mildly befuddled Sam, a slight frown worn on his face. 

“Yeah, I did.” Jess brushed her hand across Sam’s back to soothe him. “Sam and I are due for some quality time.”

“Sam, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Dean slung his bags back across his shoulder. 

“There’s plenty of things you do that I would never do,” Sam responded.

“Don’t hate me cuz I’m a badass,” Dean said on his way out, “Later, losers!”

Sam and Jess stood awkwardly beside each other, as neither knew what to say. The younger Winchester couldn’t help but feel worse now than he did when Jess was just a vengeful demon. At least then, dialogue wasn’t an issue. He knew where he stood with Jess and why. Now…they were at odds, but he didn’t know why. The wall between was invisible and apparently expansive, preventing the couple from making their way back to each other.

“Sam?” Jess said to her fiance. “I'm sorry I've been away. I know I've been distant, but that's only because I've had so many things on my mind.”

“Like what?” Sam wondered anxiously.

“There's something I've been searching for, something important,” Jess told him. “I've wanted to talk to you about it, but I’m not sure how to say it.”

“Baby, just say it. Just try, please.” Sam pleaded. 

Jess held his earnest gaze. “What's the last thing you remember from the trials?”

Sam's chest tensed up.

“If you can't remember, that's okay,” Jess said. 

“What are you doing?” Sam’s face tensed up, but it wasn’t the young Winchester anymore. It was Ezekiel, whose angelic presence burned through, temporarily blinding the demon Jess. 

“Listen,” Jess grimaced, “Sam’s too smart not to realize something’s wrong. I don’t know what Dean’s told you, but you can’t just take over his mind with Sam none the wiser. He keeps worrying about how much time has passed and why he can’t remember anything. So if you want to get away with possessing Sam, you need to let me clear up a few things.”

Ezekiel regarded her for a moment. “What do you suggest?” The angel was aware of how deeply Sam felt for this demon woman. He would be disturbed if Jess were cut out of his life. Losing her the first time was so painful he wouldn’t reconcile with a second death. 

“Let him remember certain things: his collapse after what I told him about our son. I’ve been looking for our child since you took over. Let me talk to him about that. He’ll be so wrapped up in the prospect of facing our child that he won’t even care about anything else. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Ezekiel stood still momentarily as he selected specific memories from before the possession to filter through to Sam’s consciousness. 

“Sam?” Jess said after a pause. 

“I remember falling, losing consciousness,” Sam was back. “Because I didn’t finish the demon trials.” He realized.

“And you didn’t finish the trials because?” Jess prodded gently.

Sam’s face fell into despair. “Oh God…our son. Jess…” he grabbed her tightly, his face mixed with fear and regret. “We have a son.”

“Yes,” Jess replied. We do.” A child was often considered a blessing, a miracle, and it would've been for the young couple in any other case. But under these circumstances, it was a tragedy. Their only child had been on his own for years at a time, surviving as a beast instead of a nurtured boy.

“We have to find him,” Sam said worriedly. “Have you found him?”

“Actually, yeah, I think I have. Marion’s been helping me out. He roams around often but tends to return to one specific area.” Jess explained. 

Sam hadn’t returned to the place since it happened, since he died. He felt a chill every time he thought about it. His death. That first one on April 29, 2007. The knife slipping into his back, the way the air seeped from his lungs so fast. How easily he fell onto his knees, and he couldn’t even feel his legs. How hard Dean had cried over him, clutching at his dying body until Sam couldn’t hear anything anymore.

It took all night to drive up there. Neither Jess nor Sam bothered to say a word, the pair of them so tense and quiet that a pin could echo between them. Both of them prayed wildly that there was still a child of theirs left to save.

“Jess,” Sam said finally as they exited the car. “What are we going to do with a child?”

“Raise him,” Jess shrugged. “He’s ours, yours and mine. He has no one else in the world. It’s on us to be there for him and provide him everything he needs.”

“I’m pretty sure I just outdid my father on shitty parenting,” Sam said with a bitter chuckle.

“Sam, you didn’t know,” Jess responded, understanding what he was getting at.

“That doesn't matter to him,” Sam said of their child. “The fact that we weren’t there, for years at a time, that’s all he’s gonna remember because we were so wrapped up in our own bullshit we couldn’t be bothered to take care of him!” 

“Are you referring to the world ending almost twice as bullshit?” Jess sighed. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. I had eyes on him, and I just let him get away.” Jess confessed tearfully. “I was too…”

“Hey,” Sam enveloped his lover in his arms, cradling her face, “it’s not just on you. It’s on us. We share everything.”

“You still wanna be with me?” Jess asked. “I feel like I’ve been the shittiest girlfriend.”

“I will always want to be with you, Jess,” Sam kissed her softly. “You could never be shitty.”

“Oh my God,” Jess shrieked. “A name! Our son doesn’t even have a name!”

“Shit,” Sam frowned. “How about Aaron?”

“Aaron?”

“Yeah…Aaron Winchester.” Sam said, a faraway look of bliss blooming in his eyes.

“I like it, but we’ll have to see if he does,” Jess said nervously, darting her head around. 

“What? Do you sense him?” Sam asked, noting the change in his fiance’s demeanor.

“I think so,” Jess grabbed Sam’s hand firmly, leading him forward in search of the child that lurked nearby. 

Their child.

As they walked, the boy appeared before the couple, snarling aggressively as he remained covered in his own filth. He smelled of blood, urine, and bile. Sam and Jess were dismayed at the sorry state of their long-lost child. 

“Aaron?” Sam tried. The boy hissed. The tall Winchester knelt on his knees upon the soft haunted grounds, maintaining eye contact with the wild child. “I’m Sam. We’ve been looking for you. But you know that, don’t you?”

The child growled as Sam moved two steps forward to get closer. “You were watching us, testing us with all those pieces you left us, messages that you sent us. You wanted us to know about you, to understand who you are to us. We’re here for you; we’re just sorry it took us so long to get you. We want to take you with us, raise you, and care for you. You belong with us.”

Jess squatted down gently. “Let us take care of you.” 

They waited patiently as the boy approached, not giving a damn about how bad he smelled or how offensively filthy he appeared. He crawled forward, sniffing at both Sam and Jess repeatedly. His erratic breathing and movements calmed down as his eyes darted wildly between hunter and demon. 

“Aaron?” The boy stared at Sam. “Do you like that name? Aaron?” 

The boy huffed affirmatively. 

“Okay, Aaron, it is. C’mon,” Sam said earnestly as Jess smiled in hope. “Let’s go home.” 

The address Cas had provided was a drive and a half, but when Dean finally arrived, he parked nearby a sizable colonial home with a stained-glass front door. 

So this is where the former angel had been living it up with the demon chicks? Dean mused uneasily. Lord only knows what kind of bullshit those women would’ve dragged Cas into since he departed from the bunker. If that video sent to Dean’s phone was any indication…

No! He had to focus up. He was on a case, dammit.

“Cas!” Dean bellowed to see if anyone was home. After a moment, someone opened the front door, revealing Marion wearing a flattering black dress, her makeup somewhat runny, and a frown on her beautiful brown face. “Oh heeeeeeeell no,” she said irately as she glanced at Dean in displeasure. 

“Who is it honey—” Bessie quieted as she appeared at Marion's side, wearing an equally appealing outfit and an unamused frown as she watched Dean shuffle his feet awkwardly on the welcome mat by the doorway. 

Dean shouldn’t be intimidated by these demon chicks, but the icy reception he was getting made his throat so dry it made it hard to swallow. “Listen, is Cas here?”

“You don't get to ask about him!” Marion snapped acerbically. 

“Consider your angel man privileges revoked, suga,” Bessie said derisively. 

“You don't–”

“Don't understand?” There were neighbors around the property, some drifting nearby to hear the raucous scene Marion was stirring up. “Oh, I understand: you kicked his ass to the curb.”

“And after everything he did for you.” Bessie shook her head in disapproval. “He was in pieces when I found him.”

“Lucky she did find him; he would've shriveled up and died if not for sweet Bessie!” Marion pointed out.

“Hold on,” Dean cut in, “we're not talking about some little kid—”

“No, we're talking about someone who gave up everything for your bitch ass!” Marion replied hotly. “And what does he get in return? Fucked over and dumped on the streets. You a cold ass man Dean Winchester. Worse than your father.”

“Fuck you!” Dean barked. Bessie moved to strike him, but Marion gripped her shoulder. Despite his defensive words, there was guilt in Dean’s green eyes.

“It's alright, baby,” Marion held the hunter’s gaze. “Think twink bitch over here's starting to get the bright idea. We’ll tell you where Cas is.”

“You will?” Dean said in a tone of apprehension. 

“We will?” Bessie remarked at the same time, surprised. 

“Obviously, he's not here,” Marion said of the house she stood in with Bessie. “He's out working a job cuz he ain't interested in being a freeloader, sweet, beautiful angel man that he is.”

“He is a keeper, that one,” Bessie said smugly. “Helps around the house here, so eager to please.” She gave Dean a knowing glance, seeing as she was the one who sent that little video to Dean. He wondered if Marion knew about it.

“Let me tell you something, boy,” Marion said to Dean. “You make Cas cry again; I'll take my time scratching out those balls you got for eyes.”

Of all the jobs he could’ve taken, Cas chose a cashier position in a Gas n Sip. The fuck was he doing there, Dean wondered as he pulled up to the gas station outside. The hunter was shocked to see the former angel running inside wearing a blue staff vest. Dean stood outside the storefront observing Cas in his customer service demeanor, manning the register, hauling boxes, and talking with regular folks as if he hadn’t lived previously as an ancient, otherworldly being for thousands of years.

“You just gonna watch him like a fuckin’ creep, or are ya gonna talk to him?” Marion sassed, snapping Dean out of his reverie. 

Dean presented the demon with the finger. “Fuck off. I’ll go when I’m good and ready.” 

“Then you won’t mind if we go ahead and tip him off,” Bessie said as she and Marion began to walk towards the store. 

“Wait, dammit!” Dean marched into the store without delay, but Cas was so wrapped up in handling customers’ purchases that the ex-angel didn’t notice Dean. The hunter kept to the back part of the store as there seemed to be a line of people waiting to buy snacks, drinks, magazines, and other stuff. 

Dean could feel his pulse acutely, blood boiling under his skin. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous all of a sudden - it was just Cas. They were cool, right? It was true that Dean didn’t explain why Cas couldn’t stay at the bunker anymore, but it’s not like he did things without reason or out of pure maliciousness. Cas had to know that, right?

Right ?

The line moved through sooner than Dean thought, and in moments, Dean was face to face with Castiel for the first time since the bunker. 

The former angel remained still in shock, taken aback to be encountered by Dean Winchester, of all people. 

“I’ll take some beef jerky and a pack of menthols,” Dean said with a smile. There was a fair chance Cas wouldn’t laugh at that, but it never stopped the hunter before. 

Castiel took a beat before blinking and warily asking, “What are you doing here?” 

“Gee, it’s nice to see you too, Cas,” Dean replied. At least Cas wasn’t threatening to kick his ass. 

“I go by Steve here,” Castiel gestured to the bright nametag pinned over his chest upon his blue uniform vest. “I wasn’t expecting you to come here.” 

“You called me over to this town in the first place,” Dean pointed out. “Why wouldn’t I come to see you?” 

Castiel held his gaze. “Certainly, it’s not to request my assistance with the case itself if it is something you can investigate on your own. As I’ve heard others say, it was just a hunch.”

“I just came from the crime scene in town,” Dean informed, “It’s definitely my kinda thing. But I thought I’d stop by and get you to check out a few more leads, seeing as you pointed this case my way...”

“Because I don’t have anything better to do?” Castiel’s eyebrow perked up, a mild frown upon his human face. 

Dean stiffened. “Did you just start your shift or somethin’?” 

“No. I'm actually almost done for the day,” Cas informed. 

“Great,” Dean stuttered awkwardly but mildly annoyed. So what the fuck was up with the attitude?

“I still have to clean the bathroom, though,” Castiel said pointedly, frowning more to himself, sighing over the absurd amount of feces that humans produced. He had also been alarmed to discover the messy habits that people practiced when using a public bathroom. Some people didn’t bother sitting down or cleaning up after themselves, leaving toilet paper wet with urine all over the toilet seat. “I’m surprised you want me to join you, considering how worthless I am without my powers.” 

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed. “Who said you were worthless?” 

Cas was about to say something, but Marion and Bessie also chose to enter the store then, seeing as there were currently no more strangers for customers. “Hey angel-man!” Marion crooned as she approached the two men. “I’ve come to make my daily offer.” 

Castiel rolled his eyes. “We’ve been over this Marion…” 

“Yeah, but I’m not gonna stop,” Marion turned to Dean to explain. “Every day since he’s taken this job, I’ve offered to clean the bathroom so Angel-face doesn’t have to do it himself, mortal man that he is nowadays.” 

“I was hired to clean the bathroom on top of my other responsibilities,” Castiel reminded the demon. “I will not shirk what was entrusted to me.” Blue eyes shifted over to Dean. “I’d never do that.” 

Dean swallowed. “I mean, I can wait.” He said awkwardly.

“You don’t have to,” Cas insisted stiffly. “You can go ahead without me. I’d probably just slow you down.” 

“You’re a hunter in training, though,” Dean offered. 

“I thought I sucked,” Cas reminded the hunter of his harsh words during the case with Fred Jones. 

“C’mon, I didn’t mean it like that,” Dean said almost nervously.  

“Yeah, you do that a lot,” Cas said, voice level. “Say many things you don't mean .” 

Bessie’s amusement couldn’t be contained as she and Marion gleefully watched Dean shuffle awkwardly under the contained, furious gaze of the former angel Castiel.

“So, are you gonna clean the toilet, or am I?” Marion asked after a very long pause. Cas sighed. 

“Sure,” Cas frowned. “Knock yourself out.” He never once glanced at her, though. His eyes remained on Dean.

Marion smirked as she went to work. Bessie stayed behind with her, helping herself to a lollipop.

Dean couldn’t recall a time when the car ride had been so tense with Cas in the shotgun. The former angel sat despondently as he purposefully stared out of the car window, facing away from Dean as the two remained quiet while Dean drove them to the latest crime scene in town.

After some minutes, Dean finally put the Impala in park. Cas didn’t hesitate to rush out of the passenger seat, walking toward the groups of people gathered together in the wake of a young person’s abrupt demise.

Cas hung back as Dean trudged forward to question a teenage girl who’d been a friend of the new victim. As she explained what the dead girl was doing just before her death, Dean’s eyes kept drifting toward Cas as the ex-angel bore a worried expression, his blue eyes transfixed on a school bus where the victim’s blood remained splattered. He wandered back to the Impala, and Dean quickly excused himself to see what was bothering Cas. 

That was, aside from seeing Dean, apparently.

“Cas, what’s going on?” Dean asked his friend. 

“I’ve seen this before,” Cas said in concern. “Dean, this is bad.” He displayed a nervous glance in the direction of the gathered crowds. “We need to go. I can’t talk about this here.” 

Dean frowned as he obliged, and both men entered the Impala. Dean then drove them out of the school grounds. 

“Alright, spill Cas. What’s going on?” Dean pressed. 

“On the battlefields of Heaven, there was a special class of angels: the Rit Zien. which in Enochian translates to ‘hands of mercy.’ They functioned like medics and tended to the wounded. They healed those who could be healed, but for the mortally wounded, those who were past saving, it fell to the Rit Zien to put them down.” Cas explained.

“Shit.” Dean blinked as he drove, “what about the granulated bodies?” 

“That was their specialty. Their smiting was so efficient it rendered death virtually painless.” 

“But they’re not vaporizing angels this time. These have all been humans.” 

Cas pondered for a moment. “The Rit Zien hone in on pain — it's like a beacon to them. When this specific angel fell to earth, he must’ve heard the victims' cries and anguish, the same as he'd hear an angel's in Heaven. He must be continuing his heavenly work down here, one suffering human at a time.”

Dean pointed out, “This last victim was not suffering. She was just a normal, moody kid.”

Cas shook his head. “The ebb and flow of human emotion – Dean, I've been on earth for a few years, and I've only begun to grasp it. To him, pain is pain.”

“So everyone’s fair game?” Dean scoffed. 

“Unfortunately.”

“We gotta stop this guy,” Dean said determinedly. 

“We?” Cas said with trepidation. 

“You want me to do this solo?” Dean’s eyebrows were raised. What the hell was Castiel’s problem?

“I thought I might get in your way,” Cas explained. 

“Cas, you just gave me a bunch of info that helped me figure out what the fuck was doing this to the people in town,” Dean argued. “I need you with me on this. You can distract this dickless asshat while I go in for the kill.” 

Cas stared into Dean’s eyes as he weighed the hunter’s request. He hadn’t been involved in a supernatural confrontation since April, and that didn’t end well. If not for divine intervention, Cas would be long dead. Besides, being at Dean’s side again, as a human no less, stirred up emotions Cas was not ready to handle. His pulse was racing, even more than when he was inside of Bessie. His chest felt heavy, and his stomach wasn’t queasy but definitely excited. 

Cas was overwhelmed. But Dean was right. The hunter had no prior knowledge of the Rit Zien. He’d be trying to fight an angel, no less, and one who still had their powers. Dean could certainly use the help. But perhaps this angel was confused. Maybe he wasn’t as malicious as Dean suspected. Could Cas get through to him? Could he, for once, get something right and stop further bloodshed?

“Okay,” Cas said finally. “I’ll go with you, but on one condition — let me talk to him. Enough angels have died.”

“Seriously?” Dean said irately. Cas continued gazing at the hunter, imploring him wordlessly with his eyes. 

Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. “Fine. But he tries anything funny; I’m putting the Kevorkian wannabe down, got it?” 

Dean got a call back from the town sheriff. The blood spatter from the first set of victims turned out to be only one person — a married couple whose bodies had seemingly been destroyed. But the husband was currently unaccounted for. 

“He was already a bit screwy, but then he found religion,” the sheriff elaborated. His wife was a hardline atheist, no peach herself, but when he got obsessed with this Buddy Boyle whack job, an already lousy marriage got worse. The husband kept telling his wife to ‘Let God in, ’ whatever that means.”

Buddy Boyle was gaining traction as a preacher who, as of late, timely as it started after the Fall, pleading to anyone who’d listen to let God in – but by God, he meant the dozens of angels who kept possessing people, dozens more humans dying in the process. Boyle took his preachings to the internet to grab a more expansive, receptive audience. The preacher had been on Dean’s radar for some weeks after Ezekiel pointed him out to remain useful to the elder Winchester.

Just another problem Dean had to deal with.

“Castiel,” a young man called out to the former angel on a vacant street where Cas and Dean had been wandering, searching for the rogue celestial being. The sheriff had been helpful enough to share a picture of what the missing husband looked like. The man who called out to Castiel matched the photo Dean was given. 

“Oh shit,” Dean reached for his gun. Cas grabbed the hunter’s wrist as he faced the Rit Zien. 

“Ephraim,” Cas replied, recognizing the celestial being before them.

“You remember my name?” He scoffed in bitterness. “I was just a nobody when we met, but you – you were a legend. You've been on Earth before. This is my first time, and it's ... intense.”

“That’s an apt description for the experience,” Cas noted. “Why have you sought me out, Ephraim?”

“Isn’t it obvious, brother?” The Rit Zien responded. “I’ve come to free you of your suffering.” 

“Like you did those poor people?” Dean snapped at the celestial creature. 

“Dean, please,” Cas said. The hunter bristled at being shushed like a child who spoke out of turn.

“Those people are in a better place now,” Ephraim declared. 

“Are they, brother?” Cas challenged. “Tell me, how many humans have died since the Fall? What becomes of their souls when all of us are running around lost in the wilderness?”

Ephraim could not provide an answer, his face downcast. 

“You know what becomes of souls when they remain in limbo,” Cas urged, “the angels must return to Heaven.” 

“It was not my doing that caused the Fall,” Ephraim said pointedly. 

“No,” Cas relented. “It was not. But you deserve — you all deserve to go back home. And I want to get you there.” 

“How do you propose to do that?” 

Another angel appeared this time, just beside Castiel, making Dean curse in exclamation. “Dammit! Warn a guy next time!” 

Dean’s cries were ignored. 

“Ion,” Cas turned to the new arrival. The Rit Zien appeared to recognize him. 

“You’re working with Castiel?” Ephraim was stunned. “Of all angels?” 

“I am,” Ion confirmed. “When Castiel would have slain me, he chose to spare me. It takes wisdom of the mind and courage of the heart, brother, to save someone others would condemn.” 

“Go with him, Ephraim, please,” Cas implored.

“Dozens of us have gathered in the wake of the Fall,” Ion said. About twelve more angels flocked around Ephraim, Cas, and Ion on cue. Dean didn’t care for this sudden gathering. The notion of all the angels teaming up — even if it was all in the name of returning to Heaven, the hunter couldn’t suppress the uneasiness forming in his gut.

“Gathered with you?” Ephraim said, taken aback. “Of all angels?” 

“Ion cannot change what he’s done in the past any more than I can,” Castiel argued. “All we can do is ask that you join us and work with us to get the angels back where they belong.” 

Ephraim looked at all the angels that had gathered together, of various ranks and ages. 

“But you cannot interfere with the humans any longer. One hunter has already become aware of your handiwork.” Cas gestured toward Dean. “Any more would cause further hindrances.” 

Ephraim frowned. “So I’m just supposed to ignore all the pain I’m sensing?” 

“Pain is a necessary part of the human experience,” Castiel told the Rit Zien. 

“And what about you, Castiel?” Ephraim challenged. “Your celestial essence is gone as far as I can see. So how will you go on? As an angel? Or as a man?”

Castiel would have to decide that for himself. Part of him hoped that somehow his grace could be restored to him. But what if such an opportunity never came? 

Who would Castiel be, then? 

“Come, brother,” Ion said to Ephraim, and thankfully, the Rit Zien didn’t put up a fight. The other angels followed the pair as they all began to leave. 

Castiel was glad to have spared Ion. He was really coming into his own. The angel began transmitting psychic messages to Cas, letting him know what developments were transpiring after the ex-angel prayed to Ion and notified him about what Metatron had wreaked upon the forces of Heaven. He was equally thankful to Ion for helping as he had. Cas could only hope that Ion’s change of heart towards the aim of good stayed the course. 

“Well then,” Dean stowed his weapons as he was left without a monster to kill. 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said to the hunter drily. “I know it’s unfortunate that you’ve been denied a beast to slay.” 

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed. Great. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means you were perhaps a little too eager to slay another angel,” Castiel said acrimoniously. 

“Excuse me for wanting to put down the fucker that killed a bunch of people like a rabid dog!” Dean snapped. “It’s not like I’m out here doin’ this for kicks!” 

“I know Ephraim had to be stopped,” Cas said. “But he didn’t have to be killed without a second thought.” 

“Why’d you even do that anyhow?” Dean questioned Castiel’s choice to spare the Rit Zien. 

“Because, in case you haven’t noticed, Dean, I am once again at odds with my kin. Former kin at this rate,” Cas frowned. “I have to try to make good with them, seeing as they’re the closest thing to family I have left in this world.” 

“You make it sound like you have no one else,” Dean sniped. 

“I don’t,” Cas said acidly. 

“Oh, is that how it is?” Dean replied hotly. 

“You tell me, Dean,” Cas challenged, stepping into the hunter’s personal space. Once, it was an eccentric trait of the former angel. But now it was dangerous. Sure, Cas no longer had the angelic grace or magic strength to break Dean like a twig, but he was a man. Smaller than Dean, but not by much. “You’re the one who threw me away like garbage the second I was no longer of use to you.” 

The ex-angel clearly wanted to fight, not just about the angels but about what happened back at the bunker the last time Cas was there. The hunter was fed up. Dean tried to leave, but Cas called out, “Of course you leave.”

Dean turns back to say, “You just wanna bitch at me!” Fuck being tactful. Couldn’t Cas see it from his side?

“The way you bitch at me for the slightest mistakes, honest mistakes I made for your sake,” Cas countered, “all so that you can keep your brother alive at the expense of countless angels, my own kin that I slaughtered for you! I don't even get so much as a thank you! Not that I demand it, but it would be nice to hear it.”

“Okay,” Dean snarked dismissively, “is that it?”

Cas frowned, “You didn’t hear a word I said.”

“I heard plenty. You said that I'm a hypocrite and an asshole who never says thank you. Am I supposed to thank you for killing innocent people? For working with Crowley, who we all know is a shady motherfucker?” Dean barked. 

“Your brother’s alive, isn’t he?” Cas shot back. “Apparently, that is the ONLY thing that matters to you. Damn everything and everyone else.”

“Well fuck me for trying to keep my brother alive!”

“You say it as though you have no one else in your life, BUT your brother,” Castiel said bitterly.  “And if that is how you see your life, Dean, you should ask yourself why. Because I’m fairly certain Sam doesn’t regard you as the only significant relationship in his life.”

Dean flinched. 

“What?” Blue eyes dug into green. “Nothing to say for yourself?” It seemed to make Castiel angrier somehow. 

Dean’s eyes hardened. “You seemed to be doin’ just fine without me.” 

“If not for the charity of two demons,” Cas argued coldly, “I’d probably be dead.”

Dead? No… Dean thought sullenly. Not Cas. Those weeks after the Leviathans took over, they were the worst. Dean couldn’t go back there again -- to a world where Cas was gone.

“I had no money, no place of my own to call home, no proper means to which to protect or provide for myself.” Castiel continued his verbal assault, disarming the hunter that towered before him, one word at a time. “You did that to me. Because it was for you that I turned my back on my own kind because I chose to believe in you, of all things, Dean Winchester.” 

Dean stood rigidly as stone. 

“And how do you choose to repay me? Not by thanking me or trying to reciprocate my sacrifice, but by saying that my presence is an inconvenience to you, that you can no longer harbor me from those that would hunt me like a wild animal, that have hunted me ever since I began to defy them, all for your sake.”

Cas held the other man's gaze for a little longer, breathing in Dean's face. He didn’t know when the dam of outrage had burst, but the ex-angel could no longer contain his resentment. “Fuck you, Dean.” 

“What do you want from me?” Dean shouted desperately, at his wit’s end. The way Cas was telling it, Dean turned him away without so much as a thank you, not caring if Cas lived or died, and that wasn't true. Dean may have never thanked him, but he did care.

He cared a fucking lot.

Cas was no longer the fierce angelic being Dean had met just five years ago, but he still bore his eyes into Dean as if he knew everything that made Dean who he was without needing to exchange a single word. Like Cas intuitively knew his soul, inside and out. Perhaps Dean took that and took Cas for granted.

The way Cas was looking at him now…like he couldn't stand the sight of Dean at all, made the hunter feel more solemn than ever. 

“What do you want from me?” Dean remarked desperately, his voice echoing across the quiet street.

Before he knew what was happening, Cas rushed forward and kissed Dean thoroughly on the mouth, roughly and clumsily; the hunter's toes even stepped on as the former angel pushed his body into Dean's. It was only for a brief moment — perhaps for Cas one of insanity, inhibitions eroded in the wake of angry passion.

Castiel stumbled back abruptly, putting a foot's distance between himself and Dean, appearing as astonished as the hunter felt. 

His mouth was left completely ajar, Cas felt ashamed. “Dean—” All the hunter could do was stare at Castiel. His face was blank. Cas couldn't decipher if Dean were disgusted or not. “Dean, I'm so sorry. I should—”

But Dean didn't let him finish, as the Winchester launched himself onto the former angel Castiel, slamming Cas against the nearby wall behind. Cas thought he would be beaten for his unwanted advance. But no. 

That's not what Dean chose to do.

Cas felt lips instead of fists. Warmth in the place of blood, which boiled under Dean's touch. The heart that once belonged to Jimmy Novak beat so harshly Cas was convinced it would burst. He could barely breathe from how hard Dean was kissing him. 

Cas never felt more alive. 

Chapter Text

The next few hours became a hazy blur. Clothes were ripped off, shed away, and set aside. Lips wandered down the neck; hands traveled north and south.

Cas couldn't remember how they got to a motel. All he could summon from memory was the feel of Dean’s hands, the smell of his breath, and the taste of his –

Dean kept moving in his sleep. Cas was far too restless to surrender to the serenity of slumber. He'd barely been able to sleep a wink since he lost grace. There was always so much weighing on the mind of the ex-angel.

It wasn't the first time he watched Dean sleep — far from it — but this time was different. Cas kept drifting to what they did mere hours before the hunter drifted into unconsciousness.

Castiel remained in a state of disbelief that wouldn't wash away no matter what he tried. He debated whether or not the last few hours were even real. 

The sun had set an hour before Cas had kissed Dean. The sun began to rise two hours after Dean fell asleep, and Cas stayed awake, ruminating over what they had done. 

It didn't feel like this with Bessie. Not even close. She felt good, but Dean…

Dean felt right.

Sometime after the clock struck eight, Dean's phone rang. He hadn't set it silent, so the ringtone echoed in the motel room. Castiel glanced between the phone that sat innocuously on the nightstand and the slumbering Dean. The hunter made no move to pick up the phone, his eyes still shut.

Perhaps it's his brother, Cas pondered. The room was carpeted, so as the former angel snuck over to see, Dean's cell phone did, in fact, have the caller ID listed as Sam. 

Castiel picked up the phone. “Hello, Sam,” he said in a hushed whisper. 

“Cas?” The younger Winchester sounded surprised. “Hi. You have Dean's phone?”

“Oh, he's here, he's just…” Blue eyes went to Dean's resting form. He was shirtless, freckles on display across his back. “Resting. He had a very late night.”

“Yeah, I know that song and dance,” Sam didn't seem bothered about that. “Just have him call me back later, okay?”

“I will. Goodbye, Sam.” Cas hung up the phone without delay. It's not like he could carry on a conversation with Dean sleeping inches away. The older Winchester got such precious hours to rest. Without his grace, all that Cas could do to ensure Dean's rest was to be as quiet and calm as possible. 

Cas set the phone gingerly onto the nightstand where it lay before. Since he was on his feet, he searched for his articles of clothing that lay on the floor. One sock landed on the chair by the window. 

It was better that he left, right? Dean didn't like to talk about his feelings. He certainly wouldn’t want to discuss what transpired the night before. 

Also, Castiel had been harsh and unforgiving to Dean. Then they fell into bed together. It was not conducive to a positive bond. Even Castiel knew that much. 

And to think, Cas had been so wrought with Dean before. All that resentment dissipated the moment Dean took Cas into his arms.

He wandered to the front door, fully clothed. Cas had everything he came in with. He intended to exit the room, but Dean finally roused from his slumber.

“Where you goin’?” Dean asked throatily, with one bleary eye that peeked at Castiel’s frozen form at the door.

“I have to go back to work,” Cas said lamely, his hand gripping the doorknob fiercely.

“I’ve used that line,” Dean replied. “Gonna cut out and run on me?” He was fully awake now, moving forward to sit up on the bed. Castiel forgot Dean slept entirely nude for the night, setting the ex-angel's blood on fire.

Cas swallowed deeply. “That’s not how it is.”

“It isn’t?” Dean quirked up an eyebrow. “Cuz it sure looks like you’re leavin’ after lovin’ me.” His words sounded like an argument, but green eyes were searching blue.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Cas said. 

“You bothered me plenty last night.”

“Last night…” Cas didn’t quite know how to phrase his feelings without putting Dean off. 

“That bad, huh?” Dean said with a smirk, but the mirth didn’t reach his eyes. His green orbs were observant; Dean wanted to know where they stood with one another, notably if Castiel still harbored resentment.

Castiel said, “I’m perfectly willing to take responsibility for my actions if you’re willing to accept yours.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean responded, but Cas gave him a knowing look.

Right, the fight from last night. It felt more distant than one measly night ago.

“I never forced you to choose Cas. I never put a gun to your head.”

“I never said you did. But after everything I’ve done for your sake, I thought you appreciated me more than tossing me aside the second I’m not the powerful angel you can turn to for help anymore.”

Dean exhaled. “That’s not why I kicked you out.”

“Then why Dean?”

“Cuz of Sam, alright!”

Castiel was confused. “Sam doesn’t want me at the bunker?”

“No,” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “After you left for Heaven, Sam was in a bad way, and he kept getting worse. It looked like he was gonna die, so I made a call.”

Cas let go of the door, walking cautiously towards the hunter. “Dean, what did you do?”

Dean frowned. “What I had to.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything.”

“You can’t tell him,” Dean asserted. “Not a word of this; I mean it, Cas.”

“I won't betray your confidence, Dean.” Cas awaited Dean’s explanation. The Winchester exhaled. “I prayed to you, Cas. But you wouldn’t show up, cuz of the Fall, I guess, but I didn’t know that at the time, so I asked any angel that would show their face to help, and one did — Ezekiel is what he calls himself.”

Cas recognized the name. “Yes, I know him. He’s a good soldier.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Dean huffed, a frown on his face.

“Has he done something wrong?” 

“No, he’s helping Sam, keeping him alive, it’s just…”

Castiel wasn’t sure of Dean’s concern, “What?”

“He’s possessing Sam to do it.” 

“Possession? But that would require Sam’s consent. I didn’t think Sam would be willing to go through such a thing after Lucifer—” but the expression Dean bore gave Cas pause.

“Sam did consent, didn’t he?”

“There’s loopholes with that,” Dean divulged.

“Dean…” Cas said gravely, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I know, Cas,” Cas couldn’t say anything that Dean hadn’t thought of himself. “But I —”

“Couldn’t let him die,” Castiel finished for him. “I know. I know what he means to you.”

“So you don’t think I’m the worst brother in the world?” Dean asked half-heartedly.

Cas waited a beat before saying, “I think you’re a man in an impossible situation who made a decision that others might have made in your position.”

“Yeah?”

Cas nodded. “Yes.”

Dean exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Thanks.” He got up from the bed, his genitalia bouncing and swaying as he walked over to Cas, unwilling to cover his nudity. The ex-angel stiffened as Dean effectively trapped him, Cas unable to make a clean escape for the door. 

Dean towered over Cas, who was still perched on the edge of the unmade bed. “Now,” Dean drawled as his dick began to harden. “I can think of one way to spend the morning hours. You game?”

Cas swallowed deeply once more, pointedly ignoring the dick less than a foot away. But Dean’s green eyes were enchanting, making bad ideas like shirking work obligations sound like good ideas. “I told you, Dean. I have work.”

“Call out sick,” sounded more like an order than a suggestion. On cue, there was a knock at the motel room door.

“Yo!” Marion shouted from behind the door. “Let me the fuck in, or I’ll piss off the crackheads and hoes next door by causing a damn scene!” But the demon wouldn’t wait, opting to kick the door open as she strutted inside to see a very naked Dean with a withering erection.

“Oh damn!” Marion made a face of displeasure at seeing Dean in his birthday suit. 

“The fuck do you want?!” Dean said as he tried his best to cover his asscrack, keeping the sight of his dick away from the intrusive demon. But she wasn’t alone.

“There you are,” Bessie walked in, dressed in thigh-high stilettos and a furry orange top. “We've been worried sick about you! We didn't know where you were.”

Dean swore to the heavens, wondering why this was happening. That when he chooses to be naked, the she-demons swoop in.

“Cas baby sweetie, sugar pie honey bunch,” Marion said, clapping her hands at every word, “you can't just go off on your own like that. Anything could've happened to you!”

“I'm sorry. It wasn’t my intention to worry you,” Cas stammered as he screwed his eyes shut. The fact that Dean’s exposed penis was inches away from his face while Marion and Bessie were in the room was a tad overwhelming. “I should’ve called.” 

“We’re glad you’re okay,” Marion told him. 

“I think he’s a little better than okay,” Bessie looked between the former angel and the naked Dean.

“Right,” Marion’s eyes pointedly avoided Dean’s direction, “well, there’s no accounting for taste. Listen, Cas baby, do you want us to cover your shift? Manager’s askin’ after ya.” 

“We’d be more than happy to,” Bessie kept ogling Dean’s figure. “For you, darlin’.”

“Um,” Cas hesitated before relenting with a silent nod as Marion and Bessie exchanged a lascivious grin, “We’ll leave you to it then.” Marion exited the room. 

“Make sure to fuck him extra hard for me, doll,” Bessie winked at the ex-angel, who gulped as the women departed, leaving Dean and Cas alone once more in the quiet motel room.

The door shut behind the women. Dean turned back to Cas, his nude form looming over Castiel. “Now, where were we?”

Cas exhaled, “Dean…”

“Not interested in round two?”

“No, Dean…” Cas started to say, the full events replaying in his mind. He breathes deeply, summoning the courage before continuing. “Last night was more than I ever dreamed.” He paused as he noted, “I’ve never really dreamed of anything before. I never wanted anything before, but since first meeting you, I do. The desire has only grown since, never decreasing, never leaving me. I’ve never felt more than I did with you last night.”

While Dean was relieved to hear that Cas didn’t think their shared night was a mistake, he wasn’t prepared for how much it meant to Cas. It was too deep, too real. It was meant to be a night to blow off some steam, a reprieve, at least on Dean’s part. “Don’t tell me you’re falling in love with me,” Dean jested awkwardly. 

Cas hesitated, merely staring at the hunter before saying in a small voice. “No, I won’t say that.” 

“But you had fun, right?” Dean asked as he advanced forward, not touching Cas, but his exposed penis was hardening once again, swelling enough to graze the tip of Castiel’s chin.

“Yes,” Cas said definitely. “I did.” His blue eyes searched for Dean’s as he found the hunter smiling at him. 

“Then what do ya say to havin’ some more fun?” Dean moved his hips gently forward, his swelling dick caressing Castiel’s lips as the man stilled on the edge of the bed where he sat, feeling the girth and the heat and the wetness of the tip rub up against the stubble that grew on Castiel’s face.

Without further preamble, Cas inhaled half of Dean’s dick in one swallow, making the hunter’s knees buckle with a quickness. Dean had to fight the urge not to fall as he moaned deeply from the wet heat of Castiel’s mouth. His strong, callused hands stretched across Castiel’s dark locks as the man sucked with a fierceness Dean wasn’t prepared for. 

“Who taught you how to do this?” Dean groaned out as he thrust his hips into Castiel’s eager mouth. “Fuck…was it Bessie? Huh? I got that little home video she made.” 

Cas pulled back, “Yes, she asked me for permission to do that.”

“Don’t think I didn’t wonder about that,” Dean said hotly as he pushed Cas on his back on the bed, climbing all over him. He stopped when his crotch was once again directly in front of Castiel’s face. Dean’s dick, coated by the spit from Castiel’s mouth, rubbed up against Castiel’s jawline once again. “You kinky son of a bitch. A far cry from the guy who wouldn’t get it up for a workin’ girl.” 

“I didn’t want her,” Cas confessed, his eyes alight with desire. It sent a thrilling chill up Dean’s spine. Cas swallowed him again, making Dean throw his head back in pleasure. 

“Fuck,” Dean bit his lip in ecstasy as he thrust his hips further, Castiel’s hands traveling up the thighs wrapped around his neck. Every touch bestowed by Cas made Dean’s body twinge with fire. 

But the burn felt good. 

He didn’t last more than twenty minutes. Dean wasn’t a skinny man, not like he used to be but Cas never complained. Couldn’t talk much on account of gulping Dean’s dick down like water. Cas kept running his large hands all over Dean’s legs, all the way up to his hips, taking care to fondle the man’s balls every few minutes. The former seraph evidently had no issue breathing through his nose regardless of the veracity of Dean’s thrusts. 

Then every so often, Castiel’s fingers daringly trekked the lower back past Dean’s asscheeks, where the rim of his asshole was. Cas never breached the rim, but he kept touching it. It drove Dean crazy. He shouldn’t have let Cas do it. 

But the burn was addicting. 

“Agh, Cas, I’m —” but it came too soon, far too soon for Dean to warn him as the orgasm hit him like a freight train, crippling the hunter entirely. Dean seized up while Cas swallowed all his cum without hesitation or complaint. Dean’s energy was utterly tapped as he collapsed onto the bed, chest heaving and body coated in sweat.

That had to be the best blow job he’d ever gotten in his life. Best one by far, given to him by an ex-angel of all people. 

Life was funny sometimes. 

“Holy shit,” Dean exhaled as he made efforts to keep breathing. All Cas did was suck his dick, but it felt like so much more. 

“Are you okay?” Cas asked as he crawled over to Dean in mild concern, his head hovering above Dean’s. The hunter could smell his cock on Castiel’s breath, making his gut burn in pleasure.

“I’m good; I just…need a second.” 

“Was that good?” Cas asked next, blue eyes blinking at him.

Dean laughed breathlessly. “Yeah, Cas. You rocked my world,” he winked at the former angel. “You’re a top-notch dick sucker.”

“Oh,” Cas said awkwardly. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” Dean finally felt his energy returning to him. “So you want me to return the favor?” 

“Favor?” Cas gulped.

“Don’t get shy on me now,” Dean said huskily, choosing at the moment to pounce. He moved swiftly and launched himself onto Cas, who was now on his back. “It’s not fair that I get to have fun and you don’t.” Dean had thought of this more often than he’d admit. Weird things come up when touching yourself, flashes of all kinds of people — that's what Dean told himself. Cas invaded Dean’s mind a few times over the years when the hunter was driven by his lust. That’s how it started — flashes. Of Castiel’s overwhelming presence, the vessel he’d chosen to inhabit — those searching, inquisitive blue eyes. The full, chapped lips. The deep voice. The body he hid in the same suit and coat he wore day after day.

His mind would wander farther than Dean was prepared for. Glimpses of what it would be like to pin Cas down on a bed, put the angel on his toes for once, as Cas had thrown Dean off countless times — with his piercing eyes, with his persistent invasion of Dean’s personal space, with his earnest desire to help Dean in all he could. 

“I’ve got you now,” Dean said to the aroused Castiel. Dean got a good look last night at what Cas was working with downstairs. Dean was longer, but Cas had more girth than the Winchester. 

A mighty sword to swallow. Of course, a big guy like Cas would be hung. 

Then again, Cas was slimmer than Dean thought since he had never had a proper view of Castiel’s body before. If it was due to weight loss as a mortal, it made Dean’s heart pang with guilt. That’s why Dean had to make it up to him now and show Cas just how much Dean appreciates him.

Dean strips Cas of his clothes, one piece at a time. Echoing his actions of last night at a much calmer pace, Dean unwraps the mortal like a Christmas present. He shed off the blue worker’s vest and the button-down shirt that fit Cas like a glove, pausing to inspect Cas's slim stomach. No abs, but Dean doesn’t have them either. 

Dean pinches Castiel’s small nipples before proceeding onto the main course. Sliding down his very warm, thick thighs, Dean can feel his dick dragging across the sheets but doesn't give a damn. His green eyes are enraptured by the meat he's itching to taste. 

“Dean…” Cas moaned as he realized Dean was about to return the favor.

Dean winks at Cas. “Relax, angel, and try not to come too fast,” he teased as Dean dove forth and settled on the tip of Castiel’s dick. He gave it a long lick, able to taste the precum oozing out of Cas.

Cas moaned wildly once more. "I'm-I'm not an angel anymore."

"You'll always be an angel to me, baby," Dean crooned, giving Cas a cocky wink.

Cas went crazy with pleasure, moaning like a porn star and reveling in the high Dean was giving him. Dean went further, sucking him down thoroughly as Cas did for the hunter earlier. He could feel Castiel’s hands in his hair. With Castiel’s hard dick filling up his mouth, Dean decided to do him one better. Dean’s strong hands roamed across Castiel’s thick thighs and teased his large ballsack, but he didn’t stop there. As Dean sucked him down, his fingers moved over to the hole between Castiel’s asscheeks. 

“Dean…” Cas moaned once more, egging Dean on. The hunter proceeded to press on Castiel's asshole, the tip of his forefinger. It was quivering at Dean's touch. Dean put more and more pressure as he breached the hole, finding a tight warmth inside. Cas tugged the short strands of Dean's hair harder as he thrust harder and deeper into the hunter’s mouth. Dean hollowed his cheeks as he kept sucking. Cas didn't resist his finger at all, completely surrendering to Dean as he kept making him feel so good. 

“Dean,” Cas groaned out, “I'm going to —” Dean deepthroated him right then, sending Cas over the edge. “Ah!” The next thing Dean knew, his throat was overwhelmed with the briny taste of cum. Dean found himself swallowing every drop-down as Cas stiffened in the process of being drained so thoroughly, slowly coming down as Dean quickly pulled his finger from his asshole. Cas collapsed, completely worn out in a sheen of sweat.

Dean wiped his mouth before crawling over to Castiel’s side, the pair of them looping up at the plain, crusty ceiling above their heads. 

“So, did I do it?”

“Did you do what?”

“Did I rock your world?” Dean waggled his eyebrows as he turned to look at Cas, who returned his gaze. 

“Yes,” Cas said, “You did.”

“Great.” Dean swallowed his spit, which still tasted of Cas. There was a wild energy hanging above the two.

Cas kept his eyes trained on Dean. “Why?”

“What?”

“Why did you do this? Why did you let me…?” Cas couldn't even say the words to express what occurred. 

“Look, Cas, I'm not that deep,” Dean said. “I just wanted to blow off some steam. Seemed like you wanted to, too, seeing as you kissed me first.”

“That wasn't planned,” Cas noted. But it was apparent none of it was.

“Yeah, I got that,” Dean replied. “I know I'm an asshole, but I care in my own way. Kicking you out — that wasn't easy for me. Not in the slightest. I was worried about you.”

“You were?” He sounded so surprised. Fuck if that didn't piss Dean off.

“Of course.”

“Was this your way of making it up to me?”

“No. I don't think there's a way to make it up to ya, aside from some money, food, and an apology, so here goes: I'm sorry.” Dean said earnestly. “I shouldn't have kicked you out. It was wrong, but I saw it as my only option at the time. As far as I see it, you belong in that bunker as much as Sam and I do. Shit, I even picked out a room for you.” 

“You did?” There went that disbelief again. 

“Yeah, I was gonna start filling it up with stuff. An angel blade, some books, real clothes.” Cas smiled at that. “I was excited to live with you. Getting up to all kinds of trouble, like picking up chicks and raising hell.”

But this shared bed and what the two did in it was likely not part of what Dean had in mind. 

“You really think I don't give a shit about you?” Dean asked him. 

“No,” Cas held his eyes before saying. “I think it's easier for you to keep others at arm's length, regardless of the reason. Like you're determined to deny yourself what the universe would otherwise.”

“You make it sound like I'm nothing but a coward.”

“You're not.” 

“I really am sorry.”

“I know. I just don't know if I'm ready to forgive you.” Which was a lie. Cas forgave him long before he kissed Dean. There was nothing Dean could do that would turn Cas against him. No depth for the hunter to sink that would cause Cas to forsake their bond. But it did feel somewhat satisfying to make Dean flinch when Cas said the words. “But I will.” Dean could use a little hope.

Dean sniffed. “Whatever.”

“I'll keep your secret about Sam,” Cas promised.

“I appreciate that,” Dean replied. 

“I should go,” Cas said as his gaze shifted towards the door. 

“You could go,” Dean said, “Or you could stay.”

“Stay here with you?”

“Check out’s not til 11,” the hunter informed. “We got a few more hours to kill 'til I get the boot from the manager. Why not make the most of it before we gotta leave?” 

Dean Winchester was an enigma. 

If someone told Castiel years ago that after rescuing this one human soul from damnation, that that same rescue would spur a one-in-a-billion bond, inspiring Castiel’s fight for individuality and independence from the oppressive influence of Heaven, he wouldn’t know what to say. He certainly wouldn't have believed it. But here he was, inside a motel room with the Righteous Man, who was determinedly behaving in ways that would make many blush. 

Castiel was definitely blushing right now. Dean sat on his lap again. He wasn’t sure what got into the hunter, but Castiel’s troublesome genitals were more than eager to welcome Dean’s attention. But this wasn’t the first time Dean had acted strangely around Cas. 

There was Purgatory. And after Purgatory.

In Purgatory, when angel and hunter had at last reunited, Dean had been so happy and tired and cold. It seemed the rules of Earth, the world Dean knew and grew up in, didn’t apply to this land of otherworldly wilderness. He clung to Cas without an ounce of shame. The angel could hear the human rationalize it to himself in his own mind. 

I’m cold. That’s all it is. I’m cold, and he’s a fuckin’ furnace. I can’t get sick from the cold. How would I fight off the freaks? But such thoughts didn’t account for the low heat burning within Dean as he cuddled up to Cas during the cold nights. Dean wasn’t shy, and he was downright greedy, soaking up all the warmth he could get. Dean stuck to his guardian angel, and Cas indulged him every second. Perhaps he shouldn’t have. But Cas couldn’t deny Dean anything. The world did enough of that already. Why would he pile onto that? Cas wouldn’t bear it if he could help it.

Sometimes, Dean would talk up a storm, never seeming to stop telling story after story. Cas never complained and always listened with eager interest. Dean didn’t know what to say other times and kept quiet. But the silence was loud regardless. Dean’s heart beat fiercely, his breaths were deep, and tension hung over the hunter and the angel. Weighed down upon them with every indulgent second as they stuck close to one another. The lines that kept them apart blurred further and further. It was in such moments that Cas felt dangerous, as the two neared a precipice from no return, neither Cas nor Dean having the courage to take that final step beyond their hard-won friendship into unknown waters. 

It was scary, this frenetic bond of theirs that had no name. Profound, yes, but no one dare say why. Enemies and allies alike all taunted, insinuating what neither Cas nor Dean could label satisfactorily. At times, it felt like an ocean, choppy, murky, and deep — the kind of rough waters even the strongest swimmers wouldn’t touch. Both were powerless under the sway of this mighty thing that wouldn’t die between them. 

After Cas was freed from Purgatory and reunited with Dean once more, the angel found himself in a room alone with Dean. For once, they were in a well-heated room, safe from wild beasts and in no immediate peril. They sat upon a warm, soft bed and were no longer exposed to the elements of unforgiving wilderness. Dean suggested the angel strip off the trenchcoat Cas always wore and the blazer underneath. The hunter undid the tie that hung loosely from around Castiel’s neck. They sat so closely together that Cas could feel the nervous pulse in Dean’s body.

Now, here they were again, atop a bed, getting warm in the pleasure of each other, fear no longer holding either back. Yet, they never felt more afraid. Both Cas and Dean felt at that precipice again, of something real, something unforgettable, as the pair sunk deeper into one another. 

“C'mon, Cas,” Dean slid back into Castiel's space again. “You keep heading for the door…You're gonna start to hurt my feelings here.”

Dean Winchester…Cas wondered how many the hunter befuddled with his charm, smile, and eyes. 

Cas was suddenly determined to wipe that tempting smirk right off his stupid, gorgeous, freckled face. 

Cas kissed Dean fully in the way Bessie taught him. She was a good teacher, as her technique made Dean moan. The two men became interlocked in a battle of lips and tongue, wrestling and tangling their limbs on the unmade bed.

They passed the next two hours this way, stopping until just after 10:30 in the morning. The two clambered out towards the parking lot as Dean bee-lined for the check-in desk. After he handed in the room keys, he spotted Cas lingering beside the Impala. 

“You need me to give you a ride,” Dean asked as a dirty joke popped into his head, “Aside from the one I just gave you?”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas fought the urge to blush. “I'd appreciate a lift back to the house I'm staying at with Marion and Bessie.”

“They treating you alright?” Dean asked as the two got in the car. 

“Yes, they are,” Cas said. “I don't know why you seem so surprised.”

“They're demons, Cas.”

“I think we're both aware that just because one is classified as a monster doesn't necessarily make them irredeemable. Marion nor Bessie have ever harmed me, nor you or your brother. I dare say they've been more honorable than anyone expected, certainly more than I.” Cas said. 

“Yeah, but–”

“I appreciate your renewed faith in me, Dean,” Cas replied, “but I did betray you. It's something I may never forgive myself for.” He couldn't meet Dean in the eyes then. 

“But I have.” Dean urged. “You know that, right?” 

“I do,” Cas confirmed. It did comfort Cas that he had Dean's forgiveness, even if he didn't necessarily earn it. 

It was a short ride as the two found themselves in front of the home that Cas was currently living in. He got out of the car. “Thank you for the ride, Dean.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Dean had followed suit as he popped out of the vehicle, but his right leg was still in the driver's seat. A thousand things ran through the minds of both men as they fell into the same routine of blue and green eyes staring into one another's eyes. “Take care of yourself, Cas.”

“You as well, Dean.” Without further delay, Cas turned to enter the house ahead. He shut the front door behind him as he entered. Dean got into the Impala and drove away. 

Cas settled into the living room since he didn't have to work and opted to turn on the television across the room. He encountered a news bulletin that discussed the recent Fall of the Angels, which the humans classified as an unprecedented meteor shower. 

“It's been weeks since the massive meteor storm, yet Idaho Falls astronomers still have unanswered questions. NASA and Washington are both continuing to study the phenomenon .”

Cas turned off the TV. 

He had so much to atone for. So much had gone wrong, and all on his watch. The angels of Heaven used to be such a mighty force, righteous and dignified. 

Look at them now, running around lost and confused in a world they barely understood or appreciated. 

He'll never forgive Metatron for what he's done. Cas imagined that the villainous angel sat upon the throne of their Father, chortling like the arrogant, spiteful wretch he was. 

Cas wasn't an angry individual. At least he didn't see himself that way, but every time he thought of Metatron he felt such fury, he didn't even care how dangerous it felt. 

He can imagine how all the fallen angels must feel, as he used to be one of them. He also knew what they craved. 

Direction.

Ephraim was far from the only angel among their kind to hold Cas partly responsible for this latest setback for Angelkind. Perhaps the ex-angel should start reaching out, but not on his own. 

He got on his knees, praying to Ion. 

“Ion. We need to talk. I need to help the fallen. I need to begin atoning for all my mistakes. I don’t want to remain uninvolved. I won't rest until the angels are back where they belong.”

Ion would appear before the mortal Cas with Ephraim and others Cas recognized. Hael. Muriel. Hannah. Bartholomew. 

“It’s about time, brother,” Ion extended a hand to the former seraph. “Come, we must discuss how to go home.” 

Cas took his hand, looking upon the faces of his brethren. It was time Castiel took the fight to Metatron.

He wasn’t going to get away with this.

Chapter Text

Dean was getting worried. 

It’d been about two months since Ezekiel first possessed Sam’s body. Dean understood that his brother had been severely damaged by the trials, but it shouldn’t take so long for Sam’s body and soul to heal. Right?

So he straight up asked the angel, “Is Sam better now?” 

“Yes, Sam has been much improved,” Ezekiel replied sternly. “It shouldn’t be much longer until he fully recovers.” 

Dean chuckled curtly, “Yeah, except that’s what you said last week.” And the week before as well. This whole scenario was starting to stink and leave a sinister twist in Dean’s gut. 

“I warned you that this would take time,” Ezekiel reminded. 

Dean’s nostrils flared, out of patience, “Okay, well fuck off. I want to speak with my brother.”

Ezekiel stiffened in Sam’s body, offended. He regarded Dean pointedly but chose to acquiesce to the hunter’s request.

“It seems like it's getting quiet out there, you know?” Sam said. The transitions between human and angel were getting too seamless for Dean’s liking – another trait that unnerved the elder brother. Was Zeke learning to be Sam? “Not a peep from the angels. Even Buddy Boyle has gone off the air and stopped recruiting for them.”

Dean gripped the steering tighter. “Calm before the storm?” But Sam wasn’t convinced. 

“Wait a minute –” Sam spotted a sign as Dean drove past it.

“What?”

“That sign said Fort Collins was 50 miles away,” Sam said. 

Dean shrugged, not seeing the point. “So?”

“I could’ve sworn I just saw a sign that said Fort Collins was a hundred miles away.”

Shit. Sam was catching on, just as Dean warned the angelic son of a bitch, and the elder Winchester was running out of excuses. 

“There are chunks of time just … missing from my mind.” Sam continued. “Times when I'm not...  here.”

“Well, it’s just the –”

“The trials,” Sam interjected with bitterness. “I know. You’ve kept saying that for the past three weeks.” Indeed Dean had, but what the fuck else was he supposed to say? Sam wouldn’t take the truth well. 

He’ll never forgive you for this…

“Let’s just focus on the case, alright?” Dean insisted. “Angels are no fuckin’ cakewalk, and there seems to be a whole bunch of ‘em involved in these killings.” 

Sam stared at him quietly, his jaw clenched. Was it in anger? Or was it Zeke who yet again regained control of the brother Dean had compromised so much to retain in his life?

When Sam and Dean pulled up to investigate under the trusty guise of FBI agents, an officer noted that their colleague was already present at the crime scene inside the Roadhouse where the massacre ensued. 

The brothers exchanged a wary glance as they proceeded into the biker bar, passing several police and forensics running around to find none other than Castiel in a suit reminiscent of the one he’d always worn when he was still a mighty angel of Heaven’s flock, with a black tie this time, one certainly better fitting. Dean cleared his throat. He didn’t think he’d see Cas so soon after –

“Agent,” Sam said happily. 

Cas turned as he immediately recognized Sam’s voice, “Agent,” he replied with a warm smile. The hunter could’ve sworn Cas blushed a little as his eyes fell on Dean. 

“What the hell are you doing here, Cas?” Dean demanded, in no mood to play games. 

Cas leaned over a little towards the brothers, saying in a quiet voice, “I still have that badge you gave me Dean.

“Yeah, great – what the hell are you doing here?” Dean pressed. 

“The murders were all over the news. I felt the compulsion to help.” Cas stated. 

“Cas, you know that this is an angel situation, right? I mean, you left the bunker that night because angels were on your ass.” Sam brought up. Cas and Dean exchanged a look. 

“Yeah,” Dean stammered slightly. “you were living the life, you know? Early retirement, and all the fun that comes with it.” 

“If angels are slaughtering one another, I must do what I can to help. It is a risk we should be willing to take, don't you think?” Cas countered.

Sam shrugged while Dean frowned at the argument. 

“Besides, the orgies were getting tiresome.” 

“Orgies?” Sam echoed in bewilderment, not sure he heard the ex-angel correctly. 

“Orgies?” Dean repeated irately, but it certainly wasn’t from jealousy, and if anyone accused him of such, he’d kick their fuckin' asses.

“Certainly,” Cas said, unphased by the hunters’ reactions. “Marion and Bessie insisted I try all that the human existence has to offer. I met a lot of interesting individuals during the outings. The sex at times was pleasurable, but at other times, not quite what I was interested in.” 

That son of a bitch! Dean thought angrily, then remembered that since Cas lost his mojo, he probably couldn’t read the hunter’s angry thoughts, which he was both pleased and pissed by for reasons he didn’t care to dwell on. “So you’ve been running around giving it away for free huh?” 

Sam scoffed at his brother, “You’re one to talk, Dean. You’ve slept with hundreds of chicks.”

“Fuck you, Sam, I have not,” Dean said indignantly. “Besides, we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about this slutty angel over here.” 

“I believe that is called slut shaming, Dean,” Cas replied coolly. “I don’t do it to you, for as Sam phrased so indelicately, you have shared your body with dozens of women. I expect you to extend me the same courtesy.” 

“Pfft, whatever. Can we just get on with the case already?” The elder Winchester huffed, dying to move past this horrendous conversation.

Blue eyes froze on green momentarily before Cas explained, “The angels were butchered with far more violence than what was required in dispensing with their vessels and celestial bodies. From what I’ve heard, not all the angels have been cooperating since the Fall. Some have seen an opportunity to take power for themselves amid the precarious situation. This massacre is an example of such needless violence.”

“So there’s multiple factions?” Sam asked. 

“There may be. There’s one I know of that doesn’t seek to fight anyone. They all just want to go home. Whoever is responsible, we’ll find them together.” Cas looked at the brothers confidently, declaring with a goofy grin, “Cas is back in town.” 

“Seriously?” Dean balked in embarrassment, turning to Sam incredulously. “Did he really just say that?” Sam quirked an eyebrow. 

All three men decided to have a drink together after spending hours chatting up the police force and witnesses, then scouring the area for further clues. Cas was the first to approach the bar Dean selected for the evening. It appeared Cas was taught many more things aside from promiscuous sex. 

“I’ll have a whiskey neat,” Cas ordered with confidence. “How about you guys?” 

“I’ll just have beer,” Sam said. 

“Yeah fuck it, I’ll have whiskey, too,” Dean shrugged. 

After receiving their drinks, all three men approached a table large enough for their group. As they settled in, Cas said, “It is so good being together again. It is okay to join you, I hope.” 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Sam questioned before Dean could beat him to the punch.

“Cas, are you sure you're ready to jump back into all this? I mean, it seemed like you'd found some peace.” Dean said. Hey, if orgies are what made the freaky little dork happy so be it. Why the fuck didn’t that come up in conversation, Castiel, you son of a bitch.

“You once told me that you don't choose what you do; it chooses you,” Cas said to Dean. 

That does sound like me… Dean mused mentally. 

Castiel took his drink. “I’m a part of this,” he said, clinking his glass with Dean’s. “Like it or not.”

“In that case, we have to figure out who we’re up against, what they want, and how to stop them,” Sam stated. 

“Well, it’s clear the angels want to return to Heaven and are determined to do so by any means necessary. The majority are soldiers, hardly the type to be squeamish about bloodshed.” Cas said. 

“Right. I’m gonna get the next round,” Sam escaped to the bar. Anything to get away from the overbearing tension between Dean and Cas. Was he imagining it or was it getting worse somehow?

“No, it’s alright. I got it,” Cas insisted, hopping off his seat and rushing back to the bar. 

Dean shook his head as he stared after Cas. “Oh boy, what are we gonna do with that dork, huh? One whiskey, and he looks like he’s hammered.” But Sam couldn’t answer, for Ezekiel had taken the wheel yet again.

“What are you going to do about this?” the angel demanded tersely. 

“About Cas?” Dean presumed. It’s not his fault Cas decided to get involved. 

“Investigating crimes involving angels – or anything involving angels – puts me, and thus, Sam, at great risk. Castiel is a beacon pulling every angel for miles down upon our heads.” Ezekiel said in an agitated huff. 

“And what exactly is it that you’re so afraid of?” Dean demanded. He was getting real tired of this angel man. 

“When I chose to answer your prayers and heal Sam, I chose sides,” Ezekiel said. “That means I'm not in good standing with certain angels.” 

“Well, Cas isn’t in good standing with any angels.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Ezekiel replied. “There is a faction sympathetic to Castiel. That is likely why Castiel is still alive.” 

Dean wrinkled his eyebrows. “He’s here, alright – when he doesn’t have to be, putting his ass on the line as a regular human being. Fighting the good fight, so don’t you talk to me about risk.” The hunter supposed that Zeke was referring to those angel guys who picked up the Rit Zien that he and Cas had encountered weeks before.

“Here we are,” Castiel returned, a fresh round of drinks in hand. “I’m going to go get something from the car,” Ezekiel huffed as he lumbered out of the bar in Sam’s form. As he marched out, he sensed a presence. 

Another angel. 

Wary of this exact prospect occurring, Ezekiel ambled toward the presence as he didn’t want to draw further attention. What he found skulking behind the bar was a stout man inhabited by an angel none had seen since the early days of man.

Ezekiel was greeted with a smile as the angel said, “I'm really looking forward to this.” So he had not come for a fight.

“Excuse me?”

“I know who you really are. And it isn't Ezekiel.” The one Dean knew to be Ezekiel was regarded with a disturbing expression of glee. “Relax. I'm not here to out you.” He said, sensing the trepidation in the imposter. “But I am curious, why Ezekiel?”

“They say he is a good and ... honorable angel.”

“Everything they say you are not. I see your point... Gadreel.”

So he was found out. Damn that Metatron. “The stories about me – they are not true!” He made one mistake. He had no maliciousness, not like the Serpent…

“Yet you spent countless thousands of years locked in Heaven's darkest dungeon. Now you hide in this human, posing as Ezekiel.” Metatron shook his head. “Tragic. It broke His heart to lock you away, you know? You were God's most trusted. That's why He chose you to protect the garden. Your one task was to keep evil from entering... from befitting His cherished creation, mankind, and you failed Him!”

Who was Metatron to speak of failure?

“That was not my fault,” Gadreel said. 

“The Serpent breached the Garden, no matter the reason, and all on your watch. Someone had to be blamed.”

“Lucifer should have been blamed,” Gadreel argued. 

“He has his own share of consequences, believe me,” Metatron said. 

“What is it you want of me, Metatron?” Gadreel asked, eager to escape. 

“Only to work together. You owe me, after all – I was the one who freed you. If not for the Fall, you’d still be wasting away in the dungeon.” 

“So Castiel speaks true?” Gadreel replied. “You were the one who caused the Fall.”

“And to think I would love it, but it gets old, Lording it up there in an empty kingdom. My solitude is getting quite tedious.” Metatron said. 

“What is your point?” Gadreel questioned.

“I want to rebuild Heaven as the place God envisioned it, with only a handpicked few. No more anemic functionaries or stupid angels who think too small,” Metatron mused, “Maybe some funny ones. You were once God’s trusted Gadreel. You want to restore your reputation, don’t you? Reclaim the Heaven that was? We could have paradise again, Gadreel. We could do this together, you and I. What say you?”

“You looked uncomfortable when Sam mentioned my departure. He doesn’t know that you told me to leave, does he?” Cas asked Dean.

“No,” Dean confirmed. “I don't feel good about any of it, but I don't have a choice. If it means that we keep our distance from you for a little while and lie to Sam, then fuck it, that’s what I’m gonna do to keep Sam alive.” 

“And around,” Cas said knowingly. 

Dean’s nostrils flared, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Just…don’t lose sight of what it is that you’re fighting for,” Cas said finally. What the fuck did he mean by that? Dean wanted to demand, but Sam returned (or Ezekiel), and Castiel’s blue eyes kept drifting over to Dean’s direction with twinges of sadness that robbed the words out of Dean’s mouth.

Dean made it clear that whatever work needed to be done, it had to be done separately, as Ezekiel didn’t want to be anywhere near Castiel. So Cas departed in search of other leads while Dean tended to Sam. 

“Brother,” Ion appeared before the ex-angel. “I believe we may need your presence.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

“War is about to break out among our people once again,” Ion urged. That could likely explain the recent massacre and violent angel activity on Earth…

“Then there’s no time to waste,” Ion took him where they needed to go, finding themselves in an intense argument. The numbers increased since the last time Cas had been amongst Angelkind. It felt like almost all the surviving angels of the Fall had been converged into one single location. They were currently in a dead mall, one that officially shut down in the previous year. 

“What gives you the right to look down your nose at me,” Malachi had been one of the latest arrivals to this gathering flock. He’d brought two dozen more angels into his company; they were all loyal to only him. 

“Right has nothing to do with it,” Bartholomew said haughtily, “Only might.” 

“I’m not scared of the likes of you,” Malachi spat. He pulled out his angel blade. 

“You should be.” Bartholomew unsheathed his blade. 

Without a thought for his own safety, Castiel jumped into the fray. “NO!” his voice echoed throughout the emptiness of the barren strip. 

“Castiel,” Malachi said, his blade pressed against the ex-angel’s clavicle. Both he and Bartholomew were a breath away from annihilating Castiel. Thankfully for Castiel, both aggressive warriors stopped short of killing Cas, but his mortal flesh suffered some shallow gashes to his shoulder and his clavicle. “What are you doing here?” 

“I came to help!” Cas replied. 

“You’ve helped enough, don’t you think?” Malachi sneered.

Cas frowned remorsefully. “I know many of you blame me for the Fall – but that was the last thing I wanted for any of you.” 

“I doubt you think of us at all,” Malachi said, and some of the angels were in agreement as they began to nod in sentiment. 

“I do, actually,” Cas argued. “A great deal.” 

“Talk all you want, Castiel,” Malachi countered, “but actions speak louder than words, and for the last couple of years, all your actions have hurt us, not helped us.”

“That’s true…it has,” Cas relented, “I am more sorry for that than you can ever know. When I started on my path of rebellion, the genocide of our kind was never what I wanted.” 

“And yet, you’ve butchered dozens of us,” Malachi barked. “So why would the rest of us believe, the ones who survived the Fall, that you care? Azrael, Sophia, and Ezekiel — they're just the latest additions to your list of victims.”

Ezekiel? No, that can't be right. Ezekiel was inside of Sam. But Malachi, in his fury, couldn't be mistaken, and no one else contradicted him. 

So that's why he hadn't been heard from since.

Oh no. Dean…

“See how he quiets brothers and sisters,” Malachi boasts to the others. “Sign of guilt that one.”

“You know what our kin call you, Malachi?” Cas said. “An anarchist. I used to see that as a bad thing. 

Malachi glared at him.

“But not anymore,” Cas continued, “the fact that you are an insurgent means you are unhappy with how things have been in the system you've been a part of. So am I. So are many I suspect. All of us,” Cas projected his human voice as best he could, “we were bred to obey orders and never question them, no matter the task. Mere executioners of our Lord's will. These last five years have been tumultuous, filled with loss and I am responsible for setting a majority of that in motion. But I would ask you why any of us were put in such positions in the first place. To butcher, to serve without so much as the freedom to think for ourselves when humans have been given such a gift for as long as they've existed?”

“I only ever sought a peaceful universe where man and angel could coexist. Many of our kind, myself included, have been too quick to kill first when we should have extended mercy. Might can be a sign of strength.” Cas kept speaking but turned to Malachi, “But is it not stronger to save instead of slaughter? Better not to nurture than command and coerce?”

“In the vessels I see now, some I recognize as those who followed me. I have to believe it was because you saw something in me. A hope to live up to our true mission.”

“And what's that?” Malachi asked. 

“Where we can be shepherds to men instead of their oppressors. Man can be evil and cause untold destruction. That is true enough, but who better than us, are eternal beings that have watched over their species since their inception, to guide them to be their best? But not like this,” Cas gestured between the armed Malachi and Bartholomew. “If we cannot find peace amongst ourselves, what hope does man have? Besides, killing each other does not get any one of you closer to Heaven.”

“You've failed us before,” Malachi said. “Why should we listen to you now? Or ever again?”

“That would be your choice, Malachi,” Cas replied. “As well as everyone else's. Just don't repeat my mistakes. It's not easy to lead. Sometimes, I wonder if that's why God left in the first place. The weight, the burden. It is not something to take lightly. Each decision takes a little more of you. A being such as He, maybe it was different, I cannot say. So if you think you can do better, by all means, tell us all your plans.”

Malachi stared Cas down. “And what would your plans be, oh wise ass?”

“We take the fight to Metatron. It's been several weeks at this point and between all of us, if we put our heads together, we may have a chance at tracking him down,” Cas said to everyone. “We can start at where Metatron was found in the first place after so many eons.”

The angels deliberated over Castiel’s words. While none of them were quick to forgive or forget the transgressions of the former seraph, nobody had any better idea aside from fighting. 

“Perhaps Castiel is right,” Theo said, an angel who was Malachi's apparent second-hand. 

“Indeed,” Bartholomew added, watching Cas intently. 

“I see no fortuitous outcome from further in-fighting,” Ion said. “Aside from thinning the number of angels left in existence, an asset to no one.” Many nodded in agreement. Malachi watched it all with a frown as he regarded Cas. 

“Alright,” he said to the ex-angel. “Looks like it's up to you again to lead us ‘Cas,’” He said the nickname with a mocking tone. “But don't think I'll be surprised when you fuck us over.”

“I'm not going to lead Malachi. I'm not giving orders like last time. For, after all, what good is making mistakes if we cannot learn from them?”

“What do you propose then?” Bartholomew asked his former captain. 

“A council that is decided upon right now. I will confer with them on how we all progress together as a people in our collective quest to return to Heaven.” Cas answered. “I propose the following be in the council: Bartholomew, Malachi, Ion, and Hannah. Does anyone object?”

The angels exchanged glances as everyone awaited dissent, but it never came. Cas selected them because he saw in the past few weeks that the select angels had become leaders among their race. Bartholomew, who once took orders from Castiel, was now handing them out to underlings that took a shine to him, as did Malachi, despite his propensity for violence and chaos - he cared for his brethren in his way. Ion had been crucial in the gathering of the fallen, giving them brief respite in the madness that ensued from Metatron’s scheme. It appeared that Hannah was beginning to find her voice in the following weeks, speaking her mind in the face of injustice, quick to introduce reason in moments of chaos.

“It is decided then,” Bartholomew said finally as Ion and Hannah approached. “We four shall lead our people home.”

“With Castiel at our side,” Hannah added. “He is one of the few of our kind that has been on Earth amongst humans longest. He knows how to navigate without drawing too many watchful eyes.”

“You should make a vow,” Cas suggested. “A vow to put the welfare of our brethren and mankind first, above all other things. One shouldn't take precedence over the other.”

“We'll make the vow if you will,” Malachi said. 

“Okay,” The five cut their palms and held each other by their bleeding hands, their blood making contact as the group began to chant in front of the celestial audience in Enochian, “Ol isro de noan vaoan od blans iaiadix kures od paid.”

Energy glowed in the current vessels of Hannah, Ion, Malachi, and Bartholomew, but Castiel remained the same, likely due to his lack of grace. The blood that spilled from each angel flowed into Castiel's open cuts, and his torn flesh was sealed at the end of their chanting. Cas could feel his pulse change. He was now the key to their collective promise. Should he break it, he would die.

“You know I never got used to them, humans. I lived among them for centuries on end. Eventually, I had to isolate myself to stay sane,” Metatron ranted about his experience with human beings. He had little good to say about them. He had little good to say about anything.

“Humans do seem rather chaotic,” Gadreel said. Sam and his brother Dean were proof of that much. Dean was overbearing and controlling. Sam was conflicted and constantly second-guessing everyone and everything, most of all himself. Possessing him hadn’t helped in that regard, but the problem existed long before Gadreel got mixed up with the Winchesters.

“Which makes them endlessly fascinating, but they have so much emotion. And the wasted energy. It's all so exhausting.” Metatron continued whining.

Gadreel felt the urge to talk about Sam but thought better about it. Given what he had to endure because of original sin, he would never blindly trust in anyone or anything again, not even God.

“I can free you from them, those Winchesters you’ve entangled yourself with,” Metatron offered.

Gadreel decided to switch the topic of conversation to something else. Anything but the Winchesters, he was getting fed up of dealing with anything Winchester-related. “You intend to be the ruler of this new Heaven, am I correct?”

Metatron gave him a sly smile. “It is a burden I feel I must accept.”

“Would that not make you God?” Gadreel asked. He had enough of God. But he couldn’t have Metatron causing him harm either. Gadreel knew little since his incarceration, but he knew such eyes that gleamed like Metatron’s never had good intentions for anyone but themselves. Gadreel learned that the hard way when he saw the serpent's eyes. They gleaned that same way…just before Eve—

“Semantics,” Metatron waves a dismissive hand, “I don't know that I'll take on that name necessarily. No. When the time comes, call me... X.”

Could he think of a better name? Gadreel pondered with a frown. Surely there was a better name. But there were more important things to dwell on. 

How was Gadreel to get out of such a mess? Between the Winchesters and this would-be pretender, the angel was overwhelmed with a panic to flee. 

Dean kept calling all the numbers, but Sam couldn't be bothered to pick up the damn phone. Or maybe Zeke was taking the wheel more than he said he would and forgot how to use a phone. Dean wasn’t sure. 

He hated being unsure. He swore Zeke was getting shadier by the minute. When Sam was on the verge of death, yeah, sure, Dean was all Team Zeke, but now that Sam was better (despite how tenuous the angel made that appear), Dean couldn’t wait to cut the angel loose.

Just the other day, he was about to fold and tell Sam the truth. The kid had been so upset from the memory gaps, the force inside (which, of course, Sam misinterpreted as something within himself — he still didn’t know about the angel thing. Leave it to Sam to dredge up old shit about being different and abnormal to get all weepy), it propelled Dean to confess but old Zeke wouldn’t have it. That didn't sit right with Dean. None of it did to tell the truth.

Dean wasn’t above lying in general. It certainly wasn’t the first time he told Sam a fib. He always considered it a necessary evil, sparing Sam the harsh reality of their childhood, of how often their father came up short, of how badly Dean felt the loss of their mother, how often they needed money and food to survive the day, all that. The truth was a burden, more often than not. No need to dump it on Sam. What good would that have done? Dean could bear the brunt all on his own as he always did.

For the majority of his life. 

The lie was getting harder to sell to Sam. All the doubts, the questions the kid kept asking, and having to look him in the face each time was a challenge Dean was finding he couldn’t stomach after a while. 

But he couldn’t lose Sam. 

He’ll never forgive you.

But Sam had to forgive him. After all Dean did for his brother’s sake, from when they were tots to bartering their souls for resurrection and angel possession for soul recuperation, Sam had to forgive Dean. 

Didn’t he?

Dean got a ring on his cell. Finally. 

“Sammy?” 

“Not so, I’m afraid,” It was Cas. Dean didn’t think he’d hear back so soon from the ex-angel, considering he once again had to tell him to vamoose. At least Cas took it better this time. “I’m sorry to bother you, Dean, but I had to call. I need to tell you something, and it can’t wait.” 

“What’s going on?”

“You said Sam was healed by an angel named Ezekiel?”

“Yeah.” Dean didn’t see why he was bringing this up again.

“Ezekiel is dead,” Dean heard, which turned his blood into ice with panic. “He died during the Fall, so I don’t know who is possessing your brother.” 

No. No, no, no, no…

“The fuck you talking about?” Dean urged. 

“Almost all the angels have been accounted for at this point, Dean,” Cas said. “They’ve been convening, all coming together and preparing to take the fight to Metatron so they can go back to Heaven. That’s when I learned of Ezekiel’s death. I’m sorry, Dean, but I had to tell you.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“I am,” Cas said sadly. Dean shut his eyes. 

“Okay,” Dean breathed into the receiver end of his phone. “I gotta go.” He hung up and broke the phone in a rage. “SON OF A BITCH!” 

He’ll never forgive you…

What the fuck, who the fuck was possessing his brother?

How could he have been so stupid??? Then again, what was he supposed to do, get fucking references? It’s not like Heaven had an HR department. Even if they did, they would’ve gotten the boot along with the rest of the rejects when the Fall went down.

No. Panicking was a waste of time. Dean had to get ready to eject an angel. Sam should be fine. If anything, he could get the demon girls to feed Sam some blood in a pinch. After that, Dean would just have to figure it out. He always did, one way or another. 

There was a book Dean had secretly been reading that neither Sam nor the angel invader knew about. One that spoke of attacks that could come in handy against angels. Particularly those who got cold feet about the whole possession thing. 

Dean painted the storeroom door with his blood until his head got woozy, but after triple-checking that the sigil was right, he heard Sam walking down the hallway. 

Here goes everything. 

“Hey,” Dean greeted his brother, who seemed to be presently conscious...for the moment. 

“Hey,” Sam said as he marched over to the kitchen, groceries in hand. 

“Where were you?” Dean chanced. 

“Beer run,” Sam said curtly. 

“Long beer run,” Dean remarked. Sam chuckled, in a good mood for once. And here Dean was, about to obliterate his brother’s day with one hell of a bombshell.

This was just not a good day. “Can we talk?” 

“Yeah,” Sam replied as he stopped storing the groceries. He turned to face his older brother. “Actually,” he said with a small smile, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to mention to you.”

“Well, me first,” Dean insisted. He lured his brother over to the storeroom as planned, even making sure to clear his mind of what was to come just in case the angelic son of a bitch lurking within Sam tried to read Dean’s thoughts.

“Oh, this is a serious talk, is it?” Sam said, sounding almost chipper. It’d be the happiest Sam had been for over a week. Once Sam got in, Dean slammed the door of the storeroom shut, cut his hand open, and pressed it to the door, activating a sigil he hadn’t noticed before. 

“What the hell is going on?” Sam asked, his eyes full of suspicion and worry. “What are you doing?”

Dean approached his brother slowly, “I gotta tell you something and you're not gonna like it but here goes,” he swallowed deeply. 

He'll never forgive you

“What?” Sam urged, staring at his brother, unsure what to expect. 

“Those demon trials fucked you up,” Dean explained. 

“I know,” Sam said, unsure of what Dean was getting at. It’s not like he could forget that.

“No,” Dean asserted. “You don't. You were gonna die. Marion and Jess fought like hell to keep you alive, but they were losing you. I was losing you. We were running outta time so I made a call. A tough call without talking it over cuz, well…it's not like I could. You were basically in a coma,” Dean's eyes begged for forgiveness, “but I knew you wouldn't like it.”

“What did you do?” Sam said nervously.

He‘ll never forgive you

“I got an angel to possess you,” Dean confessed. But the truth did nothing to lessen the weight of anxiety Dean felt in his chest. “Because it was the only thing that could save you.”

Sam blinked, processing his brother’s words. “No…” he shook his head. “The angel would need my consent.” 

“Well…apparently, there’s some loopholes around that.” Sam’s head began to hurt as if begging to show the younger Winchester the truth of his brother’s deception…of his betrayal. 

“You…you tricked me?” Sam said in horror. 

“It seemed like the only way,” Dean said mournfully. Sam’s eyes were getting hard to look at. Did the kid have to look so…hurt? Couldn’t he get some credit — he saved Sam’s life. Didn’t that count for anything?

“Wait, wait…this angel…is he still inside me? Is that why I’m not remembering things? Why shit kept happening that I can’t explain?” Sam asked angrily.

Dean nodded. His neck felt so heavy. “There’s more.” The elder Winchester couldn’t recall another time when his mouth was so stiff with tension.

“More? What do you mean by more? What else could there possibly be?” Sam said, his voice getting louder.

“The angel lied to me, okay?” Dean said. He had to fight to keep talking. His mouth was trembling horribly. “At first, he said his name was Ezekiel, but I just found out he’s some other guy.”

Sam shut his eyes, his skin going red with outrage, “So let me get this straight,” he bit his lips. “You take away my choice and my consent —”

“I did what I had to do,” Dean stressed loudly, but Sam persisted, voice superseding Dean’s.

“Stuff an angel inside me without my knowledge, lie to me for over two months — I assume it’s been two months—”

“You can yell about me later, kick my ass all you want—”

“And you don’t even know who’s possessing me?! Even though you’re the one who made this happen?”

“This guy can end you in a heartbeat, so you gotta dump him right now!”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!” Sam yelled so violently, fueled by the angel's power, that his agonized voice shattered every inorganic object in the room to pieces. The lightbulbs that illuminated the room fell apart, leaving the brothers in the dark. When Sam finally spoke again, it was in a hushed whisper, dripping with heartbreak. 

“How could you do this to me?”

He’ll never forgive you

“I didn’t have a choice, Sam.” Dean pleaded. 

“Yes, you did. You chose to take mine.” 

Dean shook his head, even though if Sam was still himself, he wouldn’t be able to see his brother in the darkness of the room. “Sam, you gotta try to kick him out. C’mon.” 

Sam said nothing, motioning for the door. Dean tried to grab him and he got a swift hard punch to the face for his trouble, feeling nothing for a while as his mind slipped into unconsciousness.

When Dean eventually awoke in the darkened storeroom, he rushed past the mess Sam made in his rage, only to find much of the bunker suffered the same fate. All the lightbulbs in the hallway exploded from earlier, the furniture down the hall in both directions had been disturbed and overturned and even the books in the precious library of the Men of Letters had forcefully fallen in Sam’s outburst. 

“Jesus,” Dean said worriedly but quickly realized that Sam was long gone. Dean ran his hands through his hair, lamenting he had no way to know where Sam had gone. 

That was if he was still Sam anymore. 

“You really did it now…” A voice said to Dean in the darkness. Dean grabbed his gun, ready for a fight. 

“I take it Sam found out what you did,” Marion approached the hunter, unfazed by the armed weapon in Dean’s hands. 

“Where the fuck have you been?” Dean demanded. 

“Making sure Kevin stays the fuck alive, that’s what the fuck I’m doing,” Marion snapped. “I did a lot to ensure his safety, but I don’t need angels to test that theory. The kid deserves to be free of all that supernatural bullshit. Besides, Meta-bitch is makin’ his move.” 

“What?” 

“Metatron, you know the douchebag that kicked all the angels outta Heaven,” Marion said. “You do remember him, don’t you?” 

“Of course, I remember,” Dean retorted harshly as he put the gun away.

“Good cuz people have started to die in the forms of mafia-like hits. He’s starting to recruit people into doin’ his dirty work, that lowdown son of a bitch,” Marion snarled. “I can’t wait til he’s fuckin’ dead.” 

“You sound so confident that he will die,” Dean said offhandedly. 

“You’ve faced worse than the likes of him,” Marion said. 

“I’ve faced them with Sam,” Dean reminded her. 

“Oh my God, stop being such a Debbie Downer,” Marion rolled her eyes. “You’ll get your brother back…eventually.” 

Dean managed his best to glare at the demon in the darkness. 

“What? You gotta admit what you did was supremely fucked up.” Marion said. 

“I kept him alive,” Dean argued. 

“Given what his supposed true purpose is, homeboy probably would’ve returned from the dead eventually. But you’re always runnin’ around with a sense of do or die and doom and gloom that it's all end-all-be-all with you. That ain’t no way to live; that’s how you end up fuckin’ yourself.” Marion shook her head at the human. “Tsk. And you wonder why your brother wants nothin’ to do with you.”

“Are you through?” Dean said, “Because if you are, and you’re not willin’ to help, you can just go ahead and fuck off!” 

“And let you make the predictable next step of committing some desperate act of self-destruction? Nary that,” Marion replied. “I have the unfortunate displeasure of babysitting you.” 

“I don’t need to be watched over,” Dean urged, “I need to find Sam.” 

“I’m pretty sure you’re the last man he wants to see,” Marion said cheekily. 

Dean ignored her, setting off to pack his bags. 

“Where can you even begin to find him, hm?” Marion followed the hunter. 

“Dean,” Cas said suddenly, popping into Dean’s bedroom. He was wearing the suit again, but the tie was gone.

“Jesus fuck!” Dean and Marion said simultaneously. 

“My apologies,” Cas said stiffly. “Ion’s means of teleportation aren’t always exact. He’s used a considerable amount of finite grace he has at his disposal—”

“Whatever,” Dean shrugged off the shock. Not even seeing Cas again could make the elder Winchester feel better. 

“What’s wrong?” Cas surveyed the current state of the bunker in concern. 

“Sam flew the coop. Or rather,” Marion stared at Dean pointedly. “His body did.” 

“The angel escaped with Sam?” 

“Mhm,” Marion said.

Dean stopped packing for a moment. “You don’t get to judge me!” Dean shouted at the demon, “You did fuck all to help!” 

“So what was the thirty-six hours of life-sustaining blood magic I did, huh?” 

“A waste of time and freak magic. Sam was about to die anyway,” Dean said harshly. 

“Oh, and why was little Sammy on the verge of death? Oh, that’s right, undertaking those trials to seal Hell forever, the thing I could’ve sworn I told you NOT to do! Isn’t it incredible how you keep doing the wrong things, and the circumstances just get worse for y’all? Ain’t that a trip?!” Marion was practically shouting. 

“When are you gonna get it through your fuckin’ demon head that we ain’t gonna do what you say?” Dean responded with hostility, edging his voice. “We do what we think is right; to hell with you and everyone else.” 

“Considering the present circumstances, I don’t think you get to speak for Sam anymore,” Marion said coolly. Dean was ready to fight with his fists, and Marion seemed more than prepared to strike the human down.

“That’s enough,” Cas interceded. “We need to focus on finding Sam and the angel that is possessing him. I have double-checked the roster of surviving angels who gathered in the wake of the Fall and the group of those who didn’t survive, also accounting for all who have died up to just before the Fall occurred. None of them appear to be the one possessing Sam.”

“So, for all we know, the critter in Sam ain’t even an angel?” Marion asked. 

“No, it's definitely an angel. It required consent to possess Sam’s body, even if he manipulated Sam to do so.” Cas said. “It would just have to be a lesser-known entity that one of my generation or later has not taken into account just yet. There have been a few unaccounted for since the Fall. We’ll figure this out, I’m sure.” 

“So am I,” Dean finished packing. “Cuz I’m not gonna stop til I find my brother.” 

Dean marched into the bunker’s war room. Cas cautiously followed him. Dean finally took a proper look at his friend. “So, what’s the deal with you?” He questioned, taking note of the suit and trench coat Cas had on. “You got your mojo back?” 

“No, Dean,” Cas said regrettably. “Ion was the one who got me here. Unlike many of the angels cast down, he still had his angel wings since he never went back to Heaven after his fallout with Naomi. I’ll need a car at this point to get around.” 

“Do you even know how to drive?” Dean pointed out. Cas shook his head. Figures.

“Guess I’m gonna have to show you how to do that,” Dean said.

“I’d appreciate that,” Cas chirped. But he was anxious about Dean’s demeanor. The hunter excelled at deflecting and repressing his emotions. 

His cell phone, which had been set to a quiet vibration setting, buzzed discreetly with a message from Marion. The brothers had a big blowout. Sam didn’t take the news of his possession well at all. Punched his way outta the bunker and didn’t look back.

It was as Cas feared. Dean was at his worst when he was at odds with his brother Sam. “Dean—”

“Cas, please, don’t. I don’t want to hear it,” Dean seemed to know what Cas wanted to say. 

“If anyone can sympathize with what you’re feeling, it is I. Or have you forgotten my own debacles, not too far off in the past?”

“Yeah, okay, Cas, but you didn’t stuff an angel inside anybody against their will or without their knowing,” Dean said. Shaking his head, the hunter chided himself, “God, I was so damn stupid.” 

“You were stupid for the right reasons.” Cas hoped Dean would hear him, let the words coat him like a salve. 

“Yeah, like that matters.” 

“Sometimes, that’s all that matters.”

“Man, am I glad you two fucked.” Marion said as she popped into the war room. Dean wondered if there was a banishing sigil or trap of some kind to rustle up to keep the demon from appearing in Dean's presence whenever the mood struck her. “I was gettin’ worried after five long years of pent-up sexual tension.” 

“Marion, please,” Cas groaned as Dean gripped the edge of the map table so hard he was liable to rip the piece off from sheer spite.

“What?” Her eyes shifted between the men. “Don’t tell me…ya two didn’t go all the way? Oh c’mon! All that build-up and you didn’t fuck butts? No buttfucking of any kind? Why the delay? It’s not like either one of you is still a virgin at this point! Both of you are aware of the tantalizing wonders of orgasm by prostate, so what are you waitin’ for? Get the lube out and get to buttfuckin’ around —”

“GET OUT!” Dean thundered. 

Marion’s eyebrows raised. Turning to Cas slowly she said, “This is why you need to fuck his butt, he’d be far more agreeable.” Dean pulled out an angel blade from Castiel’s coat, intent on using it on the loathsome demon. Unfortunately, in terms of raw strength, demon beats mortal every time. Marion held the knife end at bay with just one hand as Dean persisted in piercing her with it. “It would certainly get the perpetual stick outta this bitter bitch boy’s ass!” 

At last, the demon made herself scarce. Cas prayed the respite would last to give Dean some temporary peace. He had enough to be burdened with. 

After waiting five minutes, Cas braved further encouraging words, getting back on track, “Sam is strong. He resisted Lucifer when the time came. Whoever this angel is, it’s certainly not as strong as an archangel, let alone the devil. Sam can break free.”

“But will he?” Dean said finally, instead of yelling at Cas to shut the fuck up. “I mean, he’s gone and run off, God knows where.” 

“Are we going to see Jessica?” Cas asked. If Sam had regained control of his body, he would go there.

“I would if I knew where she was, but I don’t.” Dean frowned. 

Cas got another text alert on his phone. Again, it was from Marion, a message simply saying, Blood trace.

“There is the blood trace spell you can use to track Sam’s movements. The possessing angel may be in control, but that wouldn’t prevent the spell from working.” 

“That damn Marion,” Dean shook his head, not eager to follow her suggestions. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.” 

“There is the obvious complication of how to force the angel out of Sam to ensure his freedom,” Cas mulled it over as Dean prepared to enact the spell. “Oh yes, of course!” 

“What Cas?” Dean said as he focused on the map table, following the blood trails as they formed across the lines that represented borders, rivers, and such. 

“Do you remember Samandriel?” 

“Who?” 

“The angel who possessed a young restaurant worker in the garish red and white uniform,” Cas described. “I…killed him while under Naomi’s control. He told me just before his death that the demons under Crowley’s employ managed to penetrate his mind and force him to spill sensitive information about Heaven and our kind. If we made use of Crowley’s tactics, we could theoretically access the angel inside Sam and break through to your brother to help him get free.” 

“Sit tight, Sam,” Dean said quietly as he spotted the present location of where his brother had gone. Just seeing that much helped calm the maelstrom that raged in Dean’s heart. 

He’ll never forgive you.

Just a little. Not nearly enough.

Crowley hadn’t made much of a fuss since the trials. Between being hidden from the rest of the world and Kevin’s sudden departure, there wasn’t much for the demon to do. Sam and Dean barely gave him the time of day, dead set on torturing the villain with enforced solitude. Crowley did seem the type to thrive on attention. It gave him the excuse to run his mouth, which would be for eternity if the devil had his way.

So the brothers left the demon to sit in the dark and stew over the centuries-long path that landed him in a dungeon at the mercy of two humans. Between Kevin's permanent exit and the whole debacle with Sam, there hadn't been much thought to spare where Crowley was concerned. Besides, the less Dean had to deal with him, the better.

But now it seems they didn't have a choice. They needed to work with the son of a bitch. As Dean approached the door, he gave one final look at Cas as the pair steeled themselves and entered the quiet and dark dungeon. 

“Hello, boys,” Crowley crooned in the darkness as the light from the hallway (did Marion fix the lights?) bled into the room that functioned as the demon's prison. Dean went for it and turned on the lights in the room, suddenly getting the heebie-jeebies listening to Crowley talk in the dark.

The demon scrutinized Dean and Cas as both reluctantly approached where Crowley sat bound in restraints. He hadn't been able to move an inch since he was stashed away. 

“I feared the worst for you, Dean. I couldn't help but overhear your domestic spat with brother dearest. I take it the Moose has absconded off to parts unknown.”

Dean glared at the demon. Keep it cool man, he told himself. He knew Crowley would try to provoke him. 

“So much has happened since I was left forgotten in this dismal excuse for a dungeon,” Crowley mused. “It's been a while since I heard the pitter-patter of Kevin's feet. What's become of the lad?”

“He's–” Dean started but paused. “He's gone.” He could feel Castiel's eyes shift over.

“Oh dear. What a shame. Though not at all surprising,” Crowley said, “people tend not to last very long when in proximity with you.”

“Don't pretend to care,” Cas snarled, hoping to sell the lie. “You tried to kill him.”

“Yes, well, I'm sure you haven't come to gab over Kevin anecdotes,” Crowley's eyes shifted to Dean. “After all, the poor giant baby is in trouble yet again.”

Dean, gun in hand, fired a shot right into Crowley's face.

“Ah!” Crowley winced as the bullet dug past the forehead and deep into the brain. “Fuck! This is how you come to someone for aid, bloody barbarian?!”

“Shouldn't have mouthed off like that,” Dean snarled. “Now you done? Cuz I'm gonna need you to hack an angel for me.” 

“I'm not going to do anything in this condition,” Crowley barked. “Your brother pumps his blood into me day and night, I'm carted around the country like a suitcase, shoved into this dark bloody corner for months at a time and you think I’ll just go to work for you after being shot in the head, chained up stiffer than a marble statue!”

Cas and Dean collectively rolled their eyes.

“Here's my counteroffer: once I get some needed AB fresh from your veins. We go on a little field trip to torture this angel you had in mind. Chains on, of course.”

“Fuck that,” Dean said, headed for the door. 

“Oh yes because if I'm plan A I'm confident you have a viable, improved plan B.” Crowley quipped. 

Dean paused and sighed. Cas approaches the hunter in turn, whispering, “Dean, you can't be considering that.”

“As long as the chains stay on, he can't pull nothin’,” Dean said. 

“This is Crowley we're talking about. He can always do something.” Castiel argued. 

“What am I picking up from you two?” Crowley asked the two, gaining their attention.

“What?” Dean barked at the demon.

“The tension between you, it's different this time ‘round. As if it's evolved…changed.” Crowley began to smile oddly. “You two wouldn't have given each other a roll in the hay, have you?”

Cas and Dean frowned simultaneously. 

“Fine, keep me guessing. Do we have a deal?”

Dean couldn't believe he was doing this. “Yeah.” He growled. 

“Excellent, when do we leave?” 

“When I can scrounge up a ride,” Dean stated. Just then, Cas got another text. 

Come outside :P

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Dean said at the absurdity he was looking at.

“Is something wrong?” Cas asked the hunter, uncertain why Dean looked so displeased, almost embarrassed.

“Seriously?” Crowley scoffed. “You a pimp?”

“No, but he is my Daddy,” Bessie crooned happily. She and Marion stood in front of the car they brought over for Cas, a cream and golden colored 1978 Lincoln Continental Mark V. Bessie jiggled the keys as she held them out for Cas to take. 

“I like it,” Cas remarked as he inspected the vehicle, giving the pair of female demons a wry smile. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome, Daddy,” Bessie kissed Cas full on the mouth, giving him a wink for good measure. “I'm gonna hold down the fort here, so I won't be coming along, but Marion will keep you company, suga.”

“What?” Dean and Crowley said at once, both hating that they did so. 

“You're damn right I am,” Marion gave a quick, sharp smack to Bessie's firm ass. “Someone's gotta keep these assholes in line, not you though Angel Daddy. You keep being your fantastical, sexy self,” Marion gave him a wink this time. Dean had to fight the urge to puke, as did Crowley, a sensation he had not been burdened to suffer for nearly four hundred years. He certainly didn't miss it.

“What are we waiting for?” Marion said to the men. “Let's do this!”

The things Dean had to bear for Sam’s sake.

Marion shoved the chained Crowley into the backseat of the vehicle while Cas got to sit up front with Dean, who sat behind the driver's seat. 

“You're gonna wanna pay attention this time around, Cas,” Dean said as he put his hands on the steering wheel. As Dean reviewed the basics of motor vehicle operation, Marion whispered into Crowley's ear, “You're not imagining it, by the way.”

Crowley gave her a look of confusion.

“These two,” Marion pointed at the two upfront. “They totally—”

Crowley caught on “No…”

Marion grinned, “Oooooooh yeah. But no butt stuff apparently–”

“But buggering’s the best part!” Crowley exclaimed.

“The fuck you talking about?” Dean turned to the gossiping demons.

“You're telling me that after five years of slow-building, raw sexual tension, they just dry hump each other?” Crowley remarked.  

Marion shrugged as the two demons ignored the two in the front, “Maybe they're taking it slow.”

“Nonsense! They should be burning the moonlight away, spending endless days and nights pounding into one another. Honestly, those cocks are wasted on you. Then again…mine was bigger.” Crowley said with a cheeky grin.

Seriously, Dean fumed to himself while attempting to start the car; the things he put up with for Sammy…

The car roared to life but then also started to shake and bounce as Dean drove forward.

Pimp mobile, indeed.

On the way to recover his younger brother, Dean elected to take a break to recharge, stashing the ex-angel and longtime enemy of theirs in a motel room while he went to get some food. He’d been driving for hours. Marion was off searching for the hapless possessed Winchester in the meantime. 

While Dean was out, Cas and Crowley found themselves sitting on the edge of the two beds in the room, facing the only television in the room. It was showing a special on the Black Death of the Middle Ages. 

“Beginning in 1665, the Great Plague killed between seventy-five thousand to a hundred thousand people, up to a fifth of London’s population.”

Crowley smiled, remembering such times while Cas looked down in shame, bearing an expression of guilt. Why did his brethren have to unleash such a disease upon the humans? So many of them died choking on desperate prayers, killing each other to curry favor with God, acting solely out of terror at the epidemic that ran rampant across Europe and beyond.

“Ah, the good old days, ey, Cassie?” Crowley mused.

Cas was not inclined to agree with the demon. “Turn it off.” He said.

“Make me sunshine,” Crowley shot back. A challenge. He wanted to confirm a suspicion he had about the angel. A celestial riding around in a pimpmobile? Something was definitely off.

Cas fumed, getting up to turn off the TV manually. “If you dare to turn it back on with that remote, I will gouge out your eyes and feed you your own teeth.” He held out his hand for the remote.

Crowley threw it on the ground petulantly.

Cas rolled his eyes and sat back down on his bed. 

“Since you’ve denied me any form of entertainment, let’s chat.” Crowley proposed. “You’re still human, aren’t you?”

Cas narrowed his eyes angrily at the demon. “What concern is it of yours what I am, demon?”

“Oh, come off it now. We have something in common, you and I. Lest you forget, I, too, have dabbled in humanity since my death centuries ago,” Crowley said.

“So I’ve heard,” Cas said curtly. 

“Exhausting, isn’t it?” Crowley brought up, undeterred. “Absolutely horrid. I pity you. You see I merely became human adjacent but you’ve gone the whole way. Stripped of your power and immortality. What a shame.”

“Only God is immortal,” Cas sighed.

“I don’t know how you can stand it. All those pesky emotions. Being a filthy, stupid, needy pile of meat. You must truly love him.” Crowley teased.

“Excuse me?” Cas sputtered.

Crowley gave him a knowing look. “Come on. Are you really going to deny it now? After everything? You’ve gotten your jollies off with the man, for fuck’s sake."

“That is none of your business–”

“I applaud you for finally going for what you want. It’s been entirely vexing watching you yearn for him, year after year. Pathetic honestly to sacrifice yourself tirelessly, kill yourself to give so much to Dean dearest without so much as a thank you.” Crowley shook his head. “You’d never catch me doing that.”

Cas was about to stalk into the bathroom just to ignore the demon, but then Crowley went on to say, “It’s a shame, though, really. You won’t be able to enjoy him for long.”

The ex-angel glared at him, “Oh no, that wasn’t a threat; I just assume that, seeing as you’re an angel without his grace. That doesn’t make for a good prognosis for a long, full life, does it?”

Cas never thought of it that way, as he didn’t feel particularly ill or weak – any frailer than a human could be, on average, anyway.

“So if I were you, I’d hang onto the squirrel and never let him go,” Crowley advised. “Fuck him as much as you can, cuz you never know when oblivion will come for the likes of you.”

Dean entered the room. He brought a bag of food, presumably for Cas, seeing as he was still a mortal man and needed sustenance. It had been some hours since Cas even ate any food. 

Interestingly enough, Cas didn't even think of eating in all the excitement of the last few hours since Ezekiel’s imposter was revealed. He didn’t even feel hungry.

He wondered if he should be worried about that.

Dean looked between the former angel and the restrained demon. “You kids alright?”

“We're fine,” Cas grumbled, swiping the bag of food from Dean and sitting on the bed, digging into the grub monotonously. Dean wanted to gauge his mood better, but with Crowley in the room, he thought better of it. Dean went into the bathroom to take a shower.

Crowley smirked to himself, content for the moment. An idea began to formulate in his mind.

It appeared that Metatron wanted Gadreel to be an assassin of sorts. He provided the name of one Kevin Tran, but the boy was entirely ordinary. Then again, a demon had been protecting the young man, one of the ones who hung around the Winchesters like a fly. Her name eluded Gadreel. 

So he shifted his sights onto another target – Thaddeus, the angel who presided over a majority of Gadreel's imprisonment by torturing him repeatedly across the eons. 

Thaddeus acted more like a demon than an angel. He'd taken great pleasure in defiling and mutilating Gadreel's celestial form, and Gadreel wasn't even the only victim of Thaddeus' abuse.

Gadreel was so glad to be out of that horrible dungeon, even if he meant Heaven was lost to him. Metatron had pretty words, but only that. It was clear Metatron was only out for himself – why did he persist in bearing the guise of a noble hero?

Killing Thaddeus had been easy but a hollow victory. Metatron sent him there, and destroying the angel had done nothing to lessen the memories of horror that haunted Gadreel. 

This last target was difficult. Abner, a fellow victim of Thaddeus’ malice and torture. After the Fall, the angel had taken it upon himself to live as a human amongst the family of the vessel Abner situated himself in. 

“Gadreel,” Abner recognized him immediately.

“Abner…”

“I thought you dead,” Abner said, “what happened? How did you get here?” 

“I could ask the same of you,” Gadreel replied. Just then, a young blonde child ran up to Abner, and he scooped her up in his arms without hesitation. 

“Hello, Delilah,” the girl shied from the watchful eye of Gadreel, nothing but a stranger to the likes of her. “This is Daddy’s best friend,” Abner told the child. “Can you say hello?”

“Hello,” the girl said softly, curling up in her father’s arms.

Gadreel bore a wistful expression. 

“Look, the wife and our niblet here are going to a movie. Can you return in a few hours so we can catch up properly?” Gadreel nodded. 

Upon Abner’s return, true to his word, he received Gadreel in his new home, answering all of Gadreel’s questions, smiling at him every time he flabbergasted at his old friend with how well he’d settled into his human persona. 

Despite everything he’d endured, Abner was content, something Gadreel certainly wasn't. Gadreel envied him for it; the joy Abner found amongst these ordinary humans. Why wasn’t he lucky enough to have such bliss?

“I was a terrible angel. Petulant and shirking my responsibilities whenever I got the chance. But none of that matters anymore – we’re a long way from Thaddeus,” Abner mused. 

“I killed him, Abner,” Gadreel told him. “I got justice for our suffering.”

“Oh.” Gadreel couldn’t help but notice the sadness in Abner’s voice. But the sadness wasn’t for Thaddeus. 

“You are not pleased?”

Abner shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “No. It appears I’ve gotten squeamish when talking about such violence.”

“He tortured us – you most of all.” Gadreel reminded him. 

“He did. But you were always there to put me back together. I wouldn’t have survived without you, brother. This Fall, it’s our second chance. I made good use of mine. What about you?” 

Gadreel stiffened. He couldn’t say. 

“This human you’re inhabiting, I can sense his distress. It’s enhancing your own,” Abner noted. “What’s going on, brother? Did you come to me for help?” 

Gadreel gripped his seat tightly. Indeed, he had been burdened. But should he talk to Abner about his dilemma? Could there be some beneficial outcome that could free Gadreel of such strains?

Or was it his fate to suffer?

Hadn’t he endured enough?

“I have become involved in a situation with the one responsible for causing the Fall in the first place. He is apparently the one who, perhaps unwittingly, set us free when he ejected everyone,” Gadreel stated.

“I heard it was Castiel’s fault,” Abner said. 

“As did I but it appears not, it was Metatron.” 

“Metatron?” Abner remarked in surprise. “The scribe? Are you sure?”

“I am. He boasted about it.” 

“Wow,” Abner shook his head. “He sounds like an asshole.” 

“He is.” 

“And what? You’re helping him?”

“I’m thinking about it,” Gadreel confessed. 

“To what end?” Abner asked. “To go back to Heaven? What’s to stop them from putting you back in chains? To punish you more for your one mistake. Why rush back to such a miserable existence? You can forget your old life, Gadreel, and your old hates. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but you already know that.”

Gadreel weighed his words. 

“What do you want, Gadreel?” 

“To be redeemed.”

“If anyone deserves it, it’s you,” Abner said sincerely. 

Abner didn’t deserve murder. This was wrong. The thought rang in Gadreel as he spoke to Abner, who had no suspicion in his eyes as he talked to Gadreel. He trusted the fellow angel. 

No. He wouldn’t do it. Metatron could go to Hell. 

“He sent me to kill you,” Gadreel informed. “Metatron.” Gadreel pulled out the angel blade he had stashed away in Sam’s jacket. “But you know what? I won’t do it. You suffered seven hundred years in captivity. I won’t eliminate you because some arrogant malefactor says so.” Gadreel tossed the blade aside. It landed by Abner’s feet. 

“Thank you, brother,” Abner said in relief.

“You do not need to thank me. You just need to keep yourself hidden. If Metatron and I found you, it would also be easy for others to track you down. Since I am sparing you, you’ll need to take measures to protect yourself – your new family, too.” 

“You’re saying Metatron will come after me since you didn’t kill me yourself?” 

“He might.”

“Will Metatron allow this disobedience to go unanswered?” 

“Perhaps not, but that is my burden, not yours.” Gadreel stood up, intent on leaving. “Now go, flee with your family.” 

“I wish you luck, Gadreel.” 

“And you, brother.” 

Gadreel departed the house, but as he entered, Dean’s precious Impala was seized by a strange, powerful force. It felt as if all the cells that made up Sam Winchester’s body froze in real-time, effectively trapping the angel that lived inside. 

Gadreel could hear footsteps approaching. The first one he saw was Dean. With an arrogant smirk, he tapped the driver’s seat window.

“Looky what we found,” the human snarked. 

“Where did you keep learning these fancy tricks?” the Crowley demon asked in the distance. He appeared to be in chains. Dean opened the door as he and Castiel hauled the motionless angel and put him in restraints. 

Abner ran outside the house as he spotted the commotion, but Marion the demon, also present at the scene and the caster of the foul blood magic that trapped Gadreel, held an angel blade in her hand. 

“Listen, slim Jim, I’mma need you to mind ya business. We ain’t gonna kill this guy; we just need to talk to him. The restraints are for our safety, not his. He’ll be free and clear in a day from now. You’re more than welcome to pray to your buddy, then. If you don’t hear back, please do whatever you want. Just stay outta our way. Besides,” Marion could see the little girl and woman inside. “You seem to care about those people you’re beholden to.” 

Abner’s jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed. But he couldn’t risk the safety of his wife and child. Not even for Gadreel. “One day.” 

The abductors escorted Gadreel to an abandoned warehouse of some kind. Dark and quiet, with no chance of witnesses. They tied him up to a chair deep inside the decrepit facility. 

“You think Sam’s been healed by now?” Dean asked Cas. Since he was still mortal, there was no way for the ex-angel to be certain. 

“It has been several months; it is likely that if not completely healed, Sam’s body would have healed to a considerable degree,” Cas said. Dean frowned. “I’m sorry, Dean. I know that’s not ideal.” 

“Yeah, well, we’ll figure that out later. We always do.” Dean said determinedly. One landmine at a time.

“Any idea who this guy is?” Crowley questioned as the group watched Gadreel sit and glare from his seat.

“I cannot discern who.” 

“You wanna demystify it for us, huh?” Dean asked the bound angel. 

“Why would I tell you anything?” Gadreel snapped. 

“Fine. I don’t really care who you are. Just get outta my brother – now!” Dean demanded. 

“And if I don’t, you’ll what?” 

“You and I get to play a game,” Crowley crooned. He’d been placed in a chair opposite Gadreel, in his own set of supernatural restraints. 

Gadreel looked wildly at his captors, “Even bound, I can rip this body apart. Tell them, Castiel!” The ex-angel frowned.

“You do, you die,” Dean promised.

“So? You’re going to kill me anyway!” Gadreel argued. 

“We don’t have to kill you,” Marion said. 

“What?” Dean whipped his head around in outrage. “Stay out of this.” 

Marion glared at Dean pointedly. “You want to free your brother? Then shut the fuck up and let the adults handle this one sweetie. Threatening him isn’t gonna work. The trick is to get him agreeable.” She approached Gadreel. “Hey.” 

Gadreel looked up at her waringly. 

Marion turned to Cas. “Sweetie, do you wanna pull out those devil’s trap bullets and put them in his ears.” She pointed at Crowley. “There’s certain things we don’t want him to hear, namely our dearly departed friend. You know the one,” she winked at the ex-angel. Cas realized who she was referring to and quickly did as she asked. 

“This is entirely ridiculous –” Crowley complained. 

“I saw you lurking around my boy Kevin,” Marion said to Gadreel. “I didn’t much appreciate that, but I didn’t kill you. I just gave you a warning shot.” 

Gadreel looked at her with astonishment, “That was you?”

“The bullet that happened to whizz by your head? Made out of that oh-so-special metal y’all angel folk use in those angel blades you’re fond of. You can thank that asshole for that innovation.” Marion pointed at the deafened Crowley, who narrowed his eyes.

“Why are you telling me this? Surely you don’t think I’ll trust you.” Gadreel said.

“There is such a thing as being overly cautious, honey,” Marion remarked. “I didn’t shoot my shot because I don’t see you as my enemy. But I do see you as a potential ally.” 

“How so?” 

“You can help us get even with that Metatron son of a bitch.” 

“No, impossible,” Gadreel exclaimed.

“Oh honey, you should know better. Nothing’s impossible.” Marion smirked.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Dean yelled. “We should be forcing this guy out! He’s inside of Sam, dammit!”

“And who’s fault is that?” Marion yelled. “Can you handle him please?” She asked Cas, who tried to pull Dean to another part of the warehouse. 

“Cas, what are you doing?” Dean tried to pull away. “Get off!” 

“Dean, please, let Marion try this her way.” Cas implored.

“Why should I?” 

“Because it spares the mutilation of your brother’s body,” Marion said, “something I thought you’d appreciate, but I forgot you’re a Winchester. You never appreciate a damn thing people do for you. Now get him outta here,” Marion turned her attention back to Gadreel. “A woman can’t negotiate under such conditions.” 

Cas got close to Dean while the hunter silently fumed. But Dean wondered if he could listen to his brother's screams? 

"We give her ten minutes, and if it doesn't work, we can do this however we need to in order to free your brother. I promise," Cas said to Dean. Crowley sat there, chained up in the middle of the room, ignored by everyone else, while the disgraced King of Hell observed the ex-angel and the hunter closely. 

Gadreel eyed Marion suspiciously.

“Oh c’mon,” Marion said, “you don’t trust me? Sure, I’m a demon, but Meta-douche, he evicted all you feathery folks right outta the pearly gates. You can’t trust a guy like that. He’s just bound to screw you all over again. I mean, you touch down here, no guidance, and he just orders you to kill people – folks who never did a thing to you.” 

“Thaddeus did plenty to me!” Gadreel chided himself for such an outburst. 

“Thaddeus ey?” Marion said, “Okay, sure. Thaddeus got what was coming to him. But Kevin sure didn’t. Nor did that angel buddy of yours, the one playing house.” 

“Abner,” Gadreel said. No harm in sharing that one.

“I didn’t kill him either.” 

“Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome. Now, you may not have heard me, but I told him we’d get you outta here by tomorrow. Let’s make me a woman of my word, huh?”

“You want me to leave Sam’s body,” Gadreel said, “then what?”

“Be a double agent,” Marion suggested. “Let Metatron think he has you under his thumb. You already killed one guy, and Kevin’s not gonna be a problem, thanks to me.”

“What did you do to that boy?” Gadreel wondered. 

“I made him impervious to all supernatural attacks. That spell revoked his Prophet status.”

“So he was a prophet. That’s why Metatron wanted him dead.”

“Then there’s your friend,” Marion said, “Cas got this tattoo a while back. He says it makes him untraceable to other angels. You tell your buddy to get the same tat, and Metatron won’t be able to find him anymore. I’d pray it to him ASAP. Here’s a pic.” Marion showed him the picture of Castiel’s tattoo. “That’s a freebie.”

“I don’t understand. Why does a demon like you want to help angels, or humans, for that matter?” Gadreel questioned. 

“Don’t be so small-minded, Gadreel,” Marion said, “I should you think you’d want to surround yourself with more open-minded folks like myself given the colossal fuck-up you’ve been held liable for.”

“Gadreel?” Cas had returned, with Dean close behind. “You’re Gadreel?” He’d overheard Marion’s conversation with the angel. 

Gadreel was stunned. How did this demon come by his true name?

“That name mean something to you?” Dean asked Cas. 

“Gadreel has been imprisoned since the dawn of time,” Cas revealed, “He would’ve been the sentry who allowed Lucifer into the garden. What followed next was the corruption of man, demons, Hell. God left because of him!” Cas pointed a harsh finger at Gadreel. “The archangels, the apocalypse. None of it would have happened if he hadn't been so weak.” Cas got tense with rage, “You ruined the universe, you damn son of a bitch!”

Marion stepped between the ex-angel and the captive angel. “Whoa, angel daddy, please! You gettin’ a bitch wet in all kinds of ways.” 

“Cas, Cas! Hey!” Dean shook Castiel’s shoulder. The former seraph turned to the hunter. 

“Dean, he –”

“I know. But you gotta chill.” Dean said. Cas settled down at Dean’s prompting. 

“How did you know my name?” Gadreel questioned the demon towering over him.

“You’d be surprised at the things I know. That’s what made you so amenable to being Metatron’s henchman, right?” Marion replied. 

“Indeed. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

“She never answers mine either,” Dean groaned. “Apparently, it’s her damn superpower to know shit she has no business knowin’.”

“Look, I make it my business to know, okay? It helps things along. Now, are you gonna be everyone’s favorite angel? No, but hey, everyone makes mistakes. Cas is proof of that alone, sorry angel face.” Cas frowned, “But the good thing here is that despite what Metatron claims to be, he isn’t God. He doesn’t know all, and most importantly, he doesn’t see all. He can’t hear us talking right now. So he doesn’t have to know where your true allegiances lie. Besides, even you deserve better than to be that bitch’s underling. See, here’s my offer - spy on Metatron, report back to the other angels — discreetly, of course — corner the son of a bitch, clinch the win for your brethren, redeem yourself in the eyes of Heaven, and you get to go back home with all your brothers and sisters a new, better angel! Now, how is that not a win-win?”

Gadreel pondered it over. Cas did as well. 

“But first – you gotta get outta Sam.”

“And where would I go?” 

“That other guy you were wearing when you and Dean first met. I’ll bet my damned soul that Metatron is hanging around that guy as we speak, and you wanna know why?”

“I’d love to know how you know that one.” Dean quipped bitterly. Marion rolled her eyes.

“Because Metatron isn’t half as smart as he thinks he is. He is vainglorious, which makes him easy to anticipate. He clearly wants to be some new God rip-off like Cas but do it worse. No offense again, sweetie,” Marion said to Cas, who rolled his eyes.

“So Metatron will assume I have lost Sam as a vessel?” Gadreel presumed.

“Yes. Keep doing what Metatron expects you to do. If you run into trouble, pray and get back up, or bail out, and we’ll regroup. We can’t win this one without you.”

Gadreel shifted his eyes toward Castiel, “I want to hear it from them. The angels – I need their word.”

Marion turned to Cas. “Your plan has potential,” He mused. “I’ll have to confer with the other angels and see what they think. But it shouldn't be a problem. They’re all desperate to return to Heaven.”

“Cool,” Marion chirped. “See? Agreeable – like I said. Now get out.”

“What is to guarantee this alliance?”

“Hmm, how about a codeword?”

“A codeword?” 

“To let the angels know whose side you’re on. Fufrutiidudomum - it means freedom in Tutnese.”

Gadreel tried to memorize the phrase. “Okay.”

“So, are you gonna get out…” Gadreel looked at Dean. 

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, Dean.” He attempted for an apology. 

“Save it,” Dean said coldly. “Just stay the hell away from my brother.” White angel smoke departed from Sam’s body through his mouth as it moved away and out of the warehouse, headed back to the first vessel Gadreel had inhabited right after the fall.

The angel arrived in the prior vessel who had found his way back to the bar he'd been working for the past year. As Marion stated, Metatron was indeed in the establishment, helping himself to a cocktail. 

“Let me guess, Winchester trouble?”

Back at the warehouse…

“Sam?” Dean was at his brother’s side in an instant, hand on his shoulder as he gently shook Sam into consciousness. 

It took him a moment, but Sam began to stir. He blinked his eyes repeatedly as he took in his surroundings, sussing out where he was. 

“Sammy?” Dean said as he watched his brother gather himself.

Sam’s eyes finally focused on Dean, following his brother’s voice. But then the younger Winchester’s eyes became embittered as Sam remembered their last conversation. 

Dean froze. 

“Get out,” Sam said quietly to his brother. 

“Sam—”

“Get out!” Sam said louder, not giving a damn. He couldn’t be near Dean right now. He needed to get away. 

“Let me just–” 

“Get out! Get out! GET OUT!” Sam kept saying, yelling until his throat started to throb in pain. His voice became hoarse, and the tears in his eyes blurred everything in his line of sight, hiding the expression of heartbreak that Dean bore as he fled the warehouse in distress, Cas hot on his heels. 

Meanwhile, Crowley and Marion sensed a new presence approaching the warehouse from the other direction. 

“Oh shit,” Marion said as she used her magic to free Sam from his restraints while taking the bullets out of Crowley’s ears. 

“The usurper is here,” Crowley declared. 

“Which is our cue to leave,” She said, grabbing onto Sam, but Crowley pointed out, “You won’t get far enough – unless…” 

“We let you go to deal with the bitch?” Marion curled up an eyebrow in displeasure. 

“You’ve got a better idea?”

“Maldito.” She undid the restraints on Crowley as well, despite the burns she was getting on her hands for dealing with touching them.

“Pleasure doing business with you, love,” Crowley smirked as Marion dragged Sam out of the warehouse.

Marion elected to take the younger Winchester back to where Jess had been with their son, Aaron. The couple elected to host their child somewhere away from the bunker, at least until Sam plucked up the courage to tell Dean about the kid. 

Then, all the Gadreel stuff came to light. 

“Hey, kid,” Marion said to Sam. “You feeling sick or something?” 

“Sure,” Sam said tacitly. “I’m sick.” 

“Sam!” Jess ran to her lover, wrapping her arms around him as he enveloped her completely. 

“Hi.” Sam squeaked in a hoarse voice. Jess petted his face. “I missed you.” 

“Back at ya, beautiful,” Jess kissed him deeply.

Marion regarded the scene with a wistful smile.

“Is it done?” Jess asked. “Is the angel out of you for good?” 

“Yeah,” Marion confirmed with a nod. “Sam’s free and clear.” 

“Wait?” Sam said, “You both knew?” 

Both demons frowned. “Yeah. But we couldn’t tell you, Sam.” Marion urged.

“I thought you were all about telling the truth,” Sam told the older demon. 

“There was the risk that upon discovering you were hosting an angel that you’d flip your shit, cast him out, collapse and die.” Marion shrugged. “What was I to do? I kept you alive for over twenty-four hours straight, and you were gonna die.” 

“You’re defending what Dean did?” Sam said incredulously.

“God no,” Marion said. “I’m just saying there weren't many options, aside from you dying is all.” 

“Sam, I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you. We both did - it's just –” Jess didn’t want to say it. She didn’t want to feed the flames of resentment between brothers.

“What Jess?” Sam pleaded, “What stopped you?” 

“I wouldn’t,” Marion cautioned her friend.

“She shouldn't, what?” Sam turned back to the older demon.

“Sam, you’ve been through a ton of shit in just a couple months. These last few days alone,” Marion said to him. “Just sleep it off, and we can answer all your questions once you’ve rested.” 

“No,” Sam said. “I wanna know now.” He implored Jess. “Please.” 

“I don’t want you to hate your brother,” Jess said, looking up at him with yearning eyes. 

“What, did he threaten you?” Sam guessed. Marion and Jess exchanged a tense glance. “Oh my God, he fucking threatened you,” Sam remarked in horror when neither demon said further. 

“He didn’t mean it,” Jess pleaded. 

“Pretty sure he did, considering you both kept quiet.” Sam snapped. 

“Your brother’s not known for rational thought,” Marion added. 

“I don’t care!” Sam yelled. “He threatened Jess! He knows I love her! He’s always resented our relationship as if it was some threat to him; I’m gonna fucking kill—” 

“This is why I didn’t want to say anything!” Jess said woefully. 

“It ain’t your fault, boo,” Marion said to Jess. 

“It’s Dean’s.” Sam declared. 

“Now hang on,” Marion said. “God, I can’t believe I’m saying this…but Sam…I know your brother essentially spread your legs for an angel to slip inside you, but it was either that or just let you die. Considering the last time your life hung in the balance, he sold his soul for ya. You can’t be surprised he’d go to such extremes to save your life.” 

“No, but it doesn’t excuse what he’s done,” Sam responded hotly. 

“Fair enough,” Marion said. “Just…it’s easy to judge when you’ve never been in the hot seat, you know? When’s the last time you’ve had to make a call like that on behalf of someone else?” 

Sam stood quiet then. 

“You and Jess, you’ve got a kid now…so that may actually come up for ya, sooner rather than later, but I hope for your sake, you won’t ever have to make the kind of choice that Dean did.” At that, Marion took her leave. 

“Hold him extra close, girl,” She bade Jess farewell. “He’s gonna need it tonight.” 

Sam turned to Jess when they were finally alone, “Where’s Aaron?” 

“He’s upstairs. I finally got him to fall asleep. He’s kept asking about you the past couple of weeks. I was running out of things to say in that regard.” Jess said. “I’m really sorry, Sam. I hated keeping stuff from you.” 

“I forgive you, baby,” Sam said. “I just can’t believe –” 

“Look, he made the threat against me, and I got over it –”

“Why would you?” Sam questioned. 

“Because I get it,” Jess said simply. 

“Really? You get it.” Sam scoffed. He sure fucking didn’t. How was it justifiable to threaten the love of his life?

“He raised you, Sam. Not your Dad, not really, not from what you told me about your lives. Dean did. He’s more your father than a brother. Imagine if it was Aaron who was dying, and it fell to you to save his life or let him die. That’s not an easy situation, Sam. It’s not an easy choice to make.” 

“I wouldn’t do what Dean did.” 

“I know, believe me. It was fucked up. I was worried that it would backfire, and the angel would take over forever, and you’d just disappear.” 

“That was certainly my fear,” Sam said bitterly. It started to seem that way in the hazy months that Gadreel invaded his body. “I felt less like myself as the days went on. It all feels like a long, crazy-ass dream, but from someone else’s head, you know?” 

“I’m sorry you went through all that, baby,” Jess held him in her arms again. 

“Let’s go to bed, but fair warning, I’m not gonna go to sleep. After Gadreel, losing consciousness isn’t something I’m up for anytime soon.” 

“Alright baby,” Jess took Sam by the hand and led him to their room. 

Dean was faster than Castiel ever gave him credit for. The hunter sure knew how to flee a scene when he wanted to. Cas searched endlessly for the human for several minutes after Sam’s angry outburst. Eventually, Cas found Dean hunched over by the Impala he called home. His body was shaking horribly. 

Dean was crying. 

The hunter appeared to withhold sound as he trembled, and the tears flowed freely from his reddened eyes. Cas felt awful for him. All that work to undo the possession, and Sam tore his brother’s head off for it. 

Did Sam really have to yell so much? So loudly…

Cas got a text alert from Marion. Took Sam to Jess. He’s safe. Good luck with your BF ;D

He stashed the phone away as he gingerly approached Dean. Cas was sure Dean would hear him as the ground was littered with gravel, making it easy to hear one’s approach from several feet away. 

“Cas,” Dean yelled as Cas got within ten feet. His voice was hoarse. “Not now. Just…go away, alright.” 

“No, Dean. Not until I know you’re alright.” Cas said. 

“How could I possibly be alright?" Dean bemoaned wretchedly. “My brother hates me.” 

“He’s just upset. He needs time, I expect.” Cas theorized.

“Time? If he had his way, he wouldn’t have any fucking time! He’d be maggot food.” Dean sniffed. “But I changed that. I saved him, me. It was a lousy call, but if you get a shit hand from the jump…” The hunter shook his head. 

“You’ll see your brother again, Dean,” Cas promised. “Perhaps sooner than you think…” 

“The way he looked at me…” Dean lamented, “All I do is make things worse.” 

“Stop it, Dean. You don’t make things worse. You make things better.” 

“Name one thing I’ve made better. Cuz it’s not Sam – Sam was off doing the college thing, on his way to fucking law school 'til I broke down his door. And you – you’re a depowered angel, and I’m the one who set you on the path to get you that way.” 

“Dean…”

“My dad…my mom. They both would’ve been better off if I had never been born,” Dean’s  lamentation continued, “Jo, Ellen, Bobby, oh God!” 

“Stop, dammit!” Cas yelled, making Dean jump. “I hate when you get like this.” He grabbed Dean’s face and pulled it close to his own. “Listen to me, you stubborn man. The deaths of your friends, your parents, that was never your fault. They were a result of bad circumstances and nothing more, and none of that had anything to do with you. You are a light, Dean, not darkness. Do you hear me? You endure for the sake of others. You are strength and love, and all that is exemplary of the human race. You are a wonderfully frustrating, contradictory, compassionate soul. Your brother will forgive you, and you will be friends again, and I will be here, Dean. I will still be here because I will never leave you.” 

The words just came to him, spilling out of Castiel’s and into Dean’s mind and heart, coating his pain like a salve that let Dean breathe again. 

“Tell me you hear me.” 

He told him, alright. 

Dean kissed him full on the mouth for that. Grabbed Castiel’s face and kept him locked in his grip as their lips became reacquainted with each other. 

Cas didn’t think he’d get to kiss him again. Dean and Cas never discussed what would happen after their impromptu jaunt in the motel room. Here they were again, in an embrace so hot it threatened to burn a hole in the Sun itself.

But is this what Dean needed? Was this right? 

“Don't you dare stop,” Dean urged as the hunter sensed Castiel’s hesitation. Dean lunged at him, taking him down on the gravel below them both.

“Dean…” Cas moaned as he gave in to his desire to have this man he held so dear. To grant him comfort from the storm that raged in the hunter’s heart. They didn’t disrobe completely, just enough to bring each other to the brink, to the high of the orgasms that erupted from their heated bodies. Four hands roamed everywhere – their hair, their jaws, their necks, their hips, their cocks. 

“So good for me, Cas,” Dean bit Castiel’s lips as he sucked the air out of his lungs. “So fuckin’ good. Make me cum you –” Cas gripped him as hard as he could. Dean liked it rough. So Cas gave it to him that way, even though Cas preferred it tender-like. But the mortal knew that this roughness was what Dean needed right now – to escape, to feel good about something today.

Cas bit at Dean’s neck, his shoulders, his clavicle, held down his wrists as his hips ran Dean’s down. It hurt, chafing their flesh, but Dean didn’t give a damn, so neither did Cas.

“Ca–” Dean came so beautifully and had such an entrancing expression that Cas was beginning to develop a taste for this state of orgasmic bliss. The smell of his cum.

But neither man realized that a demon lurked in the shadows some yards away, watching this passionate romp from the cover of the darkness. Watching those two give in to one another gave Crowley a rather brilliant idea. 

Back in the warehouse, Crowley faced Abaddon and two lowly wretches foolish enough to follow her.

“Crowley.” Abaddon greeted as she turned to her goons, “Bring me his head.” But neither one of her underlings dare move.

Crowley smirked. Not daring to waste this opportunity, he said, “See, that's the thing about demons. They're only obedient to a point. Right. Let's have a chat.”

“I'm not here to talk.” Abaddon snarled. 

“I'm not talking to you,” Crowley clarified. “I'm talking to them,” nodding towards the demons that came with the usurper, “the average demon, because I feel their pain. It must have been not easy, with your loving king so cruelly taken from you. I imagine you felt all at sea. And then along came...The brute.” He motioned to Abaddon, “Sure, she's strong – a knight and immortal – for the moment. So I'm unsurprised that some of my more foolhardy subjects bought her line. But now? Good news, my friends.” Crowley outstretches his hands. “Daddy's home.”

Abaddon gave him a derisive look. “Hell doesn't want you, Crowley. It's mine.”

“Is it?” Crowley countered, “Not what I hear. Not while I'm still kicking.”

“Alright then. Let's settle it. You and me. Right here. Winner takes the crown.” 

“It's not?”

“It's a campaign. Hearts and minds, that's what's important. See, the demons have a choice – take orders from the world's angriest ginger – or join my team, where everyone gets a say, a virgin, and all the entrails they can eat.” Crowley grinned mischievously. “Think on it, lads. Spread the word – vote Crowley.” Crowley took his leave then, deciding to take his chance before Abaddon could sink her hooks into him.

Crowley was free but needed to take back his kingdom. He couldn’t trust any of the demons left to help his cause, but there was a way – when there’s a will, there always is. It was only ever a matter of how far you’re willing to go to get where you want. 

Dean was like that, too. Crowley knew that the minute he first saw the lad in action years ago. The hunter had potential – he just needed to be cultivated, to be pushed to the brink. 

And Crowley would be the wind to get him there. 

Sam was so unforgiving towards his brother. Sam would come to regret that. But by then, it would be too late. Dean will be changed forever, the perfect warrior – the strongest killing machine and nothing would stand in the way of Crowley’s glorious return to his throne, and no one, not even a bloody Winchester, would be able to get in his way again. 

Crowley smiled gleefully. It was going to be so easy. 

“See you soon, Dean.”

Chapter Text

Alone. He was alone again. 

Cas had to leave and deal with the angels, helping them find Metatron. He said he didn’t want to leave but he still left anyway. Then again, Dean could’ve asked him to stay. 

Sam was icing him out. Dean hadn’t heard from his brother in days. It made the days go slower, and Dean’s mind went mad with grief and anxiety. Was Sam fully healed? He had no earthly idea. No one reached out to the elder Winchester.

Then again, he could’ve reached out to them all – Sam, Jess, Marion. 

He hoped Sam was okay and that the time Gadreel rode shotgun in his body was enough to heal him permanently. 

Dean supposed that time would tell. In the meantime, he’d been adrift in middle America, haunting dives and pool halls. It was reminiscent of his early twenties when Sam was safe and warm in Stanford, and his father was never seen but apparently always fine – fine without Dean.

Dean hated those days. His lucky nights with women were the only good times back then, but only brief respites, akin to the camel that drinks water in the endless, unforgiving deserts.

Speaking of beautiful, one walked behind where Dean sat as he looked around the sad, dreary place. Nicest looking one in the whole joint. He gave her a once-over with a smile as she sauntered by, trying not to think about Cas or how everyone in his life was doing just fine without him…

“Is that boudoir smile for me?” Next thing Dean knew, he found Crowley sitting right next to him at the bar, a cocktail oddly placed before the demon. 

Dean’s face tensed up immediately as he dug around his jacket for the demon knife he had. 

“At least buy me a drink first,” Crowley said as he played around with a fake flower in his mouth.

“I should fuckin’ kill you right now,” Dean said quietly. 

“Why dwell on the past?” Crowley asked. The demon looked around the establishment. “This bar is a bust. That waitress is trouble with a capital VD.” Apparently, he caught Dean looking. Not that he was trying to be subtle about it, but why the fuck did Crowley care? “It’s time to move onto more pressing matters, like destroying Abaddon, for instance.”

“Good luck with that,” Dean scoffed. “Those Knights of Hell ain’t the dyin’ kind.” 

“What if I told you that there was something that can kill a Knight? A weapon the archangels used to execute their kind – the First Blade.” 

Dean looked at him dubiously. “Never heard of it. Can I kill you now?” 

“I've been chasing that blade for decades,” Crowley rambled on. “The closest I got to it was when one of my droogs – Smitty – got wind of a protégé demon of Abaddon's who claimed knowledge of the blade. Sadly, before Smitty could nab the guy, a hunter by the name of John Winchester nabbed the protégé. I'm here to see if there's anything in the John Winchester memorial library that might lead us to the first blade and kill that traitorous whore.”

Dean blinked, “You want to hunt? With me?” Was he in the twilight zone?

“I love a good buddy comedy,” Crowley smirked. 

Dean rolled his eyes. He should probably kill Crowley…but if this weapon story was legit, it would be the first proper lead on killing that Abaddon. He couldn’t pass that up. Reluctantly, he pulled out his father’s well-worn journal out of his jacket, laying it on the barstool. He flipped through the pages, trying to comb the notes for a thread to this supposed blade.

“Well shit,” he found the reference, “He did pick up a demon with bones to Abaddon, but that’s all he said about it on here.” John Winchester wasn’t one to prattle on. Not like the demonic Sawney that Dean was apparently doomed to be accompanied by.

Crowley leaned in, making Dean infinitely more uncomfortable as the demon tried for a peek at John’s journal. “What do the numbers in the margins signify?” 

“None of your goddamn business.” Dean pulled the journal away, hovering over it protectively. 

“You want to play hard to get?” Crowley quipped. “We have time for a montage.” 

“I’m gonna go to one of my dad’s storage lockers. He might have more info about this there.” Dean stashed the journal away in his jacket. 

“What did the T mean?” 

Dean shrugged, “Beats me.” As if he would give up the goods.

“Fine.” Crowley hopped off the barstool. “Let's go find Daddy's man cave, then, shall we?”

“How do I know this ain’t a trap?” 

“You don’t.” Crowley winked. “That’s what makes it fun.” Crowley didn’t seem annoyed by how little Dean was giving him. It was odd. Usually, he’d be threatening Dean right about now. This whole scenario was fucking with Dean’s head. What the fuck was Crowley’s game? Why was he even here? Dean shouldn’t be talking to the demon. But he was alone. 

What else was he gonna do?

“Are you allergic to good decisions?!” Marion hissed as Dean approached his beloved vehicle. 

“Hello, Marion,” Crowley said cheekily. “Have you come to join us? The more the merrier.” 

“I ain’t talkin’ to you!” Marion snapped at the other demon. “Has perdido tu mente o que?” 

“Why are you yelling at me in Spanish?” 

“You got a B in Spanish class!” Marion mentioned. 

“How’d you –” Dean sputtered as he caught Crowley looking at him. “It was to fuck Vicky Guitierrez. She had an ass like – you know what, never mind. Get out of my way.” Marion decided to step in between Dean and the driver’s seat door of the Impala. 

“Why in the hell are you hanging out with Crowley? Crowley of all people?” Marion said in disbelief. 

He should ask about Sam. But his pride wouldn’t let Dean form the words. “He came to me. Now move.” 

“We’re on a case!” Crowley told her.

“What did I just say?” Marion shouted, “I ain’t talkin’ to you bitch!” 

“Touchy!” Crowley said, unfazed. 

“Why do you think he came to you?” Marion asked the human. “He wants something, and it ain’t ever good when Crowley wants something. Have you forgotten what this dickhead has done to you? To your friends? The people you loved?”

“You know I don’t get you Marion,” Dean said coolly. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were worried about me, fussin’ over me like a mom would. Well, you ain’t my momma. So fuck off.” Dean walked around the demon as Crowley smirked at her, thinking he’d won. 

“He came to you because he knows you’re vulnerable after that blowout with Sam. You’re needy, lonely, and desperate. You have a self-destructive streak that rivals manic depressives on their worst days. This is what Crowley does best: pushes people into becoming the worst version of themselves. I know because it’s what he did to me!” 

“Oh, so you do think about me,” Crowley said coyly.

“I know you don’t trust me because there’s things about me you don’t know or understand. And that’s fine. But you mean to tell me you trust me less than Crowley? Really?”

“No, but right now, I hate him less than I hate you,” Dean said. He quickly got in his car, with Crowley riding shotgun, and sped the Impala down the road, leaving Marion in the dust. 

He didn’t mean it. But he wanted to shut her up. He needed to get her outta the way. It’s her own fault for always gettin’ into his business. Who asked her anyhow?

He wasn’t stupid. He knew whatever drove Crowley to come Dean’s way was likely nefarious. Dean was determined to cross that bridge when he got there. He could handle whatever Crowley or anyone else threw at him. Cuz he was a hunter, dammit! 

John didn’t raise a weak man. He raised a soldier. Soldiers kill, and if Dean had his way, Abaddon would meet her end at the hands of Dean Winchester, hell or high water.

After three grueling hours, Dean finally made it to John’s lock-up in Buffalo. It felt like a betrayal, bringing Crowley along to this place. It's certainly not what John would’ve wanted. 

But fuck it, he’s dead. And Dean needed a win.

Dean wasn’t completely careless, though. He had Crowley chained up – oddly, the demon didn’t complain about that – and put a dark bag over his head. It was likely that the dulling of human sight and mobility wouldn’t actually hinder a demon as old as Crowley from deducing such a location, but that wouldn’t stop Dean from undergoing protective measures. Why make it easy?

“Is all this really necessary?” Crowley said, muffled by the bag that hung over his head.

“Would it kill you to shut up?” Dean groaned. The demon had been talking ever since they got in the car. The hunter developed a mild headache in the process. “Now stay here and don’t move, or I’ll cut your fucking eye out.” 

“Touchy, touchy,” Crowley repeated. “For not liking her, you sure act like Marion does. Did. Sorry. Mind’s a muddle sometimes.”

“I’m nothin’ like her.”

“Sure, ‘course you’re not,” Crowley said. The bag was still over his head, but Dean felt the demon’s eyes follow him. It was creepy. 

Just focus on the task at hand. Dean rummages through the files. John did like to do paperwork, one of the few things Dean never bothered to emulate. He never saw the point in it. 

Bingo. “Here we go,” Dean pulled out the file that caught his eye, skimming it over. “My dad worked with another hunter when he nabbed Abaddon’s lackey.” Inside the case folder was the picture of a woman, the supposed partner on this particular job. Blonde, white, about John’s age. Weird. Her face was rigid with austerity, but she resembled Dean’s mother, Mary. 

Huh. 

“And?” Crowley pressed. 

“They interrogated the demon, then exorcized his ass. But after, he brought up the First Blade.”

“I love it when I’m right,” Crowley said smugly. Dean rolled his eyes. 

“Let’s go see if this Tara’s still kicking,” Dean grabbed Crowley as they headed for the exit. 

“Tara? Ooo sounds sexy,” Crowley commented. 

Once again, Marion was waiting for them. 

“Marion, darling. We have to stop meeting like this,” Crowley crooned. 

“Shut up,” Marion and Dean said simultaneously, making them both frown. Again, simultaneously. 

“What do you want now?” 

“Don’t go looking for that old blonde lady.” 

“Blonde? Oh-ho-ho, I misjudged that John Winchester. The man was one of substance chasing blonde tail. Good for him.” Crowley said wryly. 

“Are you giving me orders?” Dean challenged Marion. 

“No dumbass,” Marion held up a paper. It had a scribbled address on it. “I’m speeding up your little side quest. This will take you to what you’re lookin’ for.” 

Dean reached out to take it, but Marion held it back, out of his reach. 

“I don’t got time for whatever this is,” Dean snapped. He pulled out Ruby’s knife with hostility. “Either hand it over or fuck off, or the next demon that gets killed by this blade will be you.” 

“You didn’t listen to me about the trials, and you’re paying for those choices right now,” Marion said. “Please don’t make the same mistake twice and ignore me a second time. You do not want to do this. We can figure out another way to kill Abaddon. The first blade ain’t worth it.” 

“How the fuck do you keep knowing about all this shit!” Dean growled. “What are you the only demon psychic no one’s ever heard about?!” 

“No!” Marion shouted back. It was the first time Dean ever saw her so…helpless.

“It is rather convenient, you know, all these little factoids that keep coming true,” Crowley added.

“Please…don’t do this. You’ll regret it. The things you’ll go through. The way it changes you…you may never come back this time.” 

Dean regarded her intently. “Get out of my way.” 

Marion shut her eyes and stepped aside in another moment. Dean shoved Crowley back into the Impala as his human eyes were still obstructed by the bag. By the time Dean marched back to the driver’s side, he found Marion gone, but the note was left behind. He also got a text on his phone.

Tara’s a dead end. All she could give you was an address. She hates demons, and Abaddon’s goons are tracking you. You already had to kill one of them to get them off your tail. I’m checking for more. Don’t take the backroads. They’ll be expecting you to. 

Who was Marion? Seriously. A total bitch one moment, a fucking savior the next. A perverted deviant in a flash but, in the next blink of an eye, a watchful guardian. How can one be so contradictory? 

How was she getting her info? Why was it all coming true? It all made Dean trust her less and less.

If he couldn’t take backroads, he would have to take the bag off Crowley’s head. 

“Are we moving?” 

But he didn’t have to do that right away. Not at this time of night.

After half a day of driving, Dean finally reached the address Marion had given. 

The second they got out of the car, Crowley started to act funny – even for Crowley. “Wait.” 

“What?” 

“I feel something.” Looking around, Dean didn’t see anything odd about the place they had arrived at. It was a perfectly ordinary house in a quiet, isolated part of Missouri. There were some white containers next to a giant, old-looking tree. But nothing remarkable or ominous. Was Crowley pulling his leg? “Something dark.” 

“Darker than you?” Dean replied with a quirked eyebrow. If Dean didn’t know any better…

Crowley’s face was weighed with deep anxiety as Dean spotted a man in a beekeeper suit tending beehives over by the house. “We need to leave here now.” The demon urged.

Leave? They just got here. “you allergic to bees?

“That man is not a beekeeper. That’s the Father of Murder!” 

“Sorry, who?”

“Cain, you simpleton!” Crowley said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“As in Cain and Abel?” Wouldn’t that guy have died thousands of years ago?

“Nothing gets past you,” Crowley scoffed, “We need to be a world away from here – from him .” But the second Crowley turned around to head to the Impala, the beekeeper stood in his way, taking the hooded veil off his head. 

“You’re not going anywhere, Crowley,” the man declared, a man who appeared to be in his fifties, large – larger than Dean expected with hard, unforgiving eyes that always seemed to be calculating his next move. He grabbed both the demon and hunter that stood before him, and in an instant, all were transported inside Cain’s house. Dean noticed there were a lot of bee-themed stained glass windows decorating the home. 

That’s a choice. Dean thought as he stood in the middle of a living room. Crowley seemed frazzled – under another set of circumstances, it would have been amusing to see, but it was just cumbersome at the moment. 

“Why don’t you just zap outta here?” Dean asked the demon.

“Because I won’t permit it,” Cain stated, his austere eyes onto the ambitious devil.

“It’s not like I can very well abandon my domestic partner in crime anyway,” Crowley said. 

“Right, cuz your heart grew three sizes,” Dean rolled his eyes. 

“I’m going to go get some tea, and when I return, I want an honest, clear explanation as to why you two decided to come here,” Cain said calmly. “Don’t make the stupid decision of trying to leave.” He said to Dean pointedly. Then he turned on his heel and headed for the kitchen. 

“You wanna tell me about this, Cain?” Dean asked Crowley. Clearly, the Bible missed the fact that Cain was still around.

“After Cain killed Abel, he became a demon,” Crowley explained, “The deadliest demon to walk the face of the earth. Killed thousands for thousands of years. He excelled at being the worst. And then, one day, he just disappeared. Everyone thought he was dead or at least hoped he was.”

The demon cowered as Cain returned with a full tea set and set it on the coffee table. “Do either of you keep bees? It's very relaxing. They're such noble creatures. And the honey? Well, I keep it right on the comb.” As he handed Crowley a cup, the former demon king trembled as the cup he held began to rattle in his grip. Cain paid him no mind as he next served Dean a cup of tea. “They're dying, you know. Without bees, mankind will cease to exist. So, what are the King of Hell and a Winchester doing at my house?”

“You know who we both are?” 

“I may be retired, but I’m not dead,” Cain said. “What I don't know is why you're looking for me and, more importantly, how you found me.”

“That's, uh, a funny story, really,” Crowley said nervously, “Bit of a misunderstanding. We really should –” Cain motioned for Crowley to shut his mouth, and the demon had no choice but to submit to his power. 

“They’re here because of me,” Marion appeared abruptly, standing next to Dean as she stared at Cain warily. She was covered in blood and cuts as if she’d been fighting and killing all day.

“You –” Cain regarded her with a once over. “You, I do not know. You’re… an anomaly.” 

“I get that a lot,” Marion said tensely. 

“You’re either brave or very foolish to come uninvited into my home,” Cain said ominously. 

“I used a location spell to get a lead on the First Blade’s location – your blade. It led right here. To you. I warned this boy to leave it alone, but once Dean makes up his mind – there’s no stopping him. He’s awfully stubborn that way.” 

“So I see,” Cain said, his eyes flicking over to the Winchester. “Why have you come looking for my blade?”

“We need it to kill Abaddon,” Dean answered. Cain absentmindedly touched the ring on his left ring finger. “If you’re retired, you’re retired. We’re not here to mess with that.” 

“Does anyone else know you’re here?” Cain asked them. 

“No,” Marion said. “Though not for lack of trying.” She spread her bloody arms to prove her point.

“It's been a pleasure having company, but once a century is enough for me. You can let yourselves out.” 

“We're not leaving here without the Blade,” Dean declared. 

“Watch it, boy,” Marion snapped. “That’s the OG big bad demon you’re talking down to.” 

Cain didn’t seem to mind it much, “You have quite a reputation, Dean. I see the part about you being brave rings true.”

“What can I say? I'm an all-in kinda guy. Abaddon is the last Knight of Hell. If you're out of the game, what the hell do you care if she dies?” Dean questioned. 

“This demon woman and the silent potato on the couch can vouch that I was the one who trained the Knights of Hell. I built that entire demonic order with my own hands -- Abaddon included.” Cain informed. 

“You didn’t wanna tell me that?” Dean said indignantly to Marion and Crowley. “Either one of you?!” 

“Here's something your friends don't know that no one does, in fact – outside of Abaddon. It wasn't the archangels that slaughtered the Knights. It was me.” Cain claimed.

“You turned on your own?” Dean remarked. 

Cain gathered his coat, “If you'll excuse me, I have errands to run in town. Goodbye, Dean Winchester... Never return.” He marched out of his house, not waiting for a reply. 

“I guess he expects us to just get the fuck out by the time he comes back,” Marion said as she watched Cain get further away from the house. 

“That was pleasant,” Crowley was freed from Cain’s iron grasp. “Can we flee the country now?”

“Oh, stop the bullshit, you fuckin’ asshole!” Marion turned on the other demon. “This is what you wanted from the start!” 

“I wanted the blade, not its prior owner!” Crowley shouted. “And it amounted to a big fat waste of time because the blade isn’t even here!” 

Dean moved around the house, searching all over, eyes scanning the furniture. Marion and Crowley watched him. “What are you two waiting for? Start looking.” 

“You wanna just…riffle through Cain’s shit?” Marion blinked. “Cain…the king of murder?” 

“He’s a death wish waiting to be granted,” Crowley said, “I’m getting out of here.” 

“No one’s stopping you,” Marion sassed. “Bye, Felicia!” 

“The sooner we find the blade, the sooner we can get out of here,” Dean said. 

“That’s the problem, Dean,” Marion urged. “Between us demons, we can’t sense it.” 

“And that matters because –”

“If the legends are true, that blade is the world’s oldest murder weapon,” Marion said, “Abel was just the first to meet his end on that thing. Cain killed thousands with it. That generates a certain amount of juju that we demons can sense. So it ain’t here.” 

Dean spots an old picture on the mantel in the living room. He picks it up to look closer. The picture was of a woman; only a name was shown on the bottom.

Colette.

Upon further inspection, Dean saw she was wearing a ring very similar to the one on Cain's hand. “So this is why he went off the reservation so many years ago.”

“It was hot goss back in the day – that Cain had taken a lady – a human for a wife,” Marion said. 

“And that’s who he chose?” Crowley said as he surveyed the picture. “Little plain if you ask me.” 

“Nobody did pendejo,” Marion sneered.

“That belongs to me,” Cain popped back into his home, making Crowley jump. Dean returns the picture. 

“Gorgeous, by the way,” Crowley said. 

“What are you doing with this clown?” Cain asked Dean. “The Dean Winchester I’ve read about on demon bathroom walls certainly wouldn’t be chummy with the likes of Fergus Macleod.”

“You know my birth name?” Crowley said in surprise.

“You’re not as untouchable as you think you are,” Cain turned to Marion, “And you – you said you didn’t want Dean to come here. Yet you sent him all the same. Why? Why does a demon like you want to help this hunter of the supernatural, a natural enemy?”

Marion looked Cain in the eye, sighing. “I loved his mother, alright? I loved her, and I couldn't save her from her fate. She died young and without a damn chance.” 

Cain narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“That’s what happened to you, isn’t it?” Dean piped up. “I see the Colette picture, but no Colette.” He gestured to Cain’s ring. “You lost her?” 

“A long time ago,” Cain said. “She knew what I was yet loved me unconditionally. She only asked for one thing.” He stared into the depths of Dean’s soul. “To stop. I felt connected to you, Dean, right from the beginning of this visit. Kindred spirits, if you will. You and I are very much alike.” 

“I’m nothing like you,” Dean responded hotly. “I didn’t kill my brother.” 

“Give it time.”

“All the time in the world’s not gonna make me kill my brother.” 

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” 

“Because you don’t give up on family.” 

“Where is your dear brother then?” Cain countered. 

“I don't know what kind of game you're playing here, and I don't really care. Just give me the damn blade.” Dean demanded. 

“Unfortunately for you, the blade is long gone.” 

“What? How can it be gone? It drew us to you.” 

“You were merely drawn by the source of its power – me,” Cain said. The legendary biblical figure rolled up the sleeve of his right arm, revealing an equally famous seal that set Cain on his violent path. When Crowley’s eyes set upon it, he made the sign of the cross in a hurry.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Marion said as she and Dean bore witness to none other than the Mark of Cain.

“I got it from Lucifer himself. This mark and the Blade work together to become a force like none other. Without the mark, the blade is useless. It's just an old bone.” Cain elaborated. 

“The jawbone you used to kill Abel because he was God's favorite,” Dean pointed out the old Bible story.

“You got it wrong. Abel wasn't talking to God. He was talking to Lucifer,” Cain said darkly. “The devil was gonna make my brother into his pet. I couldn't bear to watch my brother become corrupted, so I offered him a deal – Abel's soul in heaven for my soul in hell. Lucifer accepted on the condition that I be the one who sent Abel to heaven. So, I killed him and became a soldier of Hell – a knight.”

“Then the devil had you make more,” Dean presumed. Cain nodded. 

“The knights I trained did horrible things in my name. I committed atrocities,” Cain said. “We became harbingers of chaos for generations.”

“Until you met Colette,” Marion noted.

“When the knights discovered the truth, they took retribution. They took Colette, so I picked the First Blade back up in an attempt to save her. It felt so good to have it in my hands again. I slaughtered the Knights of Hell.” 

“You missed one,” Dean pointed out.

“I should’ve never taken Abaddon under my charge,” Cain hissed.

“So if the blade isn’t here with you, where did it go?” Dean asked. 

“You never give up on anything, do you?” Cain replied. 

“Some things,” Marion stared at Dean. The hunter could’ve sworn he heard a whisper of Lisa’s name. Cassie’s. Dean narrowed his eyes at the demon.

Cain watched the exchange. “I threw the blade into the Atlantic Ocean after I buried my Colette and honored her dying wish to stop killing. But that was well over a century ago. Your guess is as good as mine as to where the Blade lies now. But as I’ve said, the blade is worthless without this Mark.” He approached Dean. “The question is – are you willing to take it, Dean? You don’t have to. You don’t have to take on this burden. Your demon friend here was right to warn you. The weight of it is…” Cain took a gaze upon it. “Overbearing.”

“You’re not leadin’ me on here?” Dean asked. “I can’t use the blade without that thing?”

“No.” Cain stated, “You can’t.”

“Then yeah. I need it.” 

“Why Dean? Why do you need it? Why must it fall to you to fight the evils of this world?”

Dean eyed him with uncertainty. What did Cain care? The way the demons went on about him, Cain was right up there with Satan. 

“I’m not giving you anything, Dean, until you answer that question,” Cain said.

“Don’t do this,” Marion warned Dean a final time. “We can find another way to gank this bitch. Ain’t you always talkin’ about a better way? You and Sam always pull some shit outta your ass to win the day. If this is about your brother –”

“Not everything I do is about that damn kid,” Dean hissed. 

“Sam?” Cain asked. “That’s your brother’s name.” 

“What of it?” Dean replied. 

“Are you going to answer my question?” 

“Look, huntin’ & fightin’ is who I was raised to be. I don’t know or care about all that destiny crap. But I’m good at it and better me than some other john who’s got something to lose. Now, are you gonna give me the Mark or not?” Dean said to the legendary killer.

“The mark can be transferred to someone who's worthy,” Cain responded.

“You mean a killer like you?” 

Cain nodded. 

“Well, spare me the warnin’ label. If I can kill the bitch, I don’t care.” Dean rolled up his sleeve, ignoring the pained look in Marion’s eyes. What the hell did she care?

Cain grabbed Dean's bare arm. “Good luck, Dean. You’re gonna need it.” 

“Let’s dance.” A line of red veins spread from Cain's mark to burn an identical one on Dean's exposed forearm as the original one on Cain’s faded some. Dean gasped in pain as the mark etched itself into his flesh. Dean felt an odd sense of heat in his body, one with an ominous energy that made Dean’s stomach turn. His body went cold. 

“Why did you give him the mark?” Marion asked Cain. It’s not like Dean could’ve forced him to comply.

“Because he’s going to kill me with it,” Cain declared. “And when I die, I will finally be free of this wretched world.” He turned to Dean. “You find Abaddon, put her down, and when you’re finished – you come to see me. I’ll be right here, waiting for you.”

“Fine, if you’re itchin’ to go so bad,” Dean shrugged, managing his best to stifle down the bile that threatened to eject from his mouth. Was he gonna feel this shitty all of the time now? Maybe he should’ve glanced at the warning label after all. “We’re outta here.” He went for the front door.

“I’ll see you soon, Dean,” Cain said after him. Dean paused before he crossed the front porch, retreating to his car. “Sooner than you think.”

Marion was gone by the time Dean reached the Impala. But Crowley stuck around, hot on Dean’s heels, as the two drove away, heading straight for the East Coast. For the whole drive, the urge to vomit never receded. Dean’s stomach churned like hot magma in the pit of a volcano, waiting to erupt. 

It’s like the Mark came alive, seeping its way throughout Dean’s mind, body, and soul, sinking its entrails into the very fiber of Dean’s being. If he felt this bad after just getting the damn thing, then what would life be like in just a few months or a whole year from now?

No. Buck the fuck up. Don’t forget the mission. Abaddon had to go. Cain might as well go, too, Father of Murder that he was. 

And anyone else who stands in our way.

Dean panicked. What the fuck was that?

“You are worthy, you know,” Crowley said. He’d been oddly quiet all night, merely taking glances at Dean from the front passenger seat.

“Great, now you’re gonna get all touchy-feely too.” This easily had to be one of Dean’s top-ten worst days to be alive. And he had plenty of contenders. 

“Your problem, mate, is that nobody hates you more than you do,” Crowley said to the human. “Believe me, I've tried.”

This whole day was just wrong. It was usually with Sam that Dean would have the heart-to-hearts. Now, it was with Crowley? Of all the twisted, fucked up things. Deciding to stick to business, Dean asked, “So how do we find this Blade?”

Crowley leered at him before answering. “You can't search the bottom of the ocean, but I can. So, I'll retrieve it and bring it to its new owner.”

“Why’d you set me up?” Dean asked the demon. “You knew about the Mark. You knew about Abaddon and Cain. You knew all of it. You played me. Why?”

Crowley gave him a dark smile. “It’s not like he would’ve given the blade to me. Who can say no to you? I needed you to play along.” 

“You knew we were being followed, and you didn't say anything,” Dean pointed. 

“Yes, but as always, that meddlesome little Marion got in the way,” Crowley scoffed. “I mean, honestly, she must have killed over a dozen demons to keep Abaddon at bay.”

Dean punched the demon squarely in the jaw. “You son of a bitch!” 

Crowley rubbed at his jaw. “I’m just glad you didn’t listen to her. Good for you coming to your senses –”

“After I gank Abaddon, you’re fuckin’ next. You hear me, you spineless dick?!” Dean bellowed.

Crowley laughed at the threat. “Kill me? But we’re having so much fun! I’ll call when I find the Blade. See you around, Squirrel.” The demon dispersed in the next second, leaving Dean all alone.

Dean parked his car on the side of the road as he rushed over to puke his guts out. When he finally finished purging, he wobbly made his way back to the Impala as it sat by the quiet, dark, lonesome road—fitting for a guy like Dean. 

Dean’s been through a lot in these thirty-five years of living. He’d been to hell and back twice over. He made a career out of grave-robbing, monster-hunting, living life on the lam as nothing more than a second-rate hustler who can gamble, steal, and shoot with the best of ‘em. He’s done questionable things to survive. Fucked up things in the name of family.

But nothing made him feel dirtier or smaller than this Mark of Cain.

Dean felt the sudden urge to pray. But Cas was a mortal now. He wouldn’t hear him. But fuck it…anything to feel better than this. He was alone after all. No one was around to see him crumble. No one was around to hear him scream.

“ Cas…I know you can’t hear me right now, but I need to get this shit off my chest. I did something crazy because it was the right call to make. At least, that’s how it felt at the time. Then again, it felt right to save Sam, but he hates me, and I don’t know if he’ll forgive me this time. Makes me wonder if I can't make the right plays anymore. I’m having Crowley ride shotgun these days. Crowley – Jesus. Maybe Sam is right to hate me. ”

“Dean…” No, it couldn’t be.

It was. Cas, back in his suit with no tie, stared at Dean so desolately. 

“How are you here right now?” Dean expressed.

“Marion,” Cas answered. “She came and got me right after. She insisted that I needed you now more than ever,” His blue eyes fell to the Mark of Cain, freshly burned onto Dean’s arm. “You got that?” 

Dean tried to roll up his sleeve. Cas moved quicker than the hunter anticipated. 

“Don’t.” Dean cautioned, but Cas grabbed his arm, clenching it tightly. Blue eyes bore into green. “Dammit, Dean. What on Earth possessed you to do this?”

“I need it to kill Abaddon,” Dean replied. 

“And this was the only way?” Cas said in disbelief.

“Archangels can’t even kill her, Cas,” Dean said. “Cain was the one who put the Knights of Hell down, nobody else.” 

“You have no idea what you have done,” Cas said grimly. “This Mark is a curse of true evil. Do you know who had the mark before Cain? Lucifer. Back when he was good, back when he served God. It was not until after God bestowed on Lucifer the honor of bearing that Mark changed Lucifer into the force of evil he is now.”

Seriously? “I didn’t know.” 

“Of course you didn’t. You wouldn’t have had the means to know. Neither would Cain. If you only would have come to me, reached out to me before going to see Cain, before taking on this horrendous burden.” Cas grabbed Dean’s face, pulling him in close. “Why did you do this to yourself, Dean?” 

“I’m sorry,” Dean felt like he let Cas down. Sweet, dorky, fish outta water Cas was here when even Sam couldn’t stand to be. Cas was the one willing to love Dean when everyone else wrote the hunter off as a no-good piece of shit. 

But deep down, you know you don’t deserve him.

Cas backed away from Dean as he let go of his face. “Give me the keys.”

“What?” 

“Give me the keys,” Cas repeated. “I’m going to drive you back to the bunker and take care of you.” 

“I’m not one to be taken care of,” Dean scoffed at the suggestion. 

“You’ve taken on the Mark of Cain, Dean,” Cas said, swiping the keys from Dean’s jacket. “You’re going to need all the help you can get.” 

“I don’t need you hangin’ around out of obligation,” Dean said. 

“Obligation has nothing to do with this, Dean,” Cas said, sounding almost offended. 

“You don’t even know how to drive a car.” Dean pointed out. 

“Now’s as good a time as any,” Cas said. They were in an open space…

“What about the angels?” Dean brought up as Cas started the car.

“They understand that I need to take some time to be with you,” Cas said. 

“That’s awfully understanding of them,” Dean said in a tone of surprise. 

“I may not have my grace, but you are still my charge, Dean,” Cas stated. He put the car in drive, and slowly, the Impala moved under Castiel’s operation. At this time of night, there were almost no cars around for miles at a time. The only problem was the visibility, but Cas appeared to be navigating that part fine. 

Dean wouldn’t have let Cas behind the wheel if it were any other circumstances. But he had an inkling that this Mark was gonna take a lot outta Dean. So if Cas wanted to hang around and baby him…Dean wasn’t above letting him.

“You’re doin’ well,'' Dean noted. Cas wasn’t driving too fast but not too slow either. Dean couldn’t stand drivers that dragged on the road. 

“After years of watching you, I’d say I have a good reference,” Cas replied, eyes focused on the dark road.

“So Marion brought you to see me, huh?” 

Cas nodded. “She did.” 

“Remind me to thank her.” 

“A genuine instance of gratitude towards Marion? Now I’m definitely worried.”

“Did you just tell a fucking joke?”

“Well, yes, was it not funny?” Cas asked.

Dean found himself giggling like a drunken fool. It brought a soft smile upon Castiel’s handsome face.

But it begged the question – where was she now?

Sam was settling well into family life. The days were fast and chaotic with their son, Aaron, as Aaron acclimated to living as a functional child. Aaron was willing to learn, though, and Jess was so patient. Sam always loved that about her. Between the two of them, Aaron learned how to dress himself in clothing, how to bathe himself, and how to get potty-trained in no time. 

Eating was a struggle as the family learned the hard way that Aaron couldn’t adhere to typical human diets. But he didn’t seem to be starving either, as he was no mortal child. 

Sam’s body was still not entirely healed from the trials. Sam would get tired fairly easily. He tried drinking demon blood again, but it only helped so much.

To distract himself from the failings of his own mortal coil, Sam shifted his focus to getting to know his son. Aaron was getting a grasp of the English language, but at barely ten years old, he wasn’t much of a conversationalist. That didn’t bother Sam. He would sit by his young child, watching him. Aaron didn’t mind. 

After the second time, Sam hung out with Aaron; he witnessed his boy use telekinesis for the first time. Jess and Sam didn’t have much to offer their son in the way of toys as they were unsure of what Aaron would even like. They defaulted to sharing stories to amuse their son when they weren’t showing Aaron the ropes of being a human and the typical human routine. 

“Good morning Aaron,” Sam greeted. Maybe he should’ve gotten adjusted to it, but it was still bizarre to see and know that the child walking around him was his child. Blood of his very blood. It would certainly take some getting used to, but Sam was overcome with joy. 

Thanks to a crazy set of miracles, he somehow gained a family of his own—a son and his mother, Jess.

Sam wondered if he should pinch himself. Sure, they were both demons, but technically, so was the younger Winchester with the cursed blood running through his veins.

Aaron waved at his father as he still worked on getting a handle on human speech.

“You sleep okay?” Sam asked. Aaron nodded. The kid was adapting to a sleeping schedule. He’d been restless at first but was finding the bed to be quite comfortable. It was letting down his guard instinctively that was the challenge.

"You feeling hungry?" Sam asked next but Aaron shook his head. Sam made a mental note to check in within a few hours.

"Well, to be honest, I'm a little peckish but I can wait for a bit, and spend some time with you." He said. "Does that sound fun?"

Aaron nodded eagerly. Sam smiled warmly. "Alright. What do you want to do today?"

Aaron kept practicing his telekinesis, which impressed Sam immensely. Another human would be alarmed at such a thing, but being a special child as Sam had been, he had a unique perspective. Besides, Aaron didn't seek to harm anyone. What he'd done before, the violence he unleashed, was pure survival, no different than an animal making their way on Earth, eating to make it to the next sunrise. 

Sam would kill anyone who threatened his child and pursued revenge, though something told the Winchester that his son was quite thorough in his bloodshed. He didn't know how to feel about that.

Later on, Marion appeared in their home. She was covered in blood.

“Marion?” Sam said, aghast at the violent display. The demon reeked of death. “What the hell is going on?” 

“Something’s happened, Sam,” Marion said. “Something terrible.” 

“Okay…what?”

“It’s about your brother,” Marion warned. 

“Is – he dead?” Sam guessed, worry creeping into his voice. 

“No. But he’s gonna wish he was.” Marion said. 

“If he’s not dead, then I don’t care,” Sam said coldly. 

“He took on the Mark of Cain!” 

“What? Kane, as in the wrestler?” 

“No dumbass, as in Cain and Abel! As in the OG murderer! That guy!” 

“Cain’s still around? He’d have to be several thousand years old.” Sam remarked.

“Yeah. Well, being an undead hellspawn helps bear the passage of time.” The she-demon replied.

“Start from the beginning,” Sam insisted. 

Marion explained everything — how down in the dumps Dean had been after Sam departed, how Crowley had appeared to the elder Winchester and presented a viable means to vanquish Abaddon once and for all, neglecting to detail the devastating price required even to make it possible to do so.

Sam shut his eyes as he exhaled. He wanted to scream, but why bother? “God damn it, Dean.”

“I warned him, Sam,” Marion maintained. “I tried, but the fucker doesn't trust me on a good day. I didn't give him specifics, but usually, ‘don't do something cuz it's really bad’ is enough for most people. “

Sam regarded her for a minute. “So why is it really bad?”

“Seriously, Sam?” Marion said, “That's a stupid question. What do you think the Mark's gonna do to him? This is the thing Cain got after he savagely murdered his brother. Seeing as how you’re now the brother of the new Cain, I'd think you'd be able to put two and two together.”

“What, you think he's gonna kill me?” Sam scoffed.

“Never say never, Sam,” Marion said. “Cain said that he didn't murder Abel out of spite, but out of love.”

“That doesn't make sense,” Sam responded. "Why would he kill his brother for love?

“You're not the only kid brother that Satan whispered sweet nothings to.”

Sam sat up sharply in his chair, supposedly “You mean-”

“That's right. If Cain is to be believed, the devil tried to get Abel to be his host. For all we know, the world was supposed to end then -- three hundred thousand years earlier.” Marion surmised. “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

“Wonder what?” Sam asked in a pained voice. 

“If you and Dean are the latest installment of brotherly love gone wrong.”

“No. Dean would never kill me.” He'd had chance after chance, after all. When Dad gave the order, Dean didn't jump. When Heaven demanded he do it, Dean didn't budget, even if humanity was damned in the process.

“Never say never, Sam,” Marion repeated. “You'd be surprised what a human is willing to do or rather ends up doing in their lives. For instance, I'm pretty sure the 22-year-old you would be terrified to know about how you still chug demon blood the way a frat boy inhales a keg.”

Sam stiffened. 

“Don't worry, kid, I ain't a snitch,” Marion said. “I know Jess won't steer you wrong. Only an angel can fix what happened to you, though, so you're gonna wanna wean off that shit a while.” She stood up, heading towards the door.

Sam released a deep breath when the demon departed from his home, running his hands through his hair. He wouldn't have been surprised to find strands slipping away from the root. 

Some distance between him and his brother, and Dean pulls this crap? Why did he have to do it? Why did he have to bring so much onto himself? The trepidation in Marion's eyes told it all - this wasn't gonna end well, not in the slightest. 

And now Sam was going to have to be the bigger person and make amends with Dean, even though his older brother was the one who fucked up. 

Sometimes being Dean's brother felt like a man who'd fallen off the side of a horse, dragged as it ran at full speed and powerless to stop its rampage. This was one of those times. To make it worse, Dean made it impossible to the point of madness. He'd either be too angry, sad, or short-sighted to see the error of his ways – until it was too late.

Problem was, the stakes kept rising. Innocents dying in the form of collateral damage was just the beginning. Family losing their lives, their souls, and for what? Just so it could all get worse? 

There were plenty of things Sam didn't care for when it came to John Winchester, but he was certainly effective at tough love. Perhaps Dean would listen to that for a change. 

But Sam would have to meet his brother first.

Chapter Text

Cas drove successfully without any issues, all the way back to Lebanon. He even parked the car effortlessly, taking the time to do so in reverse when there was no need to.

“Nobody likes a show-off, Cas,” Dean said as he exited the car. 

Cas handed back the keys. “You should take it as a compliment. That I can only drive so well only means I had such a good teacher.”

“Don’t kiss my ass,” Dean ordered. 

“Easier said than done,” Did Cas’s eyes shift down to his ass? What the fuck got into the ex-angel?

It was disorienting as the two descended the steps into the bunker. It felt eerily quiet. 

“I'll never get used to the urge to rest that creeps into my body,” Cas remarked as he yawned. 

“Yeah,” Maybe it was the day's earlier events, but Dean couldn't feel tired. Would the Mark prevent him from sleeping?

“You should get some rest as well, Dean,” Cas said. 

“I'm not much of a sleeper, Cas, you know that.” 

“Do you want me to stay with you until you do?” Cas asked eagerly. 

Dean chuckled. “You gonna tuck me in?”

Castiel grabbed his arm, the one that bore the Mark with a gentle touch, easing into Dean’s space. “Do you want me to stay with you?” He pressed with a whisper. 

Dean couldn’t look him in the eye. “Yes.” He said just as quietly. 

Cas led him to the room Dean had been sleeping in since his initial arrival to the bunker. It had been almost a year since Dean had moved in. It wasn’t a home, especially since Sam stopped coming back, but it was the first time Dean had been able to hang his hat anywhere he could call his own. Bobby’s house was always Bobby’s, which Dean appreciated and mourned when the loss came. 

But this bunker was his.

Cas brought him to the bed after turning on the lights. Blue eyes shifted to the fresh Mark that was transferred on Dean’s skin like a brand. 

“I had to do it, Cas.” Dean heard himself say. 

“I disagree. But that hardly matters now.” Blue eyes searched green. Cas exhaled. “I have to believe that you can overcome the darkness that this Mark will bring you.” 

Dean swallowed. He didn’t think it’d be a cakewalk, but the way he and Marion had been acting…“What makes you say that?” 

“If you could survive Hell twice over, you can survive this,” Cas said with a confidence that Dean couldn’t bring himself to feel.

Dean shifted on his feet uneasily. Did Cas always have to do this? Pour on the sweet words and look at him with those wide blue eyes. Making Dean feel like….he didn’t even know anymore. Sometimes, it felt like flying. Other times, it felt like falling. 

It always varies at the moment. 

“Why are you here, Cas?” Dean asked him in sincerity. “Why do you always come around after me, sayin’ the shit you do?”

“You fight so much for so many people,” Cas explained. “The people you hunt for. Your brother Sam. You take care of them. You risk life and limb all the time. I just thought that if I could take care of you…the burden wouldn’t weigh so heavily on you. If I could just…make it easier to bear the weight with you…it would be enough.” 

Dammit…

If Dean were another man, he’d say conventions be damned, his upbringing be damned. Society be damned. But… 

Dean wasn’t a freethinking man, not in the way Cas deserved.

Now Dean finally understood why Sam wanted to get out of their hunting life so badly. When he started seeing Lisa again, it was out of fear of death and damnation. Her presence had been a respite from the dreariness of his inevitable demise. But this time…

This time…it was Cas and Dean’s desire to be with him for nothing other than simple want. There was nothing comfortable about being with Cas. Not in that way.

Cas wanted to care for Dean simply because Cas liked him that much. He wanted to bear the weight of Dean’s shit, of all that could wear the hunter down. Cas was willing to do that. 

No one had before, not like this. No one had seen so much of Dean and stuck around long enough to say yes.

Dean wouldn’t kiss him that night, the hunter told himself. He had before, but those were moments dripped in chaos, and rationality was far away. Dean had acted solely on instinct those nights before. At least, that's what he told himself.

Tonight, he’d go a safer route. 

He punched Cas roughly in the shoulder. 

“Ow,” Cas remarked, but he didn’t really flinch. “What was that for?” 

“That’s how I show affection,” Dean said unapologetically. 

“Since when?” Cas questioned. 

“Since right now,” Dean huffed. “Cuz I said so.” But he wouldn’t move away from Cas. His traitorous body craved to be near him. To think he used to bitch about personal space. He gave up that fight pretty easily.

“Should I…punch you back?” Cas asked doubtfully. 

“If you do, we’re gonna end up wrestling…” If they ended up wrestling, who knows where that would lead?

A twinkle flashed in Castiel’s eyes. He struck Dean, but it wasn’t that hard of a punch. But pain wasn’t the point. 

Dean looked at him then, mirth shining in those piercing blue eyes. Dean shoved him onto the bed. He launched himself onto Castiel’s midsection, his thighs landing around the ex-angel’s waist. 

He shouldn’t do this again. 

He really shouldn’t do this again. 

This was a really bad idea. 

“So you wanna wrestle, huh?”

“I’ve never actually wrestled before. It’s not really how angels fight.” Cas said in a husky whisper. 

“Oh yeah?” Dean asked. “What, so you just use your swords to fuck each other up?”

“Precisely.” Cas nodded. “We used to watch humans fight in earlier eras of history. I found it to be barbaric.” 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes.” Cas swallowed. 

Dean’ll show him barbaric. 

Dean clenched his thighs around Castiel’s waist, moving to switch their positions. Cas now hung above the hunter, Dean moving Castiel’s large hand onto his throat. “Grab me here,” Dean suggested. Cas squeezed. Dean tried to stifle a moan. He failed. 

Cas squeezed harder. 

Dean moved again, grabbing Cas by his balls, surprising the ex-angel, and moving Cas again onto his back. 

“I believe you humans call that..fighting dirty,” Cas wheezed, sounding winded despite not having exerted such energy.

“Sometimes you gotta fight dirty to stay alive.” 

Castiel's pupils dilated as he looked up at Dean with unabashed desire, "Dean..."

Dean promised himself he wouldn’t do this. Whether it was the Mark’s unhinged nature or the hunter’s unspoken desire that propelled him forward, he couldn’t say, but he definitely wasn’t himself right now, nor did he care to be.

He needed to feel good.

Dean kissed him roughly, and Cas took it all in stride, welcoming the touch even when he shouldn't have encouraged it. Cas knew Dean well enough to know he wouldn't do this normally. He was torn in so many places right now; he didn't need his angelic sense to see that.

But after having tasted the forbidden fruit, like Adam and Eve, he was powerless to the sway of his cravings. Cas could not lie to himself anymore. 

Cas needed him, even like this.

If the last interaction were any indication, Dean would want it hard and fast so he wouldn't have to dwell on the desire that rushed between them like lightning.

So be it.

Cas turned them around so Dean was on his back. Dean wrapped his thighs around Cas, moving him closer. Their erections, while clothed, were unmistakable, roughly bumping into each other to each man's gratification. They made the bed creak audibly as Cas thrust as hard as he could against Dean's body, which the hunter welcomed voraciously, biting Castiel's neck.

"Dean," Castiel whispered lowly into Dean's ear. It made the hunter scratch his skin harder. Cas was sure he was bleeding, but he didn't care. 

He just wanted to make sure Dean enjoyed this.

Dean didn’t talk. He didn’t dare. He screwed up his eyes shut tight and went along for the ride Cas was taking him on.

His hands lingered on the back of Castiel's neck, caressing the short strands of his dark hair as Cas took him roughly, just the way Dean wanted. It wouldn't take long now.

Cas bit him hard in the space between his neck and his shoulder, hard enough to bleed. That did it for Dean right there.

They lay there in the tight space of Dean's bed, chests heaving deeply, looking up at the ceiling. Once they finally collected their breaths, Dean got Cas out of there. He didn't mean to rush him out, but Dean wanted to take a shower, and he wouldn't be much company. 

Cas felt awful. He didn't want Dean to think he brought the hunter back to the bunker for a quick screw. Dean laughed, knowing better. 

The elder Winchester assured Cas he didn't believe anything of the sort. 

Dean went to the shower once he got Cas out of the bunker, but no matter how hard he scrubbed his skin, he never felt dirtier. But it wasn't because of Cas.

It was the Mark. Its power ran bone deep like tendrils spreading across Dean's mind, heart, and soul. He felt the corruption take hold worse than Alastair ever could.  

But Cas couldn't bail him out this time. 

No one could. 

He really stepped in it this time. 

When Dean exited the shower, he smelled something and followed the source. It was a freshly cooked meal. Did Cas do this for him? 

Dean would've told him not to spare the effort. 

He wasn't even hungry. He was confident the Mark was responsible for that, too.

He had to kill Abaddon, but he did not doubt that he could. 

Dean worried about how much of him would be left by the time he did.

Sam found his brother alright – unexpectedly hovering over an unconscious Garth Fitzgerald IV in the middle of a patient room in a hospital in Grantsburg, Wisconsin.

Did he just spot a needle in Dean’s damn hand?

“What the fuck are you doing?” Sam cried in blind outrage, momentarily forgetting his peace mission.

“I want some answers,” Dean said stiffly. “He dropped off the face of the Earth. He could've been dead all this time, but no, apparently, he's been alive. I'm gonna wake him up.”

“Or kill him,” Sam marched protectively to Garth. He saw the handcuff that restrained the skinny man. “What do you think they booked him for?”

“Killing a cow,” Dean said. “You wanna lock the door so I can do this?” He held up the needle, anxious to introduce its contents into Garth's IV.

“I have a better idea,” Sam said. 

“Well, this outta be good.” Dean frowned. Sam gave Garth a sharp smack to the face, causing the in-patient to propel upright as he screamed his way into consciousness.

Dean rolled his eyes while Sam watched their friend nervously look around the hospital room. “Sam? Dean?” As Garth's eyes landed on the boys. “Is that you? Am I in heaven?”

“You’re in Wisconsin,” Dean said with a pinched expression.

“Apparently, you got hit by a car,” Sam told Garth. “Do you remember anything?”

“Um…vaguely,” Garth tugged at his cuffed arm. Sam takes the liberty of setting Garth free. 

“Thanks,” Garth said in gratitude.

“You wanna give us the lowdown on where you've been the last six months? The only way we've been able to track you down was when you got popped for killing a cow,” Dean was practically yelling at the guy.

“Hey!” Sam barked at his brother, “Cut him some damn slack!”

“Get off my ass, Sam!” Dean shot back.

“Whoa,” Garth said concernedly, "What's going on with you two?” 

“Family stuff,” Sam said, his hard eyes trained on Dean. 

“Well, no one does get under your skin like family. Then again, weren’t you two on the outs last time we met up? Y'all still ain’t over all that stuff?” 

“This is new stuff, Garth.” Sam maintained, his eyes trained on Dean.

“It can’t be that bad,” Garth said nervously as he looked between the brothers.

“It’s Dean, Garth,” Sam said. “It’s always bad.” 

“Fuck you, Sam!” 

“Fuck you, Dean!” 

“Oh shit,” Garth kicks the sheets off, rips the IV and other hospital junk, and hightails it to the available bathroom, retching his guts out as the Winchesters awkwardly overhear Garth hurl from outside the bathroom.

“Where do you get off, huh?” Dean demanded of his brother. “If it weren't for me, you’d be too dead to bitch at me.”

“One – It wouldn’t kill you to apologize for robbing me of my choice, for gaslighting me into thinking I was losing my damn mind and threatening Jess, who’s as good as my wife – but two – I’m still reeling over this whole Mark of Cain thing.” 

Dean’s body went rigid.

“Yeah, I know about that too now.” Sam glared.

“That damn Marion.” 

“You should’ve seen the look on her face, Dean. She’s scared for you, Dean. And I've never seen her scared of anything. The way she went on about this…” 

“Well, don’t worry, Sam. I ain’t gonna kill you or yours. I’ll stay away from that precious family you hold so dear.” 

“And what about after Dean? After you manage to kill Abaddon, what comes next?” 

“Kill Crowley.” 

“Great. Next?”

“Cain.” 

“Might as well. Then what?”

“I kill all these demons, the creeps, and the crawlies – what the fuck is your point, Sam?”

Sam was going to make his point, but then he realized that Garth had stopped puking but never emerged from the bathroom. “Fuck.” He rushed over to the toilet, breaking down the door as Dean followed him in. The bathroom had a window, and it was left wide open. Garth was gone. 

“Son of a bitch!” Dean hissed. Both Winchesters head on their way out of the hospital. “Why would Garth run from us?” 

“Likely for the same reason we haven't heard from him in the last six months,” Sam said. As the two made it outside, Dean balked at what he saw. 

“Did Garth just steal a car?”

“Did Garth just steal a car…naked?” Sam echoed as he and Dean found the hospital gown Garth had been wearing discarded on the cement ground of the parking lot.

But discarded clothing wasn’t the only thing Dean observed. There were surveillance cameras strategically positioned over the parking lot. Bingo. 

“I’m gonna go see what can be found on those cameras,” he said to Sam. “You should figure out what happened to that cow.” The elder Winchester went on ahead without saying another word. Sam frowned. He only had the Mark for about a week, and Dean was already a magnanimous asshole. 

Speaking to the rancher about the slaughtered cow was a quick trip. Not much came out of it other than the ranch hand’s speculations about satanic worship and butchered farm animals. As Sam returned to the hospital parking lot, he got a call from Dean. 

“The cow wasn't just killed. It was eviscerated,” Sam explained over the phone. 

“Why was Garth there?” 

“Maybe he was on a hunt,” Sam guessed. 

“Why would he run? This whole thing’s starting to stink.” Dean remarked irately. 

“What about the cameras?” Sam asked. 

“Pointed in the wrong direction,” Dean said curtly. 

“Really?” Sam replied, unconvinced. They were pointing right at the parking lot. Sam could see it as he went on to park his car.

“Garth’s a hunter,” Dean added. “If he wants to stay gone, he’s gone.” 

“So, no leads then?” Sam got out of the car, scanning the lot for his brother. 

“What can I say, Sammy? We lost this one. Send me a postcard—” But Sam stood before him in a flash, swiping the Manila folder Dean held in his hand. It had photos that perfectly captured Garth’s panicked look as he got into a car before escaping. 

“Make, model, and license plate,” Sam fumed. “Really, Dean?”

“We shouldn’t hunt together,” Dean said. Yeah, cuz that was his choice. “It’s for your own good.” 

“Right, cuz you give a shit about that now,” Sam snapped. “If you were truly interested in doing the right thing — you wouldn’t’ve taken on that Mark or pimped me out to an angel you didn’t even know! So spare me the good intentions crap!” 

Dean’s eyes looked tired — of Sam’s outrage. “Must be real fun riding on that high horse, huh?”

“Yeah, that’s me, Dean, the guy who’s having the time of his life,” Sam shook his head. “Says here the car Garth took belongs to a Bess Meyers. She lives in the next town. Try not to hide any more shit from me while we head over.” Thankfully, the two had separate cars, so neither had to share a ride filled with tense silence. As they arrived at their destination, the brothers barely glanced at each other. The two marched their way into the apartment building their lead led them to, kicking down the door of one Bess Meyers.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Garth cried as the Winchesters found the guy standing inside with a blonde woman with short curls and —

“Oh fuck no,” Dean groaned as Marion stood next to Garth and the blonde. Bessie was there too, ever-present at Marion’s side. 

“Y'all wanna put the guns away?” Garth asked as he put a protective arm around the blonde sitting beside him. 

“Garth, what the hell is going on?” Sam questioned. “Who’s your friend?” 

“They’re a little more than friends, honey,” Marion said with a mischievous grin.

“Come again?” Dean said. 

“Guys,” Garth stood up, and the blonde woman followed his lead as they held hands. “This is my wife, Bess.” 

“Wife?” Sam and Dean repeated in surprise. 

“Yeah, I got married,” Garth said sheepishly as he and Bess exchanged a blissful smile.

“So while Sam and I have been through hell, you've been off in the goddamn hallmark channel,” Dean said in outrage.

“Just because you're miserable and alone doesn't mean everyone else has to be,” Marion replied, shaking her head. 

“You're making a horrible first impression,” Bessie said with disappointment.

“That’s Dean,” Garth pointed at the elder Winchester. “He can start a fight in an empty house, but deep down, he’s a big ol’ teddy bear.” 

Dean quirked up an eyebrow as the others giggled; even Sam chuckled.

“The tall one is Sam, who’s insecure at times, but for good reason,” Garth said earnestly as his eyes met the younger Winchester. “Bless his heart.”

“Garth, why would you marry a werewolf?” Sam questioned. I mean, Garth was a hunter. He would’ve encountered werewolves among other monsters as enemies. Now he had one as a life partner? 

Bess and Garth frowned as the demons in the room exchanged a glance. “You mean it isn’t obvious?” Marion spoke up. “And you call yourselves hunters.” 

Sam and Dean didn’t understand what she was getting at. 

“He’s a werewolf, too,” Bessie clarified. 

“What?” Sam and Dean exclaimed simultaneously.

“I was hunting a big bad wolf six months ago. I killed him, but in the process, he bit me somethin’ awful.” Garth confessed. 

“You couldn’t call us?” Dean replied. 

“And tell you what? That I messed up? No, I knew the deal. There’s no cure that I knew of, so I accepted my fate. Had my favorite dish of egg fu yung, watched Rocky III — the world’s best movie, and when I finally worked up the nerve to eat a bullet, Bess here found me.” Garth kissed his beloved wife in joy. 

Dean looked repulsed while Sam asked, “How’d she find you?”

“I smelled him,” Bess stated simply. “How else?”

Garth nodded. “She talked the gun out of my mouth, and as they’d say, the rest is history. We’ve been married for four months.” 

“My pack has taken him in as one of our own,” Bess added.

“Guys, it’s not what you think,” Garth said as he noted the concerned expressions on the Winchesters’ faces. “We don’t hurt people.” 

“No, you just go all wolverine on cattle,” Dean frowned. 

“Did you want them to eat people?” Marion said. Leaning over to the married couple, she added, “When in doubt, always go for the pedophiles. Suppose you’re really in a pinch, the homeless, drug addicts. They don’t taste good, but they get the job done.” 

“What?” She got judgmental looks from the hunters and horrified expressions from the young couple. “It’s not like anyone would miss them.” 

“She’s right. Police don’t even realize most of the time, especially in big cities.” Bessie said. 

“The bigger, the easier,” Marion smirked. 

“No!” Bess said in disgust. “We don’t eat humans, ever. And Garth is so impressive — it's almost impossible for a Bitten to control the instinct to kill, but Garth has been managing it all this time. You’re so amazing, baby.” Bess said to her husband. 

“No, you’re so amazing, honey,” Garth crooned back to a blushing Bess as they canoodled. 

“A Bitten?” Sam scoffed, “All werewolves are bitten.”

“En contraire, my woefully ignorant friend,” Bessie said, “Not all are bitten; some, rather quite a few, are born that way.”

“It’s true,” Bess chirped. “I’m second-generation.” 

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Dean said. Werewolves could reproduce? Have families of their own? Jesus Christ…

“Look, I know y’all wanna shoot first and ask questions later—”

“More like never,” Marion chided. 

“I checked everything about Bess’s family. This pack is clean, and everything is kosher.” Garth said, “Now you two coming along and busting in here like a house on fire ain’t gonna go over so well. The hair, the jawlines, guns waving — it's very intimidating.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Marion rolled her eyes. 

“I find it sexy!” Bessie said with a toothy grin.

“Guys, no one wants any trouble. You got my word on that.” Garth pleaded. 

“We’re going to need more than your word on this one, Garth,” Dean said, and for once, Sam agreed. 

Garth and Bess exchanged a glance. “Alright then,” he relented. “Come pray with us.” 

Dean got the short stick of seeing the werewolf pack in action at their choice of residence — a farmhouse in a quiet, slightly remote area—a perfect place to kill.

But Dean wasn’t allowed to come alone, as per Marion’s meddlesome insistence. She brought up the Mark of Cain, suggesting that the elder Winchester may be provoked into killing without asking enough questions. His past track record wasn’t exactly helpful in arguing for Dean’s restraint. 

Damn that bitch.

He gave Sam a quick call before finally getting out of the car, the demon in tow. She had a different necklace on, for what purpose the hunter couldn’t give a fuck. The sooner he was done dealing with these werewolves, the sooner he could get the fuck out of dodge. 

Dean honestly didn’t know what Garth was thinking. If he got bitten, that sucks, sure, but taking some strange werewolf lady’s word to stop? Garth married her, so Dean supposed it was a love-at-first-sight kind of thing. Wasn’t Garth a little unnerved at living amongst monsters?

Bringing in the sheaves, 

Bringing in the sheaves,

We shall come rejoicing

Bringing in the sheaves!

Dean heard the singing loud and clear as he approached the front door. 

“Great wolf bible thumpers, this should be interesting,” Marion remarked. Dean knocked on the door. 

An older blonde woman opened the front door. “You must be Dean. I'm Joy, Garth's mother-in-law. Uh, stepmother-in-law, which I always thought sounded so silly. Please, come in. We're just finishing up.” She gave him a warm smile even though she didn’t know him. Dean couldn’t help but wonder if she was a werewolf, too, as her beaming made him think of a wolf in the wild baring its fangs before sinking its teeth into its helpless prey.

“Why don’t you just tell Garth I’m here?” Dean said, on edge. 

Joy looked at the hunter knowingly. “Dean, you have my word—you're safe under my roof. I only ask the same in return. After all, I'm not the one carrying silver.” Her eyes shifted between Dean and Marion.

Dean slowly entered the house and walked to the living room. He spotted Garth at a piano in the corner, playing as best he could while everyone sang the Bible hymn. His body remained rigid as he did a headcount of all the werewolves in the room. There must’ve been at least a dozen; all he had for backup was Marion. Ugh, why was he here?

Thankfully the church group didn’t take long to wrap up their choir practice as the majority of folks began departing as they bid farewell to an older man with gray hair who stood near Bess, Garth’s new bride. As they all headed for the door, they gave Dean and Marion friendly smiles and a few even patted Dean on the shoulder on their way out. 

It was official - Dean was in the Twilight Zone. 

“Are all these folks werewolves?” Dean asked Garth when the fledging werewolf finally approached him. Garth nodded. 

“Not good.” Dean shook his head as his eyes shifted nervously around the living room. 

“Come on, Dean. You just got to meet them,” Garth points out to two guys. “That's Russ and Joba, Bess' first cousins on sister Joy's side.” The two men Garth pointed out started to wave on cue as they overheard Garth’s introductions. Garth then points to the older man everyone spoke to as they departed the home. “That's Reverend Jim, Bess' dad — leader of the pack and a good man.”

The reverend heard Garth speak and decided to say hello. “Dean, is it? Welcome. Jim Meyers. Folks usually call me —” He held out his hand, but Dean wasn’t up for shaking it. 

“Reverend Jim got it,” Dean said curtly. Garth noted the hunter’s reluctance to touch anyone in the house. 

“Excuse, Dean reverend. He’s got this crazy fear of germs.” Garth said with a mild frown.

“Oh, Garth, you’re so sweet,” Marion chimed in. “But no, Dean’s racist.” Everyone’s eyebrows rose in shock as Dean stewed in rage. “Hates all kinds of supernatural beings.”

Reverend Jim cleared his throat awkwardly, “Well, let’s see if we can adjust Dean’s view of our kind by breaking some bread together.” 

“Doubtful, seeing as he’s an American man who never likes to change his mind, but I like your attitude.” Marion tapped the reverend on the shoulder. 

Dean grumbled his way over to the dining room where, and for the first time in forever, the Winchester didn’t have much appetite. The spread didn’t exactly help. The wolves were hospitable enough to set aside a plate for a human -- Dean — cooked steak with corn and a biscuit, though none of it was cooked very well. Everyone else was served fresh raw meat, all with fresh pools of blood that an active werewolf could enjoy. Nobody delayed as the pack began feasting on their bounty, Garth included. The smell of blood was making Dean’s head go dizzy.

“We didn’t set a plate for you, Miss—“ Joy said as she tried to recollect the other guest’s name.

“You can call me Marion,” the demon replied. “Got any more fresh animal grub?”

“Sure,” Joy served her a thick, meaty raw leg. Blood spurted out as Marion took a large bite, making Dean want to hurl. He could feel the bile pooling from his gut.

“Don't you guys say some sort of Grace or something?” Dean in a pained voice. 

“We’re more spiritual than religious,” the reverend explained as he took a break from eating. “We believe that man and nature are one, much like the native Americans.”

“Yeah, that worked well for them,” Dean remarked, but Marion hit him upside his head. When the hunter turned to glare at her, Marion gave him a wolfish grin as she took another voracious bite from the bloody raw leg.

Dean opted to switch topics so as not to kill Marion in front of all these people, “So what’s with the silver bullets around everyone’s necks?” He couldn't help but notice everyone around the table, save from him and Marion, had a silver bullet suspended by a matching silver chain around their necks.

“Many of our kind see themselves as indestructible. This is a constant reminder of how precious our lives truly are,” Bess said as her hand hovered over her own necklace. 

“Doesn’t it burn?” Dean asked. 

“A bit,” Garth affirmed, “But that's the point. It reminds us of our fragility.”

“When my daughter, Bess, was born a lycanthrope, it was one of the proudest days of my life.” The reverend said, “Which soon turned tragic when a hunter killed my wife. Believe me when I tell you, I wanted to make someone pay. Then I looked at my Bess, and I realized the road to revenge is a dark and lonely one, which you never get off. That hole in the pit of your stomach, you never fill it -- ever.” 

Marion sniggered as she gave Dean a wink. 

“I chose to look forward, not backward,” the reverend said. “The minute I did that, the powers that be brought this beautiful, compassionate, amazing woman into my life.” He gestured to Joy with a warm smile.  “She helped me raise my baby girl as if Bess were her own.” 

“I can't take all the credit. Daddy had a hand in it, too. He saw your potential.” Joy said. 

“Daddy?” Dean questioned. 

“Joy’s dearly departed father led this congregation before I had the distinct honor.” The reverend said. 

“He was the third in my family to serve,” Joy said. 

“So you’re fourth generation werewolf?” Dean asked. Joy nodded. “Jesus Christ.” 

“Forgive him, reverend,” Marion said to the patriarch. “He never got raised with manners.” 

When dinner finally ended, Dean wandered off to the kitchen as the others returned to the living room. He snooped to see if this pack was the group of do-gooders they claimed to be. 

The two men Garth introduced as Russ and Joba were immediately on Dean’s ass, less than two feet away, when Dean turned around to face them. 

“Still peckish?” Russ asked. 

“Just checkin’ if ya had any beer,” Dean lied. The two werewolves moved in sync, creepily inching closer to Dean and cornering the hunter with their unblinking gaze. 

“The sooner you realize it’s all good here, the sooner you can leave,” Russ said. 

“Oi,” Marion popped up behind the wolves, placing a hand gingerly on the pair of wolves. “You wouldn’t be threatening this human man, wouldja? I’d hate for y’all to die in this house by my own hands.” Russ and Joba tried to move but found themselves frozen under the demon’s touch. “It wouldn’t be the first time I killed a bunch of wolves – shit, I used to make sport of it when I was still young. That and for spare parts – can make quite a few handy potions outta werewolves. Do you want to be harvested for parts?” 

Russ and Joba looked ready to tear the demon’s head off but lacked the power to do so.

“Didn’t think so. Why don’t you leave this nosy human alone, huh?” Marion suggested. “Now I’m gonna let you go, don’t do nothin’ foolish, alright?” Slowly, she released her grip on the men. Joba flinched as she did so. Giving both Marion and Dean death glares, the werewolves bitterly retreated to another room in the house. 

Marion decided to hit Dean gingerly on the forehead. “You wanna check with me before wandering around a house filled to the brim with fuckin’ werewolves?”

“Stop hoverin’ over me like a goddamn babysitter.” Dean snapped as he walked in the opposite direction from the others. 

Garth cornered him next, pulling Dean aside to a nearby window. “Why are you being so hard on everyone? They didn't have to let you into their home, but you walk in already set on thinking these people are the enemy when they've given you no good reason to.”

“That’s Because if something’s too good to be true, it usually is. There's no way that this is exactly what this looks like,” Dean said of Garth's new family. “I know you drank the Kool-Aid, but C'mon.”

Garth looked disappointed at Dean's unwillingness to broaden his mind. “I know this looks nuts, but I found love and a family with these folks. Who cares where that comes from?”

“I do.”

“Listen, kid, your wife is a good egg. Maybe her dad too, but the others, like those good cousins of yours…they're Hella shady.” Marion chimed in. “They were looking at Dean like they wanted to eat him out and not in the fun way.”

Dean and Garth didn't know how to respond to that last bit. 

“When I first arrived, I waited for the other shoe to drop. All that time hunting made me think there was some kinda catch – but there's no catch here. I'm sure Russ and Joba were not feeling a hundred percent; that's all.”

“Right.” Marion gave the werewolf a fake smile. “That must be it.”

“I haven't asked, how's Kevin?”

Dean and Marion exchanged a look. “He's out of this crazy whirlwind of a life.”

“Really?” Garth's eyebrows went up in surprise. “Thought that whole prophet deal was for life.”

Dean shrugged. “Kid's smart. He found a way to get out of it.”

“Safest thing for him, to be honest. All those demons up his ass. He wasn't gonna last much longer.” The she-demon stated.

“Well, I'm glad he's okay.” Dean and Marion nodded in agreement.

“Pie's ready!” Joy chirped from the dining room as she served the dessert. It would be the first time Dean could ever remember being unwilling to have a slice. 

“Okay, Dean, these people gave you lunch. They gave you pie,” Sam said. He'd met Dean outside the good reverend's home. The two brothers leaned against the Impala as Marion caught up with Bessie. “Why are we still here?”

“Hey if you wanna rush back to your family, I won't stop you,” Dean said nonchalantly. 

Sam sighed. “Yes, Dean, I have a family of my own, one that exists outside of you. If I can help it, Jess isn't going anywhere, and our son, our kid, he can't help that he was born. If he had been anyone else's, he wouldn't even exist. But God forbid I do what's right by him and be his father, which, Yeah, takes me away from you. I'm sorry you feel abandoned because of that.”

The Mark on Dean's arm burned. He tries his best to shrug off Sam's words, opting to be dismissive. “Whatever.”

“No, Dean, not whatever.” Sam pressed. “This isn't some petty argument. My life's changed, so the life where it was just us two against the world – that isn't coming back.”

“Then why the fuck are you here?” Dean demanded as he rubbed at his arm. 

“Jess told me to come here, despite how monumentally shitty you've been to her,” Sam replied. “You think I don't give a shit about you, but that's not true cuz if I did, I wouldn't be here at all. So I'm just gonna say this – thank you. For saving my life. You went about it in the worst way possible, but you saved me, so thank you.”

“Why are you saying it?” the Mark itched less now.

“Because you need to hear it.”

“Pfft,” Dean feigned disinterest, “I don't need anything from you.”

“Right,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. Sam's phone rang. It was the local sheriff calling him over for a new development in the case. But it was all a ruse as the sheriff overplayed his hand and revealed himself to be a werewolf. Another who seemingly wasn't part of Garth's family? Fat chance. The dead sheriff even had the same silver chain around his neck, complete with a silver bullet. 

“Gotcha,” Dean snatched it from his neck. He held it up to Sam, “See this? It's a favorite accessory of the good reverend and his flock.” 

Sam inspected the bullet. It had an inscription: “Ragnarok. Huh, that's the Norse mythologies' end-of-days scenario. Why is it etched onto a bullet?”

“Who cares?” Dean replied. 

“Garth will care,” Sam reminded him. “Man, that Mark is really bringing out the urge to kill in you, huh.”

You have no idea, boy. That startled Dean, but he couldn’t let Sam get wise to Dean’s internal anxiety concerning the Mark of Cain. It’s not like Sam truly gave a shit, anyhow.

“We can't just let them move freely,” Dean focused on the matter at hand. “I hate to say it, Sam, but Garth's one of them too. We'll have to lock him up til we handle this.”

“If Garth knew, he wouldn't just let them carry on,” Sam maintained. “We should check in with him to see if he's okay. If this guy tried to get us, who knows what's happening to Garth right now?”

“What, like he’s getting attacked too?” Dean replied. “I thought they were supposed to be part of the same pack.” 

“Garth may have become a werewolf, but he hasn’t changed completely. He wouldn’t be okay with this,” Sam gestured to the sheriff, referring to the dead wolf’s brazen attack. The brothers moved the sheriff's body away, hiding it until they were certain all the wolves in town were dealt with. When Sam called Marion, he asked the demon to check Bess and Garth's apartment to see if they were there.

“Nobody's home,” the demon said. 

Dean frowned when Sam relayed the news. “You're just gonna take her word?”

“She's given me no reason to doubt her word,” Sam said pointedly. 

“But I have, right?” Dean replied acrimoniously. 

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, I don't know who's talking – you or the Mark?”

“Fuck you, man.” Dean bit out.

“That wasn't a denial.” Sam pointed out. “But now's not the time. Let's handle this case. Then we can carve out some time for you to bitch at me for being such a shitty brother.”

“Recognizing the problem is the first step, Sam,” Dean snarked. 

The brothers went to the reverend's church but found it vacant. All the lights were shut off, and the hunters could hear the echo in each step. They went to the back office, where Dean helped himself to the computer that sat at the desk. Sam picked up a nearby book discussing Norse mythology, skimming over to an entry about Ragnarok.

As Dean awoke the computer from its sleeping state, he found a group photo of Garth, his wife, the reverend, and Joy set as the desktop background. They were all smiles, like a perfect, happy family. 

“Seriously?” Dean griped as he started up the web browser.

“Try not to sound too jealous, Dean,” Sam sniped as he read through some paragraphs. Dean presented Sam with the middle finger. 

“Hey, hang on,” Sam re-read one paragraph in particular. “Try googling ‘Fenris’. It's some wolf deity.”

Dean did so, finding a couple of results leading somewhere promising. “So there's a cult worshiping this wolf God. They call themselves the maw of Fenris. Ragnarok isn't just a Bible story to these nutjobs. It's an action plan: human extinction, total werewolf domination.”

“And this is ground zero?” Sam said of the church.

“Fucking Wisconsin, man.”

The Winchesters heard a car arrive outside. Guns were at the ready, and they carefully exited the office, prepared to confront the new arrival. 

It was Reverend Jim. Seeing the two armed men, the reverend held his hands up in the air from where he stood– at the church entrance. “Easy. I just came here to work on my sermon.”

“We took a quick peek – we know all about the maw of Fenris.

Jim's face fell. “No, that's impossible. The Maw is dead.”

“Likely story,” Dean frowned, both his and Sam's guns trained on the old werewolf. 

“I assure you we're not planning anything,” the reverend pleaded. “I've worked twenty years to eradicate that part of the congregation. That faction only ever dwelled on hate and violence.”

“Maybe he's telling the truth, Dean,” Sam urged with a slight whisper. 

“Are you serious?” Dean said incredulously. “You're falling for his bullshit?” 

“He hasn’t tried to attack us,” Sam pointed out. “You tell me — is he lying?” 

Dean turned to look at the reverend, who remained at the entrance, his eyes pleading. Just then, Sam’s phone rang. The younger Winchester picked up the phone with his free hand. “Yeah?”

“We got a problem,” Marion whispered over the phone. “Hang on, I gotta send you something.” She texted two videos. One was of a ransacked apartment - Garth’s place. There were signs of a struggle. 

“When you had me look for the kid, and I checked his place, this is what I found,” Marion said in the video as she filmed everything. The second video was far more distrusting, though distant. It was a video of a young blonde woman and a skinny-looking guy — both were tied up as another blonde walked around and slapped the other who was restrained. 

“Oh shit,” Sam said. 

“What now?” Dean asked. 

“Your daughter’s been taken,” Sam said to the reverend. 

“What?” The reverend said. His surprise and concern spurred him to move towards the Winchesters. Dean was about to shoot, but Sam met the reverend halfway as he held out his phone. 

“Oh my Lord,” Jim said as Sam replayed the videos. 

“Garth was taken too,” Sam said to Dean this time. 

“Well, shit.”

“We have to go save them,” Reverend Jim urged the brothers. Sam and Dean looked at each other.

Sam wandered around the large barn he spotted earlier on the Myers property. The reverend had confirmed moments ago that the other werewolves were indeed here—Bess and Garth among them. 

“Okay,” Sam stood up, “I'm going to face them then.”

“What alone?” Dean said worriedly. “You can't.”

“I can buy them time,” Sam said of Garth and Bess. They hadn't been killed yet. Joy, the ringleader of this coup, must be waiting for something. It was no secret to the pack that Sam and Dean were hunters. “Besides, you'll be out here the whole time, ready to swoop in and save the day.”

Bessie appeared just then out of nowhere, looking very out of place in her stiletto heels, manicured nails, done-up face, and vibrant red hair. She gave the men a smirk. 

“You're gonna wanna go that way, suga,” She said to Sam, pointing north. 

“Where's Marion?” Dean questioned. 

“She's waiting inside the barn, hidden in the shadows. Easy little spell -- hides the scent on the human she possesses and the sulfur she exudes.” Bessie explained. The reverend Jim frowned disapprovingly.

“That's a dirty trick,” He said. 

“Maybe, but we're not the ones plotting to kill your only daughter,” Bessie replied. 

“So what's your big plan?” Dean asked his brother. 

“I go in, make them feel like they've won, and get them talking about their plans. They wouldn't make a move like this without it.” Sam pulled out his phone, dialing Dean, “I'm gonna have my phone on me the whole time, so you can hear what's happening. I'll stash it here so they won't find it.” Sam stuffed the phone down his pants. 

“Classy,” Dean quipped. 

Sam rolled his eyes. “When they've said their piece, you bust in, and we take them down.”

Dean gave the reverend the side-eye. “You got a problem with that?”

Jim looked mournfully at that barn. “Please, just save my daughter.”

It didn’t take long for the werewolves to find Sam. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” He held up his gun. “Easy! I give up. Take the gun.” 

They took it after they gave him a swift, punishing blow to the face. Sam was barely conscious as they dragged him into the barn, tying him up with the others. 

“Sam!” He heard weakly. It was Garth’s voice. He sounded panicked. “Why are you doing this?” 

“Last winter, my little brother Charlie was killed by a hunter,” Joy said, inhaling sharply before proceeding, “My husband had counseled patience, restraint, not vengeance. Just as when he took over our beloved church, he preached a new direction where lycanthropes and man would coexist. That peace was more important than dominance. I tried so hard to make his way work,” she said bitterly, “to be a preacher's wife. But after Charlie was murdered, I couldn't help remembering my daddy's sermons. He was right. ‘So long as there is man, there can be no peace. Because man destroys.’ And I, for one,” she bore her eyes onto the wounded Sam, “am sick of it.”

But Sam had enough strength left to talk, “Why co-exist when you can rule?” 

“He gets it,” Joy chirped gleefully. “But my husband doesn’t see it that way. Maybe it's cuz he was bitten – he wasn’t born to it like I was. His humanity must be holding him back. But see, I’m the fourth generation in my family, and if Jim has it his way, I’ll go extinct. But that’s all gonna change.” 

“Is it?” Sam replied. “How?”

“That’s the best part – I won’t be the one. It’ll be Jim himself that starts Ragnarok.  You and your brother coming here was a blessing from Fenris above. The two of you cornered Garth here, and then when Bess came running in to see what the fuss was about…” she feigned a gasp. “You killed her.”

“What?” Garth shrieked. “No!”

“Yes,” Joy cocked a gun she was holding in her hand, pointing it directly at Bess. “Silver. Straight to the heart.”

Garth began to growl wrathfully. 

“You’re gonna pin the murders on me and my brother.” 

“That’s what I just said,” Joy sneered. “Stupid human.”

“Joy, please, have mercy. This is crazy,” Bess tried to reason with her stepmother.

“It brings me no joy to kill you,” the older woman said. “But Ragnarok is bigger than all of us.”

“You’re sick,” Bess said, shaking her head outrageously. Joy gave her an odd smile and stepped back to shoot her stepdaughter, but Sam took the chance to put his long legs to work and kick the gun out of Joy’s hand. 

“You’re just itching for me to get my claws dirty, aren’t you?” Joy taunted, already transforming into a beast capable of murder. That’s when the others burst into the barn and when Marion made her move. 

Aside from the bound Garth and Bess and the villainous Joy, only one werewolf remained, which the demons quickly dispatched with. Joy tried to take one final shot, but Dean stopped her cold with a single silver bullet to the chest from his own gun.

Back at the Myers’ home, the hunters, demons, and werewolves regrouped after dealing with the Maw faction of the reverend’s congregation. Bess sat with her father as she consoled him, reeling from the loss of his wife and seeing her true colors after so many years. 

Meanwhile, the Winchesters were bidding farewell to their werewolf friend. 

“How’s he doing?” Dean asked about the reverend. He and Garth turned to look at the old wolf as Bess continued to comfort her father. 

“He’s taking it pretty hard,” Garth replied. “Feels like he should have seen the signs earlier.”

Dean nodded. “Maybe you were right. Yeah, he seems like a good man...considering.”

“Yeah, but you were right,” Garth said. “Everything around here wasn't copacetic. I screwed up again.”

“Something to note for next time,” Dean slapped the werewolf on his shoulder. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Hard to spot any trouble with rose-colored glasses.” 

“I know this may sound a little crazy, but maybe I could come back and hunt with you guys? With my werewolf mojo, we'd have an advantage.” Garth proposed. 

Dean looked at him for a moment. “You got something here. Okay? Even though they are werewolves.” 

“We actually prefer the term lycanthrope,” Garth pointed out.  

“Or Lycanthropes or whatever.” Dean continued. “The family you have here, who cares where that comes from? Don't let that go. Okay? You'll never forgive yourself.” 

Garth beamed and pulled the elder Winchester in a crushing bear hug Dean was helpless to avoid. “Jesus, man,” Dean wheezed. 

“Oh, sorry,” Garth said but held onto the human. “Forget my strength sometimes.” He finally let Dean go but said, “You’re gonna find your happiness someday, Dean. I just know it.” 

Dean looked at him disbelievingly. “Yeah, okay, whatever.” 

Sam bade Garth farewell next. “Be good.”

“You too, man.” Garth enveloped the taller Winchester in a brutal hug as well. “You take care of him.” Sam nodded. 

The brothers left the house, walking towards the Impala. “So…what happens now?” Dean asked Sam.

Sam sighed. “I don’t know.” 

“Thought you were supposed to forgive me.” 

“What’s the point of forgiving you if you don’t learn from your mistakes? If you don't change?” 

“I thought we were past this.” 

“I can move past what you did, Dean,” Sam said. “But you can’t pull that shit again. You just can’t. It wasn’t okay. You knew I would disagree with it, but you did it anyway. But you can’t let yourself see how wrong it was. You won’t let me go.” 

Dean stared at him for a beat. “Was I supposed to let you die?”  

“You need to stop,” Sam told his brother. “I’m not saying it for my sake. I’m not trying to be the bad guy here. And I’m not unrealistic. I know you won’t get help. You’re barely willing to be honest with yourself, let alone with others. But if you still want me in your life, Dean, I need you to realize that how you went about saving me was just plain wrong. Give me that, at least.” Sam pleaded with his big brother. 

“Yeah,” Dean conceded. Sam nodded. 

“And you realize that if you had died, you wouldn’t be here anymore,” Dean said. “No more Jess, no more playing house, no future, nada, zip, zilch. We’d have been planning your funeral.” 

“I need you to stop compromising yourself to save me,” Sam said. “That’s all. But the first step in recovery is recognizing the problem.” 

“You make me sound like an addict,” Dean said. 

Sam stared at him patiently. 

“I was messed up. I…I don’t know how, but somebody changed the playbook, you know? What’s right is wrong, and what’s wrong is more wrong…but when you and I rode together —”

“We shared the load,” Sam said. 

“I’m sorry,” Dean said. “I know I took a piece of you in the process. But when you die, I just panic, but who wouldn’t? I don’t think I’m alone in making the call, but I did.” 

“That doesn’t make what you did okay,” Sam argued. “Don’t apologize to me to shut me up or thinking it's what I wanna hear. I want you to apologize because some part of you understands that it's wrong to go so far to keep me in your life.”

“Wow.” Dean took offense. “God forbid I want to keep you around.” 

“You and I don’t see eye to eye Dean,” Sam said. “What we have between us, it’s broken.” 

“I’m not saying that it's not. But can’t we just put some W’s on the board to get past all this?” 

“No,” Sam maintained. “Not until you do what I ask.” 

Dean ran a hand over his face. “You’re being ridiculous, Sam.” 

“You have a right to think that way, Dean,” Sam replied. “And while I disagree, I wouldn’t force you to think otherwise. But you would do that to me if you thought it was necessary. The whole ‘do everything it takes’ routine does more harm than good — at least it has for me.” 

“That’s how we save people, Sam,” Dean countered. “That’s the family business.” 

“And you wonder why I wanted to leave,” Sam replied, shaking his head. “But I already told you. We’re not getting past this until you change. Not until you can see how wrong you’ve gotten because right now? I don’t wish you harm, I don’t hate you,” the younger Winchester’s voice began to tremble somewhat, “but every time I think about what you did, it makes me so angry I wanna scream. I can barely stand the sight of you without losing my shit. I lost weeks — months of my life, and you don’t even care because you got to keep your baby brother. Jess was worried sick about me. She had no idea what was going on any more than I did. She didn’t even get to see me most of the time, not that I can even remember.”

Dean frowned. 

“Before, when we were kids, I always followed your lead because I trusted you. I knew then that no matter what happened, I could count on my brother to have my back, to protect me, to save me. But I can’t trust you anymore. Not the way I used to. Not the way I should.” 

“Whatever I did —“ 

“You know damn well what you did. But my point is that you did that for you. You never did it for me.” 

“We’re family!” Dean said hotly.  

“That doesn’t give you a pass Dean!” Sam replied, “You say it like it's a cure-all when everything that's ever gone wrong between us is because of the fact we are family.”

“So we’re not family?”

“We’ll always be brothers, Dean. But you need to learn what the fuck that means.” 

Sam left him at that, walking back to his own car — but before he did, he turned back to Dean. “I hope that one day, you can understand what I’m trying to do here for you.” Then he left, got in his car, and drove away.

Dean wouldn’t hear from his brother for a few more days. Marion thankfully fucked off for a few days while Cas was once again wrapped up with angel shit. Apparently, he was doing well on that front. Time would tell how that will end. 

It was Friday when he got the call. 

“Hey,” Sam said. 

Dean exhaled before replying, “Hey.”

“There’s a case out at Springdale, Washington,” Sam told him. “A girl got killed in a room, but all the windows and doors were locked tight. Ghost was caught on film, which is a first.” 

“And you want me to work the case with you?” Dean sounded so surprised. 

“Well, yeah,” Sam said. “You’re the best hunter I know. You in?” 

“You’re lucky I’m unoccupied at the moment,” Dean answered. 

“I’ll text you the details.” 

Dean met his brother at a local diner in town. But as he walked in, he noticed a disarming sight — Sam wasn’t alone. He was accompanied by none other than the so-called Ghostfacers. 

“Oh fuck no,” Dean bit out as he approached the table. The losers had his brother cornered, undoubtedly spitting out ridiculous dribble about what amazing ghost hunters they were—fat chance. 

“What the fuck are you two doing here?” Dean demanded as he sat next to the bespectacled half of the undynamic duo who was known as Ed.

“Apparently these two have been busy around town,” Sam informed with a disapproving frown. “Speaking to the victim’s mother, filling her head with all kinds of ideas.” 

“She had a right to know what killed her daughter.” Said the other half of the Ghostfacers, who was known as Harry.

“You straight up told a mother she lost her daughter to a ghost?” Dean frowned. 

“You think it's a ghost?” Harry chuckled. “You hear that Ed? They think it’s a ghost!” 

Ed shook his head with an amused smile. “What a couple of chumps.” 

“Then what did you say killed her?” Sam asked the meddlesome pair of so-called ghost investigators. 

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Harry said. 

“Of course, it’s obvious,” Ed said, purposefully leaving the Winchesters out of the clue. 

“It’s Thinman,” Harry finally said. 

“The fuck is a Thinman?” Dean said aggravatedly. 

“Only the creepiest supernatural creep to roam the world,” Harry stated matter-of-factly. 

“Totally,” Ed said. “He lurks in the background of his victims' lives until he's ready to kill them.” He quoted in an odd voice. 

“So you made up a monster?” Sam said in disgust. 

“Thinman is absolutely real,” Ed maintained. 

“You told that poor woman mourning her daughter’s death this nonsense?” Dean questioned. 

“Well, yeah, cuz that’s what killed her,” Harry scoffed. “Dummy.” 

“You watch your mouth, asshole,” Dean pointed a stern finger at him. 

“You watch your mouth,” Harry pulled up his sweater, revealing a modest handgun. “Or this conversation’s gonna get ugly.” 

Dean laughed angrily. “Am I supposed to be impressed by the treasure trail,” he referred to the line of hair that traveled down to Harry’s pelvis. “Or the lady gun you got stuffed down your pants?” 

Harry seemed unsure, “Both?” Sam and Dean shook their heads. 

“Whether you like it or not, we’re handling this situation,” Ed declared to the Winchesters.

“A couple of fame whores who point their camera at a mother who just lost her child aren’t gonna handle shit,” Dean spat. 

“There’s no good in exploiting violence, loss, and tragedy,” Sam told the Ghostfacers. “So just stop.” 

“And don’t get in our way,” Dean barked.

“We’re investigators,” Harry said, “we have every right —”

“You’re just gonna get in the way,” Dean pointed out irately. 

“And you’ll manage to get someone killed,” Sam added.

“So you got two options: walk away or crawl your sorry asses outta town,” Dean said to the Ghostfacers.

“Oh my God, will you guys relax? We know what we’re doing,” Ed insisted. 

“And we’re not in this for the money or the fame. If anything, we’re losing money,” Harry noted. 

“Whatever happened to the rest of your douche entourage? That fat guy and the girl? There was a girl, right?” Dean wondered. 

“We — we had to let them go,” Harry replied, exchanging a wary glance with his partner. 

“Yeah, they were dead weight,” Ed said. 

“Well, they’re alive,” Harry clarified. 

“Oh yeah, they’re totally alive,” Ed stammered. 

“Regardless, you two couldn’t handle a ghost, much less anything else,” Dean said. 

“We told you, man, it’s not a freakin’ ghost. It’s Thinman.” Sam did a quick search on his phone. 

“Oh my God,” the younger Winchester groaned. 

“What?” Dean asked, so Sam handed over the phone. He read the contents. 

“The Skinny on Thinman? You wrote a book?” Dean said with an annoyed huff. 

The Ghostfacers beamed with pride. “You’re damn right we did.”

“And there’s a forum too. Thousands posted to the site,” Sam mentioned as he found that first in his quick Google search. “It’s like this Thinman is the new Bigfoot or something.” 

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”  

“Don’t hate on our work, bro,” Harry shrugged off Dean’s hostility. 

“I guess some people are just willing to believe anything online,” Sam remarked. 

“We’ve been over this, guys!” Ed said, “Thinman is real. Posts have come from all over the world. It’s not a conspiracy! How could so many people see the same thing? Huh? Tell me?” 

“This doesn’t make any damn sense,” Dean said scornfully. 

Just then, a beautiful redheaded woman dressed like a high-class street worker strolled into the diner, heading straight to the manager onsite. She caught the attention of all the workers and customers inside. She briefly set her eyes on Dean as she passed him by, giving him a quick wink as she beelined for her target — the manager. 

“Whoa,” Harry stuttered. “What a babe.” 

“Makes you forget all about Dana, doesn’t it?” Ed said to his friend with a sly grin.

“Hiya there,” Bessie batted her done-up eyelashes at the stammering man. 

“Um,” the manager was overwhelmed by her beauty. “Hi, how can I help you?” 

“I needed to ask you for something,” Bessie said with a lascivious giggle. 

“What?”

“Fuck me.” 

“W-what?” 

“You heard me, sweet pea. I asked you to fuck me.” The manager’s eyes darted around as everyone else watched in appalled silence. 

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re shy,” Bessie said in a husky breath. 

“I—I uh, what kind of game is this?” the manager said, but he couldn’t muster any anger or disgust. 

“The best kind, suga,” Bessie winked at him. “If you’re feelin’ embarrassed, you can punish me for that later, spank me, tie me up, set me in my place for bein’ such a naughty girl.” She crooned. She swore she could hear his dick harden. 

The manager swallowed deeply. “It’s just I don’t know you, you come into my restaurant and demand that I—”

“Fuck me, yes, that's right,” Bessie said.

“What's the catch?” 

“I’ll give you a thousand dollars cash,” Bessie pulled out a fat stack of five hundred dollars, setting it down on the counter where the manager stood behind, and slid it over to him. “Half now. Half when you’re nice and sated.” She slurred the last word. “I’ll come back at the end of your shift to see if you’re gonna man up and give me what I want. A bientôt monsieur.” Bessie blew him a kiss and strutted out of the diner, leaving nearly all the men in the establishment heated and blushing. 

Dean cleared his throat a few seconds after Bessie made her exit. “We’re only gonna warn you once, douchebags. Cut your losses and get the hell outta dodge.” Dean gestured for Sam to leave with him, only to find more unpleasantness outside. 

“This day just keeps gettin’ better and better,” Dean snarked. 

“Heya, fellas,” Marion said, exhaling a puff of smoke as she moved a lit cigarette from her red lips. “Fancy runnin’ into you.” 

“Yeah, cuz it’s a coincidence,” Dean frowned. 

Marion smirked, but her attention shifted to another pair of men exiting the diner. “Who’re those losers?” 

“Some idiots who’re gonna be leavin’ town if they know what’s good for them,” Dean said as he also watched the Ghostfacers walk bristly towards their white van that had the brazen Ghostfacers logo on the side. 

“Forget them,” Sam said. “Let’s go check out the girl’s house and see what we can find.” 

“You ain’t gonna find nothin’ there,” Marion said as Bessie pulled up in her car.

“And why’s that?” Dean asked. 

“Cuz the only supernatural things in this here town are me and my fine ass Bessie,” Marion declared. 

“Bullshit.” 

“I’m tellin’ ya, but if you wanna waste your time and energy, I ain’t gonna stop you.” She got in the car. “Later, losers!” Bessie sped on, nearly crashing into the Ghostfacers van as Ed and Harry were also leaving the diner parking lot. 

Sam and Dean went to Casey Miles's home, and while they were able to detect some EMF, both Winchesters were aware of some nearby power lines. They knew well enough that the cables could affect the read on their devices in such proximity. 

Dean wasn’t willing to give up. “The veil is all kinds of screwed, okay? Ghosts could be popping up anywhere.” 

“Yeah, but those Thinman sightings date back a few years.” Sam pointed out. 

“You and I both know that Thinman is total bullshit,” Dean said. “Especially if those two idiots are behind it.” 

“Well, then, what could it be?” Sam replied, “Unless —”

“Don’t say it,” Dean said. “Don’t you dare say it.” 

“Maybe Marion’s right.” 

“My favorite words in the English language.” Marion popped into the room. 

“Son of a bitch!” Dean hissed loudly. 

“Marion, are you absolutely sure that there’s no supernatural creatures in this town?” Sam asked the demon. 

“I already told you no,” Marion insisted. 

“Then what the hell killed the girl?” Dean snapped. 

“Not what,” Marion smiled devilishly, “but whom.” 

“What? A person did this?” Sam exclaimed. 

“That’s right,” Marion sang happily. “You two stumbled into an honest-to-goodness murder case. Human on human action, who’d a thunk, huh?” She slapped Sam roughly on the shoulder. He tried not to flinch at the sharp pain in his arm inflicted by her inhuman strength. 

“What’s your proof?” Dean asked. “Humans tend to leave evidence.”

“Dean, you’re not the actual authorities,” Marion scoffed. “You don’t have the burden of evidence to hold you back from executing some street justice. Neither do I — I just need a name. And I have them.” 

“Them?” Sam echoed. “There’s more than one killer?” 

“Mmhmm,” Marion’s eyes were brimming with glee. 

“Well, who are they?” Dean demanded. 

“Ah, you two are smart. You can figure it out. You don’t want me to hold your hand the whole time.” Marion said. 

“Marion, please, they might kill again.” 

“Well, news flash, Sam; they have killed again. Baby girl here was Vic number 2.” 

“Who else have they killed?” 

“The sheriff,” Marion told them. “If you ask me, the deputy did that one.” 

Sure enough, Sam and Dean went to the local sheriff's station, and only the deputy was present. Apparently, the sheriff was on vacation, and there was no word on when he would return. 

“See?” Marion had awaited them in the Impala. “Told ya.” 

“So you got a plan then, genius?” Dean asked the demon irately. 

“Yeah, actually, I do.” Marion sat back, putting her hands behind her head. “It’s already in motion.” She wiggled her eyebrows at the Winchesters. Then, it occurred to Sam. 

“Wait,” he said. “Bessie. You sent her to the diner to talk to the manager. He’s the next victim, isn’t he?” 

Marion grinned. “Why yes, he is Samuel. So if the killers are so desperate to ice the man, they’re gonna have to go right through Bessie.” 

“So it’s a setup,” Dean realized. “You’re gonna kill them.” 

“You say it like it’s a bad thing, fellas.” 

“They’re human beings.” 

“Um, pretty sure they’re serial killers,” Marion argued. 

“They should be handled by the police.” 

“Didn’t I just tell you the sheriff is dead? And the deputy’s guilty as sin! Who better than me to take him down? If there were any cops, they’d be burdened with proof of evidence to lock the killers up. And even if they went to prison, there’s no means to rehabilitate their thirst for blood. Besides, prisons are too full to keep the filth in for long, so they get out to go and kill again. Believe you me, my way’s better.” 

“And you think we’re just gonna let you —”

“You couldn’t kill me on your best day, sweetie,” Marion snapped. “So don’t delude yourself into punching above your weight class. You just worry about those ghost-huntin’ wannabes that’re still in town. They’re fresh meat for our resident serial killers.” Marion disappeared. 

“Son of a bitch!” Dean roared. 

“Dammit,” Sam ran a hand through his hair. “Well, we know they’re gonna be in the diner, but those Ghostfacers, if they stumble in —”

“They’ll die for sure,” Dean said. “I knew they were gonna get in the way.” On cue, the glasses-wearing Ghostfacer knocked on Dean’s driver-seat window. The brothers got out of the Impala. Ed appeared to be alone. 

“Hi, guys,” Ed said awkwardly. Dean grabbed him roughly, slamming him against the Impala. 

“Easy, Dean!” Sam cautioned. They were still near the sheriff’s station. 

“What did I tell you, huh?” Dean barked at the bespectacled man. 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry — but I need your help, alright?” Ed pleaded. “Harry’s in trouble.” 

“Surprise, surprise,” Dean barked. “Why didn’t you fuckin’ leave when I said so?”

“Because we couldn’t!” 

“Says who?” Sam said. “Thinman isn’t even real.” 

“Look, I know, okay! I’m the one who made him up!” Ed confessed. 

“I fuckin’ knew it!” Dean shouted.

“Spruce wanted to head a startup, and Maggie was really into roller derby, so far be it from me to stop them from doing their thing, but I couldn’t let Harry go. If I hadn’t made up Thinman, he would’ve gotten married to his girlfriend and become some corporate stooge. I wouldn’t let that happen. She called the Ghostfacers stupid. Can you believe that?” 

“You are stupid,” Dean asserted. 

“Well, Harry’s about to die for my stupid lie, okay? I know you guys aren’t real feds or cops, but you save people. You may not like us, but please, save my friend. He shouldn’t have to die for my mistake!” Ed begged the brothers. “Please!”

“Get in the damn car,” Dean ordered, and Ed did so while Sam began to barrage the Ghostfacer with questions. 

“How the hell did you make Thinman happen?” 

“I dug up some pics of an old-timey butler and doctored them up with Photoshop,” Ed explained. “Then I posted one photo on one of those horror forums as an anonymous user. It blew up. Yeah, I only faked some cases for us, and we were packing to go home when someone posted a sighting of Thinman, so we went after it. That's how Thinman became a crowdsourced legend. We were at the front of it. It felt like something big. It was awesome to have a following, and Harry — he was so into it.” 

Sam shook his head. This sounded too familiar. “So you lied to him?” his eyes shifted to Dean. 

“I needed to give him a reason to stick around.” 

“You’re gonna have to tell him the truth,” Sam told Ed. 

“No,” Ed said fearfully. “I can’t tell him. Harry — he won’t forgive me for it. Not after what I made him give up.”

“You don’t have a choice, Ed,” Sam stated icily, “because he’ll either hear the truth from you or me. Now, let’s hope we can find your partner before it’s too late.”

They drove around but couldn’t find the other half of the Ghostfacers anywhere in town. “I don’t understand. I left him by the grocery store.” 

“I thought Marion said the diner manager was next,” Sam said. 

“Looks like Marion wasn’t right,” Dean conveyed, but he couldn’t even be happy about it. “Guess Harry’s the new victim.” 

“No,” Ed said worriedly. “We gotta find him.” 

“You just had to leave him alone,” Dean snapped at Ed, who shrieked in the backseat. “Couldn’t have left him in your stupid van?” 

“He just would’ve followed me!” Ed cried. “He was gonna find out everything!” 

“At least he would’ve been safe!” Sam rounded on the man. “Now he could die, and his blood will be on your hands just as much as it's on the killers if they gut him!” 

Ed held his face in his hands. “Harry…” 

The men continued their search on foot, finding nothing but fresh blood on some grass and tire treads some feet away. 

“Oh God,” Ed exclaimed anxiously. “It could be someone else, right? Harry could still be alright, right?” 

“Try calling him,” Sam suggested as he went over to his brother. Dean was taking pictures of the tire treads.  

“I’ve seen these kinds of tire treads before,” Dean said, “Gimme your phone.” Sam handed it over. The elder Winchester did a quick search. “AHA! I knew it. 1989 Geo Metro. They ain’t common kinds of treads.” 

“So all we have to do is see who in town had that kind of car,” Sam said. 

Dean nodded. “We just gotta check with the sheriff's station.” 

“Marion said the deputy’s dirty.” 

“Marion says a lot of things,” Dean said dismissively. “Oi, Curly, let’s go!”

“You guys have a lead?”

“Yeah we do, The sooner we get a move on, the sooner we can save your boyfriend.” Dean urged. 

They returned to the station, and the deputy greeted them with a smile. “Hiya, fellas. I see you’re all workin’ together on this case, huh?” 

“Oh yeah, right,” Dean rolled his eyes. “Listen, we got a lead that the perp who killed that poor Casey girl drives an ‘89 Geo Metro. Can you pull the files on the registered owners of such cars in this county?”

“I sure can,” the deputy obliged. When he returned, it was with a single folder. “Luckily for you, it’s just one guy. Goes by the name of Roger. Works night security at the mill on the north side of town.”

“Great, thanks,” Dean said as he, Sam, and Ed made for the exit. 

“Now hang on, fellas,” The deputy said, “I’m coming with you.” 

“We can handle this between us three,” Dean stated, “with all due respect.” 

“Listen, it’s just,” the deputy bore a sheepish expression. “My sheriff’s AWOL, and we don’t have a warrant. I’m dead if this all goes sideways, so let me go down to the mill with ya, okay? You can take all the credit. I just need to cover my ass.” 

“Alright, whatever,” Dean said. “Let’s get moving.” 

The deputy drove on ahead of the others to ensure they were going the right way but, funnily enough, was the last one to exit his vehicle upon arrival. The mill was quiet and remote. The entrance wasn’t even locked down. But it wouldn’t matter because the deputy shot Sam and Dean with a taser the second their backs were turned. 

“I always wanted to use these,” the deputy said with an eerie smile on his face. 

“Oh shit,” Ed was spooked and tried to run, but the deputy was deceptively fast and wouldn’t let him get far. He got knocked down and was rendered unconscious. 

When all the men came to, they awakened to a brutalized Harry and a singing deputy who had arranged all the captive men in a dimly lit corner of the quiet mill, save for one spot that Dean currently sat in. He flinched as a glaring light shone in his face — a spotlight one would use for a professional photoshoot. 

“Harry?” Ed said as he was tied up against a column perpendicular to Dean. “Oh God, Harry!” 

“He’s alive,” the deputy said as he fussed over a camera pointed directly at Dean. “For now.”

“Harry, wake up, Harry, please!” Harry stirred but had lost some blood.

“Well, you’re too fat to be Thinman,” Dean remarked as he spotted his brother across from the fearful Ed. Sam was fully conscious and far better off than the Ghostfacers, though tied up like the others. 

The deputy pulled out a hunting knife and stabbed Dean harshly in the knee. 

“Ah!” Dean cried. 

“Dean!” Sam yelled. “You son of a bitch!” 

“Call me fat again, and I’ll cut off your face, you cocksucking bitch.” The deputy said calmly.  

Why did Marion have to be right?

“What the fuck’s your problem Norwood?” Sam shouted at the villain. “Why are you doing this? How are you doing this?” 

“It’s all been a team effort,” the deputy beamed at Sam. He heard footsteps approaching as a slim figure entered the room. He wore a black jumpsuit and bore gray thinning hair but lacked a face, merely twisted-up flesh without any discerning features — one resembling the purported Thinman. But the disfigured face turned out to be a mask as the stranger pulled off the faceless face and revealed a perfectly ordinary one. 

“You,” Sam recognized him. “You’re the busboy from the diner.” 

“Oh God, you’re doin’ the Scream thing,” Dean said acrimoniously. Why, oh, why did Marion have to be right?!

“So you killed Casey,” Sam brought up. 

“She wouldn’t go out with me,” the busboy shrugged. “So I set her up with someone else. My knife.” He brandished it with a chortle. 

“Good one, Roger.” The deputy said with a grin. 

Dean noticed something else. A body that wore a police uniform. “I take it that’s the sheriff over there? The one that’s supposedly on vacation?” 

“What can I say?” The deputy said without shame. “He should’ve given me the time off I asked for.” 

“You pieces of fuckin’ dog shit!” Dean said in disgust. 

“This bitch has got a mouth on him,” Roger said creepily. “Good thing I know what to cut off first.” He approached the elder Winchester. Unbeknownst to the killers, Sam and Dean had been hard at work picking the locks that kept them restrained. 

“Fancy Fed, coming ‘round here,” the deputy also circled Dean. “Treatin’ me like a paper monkey from the get-go.” Sneering as he got really close to Dean. “Jokes on you, huh, bitch. We were Thinman the whole time.” 

“Wha?” Harry finally became conscious. “What’s going on?” One eye had been swollen shut from the beating he received earlier. “Oh God! Oh God!” His good eye fell on Roger, who met his gaze. 

“You? What the fuck? What the fuck is going on?” 

“Wow, he looks confused,” Roger noted with an evil smirk. 

“He sure does, Roger. Why don’t you refresh his memory?” The deputy suggested. 

“Hey! No! Leave him alone!” Ed cried. 

“Ed! What the fuck?!” Harry said, trying to move the best he could against his restraints. He coughed up blood. 

“The fuck, my unfortunate friend,” Roger punched Harry, “is that you stumbled onto some shit you shouldn’t have.” 

“You can’t kill him,” Ed cried. “I’m the one who made up Thinman!” 

That stopped the killers’ movements. 

“Come again?” The deputy asked. 

“I made up Thinman,” Ed repeated. “I made it all up! I cut together some pics with Photoshop and blasted it on Reddit and other shit.” 

“You lied?” Harry said in horror. “You lied? You made this up?”

“I set this all in motion, but not Harry. He had no idea! Please just let him go.” 

“You piece of —” but Roger shot Harry in the gut. 

“Harry!” Ed bellowed. 

“No can do’sville babydoll,” Roger kicked Ed so hard he started coughing up blood. “But nice plot twist.”

“Harry, please no! HARRY!” 

“I’m a fan of the classics,” the deputy said, uncaring of how precariously Harry’s life hung in the balance. “And this is Frankenstein all over. So here’s the plan. We’re gonna kill this guy since we have him up here in front of the camera,” he pointed at Dean. “Then the tall one, then your friend, and then you. Sound like a plan, Roger?”

“Absolutely, dude,” Roger said, approaching Dean. “Let the games begin.” 

Just then, the spotlight for the camera abruptly combusted, almost harming the eager deputy. “What the fuck?”

Sam sensed it first. What was heard next was a clacking of stiletto heels as someone approached from the darkness of the mill. 

“Hiya there, fellas,” Bessie appeared in the darkness, the clack of her heels echoing as she walked into the visible area. “What’s goin’ on over here? Oh my goodness, what are all these hapless men doin’ all tied up in a fret?” She placed her hands on her breasts, determinedly playing the role of an innocent bystander. “Oh my word, you don’t mean to hurt these men, do you, officer?” She directed the question at the deputy.

“Fuck off whore.” Roger said coldly. “Or we’ll kill you first.”

“I have no doubt you’ll certainly try,” Bessie said, unfazed by the killer’s threat.

“We’re serious bitch,” the deputy snarled. 

“I know suga. I’m just not threatened by the likes of you two….what the phrase I’m searchin’ for? Oh! I’m not threatened by the likes of you two limpdicked pathetic sorry excuses for human dogshit.” Her voice echoed on the curse.

Roger shot her point blank in the chest, but Bessie didn’t flinch. It befuddled the deputy and his evil coconspirator.

“What the fuck?” 

“You can always try again,” Bessie chirped with a smirk. Roger tried for a headshot, but Bessie was still okay despite a bullet being lodged into her brain. 

“Oh! That smarts some.” Bessie stuck her tongue at the killers. 

“That’s not possible.” The deputy swore.

“It’s unnatural!” Roger exclaimed. 

“It’s supernatural!” Marion appeared next, spooking the deputy who was right next to her. He shot her point blank in the heart. 

“Well damn,” Marion remarked bemusedly. “You sure are jumpy, aren’t ya?” 

“What the fuck?” 

“Why won’t these bitches die?” Roger shrieked hopelessly. 

“An excellent question, isn’t Bessie?” 

“Why yes, it is, light of my life! Should we give them the good news?” 

“I think we shall, Bessie.” 

“Here’s the thing, fatass,” Marion said as she sauntered towards the frightened deputy, who tried inching away from the dangerous woman. “Bessie and I — we’re special. We come from a darlin’ little place called hell. Yeah, that Hell, the one those Bible thumpers just won’t shut up about with all the demons and Satan and eternal damnation that you’re gonna love because after I’m done ripping you apart, and I do mean that quite literally, you’re gonna go straight there. And me and the guy running the joint, we’re well acquainted, and I know for a fact that he’s gonna have a ton of fun ass-reaming you for eternity. Havin’ his way with you and your killin’ buddy over there, well, that’s his bread and butter.” 

“When we finish killin’ you,” Bessie declared as she cornered Roger. “We’re gonna rip off your faces and wear ‘em like masks. We’re gonna scissor each other over your mangled remains and squirt all over your fresh bloody guts.” 

“Ready when you are sugarplum.” Marion sneered.

“Let the games begin,” Bessie’s voice got unworldly deep, true to her nature. 

“Wait!” Marion’s voice also began to deepen. “Wake up the boy!” 

“Alright,” Bessie gave Harry a firm smack, awakening him a second time. “Hi there, friend. Welcome back. Enjoy the show.” Roger made a break for it, but Bessie stopped him. She got her hands on his backside, using her demonic energy and strength to hurt so bad that his body crumpled in on itself. He cried horribly as his body was forced into unnatural positions, making Ed puke and Harry shudder as Sam and Dean were also helpless in witnessing such supernatural violence. 

Roger couldn’t even scream. But he choked on a great deal of blood from the internal bleeding. 

But the deputy screamed plenty, “Ah!” As Marion tore through him like an apex predator, his blood splattered everywhere. Dean could smell shit as well as blood as the murderous cop defecated himself. “Oh God!” His arms reached blindly in reaction to his agony until Marion ripped them off, consuming each one remarkably fast. 

Sam could no longer bear to watch anymore. 

Eventually, the demons finished their work, and true to their word, the bodies of the deputy and Roger, the busboy, were nothing but fresh piles of blood and gore, save for their faces. Marion and Bessie would get to them later. Next, they approached Harry and Ed. The Ghostfacers looked at the Winchesters but were both still tied up. Whatever could be said of the Springdale killers, they were very efficient at tying people up. If the demons hadn’t made their move, Sam and Dean would’ve died along with Ed and Harry. 

“Oh God!” Marion grabbed Harry sharply by the neck, choking him as more blood spilled out of his beaten body. “Oh God! Please, please, please!” Was all Harry could utter as he began to pee out of sheer terror. 

“Good Lord, the boy is pissin’ himself.” Marion made a repulsed face. But little did Harry notice, for he was so afraid, but the demon healed his gunshot wound with some incantation.

“So undignified.” Bessie shook her head disapprovingly. 

“You wanna end up like him?” Marion pointed at the visibly mangled remains of Roger. 

“No!” 

“Do you wanna end up like him?” She pointed at the deputy’s remains. 

“God, no!” 

“Then listen here, boy!” Marion began speaking in Latin, and Harry feared the worst but became confused as the pain in his body dissipated. Marion threw the Ghostfacer on his ass some feet away as he landed right by the twisted-up Roger.

”Ah!” Harry scurried away in fear, puking in disgust. 

“Don’t go thinkin’ I did you a favor boy,” Marion said to Harry, getting up in his face as he was trapped in a corner, Bessie watched on in giddiness. “I curse you, boy. I curse you to live a life of responsibility and honesty. You’re gonna run back to that bumbling buffoon you call a girlfriend, and you beg her to take you back in nothin’ less than twenty thousand dollars worth of jewelry. Then you’re gonna marry her, and you’re gonna breed her, and you’re gonna be the best damn father slash husband this side of the Mississippi — do you understand me?!”

”Yes!” Harry stammered so severely he was at risk of biting off his tongue, 

“I own you, boy. You, my little bitch boy Harry, because if you ever fuck up in your sorry excuse of a life, Harry, I’m gonna find you, I’m gonna peel your skin off like a banana and wear it like a suit and leave you in a corner as a raw nerve feeling nothin’ but pain for all time. You hear me, boy! I will become your Satan, Harry, because I’ll make your life a living hell!” She punched the wall Harry was against so hard she made a hole one foot deep. Harry trembled so harshly that he nearly fell. “So if you EVER fuck up again, tell one more lie, neglect your responsibilities, and you’re MINE! Now, what are you waiting for, boy? GO!” The demon roared, and Harry ran for his life right out of the mill. 

Both demons set their sights on Ed. “And you.” They cornered him next, pulling him away from the chains he was restrained by, “Get a fuckin’ life, you fuckin’ loser.” 

“Stay away from that friend of yours. He ain’t your friend anymore!” Bessie taunted. 

“Yeah, that’s right,” Marion said with an evil smile. “You got no friends, Mr. Lonely.” 

“But don’t go killin’ yourself. The quitters go to hell automatically.” 

“Yup,” Marion’s eyes twinkled, as did Bessie’s. “Every time. Now GET OUT!” Marion threw Ed twenty feet ahead; his glasses were long gone, but he didn’t return for them. He ran ahead, as frightened as Harry.

“Well,” Marion wiped at her hands. “That takes care of that.” Since the Ghostfacers were well out of earshot, the demon went and set the Winchesters free. But neither Sam nor Dean were content by the act. Both were disgusted. 

“What?” Marion said in an annoyed tone. 

“You…” Sam said in horror. He couldn’t look at the gore. “What you did to them.” 

“I’ve seen cleaner kills by a werewolf,” Dean mentioned.  

“Guys, we’ve been over this!” Marion groaned. “They were horrible pieces of shit.” 

“Did you have to kill them like that?” Dean bellowed. 

“You know he didn’t just kill that girl,” Marion said of Roger. “He raped the shit outta her. She was sixteen. He covered her mouth as he did it so she couldn’t scream. Her mom was right downstairs the whole time. Had no idea what was going on.”

”And the deputy took his sweet time with the sheriff. The way he rid him of the world…” Bessie tsked. “Frankly, Marion let him off easy. That old man was a father of three.” 

“Now, why don’t you two fuck off if you’re so fuckin’ sensitive. We have plans.” Marion said as the demons returned to their handiwork. 

“What are you gonna do?” 

“What we said we were gonna do,” Marion said as the sound of torn flesh could be heard, making the stomachs of the Winchesters churn further. “We’re gonna wear their faces like masks, we’re gonna scissors over their corpses, and we’re gonna squirt all over their guts. Now go on.” She shooed as she held the torn flesh of the deputy’s face. “This is a private party of two.” 

The hunters gladly removed themselves from the grisly scene as they caught up to the Ghostfacers, who were both quite winded from running and reaching the Impala. Both Ed and Harry were startled until they realized it was just the Winchesters. 

“Oh shit!” Ed wheezed. “You got away.” 

“They uh, let us go too, to uh,” Sam shook his head. “Well, they’re honoring their word.” 

“You mean they’re…” Ed recalled the demons’ promise. 

Sam and Dean nodded grimly. 

“Oh God,” Ed said, aghast. 

“I suggest we go while they’re still…busy,” Sam said. 

All four men got in the car and drove back to where the Ghostfacers had left their van in town.  

“Thank God,” Ed said as he exited the parked Impala. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” But Harry hadn’t gotten out of the Winchester’s vehicle. 

“Um…” 

Harry had spaced out a bit as if deep in thought, mulling over something. “I’m sorry,” he apologized to the Winchesters. “But is it okay if I hitch a ride from you guys? You can leave me at the next bus station, just give me a minute. Please?”

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. “Okay.” 

“I’ll be right back.” Harry exited the car, approaching his longtime partner with a solemn expression. 

“What are you dragging your feet for?” Ed asked, “Let’s go—” Harry punched Ed in the face, causing Ed to stumble onto the ground. 

“Oh shit,” Dean said in mild surprise. Sam looked on sadly.  

“What the hell, Har-”

”You what the hell!” Harry spat hotly. “You! You! You lied to me! You ruined my life! I left Dana for you — to - to live some stupid lie! And I almost died for it! You made a chump out of me, Ed! And you call yourself my friend! Friends don’t do this! I hate you! I hate you, Ed! I never wanna see you again! If you ever come find me, I swear to God, I will kill you. You hear me? Stay the hell out of my life because I won’t ever forgive you for this! Ever!” Harry marched back into the Impala, releasing a breath before saying in a trembling voice, “Okay. We can go now.” 

Dean quietly started the Impala back up again as the vehicle strolled smoothly away from the weeping Ed, who lay crumpled on the ground. 

It took an hour to reach a bus station, and Dean stopped the car. “Here’s your stop, kid.” Harry nodded. 

“I’m sorry for all the trouble we caused.” The former Ghostfacer apologized. 

“Whatever.” Dean shrugged. Sam regarded the man with pity.

“Thank you for the ride.” 

Dean nodded. “You can get out now.” 

Harry left without another word. 

“Well.” Dean gripped the steering wheel. “That was an evening. You want me to take you back to your car?” 

“That’s okay,” Sam said offhandedly. “I can get it later.” 

“You okay?” 

“No, Dean,” Sam scoffed. “I’m not okay. What happened back there…” 

“There’s a reason I don’t like that bitch.” Dean shook his head. “As if I didn’t have enough nightmares.” 

“I get they were bad people, but can you imagine dying like that?” Sam said. “It was so fucked.” 

Dean nodded. “I’m not gonna sleep for days.” Then again, he hadn’t slept for a week. He hadn’t been able to do that since his twenties. 

“I mean they’re demons but…I thought they were good.” Sam said, torn. 

“There’s no such thing as a good demon.” 

“What about Jess?” 

“I’m pretty sure if you piss her off, she’s capable of a lot of twisted shit, no offense,” Dean said. “Ain’t she the one who killed Ruby?” 

“Yeah…”

”She killed Brady too.” 

“But Brady killed her.” 

“Just sayin’ – don’t you sleep on that girlfriend of yours.” 

“She wouldn’t hurt anyone without good reason,” Sam claimed. 

“Marion and Bessie had a good reason last night,” Dean argued.

Sam ran a hand over his face. “Well, thank you for coming out to help me.” 

“Don’t know why you’re thankin’ me. We didn’t do jack shit up there.” Dean said. 

“Still…thank you.” 

“Whatever.” 

Sam moved to leave the Impala but had a question: “Who’s staying with you?”

”What do you mean?” Dean asked. “At the bunker? Nobody.” 

“You’re there alone?” 

“Who else would be there with me?” 

“What about Cas?” 

“Cas is doin’ his own thing, clearin’ shit up with the angels. Kevin’s long gone, so unless you’re willin’ to come back...” 

“You should come stay with us,” Sam offered. 

“I’ve had my fill of demons, thanks,” Dean said, “no offense.” 

“You shouldn’t be alone.” 

“Well, I was plannin’ to stop by a bar or two,” Dean mentioned. “Maybe I’ll meet someone,” Dean put on an encouraging smile.

Sam gave him a long look. 

“Look, man, I just can’t go back with ya tonight. Rain check, I promise. Just not tonight, please.” Dean said. 

“Fine.” Sam exited the car. “Drive safe.” 

“Always do.” Sam walked away, and Dean drove on alone. What Dean hadn’t mentioned to anyone, what he kept to himself, was that in the wake of the demons’ killing spree, the Mark had gone crazy. It throbbed so hard it felt like the Mark would burst out of Dean’s skin. It was still sore from all the excitement, even though the throbbing ended a while ago. 

Another reason Dean wouldn’t sleep tonight. Or the next night, or the next…

A deep, foreign part of Dean delighted in the bloodshed, practically salivated over it, and envied demons for their fun. He wanted to take part in it. To get his hands dripping in their blood. 

The Mark was getting harder to ignore. Damn near impossible to repress. It was a game of chicken Dean was losing. He feared the consequences. 

“Hey baby,” Sam crept into bed, rustling Jess up from her rest. “Don’t get up.” 

“Just getting in now?” Jess said. 

“Yeah,” Sam yawned, but the bloodshed was still fresh in his mind. Jess heard the distress in his voice and moved to face him. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Well, I went out on that case, Jess, but the way it went down was…” Sam shook his head.

“What happened?”

”The monster wasn’t even a monster. It was a pair of humans, Jess. They were killing people over petty shit. Then Marion and Bessie came in, and…Jess, it was horrible. They butchered them. I’ve seen some shit in my time, but I’ve never seen people get killed so violently.”

Jess gave him a sympathetic look. “I take it sleeping’s not an option then.” 

“Or tomorrow night or the next after that.” 

“I’m sorry, baby.” 

“You’re not gonna defend them?” Sam asked. 

“I don’t think I can without upsetting you,” Jess said. “Can I hold you baby?” 

Sam, despite being larger than his lover, gladly clambered into Jess, letting her wrap her arms around him as she petted his hair. 

After a while, Jess asked, “Sam, do you feel safe around me?” 

“Of course,” Sam said without hesitation, “what makes you ask that?” 

“What about our son?” Jess pressed on without answering him. “He’s made some progress, not much, but the violence he’s capable of…it’s not easy to forget.” 

“What are you getting at Jess?” Sam moved out of Jessica’s arms.

”When I first got out of hell, Marion had me practice my newfound powers on some people. They were bad people — pedophiles, terrorists, killers. People no one would miss. But honestly, their guilt didn't matter to me. If they had been innocent, I wouldn’t have cared, not then.”

Sam looked at her sadly. 

“Marion can be brutal, downright cruel. But when it comes down to it, she’s good. And for a demon, that's a tough line to cross. If she weren’t, you’d still be in the Cage. Just remember that.”

It was true. Marion had done a lot for the Winchesters. And it hadn’t cost them much in the long run. But this past evening made Sam wonder just who the hell this demon was in his corner and what in the world she was fighting for.

Chapter Text

“Congratulations, you’ve reached the very exclusive line of the King. Unfortunately for you, I’m far too busy inflicting pain to answer your call. Should you be lucky, I’ll return your call whenever it suits me. Leave a message if you dare.”

Beep!

“Come on, Crowley,” Dean hissed into his phone. “Pick up the damn phone!” He hung up. Must’ve been the tenth voicemail he’s left in as many weeks. 

It’d been weeks since Dean heard from Crowley. He hated this feeling — of having to rely on that nefarious demon of all people. Like it or not, they were partners in the hunt to kill Abaddon. In the end, it would be worth it. 

It had to be. 

It’s not like Crowley had a social life. 

“He does, actually,” Marion told him. “You just don’t wanna know what he does for fun. What are you askin’ after him for? You sound like a desperate wife or somethin’.”

As if that comment didn’t want to make Dean break out in hives. “He said he’d be looking for the First Blade.” 

“Guess he’s havin’ a hard time findin’ it.” The demon said. “But fine, I’ll track his bitch ass down.”

“You know where he is?”

”I have some ideas,” Marion said. “Give me ten minutes.” She hung up the phone. True to her word, she called back in ten. 

“Found him.” 

The deposed king of Hell was holed up in a fancy hotel room in Kansas City, a little worse for the wear. He’d abandoned the search for Cain’s signature weapon altogether in favor of indulging an old habit among other cravings. 

“Oh my Lord,” Marion said as she entered Crowley’s hotel room. He hadn’t been alone for long — a demon that went by the name of Lola had just departed. She wouldn’t be gone for too long. 

“What the fuck are you doin’?” Marion barked at Crowley, but the older demon was under the influence of a habit he had no business indulging in. 

“Oh, Marion,” Crowley slurred. “You’re here.” 

Marion spotted the freshly deceased human man slumped over the loveseat in the corner of the room. “Didn’t spare him a drop, did you?”

Crowley slapped a spot on the couch he sat upon. “Come, sit with me.” He sniffled. Had he been crying?

”Holy fuck, you’re crying?” Marion glanced at the television as it was playing a movie. “Casablanca, really?”

“What can I say?” Crowley dabbed at his eyes with some tissue. “I’m a sentimentalist. What a classic. I remember the premiere.”

”I thought you got over this phase.” Marion said. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen the older demon gorge on human blood the way addicts consumed heroin and such drugs. It sustained a part of Crowley that typically remained dormant. 

“You can thank your boys for my relapse, love.” Crowley finished a slice of pizza. Extra cheese. “They’ve cost me everything.” 

“So you corrupt Dean in return?” Marion sneered. 

“This isn’t about revenge,” Crowley said as he continued to watch Casablanca. “You know as well as I do that Abaddon needs to be eliminated.” 

“Only so you can return to thinking you’re in charge,” Marion frowned. 

“Why are you here, Marion?” Crowley asked. “Forgive my confusion, but you’ve proclaimed t,o as you so eloquently phrased it, ‘fucking kill me if it is the last thing you ever fucking do and neither God nor Satan nor my whore mother can save me from you’ so if you’re not here to kill me what the bloody hell are you here for?” 

Marion gave him a bitter look. “I can’t kill you, Crowley.” 

“Finally, come to your senses, have you?” 

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Crowley pulled his gaze from the television, directing it at his former protege. “Why do you fight for them?” He questioned, “That’s not the Marion I remember. When I met you, the last thing you would’ve ever done is serve some white men. You hated such humans. Now here you are, a fierce mama bear – protecting those boys like their bear cubs. What’s your game?”

Marion returned the look. “You didn’t get far in your search for the blade, did you?” 

“That’s where you're wrong, love,” Crowley replied. “The Blade was not as hoped in the Mariana trench. It had been, in fact, scooped up by an unmanned sub, from whom it was stolen by a research assistant, who sold it to Portuguese smugglers who lost it to Moroccan pirates in a poker game.” 

“When?”

“Ages ago,” Crowley answered. “Trail’s gone cold from there.” 

“Fantastic,” Marion sighed. “So why have you started drinking human blood again?” 

“What part of it’s your lads’ fault do you not understand?” Crowley said. 

“Doesn’t explain your momentary binge at the turn of the twentieth century. Or the times you told me about in the eighteenth,” Marion countered. 

“I forgot I told you all that,” Crowley groaned. 

“A good reason why you shouldn’t be takin’ this shit,” Marion tossed an empty beer bottle at the dead guy in the corner. “It throws you off your game. Way too much. Abaddon is consolidating her claim to your precious throne. And here you are makin’ it all the easier for her to usurp you.” 

“Don’t pretend to care for me,” Crowley snapped. 

“Whoever the fuck got you that human and all this food and booze cares far less for you than I do,” Marion suggested. “And that’s saying something.”

A woman entered the room, clad in sleek thigh-high boots and an expensive matching fur coat—the very picture of the highest class of prostitute. 

“Who’s this?” Her eyes set on Marion.

“An old friend of mine,” Crowley answered. “Come, my pet.” He waved her over. She set down her bags and approached the older demon. Her eyes never left Marion’s. 

“I brought you some goodies,” Lola said, running her hands through Crowley’s matted hair, damp with sweat. 

“Excellent,” Crowley crooned. 

“You wanna introduce me to your friend?” Lola said, her eyes brimming with murderous intent. 

“Not really his friend,” Marion said to the other demon.

”Nonsense!” Crowley interjected. “You and I were thick as thieves once upon a time.” 

“A time that grows ever more distant.”

”Seriously,” Lola stood up, “who are you?” 

Marion stood up as well. “Why are you so interested, sweetheart? You want me that bad? Well, come and get me, baby.”

Lola reached for Marion’s throat, but she was ready for a fight. She kicked Lola brutally towards the hotel room window with such force that the glass broke, but Marion hauled Lola back in before she fell out. Marion gives the other demon three decisive strikes in the throat while Crowley dispassionately watches the violence ensue. 

Lola didn’t make it so easy, though — she brandished a knife from her thigh-high boots, causing Marion to dodge as best she could in tight quarters.

“Oi, watch the Telly!” Crowley groaned as he tried to keep watching his movie.

Lola cut Marion, but she blocked the brunt of it with her arm, pulling out a whip to strike Lola harshly in the face. Part of her long, dark, wavy hair fell from the attack. Lola roared as she slid down to take Marion’s legs, but the other demon jumped and managed to get her arms around Lola’s throat, choking her thoroughly as the two wrestled madly on the carpeted floor. Lola stabbed at her wildly, but Marion wouldn’t free her hold. With one final decisive blow, she broke Lola’s neck, reciting an ancient spell that destroyed the demon possessing the woman’s body altogether.

Crowley kept mindlessly chewing as the final scene of Casablanca played. He wiped his eyes as he started to cry. “Beautiful. Simply divine.”

Marion huffed as blood continued to seep out of her wounds. She limped over to where Lola had set her bags and rummaged through them until she found what she was looking for — blood bags. 

Crowley always did have a preference for O positive. She chucked the bag at Crowley’s head. 

“You’re going to give me the blood without having a taste for yourself?” the demon scoffed. 

Marion limped back over. “I know better than to get between you and your next fix.” She slumped onto the couch Crowley was lounging on. The older demon looked at her as she groaned from her injuries. Crowley moved over but Marion flinched back.

“I have no reason to kill you,” Crowley assured. “I’m trying to help you.” 

“I’ve sworn to kill you.” Marion reminded him. 

“Are you going to kill me today?” Marion looked down in bitterness. “Right then. Now let’s have a look.” He used the blood and coated Marion’s wounds with it, using magic to heal her meat suit. 

“See? I’m not so bad, am I?” 

“Why?” 

“I like you better than her,” Crowley nodded towards the black spot that was Lola. “Besides, I know she was playing me. She ran to one of Abaddon’s cronies just this afternoon.” He shook his head. “Ah, well.” 

Marion regarded him with a look of surprise. 

“The blood makes me sentimental, not a buffoon,” Crowley said. 

“There was that binge in ‘03,” She meant 1903.

“I can learn from my mistakes.” 

The Winchesters finally caught up, marching into Crowley’s hotel room, which, despite the opulence and comfort, was somehow worse than a pigsty, given the mess, blood, and stains everywhere. 

“Oh fuck!” Sam’s face wrinkled in disgust. 

“What the hell?” Dean looked around angrily. “What the hell is this?” He gestured to the decaying body in the corner. 

“He was a refreshment.” 

“Nothin’ fresh about him. I’d say he’s rotting,” Marion took a whiff. “Yeah, definitely rotting. But we got real problems.” 

“You’re supposed to be looking for the damn Blade,” Dean said sternly. 

“Thanks to this dumbass, he ain’t the only one,” Marion frowned. 

“Fuck you mean?” Dean asked. 

“He gets gabby when he gets on blood like this,” Marion said, finally healed, pacing around the room in frustration. 

“What are you talking about?”

Marion tossed a phone in Sam’s direction. He caught it. “Who’s phone is this?” 

“His stupid girlfriend,” Marion grumbled. 

“You had a girlfriend?” Dean remarked, unamused.

“We were really more friends with benefits.” Crowley shrugged. 

“She met some guy named Aldo?” 

“Demon. Who happens to work for Abaddon.” Marion clarified. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean said, glaring daggers at Crowley, who blinked in return, entirely unfazed. 

“What do they know?” Sam demanded. “Crowley, what did you tell these demons?” 

“We have to assume everything!” Marion urged. 

“We weren’t askin’ you!” Dean said coldly. His hardened eyes never left Crowley’s, giving the demon an icy chill of thrill. “What do they know?” 

“Things get a trifle blurry when I’m medicated,” Crowley burped.

“So Abaddon’s in the hunt for this thing too, then,” Sam grimaced. 

“You don’t know what it’s like to be human!” Crowley hissed. “It’s my addiction! My cross, my burden! I see the darkness of it now, the Anthony Weiner of it all. It’s made me so bloody needy, I don’t know how you stand it Squirrel.”

“Alright, you know what? This shit ends now. You’re cut off, okay? Kickin’ it cold turkey,” Dean ordered. They took the former demon king back to the bunker, dumping him into the dungeon he’d been at before. 

It was like he never left. 

“Back in this fetid pit,” Crowley remarked as he looked dismally around the room. “Could’ve at least added some throw pillows.” Marion slapped him upside the head.

“Focus up bitch!” Marion barked. 

“So you got as far as a couple of pirates taking the blade in a poker game.” Sam sat, picking up his laptop. “Then what?” 

Crowley regarded him with a calm expression -- an almost affectionate look. 

“What are you doing?” Sam asked with uncertainty. 

“I’m still somewhat tainted by humanity, brings out the sentiment within me.” 

“Stop it,” Sam said, unnerved. 

“You and I shared a mo’ back at that church,” Crowley recollected. 

“What I remember is you spilling your guts since you were cornered with no hopes of escape,” Sam scoffed. 

“On some level, you and I are bonded.” the demon suggested. 

Sam bristled. “Crowley, the only reason you’re still alive right now is because we need you to deal with Abaddon since she’s somehow an even worse pile of shit than you are. You and I,” He hissed, “we’re not friends. We’ll never be friends. I know what you did to my brother,” Sam inhaled deeply. “And I swear to God, after all this bullshit is over with, the first thing I’m gonna do is track you down and fucking kill you like we should’ve done a long time ago. Got it?”

Crowley gave him a bright smile. “You’re downright precious, Moose.”

“Permission to stab him with that demon knife you use?” Marion waggled her eyebrows at Sam with a smile. Sam relaxed under her gaze. “Permission granted.” Marion wasn’t one to ask permission, but it certainly improved the younger Winchester’s mood. 

Dean, meanwhile, had been stewing in his room, unable to stay in the room with Crowley. The demon had made it clear that the Blade was the one thing that could take Abaddon down. He also knew that the Mark was required to make the First Blade useful. But then he doesn’t even bother to try and find the very thing Dean damned himself for?

The Mark kept throbbing more frequently. He grabbed at his arm, at a loss of what to do.

He called Cas without even thinking about it. He was surprised when he picked up the phone. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas greeted. “Is everything alright?” 

Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” But Cas knew better. He could hear it in the older Winchester’s voice. 

“How are you, Dean?” he asked so earnestly. It’s like he couldn’t even bullshit Cas anymore. 

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t stop from trying. “I’m fine.” 

“How’s the Mark?” 

“The Mark’s the mark.” Dean shut his eyes as the throbbing continued. “It’s fine.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas said with disarming sincerity. “I won’t ask about it.” 

“Anythin’ new on the angel front?” 

“We’ve been pursuing all the leads we gathered on Metatron’s whereabouts. He’s been recruiting a great deal, but the angels have stuck together against him. No one is willing to forget about his role in the Fall. We’ll get him, Dean,” Cas said over the phone. “We’re close.” 

“Good,” Dean said, feeling the opposite of content. 

“I…don’t know what else to say.”

“Me either…” They stayed on the phone, letting the silence hang over them.

“So, how’s Bessie?” 

“Oh, she’s okay,” Cas responded. “Why do you ask?” 

“Isn’t she like your girlfriend?” 

“Well…she’s certainly not one for tradition. She hasn’t been secretive about how she feels about me but is content to receive whatever affection I can return to her.” 

Dean raised his eyebrows. “You seemed to be giving her plenty of that.” 

“Oh yes…she said she’d send you a video.” 

“She sent me more than one.” 

“Oh.”

“You were okay with that?” Dean swallowed. “You knew that I’d see it?” 

“I…” Dean heard some shuffling on Castiel’s end. “She asked me and told me that she would be sharing the clips on the Internet. But yes, I knew she would send it to you as well. As she put it, it was to show you what you were missing.” 

“That Bessie…”

“Yes. She is…quite something.”

The silence hung over them again, but it was pregnant with something else…something that felt inherently dangerous to the pair talking on the phone. 

“You alone?” Dean asked throatily. 

“For the moment.”

“Take off your pants,” Dean barked. He heard the pants come off. Then again, it could’ve been wishful thinking.

“Are you hard?” Dean asked next. 

“I am,” Dean wasn’t sure how Castiel’s voice kept getting deeper, but damn if that didn’t egg him on. 

“Touch yourself,” Dean commanded. Cas must’ve been spilling precum already because Dean could hear the sweet sounds that Cas was making as he complied. Dean was touching himself, too. 

“Can you hear me?” Dean asked. 

“I can,” Cas groaned. 

“Do you miss me?” 

“Always.” Fuck…

What were they doing? 

Dean didn’t even care anymore. “I’m…I’m cumin’.”

Cas gave a long throaty groan to signify his orgasm, too. “Dean…”

Dean fell back against his bed, covered in his own mess. “Was that as good for you as it was for me?” 

“It’s always good with you, Dean.” 

“There you go kissin’ my ass again.” Dean crooned. 

“It’s a lovely ass.” 

Dean snorted a laugh. “Now I know you’re yankin’ my chain.” 

“I’d much rather yank on your–” Cas got distracted by something. “Dean. I have to go.”

“Okay,” Dean said, trying not to let the disappointment creep in. What the hell was he disappointed for – no pillow talk? What was happening to him?

“I’ll talk to you later, Dean,” Cas sounded somewhat hopeful. Ah, shit. 

“Bye.” They hung up at the same time. 

As Crowley retraced his steps for the hunt, Marion went to check a new lead. When she returned, she bore an expression of apprehension. 

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked her.

“I know who has the Blade.”

Cuthbert Sinclair was a Man of Letters who embraced all that the supernatural world had to offer. As it turned out, he was responsible for designing the security of the bunker the Winchesters had been staying in for the better part of a year. But his thirst for knowledge took dark turns. He was willing to go farther than any member had in recent memory, too far for the elders’ liking. 

He had been kicked out in 1956, two years before the massacre that had Henry Winchester running for his life. After that, Cuthbert disappeared. 

But as it turned out, he hadn’t gone far.

Sam and Dean were ready for the short trip, but Marion stopped them. 

“The worst of men in this world, they’re abusive, cruel and racist. Perverts who get off of pain, corruption, and shame. But this guy? This particular piece of shit – he’s worse. He’s empowered by the supernatural to be the worst of humankind, all in one smartass package.” Marion turned to Dean. “It’s not too late. We can find a way to get that mark off your arm, another way to kill Abaddon. I don’t like you, nor do I care for you, but you deserve better than this. Abaddon isn’t worth the path you’re taking.”

Dean held her gaze. “I’m goin’. Whether I have to go through you is up to you.” 

Marion sighed and let the hunters pass. 

“The blade is slightly tan and has teeth on one side of it since it came from a donkey’s jaw. Abel’s donkey, I believe. The handle is dark, and it has all this ancient detailing on it. You’ll know it when you see it.” 

“You’re not comin’?” Sam asked. 

“Cuthbert knows me. He won’t let me in. I’ll have to sneak my way past, which will take time. But he doesn’t like visitors. He’s not a social man. He’ll be intrigued because you’re Henry’s grandkids. He liked Henry. But the second he realizes why you’re there at all, he’ll get rid of you, Sam, one way or another.” 

“So I go in alone,” Dean said. 

“He’ll wanna keep you with him,” Marion warned. “You’re nothin’ but a thing to that man because the Blade is nothin’ without the Mark, just an old bone otherwise.”

“I won’t give him a choice,” Dean argued. 

“You think you know more than a man who’s been studyin’ occult magic since your grandpa was a child himself? Really?”

“So he’s a witch?” Sam asked. 

“No, he’s just picked up many tricks over the years. What he can’t recite, he’ll have powders and weapons, he’s basically armed to the teeth. He’ll be livin’ in a fortress, given what he’s done to this place.” 

Sam had rifled through old paperwork in personnel archives. “Yeah, I saw he proposed a plan to seal the bunker in and make it invisible to everyone, not just humans but the supernatural too.” 

Marion nodded. “I gave you the coordinates. Say you’re Henry’s grandchild, and I don’t know what you wanna tell him, but get him to show you where the damn blade is. And don’t let him get close. Sam and I’ll get in as soon as we can.” 

“How are we gonna get in?” Sam wondered. 

“I’ve got an idea.” 

They drove in the Impala until they were neck-deep in a forest. “Stop,” Marion said. “Just past those trees is a clearing. That’s where it’ll be.”

“What his…what’d you call it a fortress?” Dean asked. 

“Not literally a fortress. It’ll likely be some fancy old-school mansion but trust me, it’s gonna be a bitch and a half to get inside by force,” Marion said with a frown. “But this is where we get off,” the demon said. 

“Even me?” Crowley whinged. 

“Yes. Only Dean’s goin’ in.” Marion rolled her eyes as she and Sam got out of the Impala. 

“Oh goody, what fun I’m having getting dragged around everywhere like a cheap piece of luggage!” Crowley snarked audibly.

“Move it!” Marion dragged him out of the car. She shoved him in Sam’s direction.

“Dean…” Marion said, “Don’t let him get too close.” 

Dean went ahead on his own. 

The clearing appeared just like she had said, so Dean parked his car, walked around, and took a chance. “Cuthbert Sinclair – uh, Magnus – whatever you’re calling yourself – My name is Dean Winchester, Henry Winchester's grandson. A goddamn legacy is what I am, of the Men of Letters. I heard you got kicked out. I don’t necessarily agree with how that all went down. I want to hear your side of the story, preferably with a glass of bourbon. What do you say?” 

After listening to the calm whoosh of the breeze outside, a smoky doorway arose from the ground before the hunter. It beckoned entry. Dean grimaced as he stepped through.

The next thing he knows, he’s inside an opulent hallway littered with priceless artifacts that would make the Louvre jealous. It was quiet. 

Too quiet. 

When Dean finally decided to move down the hallway, a vampire ran down from the other direction. Luckily, Dean had the good sense to have his machete with him. 

As Dean decapitated the undead creature, an intercom beeped. 

“Bravo! Well done.” A man said over the intercom.

“What the hell…” Dean whispered to himself. 

The hallway led to a grander study that held even more priceless artifacts. A man sat alone on his brown leather couch, enjoying a fancy glass of bourbon. “Apologies for the theatricality. I needed to test your mettle – to see what you were capable of.” 

Dean looked around the room. No windows. 

“Are we underground?” 

“No, we are exactly where you were standing just moments ago,” Cuthbert said. “I’ve simply made it invisible, even to the supernatural.” 

Dean nodded. “So you’re Cuthbert Sinclair.” 

The sorcerer’s eyebrows raised. “I haven’t gone by that moniker in over fifty-seven years.” 

“You don’t look that old,” Dean noted. 

“Thanks, sport,” Cuthbert said haughtily. “There’s a spell for damn near everything. I am impressed by you, though. But I am gonna miss that monster from my zoo.” 

Dean’s eyebrows raised. This Sinclair was exactly the piece of shit Marion said he was. “You have a zoo?” 

“Good sir, you are standing in this planet's greatest collection of supernatural rarities,” Cuthbert said proudly. “From the living to the undead, inanimate to the possessed. I’ve got just about everything. And whatever I lack, well…nothing eludes me, at least not for long.” 

Dean cleared his throat. “Wow.” 

“Enough about me. What about you? Men of Letters, was it? I thought that died out in ‘58.” 

“I’m a legacy like I said, but I ended up gettin’ raised as a hunter, so–”

“Remarkable!” Cuthbert exclaimed. “But you know who I am, which means you have access to the bunker in Lebanon, my word! A hunter with the keys to the kingdom! Those old farts must be spinning in their graves!” He chuckled. “A bunch of snobs, all of them, although I was always fond of Henry. He wasn’t so closed-minded like the others. I was a mentor to him of sorts -- until the squares gave me the boot. He used to visit me sometimes, when he could, in secret. Quite the wild hair he was.” 

“He was a good man,” Dean said. 

“That he was.” Cuthbert agreed. “Tell me, have you come across a demon who goes by the name of Marion?” 

Dean swallowed. “Yeah,” he replied carefully. “I have.” 

“Interesting. You see, I also have met this demon. She was never too far from a Winchester, as well as I can recall. Not just Henry, you see, but his father, too. And his father before him, so I hear. Those old snobs sure loved to gossip. Some rumors suggested Marion had affairs with the older Winchesters. Some said that Henry was a product of such an affair. I informed Henry of these rumors. I thought he had a right to know, but he wasn’t offended by them. He only ever said that that wasn’t the truth, that Marion was among the men in his family for a different reason. I never saw him again after that, though I made him promise to tell me the full story next time. Is he dead?” 

Dean nodded. 

“Damn,” Cuthbert lamented, “It’s been bugging me, that demon. I’ve tried searching for her, but I could never get to her, not in the way I wanted. You see, I want to add her to my collection.” 

Dean raised his eyebrows again. “Oh.” 

“That doesn’t bother you, does it?” 

Dean shook his head, “No.” But there was a twisting feeling in his gut when he said it. 

“You’re not curious as to the nature of Marion’s relationship with the men in your family? Of the Winchesters that came before?” 

“I’ve often found the truth to be disappointing,” Dean said after a moment of heavy silence. 

“Fair enough,” Cuthbert said. “I’ll get her, though; you mark my words.” 

Dean’s arm began to throb, this time more intensely than ever before. He groaned, trying not to call attention to the pain, but Cuthbert’s eyebrows became eager with curiosity. 

“What’s wrong there, friend?” 

“Nothin’,” Dean bit out. “I’m fine.” 

“You don’t sound fine. Maybe I could take a look at it,” Cuthbert said, approaching him. 

Don’t let him get close.

“Really,” Dean shot up, retreating behind the loveseat he had sat upon. “I’m good.” 

Cuthbert held his hands up in the air. “Okay. My apologies.” 

“I do need your help with somethin’, though,” Dean said. It was close it had to be, otherwise, his arm wouldn’t feel like a rocket about to take liftoff in the worst way.

“You have my attention,” Cuthbert said. That’s when Dean saw it. 

Mine. 

The old man’s eyes followed Dean’s gaze. “Ah. That’s why you’re here.” Cuthbert approached the First Blade, which lay perched among an extensive set of ancient weapons. “Arguably the very first weapon used for murder. Fratricide of all things. But you must realize that the blade is merely an old musty bone unless –” That’s when the spellmaster put it together. Cuthbert’s eyes shot to Dean’s arm. “You have it.” 

The fight or flight mode that Dean always relied on should’ve kicked in, but the Mark didn’t give a shit. It wanted the blade, and it didn’t matter how much danger Dean was in. It was gonna get that blade one way or another.

It was simply a matter of how much blood would be shed to get there.

“Now, how did you come by that?” Cuthbert’s tone was friendly, but his eyes were deadly.

“Would you believe it was from Cain himself?” 

It was Sinclair’s turn to be shocked. “Really? That sounds like quite the story.” 

“Yeah,” Dean said. “It is.” Where the fuck was Sam? “So…you’re not gonna ask me what I need it for?”

“It hardly matters. Now that I have the Mark with the blade, you’re not going anywhere. You’re extraordinary, Dean.” Cuthbert stared at him with those beady eyes. “I know how it sounds…but think about what I’m offering you here. You’d be among the greatest collections of all time. Forever young. I could teach you my secrets. Hmm? Be my companion. I must be honest with you; it has gotten lonely here over the years.” 

He really thought he was offering Dean the world, wasn’t he? The son of a bitch. 

“When you were saying any of that, did it feel at all creepy?” Dean remarked. “I’m gonna pass, thanks.” 

“Don’t think I’m going to let you leave.” Cuthbert waved a gun – Dean’s own. “Cheap magician’s trick, I know, but effective, wouldn’t you say?” He aimed at Dean. “Welcome to the collection, son.” 

“Is this everything?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah,” Marion nodded. “That should work.” 

“Alright,” Crowley clapped his hands together. “Let’s do this!”

“Crowley, just do what I say and keep quiet,” Sam said.

“I’m growing on you, aren’t I?” 

“Ingressum domi dona mihi,” Sam recited. The smoky door rises from the ground. Sam, Crowley, and Marion walk through it into Sinclair’s manor.

But Crowley nor Sam made it past the smoke—just Marion. 

“What the fuck?” Sam shouted as he was still amidst the forest clearing. 

“Hm…that’s odd,” Crowley said. “Ah, well. You gave it a good go, Moose.” 

“Where the fuck is Marion?!” 

“You're a real sorry piece of work, you know that? Holed up in here, doing a whole bunch of nothing. You bitch about the Men of Letters, but you're way worse.” Dean spat at the nefarious spellcaster. He had the hunter restrained with chains. Blew some yellow Chinese dust in his face—sneaky bastard.

Marion had warned him not to get close. But what could he do? Roll over and get captured? Not that it made a difference. The smartass had plenty of tricks on his sleeve. Meanwhile, the Mark wouldn’t give Dean an ounce of peace, coming alive as the proximity between it and the blade grew even closer... 

Mine, mine, mine, mine !

“Come now, Dean.” Cuthbert approached him, holding the first blade in his right hand, “This is the object of your quest. Tell me Henry Winchester's grandson isn't curious to see if it works. Now give me your hand.” 

“Go to hell.” Dean seethed.

“Give me your hand,” Cuthbert said forcefully, wrenching the hunter’s hand from his side. The spellcaster shoved the blade right into Dean’s hand, inches away from where Mark was. 

Despite how he was raised, Dean always managed to find a way to be proud of who he was. Of who his father raised him to be. He didn’t graduate high school, go to college, or become a functioning member of society. But he saved lives. Made a difference. 

But right now, right at this moment, none of that mattered. Right now, Dean wondered why he was even born at all. Because when the blade touched his skin and made contact with the Mark, which roared in glorious ecstasy, Dean never felt shittier or dirtier or more powerless than in his entire life. 

And he’d been to Hell. Twice. 

It’s like life was determined to prove to the man he could always sink lower. As if there never was a bottom. 

The Mark of Cain glowed a strange red, and Dean became as rigid as a stone except for his hand.  As Dean clutched the Blade, his arm vibrated with such force. He closed his eyes with effort, but he knew he was no match for the power that surged from within. As Dean opened his eyes, he knew. He was lost—maybe not that day. Perhaps not a month or even a year, but soon, he’d be worse than all the monsters he’d slain combined. He was gonna put them all to shame, and it was all thanks to the fucking Mark. 

Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine . 

The veins on Dean’s arm, next to the Mark, turned a vicious red. Cuthbert watched with fascination and glee. Eventually, the shaking got so bad that Dean dropped the Blade altogether. He gulps for air.  

His right hand is still vibrating. 

“Good,” Cuthbert crooned. He picked up the blade from the floor. “Next time, it’ll be easier.” 

Dean prayed that wouldn’t be true, but he could already feel the Mark begging to be reunited with its gruesome half. 

“You’ll get used to the feeling, even welcome it.”

Dean recalled when Zachariah made him live out some stupid alternate-life fantasy, where Dean had been some Joe working his way up the corporate ladder. He remembered how the haughty angel had listed off Dean’s hunter life like some cheesy character in a TV show. He hated it. It was the first time he realized – he didn’t want it. 

“You drive a classic car and fornicate with women. This isn't a curse. It's a gift.”

But Dean didn’t want to be this person that so many thought him to be, a man doomed to a cycle of violence from which he could never escape – not if this was how it ended. Dean always believed he didn’t deserve much…

But he deserved better than this. 

“You'll come to understand, Dean -- nothing can stop us. Anything, anyone we want to own or destroy is ours.” 

“Like hell.” Marion appeared. But she was alone. What the fuck happened to Sam? 

“Marion?” Sinclair chuckled, “Is that you? That’s not the face I remember, but I must admit it’s quite familiar.” 

“I’m not gonna let you do a thing to that kid,” Marion swore. “I’ll burn your precious collection before I let that happen.” 

“You know I’m glad you came by,” Cuthbert smiled. “Saves me the trouble of hunting you down.” He snapped his fingers. Some large ancient runic signs emerged on the walls, and upon their activation, Marion collapsed to the floor and began screaming horribly. 

Cuthbert’s grin spread from ear to ear. “I told myself, ‘You’re being ridiculous, old sport; she’d never be foolish enough to enter this domain,’ but here you are!” 

“Ah!” Marion writhed around, tears spilling from her eyes. Her arms and legs bent at awkward angles. Dean never felt so bad for her.

“I’ve thought about this for so long,” Cuthbert began to drool slightly. “I’ve tantalized myself with what exactly I was going to do to you. You’ve always fascinated me, Marion. You are such a cold-blooded demon, a killer, and a thug, but also motherly in a way. You looked after those Winchesters. You tried to guide them onto paths of peace. But they never listened, did they?”  

“Aaaaaaaaah!” Marion writhed terribly under Cuthbert’s menacing power.

“I just…I must know what drove you to be the conflicting little minx you are. The things I’ve found out about you over the years, I have to say, they just make me want more. But that’s alright, you’re here now.” Cuthbert said as he ripped off her shirt, pulling out a ritual dagger, “we have all the time in the world to see what makes you tick.” 

Marion stopped screaming. Her eyes looked into Cuthbert. The sigils on the wall disappeared. 

“What?” Cuthbert backed away immediately, ready to cast a spell, but he found he could no longer do so. Nothing he was trying was working. “What the hell? What did you do, Marion? This isn’t possible!” 

Marion stood up as best she could, legs trembling, barely able to stand. “I’m not doing anything.” She muttered weakly. The curse Cuthbert put on her was overwhelming. A lesser demon would’ve died. It was like he designed it just for her…the insufferable cunt. 

“Well, unless this Winchester boy has some secret powers I don’t know about, who else could it be?”

“That would be me.” 

Cuthbert was confused. Marion flinched backward and scurried into a corner. Dean squinted his eyes to make sure that who he was seeing wasn’t some induced hallucination.

“Chuck?”

Chapter Text

Of all people to appear in this cursed manor at one of the lowest points of Dean’s life, never did he expect it to be Chuck motherfucking Shurley. Wasn’t he supposed to be dead?

“Yeah, it’s me. Hi Dean.” Chuck said calmly. 

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Cuthbert said with some hostility. Gone was the arrogant charm from earlier. “How did you get into my fortress?” 

“Oh, it was easy.” Chuck helped himself to some of Cuthbert’s liquor. “I just popped in. Not to diminish your work, it’s impressive for a human, but…well…that stuff doesn’t apply to someone like me.”

“Chuck…what are you doing here?” Dean said in total surprise. He kept blinking his eyes and was baffled to see the author still standing there. 

“Oh right,” Chuck set the glass he picked up down. He clapped his hands together. “Well, Cuthbert, was it?” He approached the spellcaster slowly. “I’m gonna need you to let these folks go.”

Cuthbert blinked in a stupor. Then he began to laugh. “Is he serious?” 

“I don’t know why you’re laughing; it’s not some ridiculous request. I’m just asking you to do the right thing here,” Chuck stated, “But oh, that’s right, I forgot who I’m talking to.” 

“And you know who I am?” Cuthbert responded snidely. 

“I know exactly who you are, Cuthbert Sinclair. You’re the man who killed his mother after she started seeing a fairly nice man ten years after it became clear your father was never coming home again. You made her death look like a random accident. You tracked your father down and cursed him with insidious blood magic to make him die slowly and be eaten by pigs. You’re also the man who slaughtered dozens of creatures, human and not in your self-appointed, ridiculous quest to gather relics, weapons, and anything shiny, hogging it up in this place that’s never seen the light of day. You’re a liar, a thief, and one of the biggest control freaks in the entirety of the human species, and I’ve seen millions, literal millions. You had potential, Cuthbert, but in the end, you wasted your life.” Chuck shrugged. “It’s a genuine disappointment.” 

Cuthbert sneered at him. “And who are you to tell me anything? And how would you know such things about my life?” 

“Because you never told anybody? Don’t worry, I’m neither psychic, nor will I tell anyone.” Chuck snorted. “Who’s to tell anyway? Everyone you know is dead. There’s just you left. Only you, out of all those people you met, passed on the street or went to school with. They’re pretty much all gone. The ones that are still clinging to life are riddled with dementia and Alzheimer’s. They don’t remember. I don’t know why humans started doing that, prolonging life to such a point. I can’t see a bigger futility. Y'all just become sad, empty husks. Not even people anymore at that point. Frankly, they’re better off dead.” Chuck sighed. “Anyway, I take it you won’t comply with my request.” 

“Absolutely not,” Cuthbert said. He held the dagger in his hand to Chuck’s throat. “I’m going to kill you.” 

“No,” Chuck declared, voice level. “You’re not.” Cuthbert made for a killing blow, but the knife wouldn’t penetrate Chuck’s skin. Dean looked to Marion, who bore a face of sheer terror. 

Chuck was simply an author, a Prophet of the Lord who loved to drink and had conflicting desires about women. Chuck was a man. But this individual confronted the likes of Cuthbert Sinclair with stone-cold resolution and was faring well. More than well. This was no mere man. 

Who was he?

“What the fuck?” Cuthbert swore. 

“It’s not the knife, son,” Chuck touched the tip of the blade, pressing his finger onto it hard enough, but it wouldn’t break the skin. He wouldn’t bleed -- couldn’t bleed.

“What are you?” Cuthbert asked, finally beginning to understand just how out of depth he was. 

Chuck sighed. “I’ll give you a hint.” His eyes shifted to Marion, who curled into a ball to shield herself from the one who caught her gaze. “Thou believest that there is one God; thou doest well: the devils also believe, and tremble.” 

Dean was at a loss. 

Cuthbert laughed again. “God? That’s utterly ridiculous!” 

“Why?” Chuck asked, unoffended. “Why is that ridiculous?” 

“To make such a claim! I mean, God, really? Could you think of no better answer?” Cuthbert guffawed.

“It’s the truth.” 

“Please! As if God would pick such a puny, unimpressive vessel to walk around in.” Cuthbert gestured to Chuck Shurley's body.

“I happen to like this body,” Chuck said, sounding slightly miffed. 

“And why would He even bother to show up?” Cuthbert continued, “As if He even exists.” 

Chuck cocked his head. “You don’t believe God is real?” 

“Heavens, no!” Cuthbert said. “This is a godless universe if I ever saw one.” 

“Now that I do find ridiculous. But I suppose this calls for one of those famous acts of God, as it were.” Chuck held up his hands and snapped his fingers. In an instant, Cuthbert Sinclair’s fortress became barren. Everything disappeared, from the furniture to the relics, the supernatural creatures, the ancient texts, the weaponry, and even the liquor and fireplace. Everything that was in Cuthbert’s possession was gone—everything except Cuthbert himself, Dean and the blade, Marion, and Chuck. 

Cuthbert looked around hopelessly, becoming enraged at Chuck’s bold move. 

“All those things,” Chuck said, “took what? A little under sixty years to gather, is that right? I mean, you picked up a few things before those Men of Letters who kicked you out, but you really hit your stride as a collector in the sixties.” 

“What did you do?!” Cuthbert roared at Chuck. 

“I made it disappear,” Chuck said unapologetically. “All of it. Everything you killed and stole and broke laws for. Both of nature and the various laws of the land.”

“This has to be a trick!” Cuthbert said hotly. 

“I was never one for tricks. One of my sons, Gabriel, couldn’t get enough of them, though. Never really got past that phase.” Chuck remarked. 

“You son of a bit–” Cuthbert lunged realizing his dagger was gone too. He didn’t even feel it disappear. 

“You humans,” Chuck shook his head. “I wonder if I make you too simple or not simple enough?” 

“So what happens now, huh?” Cuthbert demanded. It was the first time he seemed disheveled. His hair had fallen out of place. His chest was heaving. 

“I’ve been thinking it over,” Chuck scrunched up his lips. “I think I’m gonna try something new. You know the worst of you; despite your fall to evil, your pride, hate, and ambition, I was always amazed at how far you could go to get what you wanted. But you, Cuthbert…in all your years…you never managed to do much,” Chuck gestured at the empty manor. “So I think you’re a prime candidate for what I’ve got planned, but I want to be clear about what that is.” 

“I’m going to unmake you.” Chuck nodded as if deciding right then. “You see, I made you in my image, for better or for worse, so with some time, circumstances, knowledge, and chance, here you are, standing before me as the man you’ve become now.” 

“Unmake me? You’re crazy.” 

“I’m many things, Cuthbert. Crazy was never one of them. But that’s okay. It was never up to man to understand God. I didn’t make your kind to understand.” Chuck put his hand on Cuthbert’s forehead. “But none of that matters anymore. Not to you. You’re done.” 

Cuthbert wanted to fight but found his body to be immobile. “When I do this, Cuthbert, you won’t exist anymore. You won’t go to Heaven, but you won’t go to Hell either. Hell’s too good for someone like you. You’re better off forgotten and nonexistent. Farewell, Sinclair.” 

“Ah!” Bit by bit, the spellcaster’s body began to disintegrate at Chuck’s command, Cuthbert powerless to stop any of it. “AAAAAAAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Then he was gone. Cuthbert Sinclair was erased from existence. 

Dean couldn’t believe his eyes. 

“There.” Chuck wiped his hands. “All better.”

“What the fuck?” Dean screeched in horror. 

Chuck turned to the hunter, strolling towards him. “Dean…” 

“What the fuck!” Dean hissed. “Who are you?” 

“Dean, you know me! I’m Chuck, remember?” Chuck said with an odd grin. “Oh man, don’t tell me I’m that forgettable.”

“Who could forget you?” Marion asked coldly. It appeared she finally got over her nerves, stumbling on her feet as she approached Dean’s side -- where there was fear now exuded vitriol.  

Chuck chuckled softly. “Hi, Marion. I’ll be with you in a moment.” Then she disappeared. 

“What the fuck!” Dean struggled against his chains, but they wouldn’t budge. 

“Listen, Dean, it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you.” Chuck promised. “Well, I’m not gonna kill you. I just wanted to talk, that’s all. Check in on a few things. Your life’s been getting a bit crazy these days. Even for you. Now, let’s go somewhere else to talk.” 

Chuck somehow transported him to a new location in an instant, as if the mere suggestion was all that was needed to take them there. Dean didn’t even know where he was on the map or in the world, but presently he was inside some sort of cave. A cave with a fucking hot spring that he happened to be sitting in, somehow floating on his own. The bubbles prickled at Dean’s skin like needles.

But that wasn’t his only problem. Dean found that his body wouldn’t do anything he wanted it to. His arms and legs were frozen stiff like stone. His neck could barely move a muscle. 

Dean was totally, effectively trapped. He felt someone behind him, up against his back, who was trying to wriggle free just as much as the hunter was. Dean was still restrained with those damn chains.

“What the hell do you want?” Marion demanded, revealing herself as the one Dean was bound to. Chuck circled the pair who had been fastened together, both she and Dean still struggling in vain to get free.

“Hell has nothing to do with me, sweetheart,” Chuck said as he observed the two continuously moving against the chains. “You know the island we’re on, everyone had to evacuate mere hours ago. They say that this whole place is gonna blow to smithereens.” Chuck squatted down beside them. “They’re right.” 

“You could stop it, though,” Marion said snidely. 

“I could,” Chuck echoed pensively. “But I won’t.”

“Why are we here?” Marion asked, her teeth clenched in anger. 

Chuck stared at her. “I thought we could clear the air here. The things that have been happening to Dean lately, I don’t like it. Not one bit. For instance,” Chuck telekinetically pulled up Dean’s sleeve, revealing the Mark of Cain on his arm. “Talk about a blast from my past! How was Cain, by the way? I heard he got married…but then killed his wife by accident. I’m still wracking my brain over that one.” Chuck scratched his curly head of hair.

“So you?” Dean uttered, “You’re God?” 

Chuck nodded with a grimace. “Yeah, Dean, I am. But don’t worry. You’re not gonna remember that part. I can’t let certain folks know that I’m back yet.” Chuck went back over to face Marion. “But don’t worry, Marion. You’ll get to remember like you always do.” 

“You’re the reason I got into that manor by myself,” Marion said.

“Good eye!” Chuck chirped. “I needed to get Dean on his own and Sam out of the way. I figured I might as well have you tag along.” 

“Why?” Marion spat. “You gonna kill me?” 

“No, Marion. I’m not gonna kill you. I should, but we’ve done that dance enough times, haven’t we?” Chuck stood up to pace around. “No, no, no. You’ve made it clear that you’re here to stay, so I’m just gonna let this all play out.”

“You know each other?” Dean asked. 

“In a manner of speaking,” Chuck smiled as he looked at Marion. “She resents me for her existence – how she was born, what she was born into, the circumstances she had to live through. It’s a sad story but one you’ll have to hear about later. We’re not here to talk about Marion’s sad little life. We’re here to talk about you.”

“What?” 

“Dean — you took on the Mark of Cain!” Chuck tsked and shook his head like a disapproving father. “You listened to Crowley of all people, big red flag right there — and you actually took on the Mark of Cain! Don’t you realize how insane that is?” 

“I needed it to –” 

“Kill Abaddon, yeah, I heard.” Chuck scoffed. “But why do you have to kill her? And what about Sam? Poor kid! You shoved an angel inside him and didn’t even give him fair warning. You just did it. Talk about messed up!” Chuck shook his head. “Then you go and sleep with Cas. I mean really? So out of character! Whatever feelings or not you have for that guy, you’d never have sex with him! What were you thinking? Were you even thinking at that point, or were you letting your well-endowed friend down south do the thinking? You’re welcome for that perk, by the way.” 

“And who the hell are you to judge me?” Dean demanded. 

“What part of ‘I'm God’ don’t you understand?” Chuck shrugged. 

“Let me tell you somethin’,” Dean clenched his jaw. “I don’t need some wiseass cracks from a deadbeat like you. You went off and left the world if you really are God. You left your angels to run the show, and they did a shit job. The apocalypse was about to happen — twice — but I stopped it! Me, some human when it should’ve been you to lay down the law! You ask me why I took on this Mark?!” Dean spat angrily, “Because when it comes to doin’ the right thing, it always falls on me to do it! Not you! Not the angels, not even Sam sometimes! Me! I have to clean up the mess, and I have to face down the monster or the bad guy! It’s what I do! So you can take your judgments and your comments and shove them up your own ass!” 

“Wow,” Chuck said, unfazed. “The famous Dean Winchester bravado. Too bad you don’t mean any of what you just said. What you mean is you don’t appreciate me judging you after leaving you to face the worst of the world when you’re ill-equipped to do so. You don’t like that you’ve had to concede all the things people your age take for granted. You don’t deserve to suffer as you have in life and death and everything in between. You don’t understand why I’ve condemned you to be denied all the things you crave most.” Chuck squatted closer to his human creation, giving him a look that made Dean’s spine curdle with anxiety and fear.

“But that’s the beauty about you, Dean. That’s why I made you. You’re the tough guy, but you have a heart that is so earnest to love. You fight bloody, but you fear deeply. You sleep around but you feel hollow and hopeless and believe no one can ever truly love you. You’re always on the road, but you desire a family to go home to. But the sad part is, Dean, you’ll never get it. That’s not your destiny. That’s not your life.”

“Why?” Dean asked in outrage. 

“I made you to be a killer. The ultimate killer. So, while I didn’t exactly plan for you to get the Mark of Cain, I let it happen because it's one hell of an arc. Imagine, after all you did to save your brother and keep him at your side, you kill him in a white-hot rage anyway, as Cain did Abel.” 

Dean blanched. “No! Why do you want me to kill Sam?” Dean asked. 

“Well, I mean, that’s the point,” Chuck said as if it were the most obvious statement in the world. “Why else would I bother making you at all?” 

“Malvado,” Marion cursed, sick of hearing it all.

“But someone keeps trying to fight fate,” Chuck looked over at Marion. “Throwing things out of whack in hopes of derailing to some hopeful conclusion. How’s that been going for you? I mean, sure, Jess is back from the dead, Bessie didn’t get murdered by her husband, but Sam still got used up by an angel, and Dean’s on his way to becoming Cain number 2.” 

Marion spat at Chuck. 

“You always were a charmer,” Chuck said, amused.

“I’m not killing Sam,” Dean asserted. “You got that, you son of a bitch! I don’t care who you are!” 

“You know who else isn’t supposed to be here? Chloe, your daughter by that fetching journalist you slept with.” Dean stopped breathing. “Cassie wasn’t supposed to have birthed her first child until well into her thirties. Now I gotta wonder, how did you pull that off, Marion? Because last I checked, you were still burning in hell after Crowley had dragged you back in. You hadn’t gotten back out yet. Oh right…Bessie. She must’ve slipped some ovulating agent or potion into Cassie’s food and drinks to make the pregnancy work, right? Some quick spellwork?” 

“They made love on a full moon,” Marion explained.

“Ah, right…that always makes such magic more effective,” Chuck noted.

“What the fuck?” Dean said. “You got Cassie pregnant?!” 

“I thought you’d be more willing to live if you had something to fight for instead of killing yourself to save Sam.” 

“A smart play. In my story, Cas always kills himself for Dean and Dean –”

“Always kills himself for Sam.” Marion finished bitterly. 

“Yeah, always,” Chuck’s eyes roved over Dean’s form. “But I’ve been thinking over all that’s been happening lately. I know that eventually, you’ll get out of this steam pile of problems you’ve found yourself in, Dean. That’s what you do. You fight to get your way, even if you have to make the impossible possible. Like going into hell to do the Trials and get Sam out. Pretty ballsy. But then again, that was Marion’s idea, wasn’t it?” 

“This little guardian demon of yours, she’s certainly clever, isn’t she? Always ready to help and always has a solution up her sleeve. Knowing all these things she has no business knowing. Makes you wonder just what her endgame is?” Chuck squeezed her face roughly as she inhaled deeply. “You want to tell him, or should I?” 

“You see, as it turns out, Dean, she isn’t bad,” Chuck explained. “She’s being totally sincere with helping you guys, no nefarious plots at work, not where she’s concerned. Marion just wants to help you. I mean, she doesn’t like you,” Chuck laughed. “But she figures it’s worthwhile to help you. Why, you ask?” Chuck squatted down by Dean. “Well, Marion’s got it in her head that if she helps you, aids you in successfully defying my will, that she and, to an extent, the rest of the world will be truly free, and she won’t have to be some lousy demon anymore. She thinks she deserves better than what she got in life. Can you believe her?” 

“You know you and her are awfully similar. Granted, her life was far more depressing than yours, but hear me out, guys. But thrown into a life neither of you chose, surrounded by violence and hopelessness, filled with anger, always ready for a fight. Love hard, hate deeply. Think about it. And well, that’s why we’re here today.” 

Dean’s cell phone rang. Chuck’s eyebrows raised. “Oh dear. Just one sec.” He took the phone and checked who was calling. “Oh, it’s Sam.” Chuck cleared his throat as he answered the call.

“Sammy?” He sounded just like Dean. Pitch, tone, and attitude. Everything. Dean tried to speak, but Chuck made a motion to silence the hunter, so Dean became mute. “It’s alright. I’m fine. That Men of Letters reject? I kicked his ass. What do you think? Where am I? Well, he had no windows or doors, so I improvised and ended up somewhere in fuckin’ California. Nah, I’m okay. Nothin’ a couple beers and burgers won’t fix.” Chuck winked at Dean, who struggled against his chains in fury. “Maybe I’ll pick someone up while I’m at it. No, you don’t gotta come out all this way. I’ll be fine, I promise. Not sure why you’re fussin’ over me; last I checked, you hated me.” Chuck put Sam on speakerphone. Marion had been silenced, too; she looked on with a helpless face. 

“I don’t want to see you dead, Dean,” Sam said over the phone. 

“Careful, that almost sounds like you forgive me,” Chuck said in his Dean voice. 

“Alright, I’ll let you go,” Sam relented. “But…could you check in every once in a while? Please?” 

“Love you too, Sammy.” Chuck hung up the phone and put it back in Dean's pocket.

“Don’t worry, I’m not influencing your brother. He really seems open to forgiving you, seeing as you disappeared. He totally lost it after that spell went awry.” 

“You mean the spell you sabotaged,” Marion said, her voice finally in working order.

“You son of a bitch!” Dean roared. 

“You know that doesn’t make sense. No one ever gave birth to me.” Chuck rolled his eyes. “Anyway, onto the main event.” Suddenly, the two who were currently bound began to float up, and the chains holding them together pulled them. “Now, seeing as Marion loves to meddle and Dean, you just love to live in denial, I thought I’d put you both in yet another pickle. One either one of you won’t be able to weasel your way out of as easily, especially because it's not some witch or monster of the week that’s doing it to you. It’s me. And what I do? That tends to stick…for eternity. So that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to curse you.” 

“What?” 

“Yes, Marion, this will be a new one for you. Usually, I just have you destroyed, foiled by Crowley or Lucifer or even Dean here kills you, but not this time. Dean may very well be your undoing, but not in the way you think.” Chuck sang. “Tell me, Marion, have you ever heard of the Bargain of the Rebis?”

“No…” Marion tried desperately to bust out of the chains but to no avail, “no!”

“Liar, of course, you’ve heard of it,” Chuck winked. “You big silly.” 

“The fuck are you talkin’ about?” Dean demanded. 

“You’ll see Dean. What I’ll say for now is if you thought that Mark of Cain was burdensome, it’s nothin’ compared to the Bargain of the Rebis. You’re in for the trial of your life, kid. I should know; I'm its maker.” 

“I’m gonna kill you motherfucker. You hear me!” Dean promised. “I don’t care who the fuck you are! I’m gonna take you down! I’ll find a way, I swear!” 

“Yeah, that’s right, Dean,” Chuck goaded him, pulling out a glowing, thin needle. “You latch onto that anger. Let’s see how well that serves you.” Chuck knocked out the hunter with a mere thought. 

The chains spread, tugging both Marion and Dean to the point where their arms were pulled all the way above their heads, and their legs were tautly restrained and pulled down towards the boiling water that lay below. “Now, to be clear, this Rebis deal, it’s very unique. No one’s ever really gotten this curse. Though not for lack of trying. This kind of power is beyond entire covens, armies of Hell. This is the stuff of nightmares. Not even my fallen son Lucifer would be willing to do this. But I'm doing it to you; you wanna know why?” Chuck stared into Marion’s eyes.

“Go on, ask me why.”

“You wanna punish me for interfering. You wanna damn me and make this boy suffer all the more, you wrathful bastard.” Marion said. 

“No,” Chuck said. “That’s just one of the perks. Really at the end of the day, the Bargain of the Rebis is a test. One with the highest stakes imaginable.” He held up the needle. “This needle is called ligator fati. It will connect Marion’s damned soul to Dean’s dinged-up one. I don’t know if you noticed, but his soul has taken kind of a beating, and it's not getting any easier on account of the Mark. That thing is gonna wear Dean down to a nub. But that’s not Dean’s main flaw, is it Marion?”

Marion squinted her eyes at Chuck. “No. It’s not.” 

“It’s his determined repression. His irrational need to never change or grow as a person, his fear of ever embracing the potential of who he could become. Of how he could live.” Chuck said. “That fear has always been there. It’s always held him back, kept him in the life he’s been living.” 

“You put that fear in him,” Marion said in disgust.

“Well, his father, John, certainly helped on that front.” 

“He never had a damn chance,” Marion said. “Did he?” 

“You’re missing the point, Marion,” Chuck shook his head. “He always had a chance. It’s just that at every opportunity, Dean chooses fear over courage. See, he merely projects the idea of strength, but he’s never really been strong. He clings to fear to keep Sam around, to keep him alive, to solve cases. It’s his fear of being alone, his fear of burying Sam, his fear of losing an innocent to some monster if he’s too dumb or too slow or too weak to kill the thing that threatens families and communities. He weighs the fear of failure, and he acts on it every single time.”

“But you,” Chuck got in her face then, “you keep trying to change the story, try to change Dean and Sam. I don’t like that. If I wanted them to be different, I would’ve made them different. I don’t need you hanging around like a foul stench, sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong!” 

“Then just fuckin’ do me like you did, Sinclair!” 

“And let you off that easy?” Chuck mused. “No. You and I are locked in a battle of wills, sweetheart, and I play to win. So get ready, Marion, because this gamble is for all the marbles.”

“The fuck does that mean?!” Marion hissed. 

“When you fail this last go-around, you won’t ever get another do-over.”

Chuck let the needle go; it floated toward the sky. “Now I don’t really need to recite anything. I don’t need spells or magic. I have raw power, the kind that births entire universes on a whim. When my work is done here, your souls will be bound to each other. You will experience each other in ways you can’t imagine. You’ll know each other in ways that’ll make lovers jealous. There will be no secrets between you. You’ll always know when the other lies. And you Marion, after this, you will never die, but the pain will still be felt by you and that poor woman you conned into letting you possess her. But don’t worry, her soul won’t be bound to Dean’s the way yours will be.” 

“Why? Why are you doing this to us?” Marion demanded. 

“To prove a point,” Chuck said ominously. 

“About what?” Dean barked.

“That there is no hope. That no one can truly defy me. I know you’ll never accept it, and I know you’ll keep trying to break the cycle, but I know what it takes for you to keep crossing over, from surviving from one universe to the next, hopping over all those realities, having to relive your human life over again after dying in miserable failure as a damned soul. But I have to admit, that tenacity,” Chuck sucked his teeth. “It’s remarkable. These Winchester men, they all got that from you.” 

“But you know, Marion, you caught me in one of my better moods, so while I curse you with the Rebis deal, I will pepper you in one way out, just the one. One thing that could save you from the permanent consequence of such a curse. If you can manage to get Dean to do this one thing in his remaining human lifetime before his death, you and he will be free and all the better for it.”

“What are you getting at?” Marion asked cautiously. 

“If you manage to get Dean to accept his true self, you will be free of the Rebis deal.” 

“What?” Marion scoffed. “Dean doesn’t even know who he is!” 

“I know that’s why it's so perfect! He was raised to be a liar to the point it’s his first instinct. He deceives everyone around him without a second thought, whether it’s strangers or those closest to him. He lies to himself most of all and always has. He denies his true desires, ignores his desperate dreams, and carries a secret shame over who he wants to be! He’s been at it so long, I wonder if he remembers what he wanted to do before Mary went up in flames?” 

Marion started to hyperventilate. The needle was near her chest. 

“What? Not gonna beg?” Chuck taunted. 

“There’s no begging with you,” Marion said knowingly. 

“Welp,” Chuck said. “Good luck, Marion. You and Dean, you're gonna need it.” 

The needle pierced her skin. “Ah!” It plunged in and through all the way past muscle and blood and bone and poked out through her back. But it wasn’t just her body in pain. Her very soul was on fire. Not even hellfire burned like this.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” The needle went into Dean’s back. He was unconscious, but his body acutely felt every second of abject misery it was subject to. As did his own soul. The Mark on his arm lit up.

When the needle finally poked out of Dean’s chest, it remained lodged in both demon and hunter at the same time until finally it disappeared, Chuck along with it. Upon their departure, Marion and Dean fell into the water. The chains had vanished as well.

Pain. As a demon, Marion wasn’t bothered by pain so much. It was nothing to an undead thing such as she was. Pain was a human weakness. It hadn’t hurt her in so long that it was almost foreign to her. It took her time to recognize it. 

She felt it in her chest. Then she remembered. Dean, Chuck, the needle. 

The Bargain of the Rebis. 

Fuck.

Marion opened her eyes. She was underwater. She was in very hot water. The kind that could cook a human alive. 

Dean. 

She reached blindly for him. So many bubbles made it hard to see, but he couldn’t have gone far. He wasn’t even conscious. 

It’d be real fucking embarrassing if this were how they went out, Dean drowning in a goddamn hot spring in the middle of…where the fuck were they?

If Dean died, she’d cease to exist as she was now—one of the fabulous perks of the Rebis deal.

She knocked something solid, a limb. She latched on and swam upwards. Marion exhaled, her head finally above water, and pulled up Dean’s head so he would no longer drown. “Dean!” She slapped his face a few times. “Dean, dammit, you son of a bitch!” Did he fall into a deep sleep?

Terrific. 

Marion fished herself and Dean out of the water, which seemed to get hotter. She hoped Dean didn’t get any third-degree burns. God, the way she was fussing over him as if she were his damn mother. What’s become of her? Dammit.

Thankfully, she had her demon strength, so Marion heaved the unconscious hunter onto her back and moved as best she could out of the cave they were in—a challenge considering that the ground itself began to shake gravely. 

Cracks began to form in the sand and the ground everywhere the demon went. “Are you kidding me?” She shouted over the rumble she witnessed around her. Trees began to fall over. Rocks spilled everywhere. That’s when she felt it. The island started to sink. 

“Oh fuck this.” It was time to portal the fuck out of here. Marion cut herself and Dean, siphoning some of her demon energy to power the spell, and she painted on a large wall of rock that wasn’t moving yet. 

In the corner of her eye, she spotted a boulder rolling down, in her direction no less. 

Of fucking course it did. As if the trembling island and the heavy-ass, unconscious grown man on her back weren’t enough of an issue.

Upon activating the temporary portal, she hopped through just as the boulder was about to squash her and the human on her back. When she jumped through, Marion and Dean made it to the bunker’s infirmary.

Finally, out of immediate peril, the demon set Dean onto a cot as the hunter remained unresponsive, but she checked his pulse. It was steady. Dean would awaken eventually; Marion would just have to wait.

In the meantime, it was time to make some calls.

“Hello?” Bessie was the first. 

“Bessie,” the red-headed demon heard great fear in the voice of her long-time lover. “I need to see you. Please hurry.”

Bessie teleported to the bunker in the next breath. “Baby?”

Marion's grim expression matched her voice. Bessie never saw her look so scared, so out of her depth in the countless decades they spent together. 

“Baby, what's wrong?”

Then Marion showed her. Bessie gasped in shock. A fresh sigil was emblazoned onto Marion's meat suit, nestled between her full breasts. A sign Bessie and Marion had once thought to be mere legend—a bedtime story for demons to gab about as they spread mayhem and sin.

“Oh my lord,” Bessie remarked with trepidation. “That’s…” She approached Marion. “What happened?”

Marion told her, “God…he appeared in the form of some tiny schmuck. Dean was looking for the first Blade, and that Sinclair guy, the one who got kicked out of this bunker back in the day. He had it.” Marion shook her head. “We tried to fight off that son of a bitch, then big G.O.D. shows up and destroys Sinclair, just whooshed his ass out of existence. Next thing I know, Dean and I are taken to some island, held above a spring and…” Marion trembled. 

Bessie ran her hands into Marion’s curls. “Go on, baby.”

“God started saying all these things,” Marion said, sounding more vulnerable than she had been in over a century. “About me, and you and Jess and all the things He feels shouldn’t be happening. But He doesn’t wanna kill me or get rid of me. He wants me to suffer, so He did this to me.” Marion points to the mark emblazoned upon her skin.

“He branded you with that mark, but what about Dean?” Bessie asked. Marion walked over to the slumbering hunter, and Bessie followed suit. The older demon tugged down the collar of Dean’s shirt to reveal a matching sigil on the Winchester’s chest, lying in the middle of his chest, similar to Marion's.

“No…” Bessie expressed her horror. “He bound you to Dean?” 

“Yeah,” Marion grimaced. “He did. Maldito.” 

“Oh, baby…” 

“I’m so fucked.” Marion shut her eyes in frustration.

Sam was the next call. He received it from Bessie, which he found odd. He never really spoke to her, but something moved the younger Winchester to pick up the phone. 

“Hello?” 

“Sam?” Bessie sounded…stressed. 

“Yeah,” Sam pursed his lips in confusion. “What’s up?”

“You need to get to the bunker right now. Your brother, he’s in trouble. Real trouble.” Bessie said urgently. “Please…hurry.” 

“What are you talking about?” Sam scrambled for his things. Jess took note of his movements, watching him run about. 

“I can’t explain over the phone. I know how that sounds, but…please. You need to be here.” Bessie hung up the phone. 

“What’s going on?” Jess asked. 

“I don’t know. Bessie called. She said something’s up with Dean.” Sam said to her. 

“Something bad?” Jess pried. 

“Isn’t it always?” Sam remarked, a frown appearing on his grim face.

Jess scrunched up her mouth as she pondered it over. “I’m coming with you.” She declared.

“What about Aaron?” 

“He’s coming too, of course. We can’t leave him alone.”

“Can he be cooped up in the car that long? You saw what happened last time.” When Sam and Jess took their son in, he appeared to have found cars rather confining, nearly tearing their car’s interior back seat apart within five minutes.  

“We can go the fast way,” Jess proposed. “By the sounds of that call, we shouldn’t delay any more than we have to. Aaron,” she called. “C’mon, we have to go.” 

Aaron approached his parents, looking up at them. “Where?” He meant to say, where were they going?

“We have to go see your uncle, Sam’s brother,” Jess placed her hand on Sam’s chest, which he chose to hold where it rested. Jess smiled at the touch. “We may be there for a while, okay?” 

Aaron nodded. He held out his hand to Jess. In an instant, the family was transported to the Men of Letters bunker in Lebanon. 

“Hello?” Sam called out. Jess and he exchanged a look. Where was everyone? “Dean? Bessie?”

“Hi,” Bessie said, causing Sam to jump slightly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“Where’s Dean?” Sam asked urgently. 

“Follow me,” Bessie said grimly. The others followed her as Sam and Jess again shared a look of increasing concern.

“Bessie, what the hell is going on?” Sam demanded as the demon led the family to the infirmary.

“Great,” Marion remarked somberly as Sam and the others arrived. “The gang’s all here.” Cas was sitting by Dean’s bedside, his face stony. Bessie was worried, a look that didn’t suit the vivacious redhead at all. Marion’s face was so grim while Dean lay in a cot within the room, entirely motionless.

“Dean?” 

“He’s been like that for hours,” Marion explained with a low voice. “Fucker won’t wake up.” 

“What happened?” Sam insisted upon an explanation.

Marion chuckled darkly. “Well...you know how you called Dean earlier, and he told you he was fine?” Sam nodded. 

“That wasn’t Dean,” Marion explained as best she could. 

“That’s crazy!” Sam exclaimed hotly. “You mean to tell me that God just showed up out of nowhere and did this to you?!” Marion had shown the younger Winchester the new set of marks she and Dean bore on their chests. “Why? Why would He do that? Why would He appear out of the blue to do just that?” 

Marion looked at him mournfully. “That’s gonna have to wait.” 

“Like hell it is!” Sam shouted, upset. Jess stepped up to her man, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Baby…” 

“No, Jess,” Sam said. “They can’t just spring this on me and –”

“We need to focus on Dean waking up,” Marion interrupted. “That’s the priority right now, because when he does I need to tell you both things. Things about me, about why I’m here and why I’ve been helping you, things you need to know, things I can no longer keep from you, especially because of this new bullshit.” Marion pointed to her chest. 

“You can’t tell me now?” Sam clenched his jaw. 

“I can’t say this shit twice,” Marion said sadly. “I just…can’t.” 

“Babe,” Jess pleaded with Sam. “You should do what she says.” 

Sam looked at Jess. “What? Do-do you know what she needs to say to me?”

“I know parts. Not everything. But you do need to hear it, Sam. It’s important.” Jess implored. 

So Jess knew something that Sam didn’t. Fine. He wasn’t happy about that, about anything that was happening, but if it was just a matter of waiting, Sam supposed it wouldn’t kill him.

His eyes shifted to Dean.

“Is there anything you can tell me?” 

“Tell him Cas,” Marion said. 

“Sam,” Cas stood up slowly from Dean’s bedside. “The sigil that has been placed on both Marion and Dean is very grave. It symbolizes a force that is…quite devastating in its power.” 

“What are you saying?” Sam asked angrily. 

“Dean and Marion have been put into a Bargain of the Rebis,” Cas said solemnly. Jess gasped as Bessie shut her eyes and Marion hung her head. 

“The hell is that?” Sam said as he looked around the room, taking in everyone’s foreboding reactions to the phrase Cas used. 

“It is an ancient curse requiring a considerable amount of power to enact. The kind that only God could wield. Not just any god, but my Father. I checked and it is His power that was used on your brother and Marion.” Cas said grimly as he swallowed.

“But…curses can be broken.” Sam stammered. 

“Not this one, I’m afraid,” Cas said, tears welling up in his blue eyes. Sam felt his stomach drop.

“Is he gonna die?” Sam heard himself ask, his chest constricting so tightly. 

Then Marion started to laugh bitterly. 

“You think this is funny?” Sam rounded on her. Marion stopped. Her eyes went up to Sam’s, glaring daggers. “My entire existence is in more jeopardy than ever before,” Marion said coldly. “So if I wanna laugh, I’m gonna. But to answer your question, Sam, in a manner of speaking, no, he won’t die.” Her voice hung on the word die. “That’s the point. He won’t be able to die.” 

Sam shook his head, unclear as to Marion’s inference. “Do you know what the term Rebis means?”

“What?” Sam asked, voice level.

“It is the form of two in one. Two souls in one body. This curse, this damnation,” Marion explained, “the end result traps both my soul and Dean’s into a body that is half man and half woman into one body. We would be subject to constant pain every second of every day for the rest of time, forever fighting for complete consciousness, never sleeping, never quite awake. Our shared body would be under perpetual transformation but ever durable. Nothing will kill us, not weapons or bombs or poison or a damn nuke.” Marion frowned. “The whole world could implode, and we’d still be left screaming into the black, empty void that was the Earth. Death will be the gift we never know.” 

There was a little girl. 

A little girl with a family. They had nothing but love, and the love was enough. But the girl was taken from this family, ripped away from their arms. 

The little girl was screaming. She was afraid of the men that took her. 

Dean was the little girl…

Dean shot up, gasping for air. His eyes were sensitive to the light, wincing as he opened them and tried to understand where he was. 

He was in the bunker. The last thing he remembered was…Sinclair, the first Blade.

Who was that little girl? That didn’t feel like a dream just now. It felt real. It felt like a memory.

“Finally,” Marion stared at him with a frown. She perched on a chair in the corner of the Men of Letters bunker infirmary. “You’re awake.” 

How the fuck did he get in the bunker infirmary? Sinclair was holding Dean hostage in that so-called fortress, intent on keeping the hunter as a prize for the Mark of Cain. But Dean’s mind was fuzzy on how that confrontation ended. 

“Having memory problems?” Marion asked with a knowing look. Dean narrowed his eyes at the demon. 

Dean felt off. So fuckin’ off. Worse off than after a whole weekend bender. 

What the fuck was going on?

“Wondering who that little girl was?” Marion asked next. 

How the fuck would she know–

“Come on,” Marion stood up, walking towards the exit. “Sam’s waiting.” 

Sam was here? But Dean felt terrible about that…

Why was that terrible?

Sam awaited them in the library with a fresh bottle of whiskey. Dean felt a chill when he met his brother’s eyes. 

Dean’s body wanted to panic. 

Why the fuck did his body want to panic?

Dean’s eyes shifted quickly between Sam and Marion. 

“Dean,” Sam beckoned. “Could you come here and sit, please?” 

“What is this?” 

Marion sighed, shaking her head. “Haven’t even started, and he’s already trippin’.” 

“What is this?” Dean gestured between the three of them.

“We need to talk,” Sam said, looking so guilty. “Please, Dean, just…sit down.” Dean held his gaze as the elder Winchester took a chair and sat across from his brother. Marion followed suit, opting to sit at the head of the table the Winchesters sat at.

She sat upon her chosen seat the way Bobby used to sometimes after a long day, weary bones and tired heart. Both men caught her visibly swallowing.

“I’m nervous.” Marion smiled ruefully. “I don’t really get like that.” 

Sam and Dean looked at her. 

“What did you wanna say, Marion?” Sam asked her. It was the first time Dean could recall his brother talking to the demon so crossly. What had she done?

“First, let’s put Dean outta his misery,” Marion and Sam looked at Dean. “You uh…wanna check under your shirt there?” She pointed at Dean’s chest. 

“What?” 

“Your shirt, Dean,” Sam echoed. 

“You’ll find something that looks like this,” Marion presented her bare chest, which Dean had no interest in seeing, but at the corner of his eye, he found a strange symbol right in between her breasts. 

Sam looked at his brother mournfully. Dean checked his own chest. The same mark was there. 

“What the fuck?” Dean turned to Marion. “What is this?” 

“Nothing good, Dean,” Sam said, blinking rapidly. Was…was Sam crying?

“Am I cursed or somethin’?” Dean asked. 

“I’ll fuckin’ say.” Marion sucked her teeth. “And it’s we,” Marion pointed between herself and Dean. “We are cursed.”

“What kinda curse is it?” Dean demanded, and Sam’s sad eyes shifted to Marion as the demon inhaled deeply and began to explain. 

“It’s something called the Rebis deal. You and I have been given an impossible task that we must complete before the time of your death. If we fail…” Marion shut her eyes as she bore a grimace. “Well, we can’t fail.” Dean looked at Sam. Sam looked back at his brother. 

“Why can’t we fail?” 

“The term Rebis originates from the practice of alchemy in which the ultimate goal is to come upon a divine being that is both male and female. But the Rebis deal distorts that into a terrible curse. If we fail on this imposed task, on this one deal that has been forced upon us, upon your death, your soul will be fused with my own. We will be haphazardly thrown into a body we don’t ever feel at home in, under constant agony. Our shared bones will twist and contort, and our skin will fall, peel, and burn forever. We will never know peace as our respective souls will fight perpetually for a dominance that we can never attain. Because that’s the point,” Marion stared off into the distance, lost in her anxiety. “We suffer, but we will never die. Nothing will be able to kill us. Nothing will set us free from our everlasting misery.”

Sam kept looking at his brother as Dean digested the news. The elder Winchester got up, beelining it for the nearby shelves. 

“Dean,” Sam called out, “what are you doing?” 

“There’s gotta be a way outta this,” Dean said frantically.

“Dean–” 

“There’s always a way it’s just a matter of –”

“Dean,” Sam placed a hand on his shoulder, causing his older brother to face him. “I’m sorry.”

“This is your fault!” Dean barked at the demon, who remained seated at the table. 

“Dean…”

“No,” Marion said finally. “He’s right. It is my fault. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to be here at all to help you two. Bringing Jess back from the dead. Sparing Kevin an early death. Turning Bessie into a demon and my sexy partner in crime.” A tear fell out of the demon’s eye. “So God sought to punish me…and you…for daring to stray from our designated roles.” 

“What are you talking about?” Dean demanded. 

“I’m finally gonna give you the answers you’ve wanted about me,” Marion said with a sad smile. “The reasons I’m here, helping you people, what my motives are…everything.” 

Marion remained at the table, quietly waiting for the brothers to return to their seats. The brothers exchanged glances but relented and sat down, waiting for Marion to speak. The demon swiped the bottle of whiskey and chugged most of it down in one gulp.

Exhaling, she began. 

“My name is Marion Winchester. You knew that, but you don’t know why I bear that name,” Marion sighed, “when I was about 5 or 6 years old, I was bought and sold for slavery just a while after I’d been ripped away from my family. Those were the 1830s back then. For the life of me, I can’t remember their faces or their voices. My family…is lost to me.”

“The man who bought me, his name was Winchester. And back then, it was customary to name your slaves after you. Share the name and all that, cuz you’re their property,” she spat on that word. “About a year or two after I’d been broken in.” Marion shook her head. “The old man started raping me on top of beating me. I hadn’t even flowered yet. But I suppose he triggered it. Not long after his…molestations started, he took ill. By the time I was thirteen, he could barely outta the house. When I was fifteen, I took my shot. I killed the fucker, strangled in his own bed. He took a long time to die. The doctor who checked his body blamed it on his disease. But his son, Samandriel…he knew what I’d done. He didn’t care because he stood to inherit everything…including me.” 

“That cunt Samandriel lived up to his father’s image. He beat me twice as much. His old man did it to discipline me, as he so loved to say, but his son, it brought him joy to beat me. To defile me, breed me like a farm animal.” The tears welled out of Marion’s brown eyes. She sniffled. “Breed me he did. I had three sons by that monster of a man. The labors were a murder, but I survived every time. As if God would let me die so easily.”

“When I was 35, America had just lived through four years of civil war. There was all this talk about liberating us slaves. The son of a bitch I was stuck with wasn't at all pleased by this, so the violence escalated in that house that was my prison. Half the time I thought, this was gonna be the time I was gonna die. But nah, he kept teasing me. His sister, meanwhile, played the nurse in our tawdry play. After he was done, she'd patch me up and had the great idea to fall in love with me. She made all kinds of stupid promises about running away to London, getting away from her brother. But that never came to pass. When her brother realized her secret feelings for me, he flew into a rage like never before. He'd been out drinking with his friends and dragged his sister outside of their house. He called her horrible things, and to the encouragement of his friends, he stripped his sister bare and took her by force right there in front of everybody. Nobody lifted a finger to stop it despite witnessing the sin of incestuous rape occurring before their eyes—God-fearing Christians, my ass. So I ran out there, intent on stopping it. I tried my best, but my best was never good enough. When he finished, Samandriel slit her throat. Watched as the only family he had left in this world died by his own hands and cackled like a goddamn hyena. I'd never been so angry. I couldn't make him stop. I couldn't even hurt him.”

“I don't think she really loved me. Samantha was just lonely. She never married cuz neither her father nor her brother could ever arrange a match for her. But her brother neglected to do so for nefarious reasons; he believed in his deluded mind that Samantha belonged to him as much as I did. I'm so glad I got to kill that miserable cunt bastard. 

“I died right after Samantha. The men beat me and raped me until my body just couldn’t take it anymore, and I just thought the whole time, this is it: this is how I die, and they're gonna get away with it. I hated that more than anything. I died with so much hate inside me. Between that and the murder I committed decades earlier, my soul went straight to hell, and that was it. That was meant to be the end of me. The end of my story, and that was something I just couldn't accept. You know it's sad…you think you've seen the worst of the world as you live, but it always finds new ways to surprise you, but then you get to Hell. And you realize that none of it matters. Religion, money, power. It's bullshit. It's all distractions when the truth is that nobody has power. Only one does…and that's God. And God isn't one to share. Fine, I told myself. It would fall to me to make it right, to get what I deserved.

“So what is it then,” Dean interjected then, “that you think you deserve?” 

Marion turned to the elder Winchester, holding his gaze. “Freedom. In my human life, I was denied the dignity of being treated like a person. I was reduced to a thing, never allowed a single day to live as I wanted. Not a single day was I free or at peace. I swore I would fight Satan, God, and all those motherfuckers in between to get what was mine. The happy ending I deserved. The peace I needed. The freedom to choose my own way even though I was already doomed.” 

While I was in hell, I searched for a way out. I heard about this up-and-comer that was hiring demons to barter with humans for their souls. But as Crowley put it, I wasn't saleswoman material. He put me in a different line of work. I was a hitter. When the hounds were busy – and they were always busy, demons like me were sent out to round up souls, whether they had already been bartered or not. Nobody cared how you bagged the souls so long as they made their way down under. At first, I didn't care because the first round of folks I killed were the men who killed me. None of them dealt with demons, but they were my first stop. Crowley wasn't even mad cuz he knew every one of them was going to the pit — cuz of me. So I kept working for him.” Marion swallowed. But the more people I killed, the more it began to weigh on me. All those bodies, and what was it really for? Only half of them actually deserved to die. Less than half, really. The majority…they deserved better. I wanted my freedom, but not at the expense of innocent souls, at least that’s how I was starting to feel.

“Meanwhile, I found my sons. The youngest of them was in his early thirties by the time we met again. The oldest was at death’s door. He’d been riddled with sickness all his days. He was delirious and I’m not sure why, he had no way of knowing but he called me his momma.” Marion snorted. “He was barely fifty years old, and he called out for his momma. It took him three days to croak. I sat there, and I held his hand. Wiped the sweat off his big ol’ head. I buried him and hoped he’d go to heaven. My youngest was a wild one. A trigger man who never let the wars of the world go. He lived and died by his gun. I tried to talk him out of that life, but he told me to fuck off. Thought himself untouchable ‘til the end. He got his jaw blown off, but he died slowly. In a panic. I had to hold his fuckin’ hand, too, the poor fucker. There was no point in buryin’ him. Spread his ashes in a river. 

The middle child, he was the winner. He was brilliant and careful. Responsible, reasonable. But had a curious mind — too curious. Meeting him was a mistake cuz it confirmed all his questions about the supernatural. He knew what I was right away. He didn’t expect to discover I was his momma, though, but I proved it. He didn’t ask me where he came from, and I didn't bore him with the details. I didn’t see a point in tellin’ him. Anyway, in his unyielding quest for knowledge, he stumbled his way into the Men of Letters. Lived his life and had some babies. His son went on to have Henry Winchester.” 

Sam and Dean’s eyes met each other. 

“Henry lived to have John Winchester.”

No fucking way. 

“And John lived to have you two…and Adam.” 

Sam looked at Marion with wide eyes while Dean was frozen with disbelief. 

“Yeah, that’s right. We’re related.” Marion shrugged. “I ain’t a fan of it, but I couldn’t exactly help it. But I noticed somethin’ about you Winchester men. Your lives ain’t for the faint of heart. They’re bloody, messy, full of tragedy and loss. Not one has died pleasant or with dignity.”

“How do we know you’re tellin’ the truth?” Dean dared to ask.

Marion chuckled ruefully. 

“I’m a purple big-dicked unicorn who shits rainbows and pots of gold. Was that a lie?” Sam arched his eyebrow. Dean narrowed his eyes. 

“How about I’m five-time Grammy Award winner Celine Dion?” Marion said, “Was that a lie?” Both times, Dean felt a twitch in the back of his head. But only those two times when Marion said her outrageous, obvious lies. 

“Now you have a baseline,” Marion told him. “One of the perks of this newfound relationship between us. I can never lie to you, Dean, even if I want to. Whereas me, I’ve always been able to smell your bullshit, but it’s nice to have validation when I’m right.”

Dean clenched his jaw. 

“Marion,” Sam said to the demon. “I’m so sorry.”

“About what Sam?” Marion asked. 

“Your life,” Sam scoffed. “It was horrible.” 

“Nice to hear you believe me,” Marion glared at Dean. “But you don’t need to be sorry, son. Just don’t be racist, ‘kay?”

“Wait,” Dean said. Marion sighed and turned to face the elder Winchester. “You talked about the consequences of failure of this Rebis crap. What about the other shit?” 

“Ah, you mean the consequences of success—the aim of this whole stupid farce. Right, okay, I’ll tell you, but you ain’t gonna like it. I sure fuckin’ don’t.” Marion inhaled. “Apparently, the only way out of this Rebis deal is for Dean,” she shook her head, “to accept his true self. Whatever the fuck that means.” 

“What?” Dean uttered. “That’s it? That’s what God told you?” 

“Don’t take my word for it. That’s what the symbol says on our chests, you just can’t read it but any angel or demon could tell you, not that you want to believe them. I’m charged with helping you or be damned trying.” Marion frowned at Dean.

“Why can’t I remember what happened?” Dean demanded. 

“Obviously, He made you forget. Guess He didn’t want you to know what He looked like. Or tip people off that He’s back since he knows you’re so determined not to believe me about this shit.” 

“So this whole thing is his way of punishing you?” Sam said. 

“Yeah, I’ve been meddlesome, to say the least,” Marion noted. “I started suggesting that maybe my descendants should stop having kids, get away from the supernatural crap, and live their best life away from the violence. You Winchesters never fuckin’ listened to me, but God sure was, and other powers were at work. I got more aggressive as time went on. I tried to stop John from going to Vietnam.” Marion shook her head. “Cuz the minute I looked into that boy’s eyes on the night of his birth, I knew how his story would end. In blood and misery just like the rest. Then…I met your mother. I knew she would die young. But that’s not somethin’ you say to a kid. I tried to keep them apart, but,” Marion sighed. “Fate was gonna have them be together one way or another. As for you two, well, you know how this is supposed to end.” 

Sam and Dean exchanged a wary look. 

“I’m, of course, referring to the epic duel to the death you’re supposed to participate in via Michael and Lucifer.” 

“We dealt with all that,” Dean argued. 

Marion disagreed. “You deferred it. Michael and Lucifer are still on the board; they're just not in play right now. But that can always change.”

“So we kill them,” Dean proposed. 

“What about Adam?” Sam said, aghast. 

“Adam isn’t the issue,” Marion countered, “Castiel is proof that God’s willing to resurrect an angel if He feels like it.”

“So you’re saying that if Michael or even Lucifer were to die, God could just bring them back?” Sam suggested tensely. 

“Theoretically. Who could stop Him?”

“Son of a bitch.” Dean groaned. 

“Sam?” Jess entered the library. She looked amongst the sad group of Winchesters. “I’m sorry, but I need you. Aaron’s getting fussy.” Sam nodded, getting up from the table. 

“Good talk.” Marion stood up from the table as well. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve had a very trying day, and I’m going to seek comfort from my hot demon wife.” Dean was left alone at the table, thinking over everything. 

“Accept my true self?” Dean shook his head. “What a load of shit.”

After everyone else departed, Cas entered the room, finding the elder Winchester on his lonesome. 

“Dean…” Cas said, approaching the man. 

“Cas?” Dean said, honestly surprised. “What are you doing here?” 

“Marion called me and told me what happened. I came right away.” He sat down across from the hunter. “How are you feeling?” 

“Physically, I feel fine. Other than that…” Dean shrugged.

“Are you inclined not to believe what Marion has said about this?” Cas pointed at Dean’s chest, where the newest mark resided. 

“It’s fucking crazy.” 

“Unfortunately, crazy is commonplace for someone like you,” Cas said sadly. “I didn’t want to believe her either, and I may no longer have my grace, but I recognize the sigil.” Cas folded his arms. “It was the mark of ultimate punishment. Even angels fear it, Dean.” 

Dean shook his head. “Lucky me.” 

“So, what’s your task?” 

“What, you mean this?” Dean pointed at his chest. Cas nodded. “You don’t know?” 

“I don’t have my grace, so I can’t read what the sigil demands myself,” Cas reminded him.

“Marion said some bullshit about accepting my true self,” Dean threw his hands up in the air. “Like, really?” 

Cas pondered it. “I see.” 

“What? You actually believe that shit,” Dean scoffed. 

“Dean, she’s not making this up,” Cas said. “When you think about it, it makes sense.” 

“How could it possibly make sense?” 

“To be frank, Dean, you’re a liar.” Cas shrugged. “Hear me out.” Dean looked ready to fight. “Remember four years ago when you helped me track down Raphael?”

God, that was four years ago, “Yeah, I tried to get you laid, and you blew it, bringing up the chick’s daddy issues. Great times.” 

Cas gave him a pointed look. “You taught me two things that day. That humans lie to get what they want, and how you carry yourself as a man in this world, in this life you live.” 

“What are you getting at?”

“Then there’s the things you say and the things you mean when you say them.” Cas persisted. 

“What’s your point? That I'm full of shit? That what, I'm hiding behind my attitude and everything? That I'm not really a man?” Dean retorted. 

“Of course, you’re a man, Dean!” Cas said, “But you’re a man who never dares let others see who he is. A man who’s been defensive so long he’s forgotten what it's like to live earnestly and freely. What is it you once said to me? You’re well fed because you drink and you eat what you want, and you lie with any women who’ll have you – but are you fulfilled, Dean?”

“That’s for the folks who get to live in their nice houses, all safe and warm in their beds. I have to go out and fight fuckin’ monsters every day and every night. Put my life on the line so they can be okay.” Dean reminded the ex-angel. “I don’t know what those demons are putting into your head, making you go out to parties and talk about your feelings and shit, but real men don’t do that. And what would it change if I did? Who would ever give a fuck about how I feel? It’s just a waste of time.” 

“I would care,” Cas said quietly after a moment as the hunter and the former seraph sat stiffly at the table. “I will always care about what you carry inside your heart.” 

Dean shook his head. “So what? Doesn’t matter, Cas.”

“It is the one thing that does matter, Dean,” Cas argued. “And now your soul is in jeopardy over it, so promise me you’ll try.”

“Try what? Accepting my true self? What does that even mean?” Dean shouted in frustration.

Cas looked at him sadly. “That is a question you must answer yourself.” 

“Whatever,” Dean shot up, eager to end this conversation. 

“If you ever want to talk,” Cas offered. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said dismissively. “I’ll see ya, Cas.” 

Dean retreated to his room but had no desire to sleep. He’d probably just pick something to watch until morning and check on his car–

Dammit, where the fuck was his car?!

Scratch that – the next few hours will be spent on finding Baby, Dean decided. But as he made to depart his bedroom, he sensed a presence. 

It was Marion. 

“How’d you get in here?” Dean asked, annoyed. “Thought you left.” 

“If you ever think about blocking me out, you’re wastin’ your time,” Marion said. “This new bond between us out-ranks any devil’s trap or demon-blocking nonsense you could ever think of pullin’. Hell, I could possess you if I wanted.” 

Dean’s blood went cold. 

“Relax, as if I’d ever want to be inside you,” Marion remarked derisively. “There was another thing I needed to tell you without Sam listenin’ in.” 

“Say what you wanna say, and then get the fuck out,” Dean barked. 

Marion gave him a strange smile, “Tonight, you saw a pretty memory of mine. That little girl, that was me at five years old, getting taken from my family. Never saw those folks again. But you experienced the same memory as me when I was that little girl. All that fear you felt was mine. The sorrow was mine. My point is that’s just the first one. You’re gonna see my greatest hits – the rape, the childbirths, the worst and most miserable points of my life.” She said, chuckling darkly, “you’re gonna have to relive it as I did and feel all that I felt. I’ll be doing the same where you’re concerned.”

“What?” 

“Your memories, boy. All the times you were sad, broken-hearted, and disappointed, all those shameful little secrets you bury at the bottom of a bottle, I’ll know them cuz I’ll see it all through your eyes, In your body as it was at the time.” Her voice was sinister, but her eyes…

The last thing Dean ever wanted was pity from a goddamn demon, much less Marion. 

“Get out.” Dean hissed, grabbing his gun. 

“Fun fact,” Marion said. “I can’t die, not until this deal expires, and should you fail, Death will be something I never know again. See you soon, Dean.” 

The demon disappeared, but Dean fired his gun anyway. He was angry enough to shoot something. The wall will do.

“SON OF A BITCH!” 

Chapter Text

“Find my true self,” Dean muttered to himself. “Bullshit.” 

His true self? What is one’s true self? Really? That’s some hippy-dippy, shrink talk. True self. Pfft. 

But what if Marion’s right? Sure, based on what she said, she told the truth about her tragic backstory and why she was around. That was nice and all, but why did he have to get dragged down with that meddlesome bitch?

“True self,” Dean said resentfully. So what, he had to find himself? Take time between hunting monsters and trying to stay alive against all their enemies to meditate or whatever the fuck shrinks told suckers to do for so-called ‘self-improvement.’ 

“I know who the fuck I am,” Dean told himself. “I’m a hunter. I’m a man, a fuckin’ badass, basically a goddamn modern-day cowboy. Someone who saves as many people as possible. I look after my brother as much as I can. I’m brave and tough. I love the ladies, and the ladies love me. Anyone who says otherwise doesn’t know what the fuck they’re talking about.”

He half expected Marion to pop in out of nowhere, but he was still in Impala by himself, driving along the road as dawn approached. 

What the hell was Cas talking about? “The things I say and what I mean when I say them,” Dean scoffed. Cas just didn’t understand what it was to be human. Everyone does that. There wasn’t a human in existence that didn’t lie, that didn’t wear a mask or conceal their feelings. Getting all sappy and weepy about life, Dean wasn’t about to do that for anyone or any reason. 

Even for himself. 

He doesn't care what Marion says. There has to be a way outta this deal. There just has to be. 

He would make a deal if he had to. Maybe a demon couldn't fix it, but God sure could. 

Yeah, maybe that's what needed to happen. They track down God and say and do whatever it takes to kill this deal. It was for Marion, right? Why should Dean be put in the crossfire? Worst case, he kills the troublesome demon. 

I heard that, twink bitch. 

The Impala nearly swerved off the road as Dean looked around but found he was still alone in the car. 

I know you heard me stupid. Don’t play it off. 

“Are you here?” 

I don't have to be in your car, dumbass. Think of your mind like a radio, like that angel radio shit as you love to phrase it. I have constant access to your thoughts and feelings. But thankfully, I figured out how to shut it off, but the access never goes away. That's why you’re not able to hear my thought,s but if the emotion is strong enough, either one of us will feel what the other does in the moment. 

“Goddamnit.”

This shit just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?

“Fuck outta my head” Dean yelled. 

Stop planning to kill me off dickhead. I can’t even be killed cuz of this stupid curse. I’ll just come back or, worse, haunt you to oblivion. Point is, I’m not going away, and you can’t make me go away. Deal with it. 

“Why? Why did I have to be bound to you?” Dean groaned. 

I know, oblivion’s looking pretty fucking good right about now.

Dean’s phone rang. He had the triple 6 flare upon his screen. It was Crowley. 

“Great, another fuckin’ asshole,” Dean answered the phone.

“As if you’re so bloody pleasant,” Crowley shot back.

“Where’d you run off to?” 

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” the demon said over the phone. “Listen, remember when I told you I'd be in touch when I'd found Abaddon? Well... I'm in touch.”

Finally, someone he could take his anger out on. “Where are you?”

“Humboldt Hotel, Cleveland. And step on it. I'll keep her in my sights, then we'll remove her from the payroll for good.”

The demon hung up, and Dean set down his phone. 

So this is the part where you latch onto a case and ignore all the problems in your life, right?

Should he double back for Sam?

I mean, I get it; who doesn’t like to escape their problems, the burdens and responsibilities in their meaningless lives? Shit, that’s why vacations are a thing, but Jesus Christ, you have an Olympic medal in emotional avoidance like I've never seen. Good Lord. 

No, Dean still had the Blade among his person. He made sure to rifle through his pockets and found it safely tucked away in his jacket. Dean wasn't sure how it made it there, but he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. 

Just gonna ignore me, huh? Right. Two can play at that game.

Dean took an exit, heading out for Cleveland. 

“Looking for Dean?” Upon returning to the bunker, Marion bumped into Sam as the younger Winchester ran around searching for his brother. 

“Where did he go?” 

“Well, first, he had to pick up his car,” Marion said. “Then he got a call from our favorite British asshole. He says he found Abaddon, so Dean’s beelining it to take ol’ Red down.” 

“Alone?” Sam said in outrage. “It could be a trap!” 

“It’s Crowley,” Marion replied. “It’s undoubtedly a trap.”

“Shit,” Sam headed to his room where Jess had been tending to Aaron, assuring the kid was settling in okay. 

“You sure you wanna head out there?” the demon questioned. 

“I can’t let my brother face this alone,” Sam said. 

“Thought you hated his guts,” Marion pointed out. 

“I don’t hate him,” Sam insisted.

“Tell him that,” Marion countered. 

“What, now that you’re bound by this Rebis deal, you have a line on all his emotions or something?” Sam scoffed. 

“Yup,” Marion smirked. “I can’t say what’s worse, being burned by hellfire or bearing witness to the 24-hour emotional rollercoaster that is your brother.” 

Sam shook his head. “Could you cut him some slack? His life isn’t easy.” 

“You have no idea, Sam,” Marion said. “But yeah, sure. Princess has it rough.” 

“Easy, he’s my brother.” 

“Hey, I’m not disagreeing with you,” Marion held up her hands in mock surrender. “The life he lives ain’t no picnic, but he makes it so much harder than it has to be, whatever. Bigger fish to fry at the moment. There’s just one thing you should know.” 

Sam stopped before he entered his room. “What now?” 

“Dean has the first Blade with him,” Marion said. 

“Okay, that’s good, right?” 

“Good in that he can kill the Red Queen? Sure. Yup, super Gucci. But uh…” Marion chuckled awkwardly. “There are certain side effects to using that thing on anyone, especially high-ranking demons.” 

Sam sighed. “Like what?” 

“Dean may experience a recurring and unquenchable bloodlust much like your predilection for demon blood,” Marion said. “His body will go into a withdrawal-like state until he kills again…and again…and-” 

“And how is it you know this?” Sam questioned. 

“Let’s just say Crowley’s had a massive hard-on for this Mark of Cain bullshit for a very long time, and I had to sit and listen to him fawn over that crap to gain my Hell hall pass.” 

“Crowley,” Sam hissed. 

“Yeah, somebody’s really gotta do somethin’ about him,” Marion shook her head. 

“Don’t worry,” Sam said. “His days are numbered.” The younger Winchester went into his room and rushed to pack his stuff and tell Jess where he was going. 

“You have no idea, Sam…” Marion said in a hushed whisper.

It was almost nighttime when Dean made it to the hotel Crowley said. He parked the Impala a few blocks down and patted the blade tucked in his jacket as he stepped out of his car. 

Kill kill kill

The Mark had been pulsing for about the last three hours of the drive, sensing Dean’s intent. The pulse had gotten stronger as Dean approached the city of Cleveland. 

But as Dean walked to the hotel, he found Sam waiting at the entrance with Marion. Shit. Because of their freaky soul bond, Marion could read his fucking mind from a distance. She must’ve realized where Dean was going and bitched to Sam.

Son of a bitch.

“Dean, what the hell?” Sam said, approaching him. “You weren’t gonna clue me in on what you’re doing?!”

“This is Abaddon, okay?” Dean replied. “It’s gonna be dangerous.” 

“All the more reason to go in with backup!” Sam stressed. “What, are you trying to get me out of the way or something?” 

“No,” Dean lied. “Listen, you wanna help? Why don’t we give this place a once-over before we face the bitch? Crowley told me he saw some demons headed down to the basement. He'd have checked it out himself, but if word got back to Abaddon that he'd been seen…”

“It could be a trick,” Sam pointed out. Dean didn’t disagree, but he had to try.

“Marion could come with me,” the elder Winchester proposed, surprising Sam and the demon. 

“You want my help?” she scoffed. 

“Why else are you here?” Dean countered. 

“Right,” Marion said, looking between the brothers. It was agreed. Both Marion and Dean waited as Sam headed into the hotel’s lower level floors in search of paranormal enemies while the other two snuck their way up to the penthouse suite where Abaddon awaited. 

“It’d be best if I went incognito. Give us some element of surprise,” Marion said to Dean. 

“That’ll work on Abaddon?” She gave an affirmative nod. 

He nodded in agreement, “You go invisible girl, and make them think I’m outnumbered.” 

“Good luck fuckhead,” Marion disappeared, but Dean knew she was close. Because of their proximity, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up with a warmth that spread down his spine. It happened last night when the demon appeared in his room at the bunker. 

Dean reached the top floor. It was deathly quiet, and the Mark went off like crazy. Dean had to keep breathing deeply just to focus amidst the cacophony the m]Mark was producing in his body. 

KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL

Dean found Crowley in the penthouse suite, which was seemingly vacant for the moment aside from the miserable state of the demon. He’d been beaten by somebody, blood crowding the face of his meat suit. Crowley was cradling his arm as he lay exhausted on a loveseat like some dramatic heroine in an old Hollywood movie. 

“Hello, Squirrel. Love the crazy bloodlust in your eyes,” Crowley greeted him as Dean cautiously walked into the room, scanning for enemies. “Let's not waste time. I'll take you to Abaddon. It's not far.” The demon’s eyes shifted to Dean’s right. Lo and behold, a demon appeared in the form of a man in a business suit. Dean took him down without hesitation, the mark thrumming happily. 

More. Kill more.

But it was the first kill Dean committed with this ancient hunk of bone. The euphoria froze the hunter with a terror he hadn’t felt since he was at Alastair’s mercy, newly condemned to hell.

The moment was interrupted as Dean was forcefully pushed forward and sent flying to a nearby painting across the spacious hotel room. “Ah!” He groaned as his attention was pulled back to the situation at hand. The Blade had fallen from his grasp onto the floor in the haste of the sudden attack. 

Abaddon revealed her presence, laughing. “A boy and his Blade. And still no match for the new queen,” she taunted. Given the way she pushed him, Dean was facing the wall, but from what he could make out in peripheral vision, the old demon had a hand stretched out, using her powers to pin him to the wall, momentarily trapped. 

“So, first... You'll die... Painfully,” Abaddon crooned. Dean could hear her steps as she got closer. “And then Crowley will watch his son die -- ditto -- and then the king himself,” she added mockingly. “And the Blade will be destroyed.” She declared. 

Kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill -

“Ah!” Abaddon yelled. Marion stabbed her with an angel blade she got her hands on. The younger demon remained invisible, but her strike gave away her position. 

“You fucking cockroach!” Abaddon cried as she yanked the invisible Marion forcefully, shifting her focus from Dean, who got to break free from the demon’s clutches. He fell to the floor and scurried for the Blade. 

Abaddon plunged deeply into Marion’s chest once she got a hold of the younger demon, making Marion appear. She gasped deeply as the older demon mercilessly ripped the heart out from Marion’s chest. Marion fell to her feet. 

Dean didn’t hesitate, but Abaddon was ready for him, grabbing the hunter by the throat. 

“You just don’t get it, do you, boy? I’m the goddamn queen,” she hissed, squeezing so tightly Dean couldn’t even see anymore. She slapped the blade from the man’s hand. “I’ve been around since before pharaohs ruled the sands of Egypt. I gave Cain a run for his money; the brokenhearted fool was too gutless to face me after I killed his girl.” Abaddon cackled with glee. “Did you really think you could defeat me?” 

“Not for lack of trying,” Marion got up again, pushing her heart back into her chest. If not for the Rebis deal, she would’ve surely been screwed. Damn, did it fucking hurt, though. 

“What the hell?” Abaddon said in surprise. Sam burst in then, fed up but ready to fight. Abaddon was the first one the younger Winchester spotted in the penthouse suite, so Marion gave the older demon a swift, hard kick, making Abaddon fumble and dropping Dean in the process, who was miraculously still alive and breathing. He gasped deeply, and Sam brandished a bottle of holy oil and, with a lighter, set the floor, and by extent, Abaddon alight with holy fire. 

It wouldn’t kill her, but it could definitely hinder her, Sam mused. 

“Ah!” Abaddon roared. “Fucking Winchesters!” 

Dean gathered enough breath in him to get the blade and make his move. He stabbed the nefarious demon right in the gut, causing her to gasp deeply as the fire that burned her meatsuit died out. Lifting her off of the ground, Abaddon screams as light energy bursts through her body, killing her. A forceful gust of wind emanated all around her, causing Sam to cover his eyes and Marion to flee to a corner of the room as Abaddon screamed for a final time. 

Yessssssssssssssssssssssssss. More, kill MORE!

Dean further ensured the demon’s demise as the strength departed from Abaddon's current meat suit. Influenced by the Mark calling out to him on his arm, Dean stabs Abaddon several times more. It didn’t even matter that she was dead anymore. The elder Winchester became an automatic machine, stabbing her over and over again until the meat suit was nothing more than a bloody stain on the polished wooden floor. 

“Dean! Dean! DEAN!” Sam cried. “Stop! You can stop…”

Dean finally appeared to have heard him, but the damage was done. There wasn’t even a face left of her. Just strands of her and bloodied mush where a face used to be. Some teeth, pulp that were once a pair of eyes. Blood seeped from the gut wound Dean made. 

The elder Winchester dropped the blade and sat back, sick as all hell but unable to puke up a thing. He realized he hadn’t eaten a single bite of food in over 24 hours. It just occurred to him even now. 

What the fuck was happening to him?

Kill kill kill!

Meanwhile, Marion had snuck into one of the rooms, finding none other than Gavin Macleod, Crowley’s human son, fresh from 1723. 

“Oh-” Gavin eeked out, but Marion hushed him quickly, scaring the lad even further. She must look a fright, hole in her chest, all that blood. 

“Who are you?” Marion asked, “And don’t scream.” 

“I’m Gavin Macleod, my lady,” he said in a Scottish brogue. 

“Oh wow,” Marion exhaled, “You’re his son then. Fergus.” 

“Aye, that be true. But that bloke out there looks nuthin’ like my da. He knew things, though…” Gavin noted. “Like how we lived.” 

Marion nodded. “He talked about you, you know? Not often, but…enough to paint a picture.” 

“Did he?” Gavin responded. “I see.”

“How’d you end up here?” 

“That witchy woman brought me to this place,” Gavin answered. “It’s unlike anything back home. I can read now…” 

Marion grimaced. “Yeah, well, good news. I’m here to send you back.” 

“You are?” Gavin said, his eyes shifting to the door that separated him and the one he came to reacquaint with as his father. “But my da…” 

“Gavin, you were sent into a world you do not belong…” Marion told him. “Over two hundred and ninety-one years later in time. You can’t stay, sweetheart. You gotta go back. Please tell me you understand that.” 

Gavin’s face fell somewhat. 

“Don’t you have anyone back home that depends on you?” Marion asked. “Kids? A wife?” 

“There is someone,” he confessed. “Fiona, my love.” 

“You don’t wanna leave her behind, do you?” Marion prodded. “That’s your girl.” 

Gavin nodded. “You’re right. My place is with her.” 

“You do that,” Marion tapped him gently on the shoulder. “Now, let’s send you home.” 

Marion knew well enough the blood spell that Henry used to get himself to the future, even if it was accidental in his case. But with enough power and knowledge, it can be precise enough.

“You might feel a little tired afterward, but there’s nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix,” Marion said as she took a prick of Gavin’s blood and, with efficiency, painted it on the door to the room. The blood began to glow as Marion recited the words to activate the portal for Gavin. 

Gavin turned to Marion. “Tell my father that…I’m sorry.”

Marion nodded emphatically. “Good luck, kid.” 

Gavin disappeared. 

Mere seconds later, Crowley burst into the door, frantically searching for his boy. 

“He’s gone,” Marion told him, no emotion in her voice. 

“You sent him back?” Crowley expressed irately. 

Marion jutted her chin up in defiance. “Yeah. I did.” Sam and Dean entered the room along with Crowley, neither hunter saying anything. Sam merely watched the argument take hold, but Dean seemed distracted, another matter taking hold of his mind.

“You had no right –” 

“He didn’t belong here.” 

“He was my son!” Crowley roared. “My only child! And you sent him to his death!” 

“Death comes for all, Crowley,” Marion said in a level tone. 

Crowley chuckled bitterly, looking between her and the Winchesters. “You’re joking, right? How many times did these oafs kick it? And how many times have they come back from beyond?” 

“Yeah, cuz we’re having a grand old time switching between life and death,” Sam frowned. 

“No one breaks the rules the way you lot break the rules,” Crowley countered. “I only wanted my son to have a bloody chance at life!” 

“Then you should’ve been a better father when you had a chance,” Marion replied, “cuz that’s what this is really about! You shat the bed in raising that boy, blew it to love and care for him the way you weren’t in your day. You don’t get to put that on us; you’ve only yourself to blame. So don’t go playin’ the mournful father.” Crowley slapped her so hard that blood dribbled out of her nose. 

“Hey, easy!” Sam warned. “We just killed Abaddon. You want us to take you down, huh?” 

Crowley rounded on the hunters. “I wouldn’t attack them,” Marion said. “Dean’s got quite the power up these days. Who knows what he’s capable of now? One false move, and time’s up for you, Sawney.”

Crowley disappeared. 

“We should hunt him down.” Sam said, “Hey, Dean. Earth to Dean?” He nudged his brother. 

“Leave him be, Sam; he’s gonna be like that for a while.” 

“Cuz of the Mark?” Sam asked. Marion nodded. “It was the first time he used it on anybody.” She approached the younger Winchester. “Be careful around him…he’ll be different, worse.” 

“So, walk on eggshells,” Sam sighed, “Got it.” 

“It’s not walking on eggshells cuz you’ll hurt your brother’s feelings. It’s walking on eggshells cuz if words are exchanged, he might slit your fuckin’ throat without meaning to.” 

“He’s not that far gone,” Sam argued. 

“Not yet.”

They departed from the hotel after Marion recovered some and cleaned the room as best she could. They bid farewell to the brothers as they got in the Impala to head back to the bunker. 

“You good to drive?” Sam asked his brother. 

“I’m fine,” Dean replied, the first time he had spoken to Sam since they had split up at the hotel. 

“He speaks,” Sam said as he entered the front passenger seat. 

“Oh shut up,” Dean said gruffly as he pulled out of park, easing the car onto the road. “I told you I’m fine.” 

Sam looked out the side window, waiting a beat before asking, “You wanna stop anywhere on the way back?”

“No,” Dean answered. “Unless you need to.” 

“No…guess not,” Sam said. “So I know you hate when I ask this…” 

“Never seems to stop you, though,” Dean remarked, eyes distant. 

Sam continued cautiously, “But are you okay?”

“Sure,” Dean shrugged. “I’m always okay, Sammy.” 

“You seem different.” 

“Do I?” Dean finally looked at him, but what stared back at Sam unsettled the younger Winchester. Dean’s eyes were…

“As much as you worry about me,” Sam said, holding his brother’s deadened gaze, “you can’t be surprised that I worry about you too.”

“I thought I was a dickbag for not letting things go,” Dean said to him. 

“I didn’t call you a dickbag,” Sam replied, a sadness in his eyes. 

“Didn’t have to,” Dean stated, the bitterness in his voice intensifying.

“Well, I take it back,” Sam said. 

Dean snorted. “Now, why are you sayin’ things we both know ain’t true? You ain’t one to forgive easy, Sam. You get that from Dad. It’s okay, though; I know where we stand with each other, so you don’t have to do the fake concerned brother routine. I’m fine, Sam, and that’s all I’m ever gonna be. You just focus on your family, and I’ll focus on me.”

Sam didn’t say anything further for the rest of the drive, nor did Dean. The elder Winchester kept his eyes on the road. Before this Mark scenario, Dean would fidget every so often in a long drive and comment about stopping at a gas station for snacks. But this time, Dean was as stiff as a board. The only part of his body that moved was his hands as he steered the Impala back to the bunker.

Dean didn’t look back at Sam once the entire time. His eyes remained as cold, distant, and lifeless as they had been since he killed Abaddon. Now Sam was beginning to understand the profound effect the Mark of Cain was having on his older brother. 

How long would it be before Dean lived up to the original bearer’s name?

Chapter Text

“What makes a story work? Is it the plot, the characters, the text? The subtext? And who gives a story meaning? Is the storyteller? Or you, those who listen, who bear witness to the story being told?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. It appeared that Metatron fancied himself a storyteller. A Scribe he might have been, but Cas did not think he was suited to tell stories. Even Metatron's voice was grating, though Cas supposed that was more the fault of the voice of the vessel Metatron had chosen eons ago.

“Let me tell you a story…”

Gabriel had appeared to Castiel earlier, which the ex-angel found odd, considering he’d been slain by Lucifer some years ago. Gabriel claimed he’d been hiding out in Heaven until the Fall that Metatron caused, hurting the archangel in the process. He’d been on the run ever since, hunted by Metatron and any followers convinced to fight for the would-be deity. Because the famed Horn of Gabriel was used, Gabriel wanted to aid Castiel and the faction Cas was working with in aims to stop Metatron once and for all. Take the fight to him instead.

Likely story. 

Cas and Gabriel were cruising down the road and discussed how different each of them was from the rest of their kind. Gabriel was the angel without a cause, always running away. Castiel was the angel who rebelled for a cause to the point he took on the reigns of their Father, to disastrous results. But Gabriel claimed he intended to lead his kin into battle against Metatron.

That was the third sign something was wrong. The second red flag was that Gabriel would appear to Castiel of all people, especially considering that Castiel was presently graceless. Then Gabriel suggested they stop for gas -- fourth sign. 

Not three minutes inside the Gas n Sip and angels were upon them—ones who had defected to Metatron. 

The shift in alliances began two weeks ago when Metatron would single out individual angels and make promises to let them back into Heaven personally. One by one, almost fifty angels left, rattling the masses. Hold the line, the others said, but Malachi and Bartholemew were at each other’s throats once again, and it was all Cas, Hannah, and Ion could do to keep the peace amongst their numbers. 

Metatron was winning the advantage. 

That’s when Cas decided to speak up. 

“None of this was real,” Cas said to Gabriel. 

“What are you saying?” Gabriel expressed urgently, “Do you want to die here?” The angels outside broke the glass doors of the store. 

“You’re already dead,” Cas said, putting his angel blade through Gabriel to prove his point. It didn’t pierce the archangel at all; it was like stabbing air. 

“Well then,” Gabriel muttered. He snapped his fingers, and all the other angels disappeared. ”What gave me away?” 

“My coat had been torn earlier today,” Cas pointed out. 

“Oh damn,” Gabriel huffed. “I can’t stand continuity errors.” All that time had been an egregious waste of time. A trap to lure Castiel away from the other angels, isolate him, and make him vulnerable. To be honest, Cas knew. He’d been waiting for Metatron to play his hand. 

Now, it was Castiel’s turn.

”I’m no longer at the motel either,” Cas said, still seeing precisely what Metatron wanted him to see: the Gas 'n Sip. It wouldn’t be long now. The egomaniacal angel wouldn’t be able to help himself. He would pull the hat over Castiel’s head soon enough. 

“None of this was real,” Gabriel was still there, “but all of it was true.” 

“You mean Metatron’s truth.” Cas pointed with a disapproving frown.

”Just hear him out, would ya?” Gabriel insisted. “He’s trying to help you.” 

“And how is he trying to help me?” Cas demanded. 

Gabriel looked at him sheepishly then. “Sorry. Didn’t read the whole script. I just skimmed for my parts. All things considered, it was nice to meet you, even if technically I didn’t.” Gabriel winked. Before Cas could wonder out of genuine curiosity if Gabriel was, in fact, still alive, the archangel snapped his fingers once more.

At last, Metatron revealed himself. But Cas found himself restrained, his mouth bound shut with a gag, his limbs tied down to a chair he was suddenly sitting on. Metatron sat across from him in a gauche robe in a spacious office, like one of a CEO, but books were littered everywhere. Metatron sat at a large wooden desk, and a typewriter lay in the middle of the cluttered space, with the Scribe pausing his incessant typing—for the moment. 

Metatron got up from his desk, moving the needle from a record player he had running, and then approached the captive Cas, checking for the tear in the ex-angel’s iconic trench coat. “And there’s my mistake.” Pulling the exposed thread from within the coat, he holds it over Castiel’s eyes, saying, “This is the curious incident, eh, Inspector Gregory?” With an eager grin. 

Cas made a muffled sound of confusion. Rolling his eyes, Metatron took the gag off Castiel’s mouth.

“What?” Cas repeated. “I don’t understand that reference.” 

“You’ve never read The Adventure of Silver Blaze by Arthur Doyle?” Metatron said, appalled. “You have been around since scaly creatures crawled out of the muck! Would it have killed you to read a book? Watch a movie?” 

“I am a warrior bred for combat,” Castiel said defiantly, “I have no time for stories,” he said snidely.

Metatron sighed. “Here, then.” He tapped a finger to Castiel’s forehead, ingraining millions of words and flashes of motion pictures, all man-made storytelling content spanning centuries. “I just gave you the details of every book, movie, and TV show I have ever consumed during my time here on Earth. I know that was a bit of a retcon, but it will make for easier conversation.” 

“You could just state plainly what you mean and want,” Cas grumbled. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Metatron scoffed. “Now you can appreciate quotes like, ‘the universe is made up of stories, not atoms.’”

Cas looked at him disdainfully. 

“Oh c’mon now, don’t be such a bad sport,” Metatron approached him menacingly. Cas was still helpless. Or so Metatron would believe. It served Cas to have him keep thinking that way.

The former seraph sighed. “I understand that’s a quote by Muriel Rukeyser.” 

“Ah!” Metatron exclaimed cheerfully. “It can be taught! Here are some more lessons: steal from the best, every hero needs a villain–” 

“I don’t give a damn about writing stories –- or other means of wasting time!” Cas shouted. 

“Stories are not a waste of time,” Metatron got in his face then. Cas could smell the hot breath Metatron heaved onto the ex-angel’s face. “Stories are the only thing that ever truly matters.” Metatron eased off of Cas. “They can stand the test of time. Take Jesus, for example. Almost no one believes in him these days, yet almost everyone knows his story. Died on a cross for man’s sins.” Metatron snorted. “What a chump.” 

“Is it true that you can lead the angels back to Heaven?” Cas thought to ask. It was on every angel’s mind since Metatron doubled his recruiting efforts.

Metatron chuckled snootily. “Sorry; no way am I letting any spoilers out of the bag. But you’re missing the point, Castiel.” 

Castiel’s face became stony with a grim realization. “You want me to be your villain.” 

Metatron gave him a dark smile. “I did my homework on you. You and those Winchesters certainly got up to some hijinks.” Those were the books that cluttered Metatron’s desk. The ones published under Chuck Shurley’s pseudonym, Carver Edlund. “Pulpy stuff, these Winchester Gospels. But it’s funny. Jessica Lee Moore never returned from the dead. As for Marion Winchester, there’s no mention of her at all. Or that saucy redheaded minx you slept with.” Cas widened his eyes. “Good on you finally for having sex. It was about time, even if it was with a demon. Hope you don’t pay for that one.” Metatron winked. 

“You want a villain, how’s this?” Castiel’s visage contorted into one of pure rage. “I will kill you, Metatron. I will tear your wings from your back, and I will cut away at you, over and over, siphon away your grace as you did my own, and when you’re nothing but a bloody stump, and life is barely clinging to your pathetic form, I will be the last thing you ever see as you die, you filthy wretch.” 

Metatron looked at him, taken aback. Castiel’s skin went red with fury.

“Oof,” Metatron uttered, “It’s a good thing I took your grace when I did. If you had it now, I’d say you were becoming an angel of wrath. That never ends well. No, I did you a favor. But I’m surprised you haven’t asked.” 

Cas fumed, “What?”

“Why I haven't killed you?” Metatron brought up. “You’ve been mortal all this time. It’d be no different for me than squashing a bug. So why haven’t I killed you?”

Cas glared at him, waiting for the answer. Of course, Metatron would provide the answer. He was the only one Cas knew of who rivaled Crowley’s predilection for inane ramblings. 

“It’s because I like you,” Metatron jabbed at him, “Out of all God’s windup toys, you were the only one who had any spunk. You’re sure pushing it, though. But since you’re playing your role, I suppose I can’t be too peeved at you. You can’t say I didn’t give you a chance at a happy life back there, and for a minute there, with all that debauchery you engaged in with those demon harlots -- all the sex you’ve been having. I mean, wow! For a novice, you sure got around!”

Cas rolled his eyes. 

“But you managed to screw it up. You got back in the game when you had no business to. If you want back on the board, fine. But you play by my script.” Metatron asserted. 

“I won’t play by your rules, Metatron,” Cas stated harshly. “You don’t even play fair.” 

“Lead the dumb idiots who keep flocking around you, Castiel,” Metatron commanded anyway. “They’ve been following your lead all this time.” 

”Why, so you can slaughter them all?” 

“Naturally,” Metatron said haughtily. “It is a war after all.” 

“We already had a war!” Cas shouted. “Many died for it!” 

“Whose fault was that?” Metatron arched an eyebrow at the ex-angel. “Listen, you play ball, I’ll save up a nice warm seat up top for you. Hell, I might even give you your grace back.” 

Cas glared at the Scribe. 

“That’s right,” Metatron said, thinking he had the mortal where he wanted him. “It’s still around. I just stashed it away for insurance. Do as I say, and it’s yours.”

”Do as you say?” Cas quietly echoed.

Metatron nodded in earnest.

Cas leaned toward him as best he could against his restraints. “Keep it.” 

The arrogant smirk fell off of Metatron’s face. He leaned back against his leather chair. “You’ll want to reconsider.” 

“No, I won’t.” Cas insisted. 

“You may have deluded yourself into believing you’re an actual human, but you’re not Castiel, and you know it. And pretty soon, that body will remind you of that.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Do you really think you can live out for decades without consequence? Do you want to know why angels require a human’s consent to inhabit their bodies and demons don’t? Demons are evil, corrupted, perverted souls. Souls of those who have already died once. But angels are pure, raw energy, celestial light. We never live, so we never truly die unless …someone slays us in human form – within our respective vessels. Now, if we somehow wind up inhabiting a human body after the human is already dead and gone, soul put to rest, and that angel somehow becomes mortal as you have, well…” Metatron sniggered. “It’s not gonna end well for you.” 

“You’re suggesting I’ll die.” 

“I’m predicting it. It’s only a matter of time, Castiel. You’ll start experiencing necrosis. You’ll lose the ability of your senses: touch, taste, sight, all that. Then, one day, you’ll just collapse, but when that happens, Castiel, it's the point of no return. No comebacks this time around, I’m afraid.”

Metatron could be lying. But the sad fact was Cas was a mortal now, and that wouldn’t change unless he bent to Metatron’s will. Metatron had already proved himself to be a liar once. 

Cas wouldn’t fall for it again. 

“So be it,” Cas said, recalcitrant. 

“You’re bluffing,” Metatron said, taken aback. 

“Am I?” Cas challenged. 

“Seriously? Because I’m serious. You can’t argue with science, bucko!” Metatron said hotly. 

“I’ve already met my death more than three times. Four if you count stealing my grace. Why should I be more special than the others who have fallen? Anna? Rachel? Balthazar? No. If this death is to be my end, let it come. I am a soldier. I am not afraid of oblivion.” Cas looked away from Metatron. 

“Sir,” an angel Cas knew to be Ingrid, entered the room. “My apologies, but we have a situation.”

”It can’t wait?” Metatron asked, peeved at this interruption. 

“I’m afraid not, sir.” Metatron sighed. “Alright. Put him in a car.” Metatron pointed at Cas. 

By morning, Cas was brought to a parking lot at a nearby motel. It was in the state of Utah, where he’d been living recently. Cas had used up the wall space in his motel room to help the angels investigate the whereabouts of Metatron and devise his latest scheme with all who had rallied to the former seraph's side.

Today was the day to see if all that legwork paid off. 

Metatron went ahead to meet the Winchesters alone, telling his underlings to hang back. At the same time, he got to stand up to the mighty hunters who dispatched with the likes of Zachariah, Michael, and Lucifer himself.

Cas could see up ahead from the backseat as Dean threw a lighter nearby where Metatron was expectantly waiting for a ring of holy fire to encircle him. The Scribe made a show of being affected by it, which was absolutely ridiculous. But in a moment, Metatron doubled over, laughing at the Winchesters, taunting them. The show of it all incensed Castiel, but he had to focus. 

Now, he thought. This was as good a spot as any. 

Metatron blew out the flames of the holy fire, empowered by the Angel Tablet, which he’d been holding upon his person all this time, ever since stealing away with Castiel’s grace nearly a year ago. When Sam and Dean moved to strike, Metatron merely removed their weapons from their hands with a flick of his wrists. 

The Scribe signaled for the car holding Castiel to approach. 

Meanwhile, Metatron walked over to the Impala and popped open the trunk, erasing all the sigils painstakingly put under the trunk door. Gadreel had been stashed away in a bid to force Metatron’s hand. Gadreel had let himself be captured by the Winchesters as a means to leverage Castiel’s safe return from Metatron’s clutches.

Castiel was finally able to exit the car he’d arrived in. The former seraph dutifully returned to the Winchesters.

”Why are you doing this?” Dean asked Metatron. 

“Because you, your little brother, your former feathered friend, and all those allies and secrets you’ve got hidden away in your bunker can’t help you stop me,” Metatron declared. “But I look forward to seeing you try.” 

“Well, there’s one thing you haven’t accounted for,” Sam said, “Meta-douche.” 

Metatron frowned. 

“We were waiting for you, dumb son of a bitch,” Dean smirked. 

Thunder roared above their heads. The skies above darkened at an alarming, accelerated speed. Lightning flashed all over the skies. Gusts of wind blew debris and pushed folks who happened to be outside. 

All the angels that Metatron cast down from Heaven appeared all around the area. From inside the motel and the woods nearby. From cars parked along the road and parking lot and down the streets. Metatron was floored with surprise, but his supposed underlings weren’t. They moved to stand with their brothers and sisters, distancing themselves from their overzealous leader. 

“What is this?” Metatron demanded hotly as his eyes drifted across all the angels in the vicinity. 

“Justice,” Castiel answered. 

But there was one more arrival of an angel none had seen for quite some time, for he’d been locked away in a Cage.

Michael appeared behind Metatron under the flash of lightning and a particularly intimidating roar of thunder. Metatron turned around sharply, trying to stumble away, but Michael didn’t give him an inch. The archangel grabbed Metatron’s throat, holding him up in the air as Michael squeezed in outrage. Adam Milligan’s face contorted into a face of pure fury as Michael glared at Metatron. ”You…you dare…”

”Michael…” Metatron looked around. The Winchesters had picked up their weapons, and Cas got his hands on an angel blade. In fact, all the angels that had gathered had brandished their angel blades. Metatron wasn’t going anywhere. He’d been trapped – like a rat. 

“You foul, loathsome, insignificant cockroach!” Metatron was hit with lightning from the skies above. One, two, three times. Metatron collapsed, and in the process, his coat burned, and the Angel Tablet fell away from the ambitious Scribe. Michael picked up the tablet, realizing that it was the source of Metatron’s power, and then pulled him up, proceeding to beat the face off of the Scribe.

”What the hell were you thinking?!” Michael demanded as blood seeped from Metatron’s eyes, nose, and mouth. Teeth were starting to fall out of the mouth of the Scribe’s chosen vessel. “How dare you cast out our brethren in such a callous manner, scattered to the winds?! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?! Countless souls of the departed, lost and unable to find peace! You pathetic excuse for an angel! Now I hear you call yourself God! Blasphemy. You were no more than a glorified secretary. You’ve forgotten yourself, Scribe,” Michael spat onto Metatron, who lay crumpled on the floor, choking on his own blood. Michael then brandished his own blade. 

Marion appeared, unable to resist watching this moment. Marion chuckled. “Didn’t see this little plot twist coming, did you Meta-douche?”

Michael raised his blade, ready to exterminate the one who tried to claim his Father’s mantle for himself. 

”You’re gonna kill me?” Metatron managed to scream despite the blood gurgling in his mouth and the number of teeth he lost. “But let Castiel live?! If it weren’t for him, none of this would’ve even happened! The Fall, the angel deaths, none of it! He started this sequence of events when he started playing for the human team! If he had just obeyed his orders, you’d all still be in Heaven, lording over the sheep! But I’m somehow the villain?! No, I don’t accept that!” Metatron had to spit out some blood to continue. “Where’s his justice? Hm?! I demand it!” 

Michael brutally kicked him in the face. Then, the archangel turned to look at his fallen, mortal brother. 

“The Scribe makes a fair point, Castiel,” the archangel said brusquely, “You have caused a great deal of trouble for our brothers and sisters. Many have died by your own hand. You stirred such chaos that hasn’t been since Lucifer’s fall. Unfortunately, you have just as much to answer for as Metatron does.”

Sam and Dean looked at Cas with anxious faces. “You’re gonna listen to that douchebag?” Dean expressed, but Michael and Cas ignored his outcry.

“What do you propose?” Cas asked the archangel.

“A trial,” Michael said. “For both you and Metatron.”

”That hasn’t been done since…”

”Lucifer. Yes, I know.” Michael replied. “But I think, all things considered, it’s warranted, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes,” Cas confirmed, “it is.” Cas pondered that it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility when he proposed his plan to his former kin. It was only a matter of time before Metatron made his move. They just had to be ready when he did. The fifty angels that defected to Metatron were all in on it, effectively acting as double agents. Cas informed all the angels that he would pray to Michael – the oldest and strongest angel among their kind, as he’d been released from the Cage. Even with the Angel Tablet in his possession, Metatron was no match for the archangel, who proved Cas right when he wrenched the tablet out of Metatron’s clutches. 

But the angels warned Castiel that if he dared summon Michael, he might be held accountable for his prior misdeeds—a necessary cost to prevail against the likes of Metatron.

“Good,” Michael nodded, and he clapped his hands. Everyone in the immediate vicinity, whether they were an angel or not, found themselves standing in a clean, white courtroom. Most of the angels that had gathered sat in the gallery. Marion and Sam sat with Castiel on the left side of the room at what was customarily regarded as the defense table. Dean was directly behind them in the front row of the gallery. Metatron sat on his own on the opposite side, and Michael presided over them all in the judge’s seat. A witness stand sat to his left, presently unoccupied -- for the moment.

Michael stood at the judge’s bench, saying in a booming voice, “There will be order in my court,” his eyes went to the Winchesters as the hunters were confused and distressed about being transported with the rest of the angels to this strange location. “I will act as the judge presiding over this trial. The matter at hand — Metatron and Castiel have caused great harm to our kind. Our numbers have dwindled, we’ve lost our home, and as of this moment, hundreds of thousands of recently departed souls now hang in the Veil, unable to find peace.” The angels shook their heads in disapproval and disgust, hissing words of discontentment.

“Today, we gather to decide just what to do with these troublemakers who have sown such chaos. We will hear their reasoning and motivations, and we will judge them as it was done in the olden days. You may have witnesses come up here to speak on your behalf,” He gestured to the witness stand, “but we expect to hear each of you speak,” He said to Castiel and Metatron. “And let me be clear: any traitorous, vainglorious heathen that dares usurp my Father’s title ever again will meet a gruesome end. He may have left, but God did not select any heirs to His throne, so this better be the last time I ever hear of such ridiculousness again, or I will do the entirety of the universe the grand favor of wiping your godforsaken essence off. This. Planet.” Michael’s eyes zeroed in on Metatron specifically.

“So what, we’re Castiel’s defense?” Sam questioned dubiously as he looked at Castiel, who sat resolutely in the corner of the table while Sam was wedged between the former angel and Marion on Sam’s right.

“I guess so,” Marion mused, “Wanna co-counsel? I got an outfit planned for this very occasion.” She winked at Sam.

“Court is now in session,” Michael declared.

Trial of Eternity: Castiel v. Metatron

Metatron went right to work, getting up to address the entire room. “Today,” he clapped his hands together, “allow me to tell you all a story and let you decide – Castiel, Angel of Thursday, becomes a renegade, a rebel against the Heavenly Host, all in the name of one Dean Winchester. But why?” Metatron’s eyes fell on Castiel. Hell, everyone’s did. “Why did this soldier, this warrior of God, fall so easily after countless millennia of faithful service to our Creator? My theory – he fell in love. Castiel loves this one human so much that he’s prepared to commit just about any atrocity for him. He’d even kill God Himself if that’s what it took to please him, satisfy this foul Dean Winchester! I tell you, my brothers and sisters, judge not I, but Castiel,” Metatron pointed a finger at the former seraph, “the one who set all this chaos and needless bloodshed in motion!”

There were murmurs among the gallery. “And I’m going to prove just how low Castiel has sunk, how depraved he has become!” Metatron declared. “My first witness can attest to that — the demon Bessie Cartwright.”

Everyone turned their gaze to the door behind the gallery as Marion’s longtime partner in crime (and all other things) strutted into the pristine courtroom. Nearly all of the angels hissed at her entrance, but it bothered Bessie none as she made her way over to the bench. She perked up at the sight of Cas and Marion at the front of the courtroom. 

“Hey, sexies!” Bessie waved at them. She wasn’t sure how she was summoned to this place, but as long as Marion was there (and her sweet Cas), she didn’t care. 

“Approach the stand, demon,” Michael rolled his eyes. 

Bessie shrugged, assuming that was the reason she was here. Just moments ago, she’d been perusing Santa Monica Boulevard, soaking up the sun. Now, she found herself perched on the stand, feeling a strange energy enter her body. “Oh! That tingles,” she smirked suggestively. 

“The truth now binds you; should you attempt to tell a lie, you will be sent to Hell, where you will forever burn,” Michael said, “do you understand?”

“Why yes, I do. Don’t lie,” Bessie winked. “Got it!”

“You may proceed, Scribe,” Michael snapped at the inferior angel. 

Metatron cleared his throat, “Bessie, was it? You greeted Castiel on your way to the stand. Is it safe to assume you’re acquainted?” 

“Very much so!” Bessie said happily, eyes beaming with joy.

“And how have you come to know him?”

“Well,” Bessie giggled, “I really shouldn’t say. It’s not suitable for the tender ears of angel folk, but if I’d burn in perpetuity otherwise,” her eyes went up to Michael, who nodded and encouraged the demon to continue. “I got to know Cas better when I recently took him into my care…”

Metatron looked at her expectantly. It was the entire reason he brought her in as a witness.

“...And started having sex with him.” 

There was an outcry from the angels in the gallery, and even Michael bore a grimace of mild disgust. “He lay with a demon!” one angel cried.

Castiel tensed further. While Marion wasn’t surprised, nor was Dean (who fought to ignore the heat blossoming at the memory of the videos Bessie had texted him weeks ago), Sam was floored with appallment. 

“Did you know this?” Sam asked Marion incredulously. 

“Know?” Marion grinned amusedly, “I watched. Don’t usually get a kick of watchin’, but those nights were definitely an exception.” She winked at Cas, who sank into his chair as, once again, all the attention in the room shifted back onto him with an overwhelming wave of judgment. He had a dreadful inkling that would keep occurring during the proceedings of this trial. 

“Oh, don’t judge him too harshly,” Bessie urged all the angels in the room, “it was his first time with anyone ever! And while he gave it his best try, deep down, I knew his heart wasn’t in it.” 

“No?” Metatron pried. 

Bessie shook her head. “His heart belongs to another,” she said, her eyes searching for Dean. “Him!” she pointed. “Cas loves Dean. He never spoke about it, but I know it in my bones.” 

“Really? What makes you so sure?” Metatron questioned. “You just said he never spoke about it.”

“I’ve been on this earth far too long not to know when one longs for another,” Bessie stated, “and in my quest to show Castiel the finer joys in life, my wife and I took him to certain gatherings.”

“Gatherings?”

“Orgies, sweetheart. Sex parties, too,” Metatron knew precisely what the demon was referring to but let her ramble on so the others would catch on. “Where various types of people come together to well… cum together. You know, have sex with multiple people at once?” 

More outcries spilled from the gallery.

“Ah, yes,” Metatron said with a triumphant twinkle in his eyes.

Cas shrunk further into his seat as he heard his brethren cry in disgust, “Philanderer!”

Bessie stood up, gripping the witness stand, “But he thought of Dean always! He was never happy lying with so many people; none of them could assuage the longing in his heart. Not even me. I know,” Her eyes found Marion’s, “because I know what it’s like to love someone from afar, to carry them in your heart when you fear they can’t love you back.” 

Metatron cleared his throat. “I have no further questions for this demon.” 

“Good,” Marion stood up, “cuz I do.” Metatron was taken aback. “What, I don’t get to cross-examine this witness?” 

“I’ll allow it,” Michael sat back, hands folded as he watched Marion approach her redheaded sweetheart as the gallery started to calm down. 

“I want you to elaborate on what you just said – you know what it’s like to love someone from afar, and that's what informed your assumption that Castiel had feelings for someone else.” 

“You and I, my love,” Bessie stated firmly, her eyes misty with something akin to sorrow. “You and I. When we met, it was at the lowest point of my life. You saved me when no one else would. You were the best thing that ever happened to me,” Bessie smiled at her longtime lover, “I was so overcome I fell in love with you without hesitation,” Her smile faded, “But by the time we had met, you had someone in your heart, and you decided you couldn’t be with him. You lived and fought hard to put the past behind you, but I knew then, like I know now, that no one could ever replace him. That’s how I know because it’s the same for Castiel. No matter how far apart they are or how badly they hurt one another, Dean and Castiel can never let go of each other simply because they don’t want to. I don’t think that’s ever going to change.”

Dean couldn’t bring himself to look at the former angel as he felt the eyes of the room shifting onto him. He prayed that Sam wouldn’t bring this up later because he felt like he wanted to scream. Love? What the hell was everyone talking about? Didn’t they just hash out the fact that Cas was running around having a summer of love, fucking demons, going to orgies, and who knows what else? 

“No further questions,” Marion nodded.

Hearing it said so plainly rattled Castiel to his core. He wondered what Dean must be thinking right now. Was he embarrassed? Ashamed? At least Bessie hadn’t disclosed his shared night with Dean. But this trial had just begun. Who knew what else would come to light from Metatron’s intrusive and callous questioning?

“You can leave the stand now,” Michael prompted the red-headed demon. Bessie got up and walked towards Dean, who grumbled as he had to scooch over to let her sit down.

“Next witness,” Michael called. 

“Marion Winchester,” Metatron decided. Marion raised her eyebrows. 

“Irregular, but fuck it,” the demon shrugged. “I got nothing to hide,” Marion strutted over to take the witness stand. She felt the same force Bessie did. 

“Ah, Marion Winchester,” The Scribe regarded her with an arrogant smirk. “the demon that should’ve never existed in the first place.” 

“Metatron, the glorified secretary that should've stayed in his bitch ass lane,” Marion replied sassily. “What’s good?”

Metatron bristled but persisted, “When did you come to meet Dean Winchester?” 

Marion thought it over, “About five years ago.”

“What did you think of him?”

“I thought he was a young man burdened with tragic purpose.” Marion answered, taking both Sam and Dean aback, “Someone who got less than he deserved.”

Even Metatron wasn’t expecting that. He faltered briefly, expecting Marioon to burst into flames, but the fire never arrived to claim the demon.

“What? I told the truth. You don’t have any more questions?” Marion snapped.

Metatron grimaced but pressed on, “And what about Castiel?” 

Marion smiled fondly. “I thought he was a sexy motherfucker both cuz of that bangin’ body but also because of his…compassion. Yeah, his compassion.” 

“For mankind?” 

“Sure,” Marion reneged, “but I think a certain someone is responsible for that.” 

“A certain someone?” Metatron pried. 

Marion rolled her eyes. “Dean Winchester. Who else?” 

Metatron’s arrogance returned. “And why Dean Winchester?” 

“Maybe he imprinted on the angel when he got busted outta hell; how the fuck should I know?” Marion said with impatience. 

“What makes you say Dean Winchester is why Castiel is so compassionate?” Metatron rephrased. 

“He loves him, I think. I guess – I strongly believe,” Marion groaned. Metatron grinned. “You already got this from Bessie. I don't see what that’s got to do with me?” 

“Have you not yourself implied on various occasions that what Dean and Castiel share is more than an alliance or friendship?” Metatron inquired. 

“How do you –” But Marion presumed that Metatron had been thorough in his reconnaissance. Marion may not have been written into the Winchester Gospels, but she had been around the infamous hunters enough to have been seen amongst them. Who knows what Metatron might’ve learned about her? All aside, the force of truth burned within her being, compelling her to honesty. “Yes, I have.” 

“And what would make you imply such a relationship between them?” 

Marion looked at both Dean and Cas. She sighed. “Really?”

Metatron prodded with a nod. 

“The way they look at each other,” Marion answered.

“How do they look at each other?” Metatron pressed. 

Marion exhaled, rolling her eyes. “Like...they share a secret they know, but neither can say aloud. Like they…care about each other in a way they’re both ashamed of.”

“Have they looked at each other that way since you met them?” 

“Pretty much.” 

“Would you characterize their relationship as intense?” 

“Yes.”

“Had this occurred before Castiel’s fateful decision to defy Heaven?” Metatron inquired. 

Marion gritted her teeth, her eyes looking regretful as she glanced at Castiel. “As far as I know,” Metatron bounced with smug satisfaction. 

“But you know what else?” Marion added. “That wasn’t an easy decision for Cas to make. He argued with Dean in support of your precious apocalypse plan! And how would that shit have ended again? Oh right, fire and brimstone with billions dead with a capital B. But how dare Dean Winchester defy y’all and save countless lives, fight to keep families whole and children safe in their beds. What a fuckin' piece of shit.” The demon hissed acrimoniously.

Dean blinked back in a stupor. Dare he believe his ears? Marion had been defending him, of all people. Was this because of the soul bond? Could it be influencing how Marion thought of the hunter? Would the same happen to Dean in time?

Marion huffed, “Am I done?”

Metatron narrowed his eyes. “Sure.” He retreated to his table. 

“Good,” Marion stood up, “I’d tell you to kiss my ass, but you ain’t worthy of a taste of this.” She smacked her ass as she prepared to strut her back to the defense table.

“Wait.” Sam stopped the demon. “I want to cross-examine her.” He said to Michael. The archangel gestured for the younger Winchester to proceed. 

“This oughta be good.” Marion returned to the stand.

Sam cleared his throat. 

“At the end there, you brought up Castiel’s shift in allegiance,” Sam stated. 

“Yeah, I did,” Marion affirmed. “What of it?” 

“Do you think Castiel enjoyed his decision?” 

“No. He was greatly aggrieved by it,” Marion said. 

“When Cas ended up in Purgatory, did he want to leave?”

“Nope,” Marion answered. “He wanted to stay and suffer for his sins forever.” Some of the angels in the gallery bore expressions of surprise. It was clear that wasn’t common knowledge yet. 

Sam nodded. “Yes, he did. Remind me, why did Castiel fight against Raphael and become God in the first place?” 

“Because Raphael was planning to jumpstart the apocalypse again even though it had already been averted once. Castiel thought if he took in enough souls from Purgatory, he’d rival Raphael in strength and lead Heaven in a new direction,” Marion said. 

“And why did Cas fight to stop the apocalypse a second time?” 

“If I recall, it was to spare Dean the task of killing you,” Marion replied, “aside from saving the world all over again.” 

“When the Leviathans got free, wasn’t Castiel the one who helped kill their leader?” 

Marion nodded, “Yup. That’s how he ended up in Purgatory.” 

“Alright, I have no further questions.” Marion stood up to follow Sam back to their table, but Metatron shot up from his seat. “When Castiel entered his so-called godhood, what did he do?” 

Marion plopped back down onto the witness stand. “He killed dozens of racists, blasphemers, and false prophets who used the name of God for ill,” Marion stated matter-of-factly. 

“But humans weren’t his only victims, were they?” Metatron pried, his eyes twinkling with mischievous glee. 

Marion sucked her teeth, “No.”

“He killed angels, didn’t he?” 

“Yes, dumbass, why else would he be so overcome with guilt and stay in Purgatory?” Marion frowned. “To this day, he’s carrying that shit. When he was livin’ with me, I had to hear him scream over it ever since he was mortal. When he goes to sleep, he doesn’t dream. He has nightmares of his regrets. He’s been fighting as hard as he can to make it right. To help the brethren you condemned when you kicked them all out of –”

“No further questions,” Metatron interrupted, “I call Sam Winchester to the stand.” 

Sam traded places with Marion. He was next to feel the overwhelming power surge throughout his body, compelling his honesty. 

“Sam, when did you first meet Castiel?” Metatron asked. 

“About five years ago,” Sam sighed, wondering where Metatron would go with this.

“What did you think of him?” 

“I thought he was pretty cool,” Sam confessed. As he sat upon the witness stand, he understood that honesty was indeed a choice, but when indulging in it, you’re found to spill everything as you think it in your mind. It was like a confessional, but you get to have the audience watching you in real-time without a shred of hesitation or embarrassment. “A little stiff and naive, but he seemed different from the other angels. Like he really cared about us humans. It was…comforting.” 

Metatron rolled his eyes once more. “Surely it wasn’t a comfort when you discovered his betrayal.” He said, bringing up Castiel’s tenuous alliance with Crowley and their quest to gather the Purgatory souls. 

“No, it wasn’t,” Sam admitted. “But I know he wouldn’t go so far unless he thought there was no other choice to stop Raphael, which, in case you forgot, was the whole reason Cas did what he did.” 

“You mean to start a civil war, kill countless angels, consume millions of souls, and set loose Leviathans on the Earth?” Metatron brought up. 

“Yeah,” Sam frowned. “But he’s sorry for all he’s done wrong. For all the harm he caused. He’s genuinely remorseful. Can you say the same Metatron?” He challenged. “Do you feel sorry about the bad things you've done? Say what you want about Cas, but he was trying to make things better and save the world. All you’ve ever done is serve yourself!” 

The angels in the gallery spoke in hushed whispers in response to Sam’s allegations. Marion gave Sam a smirk of pride while Michael glared daggers at the Scribe. Castiel regarded Sam with a mixture of gratitude and tenderness. He had no idea Sam thought of him so dearly. He was a true friend. 

Dean was also grateful for what Sam said. The elder Winchester couldn’t have said it better himself. But Dean was well aware that soon enough, it would be his turn to get up on that damn stand and get to speaking truths he was nowhere near ready to say aloud. 

Damn uppity angel son of a bitch, Dean thought to himself as he touched the Mark that lay hidden under his clothes. 

Metatron suppressed a growl. “No further questions.” 

Marion approached Sam next. “You said Cas was a comfort? Could you speak more to that?” 

“Sure, um…I chose the word comfort because for so long, my brother and I -- it always felt like it was us against the world, you know? In the trenches, taking on all these monsters who were more than ready to kill us. We tend to walk away and live to talk about all the monsters we faced, but every so often, it gets too close for comfort, and we’ve actually died, which is never fun…” Sam shifted uncomfortably. “Anyway, the fact that angels were real and Cas was willing to help us made facing all those monsters a little easier and the stakes a little lighter. It helped to know Cas was there but, most importantly – what he means to Dean.” 

Dean’s eyes shot up to Sam. Ah shit, he wondered, why was everything going back to him and Cas?

“I’m not blind. I’ve noticed the staring and the” Sam cleared his throat “tension whenever those two are in the same room, but…it’s in the times that Cas isn’t there, when he’s gone, that Castiel’s impact on our lives really shows. The world gets darker, things get bleak, and Dean just gets…hopeless. Like nothing will ever get better, no matter how hard we try. But when Cas returns, the hope returns and the light comes back into my brother’s eyes. When that happens, regardless of what obstacles lie ahead, it can all be overcome because we’re all together.”

Marion nodded. “Okay. No further questions.” 

Then came Castiel’s turn. Cas stood up and was astonished at how solid his limbs remained to be. Inside, he felt like he wanted to scream, run, and hide away from all the eyes that followed his form as he trudged his way over to the witness stand. Sam tried to give him a reassuring gaze as they passed each other, but nothing could quell the anxiety rushing through Castiel’s veins. It siphoned all the strength of will Cas had not to collapse under the weight of the ruthless humiliation that lay in wait for him at Metatron’s hands. There was no way the Scribe would pass up such an opportunity to make Cas suffer further.

And in the next question Metatron would utter, Cas was proven right.

“Castiel, please tell us, have you had carnal relations with Dean Winchester?” Metatron asked. 

Castiel balked in shock. Dean’s body froze in panic. Oh shit, they thought simultaneously. Marion grimaced, and Bessie looked down on the floor, trying to contain her smile. Sam was confused, thinking, Where the fuck did that question come from? He turned to Marion, and she shrugged. He then turned to Dean but his brother wouldn’t meet his eyes. 

“Did you not hear me?” Metatron remarked. “I asked–”

”I heard what you asked.” Castiel said hotly. “What are you playing at?” 

“The game of truth, Castiel,” Metatron smirked. “Now answer the question.” 

Castiel shut his eyes. “Yes,” he admitted so stiffly it came out as an unintelligible mumble. 

“What? I’m sorry. Can we get that statement in a complete sentence?” Metatron requested, feigning innocence, but only gleeful maliciousness shone in his beady eyes. “I couldn’t quite understand you.” 

“Yes,” Castiel scowled as he spoke louder, his voice echoing across the spacious courtroom. “I have had relations with Dean Winchester. Recently.” 

Sam’s eyebrows went so high they were at risk of disappearing into his hairline — not an easy feat as his jaw fell to the floor. He tried to face Dean again, but Dean sank into his seat, trying to hide from everyone's watchful eyes in the courtroom.

“To be unmistakably clear, those relations were of a sexual nature, correct?” Metatron persisted. 

“Yes,” Castiel hissed vehemently. He would give everything just to be able to smite this foul, haughty Scribe out of existence. 

”Was this something initiated by Dean Winchester, your charge? Did he promise you these sexual favors on the condition you would serve him and his wishes and abandon Heaven?” 

“No!” Cas responded without hesitation. “He never promised any such things at any point whatsoever!” 

“Did he promise you anything at all in return for your loyalty at any point since you rescued and restored him five years ago?” Metatron questioned. 

“No!” 

“Then help me understand,” Metatron said, “as far as I know, you used to be a good, obedient angel. A faithful warrior, always ready to serve his God no matter the task, yes?” 

Castiel exhaled, “No,” he replied. “I cannot remember all the instances due to Naomi’s tampering with my memory, but there were occasions when I wasn’t willing to obey God’s word. The slaughter of the firstborns in the age of Moses is one prime example.” 

“I see,” Metatron noted as if he actually gave a damn. “So you just defected from Heaven because you thought Heaven was unfair?” 

“Ultimately, yes,” Cas said. “But I wasn’t the first angel to defect from Heaven’s wishes. Ultimately, Uriel was interested in serving Hell and Lucifer to ensure his rise to Earth. I, on the other hand, couldn’t see the benefit of killing billions of innocents.” 

“Did you come to this conclusion on your own, or did Dean Winchester make this argument to you five years ago?” Metatron dramatically pointed his forefinger directly at the hunter in question. 

Cas inhaled, “Dean did happen to point out the potential human loss should the apocalypse be allowed to occur. What of it?” 

“Is it fair to say if Dean hadn’t begged you to side with him against the apocalypse, you wouldn’t have disobeyed your orders?” Metatron suggested. 

Cas thought it over. He could recall their argument as if it had happened yesterday. It hadn't even been a whole fortnight after he'd been released from Heaven's custody when his wife and daughter had seen the last of Jimmy Novak. Then Cas would cross paths with Dean again, who was overwhelmed at the fall that Sam was experiencing, more addicted to demon blood than ever before, willing to forsake everything for the demon Ruby and their alliance to destroy Lilith

“What is so worth saving?” Castiel had asked desperately. “I have seen nothing but pain since I returned to Earth. I see inside you, Dean — your guilt, your anger, your confusion. In paradise, all is forgiven. You would be at peace, Dean! Even with Sam.”

Dean put a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, “You can take your peace,” Dean looked him dead in the eyes, “and shove it up your lily white ass. ‘Cause I’ll take the pain and the guilt, and Sam, fucked up as he is.” 

Castiel took in Dean’s words, “You were gonna help us, weren’t you? That’s what you were trying to do; warn me before they dragged you back to bible camp. Help me, please.”

“I…I don’t know.” Castiel admitted. 

“I remind you, you’re under oath,” Metatron stated. 

“And if I were lying, I would be burning right now!” Castiel shouted out of patience.

Metatron smiled, satisfied with how he provoked Castiel. “Would you say you are in love with Dean Winchester? Why else would you be so willing to betray Heaven and walk away from everything and everyone you ever knew if you didn’t feel profound affection for this one man? Why would you lead an army and incite a rebellion? Why would you compromise your very existence time and again, just for Dean’s sake, if you didn’t feel love for him?” 

Castiel said nothing, ice forming in his veins. 

Dean’s eyes went up to the former angel against his better judgment. He also deliberated if he could manage to kill Metatron on the spot, but he was certain Michael wouldn’t give him the chance.

Castiel felt the same mounting urge to destroy this dastardly Scribe, but he had no power to do so. It was incredibly infuriating and one of the few times Cas genuinely resented this experience known as humanity. 

“Answer the question, Castiel,” Michael said this time. 

Blue eyes found green in the courtroom.

This wasn’t how Cas wanted to say it – about any of the feelings that burned away deep inside. He wasn’t even sure about the depth of his feelings.  It was like painting a portrait, but Cas hadn’t quite got the facial features figured out. Cas had fought so long against merely entertaining the thoughts, let alone accepting what it was that drove him since his defection years ago. To be forced to divulge these raw emotions that churned within Castiel’s being was cruel and embarrassing, and have it be heard by all the individuals, many of whom wouldn’t be willing to understand or appreciate Castiel’s sentiments... 

He was going to destroy Metatron.

But Cas couldn't lie on the stand; he couldn't even risk it. So Cas shut his eyes once more and listened to the force inside him that had guided his decision-making and actions over the past five years. He surrendered to the power of honesty to propel him forward.

“Yes,” Cas said eventually. “Yes, I am in love with Dean Winchester.” Dean’s eyes widened in astonishment as the courtroom became a maelstrom of whispers. “And to be clear, it’s not a result of some seduction on Dean’s part, nor does it have any transactional basis.” 

When Castiel first laid a hand on you, he was lost! His fallen sister Hester once said. 

“I simply care.” Castiel shrugged. “I care for this human man, Dean Winchester. Maybe I’m not supposed to, given the nature of what I am or was. Maybe it’s blasphemy, maybe it’s inappropriate and wrong, but I feel... I feel a profound love.” He nodded as the words began to flow out of the deepest parts of his being, things neither Metatron, Naomi, or God Himself could rip away from Castiel. “Dean isn’t perfect. He’s belligerent, alcoholic, angry, and a dozen other things that aren’t healthy, positive, or beneficial. But he’s also the first person in a room ready and willing to protect everyone else at the slightest hint of danger, for people who are complete strangers. He’s proven that time and again. Dean's a man who’s been denied so much in his years, who’s struggled every day of his life…and death…but doesn’t let adversity defeat him. He’s a fierce friend and a fiercer brother. He is a loving son who never forgets his family. He loves deeply and is tenacious to a fault. He can do so much good when everything in his life pushes him to be bad. Even the fires and demons of Hell couldn’t corrupt the purity of his immortal soul.” 

Dean couldn’t hear this. Cas was off his rocker. But if he were lying, he apparently would be bursting into flames. So the hunter had no choice but to take the words he was hearing as the truth — Castiel’s truth. 

“But the core of it is,” Cas continued, “that Dean has been taught throughout his life that he doesn’t matter. Dean doesn’t burden anyone with his problems or his suffering. But I want to prove him wrong. I want him to understand that he does matter, at least to me. That if no one else is willing, I would take care of him. I would shoulder all of his burdens until I no longer exist. As for my defection, it wasn’t just about Dean. To me, he was right. It wasn’t fair to subject billions of lives to death. Humans are flawed, to be sure. Dean is no exception to that. But they’re resilient, they’re brave, they love and they love to be loved. They cherish, and they hope, and they fight for what matters to them. I can’t help admiring that, and I can’t believe that I’m the only one in the celestial race who could possibly appreciate humans for who they are and who they can be.”

The words echoed in his mind.

Dean wanted to leave. He had to go. He couldn’t keep listening to this. 

He stood up in a panic, intent on heading for the door. Castiel looked on sadly.

“What are you doing?” Marion hissed at the hunter.

“I gotta get outta here!” Dean urged her.

“You can’t leave dumbass!” Marion responded. 

“Why the fuck not!” Dean shouted beside himself. “They have Cas on the stand right now talking all kinds of shit. I do not need to be here.” 

“What seems to be the problem?” Michael appeared behind the elder Winchester. It took everything Dean had not to jump out of his skin.

“I need to get the fuck outta here. You clearly don’t need me.” Dean said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Michael replied sternly. “Why else would you be here if not to testify?”

”What, his testimony ain’t good enough?” Dean retorted tersely, pointing at Cas.

“No, it is not,” Michael stated firmly. “Not until we get the full picture. Now, sit down and wait your turn. Or should I go ahead and remove your legs?”

”Dean,” Sam beckoned but looked at his brother oddly, “just sit down.” 

“Please,” Marion shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

Dean stared Michael down but eventually abated and slammed his butt onto his seat, causing Bessie to move away from him in an annoyed huff.

Michael appeared back in his judge’s seat. “Alright. Any further questions?” He asked Metatron. 

“No,” Metatron said as he returned to his table. 

Michael turned expectantly to Marion, who approached Cas from her side of the courtroom.

”Hey,” Marion greeted. 

“Hello,” Cas gave her a small smile. She couldn’t delay proceedings, but Cas knew that the demon wanted to check on him after what Metatron dragged out of him. Ironic that a demon could be kinder than an angel. 

“So you were saying some junk about how precious and amazing humanity is?” Marion remarked. 

“It’s not junk, and you know it,” Cas urged his friend. 

“Right,” Marion said. “Leave it to an angel to see the best when a demon sees the worst, but unfortunately, it seems you’re the only one in that regard.” 

“I’m not an angel anymore,” Cas reminded her. “I’ve yet to regain my grace after Metatron stole it by force.”

”True enough,” Marion gave him a warm smile. “So I wanted to open the floor for you: if there’s anything you could say to your former brethren, what would it be?” Marion raised her eyebrows at Cas, who nodded in return. 

“I would apologize to my angel kin. I know I’ve made devastating mistakes. I know I’ve hurt you and I’ve disappointed you, and for that, I am truly sorry. I was trying to keep the humans alive, but I never intended it to be at the expense of your lives, my brothers and sisters. I wish…that there was more communication between our species and between our worlds. For so long, we’ve treated men like they were no more than cattle, but I can’t help but wonder what would come out of working with them, as crazy as that sounds. Many of you have grievances about their capacity for sin and evil. But for all the war, hate, and greed they engage in, they are capable of great kindness, innocence, and beauty. What if we guided them as shepherds to sheep? Show them how to be the best version of themselves and work together not just to save humanity altogether but the world. Perhaps it would be better not just for the humans but for us all to work in peace.”

Not all of the angels were particularly receptive to Castiel’s ideals, but some reflected on his word. It was certainly something that hadn’t been done before. Metatron observed his kin. Even Michael, the eldest and hardened of them all, took Castiel’s words to heart. Metatron was losing them.

“No further questions,” Marion returned to the bench.

”Dean Winchester,” Michael beckoned the hunter. “It’s your turn now.”

Dean looked up at the stand, cursing everything and everyone for being put in such a position. “Shit!” He whispered. As he stood up, Marion grabbed him. 

“Be honest, pendejo.” Dean wrenched his arm from the demon and proceeded towards the stand against every fiber of his being screaming otherwise. 

Metatron looked at Dean how a frog would look at a fly, ready to tear the human a new one. Dean wanted to cut the smirk off Metatron’s stupid, ugly face. But it was funny — the Mark was oddly quiet for a change. He wasn’t sure why but because of this damn trial, he couldn’t even enjoy the reprieve from the malevolent force. 

“Dean Winchester, what did you think of Castiel when you first met him?” 

Upon hearing the question, before Dean could begin to form the words with his mouth, he felt the force churn within his body—the overwhelming compulsion to tell the truth no matter the consequences. 

Did Dean want his body to burn? No, of course not. But he didn’t want to be honest. Who the fuck were these angels to ask him anything? After all they put him through? They wanted Dean to kill Sam. Fuck these feathery assholes. They deserved shit.

”Dean,” Michael said sternly. “Answer him.” 

Dean was caught in a tug-of-war in his body, having to choose between telling the truth and refusing to comply, which made his stomach physically sick.

Fine, they wanted the truth. Let’s see how they handle it.

Dean let out the breath he’d been holding onto and the words brimming inside.

”At first, I thought he was lying about what he was. Some angel comin’ down to rescue me from Hell? Nah, that sounded too good to be true. And I was right. I was only saved to butcher the only family I had left in the world.” Dean said. 

“So to avoid fulfilling your destiny, you went to Castiel and asked him to help you stop what was prophesied to pass, the fall of your brother to Lucifer?” 

“Yeah, but I didn’t whore myself out to him like you suggested, you dickless bitch.” Dean spat. 

Metatron bristled. “He didn’t promise you anything in return?” 

“No, he didn’t. He helped me because it was the right thing to do. The good thing, something you wouldn’t know anything about, you selfish uppity cunt!” His insults echoed across the room. 

“Are you going to do anything about his attitude?” Metatron turned to Michael.

Michael looked between the incensed Dean and Metatron calmly. “I see nothing wrong with his demeanor. Proceed.” 

Metatron asked next, “When did your perception of Castiel change? The way you were speaking suggests that you didn’t trust him upon your first meeting.”

Dean thought it over. When did Cas shift from a foreign creature to an uncertain ally to a friend Dean found himself counting on?

“He started talking about havin’ doubts…about God. Somethin’ about the way he said it felt sincere, and, honestly, I appreciated that. He seemed to give a shit about us lowly human folk even if the rest of you dicks clearly didn’t. I asked for his help, and he helped. Not much deeper than that.” Dean said. 

“But you wound up sleeping with him,” Metatron brought up. “Surely it got deeper at some point.” 

Dean clenched his jaw so hard he was surprised nothing snapped. “I fucked him just this past year. The shit that happened years ago had nothin’ to do with that, you son of a bitch.”

”Then why?” Metatron prodded. “Why would you sleep with Castiel if he was nothing but a useful ally?” 

The words just jumbled out of his mouth. Dean felt powerless in the face of the truth. He always had. That’s why he always found himself running away from it, hiding under the safety of lies to redress his reality. 

“I slept with Cas because I was lonely!” Dean admitted, fighting not to stutter or tremble over his words. “I only got one brother left outta my whole family, and he fuckin’ hates me, all because I made a decision he can’t forgive! And I can’t handle it because I hate myself as much as he does! So I took on the Mark of Cain to take down Abaddon and redeem myself somehow cuz I don’t got anything left to lose! I know there ain’t much good in me. I lie, steal, break hearts, and let people down. So I don’t know what the fuck Cas was talkin’ about. I try every day to use what I know and what I can do to get through the days as best I can. I’m at my best when I’m takin’ care of my brother, but if my brother’s not around, I’m nothin’ but a lowdown piece of shit fightin’ monstrous pieces of bigger shit. Cas…bless the poor bastard, he sees somethin’ in me that no one else can. It’s bullshit, but damn if it doesn’t feel good. I’ve had a lousy fuckin’ year. Hell, I’ve had a lousy fuckin’ life, so I take comfort where I can get it. Don’t you dare fuckin’ judge me for that, you sons of bitches. You judge us for our sins, but we’re humans! What’s your excuse?!”

The angels looked at Dean sadly. Some of them, anyway. Many were taken aback at the hunter’s words when Metatron chose to ask another question.

“Do you love him?”

Dean did a double take, all the anger and resentment seeping out of his body, “What?”

”It’s not a trick question,” Metatron said. “Are you in love with Castiel?”

Dean’s throat shut down. All the eyes in the room went to Dean, but there was only one set that put the hunter on edge. Cas looked to Dean like everyone else but bore a look of sadness, a silent apology that shone upon Castiel’s handsome face. 

“What does that matter?” Dean stammered harshly. 

“Oh, it matters,” Metatron said devilishly, “Perhaps your reciprocation of his affection for you pushed Castiel to commit all his atrocities against Angelkind.” 

“Fuck you.” Dean snapped. 

“Touchy,” Metatron’s eyes shone gleefully. “But that’s not an answer to my question. Do you need me to repeat it?” 

Dean couldn’t bring himself to avoid Castiel’s eyes. Green eyes gazed at blue. 

“Do you love him?” Metatron echoed.

Dean said finally, “I…..” 

Marion raised her eyebrows, waiting in suspense like everyone else. Sam held his breath to see what his brother would say. Bessie was on the edge of her seat. Cas felt like he was suspended in midair, breath escaping his lungs, pulse throbbing. He couldn’t recall another moment where he felt so nervous. 

Dean shut his eyes. “No.”

Cas wasn’t surprised, he told himself. Why would he be? He couldn’t have imagined to expect otherwise. 

“But…” Dean shook his head. “Cas is kind in a way I never expected. He’s naive despite being like a million years old. He’s badass sometimes, only sometimes, but has no self-preservation at all, which is pretty crazy, stupid, and reckless.” Green eyes found blue as Cas finally dared to look upon Dean again. “I admire him for the odd little dork he is. The way he’s fought for me,” Dean shook his head. “No one, and I do mean no one, except for Bobby, has ever done that for me and given up so much in the process for basically nothing in return. I care about him in ways I can never say aloud. When Cas has died, I…Sam was right, the world gets darker. It’s hard to live knowing that he’s gone when he’s only ever died for my sake. I set him on this path, begged him to break team when he probably shouldn’t have, at least for his own sake.” Tears started to form in Dean’s eyes, but his mouth couldn’t stop moving. “And what do I do in return? I treat him like crap, talk down to him, never say thank you.” Dean chuckled sadly. “It’s like I’m pushin’ him to leave, but he just keeps comin’ back cuz deep down he knows I don’t want him to. But I can’t say it. I’m too scared cuz everyone always leaves me one way or the other. It’s not that I don’t hope Cas will come back. It’s the fear that someday Cas can’t come back, and he’ll be gone forever, just like the rest. And when that day comes, I will have lost the one guy who gave up everything just to help me, especially when I didn’t deserve his help.”

Dean had once gone on a hunting streak that lasted three days straight without a minute of rest. He’d been twenty years old and keeled over the second his body touched the bed. He slept for almost a full twenty-four hours, but the emptiness of his stomach roused him from slumber. And still, it wasn’t half as exhaustive as this dreadful conversation.

“No further questions.” Metatron went to his table. 

Marion stood up, but Sam halted her. Without verbally requesting so, Marion sat back down, letting Sam go up and approach his brother at the witness stand. 

“Hey,” Sam said to his brother hesitantly. He learned about Dean today, but far more than he knew his brother was comfortable with.

“Hi,” Dean said awkwardly. “Guess you can finally make me talk about my damn feelings just like you always wanted.”

Sam shrugged, shuffling on his large feet as he faced his brother. “Could you tell me why you said you hate yourself?”

”Are you serious?” Dean raised his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, Dean, I am.” Sam implored. 

Dean chuckled bitterly. “Okay…I hate myself because,” He snorted. “I agree with every bad thing everyone has ever said about me. Including you, by the way.” 

Sam frowned, sorrowful eyes shimmering with guilt. 

“I hate myself because I can’t forget the way my father used to look at me sometimes. Like I was a thing instead of a person. Because of how unworthy I feel to be his son even though he’s long dead. I hate myself for all the people I failed to save. For how badly I handled taking care of you sometimes. For how bad I made you feel about yourself.” 

Sam scoffed, shaking his head. Would Dean ever learn? He wondered. Would he? “Ever think you’re too hard on yourself?”

”Nah,” Dean said. “Not hard enough on myself, to be honest.”

Sam gave him a mournful look. “What about Cas?” 

Dean looked at him confusedly. “What do you mean?” 

“I know I’ve been hard on you; our dad certainly was. But Cas? Cas always believes in you. He’s always willing to fight for you, as you pointed out, despite great personal cost. Shouldn’t that tell you that you’re not so bad?”

Dean shrugged. “I guess.”

”And you know, you shouldn’t take people’s words to heart. Most of the time, they don’t know what they’re talking about,” Sam said, flush with emotion. “Sometimes, they don’t mean what they say.” 

Dean nodded, unable to meet his brother’s eyes. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.”

”And I don’t hate you, jerk.” Sam said to his brother. 

“Okay, okay, I love you too, bitch,” Dean said, skin stretching as the elder Winchester smiled for the first time in weeks.

”If there are no further questions,” Michael interjected, “you can go back to your seat, Sam.” Sam nodded, giving one final encouraging glance at his brother before heading back to Marion.

”Dean, you can return to your seat as well.” The hunter did so.

Marion stood up from her seat, addressing the archangel. “If I may, there’s one final witness. Someone important enough to adequately attest to Castiel’s character and Metatron’s too.” 

Metatron was taken aback, as he had no one else to call to the stand. Michael was intrigued instead of irked. 

“And who would that be?” 

“Naomi,” and the angel entered the room to a loud wave of gasps from the gallery. Metatron stood up in total shock, as did Castiel, as the notorious angel approached the bench. 

“I thought she was dead,” Dean whispered to Sam and Cas. 

“She was,” Cas asserted. 

“You think you’re the only one who gets to come back from the dead?” Naomi said in response. Her hair had changed from the brown locks of her prior vessel to a blonde so light it was practically ecru. She still had on the same crisp grey suit. 

“Here I am,” Naomi brusquely stated to Marion, “as promised.” She fiddled with her blazer. “Get on with it.” 

Marion walked over to Naomi, who now sat on the witness stand. "Metatron brought up Castiel’s rebellious ways."

“Did he?” Naomi quirked up a belligerent arch in her eyebrow as her eyes fixated on Metatron, who still sat, floored by Naomi’s emergence. 

“Cas himself confirmed that he wasn’t always so yielding to Heaven’s will and command. What can you say about that?” Marion asked the angel.

“It’s true. Castiel was usually a perfectly obedient angel, ready to strike whenever Heaven deemed necessary. But every so often, at least once an age, Castiel would make a fuss about the innocent casualties to the point it became a hindrance,” Naomi stated.

“And what would be done about that?” 

Naomi exhaled a breath as her eyes drifted to the scores of angels sitting in the gallery. “We would round him up and…re-educate him in his commitment to the true mission.”

“How many times would you need to re-educate Castiel?”

“Two dozen times,” Naomi answered. Cas balled up his fists so tightly that the bones in his fingers were cracking. “But he wasn’t the only one. Not many, mind you, but I suppose the rest of you abided out of fear if not loyalty. I will say, though, Castiel was many things but never a coward.” Murmurs echoed in the gallery, and Castiel’s fists softened somewhat. “But Metatron certainly is one.” Everyone’s focus shifted to the Scribe, “For what else can you call an angel who hides away for thousands of years at a time, wasting his days on nothing else but stories,” Naomi shook her head disapprovingly. “While the rest of us toiled day and night for millennia caring for all of God’s creation.”

Metatron could feel all the judgmental gazes of the angels in the gallery—pathetic sheep.

Marion couldn’t contain the smirk that shone through her lips before continuing. “So, given Castiel’s actions throughout the ages, did you ever consider he may have had a point?” 

Naomi glowered. “That hardly justifies the slaughter of angels.” 

“But the slaughter of humans is okay?”

“No,” Naomi exhaled. “We were trying to maintain order.” 

“How’s that worked out for you?” 

“Unwell. Perhaps we went about things the wrong way,” Naomi noted. “But dwindling our numbers doesn’t help anyone. Every loss among our celestial race puts everyone at risk, for if angels go extinct, Heaven falls, and all the souls in heaven, which number over 40 billion, fall to Earth as confused, paranoid ghosts.” 

A hush washed over the gallery as most of the angels bore grim expressions. Sam and Dean looked at Cas when Naomi said those words. 

“Tell me she’s lyin’,” Dean urged the former angel. 

Cas frowned. “She’s not.”

“Then perhaps you should try harder to work with the humans instead of against them,” Marion said. The statement left Naomi in pensive thought, as did several angels in the gallery. 

“Got one more question for you,” Marion said. “The Fall. What can you tell me about that?” 

Naomi’s eyes went to Metatron again, becoming hard as steel. “He caused it.” She pointed a finger directly at the Scribe. “He wanted to punish us, all us angels, after God disappeared. I don’t know what he said to Castiel, but he was deceived. And I underestimated Metatron and his capacity for cruelty. I have done questionable things in the service of Heaven. Crossed lines that perhaps should’ve been left uncrossed. But I did it in the interest of maintaining the Earth. What Metatron has done…” Naomi shook her head. “That serves no one but himself. He told me what he was going to do. Ascend and call himself Lord. He doesn’t think much of any of us and resents us. However much he hates angels, he reviles mankind. I believe he plans to kill them all after he gets what he wants from them.”

“And what about Castiel’s role in all this? Was he responsible for the Fall, too? Did he help Metatron?” Marion questioned.

“No,” Naomi stated. “Castiel is guilty of many things, but the Fall is not one of them. In this specific case, he is as much a victim as the rest of us.”

“Okay,” Marion nodded. “No further questions.” Metatron fumed at the bureaucratic angel who sat on the witness stand. He could try questioning her, but given what she’s said, it was clear where the hammer of justice would fall today.

“Alright. I think I’ve decided who deserves punishment.” Michael stepped down from the judge’s bench. Metatron, Castiel, approach me.” Both did so.

“Castiel, it is fair to say that your decision to stand against Heaven had bred great chaos that has vastly reduced our numbers, led to numerous casualties, and bred opportunities for further destruction to ensue,” Michael stated in an echoing voice.

Castiel steeled himself for judgment as the Winchesters, and Bessie looked on anxiously. “But I cannot ignore the reasons which drove you to commit your transgressions. You always acted in the interests of humans, for better or worse.” Michael’s eyes shifted to Dean. “Through your interventions alone, humanity owes you a debt for your sacrifices, for they still live relatively safe and unharmed.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows in surprise. Metatron scowled. No one was expecting such acknowledgment from the militant archangel Michael.

Michael gave the former seraph the once over. “Given your current state and how much you’ve lost, I believe your atonement is genuine, and if you are determined to make amends to your brethren and continue to demonstrate your repentance without fail, I will not smite you.”

”What?” Metatron snarled. “You won’t kill him?” 

“No,” Michael said unapologetically, “for what Castiel has done, even his most egregious sins, were done for love and compassion. You, on the other hand, committed your deeds out of spite and envy. Do not think that I did not see what you were doing when you insisted we hold this trial. You tried to paint Dean and Castiel, as well as their allies, in the most unfavorable way possible. You continuously tried to manipulate all your kin after forcefully banishing them from their home.” Michael shook his head derisively at Metatron. “I tried to give you one final chance at redemption, Metatron, and you refused to take it, clinging to your misguided sense of pride. You’re a disgrace, and you’ve overstayed your welcome. So I’m going to do the universe the favor of wiping godforsaken essence off this planet.”

”I don’t think so,” Metatron cast a powerful barrier spell, separating the Scribe from Michael and everyone else.

“If you think I’m just going to let you kill me, you’re dumber than I thought,” Metatron spat at the archangel. “You brutish ignoramus! I was chased out of my home, out of Heaven, because I knew you never appreciated my worth! Well, I never liked you either! Most of you think that brute strength and power is what matters most! But no – it’s knowledge and narrative! You have no idea how much the story matters or how much it’s impacted all of your lives. You’re all so blind to the truth, it’s like you don’t even want to see it – even when it’s right in front of your faces.”

“Let’s see how you like this one.” Metatron put his hands together and shaped them into the form of a gun. The Scribe shouted, “Malprg!” A great wave of celestial energy formed at his hands, firing like a bullet directly into Dean’s gut.

The next few seconds were tumultuous as the angels went into an uproar after Metatron’s fiendish attack. The nefarious scribe absconded amidst the chaos as everyone’s attention focused on Dean, who now had a gaping hole in his stomach as blood spread and spilled out of Dean.

“Dean!” Sam bellowed more than anyone else, but he and Cas rushed to Dean’s side as the elder Winchester fell back. Sam caught Dean just before he hit the floor. Bessie turned to Marion as the demon collapsed in turn, bound to Dean’s soul, which now hung in jeopardy.

”No!” Marion cried as she, as well as Dean, felt an overwhelming surge of pain in their chests.

Sam looked up at Michael desperately as the blood pooled in Dean’s chest. “Heal him!” He urged, but Michael inspected the wound and shook his head. He almost looked sorry as he said to Sam, “I can’t. None of us can.” 

“What?” Sam remarked in an outcry. “Why the hell not?”

“Metatron used raw celestial energy to pierce Dean’s body the way he has. It’s one of the few things an angel cannot heal. There's also the Mark of Cain. Its corruption and maleficence taints Dean – mind, body, and soul – my grace cannot heal him. No angel can save your brother,” Michael stated forlornly. “I’m sorry.”

“No! Dammit,” Sam cursed as the color drained from Dean’s face. 

“Sam,” Dean coughed weakly as blood also spilled from his mouth, choking on his words. His right hand weakly reached up towards his brother as he was cradled in Sam’s arms.

”I’m here,” Sam said, sobbing as he could not help his brother. 

“Dean!” Cas called out to the hunter as he was caught between fear, rage, and sorrow. Why did this have to happen? The ex-angel lamented as he watched Dean's life seep out of his body.

“Cas,” Dean gasped. But his eyes were glassy as if he could barely see anymore. It was all happening so fast…

“I’m sorry,” Cas choked out amongst his tears. 

“So am I,” Dean wheezed. 

His eyes shifted to where Metatron was last seen, brimming with wrath. “Metatron,” he growled. He gave one wrenching final look at Dean, but he knew he could no longer do anything for the man. But Cas could do something about the conniving scribe, though. Rather than helplessly watch Dean slip his mortal coil, he went in search of Metatron, effective immediately.

”Metatron!” Practically, all the angels searched for the Scribe who had caused so much damage. Michael did so as well, intent on bringing Metatron down as well.

Sam watched as the former angel ran off to avenge his brother. He felt the same urge to destroy Metatron, but the angel would have to wait. 

Sam had to savor the final moments he had left with his big brother.

“The hell are you cryin' for?” Dean asked, still able to feel Sam’s tears fall upon his freckled cheeks. 

”You’re dying, Dean,” Sam cried woefully.

”Thought you’d be dancin’ for joy,” Dean said weakly. 

“Didn’t you get what I was trying to say to you earlier?” Sam asked him tearfully.

”That I shouldn’t be so hard on myself,” Dean coughed up a little more blood this time. “Message received.” 

“I forgive you, you idiot,” Sam wept. “No conditions, no bullshit.” 

“I should die more often then,” Dean couldn’t laugh. His body was far too damaged and blood-deprived. But before Sam could rebuke his joke, Dean kept talking.

”Hey, you should go back to school,” Dean said then.

”What?” Sam couldn’t understand why Dean would choose to bring that up. He had precious few words left. 

“Go back to school,” Dean repeated, “you have a wife and a kid now. You should be a lawyer, get that apple pie life you wanted so bad.” 

“Dean…”

”Get a dog, a nice white picket fence,” Dean got quieter and quieter.

Sam sobbed uncontrollably. It wouldn’t be much longer now. Sam could feel his brother grow cold. 

“I’m proud of you, brother.” 

They were Dean’s final words.

Bessie looked on sadly as Dean’s eyes closed for the last time. But Marion, who had been seized with a terrifying pain as Dean slipped his mortal coil until the second the elder Winchester had breathed his final breath, was able to move on her own again, free of the pain that crippled her meat suit. 

Sam looked at the older demon as she hobbled over to the heartbroken hunter. 

“Sam,” Marion breathed shakily as her eyes hovered over Dean’s fresh corpse. 

Sam sniffled, regarding her with confusion. 

“I’m still here,” Marion stated. Sam shook his head weakly, still holding his brother in his arms. 

Not getting her point, Marion explained. “The Bargain of the Rebis, Sam. If Dean is dead, I’m supposed to go with him. We’re supposed to be trapped in one body, screaming in constant agony right about now. That shit’s supposed to be fuckin’ instant. But there he is,” Marion pointed at the still form of Dean. 

“And here I am.” Marion pointed at herself, bearing a disbelieving expression.

”Your point?” Sam said hoarsely. 

“Something’s wrong.” 

Sam scoffed harshly, “You think? My brother’s dead.” 

“Is he?” From the minute Dean expired, the sigil that the demon bore on her chest burned intensely, signifying the failure of the Bargain. But the fusion never came to pass. Instead, after the unbearable pain, Marion’s body went calm. A chill from the sigil on her chest spread throughout the rest of her body. She wasn’t sure why, but something was preventing the horrific consequences of the Rebis deal from taking root. Something sinister. 

“And there’s my cue.” A familiar accent echoed in the space, which had returned to a wooden clearing upon the angels’ exit. Marion and Bessie were crippled with a great sense of pain as a hex beg floated in the air between them. It affected Sam, too, as the younger Winchester was hauled a great many feet from his dead brother. 

Crowley emerged, paying no mind to the others as he stood over Dean’s helpless corpse. 

“Crowley,” Sam groaned through gritted teeth as the oft-duplicitous demon hunched over Dean’s body, searching for something upon his person. He found it, pulling out the first Blade, which Dean had stowed away in his jacket and kept there after killing Abaddon. Sam had tried earlier to separate his brother from the ancient weapon, but given Dean's mood, there was no way to manage it. So Sam let it be, opting to try again later. 

Now, later would never come. 

“Ah, there we are,” Crowley said as he stuffed the Blade into Dean’s empty hands, folding his arms together as the demon laid Dean out fully onto the ground instead of the crumpled mess he’d been in Sam’s arms. 

“I wonder, Dean,”  Crowley said to the elder Winchester, who was as cold as the ground he lay upon, “if you ever tire of this rat race you partake in — the whole searching for evil across this home country of yours thing you do — if you’ve ever gotten the urge to bugger off.” He prattled on as Sam, Marion, and Bessie twitched like mad from the hex bag that affected them all. “I certainly have, I must admit. I wonder if this is all there is to us? This life, this fight, it's starting to feel like a play and not one of the good ones. More often than not, as of late, I feel like a hamster running in a wheel of someone else’s making, with little hope of escape. I don’t know about you, but I’m just about fed up with this nonsense. I’ve never been one for tradition or conformity. I have been a dreamer, though. One particular dream I’ve had was about a certain ancient weapon borne by a specific sort of man. If I’m being honest, I didn’t think you capable, Dean. You’re a meathead, but I have to say, when it's your turn to bat, you always find a way to deliver. So, I tested you. I’m sorry, Squirrel, but I had to see for myself how far I could push you if you could even be suitable for what I had in mind. Then Cain gave you the mark, you slayed Abaddon, and when I looked into your eyes, I knew. I knew right then that it would all lead to this.” The demon gestured to Dean’s present dead state.

”I have to remind you, Dean, that I never lied to you. Not explicitly. I may have sometimes omitted the truth, but I never lied. That’s important. It’s fundamental. But first, I should tell you a story about Cain that’s relevant to this moment right now. You see, when Cain killed his brother and received the Mark, he was still a human. He lived some years after his famous murder, but eventually, life was too much to bear for dear old Cain. In the end, Cain was willing to accept death rather than becoming some rabid killer like the Mark wanted him to become. So Cain took his own life with the same Blade he used to kill Abel, and he died. But as rumor would have it, the Mark wouldn’t let him go. As to why I never shared this story until now,” Crowley looked at Sam with a dark smirk, who still couldn’t manage to stand. “Why set hearts aflutter at mere speculation? But after you killed Abaddon, I let myself believe that miracles can come true.”

Crowley turned back to Dean, looking at him almost lovingly, like one awaiting their beloved’s return. “Now, what you’re feeling at this moment, Dean, it’s not death – it’s life. A new type of life. My life. Open your eyes, Dean. See what I see. Feel what I feel. Let’s take a howl at the moon Squirrel.”

At that point, Marion felt a new surge of energy, a dark one blossoming from the mark placed on her chest. 

“Nooo,” she wheezed as Crowley didn’t let up on the magic that wracked her, Bessie, and Sam with continuous pain, impeding them from intervening.

Sam felt a chill in his gut as Dean opened his eyes at Crowley’s behest. He moved slowly, methodically without saying a word as he stood up calmly and blinked repeatedly. That’s when Sam noticed it. Dean’s eyes were no longer green. 

They were black, like that of a demon. 

Sam couldn’t believe his eyes. 

Crowley greeted the new Dean. 

“Welcome back,” Crowley said to him. Dean’s face had been blank, but upon Crowley’s greeting, the elder Winchester gave him a sinister grin that contorted his face into a disturbing mask. The ice in Sam’s gut turned to panic. 

”Dean!” Sam screeched as best he could, gaining his brother’s attention. Dean turned to him, giving Sam a dispassionate glance. 

“Oh, hey,” Dean walked over to Sam’s crumpled body as Sam continued to twitch in pain. “You don’t look so good.” Swiftly, Dean gave his brother three brutal kicks to his ribs, adding to the agony inflicted on Sam’s hapless body.

”Do me a favor,” Dean leaned over menacingly, forcefully grabbing Sam by the throat, choking him violently, “stay away from me.” Dean hissed. “Or I’ll kill that blonde piece of ass you got playin’ wife and your failed abortion of a son.” Sam’s brother left him to writhe in pain without a second thought as he sauntered over to Crowley.

”So, you were sayin’ somethin’ about a moon?” As it happened, it was presently nighttime, and a full moon shone above them in the clearing. Dean chose to howl like a wolf, making Crowley laugh boisterously, and Dean flashed him a smile. 

The two disappeared.