With The Moon I Run @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden - Tumblr Blog

Chapter 71 - Say It Anyway

✦Read on aO3! - Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Chapter 70✦

✦summary: you revisit old wounds✦

✦warnings/tags: friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action, smut, no use of y/n✦

✦author's note: can you say "emotional progress"?✦

The house was about ninety percent books now. Between the collection Rowena and Adam had dropped off—Rowena complaining about her boy luggage being only good for carrying extra things—the books you and Sam have been borrowing from the library, and all the PDFs Charlie printed out, there’s barely room to stretch your legs. Dean thinks it’s overkill. You told him that he could live with it, or buy you a tablet.

“I will,” he mutters, pushing other stack off to the side. “I’ll buy you three if it means I get the freakin’ kitchen back.”

“The kitchen is clean,” you hum, flipping another page. “You can use it right now-“

“There are books on the oven, sweetheart.”

“Then move them to the floor.”

“I can’t, someone is gonna trip, and we don’t have any space to do triage or- Or bandaids.” He sighs. “I’m just sayin’, you could do some of this on the porch or something.”

“You could do it on the porch,” you grumble, and Dean snorts.

“I could, Princess? That right?”

His voice is low. Honeyed and teasing in a way that he knows isn’t fair. You flush, your fingers curling on the pages, and risk a glance up. He’s giving you that half-amused, affectionate look that always makes you squirm. Brows raised, mouth twitching, something close to bewilderment shining in his eyes. You swallow, and try to look back to your paper. Dean drawls your name, and you sink a little into the chair.

“You wanna try that again?” He murmurs, and you stare blankly ahead, not actually reading a single word.

“No.” You sound meeker than you want to be. Dean just chuckles, bumping his foot against yours.

“C’mon, Princess. Look at me.”

You stare harder at your book. You can see him in your periphery, all handsome and infuriating and smug. It’s not your fault you’re folding like a fragile deck of cards. He’s been building you up and knocking you down for almost a month now without any reprieve, and you’re maybe a few more teasings away from screaming like an animal when he denies you again.

“Baby-“

“I don’t want to,” you mumble, and Dean leans forward, his hands braced on his knees. His big hands. His massive, warm hands that always mold right against your body and tease your sides and breast and aching pussy, toying with you until you’re a little more than a rainbow in a puddle, daisies and butterflies blooming in your stomach and under your fingers-

Dean reaches up and traces his thumb over your lower lip. You make an undignified sound, but don’t dare to look. You’ll cave, and you’re really supposed to be stronger than that.

“Just one look,” Dean murmurs, like he’s coaxing a kitten out of a cage. “Let me see those eyes, sweet girl. Come on.”

You’re breathing awfully fast. Your heart is pushing up your throat, and you’re worried that if he kisses you it’s just going to move into his chest. But then you’d be close. Close as you could possibly get, and you’d never be able to lose him, and-

You look at him. He grins like you’re made of diamonds and drags his thumb down your nose, slowly wrapping his fingers around the back of your neck. You stare at him, trying not to blink. You never want a single moment like this end.

“Take ten,” he mutters, gaze softening as he scans over the bags you know are hanging under your eyes, the swell of your lips from chewing and pursing. “Walk Indy with me, hang out with the Lady, just-“ He reaches forward slowly, grabbing the top of your book. “You’ve been at this all fuckin’ day, and night, and yesterday, and-“

“I need to figure out how to hatch the egg and-“

“How the Leviathans spell works, yeah, I remember.” He gives you a pleading look. “Ten. That’s all I’m askin’ for.”

You swallow, your fingers tightening on your book. Dean tilts his head and tugs it gently, and you let go. You are exhausted. Your eyes are so heavy they might as well be threaded with iron, the whole world is getting kind of foggy—all blurred together like watercolor, Dean’s Gold painted to your hands and leaking all over the room like mist—and your back is aching. You’ve been slumped in this chair for hours. You’re not even sure you’re going to be able to stand up.

Dean sets your book off to the side and leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to your hairline. “Good girl,” he says, and your eyes flutter closed. “What’re we doing?”

“Can you- Shit-“ You cut yourself off with a yawn, bowing your head against his shoulder. “De?”

“Yeah?”

“I smell.”

Dean laughs, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you straight into his lap. He inhales deeply against your hair, rubbing your spine gently, and hums. “Seem perfect to me,” he says, and you roll you eyes.

“That’s because you’re stupid.”

“I’m stupid, huh.”

“’Bout girl stuff,” you mumble, tugging mindlessly at the fabric of his shirt. “You’re like- A man.”

“Yep,” Dean kisses the side of your head, and you can hear his smile. “Thought we were all on the same page about that one, Princess.”

You press your face straight into the crook of his neck, grumbling incoherently. Dean chuckles, petting the back of your head.

“How about we put you in a bath, baby.”

“’Cause I smell?” You whine, and Dean shakes his head.

“’Cause you’re wound up. And I’m getting worried you’re gonna snap all over me,” he sighs, keeping you cradled in his arms as he stands. “And not in the hot way.”

You grunt, wrapping your arms tight around his neck. He’s right. The Silver is tight in your body like a trigger gear, and you can feel it. How the wrong nudge would make you burst, atomic and neon and everywhere in a way you won’t be able to control. And you’re trying. You’re trying so hard to figure out what you’re supposed to do with all this everything, but there’s so much of it, and with all the books cluttering your house, there isn’t a single guide on how to be the whole universe. No self-help websites, either. You checked.

Dean draws a bath, keeping you upright with one arm and fumbling with the other. You try to roll out of his arms to make it easier, but he just tugs you right back.

“I can just sit-“

“I’ve got it,” he mutters, glaring over your head. “I- There.”

The water starts to run and you giggle, tracing over the flex of his bicep. Dean gives you an almost disbelieving grin, laughing in surprise.

“Yeah? That’s doing it for you?”

“You’re strong,” you whisper, and he snorts.

“I’m turning a knob, baby. If that’s impressing you, I gotta try harder.”

You shake your head—he’s doing perfect, just as he is—and Dean sighs. He strips you with gentle hands and not a single wandering touch. It’s rude. You’re right here, naked and crawling into the water with your ass up, and he’s just watching your hands to make sure you don’t slip like a gentleman.

He does drag his palm over the curve of your ass, but when you look over your shoulder he smiles gently, and you don’t think he knows he’s even doing it. You huff and sink into the water. Dean leans over the lip of the tub and wipes your hair from your face, glancing between the steaming water and the door.

You grab his wrist, and he blinks at you, then nods, his smile crawling right back.

“Extra bossy today,” he mutters, sitting obediently on the edge of the tub. “Am I feeding you something new?”

You roll your eyes, and press your face into his thigh. He laughs to himself and combs his fingers gently through your hair, looking down at you in a way you can feel, prickling all over the Spiderweb like blooming flowers and soothing the Silver like a balm.

“Jody called,” he says, talking not to fill the silence, but because he knows you need something to hold onto that isn’t your own, racing thoughts. “Claire’s doin’ real well in school, but-“ He sighs. “She wants to move back with us.”

Your throat tightens, as you turn to meet his gaze. “She can’t, not right now-“

“I know,” Dean shrugs. “Told Jody that we were still working thing out, and we don’t want her around the life. But-“ He swallows, glancing off to the side. “Y’know. I was thinking about after. When we’ve ganked all the Leviathans and Eve, when God gets with the program and shit-“

“Dean,” you say softly, resting hand on his knee, and he clears his throat.

“It’s- I don’t need an answer right now, and I know it ain’t gonna be easy or fast or- I’m just- Cas is still riding the Jimmy suit without the man in there himself, and who the hell knows where her mother is-“

“We can take her.”

Dean looks down with wide, surprised eyes. “Really?”

You nod, and his throat bobs.

“You don’t have to-“

“I want to,” you say gently. “If you-“

“Yeah,” he cuts in quickly, and you smile at the red on his ears. “I mean- I wouldn’t if it was just me and Sammy- We can’t keep anything alive for the life of us- I mean, Sam says I grow something in my socks sometimes- But you’ve never complained, and if we’ve got you-“ He takes a deep breath, glancing back at your openly adoring expression. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” it might be one of the only times that you really mean that, without any alarms or hisses telling you to think again. “I am.”

Dean grins, and leans down to kiss the top of your head. You smile and sink into the water, letting your eyes flutter closed. He takes your hand and folds your fingers together, his thumb dragging close to your wrist. Not touching. Not more than a brush.

But you don’t explode. For now, you just slowly diffuse. The steam over the water is free and warm and happy to float, to dissolve into something lighter and easier. The water that stays in the tub is glad to be contained and still, kept safe from the never ending tumbling of the oceans and rivers. You’re alright, here with Dean. You drift through more than ten minutes, your thoughts still looping around work, but turning into the steam, just like everything always does. Just like—no matter how tight you hold onto it—everything always will.

You don’t know when you start crying. It just seems to happen for no reason now. Dean wipes the tears and pulls you out of the tub, wrapping you up in a towel and carrying you to bed.

“I- I’m sorry-“ You choke out, sitting on the edge of the mattress, curling far enough into yourself that you can maybe drag back together. “I- I don’t- I don’t know why- I’m sorry-“

“I know,” Dean kneels between your legs, still wiping every touch, smiling up at you with heartbreaking care. Care you have no right to ask for. Care he’s always given so freely, you sometimes don’t understand how he always has more left. “I know, baby girl,” he mutters. “You’re okay.”

You sob so hard it shakes your whole body, and double over him with a high whine. Dean moves to his feet and presses your down into the mattress, keeping you caged and safe between his arms. You think you fall asleep. You don’t remember it, if you did. You just squeeze your eyes shut, your face buried in his chest, and open them to find the light faded from the sky. You expect the panic to crash over your like ice water, but there’s too much heat around you.

Dean. Still holding you, playing with your hair and humming to himself to pass the time. The Lady has curled herself up next to his head, and her tail keeps whacking him in the face, but he just grunts and turns his cheek the other way. A smile threatens your sore cheeks. You sit slowly up, your limbs shaking and eyes hooded, and he smiles.

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” he teases, and you swallow, glancing around the room.

“How long-“

“Few hours. But,” he squeezes your waist, pushing you a little further down against his torso. “I got a full report. Sammy said Rowena’s gonna call you around ten, and he took away Kevin’s tablet privileges ‘cause the kid‘s eyes were going red. I think you two,” he pinches your side, and you squeak. “Might secretly be related or something, if Sam’s the one who’s gotta call quitting time. Charlie’s making dinner, sloppy joes, she says they won’t be ass but Jo ain’t sure, so I can always drive out and get you Chinese."

You nod slowly, looking over to the door. You should get back to reading. There’s a reason you were up for almost two days straight, and it isn’t because you’re crazy like Jo keeps suggesting. You’re nowhere closer to hatching the phoenix than you were last week, and you need to figure out how you’re going to use the blood when you find it, because the Book had a passage on it, but it also had a passage on phoenixes themselves, and if you’re going to raise this one-

“Hey,” Dean reaches up, grabbing your chin and guiding your gaze back down. “I can hear you thinking. Share with the class.”

You swallow, fingers curling on his chest. “You- You know how we’re hatching the phoenix? And it’s going to heal Sam’s soul, and Cas’ grace?”

Dean nods slowly. “And then we’re gonna kick Leviathan ass, yeah. I read the memos.”

You smile weakly, focusing your attention on your hands. “Well, um- The thing is- Phoenix hatchlings are sort of… Small. And delicate. And this is the last one ever, so we have to get it right-“

“Princess-“

“And if we don’t want to harm the hatchling,” you say frantically. “Then we can’t draw blood twice. Which means I’ll only have enough for one potion, which means it’s not Sam and Cas, it’s Sam or Cas, and I- I don’t know what to do.”

Dean’s jaw tenses. He uses his hands on your waist to slowly drag himself up, until he’s leaning against the headboard and his face is resting at the top of your chest. You slowly card through his hair and he lets out a heavy breath, warmth fanning over your skin.

“When’d you work that out,” he mutters.

“Yesterday.”

“Sammy-“

“Doesn’t know,” you say softly, and Dean hums.

“Yeah, alright. Don’t tell him.”

You frown, leaning back slightly. “Dean-“

“He’s gonna have an opinion on that,” Dean mutters, looking up at you under lidded eyes. “And I don’t wanna freakin’ hear it.”

That pulls a small, delicate smile to your face. You duck down, trying to hold his gaze. “And you?” You ask. “What’s your opinion on it?”

Dean laughs, dry and tired. “Princess, you know I’m not the guy to ask that-“

“You’re my guy,” you mumble, and he goes silent in a second. “And- I’m asking.”

Dean’s throat bobs. His fingers dig into your hips, deep enough to leave a mark, and you just keep watching him. You know he’s not a miracle worker, but he’s the closest thing you’ve ever had to a cure. And no matter what Sam’s claims, he’s the reasonable one. He never jumped into hell or drank demon blood or accidently opened a magic door filled with Lovecraftian horrors. You can’t think of a single bad thing he’s done. You’re sure they exist, but right now—with his face between your hands and his eyes filled with a weighted, tired adoration that always makes you feel like being good isn’t just an Everest that keeps getting taller—he’s the only person who’s opinion you want to hear.

“I’m always gonna say Sammy,” he says hoarsely. “But- We need Cas back to normal, unless we want to start wrangling angels.”

“I could wrangle an angel,” you whisper, and he chuckles, turning to kiss your palm.

“Yeah, I know you could.” Dean gives you a tiny, rougish grin, dipping one hand under your shirt, his knuckles skimming against bare skin. “But I don’t want you hurtin’ yourself.”

You lean down, pressing your brow over his. “I wouldn’t’ hurt myself-“ You cut yourself off at his dry look, and roll your eyes. “That’s- The point is, if you think I should do Sam-“

“Nope.”

You blink. “But you said-“

“I said I’d always go Sam,” Dean shrugs. “Nothing about your call.”

“That’s- Dean, that’s not helpful-“

Dean shuts you up with a kiss, murmuring against your mouth. “I know, sweetheart. But whatever call you make,” he nips at your lower lip. “I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t,” you breathe out.

Dean only hums. “And here I am. Doing it anyways.”

You roll your eyes, and kiss him harder. Jo knocks on the door before he can roll you beneath him—Charlie’s done, and she’s pretty sure it’s not poisonous—and you have to clamber off of Dean with a deep breath and tight frown. You fix your hair in the mirror, and he comes up behind you, splaying a hand on your stomach and kissing the curve of your neck.

“If you really need me to make the choice, I’ll do it,” he mutters, holding your gaze in the mirror. “But I think anything I say is just going down the drain the moment you figure it out.”

“That’s not- I’d listen to you-“

“You’d try and listen to me,” Dean corrects, kissing just under your jaw. “And then you get a thought in that pretty head and suddenly I’m on freakin’ mute.”

You swallow, holding his hand against you. His brow isn’t furrowed. His jaw isn’t locked. “You’re not mad about that?” You ask softly, and Dean just shrugs.

“Yeah. I pick my battles, like Nero.”

“Nero?”

“Yeah, the big general. Roman guy- You know who I’m talking about-“

You turn, and press a quick kiss to Dean’s cheek. He stutters like you just punched him, slowly reaching up to cup your face. You stare at each other for a long moment. Dean’s throat bobs. His fingers flex. You blink up at him, silently begging him to just do something so you don’t have to. He always hears you. Dean ducks down, presses a fevered kiss against you lips, and walks you backwards until you’re pinned to the dresser. His hands grope under your shirt, his thumb brushing the curve of your breast, his thigh pushing up between your legs. You grab for something to hold onto and hold find his short, soft hair. You tug it, and he groans, pushing his tongue between your lips-

“Hey!” Jo pounds on the door, and you shoot back with wide eyes. “Matin’ seasons is after dinner! If- Y’know,” she pauses. “We don’t all die.”

You roll your eyes, fixing the collar of Dean’s shirt. “We’re not gonna die, Jo-“

“You ain’t smelled it yet,” she snaps back. “It’s- I’m tryin’ to be nice, but it’s- You remember when we drove past that cow farm in the valley?”

“Yeah?”

“Imagine if the cows ate only Taco Bell-“

“Do I have to listen to this?” Dean mutters, and Jo pulls the door open, flipping him off. Dean sputters like a dog. “We- We coulda been naked-“

“Nothin’ I haven’t seen before, buddy-“

“You’ve never seen me-“ Dean pauses, looking between you with wide eyes. “Hold on. That’s- She’s seen you naked?”

“Yeah, um- Yeah.”

“When?”

“I don’t know, like- A lot?”

“Before me?!”

“I was here first,” Jo stomps into the room, grabbing your bicep and dragging you to the door. “C’mon, if I’m dyin’ again, you’re going with me this time.”

You sigh. “That’s not funny-“

“It’s kinda funny. Come on.”

You shoot Dean an apologetic look, but he’s still staring after you, glowering at the air.

“You weren’t here first!” He shouts after you. “I was!”

“Slacker!” Jo calls back, and you smile wide enough that your face hurts.

It’s the small moments, that stich you back together when you start to fray. Charlie’s pride over her sloppy Joe’s, even if they don’t taste amazing. Kevin swallowing them in whole bites, Dean’s commitment to eating them not matter what, Sam actually liking them—Dean thinks he doesn’t have tastebuds, you’re starting to agree—and Cas feeding his to Indy until you catch him, and make him stop. Nothing hurts for split seconds. God flickers outside in the sky, but he’s not allowed to come take this from you. This is yours.

After dinner, you go back to your room to call Rowena while Dean takes Indy—and Cas—for a walk. She’s up in Canada somewhere, and somehow hasn’t killed Adam yet. You’re proud of her. She doesn’t want to hear it.

“You’re not doing anything to him, right?” You ask, flipping through your notes. “He’s- I don’t want to say weak, but-“

“He’s pathetic,” Rowena spits. “And I am not doing anything to him. He has nothing worth doing to. I prefer experienced men, not- Sniveling boys.”

“Hm. Good to know he’s growing on you.”

“He bakes,” Rowena sniffs. “It is… Not horrible.”

“Oh- Dean can bake-“

“I do not care. Is he fucking you?”

You flush, vision going unfocused for a second, then cough. “So, um- I’ve been looking for the spell in the Book,” you start, and Rowena rolls her eyes, but doesn’t push. “And I found it-“

“Excellent-“

“But,” you give her a flat look, leaning forward. “It’s blocked out and damaged. So I only know the specfics of things they already got- Seed of a man with a rotten soul,” you look back to your notes, reading aloud. “And blood of a first beast.” The Lady purrs in your lap. You pet her a little extra, bile rising in your throat. “And- Me and Dean. But I still don’t know why.”

Rowena hums, peering at you through the bowl. “And you’re sure they want your boytoy-“

“Yes. And I know you like him,” you flip over a page. “So stop trying to convince me you don’t.”

Rowena rolls her eyes. “Fine. Are those all the things they would need?”

“No, there’s one more. I just- I can’t see what.”

“Hm. Do you have any angels in your corner without brains made of worms.”

You shake your head. “Well- Cas’ brain isn’t made of worms, and- It’s not like his memory was wiped. If he knew he’d tell me.”

Rowena sighs. “Well, I can’t work out how the spell functions without the ingredients, little tiger-“

“I know, I know, just-“ You run your hand through your hair, glaring down at the paper. “If Eve knows, someone else has to as well. She didn’t just- Invent it.”’

“But this is a spell a Magdalene could invent,” Rowena says, and you sigh.

“Or God.”

“Well, seeing as we don’t play nice with God, your family-“

“No. Dean would kill me.”

Rowena’s nose twitches. “You’re going to let the- The manboy tell you what to do?”

You sigh. You don’t like it either—it would be so easy to storm back to your family, demand the answers, and maybe kill Roman while you’re at it—but Dean would say something about you being in no shape to see them and this being a bad idea considering they were working with Eve already-

They were working with Eve already. Eve had to get the idea from somewhere. And it was either God—unlikely, she is trying to eat him—or your family. Which means your family is off the table. They probably passed on the spell without realizing why Eve—the first woman, an assumed big fan of God, like they think you should be—wanted it at all. Which leaves God telling you the spell, which he won’t. You don’t think he’ll talk to you at all right now unless he’s trying to woo you or you’re telling him you’ll join him.

But you know someone who he does talk to. Who’s an angel older than Cas. An angel almost as old as Gabriel, wherever he’s fucked off to. An angel who might know.

“Joshua,” you tell Sam, Dean, and Jo in the kitchen, spinning the Blade in your hand. “He might know about the spell, and- he’s the gardener, he might know how to hatch a phoenix. That’s two things- Both things- I could’ve figured out both things-“

“Easy,” Dean mutters, rubbing your spine. “Breathe.”

You take a loud, staggered breath, and Sam clears his throat.

“Well, okay- Let’s say he does know,” Sam frowns. “He doesn’t leave the garden, right? So we can’t pray to him, and if Heaven is still on lockdown-“

“Then we go to him,” you shrug, and Sam blinks.

“Lockdown,” he repeats, saying your name firmly. “Lockdown.”

“I heard you-“

“Did you-“

“Yes,” you stick your tongue out at him. “And I’m not worried about it.”

Sam gapes, and shakes his head, looking to Dean. “Dude, if she suggests killing us-“

“She’s not gonna suggest killing us,” Dean rolls his eyes, then glances at you. “Right?”

“I- Yes.”

“You are gonna kill us-“

“No, I’m going to get us there myself.”

Everyone is awfully quiet for a second. You don’t really appreciate it.

“I can move between Heaven and Hell,” you say, crossing your arms. “I’m basically from Heaven-“

Jo snorts. “None of us are from Heaven, I’m shocked dyin’ would even work, we’re all goin’ straight to hell-“

“Actually Dean and I have spots reserved in heaven,” Sam mumbles, and Jo frowns.

“But- You both like, really suck.”

Dean scowls. “Speak for yourself, shortstack-“

“Dean.” You place a hand flat on his chest, and he falls silent, still glowering at Jo.

“Yeah,” Jo smirks. “Dean-“

“Jo.” You give her a stern look too, and she sulks, but leans back.

“Sam,” she grumbles, and Sam blinks.

“What did I do- I- I’m just saying that because we’re vessels, we-“

“Sam,” you say, and he slumps back into his seat. “Look, I just-“ You look around the group, hugging yourself tight. “I can do it. I know I can. It’s just like getting us to Europe, but- A bigger door.”

Sam and Jo are silent. Dean gives you a small, worried look, his jaw clenched tight and nostrils flaring. You grab his wrist and squeeze it once. He squeezes back two times, and you swallow.

“Dean-“

“It’s a lot of juice,” he grunts. “And last time you were up there, you nearly fuckin’- If Cas hadn’t brought you back-“

“But he did,” you whisper. “And I- I can do this.”

Please let me do this. It’s something I can do, and I’ll do it right, and I need to be right. I need to do this right.

Dean swallows, and nods. You squeeze his wrist three times. He just brushes a kiss to your brow, and sits down next to Sam. And now—finally—you have a plan.

The four of you will go to Heaven. Charlie’s in charge again, and—if you’re doing the math right—you should be back within about one week. You’re going to aim to land in the Garden, but you’re playing a little fast and loose with the spell, and there’s a tiny chance you’ll miss. Even then, it’s straight forward. Get to the Garden, same way Sam and Dean were told to last time. Talk to Joshua about Old Heaven and the phoenix egg, tucked in Dean’s jacket.

Ask about Bobby, if you have time. Maybe even if you don’t. You aren’t sneaking him in your jacket for nothing, and you need to know how to bring him back.

“Try not to run into any angels. Stick together. Don’t die.”

Dean nods around the room, chest puffed out and face grim. You give him a small, encouraging smile. Sam and Jo roll their eyes.

“Rousing stuff, dude.”

“Inspiring,” Jo adds, and Sam snorts.

“Yeah, I was going into this really looking to die-“

“But now?” Jo grins. “I’m, like, I’m turnin’ around on the idea-“

“Shut up,” Dean grumbles, shuffling behind you. His hand rests on your waist, and he glares over your head. “Next time you two ain’t invited on our Heaven vacation.”

“It’s not a vacation,” you mumble, and Dean nods quickly, kissing the top of your head.

“I know, sweetheart, I’m just- Y’know. When we do go on vacation.”

“We don’t want to go on your vacations, Dean,” Sam rolls his eyes, and Dean sticks out his tongue.

“Why, ‘cause I’m gonna be getting laid while you bitch around- Ow-“

You elbow him in the gut, your face burning, and he quickly groans out an apology. You’re smiling where he can’t see it. If he knows you like the idea of a sex vacation, you’re going to lose all authority you’ve ever managed to scrape together.

“I think I’m ready,” you rub Dean’s back, frowning down at your spell. “We’re definitely going to all land in the same place, but- That might be anyone’s personal Heaven, so- Hope it’s not yours, I guess.”

“Dean and I have seen each others heaven’s,” Sam says, peering over your shoulder. “It only caused like, three big fights?”

“Cool,” Jo crosses her arms. “Fun. Uh- Personal heaven- That like your dreams? Or- Ideal world, or-“

“It’s your best memories,” Sam explains. “Like- I had this week where I got to- To have a dog,” he shoots Dean a nervous look. “And Dean’s was a lot of- Stuff-“

“Shut up,” Dean mutters, and you give him a curious look. You were only in his heaven for a few minutes last time, when he was in the fort you built him, right before you died. It’s not your heaven to be nosy about, but the question burns on the edge of your teeth.

Was there more. Was there more of you and him. Does he see the world in shades of you, the same way everything is Gold, and the negative, dark cavity spots without Gold. Did he ever peel apart the fractured and delicate moments you had, back before you knew you could keep him, before your hands learned how to hold onto something and your feet started to trust that staying put behind Dean was safer than running until you found the edge of the horizon. Did he strip down every word until it was all just melodies of your voice, the same way you did for him.

Jo says your name, and you blink at her. “Are we gonna land in your heaven, or…”

You shake your head. “I- I don’t think I have a heaven. And last time I was up there, I kind of-“ You swallow. “You’ll see. When we get to the garden.”

You’re really hoping this will be easy. The angels are—ideally—too busy to worry about you wandering through, and the garden is supposed to be one of those things that’s for you, or whatever. All of Heaven is supposed to be your home. You’re just… Bringing guests.

You send Sam first. Dean tells him to duck down and holds his breath like he’s going underwater, and Sam just gives him an unimpressed look. You place your hand flat on his chest, murmur the spell, and really hope you’re not sending him a little west of Heaven or something. It’s going to be a whole thing to get him back.

Sam vanishes, and… nothing else really happens. You send Jo next, with a soft promise that it won’t hurt, which makes her roll her eyes. Dean goes after her, catching your hand when you place it flat on his chest and giving you a small, charming smile. He mutters your name, and you meet his gaze, your knees getting a little wobbly under the attention. He kisses your knuckles and tells you it’s going to be fine. You tell him you know. You’re the one doing the spell, and you don’t mess this kind of thing up.

Dean disappearing into thin air, leaving a new coat of gold on your fingers and the smell of cinnamon in the air. You squeeze your eyes shut and let the Silver flow out, tracing him through the universe like a hound on a trail. You’ve been trying to make Cas teach you this trick for years, but he hasn’t been in much shape to do much but coloring books and play snake. So you have to figure it out yourself.

You’re the planets, hurling through the dark in all the same circles and always waiting for that warm moment when they’re closer to the Sun, then dreading the cold when they’re drowning in the heat. You’re lone stars without any worlds to keep them company, grabbing onto asteroids that hurl a little too close and incinerating them into nothing with the heat of desperate love. You’re a thin veil that’s covering everything, steam rising up and glowing like a pearl in the dark, so sure it’s better, it’s greater, it means more because it goes up, while the dripping tar can only sink down.

There’s a shrouded layer of Gold, hidden in the mist. You hold onto it until your back feels like it’s going to split open, and your vision blurs, and the world flips, and-

Dean shouts your name, and you blink up at a clear, blue sky. Strong arms wrap around you from behind, keeping you on your feet as you stumble. You press right back into a warm chest, and drop your head onto his shoulder.

“Did it-“ You look around frantically, sinking your nails into Dean’s forearm. “Are we-“

“Yeah. We all landed safe.” Dean pulls you upright, and when you tip a little further back, he’s watching you with a worried, knit brow. “You’re, uh- You feeling alright, sweetheart?”

You nod. You feel better than you thought you would, actually. The Silver is flowing steadily. Your vision is sharp, the colors are clean, and nothing hurts more than usual. You look around the area, trying to gage where exactly you landed. It was a high hope, that you’d drop right into the Garden, but you did have low expectations. You didn’t tell Sam, Dean, and Jo—they would’ve worried—but Heaven is more like an ocean than a flat planet, and putting a new drop of water just means you’re mixing it with everything else.

You’ve ended up in a clean patch of woods, with bright skies and warm dirt and the sun beating down from the sky, a faint hue of purple running under every single color. You don’t recognize it the place itself, but you look down and find Sam sitting in the dirt, wearing a tight shirt with a red truck on it and Velcro shoes, dirt splattered over his face and scuffing his jeans, and don’t really have to wonder who’s heaven you’re in.

“Where are we?” Jo asks, leaning against a tree, and Sam sighs.

“When we were kids, Dad had all these places he’d drop us so he could- You know- Go and hunt. It was- Um- Bobby’s-“ He gives you a nervous look. “A lot of the time. But once he gave us to this really nice lady with a motel, and-“

“She gave you that freakin’ bird book,” Dean finishes. “You spent the whole week trying to make the crows your friends or something, I remember that.” He pauses. “You remember that it didn’t work, right? You got a nasty scratch ‘cause you fell in the rain gutter and I had to patch you up and Dad made us stay an extra week ‘cause he didn’t wanna deal with the first aide.”

“Yeah, um-“ Sam swallows, glancing out of the woods and to the black pavement road. “I remember.”

You follow his gaze, and your heart moves up to the top of your chest. Standing on the makeshift, gravel parking lot, leaning against the Impala, is John Winchester. He’s younger than you ever knew him, but the lines in his face are still deep, the dark in his eyes still cold. He’s glaring down at a little, blond boy with unruly hair and shoulders that threaten to make him topple over. Dean tenses behind you, his grip tightening, a sharp breath fanning on the top of your head.

John snaps something at little Dean, and your lip curls. He’s barely taller than your stomach, his face too gaunt for a kid who can’t be more than eight, his posture stiff and his shoes unstitched around the laces. His shirt has a hole near the collar that you want to stitch up, but John doesn’t seem to notice. He’s small enough that you could carry him the same way he carries you now, and a borderline feral anger is overtaking your hands, burning to sock John in the face then wipe the dirt off little Dean’s cheeks. Find him some food, wrap him in a blanket like a burrito, give him something besides thin sleeves to hold onto.

“Dad was so pissed,” Dean mutters behind you, almost in a trance. “Right now he’s tellin’ me that he shouldn’t ever come back to find a scratch on Sammy. That I- I shouldn’t let him play in things that are gonna get him hurt.”

“I- I know, Dean, but- We got to stay a whole extra week. You took me to see Star Wars, and May- The lady- She made you that pie!”

Dean shrugs, still staring at himself by the car. You grab his hand and squeeze once. He looks down to you, and his shoulders sag. He squeezes back three times, then looks back to Sam and Jo.

“Follow the yellow brick road, right?”

Sam nods, moving to his feet. “I guess. Should be easier than last time, I- I hope.”

Jo frowns between them. “What happened last time?”

“Michael kidnapped me and Adam,” you say, holding out an arm for her. “Zacariah was hunting Sam and Dean, but I put him in a jar.”

Jo hums, linking herself to you. “Ain’t Zacariah the one who got me killed?”

Bile presses up the back of your throat. “Yeah.”

“Did he like the jar?”

You shake your head. “Dean stabbed him.”

“Good,” Jo mutters, giving Dean an appreciative grin. “Thanks.”

Dean shrugs and grunts. You all start to the road, following Sam’s lead. You’ve never actually moved through Heaven like this before, but you’re also hoping it’s easier than last time. Last time really sucked.

You wander down the road until everything starts to shift. The purple fades, replacing itself with a Golden glow, like sun rising through summer mist. The trees get bare, the sky gets grayer, and the dirt turns dark and compact. There’s a white flurry of cold you only half feel, drifting down through the sky. Sam’s back in his flannel and jeans, Jo still hasn’t changed, and Dean grunts in surprise when he looks down at himself and sees the massive, puffy coat and thick mittens on his hands.

“What the hell-“

“Awwwww,” Jo grins. “You’re like an ugly marshmallow.”

Dean scowls—you assume, hard to tell under the scarf wrapped around his face—and points a stern mitten at Jo’s amused expression. “Screw you, I’m a handsome marshmallow.”

You giggle, and he shoots you an exasperated, betrayed look.

“Come on, Princess.”

“Sorry,” you beam at him, bouncing on your toes. “You’re a very handsome marshmallow.”

“You probably get all the lady marshmallows, don’t you,” Jo wiggles her brows. “Just the biggest, fluffiest guy.”

Dean glares at her, tipping up his chin. “I only want one lady marshmallow,” he says smugly, shooting you a wink. You flush, and Jo gives you a disappointed look.

“Really?”

“Sorry,” you mumble, looking at your shoes, and Dean chuckles, looking around the woods.

“Is it bad that I don’t have a freakin’ clue where we are?”

“Eh,” Jo shrugs. “Just tells me you were an ugly marshmallow a lot.”

“Hey, no disrespecting me in my own Heaven, you little rat-“

“Dean!” Sam shrieks, and you all look at him with wide eyes.

He frowns, holding up his hands. “I, uh- I didn’t say that-“

“Dean- Dean, look!”

The shout comes from behind your Sam. From a little boy—bundled up the same way Dean is, with hair that falls over his eyes and paler skin—stumbling through the snow with a rock clutched between his mittens. His smile is wide, freer than you’ve ever known your Sam to smile. His cheeks are chubby and he’s barely bigger then a tree stump. Dean takes a half step forward like he can’t help it, and you let go of Jo to follow him.

“De-“

“I found it-“ Sam trips over his own feet, bigger than his body, and falls face first towards the snow. Dean lurches forward, too far away to catch him, and you realize you’re doing the exact same, and-

“Watch your feet, kid,” a low, painfully familiar voice grunts, and a hand materializes out of thin air, catching Sam by the scruff of his neck.

Bobby pulls his upright like a cat, ruffling his hair and giving Dean a small, look at him grin. Dean’s throat bobs. There’s a faint ringing in your ears, accompanied by horns and wails that walk the line between a choir and a mourning shriek. You take a tiny, unsteady step forward, and Jo grabs the crook of your elbow. She murmurs your name, but it’s lost in the wails.

“Bobby?” You whisper, and he doesn’t even glance over.

This isn’t your Bobby. Sam looks a little older than six, which means you’re seven and trapped somewhere in a closet or bedroom you don’t think you’re ever going to escape. This Bobby doesn’t know you. He’s got hair that’s still a little red and a beard without patches, and he can’t even see you at all. It’s not your memory.

But a choked sound still leaves your throat. You reach for his bottle in your jacket, unsure what you’re even going to do with it. Just knowing that you have to hold onto something. Praying that some part of Bobby can realize who you are, because you need him to look at you, you need him to smile and tell you that it’s going to be okay, you need to hear his voice in something other than a dream and you need him to tell you it’s going to be okay-

“We found it!” Little Sam rushes up to Dean, holding up a massive rock. “Bobby says that if we smash it, it’s gonna be a geode.” He tips his nose, already a little haughty for such a small body. “A geode is a shiny rock, Dean. I’ll let you share mine.”

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean whispers. He’s watching little Sam with misty eyes and a far-off expression. It pulls you a little back into yourself, to watch his Gold twist and pound into itself, the memory sweet but heavy, like a painting of a sunset covered in dust. This isn’t about you. It’s about Dean. And behind him, real Sam shifting nervously on his feet, frowning at his smaller, gold-coated counterpart.

“Was I really that fat?” He whispers, and you laugh weakly, the sound pushed from your throat.

“You were cute,” you say, and Jo nods.

“Like a hamster.”

“A hamster-“

“Let’s get you two inside,” Bobby grunts, herding Sam forward. “Don’t need ya’ catchin’ a cold on me. I’m no doctor, and this ain’t drivin’ weather.”

Little Sam nods, almost skipping past Dean with the rock tight to his chest. He pauses, and turns around, sticking out his hand out for Dean to take.

“I don’t wanna get lost,” he says, glaring at Dean like it’s offensive that he’d even hesitate.

Dean swallows, his voice low and rough. “Bobby won’t let us get lost, Sammy.”

“But I don’t wanna hold Bobby’s hand. I wanna hold yours.” Little Sam scowls, and early bitch face was a lot cuter than the identical one your Sam is pulling right now.

Dean just stares at Little Sam, seeing almost lost. You almost drift forward, wrapping around his arm. He looks down at you, almost hopeless. You give him a small, encouraging smile, and his throat bobs.

He takes Little Sam’s hand, and they start to walk forwards, after Bobby, into the darkening woods. You linger for a second, watching your Dean—ten times bigger than Sam, looking down at him with an open, lost expression—turn into a silhouette between the trees. Watching Bobby look back over his shoulder at them, and smile. For a second, your Dean gets smaller. Still taller than Sam by a few heads, but barely bigger than the skinny, young trees that won’t make it through the winter.=. A lump pressing high up in your throat. Jo wraps her arm around your shoulders and give you a sad smile. You lean your head on her shoulder, nod to your Sam, and follow Dean in the woods.

Everything changes again. The Gold fades to cool shades of blue, the trees get solid until they’re all paint-peeling walls, and the snow-covered ground becomes half-rotting wood and an ugly carpet.

You’re in a motel room. There’s one bed with a throw blanket you remember to be itchy, and an impossibly humid heat in the air, making your clothes stick to your skin and opening the window do next to nothing. Next to you, Jo’s changed into shorts and a white shirt that’s almost see-through from the wet heat. She frowns around the room, tilting her head at the weird alligator and flower paintings on the walls.

“Louisiana?” She asks you, and you nod.

“The grandma who was cursing her bloodline.”

Sam coughs. “The what?”

“Grandma who was cursin’ her bloodline,” Jo rolls her eyes. “Keep up, Sam.”

Sam frowns, and Dean clears his throat.

“This is Jo’s, right?” He shoots you a nervous look. “Unless Heaven got an update, and you get your own-“

The door slams open, answering Dean’s question for him. You—the memory of you, with shinier hair and longer lashes and brighter eyes than you’re sure real you has—bustle inside, hauling a massive air conditioner in your arms that looks like it’s going to make you tip forward. Dean lurches forward to help you, and Sam pulls him back with a flat look.

“I think this will work,” Fake You says, frowning at the unit. “I mean- It was working when I found it. So it should work here too.”

Jo hums, watching Fake You with a faint smile. “Found it?”

Fake You rolls her eyes, dropping the unit on the bed. “It was in the motel. No one else was using it.”

“Are you sure-“

“Do you want me to put it back? And die of heat stroke?”

Jo snorts, and shakes her head. “I’m just sayin’, if the police come, I’m not covering for you.”

“Yes, you will,” Fake You waves her off, frowning down at the unit. “I think we put it in the window. That’s where I found it before.”

Jo nods, shooting your Dean—frozen with Sam in the corner of the room, looking between the three of you with wide eyes and an open mouth—a teasing grin. “Why don’t you call Dean and ask him what to do- Fuck-“

Both you and Fake You throw things at the same time. Fake You—past you—misses. You don’t.

Jo whines, rubbing her head and glaring at you, and Fake You huffs, picking up the unit with a scowl.

“I don’t need Dean to do this,” she snaps, and your Dean frowns in the corner. Sam rolls his eyes, and Jo’s shit-eating grin returns.

“Yeah, but you want him to,” she teases. “You wanna kiss him, and fuck him, and marry him-“

Fake you pretends to throw the unit at Jo’s face, and she shrieks and dives to the side with a laugh. You stare pointedly at your shoes, avoiding a single glance at Dean. You remember this hunt clearly. You and Dean were still half-fighting. He hadn’t told you about his deal yet, you hadn’t told him about your powers, and you were only just starting to get over the whole you being forced to leave him in the hospital thing. You went on a hunt with Jo, and it was one of the only times that year you really laughed. In a few minutes you’re going to start decking each other, and it’s going to devolve into a very giggly, childish fight where she gets you pinned, and you promise not to whine about Dean the whole week, even though she’s the one that brought him up to start. You do her makeup and watch a movie, eating a lot of popcorn. It was a good week. Sure, a few people got murdered, but it was the closest thing to peace you ever get, and it’s not like any of them were murdered on your watch. You understand why it’s a favorite memory. You’re sure if you got your own heaven, it would be one of your highlights too.

“You two always talk about me like this?” Dean grumbles in the corner, and Jo shoots him a grin.

“We ain’t talkin’ about you like anything-“

“You’re talking about me like I’m a slab of freakin’ meat,” he huffs, and Sam rolls his eyes.

“Dude, as if you don’t like that.”

Dean makes a haughty, offended sound, and you accidently catch his gaze. Maybe it’s just the weather of the memory, but it feels like you’re being submerged in a hot spring. Wetness pools over your skin and between your thighs. Dean says your name, and you flush deep enough to just turn into a burning, needy puddle.

“Am I just meat to you, Princess?”

You swallow, and shake your head. You’re hugging yourself too tight. Dean’s eyes flick down, and his gaze softens. He reaches out a hand, and you shuffle over to his side, glancing at Fake You as you pass her.

“This is creepy,” you whisper, pressing your face into Dean’s chest, and he chuckles.

“Yeah, no shit. At least you look hot, though.”

You roll your eyes against him, but smile where he can’t see. You’re a little surprised that there is a Fake You—last time you just overtook Fake You’s body—but there are too many other thing to worry about. You step out of Jo’s memory with a glance back to Fake You, and your heart is a little sore. She’s you. A version of you that’s never lost Dean, or Jo, or Bobby. She’s never been to Hell or Heaven or anywhere that she couldn’t run back home. You want to grab her and tell her to free Dean now. To not worry with the morality and fear of the Silver and just save Dean, because if she hesitates he’s gone, and the whole world starts to become dimmer and dimmer, until sometimes the only light left is the fire that she makes with her skin as kindle and her heart as fuel.

Dean pulls you out the door, before you can get lost in it. The idea of a life where you never lost him. Where you saved him and he kissed you and that was the end of it. But you pass through the door, and everything shifts, and you know. There’s never any going back.

You figure out fast that you’re caught in a loop of Sam, then Dean, then Jo. Never you, not as any more than a starring role in the memory. You didn’t know there were so many happy memories of you. You’re in a handful of Sam’s, a fistful of Jo’s, and almost all of Dean’s.

When you’re in Dean’s, though, you’re you. Not the ghost of you that plays bar trivia with Sam or jumps off a dock in Maine with Jo. You find yourself in a long, familiar hallway, wearing an ugly blazer that’s long forgotten in some motel in the Midwest, Dean’s amulet gone from your neck and no one with you. Only an instinct telling you that you go move a little forward, to where you’re supposed to be. You push open an office door, and Dean looks up at your from the desk, wearing his old leather jacket and the amulet. You remember what you’re supposed to do here. You run him into the ground, and he lets you with a smile, and you fall in love so fast and so big you don’t even know that’s what it was until it’s far too late.

Instead, you just smile at him. And he smiles right back.

“I don’t like this one,” Sam mumbles in his next memory, hunched over a lab table that’s too small for him, looking nervously around the room.

“It’s your Heaven, dude,” Dean shrugs, squinting at a vending machine out in the hall. “You think those things work here?”

“It’s heaven,” Jo stands up with a grin. “They better.”

She and Dean go off to find out, leaving you with Sam at the table. His leg is bouncing, and he seems to have fixated on something at the front of the classroom. Someone. A girl with a head of blonde, curly hair, laughing at something her friend is saying, loud enough that you can hear over the noise of the busy room. You know her. You’ve seen her, in Sam’s memories.

“You don’t like this one?” You say softly, and Sam shakes his head, his voice hoarse.

“Sometimes,” he rasps. “I don’t want to remember. When I do, I just- I think about if this never happened. She’d- She’d still be-“

Sam swallows the words, and you sigh, watching him with a sad smile.

“Aren’t you glad you had her though? At all?”

“Were you be glad if you lost Dean,” he says, and there’s no venom in it. Just pure, aching question.

And you know it’s not what he wants to hear, but you nod. Even when Dean was dead, even when you wondered if you were ever going to be able to go home, you wouldn’t have traded loving him for anything. If he ever forgot you, if you ever lose him again, you’d still love him. You’d stay away. You’d let him move on. But Michael and Lucifer ripped up your memories, and the only thing you ever remembered was to love Dean.

“How does this go?” You ask softly, and Sam sighs, letting you distract him.

“She’s being really loud. Like- Really loud. It was annoying me, and I went over to tell her to be quiet. She hit on me, and I panicked and ran away, and then when it was time to pick lab partners, she chose me.”

You snort, and Sam shoots you a glare.

“She liked me, okay- Stop laughing-“

“Sorry, it- it’s just- You saw how Dean and I met, if he’d done anything like that I would’ve punched him-“

“And he still would’ve fallen in love with you,” Sam grumbles, and you flush.

“Don’t be- It wasn’t that-“ You cut yourself off under Sam’s flat stare, staring at your hands. “You know that- That wasn’t actually the first time I met him,” you mumble, and Sam frowns, looking over his shoulder to where Jo and Dean are still trying to work the vending machine.

“Uh- Does Dean know that?”

“No,” you say. “It- It was when you were in the library, with your dad. I was there too, I heard you, and-“ You swallow. “I was hiding, but I saw Dean through the shelves, and I- I just-“ You give Sam a tired, almost pleading look, begging him to understand. “I felt it,” you breathe. “I’d never even spoken to him and I felt it.”

Sam’s throat bobs. He looks back to Dean again, then you. “For Dean?”

You smack him, and he laughs, rubbing the ache.

“Sorry,” he says, and you know he doesn’t mean it, but he’s smiling. So you don’t care.

Jo and Dean come back from the vending machine with snacks and soda bottles that vanish them moment you leave Sam’s heaven and step back into Dean’s. He pouts, glaring at the thin air where the food was, and you bite back your smile.

“We can get you jerky when we get home,” you whisper, and he grumble.

“I’m hungry now.”

“There will be fruit in the garden, we can take some of that.”

Dean frowns at you, almost nervous. “But that’s magic food, sweetheart. I eat that, I gotta stay here forever.”

You blink at him, then smile. Always smarter than he thinks. “That’s the underworld, De.”

“Oh. Well- Alright.” He nods, wrapping his arm around your waist. “Heaven food it is. Better be freakin’ good though, or I’m leaving a bad review on Sammy’s stupid website.”

“It’s not a stupid website, Dean, it’s the only reason you don’t have e-coli-“

“I don’t have any kinda coli,” Dean snaps. “E, B, A, D-“

“No, that’s not-“ Sam sighs, and rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Let’s keep going before you realize what memory this is.”

You frown, blinking around the room, then down at yourself, and squeak. You’re half-naked, wearing only a corset and cowboy hat, your body hidden by a thin sheet Dean wrapped around you when you weren’t thinking. He’s grinning proudly, bare chested and only in his boxers. You can feel something dry and sticky on your thighs and over your ass. Jo leans down near the creaking, wooden door, and picks up a pair of panties.

“When’d you start wearing this brand?” She frowns at you, and you swallow.

“They’re popular in Iran.”

“Huh,” She squints. “They look comfy.”

“They are. And they’re pretty cheap-“

Dean clears his throat, pulling you closer to his chest. “Why’d you know what kinda underwear she uses?”

“Because we’re friends, Winchester,” Jo sticks out her tongue. “Sorry you don’t got any of those.”

“I know what kind of underwear she wears,” you offer, but it just makes Dean’s frown deepen. “And Cas. And Sam.”

“You- You know what?” Sam sputters, and you shrug.

“I do your laundry.”

He stares at you, huffs, and stomps out the door. Jo laughs and follows him, leaving you and Dean alone in the cabin. You look back at him, really not understanding why Sam’s so mad. Dean sighs, mouth twitching, and kisses the frown off your lips.

“Bobby ever snoop through your stuff?” He murmurs, thumbs dragging circles on your waist, and you pause.

“No, but- Um-“ You flush. “He’d find things out and give me weird talks.”

“Thing?” Dean gives you an amused look. You swallow.

“Like- Me and you. Sleeping together, and- Things.”

Dean grins, mischief sparkling in his eyes. His hand drags up your side, leaving a pleasant, hot shiver in their wake. “Sleeping together? Us?”

“It- It was before- When we were just sharing a bed, and-“ It’s hard to form full sentences, when he’s touching you like this. “He was just- He wanted us to be safe-“

“Good thing I’m super safe, then,” Dean murmurs, ghosting his lips over yours, and you manage to muster a glare until fluttering eyes.

“You never use a condom,” you breathe, and he smirks.

“Yeah, but you got that magic potion thingy, and,” he squeezes your ass. “You like bein’ filled up, don’t you. Like being my sweet, needy girl.”

Words float through your head without shape, and all come out in a high, confused moan. Dean dips his hand under the sheet, brushing his knuckles against the lips of your pussy, and-

The door slams, and Jo sighs dramatically.

“I told Sam,” she mutters, marching forward. “Fuckin’ told him.”

You’re dragged away from an annoyed Dean, still too dazed to fight back. Jo pulls you through the door, and your clothing forms back over your body. Sam’s waiting with his arms crossed, and Jo gives him a smug told you so look.

“Were they-“

“Yeah. Give him a second, I think he was hard.”

Your face burns, and you let Jo sit you in time out on the barstool. You’re back in the Roadhouse, before it turned into dusty bottles and boxed up windows. Jo’s wearing a blue dress she keeps adjusting uncomfortably, and there are a few hunters crowding the tables who aren’t paying her much mind. Dean shuffles through the door, and gets pointed firmly to Sam’s side.

“You can’t be trusted sittin’ next to her,” Jo snaps, and Dean scoffs.

“She was kissing me back-“

“Because she’s stupid.”

“Hey,” you glare at Jo, and she sighs.

“Sorry, but- Look at him,” she waves a hand at Dean, who grins, charming and mock innocent. “He’s gonna distract you.”

You stare at him for a moment too long. Dean winks, and you flush. Jo groans, and snaps her fingers in your face. Maybe she’s got a little bit of a point. You’re supposed to be focused.

“Where are we?” You ask her, and she sighs, soothing the frills of her skirt.

“Home.”

Right on cue—all of Heaven seems to be on a very dramatic timer—the door to the back swings open and Ellen walks through with… A man. He’s a little shorter than Dean, a lot blonder, and has Jo’s longer face and thinner eyes. He kisses Ellen—younger, warmer, smiling—and grins at Jo, reaching out an arm.

“C’mere, kid, I got somethin’ to show you.”

Jo swallows, but doesn’t move. She hasn’t been really engaging in most of the memories. Not of her mom. She just freezes, like she’s trying to drag it out. To keep the moment trapped in amber, before it slips away like the reality. You take her hand, and she holds on tight.

“You remember my switchblade?” She says softly, still not looking away from her parents. “This is when he gave it to me. One of the last times I saw him, too.”

You swallow, and just squeeze her hand. “We’re gonna find her,” you say, and Jo laughs, tired and flat.

“I know you’re gonna try. But- Never any use makin’ promises, is it.”

Neither of you have an answer to that. Sam and Dean—silent and shifting in the corner—don’t seem to either. There isn’t much to say. Nothing at all that isn’t empty, or hasn’t already been said.

“Wow,” another familiar voice—one that should not be here—splits through the room. “Isn’t that so sweet.”

You whirl around, reaching for the blade. Sam and Dean go for guns they don’t have, then grab bottles off the counter.

Meg grins at you all from a back table, spinning a glass in her hand. She’s still in the short, dark-haired vessel. Her smoke is the same ugly charcoal you’ve always known, and the hideous features that twist through it are curved into a smile.

“Hi, guys,” she says, sighing when none of you respond. “Hi, Meg. It’s so lovely to see you, we’ve missed you so much.”

“We have not missed you,” Sam snaps, and Meg rolls her eyes.

“Don’t be like that, Sammy, we always have fun together. Remember last time, when I met your mom!” She grins at you, and you narrow your eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you mutter, and she scoff.

“Please, you won’t do anything, we’re friends-“

“No, I mean- You literally shouldn’t be here.” You glance at Jo, pressing your lips in a thin line. “A demon in Heaven- The shouldn’t be possible.”

“Nothin’ to say about us being friends though, right?” Meg grins, then sighs under your glare. “Fine. But it’s not that hard to follow. Crowley just left the door open, because he’s an idiot.”

You swallow and for the first time since you got into Heaven, the Silver starts to burn. “Crowley’s here?”

Meg nods, grinning around your group. “And he’s mad at you guys. It’s cute, he’s throwing a whole temper tantrum. Like a baby.”

“He’s mad at us?” Dean frowns. “What the hell did we do?”

“Rob him,” Sam mutters. “Steal his blood. Chain him to his chair and probably get him in trouble with Eve-“

“Yeah, yeah, alright. I get it.” Dean pinches his brow, still glaring at Meg. “Still doesn’t explain you though. I thought you and Crowley were on the outs because of the whole Lucfier War of Roses shit.”

“We are,” Meg shrugs. “Which is why I followed him. To help you.”

Jo narrows her eyes, crossing her arms. “How can you help us?”

Meg beams, leaning forward. “I’m multi-purpose,” she drawls. “Sammy knows, isn’t that right?”

She shoots Sam a wink, and his nose wrinkles. The Silver keeps pounding in your ears.

“That don’t mean anything,” Jo snaps. “Either you’ve got something to give us, or you can fuck off.”

“Ouch,” Meg laughs, looking Jo up and down. “You’re coming on real strong for the only one I haven’t actually done something to.”

Jo just scowls, and Meg rolls her eyes.

“Fine. I can help you however you want,” she smiles at you. “I’m sure you’ll figure out what to do with me, princess.”

Dean and Jo both move to block you from Meg’s view, and fighting starts to tear through the room, raising voices and clenched fists and spitting words that you can barely hear. You don’t care about Meg. You don’t care about her taunting or help or sabotage. You, oddly, still trust her more than you trust most people. She listens to you more than Sam, sometimes. But she’s here because Crowley’s here. And that’s making everything get really fucking loud.

A demon doesn’t go to Heaven for no reason. Crowley doesn’t put himself in the front lines for no reason. If he’s here it’s because Eve sent him. If Eve sent him directly—instead of letting him outsource to a demon—it’s because he is in trouble. Which means he’s going to be mad at you. Which means that whatever he’s after—something in Heaven, something they probably need for the spell—isn’t something that’s going to be easy to find. That Eve could safely get herself. And she didn’t send Leviathans, she sent Crowley, which means she wants something alive, something like you and Dean, which means she might know you’re here and you left Kevin and Charlie and Cas alone, which means you’re putting Dean in danger, danger, danger-

The Silver is blaring like an alarm. You’re breathing shallow and fast, everything turning either into harmonies that are yours—the clouds of Heaven that morph themselves to match you, that glow because they’re honored to hold holy bodies—and sharp, jagged edges that aren’t. That either want to be a part of you but feel like hostile—a parasite that shouldn’t be allowed to join you—or things aren’t yours. That can’t be yours. That you need to crush or make yours, before they spread like a thin layer of ash. Before they spread, and everything becomes the dead world.

You can’t breathe. You wrap a hand around your throat, the Silver already too big for you to count what’s real, and just try to fucking breathe. But you can’t. You cave into yourself and you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe, your back hurts and you can’t fucking breathe-

You stumble back, trying to find something to keep you upright. The Silver is pressing out of every nerve, scratching through the world for somewhere safe to hide. Something is burning into your side, thought your jacket. A strangled sound leaves your throat, and Dean turns around with a frown. Your eyes lock, and his widen. He shouts your name, rushing forward, but you trip and fall over a table, and he’s just too far to catch you. Everything goes white.

When your vision clears, he’s not there.

You’re home. Bobby’s house, home. But all the books are gone, and the fireflies flitting outside in the easy, green dark mean it’s summer, rather than dead winter. The floor is shiny, and the kitchen is half clean, and when you wander out onto the porch—almost in a trance—the wood isn’t chipped. Bobby’s old truck is parked in the yard, no sign on the Impala or Firebird.

And sitting in his old chair, baseball cap over his head and beer in his hand, is Bobby. Your Bobby. Staring out at the yard with a faint smile on his face, a few less wrinkles and gray hairs. Watching a girl with braids and thin fingers play in the mud. There are grass stains all over her dress. Your dress. In an hour you’re going to cry because you can’t put the grass back in the ground. In two hours, Bobby’s going to coax you out of your room with a milkshake, and in three hours you’re going to watch a movie, and pass out the moment the credits roll. You wake up in your bed in the morning. Bobby makes you pancakes, and you wolf them down because you’re still a small, feral thing, and you haven’t learned that this peace isn’t going to last forever.

You take a small step forward, and the porch creaks. Bobby glances backward, and raises his brows. You swallow, and it hurts. Your eyes burn, and Bobby’s gaze softens.

“Dad-“ Your voice breaks on the first word. “Daddy- You- You’re-“

Tears burn on your cheeks, and Bobby sighs. He sets down his beer and stands, pulling you into his arms without a question. You press your face into his chest, shaking and clinging to the edge of that old, gray shirt he always wore. Back home, it’s still in his dresser, stale and gathering dust because you won’t let Dean wash it. Right now it smells like pine trees and scotch and something a little drier, that was always Bobby.

“Hey, kiddo,” he mutters. “You ain’t supposed to be in here.”

You swallow, and let him pull you a little back. He examines your face, features tight with worry, and sighs.

“What the hell have you done?”

“No- Nothing-“

“Nothin’ my ass. How else did you end up in heaven-“

“We’re- We’re doing a thing, and-“ You wipe your nose, and pause. “How are you in Heaven?”

Bobby shrugs. “I don’t know, probably somethin’ stupid, maybe I did a few hail mary’s before the lights went out-“

“No- No-“ You shake your head. “You can’t be in Heaven. It’s- that’s not possible.”

“Jesus. I know I wasn’t perfect- Sure as shit screwed some things up, but-“

“You’re in a bottle, Bobby.” You reach into your jacket, and pull out the bottle, holding it up to his face. “I have your soul, you can’t be in heaven.”

Bobby stares at the bottle, then you, then the little you, still playing in the mud. His frown deepens, and you clear your throat.

“Um- Maybe- You know-“ You glance at the bottle, and it flickers in your hands. The green of Bobby’s soul doesn’t seem to be confided to the glass anymore. Almost like it’s blending perfectly with the green of the world. Of Bobby. “We don’t know what I can do, really,” you mumble. “And- I guess this means you’re not in here watching us all the time-“

“You put me in a fuckin’ bottle?” Bobby snaps, and you swallow.

“It’s a nice bottle. Dean cleans it.”

He stares at you, and you give him a small, nervous smile. He sighs, rolls his eyes, and shakes his head. “C’mon, kiddo,” he starts past you, back to the porch. “I think I’m gonna have to sit down.”

You nod and start to follow, but freeze half a step forward. You look back to yourself. Innocent and happy in the mud, sure that Bobby is going to watch her forever. “What about-“ What about me. “What about her?” You whisper. “You can’t just leave her.”

“She’ll be here when I get back,” Bobby says gently, and you shake your head.

“But-“

“And she’s gonna be alright,” he says your name. “She’s a trooper. She always is.”

You turn, and find him watching you. He smiles, tired but real, and jerks his head. You follow him inside, and only look back once.

Bobby’s heaven isn’t like Sam, Dean, and Jo’s. It’s his house, but—the longer you look—the more you see time blending through it. The kitchen in clean how it was when just you and he used it, but the cool pot Dean got him for his birthday is on the rack, and photos of all three of you as adults are pinned to the fridge. There are two bowls of food on the floor. One for that dog Rufus pawned onto him while you were a teenager, running around the country like an idiot, and one for Indy. The apron Sam used to strangle a demon—which immediately got set on fire—is still hanging on a peg, but right next to it is the one Sam bought him as an apology. It’s warm outside, but snow is falling like glitter. You look at Bobby, confusion written all over your face, and he just shrugs.

“Don’t know what you’re lookin’ at me for. Apparently you designed it.” He grabs a beer out of the fridge, and you hold out your hand. He stares at it, then you, and snorts. “No.”

You gape. “But- I want one-“

“You hate these-“

“Maybe I don’t anymore,” you snap, and Bobby snorts.

“Alright,” he tosses you the bottle. “But you ain’t able to get drunk here. Shouldn’t be a problem, if ya like it.”

You stare at the bottle, then Bobby. It smells rotten. Bitter and foul, like it always has. It makes you think of summers where everything was carcesses and spit filled with poison. You put the beer down, and Bobby hums.

“I prefer vodka,” you mumble, and he just laughs again.

“Sure, kiddo. Y’know, I always thought you’d make a bad drunk.”

“You always thought that? That- I’d make a bad drunk?”

Bobby shrugs. “I was a fuckin’ delight-“

“Rufus told me you’re banned from a bar in every state.”

“Well, Rufus better learn to stop runnin’ his mouth,” Bobby mutters. He pauses, and gives you a long, careful look. “How is he? Out there?”

You swallow. You don’t want to talk about this. You don’t want to remember this isn’t real. “I- I haven’t talked to him in a few months, but- Sam says he’s okay.”

“Hm,” Bobby nods, still watching you. “How ‘bout Claire?”

“Good.” You pick at your nails. “She’s staying with Jody, while we work on Eve.”

“Eve-“

“Turns out she made the Leviathans. They’re trying to eat God.”

“Why not,” Bobby mutters, glaring at his bottle. “And- Jody-“

“Dean talks to her. He- He says she’s tired, but- okay.”

Bobby nods, and your fingers start to bleed a soft, shimmering Silver. You frown at it, then look back up to Bobby.

“I’m trying to bring you back,” you stutter out. “I- I am- I promise- I’m going to ask Joshua, and- We know I can, I brought Jo back, I just- I don’t know how, but I will-“

Bobby says your name, and you cut yourself off, staring down at your hands.

“I will,” you whisper. “I promise.”

“I know you do,” Bobby says. “But don’t hurt yourself for me, kiddo. I ain’t worth it.”

You shake your head, and Bobby says your name again, leaning over the table.

“Listen to me. I know this is hard, but-“

“You don’t,” you snap, the top of your mouth hurting like a burn. “You don’t know. You can’t- You-“ Your voice breaks. “You’re not there.”

Bobby falls silent, and you curve further into yourself.

“You’re not there,” you whisper again. “I- I need you and you’re not there, daddy, you’re not there-“

You crack again. Everything hurts, and when you wipe the Silver on your pants it just blooms with flowers. Bobby’s chair scrapes as he stands, and you don’t fight it when he pulls you into a hug.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I do know, kiddo. I promise, if I knew how to get outta here and back into a body I would, but- I’m sure Dean’s takin’ care of you- And-“ He cuts himself off, with a long sigh. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. You just cling to his shirt and cry until there’s nothing left, and Bobby leans back with a sad smile.

“You can’t stay here,” he says, and your lip tremlbes.

“Why- Why not-“

“’Cause we’d make it a day before you started worryin’ about the boys.”

“I can bring them here too-“

“No. This is my Heaven. And I love you kids, but the only thing I’m happy about is not walkin’ in on Dean freakin’-“ His lip curls. “Fondlin’ my girl.”

You laugh, but it’s small. Almost hollow. Bobby sighs, and says your name, low and soft.

“They need you.”

“No, they-“

“Yeah. They do.”

You shake your head, hugging yourself tight, and Bobby nods.

“Yes. Yes, you can. I am sure,” he says firmly. “That whatever the hell this even is now, you can do it.”

You stare at him. He doesn’t waver, and you know he’s right. It’s annoying. You still pull him into a tight hug, and pray that some of the green will stay on your hands when you go back.

“I’ll bring you back,” you whisper. “I promise.”

And Bobby just sighs. “Yeah. Alright.”

You pull apart, wipe your sleeve on your nose, and close your eyes. If you look at him—at this world—a little longer, you’re going to beg to stay again. You focus the Silver, and try to retrace your steps. When you open your eyes, you’re back in the Roadhouse. Ellen, the hunters, and Jo’s dad flicker like broken projections. There’s glass on the floor.

And no one else to be found.

She’d barely even vanished, when the ground shook. And Dean should’ve been faster. He should’ve noticed Her falling apart behind him, instead of shouting at Meg about being a bitch. If he had noticed, She wouldn’t have cocooned herself or whatever and slipped through Dean’s fingers. If he had noticed, She would’ve been there when the angels showed up blazing, grabbed the four of them, and tossed them into one of Heaven’s cells.

They were a lot like Vegas cells. Thin bars, weirdly cold and warm at the same time, and covered in a whole lot of glitter. Dean pointed this out to Sammy. Sammy didn’t seem to appreciate it.

“Just trying to get the mood up, Sammy-“

“Why.” Sam said flatly. “This is just like last time, Dean- Actually, it’s worse than last time! Last time we weren’t locked up in Heaven’s jail with two demons!”

“The demons aren’t delighted to be locked up with your either, Moose,” Crowley muttered, and Sam shot him a glare.

“No one made you follow us-“

“Well, no one made you get yourselves caught, did they?”

Sam huffed, and looked off to the side. Meg laughed, and Jo rolled her eyes.

“Don’t know why you’re laughing,” she snapped. “You’re locked up too.”

“Yeah. But I know how to have fun, unlike certain pretty boys.” Meg smirked, and Jo’s scowl deepened.

Dean sighed and rubbed his jaw. Apparently Heaven also only had one cell for all instructors to share. The bad part was that Crowley had been here when they got thrown in. The good part was that She wasn’t here yet. Which meant, wherever She’d landed, she was safe.

“How long did it take them to catch you, Crowley?” He asked, and Crowley huffed.

“Annoyingly fast. It was rather rude, actually. They jumped me like- Like ruffians.”

“They probably tracked him because he’s a demon, Dean,” Sam said, already picking up what Dean was poking at. “Which means-“

“You.” Jo glared at Meg, who blinked innocently.

“Me? That’s- That’s ridiculous, there weren’t any angels on my tail, I checked.”’

“Well you didn’t check well-“

“I checked perfectly. And I’d say it was you idiots, stirring up noise, making messes everywhere, walking into Heaven with God’s Bride?” Meg clicked her tongue. “Not very smart of you, is it?”

“You’re a demon,” Jo spat. “In Heaven. We were doin’ just fine until you showed up.”

“Well if it was just me,” Meg snapped. “Why’d the grab their star boys too, hmm?”

“I don’t know, maybe they thought we were- Helping you-“

“I thought you’d never work with the likes of me.”

Jo scoffed, but Sammy cut her off with Her name. Everyone was looking at Dean all of a sudden. Sam’s words were low and urgent.

“They took us,” he said. “The moment she was gone. And- Cas told us he can’t track her, because she- She messes with their radar or something-“

“And once she was gone,” Dean finishes, throat tight. “We were just big neon freakin’ signs.”

They all, for a rare moment, fell silent. Dean squatted at the edge of the cell, rubbing his jaw until it ached. They had no damn clue where She’d popped off to, but he knew she’d turn around and come back for them. And She either wouldn’t find them and blow up, or the angels would be waiting for her, goad her, and she’d blow up. Or they got out and found Her first. That was the only way Dean could see this ending without a blow up.

He looked around the group—Sammy still sulking, Jo glaring at Meg like she wanted to rip her vessel open, Meg examining her nails, and Crowley grumbling about hosptiatly—and didn’t really love their odds.

The door rattled, and Dean shot to his feet, ready for anything between the angel hangmen or angel sheriff.

“You gonna talk to us?” He called down the hall, leaning against the bars. “Or does Heaven not have due fuckin’ process?”

“Dean,” Sam hissed. “Sit down, they’re angels-“

“They’re dicks,” Dean grunted, and Meg hummed.

“They really are. And one of them grabbed my ass while throwing us in here. Which is rude,” she shouted at the hall. “If I’m not allowed to grab him back!”

Jo frowned. “Nobody groped me.”

“That’s good, Jo,” Sam sighed, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

“Yeah, but why are they gropin’ her, I’m- Not a demon-“

“It’s ‘cause you’re cute, buttercup,” Meg winked. “Not sexy.”

Jo looked like she was going to throw a punch. Dean caught her wrist, and gave her a stern look.

“Not now,” he muttered, and Jo sighed, but nodded.

“Aw,” Meg beamed. “So noble, rescuin’ me-“

“Not rescuing,” Dean turned back to the hall. “Delaying. She can go to town when we’re outta here. See if I give a shit.”

Meg huffed, and Dean peered for shadows or shifts, or anything that would tell him just what these sons of bitches were up to.

“I don’t think angels have to give us due process,” Sam said miserably, and Dean grunted.

“What, you’re tellin’ me America’s got one up on fuckin’ heaven?”

“I guess,” Sam squinted past him. “I’m not sure.” His mouth twitched. “They do have a really brutal immigration process.”

Dean snorted, then banged on the bars, raising his voice. “You hear that?” He called. “You’re losin’ to America-“

“We lose to nobody,” a woman’s voice—cold and bored—echoed down the hall, and Dean froze. “And the demon boy is correct. We owe you no process.”

Heels clicked on the floor and Dean swallowed, taking a large step back from the bars. The shadow on the floor was made of shifting light and fluttering patterns. The woman casting it was almost his Dean’s height, pinned up, and downright sour looking. Her lips were tight and painted red, her hair tied up, and her outfit what Dean’s girl would call really fucking ugly. He grinned to himself at the thought. Angels never seemed to be prepared for Her. It was always fun to see.

The woman stopped in front of them, her gaze raking over Sam and Dean and her lip curling rather rudely. She looked down the hall, huffed, and called to someone Dean couldn’t see.

“Why did no one tell me how… Unimpressive they are?”

And sulking after her, hands tucked behind his back, was Balthazar. Dean’s hands curled into fists. Sam moved to his feet, eyes wide, and Meg took a step back.

“They are rather locked up,” Balthazar drawled. “I assure you, they’re much more impressive when they’re… running around. Like very big rats. On steroids.”

“You son of a bitch,” Dean growled, leaning against the bars. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you, we thought you might be dead-“

“Not dead. Just… reoccupied.” Balthazar spread his arms. “Welcome to Heaven’s new, humane prison! You should be thanking me, if I didn’t build this you’ve be stuffed in the Sun, which, as we found, kills humans surprisingly fast.”

“We trusted you,” Sam said, jaw ticked. “And you- You’ve been working with Heaven?”

“Really?” Dean added. “These douchebags, they’re like Mormons-“

“Tread carefully, Dean Winchester.” The cold bitch sneered. “Balthazar has returned to where he belongs. With his brothers and sisters. Annoying us,” she shot him a glare. “But no longer acting like a brat.”

“Yet,” Balthazar grinned at her, and her nose twitched.

“Yet,” she echoed, and Dean cleared his throat, leaning forward.

“I’m sorry, lady. Who the hell are you?”

She sniffed, turning up her nose. “The angel in control of your fate, you insolent, petulant child. After Castiel blew everything up and vanished, someone had to take over, to restore Heaven to it’s former glory-“

“Yeah, yeah, that’s great,” Dean waved a hand. “What’s your name.”

The bitch scowled. “Naomi.”

“Cool. Naomi,” Dean threw her his most charming grin. “Seems like you knew who we are,” he gestured behind him. “Which means you probably know that we’re down one.” He said Her name, and Naomi’s eyes narrowed. “’Bout this tall, punch you in the face gorgerous, kinda mouthy and real stab-happy? Magdalene, Bride of God- You know,” he leaned forward, dropping his voice. “Here’s the deal. I know you picked us up when she wasn’t around, but she ain’t really gonna take that lying down. She’s been known to blow up stuff. Houses, castles, office buildings-“

“Hell,” Sam jumped in. “Lucifer’s cage. Twice.”

Dean nodded, looking back to Naomi. “Twice. Which- You know. This is nice and all,” he rattled the bars. “But it ain’t Lucifer’s cage. So, unless you want her dropping in-“

“We do.”

“I’d let us- What.” Dean blinked, and Naomi smiled, awfully smug for someone signing a death warrant. “You- Are you fuckin’ crazy-“

“No. I’m strategic.” Naomi said. “Everyone knows about the Bride’s… Affection. For you all.”

“Me, yeah,” Dean shrugged lazily. Soulmates. “Sammy and Jo she’s got a soft spot, but they’re second, and those two,” he jerked his thumb at Meg and Crowley. “You know. Demons. I wouldn’t place bets, is all I’m saying.”

“I don’t have to place bets,” Naomi’s smile grew. “I have you, Dean Winchester. And to get the Bride? That’s all I’m going to need.”

Dean’s jaw clenched. “I don’t think that’s gonna work out for you,” he said through gritted teeth, and Naomi just smiled.

“We’ll see, won’t we.” She took at step back, still smirking at Dean. “But you’re right about this cell. We don’t want her to actually get to you. Balthazar. Put them in the Garden.”

There was that loud whoosh, and Naomi vanished. Balthazar sighed and started to walk back out, but Dean wasn’t letting him go that easy. He banged his fist against the bars again, leering down the hall.

“Balthazar, you get back here- You spineless, side switching son of a bitch!”

Balthazar sighed, and turn back around with a half amused look. “Don’t worry, Dean,” he smiled. “I’ll switch right back, as soon as the Bride shows her pretty face.”

He vanished down the hall, and Dean swallowed, slumping back.

“Nice going, macho man,” Meg drawled, and Dean shot her a glare.

“Shut up.”

She smirked but did. Balthazar came back in a few minutes with a handful of other angels—they were handsy, now that Meg mentioned it—and they got zapped right into Heaven’s Garden.

It was… Different. Than Dean remembered Cas describing, way back when. Bigger, maybe. More colorful than just green things, with a lot of weird, overgrown plants and young, fragile looking trees. Something jade-colored and winged darted out of a tree, and Sam flinched. Dean raised his hands to block an attack, scanning over the thick tree line for as sign of whatever the hell that had been, and-

“Welcome,” Joshua said, smiling at them from what seemed to be the base of a large, strange, white cliff. Flowering vines grew over the low stone, almost shimmering in the permanently golden light. “I see you’re enjoying the new… Renovations.”

Dean swallowed, glancing back over his shoulder. Crowley and Meg seemed to be trying to press against a corner that didn’t exist, touching as little as possible. Sammy had moved on to examining some cartoon-looking mushrooms, and Jo was still watching the sky. Dean looked back to Joshua, and said Her name. He bowed his head, a smile twitching at his mouth.

“Between you and me,” he said. “I consider Naomi a fool, and- Pray that she hasn’t stationed too many of us to guard you. No one ever stands much of a chance, against the Bride.”

“Do you-“ Dean took a step forward. “You got an ear with God, do you know where she is? If she’s alright?”

Joshua gave him an apologetic smile, and Dean’s hope sunk right to the pit of his stomach.

“Right- No one can know,” he muttered. “Magic gps doesn’t work.”

“I am sorry,” Joshua said, and Dean thought he meant it. “But if it helps, my ear with God… It has gone deaf.”

Dean blinked. “What? What’d you- God ain’t talking to you anymore? Why, I thought- He was lonely or whatever.”

“He was. I- He still may be. But-“ Joshua sighed, and shook his head. “It might be easier, for you to understand yourself, and come find me after.”

Joshua stepped to the side, and Dean squinted. The vines were growing over something. Something lit with red flowers that flickered like torches, with water that glowed like those plastic stars he used to stick on the top of motel ceilings to help Sammy sleep.

“Understand myself?” He rasped, and Joshua bowed his head.

“I know more of you than you think, Dean Winchester,” he said gently. “You may not believe me, without the proof in front of your eyes.”

Dean nodded, and took a cautious step forward. He paused when he passed Joshua, looking over the man’s face any sign of worry, any clue that this might be some sorta trap. He found only sympathy, and it made his heart restless in his throat.

“Is is bad?” He asked, like a child, and Joshua chuckled.

“No. I don’t think it could be, if it tried.”

There was that cryptic angel talk again. Nice to know some things never changed.

Dean stepped past Joshua, pushing the vines out of the way and ducking into the cave. The whole place smelled like Her. Sugar and vanilla and Her apple, so strong that Dean could swear he’d turn around, and she’d just… Be there. And he knew better, but all the same. Dean could almost feel Her, through this whole damn place. The path went down, and the feeling only got stronger. He saw the end of the tunnel, shimmering with silver light, and swallowed. He almost turned back. This was where She’d been when Cas grabbed her. When he’d thought he’d finally lost her forever. And part of him really didn’t want to know, what kind of paradise she’d left, or what kind of Hell she’d been trapped in.

But the other part was masochist. The other part knew that, what, ever the hell it was, Dean deserved it. So he took the last step forward, and almost fell to his damn knees.

It was like Her, if she was a place. That was the only way he could rationalize it. Pure white walls of stone that shimmered gold, silver water tumbling down the cliffs and falling into black lake, every ripple almost making freaking art with it’s patterns. All of it stained in so much color and life. More of those jade bird nested along the rocks, fish the color of gemstone darting through the lake, more of those burning flowers growing near the shore and sending pollen like fireworks through the air.

Dean walked slowly, not sure if he was in a dream or not. She wasn’t here. It couldn’t be.

Renovations, Joshua had said.

She made all this shit. The trees and planets and animals. It had all been Her.

Dean’s eye caught on a dip in the land, and the smooth surface of the cliffs. Another cave. He walked towards it, watching his step over the crystal like stones and strange looking critters. Something like a chipmunk-cat sniffed him, then cooed. It ran up his damn leg, and he didn’t have the heart to kick it off.

“No bein’ evil,” he muttered, and it cooed.

Four more joined it, by the time Dean got to the cave. He cradled them in his hands, worried that if he dropped them, She’d somehow feel it. They were also pretty cute. And fluffy. Far from the worst thing he’d ever held, that was for sure. They scattered when he ducked inside, anyway. Dean pretended that didn’t weirdly hurt, and let them go.

Then he turned, and this time, didn’t have enough strength to stay on his feet.

The floor of the cave was covered in flowers, and the walls were dripping in glowing lichen and vines, but that wasn’t what Dean cared about it. Because under the overgrowth and over every inch of stone, there were paintings. Paintings of wings—copper and wooden and electric—and of thick greens and twisted up purples and rushing blues. There was a kitchen that Dean felt like he’d seen before, flowers on the table and pictures on the fridge. Bobby’s library, with Cas’ standing near a shelf and wearing a trenchcoat made of feather, and Sammy hunched at the table with his laptop glowing in his face.

And there no was Dean.

There was the Impala, her wheels roses and her windows water and her body looking sorta like a bull or something, which would be hard to maintain, but still seemed pretty fucking cool. There was Jo on the couch, asleep with hair all over her face. There was even Claire, holding a golf putter like a shotgun and smiling, but there was no Dean.

But there was gold.

Inlaid over every single painting, on the spines of books and lining the Impala, over Indy’s wings and running through that kitchen like a backsplash, there was so much gold. Written between the margins of every image was that one word, printed in golden ink, glowing like a lighthouse in the dark.

Dean’s heart knotted and strained against itself. His throat got tight, like it was trying to hold all his organs down. He looked up to the ceiling and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe through his nose and stop the burn of useless tears down his face.

“She spent most of her time like this,” Joshua said softly, and Dean started.

“Jesus fuckin’- So all of you just like sneakin’ up on poor assholes trying to have a moment, huh?”

Joshusa’s mouth twitched. “My apologies. I assumed you might have some questions, but if you would rather be alone-“

“No- No,” Dean rubbed his face, trying to wipe away the ache under his skin. “I actually, I got a-“ He swallowed, looking back to that damn word. Etched into the stone and over Sammy’s brow and into the veins of Cas’ wings. There was a painting of Her hands, coated in gold and blue, and the word was drawn into her skin like a tattoo, and Dean-

He took a ragged breath, and looked back to Joshua.

“That word- What’s it say?”

“Dean.”

“No, I know, Enochian ain’t a lanugae for lowly humans or whatever-“

“You misunderstand,” Joshua placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, the touch almost like he was fragile. “The word translates to Dean.”

Dean swallowed. The tears pressed out of his eyes. He didn’t bother to wipe them.

Dean. It meant Dean. It had always just meant Dean, and Jesus, he couldn’t even remember how long She’d been writing it.

“God, when he was talkin’ to you,” Dean cleared his throat, but his words still came out choked and small. “He didn’t- There’s this thing, that she and I got, that’s- Uh- More than just, you know-“

“Soulmates,” Joshua nodded, smiling gently. “Yes. I am- Maybe one of four beings aware in the universe. Five, if we count yourself.”

Dean blinked. “Uh- You, God- Death-“

“Amara.”

“Yeah, I don’t know who the hell that is-“

“You will.”

Dean swallowed, shoving away a tear that had reached his jaw. “Great,” he muttered. “That’s- If God knows, then what the hell is he thinking?” He snapped. “She’s got a hand on me, I got a hand on her, God ain’t in that picture- Can’t he just pick someone else?” Dean glared up at the ceiling. “Lotta chicks out there who probably don’t have their soulmates in orbit or whatever, there’s- There’s gotta be someone else-“

“But there isn’t,” Joshua cut him off, and Dean’s jaw clenched.

“There should be,” he grunted through his teether. “Billions of fuckin’ people, and he’s gotta go after her?”

Joshua sighed, squeezing Dean’s shoulder gently. “I admit, I have my own… Questions. But it is not my place. I only know that this- It will not end easy.” He frowned up at the ceiling, voice dropping to a murmur. “For any of us.”

Dean swallowed down his pain, and kept rubbing his face until it was raw. He’d break over this later. He had to be made of something strong than titanium right now. Something that would catch whatever light She was making, so she’d know where to find them. He’d fall into Her later, once he’d cleared this belt. Once it all stopped stinging, and they were home, and he was dragging Her and Sammy and Claire up to Michigan, where God couldn’t find them.

In the morning.

He’d fall apart when a new sun was rising, in the morning.

“We need angel oil,” he muttered, and Joshua raised a brow. “If we’re going after Dick Roman, it’s all we got left. Cas- He’s a little outta commission-“

“I am not a viable option either,” Joshua said apologetically. “My wings- They’re different. They would not produce the kind of oil you need. But- If there’s anything else I can help with, I’m rooting for you. For her.”

Dean swallowed, and nodded. The oil thing had been a long shot anyway. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the phoenix egg—tiny in his had, black like coal but almost burning his damn fingers—and held it up to the light. “You got an idea of how to hatch this?” He asked, and Joshua shrugged.

“I think you may only have to pray.”

Dean’s fingers curled on the sleek shell. He’d been worried that would be the answer. It had been his bet, but no one had asked, and he didn’t want Her worrying about shit unless it was nessecry. He put the egg back in his jacket and moved to his feet, giving Joshua a tight nod that he returned.

“I am, truly, on your side,” Joshua said softly. “He,” he glanced up to the roof of the cave. “Is a strange father. A strange creator. But- Making something is not the same as knowing it. A craft is nothing, unless it has a soul. He is nothing, if his inventions never grew souls.”

Dean nodded again, a little lost, but he was pretty sure he got the gist. That was two whole angels on their side. Three if they counted Balthazar, still wandering around the Garden on detail. Dean didn’t doubt he’d flip back to their team the moment She showed up. Goddamn coward.

“Sammy,” he grabbed Sam’s arm and dragged him to a shrouded corner of the Garden, looking over his shoulder to make sure Balthazar wasn’t in earshot. “Stop bitching, I gotta talk to you-“\S

Sam whined, yanking his arm free. “But you don’t have to pull me-“

“Get over it.” Dean pulled the phoenix egg out of his jacket, holding it low between their bodies. “I talked to Joshua, he says she can hatch it with a little extra juice. But-“ He wrapped his fist around the egg, glaring at the tiny goddamn thing, putting him in this stupid, stupid position. “Look, this ain’t-“ He sighed Her name. “She thinks we’re only gonna get one shot outta this thing, when it hatches. Don’t wanna drain the baby, right? So-“

“It’s me or Cas,” Sammy finished, and Dean nodded tightly.

“Cas- He’s happy the way he is,” Dean muttered, trying to logic his way around this. He loved Cas, he did, but- Sammy was Sammy. He’d made promises. He’d done things he’d never be able to wipe off his skin, that he’d do all over again to keep his baby brother safe. And Sam couldn’t stay like this. Downing pain meds and hunching on the curb and seeing ghosts. That was the kind of thing Dad would’ve shot Dean for allowing. The thing he was supposed to fucking fix. “The angel oil, we could take it from Balthazar-“

“Balthazar would ask for money,” Sam muttered, and Dean didn’t like that tone. The sheer defeat under it. “And I don’t think we can jump him, Dean.”

“Could get Meg to jump him-“

“Meg and Crowley are basically worse than humans right now. I mean- Jo punched Meg when she was- It’s not important,” Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. “There were sex jokes. A lot of them. And Meg’s bleeding now, and Crowley won’t stop shouting at the birds about being king, and- They’re both kinda useless.”

Dean grunted, scanning over Sammy’s tight face. “Sam-“

“You need to heal Cas.”

“Sam-“

“I’m alright,” Sam shoved his hands in his pockets. “I promise I’m alright, Dean. I- I can hold on a little longer. I can consent to holding on longer, Cas- He’s barely even Cas right now. And we’re going to need everyone on our side. We’re going to need him back.”

Dean’s jaw ticked. Sam gave him a sad, pointed look.

“If it was you or Cas,” he added softly. “You’d pick Cas too.”

Goddamnit. That was a good, stupid point. “That’s different-“

“Dude.”

Dean glared at Sam. Sam didn’t even blink, because he was a smart little freak, and son of a bitch, it was so annoying when he was right.’

“Fine.” Dean grunted, and Sam’s mouth twitched.

“Great. Um-“ He glanced around the garden. “Do we have a plan to get out of here, or-“

“I’ve got one,” Dean shoved the egg into Sam’s hand. “Find cover. Take Jo, and uh-“ He glanced up at the sky. At the permanent sunset, and the flashing angel wings against the horizon. “Maybe don’t look too high up.”

Sam’s throat bobbed, but he nodded. Dean took an unsteady breath and moved out to the clearing, shooting Joshua a small nod as he moved to his knees. Balthazar paused on the edge of the clearing, watching carefully as Dean pressed his palms together. Against the skyline, the angels stopped soaring. Dean would ask for God to have mercy on them, but god wasn’t the one they should be worried about. And Dean had a pretty good feeling, as he bowed his head, that the deadbeat wasn’t going to save them either.

“Hey, Princess,” he murmured, trying not to feel too stupid. “I- Uh- I know you’re out there somewhere. Know you’re probably pissed that we vanished, that you’re looking for us. Well, we got dropped in the garden. All of us- And Crowley, but you can make the call ‘bout him staying here or whatever. Just- We’re in the garden.” Dean cleared his throat. He didn’t know how the hell to sign this off. “Uh… I love you.” He coughed. “Over.”

He looked up. Everything seemed to have gone still, from the shifting light to the leaves on the trees. Even the water in all the rivers and waterfalls was suspended. He frowned, and turned his head to the sun. Shining gold and bright.

And brighter. And brighter. And brighter.

The whole world shook. The angels rattled in the sky and the clouds glowed like they were on fire and the trees seemed to push themselves futher out of the ground. The water rushed again, faster than before, and bird started singing loud enough to split through the air. Dean stumbled to his feet, shielding his eyes with a hand as he peered at the horizon. Silloutes of angles, vanishing at the light got brighter and brighter. It wasn’t golden anymore.

It was pure shining silver.

And Dean grinned. The world kept shaking, but he just stood in the center of the clearing and grinned. A few fools dove at the approaching silver light, and vaporized in a second. Roots were pushing out of the ground around the clearing, blocking him from angels trying to dive and get him. Balthazar had slipped inside the ring, but wasn’t making any attempts to grab Dean. He wasn’t that stupid. Balthazar and Joshua both were covering their eyes, as She approached. Dean found Her bright, but he didn’t need to look away. He could see Her just fine, and she was fucking gorgeous.

Her eyes were pure Silver, Her hair floating around her, her skin glowing. Behind her, misty light seemed to be waving in and out of the air. When She landed, only an arms length away from Dean, the branches all fell away, and lush, burning flowers bloomed under Her feet. Dean held out a hand, smiling wide. She blinked at him, and crashed forward.

Dean grunted, stumbling back from the force of Her hug, and held her face into his neck. He could feel the burn of tears against his skin, and he shushed gently, rocking them back and forth. “Hey- Hey-“ He kissed the top of Her head. “We’re alright, Princess, we’re alright.”

“I- I lost you,” She choked out, nails digging into Dean’s back. “I couldn’t find you- I couldn’t- I- I thought-“

“I know,” Dean muttered, pulling back, holding Her face between his hands. “But you found us, right?” He gave Her a firm look. “Right?”

She nodded, and Dean smiled. He kissed the space between Her eyes, and she made a weak, broken sound.

“We gotta go home, okay?” He whispered against Her skin. “I got a way to hatch the egg, and- Heaven’s got a new boss. Who’s lookin’ for you, so- We should grab Sammy and Jo and go-“

“Wait- But-“ She shook her head, pushing a little back. “The Leviathans, Dean- The spell-“

“We got a way to kill them first, it’s okay-“

“But what if Eve makes more,” She whispered, holding Dean’s hands tight enough he thought they might break. “We don’t have a way to kill her, De, and if- If she tries again-“ She took a deep breath, pressing her brow to his. “Whatever that last ingredient is, it’s here. They wouldn’t have send Crowley for nothing, and- And I just need to check, because if I can stop it- If I can get rid of it- She won’t have a way- She won’t need me, or- Or you.” Her voice cracked. “She won’t need you.”

Dean took a long breath through his nose, scanning over her beautiful, wound up features. She was right. If Eve couldn’t get whatever that last thing was, she’d stop bothering to hunt Her altogether, and it would be one less thing to worry about.

“Alright,” he muttered, and she looked up with wide, glossy eyes.

“Are you-“

“Don’t ask me that,” his mouth twitched. “I’ll change my mind.”

She giggled, soft and a little wet, but real. Dean kissed Her, fast enough to keep time but deep enough for her to feel it, and squeezed Her cheek.

“You gotta be fast,” he muttered, and She nodded.

“Oh- Okay,” She pulled back, scanning around the clearing, her gaze landing on Joshua. “Okay.”

She walked away from Dean, chin high and power bleeding out of Her like an open wound. Dean didn’t want to leave Her. Not right now. He grabbed Balthazar—still pressed against the edge of the clearing—and told him to get Sam and Jo and, if they were behaving, Meg and Crowley.

“But you flip again,” he hissed. “I’ll tell her. And you’ll fuckin’ wish angels could go to hell.”

Balthazar swallowed, hands up in surrender, and agreed. He stumbled off and Dean went back to Her and Joshua, talking in low, concerned voices.

“We got an update?” He asked, and She gave him a look that didn’t exactly inspire hope. “What- What’s wrong-“

“As I was telling her,” Joshua said, low and regretful. “I only know because of God’s last order, to all of Heaven.” He sighed. “Protect the tree.”

“The tree?” Dean echoed, brow knitting. “You don’t- You mean-“

“The tree,” She murmured, hugging herself tight. “The first tree. Eden’s tree. She just needs an apple.”

“That’s good though,” Dean said desperately. “’Cause- If it’s up here and the angels are protecting it- We don’t have to worry-“

“Dean.” She gave him a heavy look, and he swallowed.

“We can just leave it to them, Princess. We don’t- This doesn’t have to be our thing.”

She shook Her head, and Dean’s hands flexed. He said Her name lowly, a warning. Not to stop as a threat, but to pull up. Before they crashed into something they couldn’t put back together.

“He doesn’t want the tree to be destroyed,” She said, and Dean didn’t love where this was going. “So the angels can’t. But- I can.”

“But-“

“I’m already doing him one favor,” Her voice was cold, and her eyes were glowing again. It was hot, in a scary kind of way. Dean really wished She was looking like this under different circumstances.

“He ain’t gonna take it lying down, baby,” he tried, and her mouth just curved up.

“Good.”

And that was that. Dean knew when to pick his fights with Her. This wasn’t one he was going to win. He gave Joshua a questioning, almost begging, you gonna stop this? look, and Joshua just shrugged. Dean sighed, gave Her a tight smile when she kissed his cheek and whispered a thank you, and tried not to grab Her when she started to walk away.

“What’s going on?” Sammy asked when Balthazar brought them back to the clearing, and Dean grunted.

“Ecoterrorism, I think.”

“What?”

Dean sighed, and muttered the breakdown to Sam and Jo. He shoved the egg into Sam’s hand with a tight nod, looking over his shoulder where She was glowing, even through the trees. Where Her power was pouring over the world. Where a prayer wouldn’t be answered, so much as tossed like a coin into a wishing fountain. Meg and Crowley could hear too, but Meg just seemed smug and pleased that She was doing something about it, and Crowley…

Crowley looked mildly worried, but not in the way Dean thought he’d be. If anything, he seemed mostly annoyed. Like them blowing up a key part of his plan was more of a mild inconvenience than anything else. Dean didn’t love it. It made something scratch at the back of his head. Something he couldn’t drag apart from the rest of this mess, but mattered. There too many fucking things happening, but something loud was trying to remind him that it mattered-

“Shit,” Jo breathed, and Dean yanked himself out of his thoughts.

They’d caught up with Her at the tree, and part of Dean wondered if this is what those suckers in the Bible felt like, witnessing the rainbow after the floor, the bush on fire, the light at the top of the mountain. This felt like something humans shouldn’t be allowed to see. Like something bigger than any of them could even begin to understand.

Because Dean had seen Her show more power. He’d seen Her hold archangels in her hands and fill up with the power from purgatory, but that had still just been Her. This, for reasons Dean couldn’t fully figure out how to explain to himself, because everything he came up with—the confidence, the anger, the freedom—still didn’t fully cover it, was different. She looked different.

And if Dean had never understood why Death saw Her as an equal—because maybe he hadn’t, maybe some part of him only ever looked at Her and saw the bright-eyed, doe faced and sweet girl who cried into his neck and giggled at stupid things and danced in his arms with a delicate smile—he got it now. She wasn’t just another kind of angel or demon or witch.

Framed against the burning Tree of Eden, looking up at the sky that was clouded with smoke that glowed like it was still of fire and stars that shined like ice trying to break free of itself, She was… Everything.

Not Dean’s everything. Just-

Everything.

The Sky flared, and Dean could swear he saw the light bending like stormfall, threatening to crash over them all. She flared brighter, and the smoke grew thicker. It turns and pressed the foreign light out, like it was something alive. The tree crackled, the fruit shriveling and falling to the ground like dropping flies. Lightning stuck close enough to their group that Sam practically shrieked in surprised. She raised a hand, and the next lightning strike bent into Her. Dean roared Her name, sprinting forward before he could think better, but she didn’t fall.

The lightning blasted out of Her fingers, and the Tree split in half.

The sky roared and Dean stumbled to a stop, covering his ears and bending in pain. Silver light washed over him like a flood, until he couldn’t even see. When he breathed, all he could taste was Her apples. Eden’s apples.

Her apples. The same as Eden’s apples. That had grown when She blasted those miracles across the world, that Dean had kept, until-

The world cleared, and Dean tripped forward with a groan, catching himself with a hand on the table.

The table. The library table. He opened his eyes, and they were back at Bobby’s. Sam was slumped against the wall, rubbing his temple and cradling something in his hand, Jo was shaking herself in the middle of the room, Meg was sitting in one of the chairs, and She was standing on the table, blinking around with unfocused eyes. She swaying, Her fingers trembling, lip wobbling. Dean said Her name, his voice still hoarse, and Her gaze snapped to his. Still faintly silver, like a waxing moon.

“De- Dean-“ She stumbled forward, and Dean dove, catching Her right before she hit the ground.

She was out cold in a second. Warmer than Dean wanted, but She’d also just been sort of on fire, so he wasn’t that worried. He lay Her on the couch, and whipped around with narrowed eyes, grabbing his gun off the table.

Crowley had been trying to hide near the door. Dean wasn’t letting him get away that easy. He grabbed Crowley by the throat and slammed him the wall. Sam jumped, Jo blinked, and Meg just watched with mild amusement.

“Dean, what the hell are you doing-“

“He’s already got an apple,” Dean hissed, words spitting over Crowley’s face. “I gave it to him, so he’d tell us where the Leviathans were keeping her. He’s had it the whole fuckin’ time.”

Crowley scoffed. “Please, squrill, why would I risk myself going to Heaven if I already had the apple?”

“That’s a good point, Dean,” Sam said nervously. “And- If he has it, he would’ve given it to Eve-“

“Or he wanted to keep it, all for himself,” Dean snapped. “And now he’s gotta give it to Eve, or she’ll turn him into fuckin’ Leviathan chow.”

Sam didn’t have a counter for that. Crowley didn’t seem to either, his mouth just hanging open and a look of pure indignace on his face. Dean balled up the collar of his shirt and slammed him back against the wall, hard enough to snap his head. To make the house shake.

“You ain’t givin’ her that apple.”

“And how do you plan to stop me?” Crowley sneered. “The boss burned herself out on the tree, Dean. You can only put your hand on me because I let you.”

“Yeah,” Dean narrowed his eyes. “Right now. But I know you can’t get outta this house without walking, and you’re not getting anywhere without your little fucking powers. ‘Sides- Sammy, it worked?”

Sam sighed, and nodded. He held out his hand, and there it was. Gold and red and ruffling soft feather, sort of looking like an ugly duckling.

The baby phoenix. Ready to become a donor and bring their Cas back. Dean smirked at Crowley, who’s face had gone slack.

“We’re about to have two new weapons, douchebag,” Dean snapped Her name. “She’s gonna be up soon. And she can either waste you, or you can trade to the winning team.”

Crowley’s eyes darted around the room. None of them flinched, and his mouth twitched.

“So I’m part of the team, boys?”

Dean’s jaw ticked. “You’re a contractor.”

“Ah- I’m hearing membership at the club-“

“Don’t push it,” Dean grunted. “You in?”

Crowley smiled. “Not much of a choice, is it.”

It wasn’t. Still the smart thing, though. Dean let go of him, and he coughed dramatically—overkill, demons didn’t even need to breathe—as Dean turned back to Sam.

“Showtime,” he muttered, and Sam nodded tightly.

It was a surprisingly quick process. Jo held the phoenix chick, Dean woke Charlie up and made her draw blood—and didn’t ask why she was so good at it—and Kevin scanned through Her Book until he found the instructions. Just… Feed it to Cas.

“Take this, buddy,” Dean muttered, passing over a bowl of ice cream, the blood just looking like a strawberry glaze. “Gonna make you feel better.”

Cas nodded, but didn’t eat immediately. He squinted at Dean, tipped his head, and sighed.

“What-“

“You are sturdy, Dean,” he said plainly. “I hope you find us shore soon.”

Jesus, he wasn’t gonna miss that. “Thanks, buddy.” He muttered, tapping the bowl. “Eat up.”

Cas looked at the ice cream, and sighed. “My draw to the light… It is stronger than my wings can carry right now.”

“This is gonna make your wings stronger-“

“But,” Cas looked at him again. “I will miss the dark. Of the tree. The world seems safer, when I don’t have to fly.” He tilted his head. “You are in bloom, though. And I would not want to miss the sunrise.”

Dean blinked at him, a little worried that Cas was going to refuse to be fixed. But before he could push a little further, Cas took the first bite. Dean let out a sharp breath, and watched him finish the whole bowl. He watched anxiously, tapping his fingers against the back of Cas’ chair. He should’ve waited for Her to wake up. He couldn’t see Cas’ grace. He had no damn idea if this had worked or not-

“Dean,” Cas said, and his voice was… deeper. Steadier. “My head hurts. My head should… Not be able to hurt.”

“Uh- Yeah, that might be the blood.” Dean ducked down, trying to look for signs. Cas eyes were dilated. Maybe this was kinda like a concussion. “You feeling alright, buddy?”

Cas frowned, and nodded slowly. “I feel… Awake.”

“And- You got any riddles or something?”

“Riddles…” Cas looked at him like he was crazy. “Why would I tell you a riddle. I am not a sphynx, and you are… Not good at them.”

Dean laughed, choked and rough. “It worked,” he muttered, moving back to his feet. “Son of a bitch, it worked- She’s gonna be so happy.” Dean grinned at Cas, who just blinked slowly back.

Cas said Her name slowly. “Where is she? Is she- Has she recovered? Dean, she- Purgatory was not her fault.”

“Uh- Yeah, we’re past that.”

“Already?”

Dean blinked. That wasn’t great. He decided they’d worry about it when She woke up. “I’ll explain later, bud, just- Uh- You got some wing oil for me?”

It took a bit to get Cas on board, but he was back, and Dean could explain things to him again. They got the oil. When She was awake, Dean would be able to show Her the weapon. Completed and ready for action.

And all they would have left was to use it. And then-

They would finally be free.

✦chapter 72

✦End note: one more chapter in season 7! I hope you guys have enjoyed it, and extra shoutout this week to people reading the chapters as they're coming out. i've said it before and i'll say it again, i appreciate you guys more than i can say <3. Thank you for sticking with me this far into the series. see you next week! Chapter Title from True Blue by boygenius

✦If you like this story, please reblog, like, or leave a comment! <3

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