Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

ACT I: BLOOD AND GRACE

THEN

kelly lent her baby’s power to castiel. at the same time, arc felt her hands simmer with energy and flame. as cas eyes lit up with gold, her own began to glow. together, the angel and the nephalem set dagon on fire. she crumpled to the ground, screaming in agony, as the flames consumed her. 

“ i know now that this child must be born, with all his power. ” castiel sounds renewed; restored. 

sam frowned. “ you - you can’t actually mean that. ” arc stepped forward, coming to flank kelly on her right. “ he does. and so do i. ” the winchesters turned to her, shock and betrayal on their faces. “ arc… ” dean was lost for words, mouth open but silent. arc gave him a small smile. “ i can feel him. ” she glanced down at the bump, kelly’s hand resting over the swell of her belly. “ i can hear him. his thoughts… ” arc’s voice is softer than any of them have ever heard it. “ we’re connected, somehow. he’s the better version of me. ” 

dean shook his head, “ no, arc, you can’t- ” cas cut him off,  “ we have to go. ” arc led kelly back to the truck, and helped her into the passenger side. she lingered by the door, watching cas and the winchesters, their pleas for him to stay. how he touched his fingers to their foreheads and let them fall to the ground, asleep. 

arc got in the back, and cas got into the driver’s seat, starting the ignition and pulling away from the park. kelly looked at him with gratitude, “ what did he tell you? ” she wanted to know, and cas was more determined, more focused, than arc had seen him in a long, long time. “ he didn’t tell me. he showed me. ” his eyes briefly met arc’s in the rearview mirror. she was with him on this. they could do it, he had faith, he finally found his faith. “ the future. ”

—

NOW

cas is dead.

crowley is dead.

mary is gone. trapped in apocalypse world, with lucifer. of all beings. 

and arc? oh, she just had to pull a disappearing act - with the newborn nephilim, of course. dean pinches his arm, the pain a way to keep him awake. lolling his head against the window of the impala, he waits impatiently for sam to return from the gas station. they’re returning to the bunker. there’s nothing else they can do. sure, heaven is probably out there, guns blazing, looking for jack. arc knows all the best wardings, hell, she had been hidden from all of heaven and hell her entire life. with jack under her protection… no-one would find them. not unless arc wanted them to be found. 

dean startles out of his mind when sam slips back into the passenger seat, a plastic bag on his lap. “ good to go? ” dean nods, tersely, slamming on the gas and peeling out of the parking lot. dean was adament on giving cas a hunter’s burial, despite sam suggesting they find a way to bring him back. dean said no. one of the first things he’d done, after watching cas- after it happened, was to rage at chuck, beg him, plead with him, pray to him, to bring the angel back. nothing had happened. and dean was left alone, again, just him and sam. 

no mom. no crowley. no castiel. no arc - and a nephilim, the literal son of satan himself, missing. 

it’s been a bad week for the winchesters. 

as they drive out to a place where they can burn castiel’s body, sam, too, is lost in thought. his mind wanders back to the moment arc left. 

the dim nursery, painstakingly decorated by a mother who would never get to use it. eyes glowing gold in the dark corner, a toddler curled up, afraid. dean with his gun, and arc who stopped the eldest winchester with the flick of her wrist. she had ignored both men, stepping closer to the nephilim. “ it’s okay, kid. jack. you know me. we talked. remember? in your head? ” she spoke slow and calm, hands outstretched. “ i know that you’re scared, okay? i know that you’re confused. but it’s gonna be alright. i’m here for you. i really need you to trust me, okay? can you do that? ” 

the nephilim boy hesistated, looking at dean, then sam, then arc. something in him relaxed just a tiny bit, and he shakily got to his feet, taking stumbling steps toward her. dean hissed under his breath, her name leaving his lips in a fit of anger. she ignored him still, and took tiny hands in her own. sam could only see her profile, but couldn’t miss the bob of her throat as she swallowed, hard. he tensed, he knew her mannerisms, knew she was about to do something she could never take back - 

before he could speak or move, arc turned her head and her green eyes lit up, blazing in the shadowed room. she looked heartbroken, stricken, but a spark of hope could be seen in her gaze. she whispered, “ i’m sorry. ” 

and then she was gone. 

—

“ we can’t track them. we - she’s definitely dumped her phone by now - she might not even be in the country, ” sam runs his fingers through his knotty hair, wracking his brain for something. anything, that could help. dean sits across from him in the bunker, staring at nothing. his face a cold, blank slate. dead, frozen eyes, and bruised, bloody knuckles resting on the tabletop. 

“ dean? ” sam pushes, concern for his brother taking over. dean hums, faraway, and sam tries to think of something to say. “ what do we do? ” he hates how hopeless he sounds. dean shrugs a stiff shoulder.  “ nothin’. can’t do anything, sammy. it’s over. ” sam frowns, shaking his head. no. he could’t believe that, wouldn’t believe it. “ no, dean, it’s not. arc is still out there, and she has jack- ”

“ yeah, arc chose lucifer’s bastard kid over us, ” dean interrupts, the hollow of his voice edged with anger and hurt. “ so, that’s that. a nephalem and a nephilim. we’re screwed, sam. ” 

“ arc believed that jack can be good, kelly believed that jack could be good, cas believed that - ”

“ and where is cas now? huh? ” dean’s entire demeanor changes so suddenly it feels like a slap to the face. his mouth twists into an unforgiving snarl, his eyes now ablaze with grief, and betrayal. his voice deepens, turns to fire and righteous fury. “ dead. and kelly? dead. ” he huffs a mirthless laugh and stands up, the legs of the chair scraping the ground. “ arc’ll be lucky if that thing doesn’t kill her too. we had one chance, sammy. one! and she screwed us over. ” 

dean turns and walks away. he tries to storm out, but his ribs are shrieking with the movement, and so the effect is slightly lessened by the way he limps. sam watches him go, knowing now wasn’t the time to fight this battle. he sits back and breathes out, finds tears tracking down his bruised, dirty face. the events of the previous twenty-four hours collapse in on him all at once: mary, the british men of letters, finding out that lucifer still walked the earth. the birth of the nephilim, generating so much power it ripped through the fabric of the universe, created a door into a hellish-alternate earth. his mom, now trapped in said hellish-alternate earth, with lucifer, of all things. castiel’s face as his grace burned out of him, the tip of the angel blade visible through his chest. the devastation he read on arc’s face, in the moments before she took the child and ran. 

crowley. dying in the wastelands, for them. for the world. 

kelly, dying, giving her own life so that jack could have one. his throat aches with unspoken words, unspoken goodbyes. 

even eileen… he lets out a whimper as an image of the irish hunter flickers in his mind. she didn’t deserve what happened to her. none of them ever did. and now… 

and now, sam doesn’t know where to go, or what to do. 

—

WICKLOW, IRELAND 

arc smiles; jack kicks his new football around the open field, grass swaying in the early summer breeze. the afternoon sun is pitched high in the blue sky, patterned with the odd wisp of cloud here and there. a cup of tea clasped between her hands, sitting on the backstep of her cottage in wicklow, ireland, this is probably the closest thing arc has ever felt to peace. 

“ arc, look! ” jack kicks, hard, the ball flying through the air, disappearing from sight. seconds letter, the boy’s wrist flicks and the ball returns, jack leaping midair to catch it. he turns to see arc’s reaction. she smiles fondly and sets down her cup on the concrete in order to clap her hands. “ that was great, sweetheart. well done! ”

jack practically glows at the praise; his eyes full of sunlight and innocence, his blonde hair catching just-right in the stream of sunlight. funnily enough, the effect it cast made it seem like a halo of light encircled his head. arc’s throat tightens with emotion, her eyes burning, her chest fit to burst with adoration. this kid… she still can’t believe it. she didn’t think it was possible to love another human being this much. to want to look after them, nurture them, protect them. but arc, arc is utterly devoted to this nephilim boy. when he smiled, she caught glimpses of kelly kline, her hope, her joy. that’s what jack really is, after all. kelly’s hope, kelly’s joy - and now arc’s, too. 

she wonders how long they would remain safe here. sure, they are warded, the house too. but the forces of both heaven and hell were out for blood, hers and his, and the winchesters… the truth of the whole thing is, arc has no real plan. not for the future, not really. how could she? she doesn’t know what to do, how to keep jack safe once he is old enough to ask more questions. she’s done her best to tell him the truth. as much of it as she felt he could process, at least. she didn’t want to lie to him, about his heritage, his parents. the past hs a habit of coming back to bite - she knew it was better to take the teeth out beforehand. 

jack flops down on the grass, enjoying the warmth. something twinged at her heart - she wishes so badly that she could keep him here, safe, happy, loved. not a weapon to be used in the battle between heaven and earth. dean always said there was no escaping the hunting life, though, and arc knew it was truly only a matter of time. like a shadow, it followed her. lurked at the corners, ready to slip back in. she heaves a sigh. her thoughts wander further still. she could only imagine the chaos the bunker must be experiencing right now. dean, enraged with her betrayal, her abrupt departure, sam probably more worried and concerned.

that night, arc goes about her business of tucking jack in and reading him something - they’d already moved on to more adult-type books. they’re halfway through the a series of unfortunate events series right now, and jack is loving it. when he falls asleep, she slips into the kitchen and sits at the old, worn table there. she takes a deep breath and settles herself,  before whispering a spell. her head falls, eyes rolling to the back of her head. she moves, in spirit, all the way across the sea, over subtly shifting landmasses and through grassy woods. all the way to lebanon, kansas,  where she hears the boys before she sees them. she appears in the kitchen, where the two seem to be arguing. 

“ c’mon, dean, we can’t just give up! ” sam is pleading, his eyes dark with bags, his skin sallow. dean looks no better, his lips a snarl around the beer bottle tipped to his mouth. “ why not? huh? what have we got? sam, what, exactly, can we do? everyone’s dead or gone. ” 

“ glad to see your chipper attitude hasn’t gone anywhere, ” arc speaks, startling them both. their expressions morph from shock to a stark contrast of relief (sam) and anger (dean). sam smiles, strained, but true. “ arc. how- " he looks puzzled until arc lets her hand pass through the counter top. " 'm not really here. "

sam nods, understanding. " where have you been? ”
“ somewhere safe. somewhere jack is safe. ”

dean scoffs. “ you can’t be safe with it. ” her jaw twitches. she fights to keep her cool.
“ i just wanted to let you know, we’re okay. ”

“ and why would we give a damn? ” dean asks, cold. sam looks to his brother, voice low and pained, “ dean. ” 
arc shakes her head. “ look. whatever temper tantrum you’re throwing, that’s your problem dean. you don’t get to take it out on jack. that’s why i left. ” 

dean raises his eyebrows, “ oh, so you took him away to, to, what? shelter him from my ‘temper tantrum’?” his tone is indignant, sarcastic. arc’s expression hardens.
“ i took him away to save him from you. ” 

sam blinks. 

“ you are the biggest hypocrite in the world, dean. you pal around with vampires and kings of hell, and yet the minute an innocent kid is born you’re ready to put a bullet in his head. ”

“ innocent? he’s lucifer’s kid! ”

“ so? ” she challenges, unflinching. “ he didn’t choose that. no more than you chose your sadistic, abusive, piece of shit dad to be yours. ” 

sam inhales sharply. this is dangerous territory. dean’s eyes darken. “ what did you just say? ” his voice drops an octave, thick with gravel. 

“ you heard me, dean. you might have it in your head that he was some great, self-sacrificing hero, but the truth is he was a shitty person. and a worse father. and your blind, hero-worship of him is truly sad. but again, that’s your problem. ” dean’s jaw works itself open and shut, but no words come out. arc’s face softens a bit. “ i know you think all kids want to make their father proud. do whatever they can to get their dad’s approval. but as far as jack is concerned, his father is not lucifer. and anyway, he’s not you, okay? ”

dean’s hand shakes, the bottle in his fingers clinking against his rings. “ you have no idea what you’re talking about. ” 

arc just shrugs. “ i mean, it doesn’t matter what i say. the one thing you’re better at than killing monsters is denying a truth. but i’m not gonna let you hurt jack. ” she pauses, with astral projection, she can’t really sense emotion the way she can in person. but it’s enough to see dean’s eyes. 

“ i know you blame him, for cas. ” 

the bottle shatters, beer fizzing across the floor. “ you - don’t say his name - ” 

“ oh, i don’t get to say his name? me? when you’re the one who wants to gank the kid he loved like his own! ” 

“ that thing brainwashed him, and now it’s brainwashing you-! ”

“ jack is not a thing! ” arc screams, her sense of stability snapping. sam phsyically jumps, and dean takes a step back. “ and he’s not an it. he’s a kid. a great kid, no. a brilliant kid. ” her volume drops as her voice takes on an adoring tone. “ he’s smart. and funny. and kind. he’s so gentle, and so curious. he’s willing to listen. willing to learn. i can feel him. okay? i can feel his soul. he is not lucifer. he’s not even kelly. he is his own person. ” her chest heaves with emotion, her eyes beginning to water. “ and i am not going to let anybody, not you, not lucifer, not anybody, tell him who he is. ” she looks to the floor, fighting back her tears. she shakes her head, a lump in her throat. she can’t quite shake the feeling that maybe next time she sees dean winchester, he’ll go straight for her throat. it hurts. 

she looks back up. sam’s face is soft and aching, longing. dean is- well, he has that look on his face. the one he wears when he thinks he’s hiding how he feels, when really, all the pain, and heartache, and grief is just sitting there for everyone to see. arc sighs. “ i’m sorry that i hurt you. i’m sorry that you feel betrayed. but i need to keep jack safe. from heaven, and from hell. and i need to keep you both safe, too. you’ve lost so much. not just historically, but recently, too. ” 

dean finds his voice, clearing his throat before finally speaking again. “ you don’t come back here. ever. ” he tips his chin up, defiant, daring. he neutralises his expression - but his eyes aren’t so easy to disguise. even his lower lip is visibly trembling. “ next time i see you, i put an angel blade in your chest. ” 
sam looks stricken. “ dean, no. ” but dean is past reasoning. his anger has always been his downfall. his anger, his pride. and arc feels like she’s been here before, so many times. she loves dean winchester, loves him so damn much. but you can’t save someone who refuses to be saved. 

she nods, and holds her breath. “ okay. stay safe. goodbye, sam. goodbye, dean. ”

sam reaches for her, but she disappears like smoke in the air. he stares with tears on his face as he stares at the empty space she once occupied. dean kicks at a broken shard of glass, letting it skitter across the floor. 

arc returns to her body with a whoosh, and presses her palms to the cool wood in front of her. for the first time in months, she’s forced to confront her feelings. they spill over like a dam bursting open, and she bites at her knuckles in an effort to remain quiet. not wanting to wake jack. she closes her eyes, feels her wet lashes on her cheek. she makes a broken, jagged sound into her fist, biting harder. she only registers pain. grief. loss. 

castiel, burning out in front of her. mary slipping through a crack in time and space. kelly. crowley, sacrificing himself in the other world, and now - 

she’s lost dean many times, buried him more than once, now. but to lose him like this, while he was still live?

somehow this is worse. 

she bends her arms and buries her face in her elbow. her body shakes, violently, as she silently whimpers into the fabric of her jacket. her heart is broken, much like the beer bottle on the bunker kitchen floor. she cries, and cries, and cries, until her own heartbeat is enough to lull her to sleep. 

Chapter Text

jack’s voice wakes arc. he hovers over her, a deep furrow in his brow. “ arc? are you okay? ” she blinks up at him, coming to, slowly. “ jack. good morning. yes. yes, i’m fine. sorry. i must have … fallen asleep here. ” she smiles at him, it’s not a hard thing to do. his eyes still hold worry, and she stands up. “ honestly, jack. i’m all good. breakfast? ” she moves to the fridge, opening the door. “ pancakes? ” she offers, and his expression lightens. he nods. arc smiles. “ okay, you go get dressed, and i’ll make a start. ”

when he disappears around the corner, her smile falls. thoughts of last night flicker in her mind. dean’s anger, the way he looked at her. like she broke his heart. well, maybe she did. she can’t think about that, though. not right now. not with a two-week old nephilim, with so much to teach him. jack has to be the priority. protecting him. teaching him. the winchesters were just going to have to get through this one without her. 

as she’s serving up a large stack of fluffy pancakes, jack asks her a question. 

“ do you miss castiel? ” her hands shake around the pan she settles into the sink, full to the brim with warm, soapy water. she concentrates on the bubbles erupting on the foaming mountains, reminding herself to breathe. “ yes. he was my friend. i l- i cared for him. very much. ” she tries to smile, but it fades when she notices the sad look on jack’s face. “ i know i never met him, but… i miss him, too. ” arc’s face softens, her heart swelling with sympathy. 

“ he would have been a really great dad. he loved you so much before you were even born. ”

jack’s eyes are wide and bright and heartbreaking when he asks, “ is it my fault that he’s dead? ” arc inhales sharply, wiping her hands on a tea towel as she strides across the wooden floor. her arms come to wrap around his shoulders, and he clings to her like a baby koala. “ no, jack, ” she tells him, firm, no room for arguments. “ it’s not your fault. what happened to cas was - it was not your fault. and your mom - it wasn’t your fault either. it was just the way things happened, which is sad, and horrible, and i’m so, so sorry. ” she pulls back from the hug, just far enough to cup his soft face in her hands and look him dead in the eyes. “ you are a good person, jack. a good boy. ” she reaches up, strokes a strand of shiny, soft hair. his eyes flutter shut, leaning in to the comforting gesture. “ none of it is your fault. ” 

“ but you left your family, ” he reminds her, quietly. “ you had to leave your family. ” she places her hand on his cheek, waits for him to lift his gaze from his lap. “ you are my family. you are the most important thing now. i didn’t have to do anything. i chose to protect you. to be here for you. that’s my choice. ” she tries a tentative smile, relieved when he returns it in kind. she squeezes his shoulder. “ now c’mon. you don’t want your pancakes getting cold. ”

she returns to the sink, her back to the boy. she doesn’t notice him watching her, doesn’t know how much of her emotion, her grief, pain, ache, loss, and anger he can feel. how he could feel her heart break again when he had mentioned castiel - how thoughts of an angry. man with green eyes had flickered briefly in her mind. a man with green eyes and a soul drowning in grief for castiel. jack could feel her pain, and the green-eyed mans pain, too. he closes his eyes, channelling that energy, that ache. whispering to himself, or maybe to the universe. 

castiel. 

— 

it’s one of the first question cas asks. after the welcome-home hugs and the man-tears, he looks for arc. for jack. he doesn’t miss how dean’s breathing goes uneven, how he angles his head away. sam glances at his brother, then back to castiel, still wearing his questioning expression. “ we don’t know, cas. ” cas does the head-tilt, the one everyone always finds so damn cute, and frowns. sam explains everything that’s happened since cas’ death. the angel listens intently, and dean shifts, uncomfortable, remaining silent. 

“ so you saw her? two nights ago? ” sam nods. 

“ well, she was astral projecting. but, yes. ”
“ and she said she and jack were safe? ” sam nods again. cas paces around, deep in thought. trying to figure some way they could find arc and jack. it wouldn’t be easy, but maybe, it was possible. “ can’t you reach out to her, on angel radio? ” cas shakes his head, “ no. she doesn’t tune in. it hurts her. most likely it hurts jack, too. nephalem and nephilim, they struggle with the frequency. ”

dean finally speaks, irritated. “ why do those gotta sound almost exactly the same, huh? ” when sam and cas look at him, wide-eyed and confused, he gets defensive. “ what? they do sound the same! ”

sam ignores his brother, looking at the angel. “ you have a connection to jack, though, right? can you feel your way to him through that? ” 

“ not if he’s warded. ” sam sighs, disappointed. he rubs his hand over his mouth. “ well, after the conversation we had with her last night, arc won’t be coming back here any time soon. ” his eyes flicker to dean, who is stone-faced and sullen. cas opens his mouth, to ask, then thinks better of it. dean will tell him, when he’s ready. if he doesn’t, he can always ask arc when he finds her. 

“ i’ll find her. i’ll - i’ll find a way. ” as he turns on his heel and heads for the stairs, dean makes a face, gesturing to him questioningly. “ where the hell you goin’? ” cas pauses. turning around, glancing up at the hunter.  “ i - i mean- we just got you back, man. you can’t just jet on us. ” 

cas closes his eyes. “ i need to find them, dean. ” dean, clearly upset, clenches his fists. “ then, stay here. we got the biggest lore catalogue on earth here. if you wanna find them, start here. with us. ”

with me, he says, with his eyes. tender green pleads in silence to warm baby blues, and sam suddenly feels like an intruder. like he’s witnessing a tender moment not meant for his gaze. 

cas eventually nods, some tension eases from dean’s posture - and sam finds he can breathe a little easier.

— 

it’s late in the evening, the sun barely a smudge on the horizon. in the sitting room, arc is flipping aimlessly through a random book. not reading it, just turning the pages. just to give her hands something to do. jack comes through the door way at a sprint, skidding to a halt before her. he looks excited, his face lit up like a christmas grotto. “ it’s cas! ”

arc’s heart skips a beat. “ what? ” jack crouches down to get eye-level, his mouth stretched in a wide, beaming smile. “ castiel. he’s back. i can feel him. ” arc lets the book fall over the side of the chair, to the floor. she leans forward and gently takes jack’s hands in her own. 

“ jack… cas is dead, ” she reminds him, gently. “ i saw him die. ” jack nods, every movement at super-speed. “ he’s back. arc, i swear, look! ” before she can protest, jack touches two fingertips to her temple - she’s spinning. the ground rises up and swallows her down, there’s an aura of safety and warmth, pulsating somewhere. somewhere far away. a gravelly voice, accompanied by a flash of tan fabric and sharp blue eyes. arc gasps as jack pulls away, meeting his eyes, her own wide and taken aback. “ arc? ” 

his voice trembles audibly with excitement. arc feels her throat closing up; it can’t be true, it can’t - what if it was lucifer, somehow returned from the other world? playing a trick, or heaven, or hell, trying to lure them out of hiding. her chest aches, she cannot hope, cannot deal with seeing hope crumble away between her fingers. 

she stands abruptly, breathing heavily. jack’s hands fall limply to his sides as he rises to meet her. “ i thought this would be a good thing. ” arc examines his face, close. a thought occurs to her, and she narrows her eyes. “ jack… ” she begins, softly, “ did you bring cas back? ”

jack furrows his brow, looking to the side. “ i - i don’t know. ” he looks as confused as arc feels. she reaches out to jack, squeezes his elbow, gently. “ w- wait here, sweetheart. okay? ” jack nods, and arc leaves the room. she makes for her bedroom, then turns around again on the landing. she has no phone. not even a landline. she felt it was safer, ensuring no one could track them here, not magically or through technology. well, that’s turning out to be a stupid decision. she bites her tongue and argues with herself inside her head. if cas is back, she needs to know. the safest way to do that, would be to astral project back to the bunker. ask the winchesters.

less than forty-eight hours ago, dean winchester told her never to return to that very bunker. and, besides, if it’s true, if cas is back, who knows where he is right now? maybe at the bunker, maybe stumbling around a back road somewhere, lost and confused. in the closest town, maybe an hour’s drive from the house, she knows there’s an old payphone. but it’s a long drive, and she doesn’t want to leave jack. nor is she willing to take him outside the protection of the warding. so far, they haven’t had to leave the house, or the land surrounding it. arc swears under her breath, digs her nails into her palms. what can she do? 

— 

she calls sam, in the end. drives out into town, with jack under strict instructions not to leave his bedroom until she returns. at the grimy public payphone, she uses her powers to send the call through, relieved to hear sam’s voice on the other end. 

“ it’s true, then? cas is back? ”

“ how - how could you have known that? ”

arc kicks at brittle, dead leaves by her feet. “ it is true. put him on. ”

cas’ voice is familiar and gravelly, strong, even down the tinny, fuzzy line. “ cas… ” she whispers, and for the first time, maybe ever, it feels like a prayer. 

—

she modifies the wardings just enough for cas to arrive. to see him, alive, and staring at her, those big blue eyes wide and happy... it knocks the breath out of her chest. she calls softly for jack, who peeks around the doorframe. " castiel? " 

the angel in his trusty trench coat nods. jack walks into his arms. immediately, clinging tight. cas closes his eyes and smiles, wrapping his own arms around the boy. it warms arc's fractured heart, to see the pair finally meet. when he steps away, he looks to arc, smile shining on his face. " could you give us a couple of minutes? " jack nods and leaves the room, with one last look at his chosen father. 

arc glances at castiel, her lips turning downward. " cas, if you're here to ask me to come back... " he gives her a sad, soft look, and it frustrates her that it still works. no other person has ever won her over with damn puppy-dog eyes, but castiel has always been so freakin' earnest. she sighs and determines to hold her ground, balling her fists tight behind her back. 

“ i can’t come back to the bunker. and i won’t leave jack. ” cas bites back a frustrated sigh. he knows how hard the last month or so has been on her. 

“ can’t come back to the bunker, or won’t? ” he challenges, as gently as he can. arc looks stricken, but resigned, as she shrugs helplessly. “ both. ” she swallows thickly and shakes her head. “ i don’t trust dean, ” she admits, staring at the floor, knowing all too well cas would have that deer-in-the-headlights look. “ not with jack. and he - he told me, he told me he’d hurt me if he ever saw me again. ” 

cas hears the undercurrent of hurt beneath her tone. “ arc, he didn’t mean it. ” 

“ yes, he did. don’t defend him, castiel. not to me. ” castiel takes a breath, then. “ so what do we do now? ”

arc gazes up at him, hope in her green eyes. “ you could stay here. we could all stay here. until he’s ready to go out into the world. ” castiel shakes his head. 

“ that’s not an option. ”

arc’s jaw tightens. he can tell she is exhausted, not just physically. everything that has happened, especially dean’s threats, had aimed low and hit hard. she grits her teeth for a second, before releasing her jaw. “ castiel… you can stay here, with jack and i, or you can leave, by yourself. ” 

“ that’s not an option, either. i’m not leaving without jack. ” 

something like fear flashes across the nephalem’s face. “ no. no, cas. you - you’re not taking him away from me. ” she sounds breathless, winded. feels it, too. cas looks sorry, but not enough to take his words back. “ you know there’s a prince of hell out there, right? looking for him, looking for jack. ” she glances over her shoulder, ensuring jack is out of earshot. “ the demons are searching high and low. ” 

“ what prince? ”

“ asmodeus. the final one. and, from what i hear, he ain’t exactly an easy kill. so i am not putting jack in that kind of danger. he’s barely a month old! he may look all grown up, but he’s not. and i - i’ve been there. i was fully-grown by the time i hit three years old. physically, not emotionally. ” she steps closer to cas, dropping her voice. “ you were raised a soldier. sam and dean were raised soldiers. jack won’t be. not on my watch. ”

cas hears her. really, he does. but jack is a special kid, and maybe a month of childhood is all he gets. which - yeah, it sucks. and he promised kelly he would protect jack. be there for him. be a father. 

“ arc, you will always be family, ” he says, finally. “ and now, jack is part of that family, too. family is stronger together. you belong at home, in the bunker. so does he. i know you felt alone - i know you were alone, with kelly dead, and me. but i’m back. i’m here. and i can get through to dean. ” he reaches out, touches her shoulder. she feels the coolness of his palm, always finding angels to run at a slightly lower temperature than most humans. she bites her lip and clenches her fist hard enough for several knuckles to pop. cas doesn’t falter in his bruising stare, begging with sad, blue eyes. 

she curses him, silently, curses herself, curses the winchesters. she surrenders. because the truth of the matter is this: she can’t do this alone. she’s scared. she has no plan, no idea what to do next. no idea how to raise a kid, nephilim or otherwise. and as much as she doesn’t want to see dean, she’s not ready to walk away from cas again so quick. plus, she knows what jack means to him, and how good castiel will be for the kid. how much jack deserves to have that good influence.

that the more people that care for him, the more there’ll be to protect him. 

“ if anything happens to him… ” her voice is weak, she feels weak. “ it won’t, ” castiel reassures her, pulling her in for a gratitude-filled hug. she wraps her arms around his shoulders and inhales his familiar, soothing scent: like rain and freshly-mowed grass, the summer breeze when it’s just-perfectly warm. the lack of sleep and the torrent of repressed emotions have her sinking into the angel. 

she trusts him. and jack trusts her. and already he trusts cas, too. so. that’s that. as she leaves the old house to return to the states, she tries to leave behind the feeling that she’s making a very bad choice.

Chapter Text

to say that the bunker’s atmosphere was tense would be an understatement. dean’s unhappy with jack’s arrival. arc is avoiding dean. sam is at least trying with jack, which arc and castiel both appreciate. it’s like walking on eggshells, at least for cas and sam. dean is pouty, with a face like thunder, rolling his eyes and holding silent out of childishness. arc isn’t much better, slamming doors and stomping heavily down hallways. one night, it boils over quite spectacularly, when arc overhears a conversation between jack and dean, and really, really does not like it. 

“ if you raise so much as a single finger toward that boy, dean winchester i will make you wish a thousand times over you’d never been born. ” her teeth are bared, her hands outstretched, holding dean tight to the wall. not off his feet, not choking him. just holding him there. he keeps pouting - seriously- and lifts his chin defiantly. 

“ not only is he a nephilim, arc, he is lucifer’s son- ”

“ yeah, and you’re john winchester’s kid but you don’t see me bringing that up 24/7! ” 

the hunters nostrils flare, the pout falling away. his cheeks puff up and arc shifts on her feet. knowing she’s touched a nerve. jack is wide-eyed and flinching in the hallway when cas and sam skid into the room. “ hey. ” sam, always so calm and cool, always the voice of reason. “ why don’t we all just take a breather, for a second- ” 

“ dean’s the one who needs to calm his stupid, pig-headed ass down. i just heard him tell jack that he’ll be the one to kill him, ” arc spits, and cas feels his chest tighten. he meets dean’s eyes for a split second, knowing immediately that arc is telling the truth. he swallows down his own frustration, not wanting to add fuel to the flames. sam runs his hand over his face, then through his hair. 

“ that’s not gonna happen, ” he tries to say, but arc keeps dean held fast to the wall. she’s not hurting him, or trying to. dean’s not afraid of her, though maybe he should be. she snarls just a little before bringing her hand back down to her side. dean relaxes, freed from her hold. “ is it jealousy, dean? ” arc asks, her head tilting to the side. “ ‘cause you’re not cas’ pet project anymore. you’re not his number one. it’s jack. ” and now, even she can admit, deep down at least, that she’s just being petty. 

dean flushes a painful shade of red. spluttering around nonsense sounds that come out instead of words. arc smirks, triumphant. she turns on her heels and leaves the room. sam and cas exchange pained, worried looks. 

yeah. this is probably gonna get a lot worse before it starts to get better. 

— 

true to form, the worse comes hard and fast, with a hunt gone wrong, and jack left to sit with the guilt. he disappears, afraid of himself, his own powers. the three men are upset. arc is livid. 

“ this is your fault. you, feeding him with your lack of belief in him, with threats to kill him - ” 

dean touches his hand to his forehead, as though to soothe an ache. “ he killed that security guard. ” 

“ yeah, believe me, dean, your kill list is longer than his, so, ” she shrugs her shoulders, making a face. “ and he doesn’t have control over his powers, ‘cause he’s a few months old. what’s your excuse?” 

“ i hunt monsters for a living! ” 

“ and you’ve never killed a human, ” she counters. 

“ not without reason. ” 

arc scoffs. “ right. ‘cause dean winchester gets to decide what reason is justice enough for killing some poor asshole. ” without waiting for a reply, she’s headed up the stairs. purposely stepping heavy and loud, just to piss dean off. “ where are you going? ” he calls after her, annoyance clear in his tone. 

“ to find jack! ” she yells back, before the bunker door opens and shuts, with a very heavy, very intentional, slam. 

— 

cas sets up a meeting with an angel to help find jack. arc doesn’t answer their calls, and dean pretends he's not worried about her. cas checks in once a day, usually with nothing to report. sam and dean track a series of witch killings, eventually discovering that a man was looking for rowena, who is dead. oh, and this man, this killer? sounds an awful lot like another dead person - arthur ketch, man of letters. when they find him, he claims to be arthur’s twin brother, identifying himself as alexander. dean doesn’t buy it. ketch finally confesses the truth: that he's been working with prince asmodeus. after everything that had occurred, he seeks redemption, a fresh start. ketch suggests somewhat of an alliance to the winchesters: but asmodeus senses the deception in ketch and beats him black and blue. so ketch defects entirely, stealing the two most important things to the prince of hell: gabriel, who is alive, and has been subjected to torture for years at the hands of asmodeus, and the archangel blade. he presents both to the winchesters, leaving them utterly flabbergasted.

gabriel is unrecognisable from the mischievous trickster they met so long ago. now he is a wounded animal, covered in blood and dirt, with rags for clothes falling apart on his small frame. his eyes are wide and alert and there are nightmares in that striking hazel that gives even dean a shiver. his mouth is actually sewn shut, and any time anybody approaches him he wails and flings himself into the wall, curling into a protective ball. he huddles tight in on himself, a shell, no, a shadow of his former glory. dean and sam are not quite sure what to do with him, nor with ketch - but they warily accept his offer of an alliance. 

meanwhile… 

cas hasn’t actually been calling to check in, on account of his being captured and jailed by the one and only prince asmodeus. also unbeknownst to dean, lucifer has escaped the other world, alone, and is locked up in the cell next to castiel. asmodeus, prince of shapeshifting, mimics castiel’s voice down the line when he calls dean. a third thing that dean doesn't know, is that donatello is under asmodeus' influence, translating the demon tablet and feeding back what he knows to the prince.

of course lucifer arrived with bad news, too. the alternate universe, the doorway to which was inadvertently opened during kelly kline’s labour, is planning a collision. other michael wants to invade and conquer their earth, a sentiment nobody should be keen on. 

though, what lucifer expects cas to do about that from a prison cell in hell is beyond him. 

arc grumbles in the cell next to them. oh, yeah, she’s there, too.  “ stupid angels. stupid archangels. stupid michael. stupid winchesters. ” a muffled thud echoes through the dusty hallways. arc’s kicked and punched at the walls a few times now. it does nothing but add to her frustrating, the skin healing over on her knuckles immediately. 

several hours earlier 

the man with the scarred face and the white suit also has the most annoying accent arc has ever heard. she spits at his feet in defiance, and he just smiles, no, sneers. 

“ so this is the nephalem, then. the dark daughter of heaven, the grace of hell. ” he tips his head. almost gentlemanly, but mockingly. “ i expected more. ” he says, earning the snickers of several lower demons. arc just stares, deadpan, and then asks, “ oh. shit. am i supposed to know who you are? ” her face lights up, then, as she excitedly asks, “ wait! you’re the colonel! the chicken guy! ” she grins, lopsided. “ what an honour. ”

asmodeus laughs, light and airy. “ i know you’re being sarcastic, darlin’, but you’re actually not wrong. i was a good businessman, in the day. ”  arc stays quiet. “ i… ” he spreads his arms outward, grandly. “ am asmodeus. prince of hell. ” arc’s lips twitch slightly. “ the name isn’t darlin’. and you know i’m part-irish, right? ” she tips her head to the side and shrugs. “ historically, we don’t tend to get on very well with the monarchy. ” 

“ and yet, you shared quite the close relationship with ‘king’ crowley. ” his tone touches on sarcasm at the title. arc doesn’t let it show, but her heart shatters again at the mention of her friends name. she bares her teeth in a fake smile. 

“ so, you’re the nephalem. one half of the set. where’s the other half? ” arc just stares, face blank. asmodeus sighs. “ please, part-irish, ” he drawls. slow and sweet and thick like molasses, and twice as sickening, “ let’s not do this the hard way, hm? ” he raises a single eyebrow, extending a hand. arc just tilts her head back, tips her chin up in defiance. 

he sighs. snaps his fingers - arc finds herself bound to the chair with chains that burn cold against her skin. flexing against the metal, orange sigils flare up along the links - she swallows. men of letter's warding. fuck. her arm is wrestled away and stretched out, and she pretends to struggle, just a little. asmodeus watches with the ghost of an amused smirk on his face. she never breaks the staring contest. when another demon appears with a blowtorch, arc finds it difficult to hide her own smile. 

when the demon turns it on and lets the flame touch her skin, she opens her mouth, and screams. and screams. and screams. asmodeus laughs the whole time, really rather enjoying himself. 

until she stops screaming. 

the flames lick at her skin, but she just stops screaming. her eyes turn bored, and she simply sighs, almost exasperated. it occurs to the prince of hell, then, that he does not smell burning flesh. 

“ stop that! ” he orders, voice like a whip. arc lets the smirk on her lips grow, as he inspects the smooth, unmarred skin. 

“ looks like you need to brush up on your nephalem studies, huh? ” she asks, eyebrows raised. asmodeus, though, has patience. at least, for now. he nods at one of the many minions surrounding her. “ throw her in a cell. we’ll figure out a way to get information from her. ”

arc senses a familiar presence as she’s unceremoniously tossed into a plain cell, and then the guards filter out of the hallway. she steps closer to the bars of her own prison. “ castiel? ”

“ arc? ” the relief of hearing her voice is undercut with worry. “ what are you doing here? ”

“ well, i could ask you the same question… ” she trails off, as another voice, all-too familiar, speaks up.  

“ ohmygod, arc?! girl, it’s been too long! ” she steps away from the wall, eyes wide. 

“ lucifer? how did you get back? is mary here? ”

lucifer snorts. “ oh, yeah, arc, i’m fine, thanks for asking. ” arc shakes her head. brilliant. there goes any chance of peace during her imprisonment. castiel explains what lucifer told him, about other michael’s plan to burst through the door and reign over this world. she leans her forehead against the cool stone wall, separating her from lucifer, from cas. 

“ how does this always happen? ” she whispers, more-so to herself than either of the fallen angels. “ i knew this would happen. i knew jack wouldn’t be safe around them. i told you, cas. i begged you. ” she struggles to keep her emotions in check, her breath catching in the back of her throat. lucifer takes an interest at the mention of his son. “ you were looking after him, right? ” he questions. 

“ yeah. ” 

“ so, you know him. you know him well. ” lucifer pushes, and castiel rolls his eyes in the privacy of his own cell. arc says yes. “ tell me about him, ” he asks, and she catches a note in his voice that she doesn’t recognise. she thinks it might be… longing. a different kind of longing. not a desire for power, or glory, or worship. a simpler yearning. a father, wanting to know his son. she sighs, strung out with worry, and too tired to think any better. she lets herself slide down the wall, her back against it. “ what do you wanna know? ” 

—

that was a few hours ago. once she’d told him how kind and gentle jack has grown to be, cas interrupted. he wanted to know everything lucifer did about michael. about their plans to get from apocalypse world to this one. turns out, lucifer doesn’t know all that much. then, cas has another question. 

“ wait, arc. how did they trap you here?” 

arc smirks to herself, annoyed. “ the british men of letters, they figured out a way to keep me trapped. somehow - i guess the demons got their hands on the warding. ” lucifer chuckles. “ so she’s not invulnerable, ” he states, sounding delighted. 

arc just rolls her eyes, not willing to waste energy. not that she’s lacking it at all, not anymore. nerves, rage, and worry all spark through her veins. she needs to get to jack. needs to find him, needs to know he’s okay. demons pass through, making fun, their words are nothing to arc. lucifer, of course, loses his temper. cas laughs, almost silent. arc can feel it, more than hear it. a day or so passes in relative silence. arc is certain she hears the barest whisper of an almost familiar british accent, but brushes it off. 

then, there’s a plan, and the angel, the archangel, and the nephalem bust out of their cells, snagging a blade from the demon they kill through the bars of lucifer’s cage. for a moment, it’s all sweet relief. the atmosphere turns heavy and suffocating when red lights begin to flicker, a klaxon sounding out loud and overbearing. the three celestial beings can hear the dozens of footsteps making their way to the prison. 

arc calculates, swift. cas isn’t exactly working on full juice. lucifer is more than low on grace, and she’s strong, but she’s not that strong. plus, the warding is still lingering, enough to take a little strength out of her punches. the three face forward, preparing for a firefight. 

a firefight that will consume them all… unless. 

“ you need grace, right? ” arc is facing away from both angels, down the hallway. she can still hear faint footsteps rushing toward them. getting closer and closer, all too fast. “ c’mere. ” she jerks her head, beckoning lucifer forward. cas steps to her other side, his voice a low growl in her ear. “ what are you doing? ”

arc sighs, and rips the blade from his fingers. “ somethin’ stupid. " she mutters, before meeting cas' gaze, solemn as she tells him, " find jack. take care of him.” she turns to lucifer, and uses the blade to nick the skin below her throat. a thin stream of blue light spills out, and lucifer’s reaction is automatic. he inhales her grace, feels it flowing through his body. re-energising, rejuvenating. cas’ eyes widen in fear and shock. arc shoves the angel blade into his hand and pushes them both back with a surge of power. 

“ go. i can buy you time. ” she orders, flat.

“ what - why did you do that? ” lucifer wants to know. arc snarls, the footsteps nearly upon them.
“ you know what happens to a nephalem when you take one part of the mix out? ” she twitches her nose and cracks her knuckles. “ the other two parts start to destabilise. and the nephalem… goes… feral. ” her voice drops to a snarl, low and cracked and rough. the pair of angels don’t move, still too stunned and confused. 

arc senses them behind her, losing her temper, she turns - the angels almost gasp at the sight of her - black veins twisting up around her face, purple fissures on her eye sockets, her eyes themselves turned grey and blurry. “ if you don’t run now, you’re going to be my first victims - RUN! ” 

so they do. they run. they turn and they run, and they keep running, until they’re as far from asmodeus as possible, until cas is sure arc must be dead or injured. they stop in a densely-packed area of trees, and neither one is exactly on top form. even with arc’s grace, the archangel in particular struggles to catch his breath as he leans against a thick trunk. 

cas grits his teeth. “ we need to go back. ”

lucifer stares at his brother. “ are you crazy?! we barely got out of there! ” cas’ eyes are full of frozen fury.

“ we left arc behind. we let her - ” he cuts himself off and stretches his neck, breathing in deep. “ she’s probably dead, dude. ” the blonde points out, before finding himself cut off at the throat and held fast against the tree. “ we are going back for her. once we get to the bunker - and yes, you’re coming with me - and get you locked up nice and safe, we’re going to get arc back, and then you’re going to return her grace to her. ” despite his anger, cas speaks coolly, almost calm. but you can feel the strain, the barely-held in hysteria he’s biting back.

lucifer frowns. “ yeah. about the grace thing- ow! ” his head smacks hard against the tree, cas shoving him further, tightening his hands around his neck. “ it’s not a question. ” 

in the blink of an eye, castiel has them returned to the bunker. dean lets cas in, but freaks out when he sees lucifer. cas explains why they need him- and they force lucifer into the dungeon. sealing him with a ring of holy fire.

and a promise to come back. 

Chapter Text

the trail of blood and smoked out corpses leads deep into the king of hells old domain. arc is all snarls and animalistic growls when they find her. unrecognisable and covered in gore. there’s no white suit to be spotted amidst the mess, though, implying that asmodeus was able to escape. the boys trap arc in enchanted chains, and rather quickly get her unconscious with a gun barrel to the head. they’re pretty certain they overcome her with such ease due to her lack of grace, but it could also be that she’s very obviously on the brink of death. her skin is freezing to the touch, yet slick with beads of sweat. any words she tries to snap at them come out in a slurred garble. cas winces when his fingertips brush her forehead, and he shakes his head at dean. indicating that the situation is not good, it is, in fact, rather dire. 

back at the bunker, they find that, without her grace, a devil’s trap just about works to keep arc contained. they’re all more than a little surprised when lucifer returns the grace without anyone asking. he notes the looks they give to him, and makes a face. “ shut up! ” he hisses, rolling his eyes and turning away, arms folded defensively over his chest. they don’t push him on it, much more focused on saving arc’s life. ketch peeks in from the doorway, a little concerned for the wrecked girl in the room. 

cas steps into the circle, pops open the vial - even unconscious, arc sucks in the blue grace, on instinct. her eyes snap open, unfocused, taking on a white-blue glow, for a moment. before falling shut, as she slumps back in the chair. cas straightens and nods at the brothers. dean returns the nod and undoes the binds around her body, lifting her gently, bridal style. he takes her down to her room, settling her underneath the duvet. almost without thinking, he brushes back short, blond strands from her forehead, the hair almost stuck to her skin with blood. most of cas’ energy got used up teleporting to the bunker, back to arc, and again to the bunker, so he has no juice left to clean her up. she doesn’t seem injured, though, no bruises, the blood does not seem to be her own. dean exits the room and is careful to shut the door quietly behind him. 

he meets his brother in the hallway. sam looks worried; “what now?” 

dean sighs, not exactly sure. they have an unconscious nephalem, and a very traumatised archangel in their bunker - as well as the devil himself, and arthur fucking ketch of all people. not to mention no leads on jack. dean pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head, then looks up at sam. “ first of all, i think we’ve earned a drink,” he says, clapping the taller winchester on the shoulder as he moves past, toward the kitchen. 

—

it’s … maybe not the strangest thing he’s ever experienced, but hell. sitting on the kitchen table and having a quiet, civil beer with sam, castiel, and arthur ketch was certainly up there. the brit had tentatively enquired about arc’s prognosis, and sam had kept it short, in response, saying she’d be fine. the silence that stretches around the four men - well, three men and one seraph, technically - is uncomfortable, heavy, thick. they sip their beers. 

ketch taps the rim of his bottle lightly against his lower lip. “ so, lucifer, huh?” he raises his eyebrows, meeting the others eyes one by one. “satan himself.” he sort-of smiles, as though intending to loosen the tension. sam can’t meet his eyes, and deans gaze keeps switching back and forth between the door and cas. ketch nods to himself, muttering, “alright, then.” under his breath. 

dean slams his empty bottle down on the table, just a little harsher than he means to. the others, bar cas, startle at the sudden noise. dean stands, voice rough as he explains, “ ‘m’gonna go check in on arc.” he heads for the kitchen door, then hangs back to talk to sam. “ don’t let him, ” he pauses to point an accusatory finger at ketch, “ anywhere near lucifer.” sam nods. 

“i might go check in on gabriel, ” he says, softly, after dean has left. he glances at cas. “ keep an eye on him?” he tilts his head at ketch, standing awkwardly by the wall. cas agrees.

“call me if you need help with him.” 

sam smiles, grateful, and follows his brother down the hall.

—

“ i hunt monsters for a living! ” 

“ and you’ve never killed a human, ” she counters. 

“ not without reason. ” 

dean can’t stop running through his last interaction with arc. how angry they’d both been. how stubborn they’d been, how they had known where to hit to hurt the most- 

when cas had told him what she had done, sacrificing her grace, dean’s stomach had tightened. he kept replaying the last moment he saw her, over and over in his mind. the last words they exchanged were in anger, venom, hurt. even before that, when she was gone with jack, and dean, he told her: don’t come back. don’t ever come back. how he threatened her - threatened to put an angel blade through her chest. he wonders if she hates him; wonders, does she think i hate her? 

would she have died thinking i hate her? 

dean goes still, heart pounding a harsh rhythm inside his chest, as arc shifts in her sleep. she turns onto her side, facing dean. she doesn’t wake, though she sort-of whimpers, as though dreaming. dean’s throat aches with the strain of holding back tears, and he backs away a little to clear his throat. 

it wasn’t always this way. there was a time when dean and arc were close, undeniably, intimately. not in that way - neither one would ever admit to even entertaining the idea of acknowledging any potential feelings there. they were still close, and would laugh together, bicker childishly, but friendly. dean could go to arc with anything, and vice versa - he often wondered, silently, of course, what he would do without her. 

he thought if the day ever came that she wasn’t there, it would be because she - well. because she wasn’t on this mortal plane anymore. not once could he have imagined that she would leave them for lucifer’s illegitimate child. it burned dean in ways he hasn’t felt since purgatory. since cas’ hand slipped from his as the portal started to shut, and arc was screaming cas’ name- 

anyway. dean watches her sleep from the doorway, noting with a hint of relief the colour coming back to her cheeks. her chest rises and falls evenly, lulling dean into a moment of rarely-felt peace.

a bang sounds from down the other side of the bunker, and dean is like a bullet from a gun as he runs toward the room where gabriel has taken refuge. sam is outside the door, face crumpled in a frown, biting his lower lip as he gazes in at the archangel with teary eyes. “what happened?” dean comes to a halt, leaning on the wall slightly to catch his breath. 
“i … i just wanted to take the stitches out of his mouth, ” sam explains, shaky, swallowing hard. “ i just wanted to help…” his voice breaks, pain for the angel clear on his face, in his bowed posture. dean grimaces sympathetically and pats his baby brother on the arm. 

“he needs time, sammy, ” he reassures sam in a whisper, “he’s obviously been through, well, hell, and he probably just needs to get used to being here. ” sam is still biting his lower lip, in an effort to keep it from trembling. he nods at dean, looking at the floor and sniffing a couple of times. 

“yeah. yeah, you’re probably right.” sam tries to smile, but it’s fake and doesn’t reach his eyes. he turns his gaze to the floor and shuffles down the hallway. dean risks a peek into the room, gabriel is leaning against the wall, entire body trembling. 

this whole thing is a mess, he thinks to himself. he rubs his hand over his face, and swears. just like that, his peace dissipates like fog melting away.

— 

cas finds sam in the library, head buried between his hands. broad shoulders are shaking, little sniffs audible to the angel. he sits next to his friend, letting sam adjust to the sudden weight joining him on the leather couch. 

after a moment or two of silence, cas speaks. “ you’re doing your best.” 

sam can only laugh, a breathy huff of self-deprecating air. cas doesn’t budge. 

“ it will take time. dean is right. ” 

sam nods, lifting his head. 

“ i know, i just…” he shakes his head, closing his eyes in a wince. “ i just wish we’d known.” cas nods, understanding. the thought of his brother suffering such pain and torture for so long… 

“ i mean, we never even looked for him-” sam’s voice breaks as he breaks off and clears his throat. 

“we thought he was dead.” castiel reminds the younger winchester. of course, sam knows this. but it doesn’t lift the guilt, the weight of that still sitting on his broad shoulders. cas isn’t sure what to say, or how to comfort his friend. so he chooses to say nothing, and simply hopes his presence would be enough. 

— 

dean’s watching arc as she wakes. she stares at him for a moment, still disorientated as she blinks into wakefulness. “you watchin’ me sleep?” she doesn’t sound angry, though, which dean is grateful for. 

he clears his throat awkwardly and shakes his head, sitting forward a little on the seat he’d dragged next to her bed to sit on. he gives her a once over as she gingerly sits up. “ no- uh, just… keepin’ an eye. you gave us a scare, arc. we almost lost you. ” arc looks at him, scans his face, noting the bags under his eyes. she shrugs then and looks away, stretching her arms over her head. she climbs out of the bed and dean rises, too, holding his hands out awkwardly as though to catch her. she raises her eyebrows at him. he drops his hands. “ listen, dean.” dean waits for the speech. the “we’re not friends anymore, i don’t need you looking out for me.” talk. he keeps his gaze fixed firmly on the plain wall by the door. he can do this without getting upset. he can do it. 

“thank you.” his head turns so fast it’s a wonder his neck doesn’t snap. his eyes wide and mouth open just a little. arc continues. “ thanks for helpin’ me out. saving my life. ” she gives him an almost shy smile, hands twisting together. dean stares at her, and says, “ arc, you’re family. you don’t have to thank me.” 

she meets his gaze, her green eyes a little watery. one corner of her mouth quirks up as she says, “ i wasn’t so sure.” and that - that breaks dean’s heart. he risks putting a hand on her shoulder, feeling her unnatural warmth beneath her thin, ragged shirt. he holds her eyes, expression turning solemn. 

“arc, you will always be family. you will always be our arc. okay?” he watches her reaction closely. how her eyes flicker away for a split second. how her tongue rests on her bottom lip before she catches it between her teeth. she nods, and says okay, trying to play off the intensity of the moment. dean understands; they’re neither of them all too good with emotion. 

ketch passes by, glancing in the open door. he pauses upon seeing arc up and about and knocks on the door. “ ah! good to see you back on form, arc.” 

the girl frowns, her head tilting to the side. she looks at ketch, then at dean, baffled.

“wasn’t he dead?” 

— 

dean catches arc up on what she’s missed - ketch returned from the grave and having seemingly turned over a new leaf. “i don’t really buy it,” he mutters to her. “i certainly don’t trust him.” then, he tells her of the plan to go to apocalypse world to search for mary. sam wants to go with him, as does arc - but then dean tells her that gabriel is alive, in the bunker, and highly traumatised. dean insists that they stay with gabriel, arc and cas can take care of him while sam keeps an eye on lucifer. arc is still tired, her body still readjusting to her grace. sam doesn’t want dean to go alone.

“he’s not going alone.” says ketch, out of nowhere, appearing with a bag slung over his shoulders. dean raises an eyebrow and laughs. 

“yeah, no. ” 

ketch just shrugs. “i’m coming with you, like it or not. from what i’ve heard, it’s not exactly a safe place, and you’ll need someone to watch your back.” 

“and you expect me to believe that you’ll be watching mine?” 

sam and arc exchange worried looks. arc leans in toward dean and whispers, “i know you don’t like him, but… i think we’d feel better knowing you’re not on your own.” when dean turns to argue, he’s caught off-guard by the softness in her eyes. he makes the mistake of looking at his brother, who is wearing his puppy-dog expression. pleading non-verbally with dean to allow this. grunting in frustration, dean nods curtly, gritting his teeth. “fine. but any funny business, and i won’t hesitate to take you out.” 

ketch smiles. “that’s that then!” 

sam smiles gratefully at arc, who nods at him. “ just be quick, okay? and be safe. i’ll see you soon.” she pauses a moment, then pulls dean into a loose, one-armed hug. he doesn’t really get a chance to savour it, because she is quick to pull away. he and ketch enter the rift, with sam watching, a pained expression on his face. arc watches him, and then says, “they’ll be okay.” 

sam wants to believe her. so he does. at least for now. 

— 

gabriel is a wreck, scared and jumpy. cas watches him from the doorway, sam by his side. he looks to the younger winchester. “ you didn’t tell me it was this bad.” 

sam shrugs. “ yeah, well. years of isolation and torture and asmodeus draining his grace.” he slips a vial full of the stuff from his pocket. “ketch brought it back. maybe if he’s juiced up, it will help.” the two enter the room, gabriel forcing himself even closer to the wall. his head smacks against it and he jerks away from sam, who tries to touch his shoulder. 

“okay, okay. i’m just - lets just help you get into the bed okay? cas. help me.” between the two of them, they manage to settle gabriel on the mattress. 

“it’s okay, gabriel. its sam winchester.” he pauses, gauging the lack of reaction. “do. you remember me?” 

“i don’t think he does,” cas answers. 

sam holds up the grace. gabriel’s eyes fall on the vial and he moans pitifully. eyes shutting as his face screws up and he starts to shake his head violently. he recoils like he’s been burnt when sam offers the vial. 

cas sighs. “i don’t think he’s going to open up and let the choo-choo in.” at sam’s look of disbelief, cas begins to explain himself. “ a technique for feeding recalcitrant children. and… i think a little coercion may be necessary.” 

they try to hold gabriel down, but he freaks out. yelping like a wounded animal, diving for cover to another corner of the room. sam’s heart continues to break, his dismay from gabriel’s reaction to them clear to see. arc steps into the room, having heard the commotion. she looks between the men and the archangel, and clenches her fist. 

“ let me handle this, you idiots. not an ounce of tact between either of you, ” she hisses to them, and shepherds them out of the room. as the door slams in their faces, sam and cas look at each other, thinking it might be best to do as she says. 

to sam’s surprise, arc is able to coax gabriel into letting her take the stitches from his mouth, and even take a bath. he clings to her presence, and she even washes his hair gently, before covering him in a warm towel. sam leaves a pile of clothes outside gabriel’s door. arc helps him dress in an oversized shirt of hers, and a pair of sweatpants belonging to dean. later, she calls to them in a high-pitched voice. when the pair arrive in the room, it takes a few minutes for them to take in the scene. 

all over the room, enochian sigils take up every inch of space on all four walls. arc looks to them, stunned. “he just- he just started writing. i can’t read written enochian.” she glances at the angel who has taken up residence yet again on the bed. he keeps his knees pulled firmly to his chest, arms locked around his legs, chin resting on his hands. 

castiel turns in a slow circle, scanning the story gabriel has told in his own way. 

“it starts with his death… or what appeared to be his death.” cas takes a breath and begins to read, directly from a section of script. “ ‘per usual, my brother had double my brawn and half my brains. he assumed the counterfeit me was what vanished that night, and he thought that he’d stabbed the real thing. the truth is, the thing luci skewered was a fake. there are plenty of fakes to go around. everyone believed gabriel was gone. and suddenly, i was free. no obligation to god, or heaven, or mankind. and so, i did what anyone would do - i moved to monte carlo and shacked up with porn stars.” 

a sort of stunned silence reigns as cas takes a breather. at the mention of shacking up with porn stars, she smiles just a little, nodding her approval. 

cas’ eyes fly over the words, and he clears his throat, before saying, “ well, he goes on and on about the porn stars for a while.” arc snorts, pressing her hand to her mouth to stop herself. 

sam looks pained. “ cas. please.” 

“okay so gabriel was captured, delivered to asmodeus…” he picks up from gabriel’s written monologue yet again. “ for years, i knew nothing but endless torture. asmodeus, once the weakest of hell’s princes, grew strong by feeding on my grace.” 

arc’s smile fades and she risks putting a hand on top of gabriel’s. she closes her eyes and flashes of memory, stolen grace and a cheap white suit flickering behind her eyes. she winces and pulls away. cas continues. “ well, obviously his intellect is intact.” 

“yeah, so why isn’t he talking to us?” sam asks, and cas shakes his head. eyes falling on his brother, shadows darkening his blue eyes. “i don’t know. maybe he can’t.” 

“ or, maybe, he’s choosing not to,” arc points out, “maybe he thinks it’s safer that way.” 

she moves slowly, easing herself onto the edge of the mattress. gabriel doesn’t move a muscle. when she places her hand on top of his again, he startles - but doesn’t pull away. arc starts to rub soothing circles on his back, moving her hand there. under her breath, she starts to sing, a slow and soft song. cas and sam watch, feeling useless. 

it’s time, you’ve come a long way, open the blinds

let me see your face, you wouldn’t be the first renegade

to need somebody. 

— 

after a while, gabriel still hasn’t moved. arc remains by his side, sam perched on a seat at the end of the angels bed. arc looks up at the hunter when he sighs deeply, and stands, heading for the door. sam turns back, and looks at gabriel. 

“gabriel, you have to dig yourself out of this hole. look, i know you think it's safer inside. no more torture. no more pain. no more expectations. i've been there. you were nothing like your family. you sure as hell weren't like your dad. me either. and just like you, i got out. or i-i thought i got out. but then... then my family needed me. and this is my life. no matter how many times i tried to fight it, this is what i was put here to do. this is where i make the world a better place. and sure, yeah, hookers in monte carlo sounds great, but your family needs you. jack, your nephew, needs you. the world needs you. we need you.” sam inhales, his tone pleading and desperate. arc bites her lip, hearing sam speak about his pain. “gabriel, i need you. so please. help us.” 

sam sighs again and turns to leave.

“porn stars.” 

arc turns to look at the archangel beside her, as sam spins around, surprised. gabriel looks up at sam. “ they were porn stars, sam.” his eyes glow blue. arc can’t stop the smile that grows on her lips. she looks to sam excitedly, and his shoulders drop in relief. 

sam passes him the vial of grace, which he accepts now, and sam calls in cas to show gabriel’s progress. as the archangel inhales the grace, cas asks, “is it helping?” 

“i…” gabriel trails off, focusing on his body and how he’s feeling. “i don’t know.” 

sam’s phone trills, loud. he answers it, hitting the speaker button. “hello?” 

“samuel.” 

gabriel’s face morphs into an expression of terror at the heavily accented voice on the end of the line. arc stands up, murderous. 

“i hope you’re having a pleasant day. it’s come to my attention you boys have something belongs to me, and i’d like it back.” 

sam’s face hardens. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“oh, i believe you do. and i’m-a give you one chance to return him to me. no harm, no foul.” 

gabriel begins to tremble as sam looks at cas. he opens his mouth to respond but arc gets there first. 

“you listen here, you southern-asshole sonuvabitch!” she hisses, startling all three men in the room. 

asmodeus’ tone is light and amused when he speaks again. “oh, is that arc? the lovely little nephalem? i got one helluva bone to pick with you, little lady.” 

arc snarls, curling her fists up so tight her joints pop. “ that right? how ‘bout we go at it then, huh? just you and me.” 

asmodeus laughs and arc launches herself toward the phone. cas manages to wrap an arm around her middle and pull her back. as she struggles to get free, sam tells asmodeus he’s hanging up. 

asmodeus grows angry, his tone low and threatening. “do not hang up on me. gabriel is of no use to you in his current condition. should you choose to resist me, i will have no choice but to take him by force. i will reduce you and that sad little bunker of yours to ashes. you got 10 minutes to decide. now you can hang up.”

sam does. arc wrenches free of cas’ hold, glaring at him, “let the bitch come,” she says. “i will tear him open from ass to mouth. he won’t get near gabriel-" she rounds on the frightened archangel, who is stunned by the fire in her eyes, the wrath on her face. “he will not touch you again.” 

“she’s right. we will protect you, gabe,” sam backs arc up. cas nods too. but gabriel is rocking back and forth, his head in his hands. cas looks on in concern as arc and sam do what they can to boost the wardings. 

“we did what we could,” she tells cas, eyes falling on gabriel again. 

“how is he?” sam asks. 

cas is stricken. “i don’t know-”

the lights shut off - after several dark seconds the emergency generator kicks in, bathing the bunker in red lights. the trio grab their angel blades and walk down the corridors, noting how the warding is illuminated. 

demons attack from the shadows, and they fight as quick as they can. they handle them quickly, but are thrown across the room as asmodeus walks into the room. 

arc’s face drops back to a snarl, nothing but hate and fury to be read there. she spits at his feet and rushes him, managing to get a good hit to the face before the prince throws her against the wall with a sickening thud. two other demons come in, dragging gabriel, who is is shaking with terror. 

“your warding wasn’t designed for the likes of me, samuel. i’ve come to claim what’s mine.” his gaze follows the demons dragging gabriel to the top of the balcony. “ oh, i missed you, boy. i’m-a have to punish you rather severely, i’m afraid.” 

“no!” arc roars, pushing off the ground and taking asmodeus down yet again. they grapple on the ground. asmodeus gains the upper-hand, pins her with a chokehold before flicking his free hand toward cas and sam. the two immediately begin to writhe in pain.  

a heavy thud echoes around the space - the two demons who had held gabriel fall down the stairs. his eyes flash white-blue as he stands tall, shoulders back, no longer cowering. asmodeus’ lips curl in a sneer. 

“gabriel, what are you doin’, son? you know too well what i can do to you. i broke you!” 

gabriel is silent, as his eyes glow brighter, white, his wounds healing over. 

asmodeus lets arc go, keeping pressure on her throat with his mind instead - “you’re too weak!” he spits at the archangel, who begins to glow all around, the light bouncing off his body. his wings appear in a silhouette behind him. asmodeus' face heats up, and he flings a ball of angel grace at gabriel, who swats it away with ease. 

“ not anymore,” he says, with a newfound strength in his voice. “oh, by the way, i always hated that dumbass suit.” he gestures towards the prince of hell, who begins to scream, burning up where stands. flames spread quickly, engulfing his body in fire, and he disintegrates.

arc gasps for breath as the pressure is relieved on her throat, and she sits up like a shot, looking up at gabriel in awe. sam and cas are able to relax, too, as asmodeus’ hold over them dies. 

gabriel looks down at them, and smiles. 

Chapter Text

gabriel leans back against a wall as his brother, sam, and arc fill him in on everything.

Chapter Text

arriving back to the bunker, the alarm is raised as soon as the door swings open. raised voices carry down the hallways, up the steps to the balcony. sam and dean reach for their weapons without a second thought, putting a finger to their lips.

arc rolls her eyes and shoves past dean, who hisses a, “hey!” after her. she leans against the railing overlooking the war room. “who’s he arguing with?”
it’s castiel’s voice that answers her, and dean steps forward, gun still raised. once the trench-coat wearing angel is in his line of sight, he drops it, with a heavy sigh. “the hell, man?”

cas’ eyes scream that he’s fed-up. the raised voices have not ceased. “it’s lucifer. he’s arguing with gabriel.” arc frowns, pushing off the rail. dean and sam exchange wide-eyed looks. “he’s back.” for something that really should be good news, his tone is grim, exhausted. a. brother who can no longer handle his siblings bickering.

five sets of eyes land on the doorway leading to the hall.

“not it!” sam yells, followed in quick succession by dean, cas, and rowena. they turn expectantly to arc, who stares back at them in unflinching horror.

“what?!”

dean flinches and hurries away from her, down the steps. closer to his guardian angel. looking at sam with a “what the HELL” kind of look, the taller man only grimaces in sympathy before following his brother down the steps. arc curls her fingers tight against her palms, jaw tensed enough for the bones to seem close to breaking through skin.

she mutters a litany of swear words as she stomps down the steps, down the hallway, throwing open the dungeon door. gabriel and lucifer don’t quiet down for even a moment. she considers the idea that they haven’t even noticed her entrance. she claps her hands, hard, the bare lightbulb overhead flickering on and off, letting off sparks that pop and crackle in the air. the pair of feuding archangels twist to snap a simultaneous “what?!” at her.

tilting her head as if to say, “excuse me?” gabriel looks at the floor, scowling at his feet. lucifer points directly at gabriel. “he’s too much of a coward to even hit me!”

“oh, yeah, fight you in your little trap and give you a chance to get loose because i accidentally knock you through the walls on your ass?” gabriel snorts, “right, i don’t think so buddy.” he rounds on arc, cheeks and eyes glowing red and gold respectively. “what is he doing here?!”

“i don’t know why you’re yelling at me,” arc snaps, still smarting from gabriel’s earlier rejection. “i didn’t put him here.” her eyes move past the shorter divine being to stare at the devil. the blonde man smiles at her.

“arc! long time, no see.” arc just smiles coldly in response. she can feel amber eyes on her face and refuses to give in to the urge to meet them.

“what’s all the screaming about?”

gabriel jerks a finger at his brother. “are we forgetting he killed me?”
arc’s tone is flat when she shoots back, “no, he didn’t.”

gabriel opens and closes his mouth a few times, fumbling for words. arc looks at her nails, acting bored.

“ why are you here?”

gabriel’s shoulders hunch in a little bit. “i-” he hesitates, looking at lucifer before returning his eyes to the floor. “i wanna help.” arc smirks, shaking her head.

“right,” she bites out. “and the honest answer?”

she dares to look at him this time, taken aback by the earnest expression plastered on the trickster’s face. “i wanna help,” he repeats, open and honest, moreso than she’s ever witnessed him being before. she drops her hand back to her side, then.
“no tricks?” she checks, eyes narrowing. gabriel nods solemnly.
“if i’m being perfectly honest, tricks are for kids.”

arc can only blink in response to that.

—

with gabriel returned to the fold, rowena sets up the spell and the others go over the plan. “we go straight to the base, we grab jack and mom, and we beat it, okay?” dean’s voice is authoritative and firm. arc meets sam’s eyes, and twists her mouth to the side. “and ketch,” dean adds on, thinking that’s what’s bothering her. it’s not.

“no way it’s gonna be that easy,” she protests, “ it’s always something’s gonna go wrong.”
“yeah, well, can’t really argue with that.” he agrees, roughly rubbing both hands over his face.

“we’ll each be armed,” cas reminds them, ever the steady voice. the stable ground. dean nods at the angel.

“and remember, it’s not just angels we’re avoiding, okay?” dean says, looking at everyone one by one to ensure it’s all being taken in. “there’s monsters over there too, so we gotta be on high alert.”

rowena calls over, awaiting the final ingredient. dean shouts down the corridor for gabriel, who replies, “yeah, yeah, one minute!” dean rolls his eyes. cas explains, “he said he needed a minute alone. he wanted to extract his grace by himself…” he does air-quotes before finishing with, “in private.” sam’s face turns disturbed. cas continues, “so i left him alone in dean’s room.”

the man himself spins on his heels, a look of sheer horror crossing his face. “you what?! no!” sam smirks; cas tilts his head to the side, puzzled. arc simply shouts an amused “hah!” dean throws her a dirty look, but she feels like the winner here.

rowena watches the conversation, before placing her hands flat on the table. “i hate to interrupt, but i can’t be the only one to notice the rather glaring hole in this plan. we open up the rift, it gives us a day to find your mum and the boy. and it’s a very big world over there, and you’re not even sure where they are, so…” she trails off, waiting for some kind of positive reinforcement.

“she’s right. the clock may run out on us,” cas says. sam releases the slide on his gun, tucking it with ease into the back of his waistband. “it might.”

“yeah, well, we don’t have any better ideas.” dean mutters, packing a bag with ammo and various other supplies. rowena takes a calming breath, and says, “mm, that’s inspirational.”

gabriel enters the room, brandishing a vial of glowing essence. “the final ingredient. a fresh serving of archangel grace.” he announces, proudly. as everyone looks at the minuscule volume of grace in the glass, rowena’s expression sours.

“this is what you call a serving?”

disgruntled by the disgust in her voice, gabriel bristles, pushing his shoulders back. “that is the jet fuel of divine emissions. it’ll be more than enough to get the job done.”

no one looks all that convinced. gabriel turns to arc, pleading. she can only give an apologetic grimace in return. rowena and cas exchange skeptical looks, before rowena begins the spell.

cas twirls his angel blade, rowena pours the blood into a bowl. gabriel’s fingers run lightly down the edge of his own blade, as though to test the sharpness. rowena crushes fruit into the blood with a pestle. dean tightens the straps on his backpack, while arc puts her hand on the angel blade tucked in her own waistband. sam straightens his jacket, and rowena pours the tiny amount of angel grace into her bowl. an other-worldly glow emanates from it as she casts the spell.

“koth munto nox.” using her hands to direct the spell, a glowing rift appears at the end of the table. everyone stares at it, apprehension visible on each person’s face.

cas takes a step forward. “okay, everyone ready?”

the group nod, several voicing their affirmation. as they approach the rift, it seems to glitch. once, then twice. everyone pauses in place. the rift crackles, snapping uninvitingly, before sealing shut with a pop. everyone stares.

“that was fast.” cas comments, drily.
“very, very fast,” adds sam.

“one could even say premature,” rowena says, icily. shooting daggers at gabriel, who blusters and flusters and eventually says, “i thought it would be enough.”

“all right. great.” sam rubs the bridge of his nose. “what do we do now?”

dean drops his backpack with a thud. “hell if i know.”

cas and arc look at each other. “you do know. we all do.” the angel says, and when sam opens his mouth to object, cas meets his eyes dead-on. “i don’t like it either. but there is no other way.” sam closes his mouth, nodding in resignation.

gabriel seems to fold in on himself a little. he slips out of the room while dean, cas, and rowena figure out a way to hold lucifer out of the angel trap, and make the most out of his grace. arc checks to make sure no one is watching before following the trickster quietly.

she follows him to the library, finding him hiding amongst the bookshelves. when he becomes aware of her presence, he literally jumps, pasting a grin on his face. it promptly falls away when arc’s eyes tell him he can’t lie to her about this.

“look, i know this isn’t… a fun idea,” she says, leaning one shoulder on shelf.

the archangel huffs. “understatement,” he mutters at the floor. kicking at the lower shelves.

“but we gotta do what we gotta do.” she wants to reach out to him, a hand on his shoulder, maybe. she’s not sure if it’s pride or uncertainty that’s stopping her. she bites her lip, then takes a few steps closer. “i can protect you,” she offers, watching as he looks up at her again. a lopsided grin on his handsome face. “it’s kind of what i’m good at.”

he smiles, soft and small. he hangs his head again, and then, in a small voice, confesses. “i feel useless.”

arc’s throat tightens just a bit. “hey. you’re not useless. look, i did something… kinda dumb, a few days back.” whiskey eyes alight with curiosity, he looks back at her. “and, i’m still not the better of it, myself.” she forces herself to meet his eyes, hoping he can’t see the nerves she feels. “ we get knocked down, and it takes a minute, sometimes. to get back up. you will. so will i.”

gabriel eyes her up and down, then asks, “what did you do?” he folds his arm over his chest, fully facing the nephalem now. she coughs a little awkwardly and inhales deeply.

“i might have, sort of, um, cut out my grace…” she tells him, her expression wry. gabriel’s mouth falls open, utterly disbelieving. before he can ask any more questions, she waves her hand at him, wincing at the blurry memories swimming in her mind. “look, it was a dumb thing, and it nearly killed me - but it didn’t. point is, we can both still be helpful. okay?”

gabriel nods slowly, appreciative of her words. he hesitates, and then says, “listen, arc- about what i said - in the field-”

almost choking on her own spit, the nephalem blanches and rushes for a way to cut him off. luckily, an irritated dean comes stamping into the room, voice loud and pissed. “hey! the hell are you two doing? you wanna get left behind?”

arc makes a face while dean can’t see her, the silent laugh from gabriel is enough to break the sudden tension. they step out from behind the shelves, arc looking sheepish, gabriel with a cheeky smirk. “sorry, dean-o,” he says casually, looping an arm over arc’s shoulder. he doesn’t pull away, despite the way she tenses hard and fast under his touch. “just wanted to thank arc here properly for taking care of me while i was incapacitated.”

dean is unimpressed, stony as he stares with a clenched jaw. “just hurry the hell up.” as the pair start to follow him, arc pulls gabriel back by the arm he removes from her shoulders.

“wait… you were, like. aware of that?” gabriel nods, the cheekiness dimming into something sweeter.

“and i mean it - thank you,” he says gratefully, voice a low whisper. something unfamiliar and tingly blossoms in arc’s stomach as she struggles to respond. with a wink, gabriel claps her on the shoulder and saves her from having to say anything. “c’mon, before they leave without us.”

those words are enough to snap her out of her daze - jack. she’s going to find jack, she’s going to bring jack home. that’s what matters, right now, that’s the only thing that matters. she nods, resolutely.

—

lucifer is trussed like a pig on the floor in the library. gabriel seems somewhat appeased by the sight of him on his knees, bound and stuck. he smirks at his older brother.

“grace on tap,” he says, impressed, enjoying this all too much. sam nods, looks down at lucifer, eyes dark.

“then, when we get back… we kill you.”

lucifer just says, “cool.” he seems… submissive, arc thinks. too submissive. she does not trust it. she looks to rowena.

“you gonna be okay, here? with him?” the red-headed witch steeples her fingers together and rests her chin on them.

“aye. someone needs to keep an eye on the devil. go. save your mother,” she says to sam. “bring that wee boy home,” she says to arc and cas. all three nod at her, uncertain of how to voice their gratitude.

gabriel turns to arc, bumping his hip into hers. “you ready?”

looking at the rift, arc nods. “ready.”

—

APOCALYPSE WORLD

they end up coming out on top of a hill, with sam, cas, and gabriel losing their footing and tumbling like bowling pins all the way down. dean and arc manage to skid gracefully to a halt, smirking at each other. they then look down at the three men in a heap on the leaf-strewn ground. sam gets to his feet first, leaving gabriel with his face firmly planted into castiel’s crotch. as he rises and realises, cas looks down at him balefully. embarrassed, gabriel scrambles up, nearly loosing his balance again. “ yeah.” he clears his throat awkwardly, expression irritated. “could’ve used a heads up about this landing site.”

dean snaps into mission-mode. he casts his gaze over their surroundings, “ yeah. thought we’d get spit out in the same spot, but this isn’t it. all right, well charlie - the other charlie - said that mary and jack have an outpost in dayton.”

sam is also all-business. “okay, let’s get our bearings and head that way. cas, where are we?”

the angel closes his eyes, feeling out their surroundings. “uh. kentucky? northeast kentucky… or what used to be kentucky.” he opens his eyes, immediately seeking out dean’s eyes.

dean looks at the clouded, dull sky, then points. “so, that’s north. dayton’s that way. roughly. two days by foot but.. that way.”

“all right,” sam says, checking in non-verbally with the group before they begin to move in the directions dean had pointed out.

—

it’s a long trek, made worse by the sudden onslaught of rain. gabriel has his blade out and ready, when cas falls into step by his brother. they chat, for a while, mostly about what gabriel will do next. once they return to their world. cas explains what he learned in heaven, whilst dean, arc, and sam tracked down rowena.

“heaven’s dying, gabriel.”

the archangel takes this in, shocked. “you serious?”

the look cas gives him confirms it. “very.”

after a moment, the pieces click into place. “and you think i could fix it?” his tone is incredulous, volume increasing a tad too much. dean looks back over his shoulder with a furious shush. arc, who is carrying the rear of the group, starts to tune in to the conversation.

“yeesh,” gabriel says, voice now lower. “i skipped out on heaven, castiel. they wouldn’t want me back. as far as they’re concerned, i’m a screw-up. hell, as far as i’m concerned, i’m a screw-up.”

cas responds plainly. “well, heaven’s been run into the ground by upstanding angels. perhaps a screw-up is just what we need.”

as gabriel begins to contemplate this, cas shoots a knowing look at arc over his shoulder. he subtly nods to gabriel before quickening his pace just enough to leave space between the winchesters in front of him, and gabriel behind.

arc’s stomach tightens, so she grips the handle of her blade tight, and tries to talk herself into catching up to the archangel. turns out, she doesn’t have to, because he slows down enough to fall into step with her.

“hey,” he says, lightly. arc tries to remember how to breathe, wondering why her stomach has started to somersault.

“hi,” she replies, hoping he doesn’t mention the roughness of her voice. he doesn’t. there’s a moment of silence as they walk in the rain, not quite awkward, not quite comfortable.

out of the side of her eye, arc sees gabriel potentially getting ready to say something. in a panic, she blurts out, “cas is right, y’know?” it gives the angel pause. he looks sideways at her, brow furrowed.

“i mean-” she swallows hard around the quickly-forming lump in her throat, “ most angels we’ve dealt with have been straight up fucked. like, take over heaven, not caring about humans or the angels, power-hungry, ego-driven fucked.” she remembers metatron, a hot flash of rage passing over her at the image of his face. naomi - she curls her knuckles to her palm and resists the urge to swear at just the thought of her. she takes a breath to even herself out, then relaxes her fingers.

“ and cas is good, i mean, he’s great. but he, he just doesn’t have the power to sustain heaven.” she says all this without ever lifting her eyes from the path in front of them. gabriel is looking at her, she knows, can feel the intensity of his eyes. “ and, it’s not like i can help. i can’t even get into heaven, so.” she laughs, a nervous, breathy sound.

“you can’t get into heaven?”

“oh, yeah, you weren’t here for all that,” arc laughs again, more confident this time. “man, what a ride…” something flips in gabriel’s brain - a memory resurfaces, a question he never thought to ask.

“asmodeus - on the phone, when he heard your voice… he called you a - nephalem?”

nodding, arc smiles faintly. “yeah. turns out, i was born to an angel and a demon who were both possessing human vessels at the time. so. nephalem. part angel, part demon, part human.”

gabriel’s eyebrows lift high on his forehead, mouth wide and round. “you for real?”

a strained smile at him, her eyes not exactly meeting his. “mm-hmm.”

she waits, then. for the disgust. for the vitriol. for the shift in behaviour.

gabriel breathes out, “that’s so cool.”

her head snaps to the side, and he meets her eyes with a beaming grin. “i mean - even i’ve never heard of that. are you, like, the only one?” he seems… genuinely interested. genuinely okay with it, and that’s… that pushes arc even further off the very thin edge she seems to be straddling around gabriel lately.

“yeah, yeah. i am. probably the only one who’ll ever exist,” she hesitates before saying. “um, i wasn’t. i wasn’t expecting that… reaction.” she hunches her shoulders in, almost not saying it. but then she thinks about gabriel confessing that he felt useless in the bunker library, and she thinks, okay. if he can trust me with that, i can trust him with this.

“you’ve had bad reactions?”

she doesn’t answer, but he watches her eyes briefly fix on dean’s back, before flitting away. he feels a pang of sympathy ringing through his vessel. something small and sad in her green eyes makes him want to take her hand, but he remembers how she tensed under his arm when he put it around her neck.

“ well, i think it’s cool. you’re cool.” he says, definitively. arc laughs, and this time, it’s almost like her real one. “we’re cool,” he adds, bumping her hip as he had done before they came to apocalypse world.

she relents, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “okay, okay. we’re cool…” she says, then adds, “well, i am.” in faux-offence, gabriel shoves her shoulder slightly, the two of them collapsing into a fit of quiet giggles. sam and dean look back at them, sam shooting a questioning look cas’ way. cas just smiles at sam, who shrugs it off and turns to face forward. dean, however, stares at gabriel and arc a little longer. hurt radiating from his green eyes, which snag onto cas’. cas gives him a sympathetic smile, and dean just shuts himself down. turning back and refocusing on the mission.

—

the tell-tale sounds of a fight draws them off the path, where they come across a young couple struggling to overpower a humanoid monster. sam manages to behead the thing with his machete while dean looks around, utterly bewildered.

“what the hell was that thing?”

the young lady answer, equally confused. “what do you mean? a vampire.”

sam looks at his brother, who has wide eyes and a look of almost-fear just tipping the surface. “not like any vamp we’ve ever seen.”

as luck would have it, these two are headed to dayton, too. to the camp set up by mary and jack, who they actually refer to by name. arc grips her angle blade tight, leaning forward at the mention of jack’s name - gabriel seems to notice, easing a hand onto her back. she looks at him in surprise, but manages a grateful smile. it settles her, his touch. he leaves his hand there when she doesn’t push him off.

the couple inform the group that the tunnel that would lead to the base in dayton is overrun with vampires. the bearded man is haunted by the experience, by the shaken look on his face as he tells them, “nine of us went in. only me and maggie came out.”

“this tunnel, is it the only way north?” dean wants to know, maggie says no. there’s a mountain pass, a long way compared to the tunnel route.

gabriel tries to push for the mountain pass, “if the long way is the safe way…”

sam shakes his head immediately. “no. we’re already two days out from dayton as it is. we don’t have time for a detour.”

dean nods his agreement, and when sam continues, he is firm and determined. “ listen, we’ve faced worse than a nest of vamps before. much worse. so if you still want to get to dayton, we’ll keep you safe. as far as we’re concerned, we’re going through that tunnel.”

the couple think about it for a moment, before they both nod. “okay. lead the way.”

—

the trip through the tunnel is awful. the vampires are wild and feral, and arc finds herself thrown into a flashback. when she cut out her grace, and how it turned her into an animal. muddy images flash in her head, the sickly-scent of dark blood, demons howling, sizzling souls being thrown out of vessels. a vamp smacks her hard into one of the rocky walls, knocking her back to reality. she slashes at the sharp-toothed bitch, when it’s head falls from it’s shoulders. gabriel stands behind it, coming into view as the body slumps to the floor. he steps closer to her, concern on his face. he steadies her with a hand on her shoulder. “you good?”

gulping, cheeks flaming with embarrassment, arc nods. “yeah, i- shit. shit. sorry. thanks.” he runs his eyes over her face, suspicion only growing. he’s forced to relent when dean hollers out for sam - and arc turns to see dean pinned firm across the way. she turns her head again just in time to witness one of the worst sights of her life.

a vampire tugs on sam’s long hair, yanking his head back, exposing his neck - before sinking it’s teeth in and tearing out a bloody chunk. gabriel’s face drops and the two spring forward. sam calls out for his brother, his breathing wet, gurgling. another vampire body slams gabriel to the ground, tripping arc up as it goes. she hits the floor with a thump, dropping her blade. she runs her hand blindly over the cold hard concrete, scrambling for it. she lifts her head just in time to see long legs disappearing down another passage.

having finally been able to deal with their own attackers, cas and dean sprint for the tunnel, cas getting there first. his deep, gravelly voice echoing back up at them as he calls for sam. dean yells, pained, anguished. “sammy!”

maggie screams when another vampire appears out of the shadows, cringing away, too overwhelmed now to fight back. dean blows the damned things head off with his shotgun, not halting for a moment. arc feels her heart beating in the base of her throat. blood thrumming in her temples, tinting her vision light red. gabriel grasps for her hand. she doesn’t fight it, instead, allows herself to tangle her fingers with his.

reaching the mouth of the tunnel, just as cas comes out of the darkness, dean stretches on his toes to look behind him. cas puts a hand on dean’s chest. “dean. he’s gone.”

gabriel lets out a squeak, looking around to see who made the noise - freezing when he realises it’s him. dean pulls back from cas, eyes blown wide, mouth hanging open. “no,” he says, a frown pulling down his eyebrows, “no!” he repeats more forcefully, shoving at the angel to try and get past.

cas grips dean by his jacket, barely holding onto his own grief. dean fights, but is useless against the divine being holding him fast. “we don’t have time!” cas all but yells at the winchester. it’s a mix of frustration, grief, being unable to truly comfort dean or save sam, and the fear of running out of time. dean ceases his struggles, panting, ragged breaths. eyes filling with tears as his hands shake on castiel’s shoulders.

cas makes a swift decision; arc watches the half-second of consideration, sees the moment cas thinks - “fuck it” - she gasps without meaning to, when the brunette pulls dean’s forehead to his. dean just clings to cas, and arc cannot tear her eyes away from them. it’s as though everything has frozen, her feelings, her tears, time itself.

“we can’t save him.” cas’ voice is broken and he closes his eyes when dean’s tears begin to spill. his breathing grows more and more erratic and cas brings his hands behind dean’s neck, holding the man there, but also, looking for something to hold on to himself.

arc becomes aware of a sensation to her right. gabriel. he’s tugging at her hand, drawing her close to him. she goes without a fight, leaning into his chest. he wraps his free arm around her waist, buries his head in her neck. she feels his tears, running hot and slick, on her skin. she herself feels as breathless as dean is; suspended between the moment of being and not being.

cas has to guide dean the rest of the way out, maggie sniffling the whole time. arc realises numbly that maggie’s counterpart is also nowhere to be seen. outside, the young woman tries to apologise to dean. dean’s face is… hard. cold. violent. maggie visibly flinches back, stuttering into silence. but dean turns away from her. keeps on walking. cas puts a comforting hand on her back. the rest of the walk is heavy with silence, disbelief. almost-grief, for arc. who still hasn’t quite processed - who can’t even sort through the last few moments in her head.

they come to an area where sigils are nailed onto trees. cas and gabriel begin to stumble, cas seemingly more affected than gabe. he groans in pain, staggering, clutching at his side. “i…i- i can’t. this… warding is too strong.”

dean steps closer to study the wards. arc finds herself led by gabriel to one of the sigils. after a moment of inspection, he draws his angel blade down the middle, before untangling his hand from arc’s and placing it on the sigil. it, and all the rest, begin to glow a bright red, burning away. cas gasps, their hold disappearing. gabriel retakes arc’s hand and they return to cas’ side.

a human fighter emerges from the bushes. he rushes toward them, gun raised, a rifle. cas holds up his hands while dean cocks his gun, keeping it at his waist.

“whoa, whoa, whoa. we’re - we’re not here to fight,” cas calls out. “we’re just looking for-“ a second hunter appears, dean turning to face this new threat. cas’ eyes widen as he finishes his sentence. “… mary.” arc hears her voice before she sees the matriarch of the winchester family.

mary drops her gun, awe-struck. “castiel?”

less than a heartbeat after, she realises; where cas is, dean is never far behind. she stops and looks around - immediately walking toward dean. his face is sombre as he meets his mom halfway. “how did you even find us?” the wonder in her voice barely covers the joy and relief.

something sharp and bitter twists in arc’s heart. knowing that joy and relief will die in just moments, replaced by a loss that will never stop burning. as dean bends to let his mom hug hum, mary seems to realise something is wrong. she pulls back, looking at dean. “dean… where’s sam?”

dean never responds verbally, but his silence and his tears are more than enough. mary’s hand covers her open mouth as she realises.

it’s not until gabriel tugs on her hand again that arc realises she’s not breathing.

she looks at the angel blankly, before finally saying, “jack.” gabriel nods, understanding. mary leads the way to the colony, calling in a breaking voice for the blonde haired nephilim. arc nearly collapses, knees buckling, when his familiar face comes into view. gabriel is close enough to feel the hitch in her breathing. she pulls away from him and sprints toward the young boy, flinging her arms around his neck.

“arc!”

“jack. oh my god- jack…” she pulls back briefly, to bring trembling hands to his face, framing them with care. she feels her way down to his chest, “are you hurt? are you okay?” jack grips her hands in his larger ones, smiling wide and innocent, bright as the sun.

“i’m okay, arc. you’re here. you’re here. you came for me.” arc is crying, now, tears dripping slowly down her face. she puts her hand back to jack’s cheek, swallowing hard. taking him in.

“of course i did, you silly boy - of course i came for you.”

he looks around, lighting up at each new face he recognises. he falters when he looks at gabriel and maggie, then at dean’s red eyes and wet face. he frowns, doing the cas-style head tilt, looking at arc. the question he asks hangs in the air, heavy, loaded.

“where’s sam?”

Chapter Text

jack begins to pace, agitated, head shaking back and forth. under his breath, he mutters, “no. no. he can’t be- he can’t be dead.” castiel puts a hand on his shoulder, but jack shoves it away, glaring.

“jack, i—”

“couldn’t you bring him back?” he yells, castiel unable to respond. his face a broken picture of anguish. rounding on gabriel, then, jack yells at him, too. “why didn’t you bring him back?”

gabriel shakes his own head, lowered eyes and lips turned down. “i’m not strong enough.”

cas manages to find some words, desolate. “ jack… if we could’ve, we would’ve. i’m so sorry.”

jack’s face crumples and he stalks away, fists curled by his sides. cas makes to start after him, but gabriel stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “ give him a minute,” he suggests, softly. hating to see everyone so cut up. hating the situation himself. his eyes find arc, standing a few feet away. pale and shaking, white tank top still splattered with blood. her charcoal grey hoodie is tied loose around her waist. combat trousers rumpled and muddy. gabriel excuses himself, takes arc by the wrist. leads her a little ways away from the rest of the colony.

she looks at him, expectantly. “yes?”

“ arc, what’s wrong?”

she looks like she can’t quite believe he’s just asked her that question. because she can’t. blinking, she shakes her head, saying, “ gabriel… sam just…” she can’t even say it, her breathing becoming heavy.

“i know. but there’s something else. what’s eating at you?”

arc looks to the side, looks at cas’ slumped figure. the tears unshed, gleaming in his blue eyes. looks at dean and mary. dean is preparing to head back to retrieve sam’s body. her breathing only worsens until she looks back at gabe, eyes wide, face raw with guilt.

“ i did this. i killed sam.”

gabriel frowns, “no. arc, no.” she nods furiously, beginning to speak so fast she stumbles over her own words.

“no, i did. i, i fro- i froze, gabe, you saw me freeze. i - i got a flashback, i think? to - to when i removed my grace, it, it made me- it made me wild. uncontrollable, like those vampires. and i could just see blood, and hear screams, and that was me doing all that, and i froze, and i wasn’t looking, and sam died-“

“hey, hey. shush. shush. hey.” gabriel puts his hands on her face, firm but gentle, making her look him the eye. “ hey. it wasn’t your fault. it was a dangerous tunnel. a dangerous mission. we all knew that.”

he realises for the second time in less than an hour that she’s holding her breath. wonders if she even notices herself doing it. “hey. breathe.” he instructs, dropping his hands to her shoulders.

“i can’t. i can’t - it’s my fault. and dean- dean will never forgive me.” she makes a miserable, choked noise, then, her expression one of utter despair.

gabriel wants to pull her into him, into a hug. wants to hold her there and soothe her tears, like she did for him after escaping asmodeus. wants to look after her. he can’t quite bring himself to do it when she’s spiralling like this. he opens his mouth to try and say something, anything-

a bell cuts through the colony. a clang, an alarm, a signal that something is wrong. everyone stops in place and looks around. arc can hear faint footfalls, heavy ones. she turns to find jack, ready to grab him and run if she needs to. as her eyes alight on the nephilim, his face lights up. all trace of sorrow and ache disappearing, replaced by something lighter, brighter, softer. she follows his line of sight, just as he says-

“sam.” his voice is joyous, uplifting. cas looks stunned, rooted to the spot. mary’s eyes grow wet at the sight of her youngest son, and dean, much like cas, just stares.

arc stares, too. her and gabriel turning to face forward, watching the tall, rugged man slowly walk into the camp. he wears a hopeful look on his face. arc moves first, stumbling steps that grow steadier as she gets close to him. before she reaches him, however, a new figure slides around the corner. all smirking mouth and blonde hair. arc freezes, confusion overshadowing her relief and joy.

sam gives her a silent plea with his eyes. lucifer nods at arc, glancing around the bare-bones campsite. everything is still, and everyone. jack’s face turns red, cas scowling at the devil. when lucifer sees jack, he starts to smile. really smile. soft and warm, and - hopeful. like sam’s expression. arc looks between the two, her mind running a little behind on her visual.

lucifer speaks, to jack. “hello, son.”

sam glances at dean, wary. dean doesn’t take his eyes off the devil. sam looks back to arc. he tries to communicate something to her, but everything is far too overwhelming. she eventually lets loose a deep exhale, and reaches for sam. pulling him into a long, tight, hug. he squeezes harder than he usually is able to with anyone else. arc isn’t as breakable as humans. at least, her body isn’t. right now, her mind is nearing the state of being broken beyond repair. all she can whisper in sam’s ear as they embrace is a shaky, “what?”

he whispers back, “i’ll explain when i can… i promise.” as she pulls back, he searches her eyes for trust, and she nods, giving it. because it’s sam. of course she trusts him. her lip curls automatically when lucifer holds his arms out, too, and she gives him a look of disbelief. footsteps, behind her. mary gently moves arc out of the way, touching her son’s face. even as they share a warm hug, when they break apart, mary continues to pat his arm. as if making sure he’s still here, he’s really here.

dean finally breaks out of his trance. “ sam? what happened?” he moves forward a few steps. sam looks over his shoulder at lucifer. “he, uh. he brought me back.”

lucifer shrugs with false modesty at jack, cas, and gabriel. “it’s what i do.”

cas grits his teeth, stepping in front of jack. one hand ushering jack back. “it is not what you… how did you get in here?” his voice is a low timbre, almost a growl.

“VIP pass. i’m with the band.”

the sea of faces around them reads only displeasure and distrust. lucifer sighs.

“come on. shouldn’t you be thanking me? i- i gave sammy an extra life. besides, what with my…little bro here,” he pauses to point at gabriel, “being a hot mess, i figured you need me. so, i’m here to join the team.”

arc’s jaw flexes, eyes flashing dark and angry. “don’t talk about him like that.” she says, cold, sharp, fast. lucifer leans his head to one side, eyes moving between her and the archangel. he nods once, apologetic, almost, at arc. the girl looks back at gabriel, who is trying to make himself as small as possible. her heart aches, a splintering feeling, not quite breaking, but almost.

he sidles over to where jack is standing, followed closely by arc who gets between them. he ignores her, looking over her head at his son.

“your name is jack.”

“and yours is lucifer,” jack responds, quick and sharp. arc folds her arms, pride glowing in her belly. dean stalks toward them, anger in every slam of his boot-soles against the ground.

“no. no, no. no. you don’t talk to him,” he hisses at lucifer, moving to block his view of jack, who dean turns to then.. “and you, don’t listen to him.”

“ um, don’t you think that’s his choice?”

“no.” cas is far too quick to snap his reply. lucifer scoffs, his eyes falling on arc. seeing the conflict in her eyes. interesting, he thinks to himself. maybe i can work with this.

“are you trying to keep me from my son?”

“well, this is kelly kline’s son. he’s nothing like you.” cas informs lucifer, who looks almost… hurt. arc watches him closely, but the flash of potential pain is wiped clean once she blinks.

“guys, wait-“ she tries, but lucifer’s pride is wounded, now. there’s a storm coming.

“ don’t say he’s nothing like me. i’m the only one who understands him. this power he has? i’m powerful, dangerous, ruthless. in the...best sense, though.” jack assesses lucifer. obviously curious, but also wary. arc clears her throat-

“no. kill him.” dean barks at gabriel, surprising the smaller angel. he shifts on his feet, not moving. jack stares at dean, wide-eyed. lucifer laughs.

“he can’t. he’s not strong enough.”

gabriel shrugs, pleading with the hunter. “dean…”

dean’s hackles rise, more and more anger rising as each second passes. “you’ve got the blade.”

jack speaks, so quietly no one but arc hears. “stop it.” his voice is strained, pained.

she grabs his hand, trying to reassure him. she speaks up herself, louder, “ okay, i think this is enough.”

dean doesn’t seem to hear her. he fixes gabriel with a venomous stare, cold and hard. “he’s the devil. kill him.”

“stop it!” jack shouts. a whoosh of air, the sound of fluttering wings. jack disappears.

dean claps his hands slowly. once, then twice. “well, great. does that when he’s scared. way to go, dad!” his words are heavy with sarcasm, and lucifer does his best not to roll his eyes. gabriel, also spooked by the yelling, volunteers to go and look for him. arc follows gabriel, not before grabbing at sam, tugging him down so her mouth is at his hear and she whispers, “sort this out. quickly.”

by the time they’ve found him, jack has made his own way back to camp. lucifer is wearing cuffs to hold him down, arguing with cas in the doorway of a building. arc senses jack appearing, turns to watch him approach the two angels. she touches gabriel’s hand when he hesitates, knowing he doesn’t want to be around lucifer. “i got this,” she reassures him. he looks at her, torn. “really, gabe. you need to rest, anyway.” she squeezes his hand gently before letting go and making for the building. gabriel feels the unnatural warmth of her skin in his long after she’s gone.

—

as arc gets closer to the old building, she overhears cas, “jack, talking with lucifer, it’s- it’s not a good idea.” jack nods, earnest.

“i’m not going to talk. i’m going to listen.”

cas sighs in frustration, whilst lucifer wears a smug grin. the three men look at arc as she arrives, cas pleading with his eyes, gesturing to jack with his head. jack has made his mind up, though, arc can see it in his expression. she shakes her head at cas, who blinks. lucifer cups his hands, stage whispering to arc, “he’s gonna listen.”

cas stares at arc in disbelief. she knows now is not the time to try and get cas to see things from jack’s point of view. so she gestures for him to leave. “cas. i will be with them the whole time. okay?”

cas makes a noise of irritation, eyes flashing with annoyance. he storms off. jack smiles at arc, who can’t quite manage one back. he turns to lucifer. lucifer takes a moment, just taking in his son. a dopey smile on his face that looks so out of place it makes arc uneasy.

“ wow.” lucifer is breathless, blue eyes clearer and brighter than they’ve ever been. “ i have been waiting for this moment for so long, i almost don’t know what to say. this...this dad thing is sort of new to me. so, um...do -- do you have any questions that you wanna ask? don’t let my status as a legend hold you back. now just...fire away.”

without any preamble, jack’s first question is, “why does everybody hate you?”

lucifer’s eyes go wide. he looks at arc, laughing awkwardly. “ huh. wow, he just got right to the -- right to the point. that’s good. that’s good. good question. um...so you’ve, uh, probably heard the stories. right? anything ugly happens, any evil befalls the world, it’s my fault. fake news.”

“not true.” arc says, returning lucifer’s glare with a sardonic smile.

“ well, i mean, yes, i have done things that I am not entirely proud of. i have led the occasional soul to ruin. this is true. but, jack, it’s because humans are so messed up. they’re -- they’re so willing to be led.”

arc looks down, to hide the smile that starts on her lips. bad move, lucifer, she thinks to herself, looking up at the pair from under her eyelashes.

jack furiously reminds lucifer, “my mother was human.”

realising his mistake, the archangel immediately back pedals. “awesome lady. incorruptible. not like that. you know, great kisser. and, uh, lost my virginity to her!” he says the last part with such excitement it’s hard not to feel kind of sorry for him. jack frowns, more lost than ever. arc coughs and shakes her head, lips pressing into a thin line. a warning on her face. lucifer looks at her, realising she doesn’t want jack to hear this. “oh. no? too soon?”

she gives him a look that says what do you think. lucifer just nods.

“i mean, the point is...humans are not perfect. they’re hardwired to fall. and when they do, they need a fall guy.” jack considers this.

arc pipes up again. “ again. not entirely true.”

lucifer turns to arc, folding his arms over his chest. “okay, so, true or false, arc-” he all bit spits her name in his utter annoyance at her interruptions. “ um, for almost, like, ever, i’ve been looked away in a cage.”

pursing her lips, arc ducks her head, before nodding. “. true. “ she forces out between clenched teeth.

“true!” he exclaims, turning to jack with an innocent look. “ it’s true. so how did i do all this evil for all these centuries, i wonder.”

already exhausted, arc rubs her forehead with her hand. willing herself to remain calm. she wants for jack to make his own choices. wants to support him. lucifer is making it very fucking difficult.

“it’s not lucifer that matters,” she thinks to herself, firmly. “it’s jack. jack is who matters here.”

“who locked you up?’ is jack’s next question.

“my dad, cause i told the truth. see, he loved humans so much, he couldn’t see their flaws. and i told him about it, and he got mad. he got -- he felt like i was...personally dumping on his masterpiece, and so he kicked me out. no time-out, no ‘go in the corner,’ you know, anything like that. just ...gone, banished. and yes, as cas says, i have done some bad things. i had my reasons, and i just want the opportunity to get better. doesn’t everybody? don’t you?” lucifer seems so genuine, here. like he’s revealing millennia of hurt, honestly, for the first time ever. jack is clearly considering lucifer’s words deeply. and arc kind of gets it. she wants to believe that people can be good. even if they’re supposed to be evil. even if it’s their so-called destiny, or fate.

she sighs, rolling her head to the side.

“you left out the part where you snuck into the garden of eden and literally led the first humans to sin.”

the look lucifer sends her way is nothing short of murderous. she just smiles serenely. “sorry,” she says with a shrug. “i just wasn’t sure if you were getting to that bit, or if you’d forgotten.”

“oh you weren’t sure?” he mocks back in a high pitched voice.

“ i wasn’t sure, i was just checking,” she’s leaning too much into taking the piss of him now. something she only realises when she catches sight of jack’s furrowed brow. the uncertainty leaving shadows in his normally clear eyes.

she bites her tongue, and motions for jack to sit. “you must be tired, all this excitement.” she mutters, running her fingers through his hair to straighten it. jack just smiles and lucifer watches her fuss over his son. he feels… warm. which is a strange sensation to the being who runs cold; who spent years freezing in the cage. but it’s definitely warmth, or the beginnings of warmth. the first few sparks of a fire, embers glittering with potential. she cares for him so much, he finds himself thinking. before shaking his head and sitting shoulder to shoulder with the boy. arc gives him a cold, protective glare over jack’s shoulder, but backs off to lean against the wall.

“so…” lucifer tries again, a more conversational tone. “so i want you to think about this. your grandfather is god. think about that. of all the powerful families in history… forget the tudors, the jackson five. we’re numero uno.”

“what’s he like?” jack wonders, head tilted to the side. “god?” the blonde archangel takes a breath, and arc finds herself leaning in; interested in what he will say. the rush of footsteps approaching catches her attention, though. she looks up just in time to see dean making his way toward the three, murder on his face.

“i told you no talking!” dean’s voice cracks the air like thunder, eyes flashing with lightening. “and i told you no listening.” arc looks past dean, to where sam and cas follow. cas can’t quite meet her eye, and sam looks sad and sorry.

“dean, he’s in chains,” jack points out, trying to be patient.

“his mouth isn’t. shoulda gagged him.”

arc slowly stands up but stays in her spot.

“no. i need to know about my powers, my family.”

cas winces, before saying, “jack, we are your family. we’ve been protecting you. we’ve been honouring your mothers wishes. we’re your family.”

“ you have no idea who lucifer really is.”

jack snaps back at sam, “and i never will, unless i talk to him!” lucifer’s pleased smile only grows as he watches this back and forth. dean glares at arc, then points a finger at her accusingly.

“you’re worse for encouraging this.”

jack rolls his eyes, pretty impressively, arc must admit. “dean!” he exclaims, the word heavy with exasperation. “he’s my father.”

and that last statement is what leaves dean wordless, for once.

—

the group set off toward bobby’s place, everyone armed just in case. arc sticks close to jack, not willing to let him too far from her sight, lucifer or no lucifer. dean grumbles and bitches to his mother about the whole thing, the deep rumble of his voice carrying back.

sam joins arc, jack, and lucifer, which pleases jack. he grins brightly at the tallest winchester.

“i was just telling my dad that, now that he’s here, we have enough power to kill michael.” sam hesitates, eyes flickering to arc for a moment. her expression his blank, and he understands, he thinks. she’s trying to let jack come to his conclusions, make his own decisions.

“ jack, that’s not really the plan…”

“but… this is our chance.”

sam sees arc subtly shaking her head at him - not telling him to give up, just not to push it for now. cas comes around the corner, and dean brightens just a touch. “hey. find him?” he asks, talking about michael. the brunette angel shakes his head, scanning the crowd of survivors with concern.

“no. gabriel went ahead to scout, but he should be back by now.”

arc lifts her head, heart leaping into her throat. “what?!”

a rustle up a head, the crunch and crack of snapping branches - then gabriel breaks out of the forest about fifteen feet ahead. arc moves to the front of the group, noticing the group of angel warriors hot on his heels. gabriel shouts a warning, and the winchesters draw their guns while gabe slides into place between arc and cas. he spares arc a wink, who shakes her head despairingly. but her eyes sparkle with fondness.

the angel warriors come to a halt when one of them, presumably the leader, holds up a fist. in a loud, commanding voice, he shouts, “kill them, on my command.”

arc feels jack’s powers shimmering behind her. feels her own starting to build up as flames lick at her fingers and she readies herself to shoot fire when she needs to. the angels eyes begin to glow, briefly - and then, they promptly explode into clouds of grey dust.

everyone swivels ‘round to see lucifer, still in the warded cuffs. his arm his up - he’s clearly just snapped his fingers. gabriel and arc frown, and the blonde man melts the chains off his wrists. “oh, yeah, about the cuffs. i knew they wouldn’t hold me in this world. long story short, i didn’t want your impotence to get awkward, so i just went along.”

dean and sam exchanges glances; and arc subtly angles herself so her body is shielding gabe. she watches as lucifer nudges a beaming jack with his elbow. “see. team player.” jack nods, pleased, turning to arc with a thumbs up. she smiles faintly back - lucifer arches a brow as if to say, “see? i can be good.” gabriel sighs, an irritated sound. turning back around and all but stomping after the group.

—

a familiar sign brings both warmth and pain to arc, dean, and sam. SINGER AUTO SALVAGE. arc, in particular, takes a moment to stare, before closing her eyes. remembering the smell of old books and whiskey. the sound of bobby’s exasperated grunts, his baseball cap, and his love of the word “idjit.” jack and lucifer pause with her, watching with interest. when she sees their curious expressions, she looks open and her eyes are soft, for once. at least, for once where lucifer is involved. she smiles, something rare and true and tiny. “ bobby’s was the first place i ever really called home.” she tells them, an unspoken gratitude woven through her tone. jack smiles back, happy to share in some of his big sister’s past. lucifer just takes this information in, filing it away for later.

approaching sam and dean, she hears the younger winchester saying, “creeps me out. you know?” dean shrugs.

“yeah, but it’s no sioux falls.”

a familiar voice jolts her heart like being shocked - bobby singer is standing there. eyes crinkling at the corners, expression as weathered and embittered as always. “why would it look like sioux falls?”

sam tries to explain, stuttering, “uh, just our, uh, our bobby, back in our world, he um…”

“he liked to freeze his ass off every winter?” other bobby guesses with a raised eyebrow. “yeah, well, this bobby’s gonna pass on that. anyhow, it’s good to see you boys again. i knew you couldn’t stay away.” his eyes fall on arc, and he looks as though he’s trying to place her.

“hi,” she says, quiet. “i - um, i don’t think there’s a me, here,” she says, hoping he doesn’t push the issue. he doesn’t, simply nodding and holding out his hand. arc hesitates without meaning to, before overcompensating and grabbing his hand a little too hard.

bobby’s eyes spring wide as dinner plates at both her strength and the heat off her skin. “you an angel or somethin’, too?” he asks, a creeping suspicion growing in his eyes. arc forces an awkward laugh, then, feeling sam and dean’s eyes on her profile.

she loosens her grip then drops his hand and tucks it safely back into her pocket. “uh. or somethin’. yeah.” bobby examines her closely for another ten seconds or so, before nodding again, turning to sam and dean.

“you know where we can find charlie? or ketch?”

“oh, they ain’t back yet. they got a tip on an angel kill squad lookin’ to execute some, uh, resistance. they went to head ‘em off at the pass.”

dean’s tone is indignant when he asks, “you let charlie go with ketch?”

bobby gives him a stern look. “she let ketch go with her. it’s her operation.”

as sam reminds bobby they have to head off soon, arc nudges dean’s foot with her own. “hey. she’s not charlie, not - not our charlie.”

and dean knows this, he does. but - but it’s hard. it’s hard. he nods. then, squinting at the dirty ground, “i’m not talking to you.”

arc double takes. “excuse me? how old are we, twelve?”

dean huffs, then jerks with his head over his shoulder. gesturing to jack and lucifer standing several feet away, conversing and smiling. “you really okay with that?”

sighing heavily, arc tugs dean closer by the hem of his jacket. “no,” she whispers, quiet as she can. “of course not. but if you push jack, if you make him feel like he doesn’t have a choice, it’s gonna push him right into lucifer’s arms. which is exactly what lucifer wants.”

dean’s nose scrunches in distaste. okay, maybe she has a point. it’s not making him feel any better about it. arc chances letting her fingers ghost his chin, turning his face toward hers. in his eyes, she sees a dozen different emotions churning within. nerves, fear, apprehension, anger, relief, impatience. she can hear the rumbling in his stomach, sense the yawns he holds back to project the image that he’s perfectly fine.

“dean.” she says, quiet and firm. “we’re gonna go home, with jack and your mom and sammy and cas, gabe and ketch, and we’re gonna be okay. it’s gonna be okay. okay?” she refuses to release his chin until he nods with her. green eyes misting up a little, a cracked little “okay” echoing hers from his lips. she lets go and steps back. “alright. good. we’re good?” she checks, and dean confirms.

“yeah. we’re good. i know you- i know you want what’s best for jack.”

she smiles wryly, looking at him with an amused expression. “dean, i want-” she pauses, struggling to get the words out. “i mean, i want - i want good things. for you, too.”

dean smiles gratefully. arc twists her fingers together before wiping her face with an open palm, as though to wipe away any remaining emotion. “right!” she says, bright and determined. “let’s get this show on the road.”

—

it’s when she sees lucifer leading jack toward gabriel that the alarm bells ring in her head. speed-walking toward the two blonde men, she gestures for jack to continue walking, but pulls lucifer aside. he looks at her in confusion. “i haven’t done anything-” he starts to protest and defend himself immediately. arc tells him to shut up, ignoring the offended expression he pulls.

“look, i don’t think you should - i’m trying to be neutral here, okay? not - i’m not on your side, or anything, but i do feel that jack should be able to speak with you if he chooses… but gabriel? you need to stay away from him.”

lucifer scrutinises her face. he remembers what it was like when she gave up her grace. the snapping of her jaw, the loss of all sense of rationale in her eyes. he pouts, dramatically, batting long lashes at her. “but i want jack to get to know the family!”

“well, i can do this part. okay?” when lucifer tries to push past her, she keeps him in place with one hand pressing down on his shoulder. he smirks, now, interested.

“you wanna fight me?” he puffs his chest ridiculously, arc curls her lip in response.

“ i don’t wanna fight.” her gaze is solemn, her words clipped and careful. “i want to protect jack and gabriel. i promised him.”

“you like him?”

“gabriel?” she frowns. “of course i do. he was my friend - i mean, he is.”

lucifer nods, slowly. “uh-huh…” he says drawing out the “huh” part. arc narrows her eyes. he smiles again, not quite a smirk, but still loaded with snark. “friends. just friends.”

and if arc is thrown off by his leading tone, she doesn’t show it. only leaning back on her heels and fixing him with an “are you serious” look. “aw, you jealous, lucifer?” she pouts mockingly, picking at his ego, his desire to be wanted. his expression sours quickly and it cheers arc up enough to start backing away.

“i’ll introduce jack to gabriel. you just stand still and behave.”

—

it’s not long before word reaches bobby’s camp that ketch and charlie have been taken prisoner by michael’s goons. dean and sam were asking the survivors of apocalypse world to return to the bunker. at least until they had time to plan a decent attack against michael. those plans were quickly tossed to the side as cas and dean forced a confession from the kid who told charlie about the angel ambush.

“i can come,” arc says, but she’s looking at gabriel, still avoiding his big brother. sam puts a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“hey, you might be the only one who can keep the peace between those two,” he reminds her, eyes flickering back and forth between the archangels. arc concedes, and then puts her hand over his. squeezing a little. “be safe out there,” she says, no softness, just a firm, demanding command. sam smiles, a little breathy laughter escaping. he shrugs his shoulders and nods.

“we’ll be back soon,” he promises, hazel eyes certain. “with charlie and ketch in tow.”

“i know you will.”

as sam sets off with jack, cas, and dean, she waves them off, grabbing jack in a bone-crushing hug. “stick with the boys,” she instructs, smoothing his shirtsleeves and making sure he has a blade tucked in his waistband. “i’ll be okay,” he says, smiling.

then, she’s left with two feuding angelic brothers. who can’t even sit still for longer than ten seconds at a time. it’s night, the moon shiny like a fresh penny in the sky. gabe sinks onto a pile of tires as lucifer paces. finally succumbing to his frustration, slamming the door of a derelict truck nearby. “this is so stupid.”

“dean said to stay behind. any angels show up, we gotta defend this place.” lucifer sighs and drops his face into his hands. arc doesn’t turn to them, but watches out of the corner of her eye as gabriel looks lucifer up and down. he cracks a grin, “it is really killing you, you’re not out there impressing your kid, huh? lucifer, do you really see a version here where he sticks by you?”

lucifer shrugs, moving his hands from his face. “i think the kid is pretty blown away by his old man, so… yeah, i do.”

“he’s a kid,” gabriel points out, calmly, “he likes shiny objects and magic tricks. but he’s not like you. i can see it in his eyes. his mother’s bloodline, the winchester’s influence…”

“i can be an influence,” the devil says, quiet. almost pleading. arc can’t help turning her head this time. gabriel turns away to watch over the camp, shaking his head at his brother.

“ugh. he’s not gonna want that. he’ll see who…what you are.”

lucifer is - trembling, arc thinks, suddenly realising his hands are shaking as he tosses a handful of pebbles into the junk yard. “i’ve changed.”

gabriel stands suddenly, striding toward his brother, and arc turns further now, poised to jump between the two if needs be.

“dude, it’s me. i’ve known you since the stars were made. you can’t change. you’re incapable of empathy or love. you live to be worshipped or feared. or both.”

arc’s eyes drop to where lucifer has balled his shaking fingers behind his back. there’s a wobble in his knees too, something brief, but there. “okay. i - i see that you’ve- you’ve drunk the kool-aid, fine.”

he shoos at the shorter angel before turning back to the old truck. arc freezes, but neither of them seem to realise she’s even there. “oh, is this the part where you tell me that, uh, dad made up all those so-called lies about you?” he asks, voice laden with sarcasm, “got it.”

“yeah!” lucifer’s voice jumps up a level now, but it doesn’t cover the break in his voice. at least, not for the nephalem standing five feet away. “yeah, pop locked me up, okay?”

arc hopes that no one in the camp is close enough to overhear as gabriel begins to show his temper, too. last thing this whole keeping-up-with-the-archangels show needs is a live audience. “don’t you get it? humans were innocent and beautiful. but you… you couldn’t stand that the old man loved them more than he loved you. so you tempted them and corrupted them just to prove how flawed they were.”

lucifer’s voice grows cold and threatening as he stares down at his little brother. “you better be careful man.” but gabriel is unflinching, on a roll.

“dad saw that your evil was like the first few cells of cancer...that it would spread like the disease unless he cut it out. that is why he locked you up, to stop the cancer. but it was too late then. and guess what? it’s too late for you now.”

arc’s had enough. she snaps her fingers. appearing in the inch-or-so of space between their chests. they both stumble back, blinking. “enough!” she hisses. “gabriel. just- stop. okay?” golden eyes grow wide and dark with disbelief.

“no. come on. arc? seriously?” he laughs, bitter and low. “you seriously are buying this sob story?”

“no. but you’ve both-” she meets lucifer’s eyes to remind him he’s not off the hook here, either - “you’ve both gone way too far. just- now is not the time.” she looks between them, waiting for one to call a ceasefire. gabriel’s chest is heaving just a little, and arc is struck by the wetness on lucifer’s face. noticing her noticing it, he turns away in shame. gabriel just lets out another tight laugh.

“fine. go off after him, arc. go fix your new broken toy.” he taunts, face screwed up in rage. she stares at him, blank, and tells him. “i’m gonna let that one go, because we’re in seriously shit circumstances. i understand your frustration.”

he smirks, all teeth, no soft, no sweetness. it’s reminiscent of her first encounter with him, long before she knew him as gabriel. when all he wanted to punish the winchesters for reigniting the family feud. to push them into accepting their starring roles in the apocalypse. before they really knew each other. when she was just another random nobody interfering in the grand divine plan.

“you don’t understand,” he says, matter-of-fact. “how can you? you never had a family. you probably don’t even know how to love either, right? that demon part of you probably made sure of that.”

even arc can’t hide the hurt that breaks on her face quick enough. gabriel’s own face drops as he realises what he’s said. her throat tightens as betrayal stabs sharp as an archangel blade in her chest. he opens his mouth to speak - she shakes her head, blinking as tears fall down her face. “no,” she says, rough and hoarse. “no. fuck you.”

she turns on her heels and walks away.

—

it’s about twenty minutes later. lucifer is… lurking, is probably the right word for it. not by gabriel - he’s sitting down on his pile of tires again, head hung low. arc took the perimeter of the camp, keeping far away from the golden-eyed archangel. she chose a spot with a good view of the base, and no view of him.

lucifer had made his way toward her slowly, unsure of what exactly had been said after he left first. the thing is, arc is like, nearly one hundred percent certain that lucifer thinks he’s being stealthy, blending into the shadows. he’s not.

she sighs. calls out without looking his way, “i know you’re there. you can come over if you want.”

quickly rearranging the surprise on his face, lest the nephalem look up at him, lucifer casually struts toward the log she’s perched on, sitting down heavily next to her. his leg is touching hers, and she stares at the offending limb, before letting out a breathy laugh. “you know, for the devil, you really have no concept of personal space.”

confused, lucifer glances down. he’s quick to scoot away. looking at his hands, and coughing awkwardly. arc looks at him, notes the red flush in his cheeks. “are you-”

“i’m fine,” he cuts in, cheery as anything.

“that wasn’t what i was going to ask… and, also, you’re not fine. you were crying earlier. i saw you.”

he turns to glare at her. eyes flashing red in the night, as if that’s supposed to do anything. she just stares back, unafraid. “red eyes are another indication that someone’s been crying,” she tells him, half-teasing. he scowls, eyes returning to regular blue.

he sniffs. shuffles a bit further away down the log.

“were you embarrassed?” she asks, a little amused. “when i pointed out how close you were sitting to me.”

another scowl, this time accompanied by a huff. “no.”

she doesn’t believe him. he probably knows that, deep down. it doesn’t really matter all that much, though.

“so, looks like gabriel is the jealous one,” he comments, referring to their earlier conversation. arc eyes him sideways, then looks back to the camp.

“not jealous.” she disagrees. “just… pissed. you did try to kill him.”

“oh my father- everyone makes mistakes!”

“everyone has those days…” arc mutters in a sing-song voice. the archangel does not get the reference, and believes she’s agreeing with him. nodding enthusiastically, he throws his arms in the air exclaiming, “exactly!”

she laughs, ‘cause she can’t help it. he frowns. a wave of exhaustion hits her, then. so much had happened in such a short amount of time. not to mention sam dying- she pushes that thought away. out of her head. hoping she can maybe leave it here in apocalypse world. if they ever get to leave, that is. she looks toward the horizon. no sign of dean and co. just yet. she sighs.

“what did baby bro say to piss you off?”

arc shakes her head. “doesn’t matter. not important. none of this is important. what’s important is getting jack home. safe and sound.”

lucifer inclines his head. “you really care about that kid, don’t you?”

without looking away from the base, she says, “i would kill you, every angel and demon i know, every witch, every hunter- everyone in that camp if it meant keeping him safe.”

lucifer’s mouth drops open in a silent oh. “that’s… intense.”

she throws him a fake smile. “that’s me. why were you crying?”

“why do you care?”

“‘cause if you really were crying, maybe it means that you do.”

silence. not awkward, though. almost - almost nice. companionable.

then,

“i don’t want to be friends with the winchesters. i don’t want - i don’t want anything to do with heaven. i want… i want to know my son. i want to be there for him.” his voice is lower, the words are stumbled and stuttered.

“if you want to be in jack’s life, you can’t be - you can’t be satan,” she says, bluntly, though she feels a little bit bad when he flinches at the nickname. “you can be lucifer, just not… the devil.”

lucifer takes a deep, shaking breath, in through his mouth. exhaling through his mouth. “i - i don’t know how to be anything else.” he laughs, like broken glass scattering on a marble floor, all cracks and empty noise. “i never-” he stops, clears his throat, harsh. he’s crying. again. roughly rubbing at his face, red marks from the pressure left behind.

“you can just try.” she says, finding herself matching his volume, without quite knowing why. she feels ice blue eyes on her, and she forces herself to meet them. she’s almost breathless at the sight; never has she seen lucifer so open and raw and vulnerable. gabriel had clearly worked hard enough to make a dent in all that armour. now arc is maybe peeling it away.

“how?” and never in the history of the world has one syllable ever been filled with so much pain and despair. it’s loaded with enough ache to poke at an already bruised heart inside arc’s chest.

“i can show you.” she says, never breaking eye contact. there’s something magnetic there, something sad and lonely and fearful, maybe. something that worries i can’t do this. “i can show you.” she repeats, a promise, and then, they sit in silence under the stars until dean makes it back.

—

of course, nothing could ever go smoothly for once. arc wants to scream when the angels launch their attack. just when they’re so close to evacuating the humans, so close to everyone getting somewhere safe. michael himself arrives, so very different from the one she’s met before. it’s not even the vessel that marks the contrast; it’s the very feeling that seems to follow him around. one of fear, something evil, something cruel.

he smirks at the escapees and draws his blade. arc leaps into action with her own, and michael pauses a moment. “what are you?” he asks, voice wrinkling in disgust.

“the girl who’s gonna kill you,” she says, slashing with her blade. michael dips and weaves, and knocks it from her wrist. she’s vaguely aware of someone screaming her name. she doesn’t look, too focused on not getting skewered by michael. she just roars out, “get jack home!” she ducks under michael’s arm and twists it, kicking at his side, bringing him to his knees. he catches her swinging fist and flips her right into the air. sitting up, arc lets flames shoot from her fingers. catching on michael’s jacket, but otherwise not affecting him. grunting with exertion they grapple like wrestlers in a ring, and arc notices gabriel rushing toward her. in a fit of panic she thrusts michael off her, hard, spinning around dangerously fast. she brings her hands together and pushes them outwards. sending the archangel flying back, skidding on his ass up to the rift. wide-eyed and horrified, he opens his mouth to scream - arc gets there first, when the tip of michael’s archangel blade slides two inches into her back. something knocks him off balance, and when arc stumbles around she sees lucifer. “go!” he yells, then, with regret in his voice, “take care of my son.”

michael gets to his feet and smirks. “you know i killed the you in my world.”

“yeah,” lucifer nods, “and we locked your sorry ass in a cage in mine.” he grins, toothy, shark like. a well thrown punch breaks the devil’s nose, and arc tries to fight. instead, she finds herself shoved back, nearly thrown through the air. strong arms wrap around her as she struggles and yells. the scent of sugar and strawberries filling her nose.

gabriel is holding her, she realises.

he jumps through the rift, which promptly seals itself shut after sam and dean follow them. gabriel and arc hit the ground and arc cries out, rolling onto her front to relieve the pressure on her wound. gabriel scrabbles at her shirt, tearing carelessly where the blood is coming from. it’s to the right of her spine, about an inch away from the vertebrae. the wound itself is - something to behold. a golden glow to the pink skin around the hole, which is crimson and swollen. arc whimpers as gabriel covers his hand with it. rowena’s voice hits her ears as she asks what happened, where was lucifer, who are all these new people?

she’s aware of cas’ gravelly voice, but it’s nothing more than a slur of nonsense, as her awareness fades to black. the last thing in her mind the look on lucifer’s face as they tumbled through the roof without him.

Chapter Text

the next few days are weird, and pass in a blur of refugees settling in at the bunker, reconnecting with jack and mary, and avoiding a certain archangel. maybe gabriel hadn’t meant the words he’d thrown at arc in his fit of rage, but it still hurt. almost as much as the archangel blade stab wound in her back.

the night they returned, after she woke up, dean had explained. “cas and gabe tried to heal your…” he trails off and gestures. turning slightly pink, before continuing, “ um. but archangel blades… they’re not supposed to wound. they’re supposed to kill, and so, they’re not exactly sure on the - the healing process.”

so, it looks like she’s gonna be recovering for a while. that same night, sam gave a run-down of the current state of the refugees new home, and bobby made a speech that brought several hunters to tears. poor jack holed up in his room most of the evening, upset about lucifer, not wanting to see anyone.

arc knocked lightly, twice, on the nephilim’s room, then opened the door. jack was sitting on the foot of his single bed, staring blankly into space. he glanced her way at the sound of the door opening, and then returned to staring at nothing. kneeling on the floor before him, she put one hand on his jean-covered knee, takes one of his in her other. “ hey, kid,” she whispered, “ i’m sorry about your dad.” jack huffed, avoiding her eyes.

“ no, you’re not,” he said, sounding far too tired for such a young boy, “ no one is. everyone’s happy that he’s gone.” the desolation in his voice forced the cracks to widen in arc’s heart.
“ you know, he saved my life, jack…” he shuffled his feet on the floor, remaining silent, “ so if you’re mad at me, i get it,” she promise. squeezing his hand. his head jerked up, blue eyes wide.

“ it’s not your fault!” he protested immediately, moving his free hand to hers on his knee. gripping both her hands tight. “ i don’t blame you,” he said, slow and earnest. arc gently untangled one hand and brushed through his soft blonde hair.

“the last thing he said to me before distracting michael was to take care of you,” jack’s eyes started to water, lower lip trembling. “ his last thought was of you. protecting you, jack.” the nephilim blinked, a single tear spilling out. tracking down his cheek. arc wiped it away with a feather-light brush of her thumb, and jack leant into the touch. something sparked in her memory - a few hours earlier, lucifer sitting practically on top of her in apocalypse world. how he’d shot away like a bullet from a gun when it was pointed out. a realisation dawns upon arc, too late. touch-starved, she thought, wondering if jack was feeling that way now. cupping his face fully, she let him tilt his forehead to hers, holding him as he let out a few breathy sobs.

“ you don’t have to apologise for wanting to know your father,” she told him, quiet. “ you don’t have to apologise for anything.”

it wasn’t the only emotional conversation arc had shared that night.

arc became increasingly aware of sad, honeyed eyes following her around the room. ducking her head she tried to slip away, heading for the kitchen. cas appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, touching her elbow in silent greeting.

“ hello, arc.”

“ hey, cas. how are you feeling?”

the brunette sighed. his face like a puzzle where each piece was a different emotion, and cas wasn’t sure which piece fitted where. “ you wanna talk about it?” she asked, lowering her voice and leaning in to avoid being overheard.

they slipped into her room, followed seconds later by - of course - dean. settling on arc’s floor, cas explained to her how he met his “evil” counterpart. how he’d had to kill him, and, while he wasn’t exactly remorseful, he still felt a little off-balance. “ that’s understandable,” arc murmured, leaning her head back against her wall. dean nodded, one leg up, the other stretched out.

“ it was weird enough seeing - seeing that ’14 version of me,” dean said, shuddering at the memories. god, how had that been so long ago?

when zachariah was insistent that sam and dean play their roles in the apocalypse. when arc had just met the winchesters and wasn’t sure if she even liked them. before cas fell and became sometimes indistinguishable from human.

“ hippie cas and dead-inside arc,” she recalled, almost laughing. “ when cas fucked his way through the end of the world and i just killed anyone who pissed me off.” cas flushed; crimson red spreading over his pale face.

“ yep. and, uh, walking-shotgun dean,” the eldest winchester finished, shaking his head. “ man. all those years ago, who’d have thought we’d be here now?”

the other two nodded, silently, and dean hesitated before asking cas, “do you regret it?” and he was trying so damn hard to be casual about it. his eyes were stuck to the label of his beer bottle, fingernails picking at the paper. his voice was too coarse, too thick, for nonchalance, though.
cas tilted his head to the side, quirking a thick brow. dean swallowed hard, clarifying the question, “ i mean- falling. choosing us. choosing m- choosing humanity.” he dodged effortlessly over the slip of his tongue, and even arc wasn’t mean enough to pull him up on it.

cas’ face settled into an understanding expression. “ of course not,” he stated, matter of fact, and arc wondered if he pretended not to see dean’s not-so-subtle sigh of relief. “ given the chance to go back and relive the past, while there are, perhaps, some things i would rethink…” and arc didn’t need to read minds to know he was thinking about the whole leviathan debacle. one look at dean told her dean was aware of what castiel meant, too, his handsome face pained and drawn.

“ but ultimately, i will choose sam and dean winchester, and arc, every single time.” there was just a hint of pride coating the words, and dean’s mouth pulled up in a beautiful grin that spread to arc, then cas.

dean tipped his chin at arc, then. “ and you?” he challenged, voice low, practically a whisper. “ do you regret sticking around, all these years?”

raising her eyebrows cockily, she pretended to think about it. but she was hyper-aware of two sets of eyes focused so intensely on her, it made her stomach twist, and her mind swim. “ look, i kinda hated you and sam when we first met. so, if someone had told me that, more than five years later i would be callin’ you guys family… still fightin’ by your side… probably wouldn’t’ve believed ‘em.” she said all this without meeting the dark green or deep blue eyes she could still feel.

“ but, uh… i don’t. i don’t regret. this. us. family.” she swore silently, her awkwardness reducing her to single-word sentences. taking pity on her inability to voice affection, dean just cleared his throat and nodded, once, satisfied.

“ i’m glad.” he says, eyes flickering to cas. when cas looked from arc to him, they shared a moment. something unspoken (as usual) but sweet and meaningful. they both looked at arc, warmth in their bellies, hoping she could feel their smiles even if she couldn’t see them.

it had been sam, who’d pushed her on why she was so obviously avoiding gabriel.

for a man so huge, so muscled, with such a well-defined face, arc felt it shouldn’t be possible for him to have such potent puppy-dog eyes. he was using them then. complete with his mini pout - where he sticks his lower lip out just a little, to enhance his pleading look. “ why are you avoiding gabriel? and don’t lie to me and say you’re not. you can’t stand in place for more than sixty seconds, and he’s been watching you with big, sad eyes ever since we got back.”

“ we… we had a bit of a falling out, while you were out there rescuing ketch and charlie. he and lucifer were sort of, going at it, with each other, and when i told them to stop…” she trailed off, wondering how much to say. sam remained quiet, ever patient.

“ lucifer was crying,” she admitted, finally, holding her hands up in defeat. “ he was crying after what gabriel said to him. tried to hide it, but, i saw. and gabriel, he…” she dropped her head, the words he spoke to her still digging in to her memory like knives. “ he said some pretty awful stuff, to me. and, um, i don’t think he meant it. i think he wanted to - to hurt me, but, he probably …” she shrugged, steadying her troubled words with a slow inhale. “ he didn’t mean it. but it still hurt.” she confessed, looking sam in his puppy eyes. he gave her a sympathetic look, already hurt on her behalf, she knew. even without hearing what gabriel had said, he would feel her pain. because sam winchester is good at a lot of things, and one thing he truly excels at is empathy.

arc doesn’t understand how he does it.

“ he probably wants to apologise,” he said, careful not to sound as though he’s telling her she should let him. she agreed with him easily, but the look on her face is enough to know she’s not ready to hear it just yet.

“ you know you’re important to me, right?” sam said suddenly. wanting to erase the impact of gabriel’s words, she was sure. it’s awkward for her, how genuine and affectionate he sounded as he spoke and she tensed up immediately. trying not to laugh as a cover for her discomfort.

“ sam…” she whispered, not meaning to sound as helpless as she did. sam just smiled and nodded.

“ i know,” he reminded her, soothing, non-judgemental. “ just wanted to say it.”

she nodded, trying to loosen the tightened band around her chest.

by the time everyone had made their way to bed, it was moreso the emotion of it all that exhausted arc the most. it was all a bit much - read, very much - and the easiest way for her to deal is to stay busy. stay occupied, and not allow herself time to linger on certain moments. like dean and cas, eyes soft and warm as they looked at her, small, proud smiles tugging on the edges of their lips. or sam’s affectionate words that made her want to both run away and hug him tight. or gabriel, who hasn’t approached her just yet, but looks so damn wounded it feels like her stomach is ripping itself apart.

but she’s not thinking about any of those things. not right now. hopefully, not ever.

right now, she’s pacing the floor of her bedroom, itching for something to do. itching for a hunt, more than anything, and pissed that she’s benched in the bunker while team free will are out taking down a vampire nest. sure, her back still aches, the open wound still throbbing in rhythm with her pulse - but she’s also minutes away from ripping out her own hair in a frustrated fit. she knows - can feel - gabriel lingering in the hallway, working up the nerve to knock.

despite the bunker being more full than it has been since its men of letters days, there’s no one here for arc to talk to. rowena took charlie off road tripping through the south-west, and mary has taken bobby out for a walk and a chat. sam, dean, cas, and jack were busy with family business. it was surely only a matter of time before gabriel knocked on the door.

oh - and there it is. is it immature to ignore it? she asks herself, a wave of discomfort beginning to rise from her feet up. c’mon, man, nut up or shut up, she thinks. squaring her shoulders and trying to ignore the ache from her wound. she opens the door, ready to tell an archangel to get lost.

“ get - oh. dean.”

the hunter quirks an inquisitive eyebrow, but he’s all smiles and sparkling green eyes. arc relaxes, shoulders loosening in relief. she leans against the door frame and looks up at him.

“kid did great.” he says, excitement shining through his pores. “ we got the hunt done, and he was brilliant.” arc smiles. she knows this, of course, she’s never doubted jack for even a second. to see dean warming up to him is like seeing the first rays of sunlight after a thunder storm.

“i mean, he keeps this up, and …” the man trails off, something that looks awful like hope in his expression.

“and what?” arc encourages, interested in what dean is thinking.

“ sam asked me, once. if we could stop it. all the evil in the world.” arc nods along, remembering this particular topic of conversation. “ if we could… really change things? well, maybe with jack, we can.”

and arc finds herself struggling to rid herself of a lump in her throat. he sounds so bright and enthusiastic, entire face lit up with faith. smiling, arc shrugs and asks, “ maybe, but then, what would you do?”

the man seems tentative, before saying, “this.” he holds up a beer he’s been carrying, gesturing to it with his free hands. “a whole lot of this. but on a beach somewhere, y’know? can you imagine? you, me, cas, sam. toes in the sand. couple of those umbrella drinks, matching hawaiian shirts, obviously.”

and, yeah. arc can see it. sun loungers, palm trees. sweet, fizzy cocktails, soaking up the sun and jumping into a crystalline ocean to cool off. teaching cas to make sandcastles, eating ice cream with sam on a boardwalk. walking barefoot in warm sand with dean along the shore. it looks like heaven. it feels too good to be true. arc fumbles for the words, trying to process the gravity of what dean could actually be suggesting. “are you talking about retiring? really? you?” she fixes him with a disbelieving look, but he just smiles wider.

“ if i knew the world was safe? hell, yeah. and you know why? ‘cause we freaking earned it, man.”

after taking another second to check he’s serious, arc lets herself smile back. she takes the beer from his hand and tips it toward him. “i’ll drink to that.” she swallows a mouthful down before dean is grabbing it back, grumbling, “hey, get your own.” but he’s still smiling, and his tone is light and buoyant. after all the pain and worry and stress he’s been under recently, it’s so, so damn good to see him like this. like a weight has finally fallen from his shoulders.

a startled yelp catches their attention - from jack’s room. they look at each other in concern before heading down the corridor. jack is tossing in his sleep, a deep frown etched into his face. shouting out as he twists and turns. “no, stop!” arc moves to step into the room, but dean gets there first. she hangs back, watching them.

dean wakes the boy up with a gentle hand on a shoulder. the blonde nephilim awakens, shooting up in the bed, disorientated and panting. dean keeps his hand on his shoulder, rubbing small, soothing circles. “ hey. hey, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, easy. you’re just having a bad dream.” rubbing at his eyes with his knuckles, jack lets out a shaky breath. apologising in a voice still thick with sleep.

“it’s okay, you don’t have to apologise. i have’ ‘em, too. all the time.’

jack turns to face dean, blue eyes wide. “you do?”

dean nods. “sure.”

jack looks away, then, down to the duvet. “you, um… what do you see?”

“well, depends. mostly… mostly people i couldn’t save.”

in the doorway, arc’s face falls.

jack nods. “me, too. over there in the other world, i said i’d protect those people. but… i saw so many of them die. and… i tried to save them. i… i tried, but… i’m sorry. i wasn’t strong enough.”

dean sits on the edge of jack’s bed, “ jack… it’s not about being strong. i mean… look, i don’t know what you saw over there, and i don’t know what you went through. i know it was bad. but i also know that you came out the other side because you are strong. but even when we’re strong, man, things are gonna happen. we’re gonna make mistakes. nobody’s perfect. right?” he glances up at arc, and jack notices her for the first time. the softness in her expression is one she only ever has on show around jack. she nods in agreement with dean’s words.

“ but we can get better. every day, we can get better. so whatever you’re dealing with, you know, whatever… whatever comes at us, we’ll figure out a way to deal with it, together. you’re family, kid, and we look after our own.”

it’s all arc can do not to sprint into the room and tackle dean in the biggest hug she can manage. instead, she just smiles, warm and open, and grateful. to see dean comforting jack as he has cas or sam, or her… it’s all she’s wanted from him ever since jack came into their lives.

heavy footsteps make their way down the hall, and arc turns to find sam heading their way. his phone in his hand, a solemn expression on his face. “what is it?” she asks, holding her breath. he looks at her, then at dean and jack, and motions for them to follow him.

—

it’s maggie. the girl they’d picked up on their way to the base in apocalypse world. she’s lying on the ground in a pool of blood, and jack’s face crumples. “i-i…i said i’d protect her, and…” sam grips jack’s shoulder tight.

“stop, jack. this isn’t your fault.”

“what happened to her?” dean asks his mom, who shakes her head.

“i don’t know. doesn’t look supernatural.”

bobby’s face is set with anger, lips pressed in a tight, thin line. “looks like some son of a bitch beat on her until…” at the looks on the faces around him, he stops talking. cas’ gaze is full of sorrow and confusion. all this time among humans, and he still struggles to understand their ability to harm.

“who would do something like this?”

—-----------

back in the bunker, dean asks another refugee some questions about maggie. the refugee reveals that there was a boy in the picture, guy by the name of nate. works out of the store on route 281. maggie had a crush, and was headed out to meet him when she snuck out. dean thanks the girl.

“all right, well, let’s go talk to this boy, jack.” but when he turns around, jack is gone. cas, sam, and arc look around the room, searching for him. dean’s face falls and arc whispers to herself, panicked, “shit.”

—-----------

cas flies them all to the store, just in time to watch jack lift nate into the air. cas rushes down an aisle, “jack! no!”

jack throws an arm out, sends castiel flying back. dean tries to get his attention, and sam. arc pulls at jack with her own powers, but he’s able to resist. “all right,” dean mutters, reaching into his waistband and pulling out his gun.

he fires three rounds, each one hitting jack square in the back. arc flicks her wrist, making dean drop the weapon. “hey!”

jack drops nate and turns to face them. “you… you shot me.” he says, voice trembling, a mixture of rage and hurt.

“to get your attention, you’re acting like a psycho!”

cas recovers and stands, making his way to stand beside dean. “jack.” he tries, but jack talks over them both, insistent.

“he killed maggie!”

nate, on the floor crying, pauses, gasps. “maggie? maggie’s dead?”

sam gestures to the boy, “ jack listen to me. he didn’t kill maggie. look at him.”

jack does. he sees the shock and pain in nate’s face, and seems to give up. he lowers his head, turning toward the exit. “i’m sorry.”

cas calls his name but dean pulls him by the arm, shaking his head. “no, hey, just- just let him go.”

nate blinks up at the remaining four, scrambling to sit up with shaky limbs. “you shot him,” he whispers in a weak voice.

“uh… rubber bullets,” dean bluffs, and sam is quick to join in, “yeah, a training exercise.”

“we’re FBI,” cas informs him, “i’m agent rowland, these are agents knowles, williams, and minaj.” arc can’t help the look of disbelief she sends castiel’s way, tilting her head as she glares.

then, the ceiling lights begin to flicker on and off, and the store itself begins to shake and tremble. dean is back to business mode, ordering nate to leave. a loud piercing noise begins to emit from somewhere, causing sam, dean, and cas to cover their ears. arc cries out in agony, doubled over as she closes her eyes and presses her hands tight against her ears. another flash of blinding light, and the noise fades.

arc opens her eyes, slowly lowering her hands. she turns to look at the others, and spies a newcomer. her breath abandons her, blood running ice-cold under burning skin.

“guys. run.”

as they all crash through the doors, arc runs around the impala, heading for the woods. “i’m gonna get jack!” she calls, “i’ll meet you back there!”

“it’s not possible,” cas says as dean rummages through the impala’s truck.

“ yeah, tell him that!” sam responds, as michael walks slowly out of the doors, a satisfied smirk on his face.

“hey, fellas. miss me?”

cas snarls, downright animalistic, lunging for the archangel. sam yanks him back violently, urging him no. meanwhile, dean stuffs a rag into an urn he unearthed in the trunk. he lights the rag and throws it at michael’s feet. the urn smashes into dozens of little pieces, as the holy oil inside meets the flame and flares up. surrounding michael. dean roars, “run! go, go, go. go!”

they cram into the impala and speed off down the road with a painful screech of tires on the tarmac. michael watches them go.

—

“arc isn’t answering,” sam says, grimly, slapping his phone onto the war table hard. dean is pacing, head on his hands.

“how did michael get here? how’d they open a rift?” sam wants to know, voice barely controlled.

“doesn’t matter,” dean says, “we - we’ve gotta find jack and arc before michael does whatever the hell he’s gonna do, okay?” he takes his own phone from his jeans pocket and begins dialling a number. “i- i’ll call jody and everybody else.”

bobby crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows. “you’re gonna put out on APB on michael?”

“yeah, i am.” dean walks away, and cas bites hard enough on his lip to draw blood.

“i’ll check angel radio, see if gabriel knows anything,” he mutters before walking away too. gabriel just had to have flown off to heaven right when they need him most.

mary steps closer to sam, frightened, uncertain. “sam, even if we find michael, how are we gonna stop him?” sam has no answers for his mom, and he hates it.

—

a few minutes later dean walks back in. “all right, jody’s lookin’. so far, nada.” cas returns seconds later, shaking his head, desolate.

“yeah angel radio is nothing but static, which is disturbing.”

“great.” dean grits out, “well, we’ll just add that to the list.”

mary asks, “so what do we do now?” there’s silence as everyone looks at each other, hoping someone will be struck with an idea. any idea, anything at all.

the bunker door shudders as something - or someone - bangs heavily from outside. the lights flicker, and dean knows instantly what’s happening.

sam grabs mary and bobby, ushering them out toward a hallway. “get mom out of here. go through the garage.”

“no!” mary protests, digging her feet into the floor. it’s useless against sam’s strength. dean says they’ll buy them time, and mary shakes her head, fierce. “NO!”

sam takes her face in his hands, pleading with his eyes. “mom, please.”

bobby hooks an arm around mary’s elbow, and drags her off. nodding at the boys before disappearing.

all the while, the banging grows louder, louder, louder - until it flies open, falling in and allowing a blinding light to shine down the stairs. michael’s figure appears in the doorway, as he ascends toward the war room, sam and dean start shooting. he flicks them both to the ground without looking at them. cas grabs his angel blade and dives at michael, who, again, flicks him away like one would flick a particularly irritating gnat.

“you really thought you could run from me?” he asks, voice booming throughout the bunker. sam gets to his feet and lunges again, ending up being thrown against a wall. he slumps to the ground with an oof. he lifts his head to see the archangel get his hand around dean’s throat. holding him fast and squeezing.

“how did you-“ dean splutters out, cheeks turning red.

“get here?” michael finishes, taunting. “easy. i made a deal.” he clicks the fingers on his free hand, and a bloodied, pale lucifer comes tumbling down the steps. he lets out a pitiful wail, eyes bloodshot when sam gets a look at them. hazy and unfocused, and drooping. “and now, this world is mine. i can save it. purge it of sin.”

“oh yeah,” dean scoffs, struggling to draw in enough oxygen, “‘cause that really worked on your world.”

“i’m not perfect. yes, i made mistakes. but second times the charm. and you…” he lifts dean off his feet, fingers tightening further. dean’s eyes bulge and his cheeks go a nasty shade of purple as legs dangle in the air. “dean winchester will be the first life that i take in this world, first soul i save. some would consider that an honour.”

with the last of his energy and breath, dean manages to spit out, “well, as shakespeare said, eat me, dickbag.”

sam gets to his hands and knees, eyes flickering from a broken lucifer to a strangled dean. utterly hopeless, he closes his eyes and prays.

jack… arc. one of you, please. i don’t know where you are, and i don’t even know if you can hear this prayer, but we need you. we need you.

—

MEANWHILE, IN THE WOODS

arc’s not sure how much time has passed. the sky has darkened, stars beginning to wink against a dark blue background. jack is inconsolable. punching himself, arc has lost count of how many times she’s had to restrain him physically. her body aches, she’s exhausted - and she’s not used to it. the archangel blade has clearly done a number on her, and now she understands why cas said she couldn’t go with them on the earlier hunt.

“jack, please. i am telling you. michael from the other world is here!” she pleads, and jack just keeps walking. no destination in mind, just walking, and walking, and walking. “we need to get back to the bunker where it’s safe.”

he stops short at that, and shakes his head. “nowhere is safe from him. we failed. i failed.”

“no, jack!” she wants to scream. she wants to throw her head back and howl like a damn werewolf at the half-moon hung low in the sky. every second that passes, every second they stand in the open, they’re sitting ducks. she’s been on the wrong side of michael’s blade once. she’s not all that eager to do it again.

“jack, please!”

he opens his mouth to respond, then suddenly freezes. he frowns slightly, tilting his head to the side. “did you hear that?”

arc goes still, glancing around furtively. she shakes her head, and jack takes a few steps toward her. “listen,” he murmurs, laying one hand on her forearm.

… there. a whisper. barely coming through.

jack… jack… arc… if you can hear this…

eyes wide and stunned, the nephalem and the nephilim stare at each other in horror.

we need you.

jack’s fingers grasp a handful of arc’s long shirt, panic overtaking his face. “we have to go, jack, now!”

—------------

just as dean is ready to pass out, he and michael are hit with two separate shockwaves. they fall to the floor and sam pushes himself to a standing position. jack and arc appear in the war room, and sam looks at them.

“we heard your prayer,” jack confirms. his eyes fall onto the blonde figure crumpled at the foot of the stairs. “is that-“

he’s cut off as michael moves, standing up. jack’s fists clench and his eyes begin to glow, dangerous gold. “you hurt my friends.” michael starts to scream, as blood trickles from his eye sockets, his ears, turning into a steady stream as jack’s voice rises. “you hurt my family!”

he squeezes his fists again and michael’s knees buckle, hitting the floor.

lucifer stirs, suddenly. with weird, disjointed movements, he begins to stand, almost robotically. arc frowns, watching closely. no. not robotically. like a puppet.

despite the fact that the devil can barely hold his own eyes open, he manages to shoot a spark of energy across the room. hitting jack and knocking his concentration. jack blinks and turns, a look of hurt on his face.

“dad?” he whimpers, turning away from michael. lucifer’s face is twisted, agonised. he sways on his feet, mouth struggling to form words. arc reaches for him, her hand brushing his outstretched fingertips. she gasps as memories bombard her mind-

painpainpain-burningburning-freezing-sharp-ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-

michael is methodical as he yanks memories out of lucifer’s head, methodical but nowhere near gentle. looking for the spell to generate the rift that will lead him to achieve his victory. lucifer’s screams mean nothing to him, it’s little more than white noise-

that awful emptiness that comes from losing your grace, that sting of a cut that cannot be healed slicing into lucifer’s throat, but no, it’s a trickle, barely enough to cover the bottom of a vial, and michael is angered- not enough, he says, we’ll have to get creative-

the steel needle pushes deep into lucifer’s neck, a raging wildfire spreading from the point of sticking all throughout his vessel, he’s been cold since he left the cage, but this, this, this is searing, this is torment, this is-

michael takes his own grace to make up the final part of the spell and he’s sneering- lucifer feels human, is limp and breathless on the floor- michael’s going to kill jack, and dean, dean first, of course, then sam, then jack, then the abomination that escaped him the first time around-

arc jerks back, not before her own scream slips out as she feels the torture lucifer endured at michael’s hands. breathless and unsteady, arc’s voice is hoarse and pained when she tells them, “it’s not him, it’s michael, michael is controlling him-“

and arc saw all that in about two seconds, but it was plenty of time for michael to retrieve his blade and drag arc back into his arms.

another bright blaze and the lightbulbs cannot take anymore- they burst, sending glass flying from the ceiling. golden eyes go from angry to terrified in point-one-second when gabriel arrives just in time to see arc at michael’s mercy.

“no!” his wings unfurl, the silhouette painted on the wall behind him. michael just grins, and arc, who looks defeated, stares at gabriel intently. “it’s okay,” she mouths at him. “it’s okay,” she manages a short smile, and it’s the last thing she can do before the angel blade drives through her chest from behind.

there’s no shock of light, no wings burnt into the floor. it’s so simple, so human, the way she dies. falling to the floor with blood leaking from her wound, eyes half-shut and glassy. jack screams, causing any and every computer and phone to spark and explode as his grief swallows him whole. he raises a hand in michael’s direction, but the archangel is faster. with the archangel blade still dripping with arc’s blood, he slashes quickly - jack’s grace escapes the slit in his skin and michael breathes it all in. jack, too, slumps to the floor, curled in a ball.

lucifer makes a choked-up noise, then tries to take an aborted step toward michael. his legs fail, and fall, and with a low moan, he’s unconscious. only moments later, michael seems to get an idea, and sam, too, is on the floor. curling protectively over his stomach, a vain attempt to halt the hot stabbing pain that starts up. by the sounds of it, cas and gabriel are being subjected to the same ordeal, and the room fills with cries and screams and dean’s voice, panicked, yelling, “stop it!”

michael just smiles serenely at dean. “ you… you’re the michael sword.”

dean gulps, nervous. surely not, he thinks, surely not. “ just kill me,” he says, quickly, “ just kill me- let my brother, let them go. please.” he closes his eyes, ashamed to be begging, ashamed to have watched arc die helplessly.

michael chuckles. “ now, why would i do that?” he muses aloud. “sure, it was my intention at first… but now i remember. you were built to contain me. with your vessel i can take over this vile, sin-riddled world.”

dean swallows and forces his eyes open. “yeah. no. not gonna happen, pal.” michael just smiles wider, and suddenly sam’s bleeding profusely from - from everywhere. so is cas. gabriel just shrieks and begins to bang his head against the floor, overwhelmed by the pain.

dean’s determination wavers.

michael sees it, jumps straight onto that. “ tell you what. i’m a reasonable angel. you say yes to me now, and i will leave your brother and these…” he casts his gaze back to the trio on the ground. disdain and disgust in the curl of his lips, “so-called angels alive. i will take your vessel, and leave.”

dean’s chest heaves. sam tries to tell his brother no, but he can’t even see past the red mist in his eyes now. dean’s eyes flickers from them to michael, who is waiting, expectantly.

“how do i know you won’t kill them as soon as i say yes?” dean asks, voice rough, and sam knows, through the agony, that his mind is already made up. he’s helpless, writhing and praying for death, praying for an end to it all.

“ you have my word,” michael promises, a knowing look in his eye. dean clenches his fists. looks at the floor, at his feet. kicks at a chair nearby and swearing, low and violent. “damn it. damn it.”

when he looks up at michael, he nods, resolute. he trusts sam and cas to figure something out. they’ll save him. they always do, “okay,” he says, shattered. still frightened. “ yes.”

michael’s essence flows from his current vessel into dean. the old meat suit joining the slew of bodies on the floor. adjusting to his new body, michael winks at sam, blows cas a kiss, and waves goodbye to gabriel. eyes flashing white-blue, before he disappears, the pain immediately ceasing. leaving sam, cas, and gabriel to lie, panting, frozen, and defeated.

Chapter Text

then
arc nodded at sam across the breakfast table. jack was following dean around like a puppy, their new-found bond only growing stronger in the days since they’d returned from apocalypse world. a few doors down, sam could hear his mother’s deep laughter, bobby’s grumbled retort. the refugees were settling in rather easily, much to the youngest winchester’s delight.

after so much pain and loss, fear and uncertainty… it was nice to feel a change in the atmosphere. as sam sat and sipped his coffee, he enjoyed the lightness in the air, the easy way he and dean exchanged banter, the familiarity of cas shuffling through the library like he belonged.

their family was reunited, and they’d even made some friends along the way. sam was happy, as he smiled down at his phone. at the selfie rowena sent of her and charlie sipping cocktails in some fancy-ass bar halfway across the country. he felt satisfied. comfortable.

he was content.

now

arc is dead.

lucifer might as well be.

dean is gone, riding shotgun to a genocidal archangel from an alternate universe.

sam’s entire world is shattered. the only thing keeping him going is the fact that he has cas, bobby, mary, and jack to help him in his search for dean. he can’t sleep, every time he so much as blinks, he gets flickers from last night.

blink. michael blows open the door of the bunker.
blink. arc’s eyes dimming as the archangel blade pushes through her chest.
blink. a rustle of air and jack’s grace flows from the cut on his neck.
blink. cas, gabriel, and sam are writhing in torment, their insides turning to mush inside them as michael watches with a smirk and an evil glint in his eye.
blink. dean, broken, splintered, as he says yes. eyes flashing white-blue, in the moments before michael took off in his vessel.

“sam? sam? sam!”

castiel jerks him from his painful reverie. face wrought with concern, head tilted to the side. sam looks at the angel, “sorry. i - sorry. what’s up, cas? did you find something?”

cas looks like he’d rather be anywhere else right now, looks like what he has to say is more bad news and sam’s not sure he can handle any more bad news. he gets it anyway.

“arc’s gone, sam.”

in the morgue, where’d they put her body - and for a person whose temperature ran a steady one-oh-nine on a regular day, she was so cold, so fucking cold, it turned sam’s stomach - the drawer is empty. not a trace of her to be seen.

sam can only stare. cas watches him timidly, hands fidgeting beneath his trench coat sleeves. “ i don’t know. i can’t - i don’t know what happened. how this happened.”

cas is always so strong, so sure. to hear him so lost, his voice like a child’s, frightened, uncertain- sam can only walk out the door before he loses what little hold he has over his mind.

—

jack doesn’t stop crying for two days. trying to bring arc back hadn’t worked, and lucifer has been in a deep sleep since michael left. gabriel can’t heal whatever michael did, and is too distraught by arc’s death to do much more than apologise to the kid and disappear.

mary, much like sam, springs into action, starts to plan a way to get dean back as soon as possible. she instructs sam to reach out to all their contacts and inform them of the situation. the more people with an eye out, the better.

three days after it all goes down, sam still can’t sleep. he wanders through the silent bunker, passing dean’s room, passing arc’s, unable to stop the tears that begin to stream down his face. his feet stop at the entrance to the kitchen. cas cuts a lonely, desolate figure, sitting alone in the dark. his trench coat is off, tie loosened haphazardly. one hand curled around a half-full bottle of whiskey.

sam pads across the floor, takes the seat opposite his friend. neither of them speak, simply passing the bottle back and forth until it’s empty.

“i’m scared for arc,” cas croaks out, finally. without lifting his eyes from the worn surface of the table, he keeps talking, distressed. “she can’t go to heaven. she can’t go to hell. that leaves - that leaves only purgatory, and the empty.”

he lifts his head, bloodshot blue eyes meeting wet green. he looks half-unhinged at the idea of arc going to either one of these places. if sam allowed himself to feel anything, he’s sure he would be pretty freaked out, too.

“ i’ve been to purgatory. and the empty. at least i could look out for her when we were there, in purgatory. but the empty…” cas shakes his head, a haunted expression transforming his face. “ there’s nothing.” he says, hollowly. “ nothing i can do.”

sam doesn’t respond. can’t. isn’t sure cas wants one, anyway. the angel snaps his fingers and another bottle appears on the table. cas unscrews the lid and downs a good third of the amber liquid without pausing for breath. “ and dean,” he says, voice bitter, biting, “ who knows what michael is doing out there.”

sam tenses at the mention of his brother, chest painfully tight. eyes so itchy and so heavy, his head feeling like it’s been stuffed with concrete and hit with a mallet. cas eyes the human and realises he should probably stop talking. “ you need to sleep, sam.”

sam laughs. mirthless. “ sure.”

he doesn’t need to look to know cas is giving him the patented baby-blues puppy-dog look. hell, he’s used it enough himself.

“ i can help you. take the dreams away.”

sam shifts in his seat. “ i don’t wanna waste your grace,” he says, finally, though he is desperate for some rest. cas knows this, can hear the exhaustion in his very soul. before sam can blink, they’re both in his room. sam is lying under the covers and castiel is standing over him.

“sleep, sam.” cas’ deep, soothing voice is the last thing he hears before his consciousness fades to black.

—

gabriel returns a week after, with news. “ i told the angels i would help them keep heaven going, if they help us make these archangel cuffs rowena was talking about.”

sam nods, grateful. “thank you, gabriel.”

the ex-trickster just shrugs. “ don’t worry about.” he mutters, eyes sliding to the hall. “ is, uh. is my brother awake yet?”

sam shakes his head.

gabriel watches the empty doorway for a few moments longer. “ do you think he will?”

sam looks to cas, who he figures might know a bit better than him. cas sighs, a shuddering exhale as he leans on the war room table. “i’m not sure. michael put him through a lot.”

sam watches gabriel, sees a muscle twitching in his jaw. wonders if he feels as guilty as sam does for not at least trying to get lucifer out of apocalypse world.

eventually, he flexes his jaw, moving it side to side until it pops and cracks. “well. keep an eye on him. he still can’t be trusted.”

a flutter of wings, and he’s gone.

days melt away, and no sign of dean. no hint that michael is even out there. sam pushes on, researching, reading, talking to jody, to donna, to garth. he hears the strain in their voices, how they’re trying to stay positive for his sake. despite not turning up anything useful, sam keeps going. keeps looking. because it’s the only thing he can do, so he’ll do it, until he finds his brother, or dies trying.

Chapter Text

NEW YORK CITY
michael strolls down the street. surrounded by so many sinners. so many lost souls. not a single one of them are aware that he will be the one to save them. smiling at this hidden knowledge, he glances at his reflection in a shop window. the dark suit, burgundy tie, and pea cap enhances dean winchester’s natural looks. green eyes flash white-blue against the glass. michael smiles.

SOMEWHERE ELSE
arc’s breath returns to her in a sudden whoosh. her chest heaves and her eyes fly open. after a moment or so to adjust to her wakefulness, she turns her head to the side. seeing only a vast white emptiness. frowning a little, she turns her head - the same view waiting to her left. sitting up, she remembers michael - remembers dying. sitting up, her hand flies to her chest, where the tip of the archangel blade peeked through. there’s nothing there. no blood. no mark. just nothing.

much like the space around her.

getting to her feet slowly, she turns a full circle. trying to see if there’s anything, any landmark, any indication of where she is. but this place, it’s … void. she feels no breeze on her skin. no sunlight, no warmth, no cold. she calls out tentatively. “ dean?… cas? gabriel?”

only her own voice bounces back to her. eyes widening, she feels her throat tightening, panic rising.

“anybody? somebody? help!”

Chapter Text

ACT II

MICHAEL

CHAPTER 10: STRIKE

THREE WEEKS LATER:

the bunker is bustling with activity. hunters coming and going, stopping for a rest and refuel, heading off to a case. sam enters the bunker, waving to mary who waves him over.

“hey, mom,” he greets her, the weariness of his voice not going unnoticed. pulling her youngest son in for a hug, she squeezes his shoulders tight.

“how was atlanta?”

sam grimaces, shaking his head. “ it was, uh… it was a bust. the woman who claims she saw an “angel”… was…” he breaks off to snort, “ let’s just say i think she had one too many hits of the brown acid, you know?” despite his laughter, his eyes are dull. his tone flat and unimpressed.

“ sam, we’re gonna find him. ketch is working that thing in london. castiel is in detroit. i know it’s been three weeks since dean…” her sentence falls apart at the end. “ something will break. it has to.”

“yeah,” sam mutters, “ yeah, you keep saying that.” he yawns, wide, eyes watering. mary frowns.

“have you slept? at all?” sam’s face holds guilt, and she clicks her tongue. “sam, you need to rest. go and lay down.”

“mom-” they’re interrupted by one of the many hunters that frequent the bunker nowadays.

“chief?”

sam turns to him. “hey.” the man smiles, passing a hot bowl of soup into sam’s hands. “good to have you back.”

sam smiles weakly. “thanks.” the guy shrugs.
“don’t thank me yet. word is we got some vamps heading east on i-90. gipsy types. pickin’ off truckers mostly.”

a second hunter chimes in, “last body got drained and dropped just outside la crosse six hours ago.”

running through a quick plan in his head, sam nods, “ okay. um… all right. get me teams of two. i want watch points every fifty miles. if you see something, say something. maggie, can you hack the traffic cams on the freeway?”

the girl blinks slowly. “um… no.”

“ right. right. of course. sorry. um. i got it. thank you.” he hands the soup to his mom, asking the first man, “uh please, would you call in sharon and her crew? we’re gonna need all hands on deck here.”

“yes sir.”

“thank you.”

sam sits heavily, opening his laptop. mary approaches him again. “sam-”

“i’m good. i am. hey, how’s jack?”
“he’s good,” she says, plainly. “boxing with bobby right now. i think… he’s getting used to, y’know.”
“being human,” sam finishes, and mary nods. “yeah. i should check on him after i finish this…” mary gazes down at her son with concern.

“ jack’s okay, sam. he has all of us around him. you’re not here alone.”

sam flashes a grateful smile, long fingers flying over the keyboard. mary purses her lips as his eyes return to the screen.

—

that evening, sam goes to check on jack anyway. he sits on the boy’s bed as he greets him. “i, uh, i chatted with bobby. he said you may have had a rough day today.”

“it was fine.”

“okay.” sam pauses. wonders what he should say next. wonders, what would arc say? his throat closes up briefly, and he looks at his lap until the danger of tears has passed. he looks back up at the boy. “ jack, i know this must be so hard. without your grace, your powers, it’s a lot. but you can get past this. i know you will. i have faith in you, jack. and i believe in you. and-”

a figure in the doorway. mary. “ hey. sam, um. he’s awake.”

nodding, sam turns to jack with an apologetic expression. “ i have to, uh-” jack is already nodding back. “ i know.”

“we’ll talk later, all right?” he reassures jack, patting the bed, before leaving with mary.

“did he say anything?” he asks his mom. mary’s voice is tight when she replies.
“ i didn’t talk to him. i can barely look at him.”

sam rests his hand on the doorknob of lucifer- no, nick’s, room. mary departs, and only when she’s out of sight does sam push open the door. he stares, for a while, at the man with his back to him. unsure of how to proceed. eventually, he takes a deep breath, and flicks at the switch on the wall. the room illuminates, flooding with light. nick turns around, noticing sam. “oh, hey, sam.”

“hey… nick.”

—

“how’d you sleep?”

the man shrugs. “uh, yeah. um… okay. i didn’t wake up screaming, so that’s a plus.”

“yeah. so, no more nightmares?”

“they’re getting better.”

sam nods. “good.” a strange moment passes between the two men. then, sam asks, because he has to. “may i, uh - may i see it?”

nick stands up, unbuttons his shirt. there are mottled bruises, across his pale chest. in the space between his neck and collarbone, there’s a raw patch of shiny pink skin. where michael had pulled lucifer’s grace out, drawn every last drop of what remained to open the rift between worlds. sam prepares some of his medical supplies. “oh, look at that.” he says, as he gets closer. “looks like it’s healing.”

nick brings his fingers to the wound, scratching lightly. “yeah, it itches a lot. doesn’t really, uh-” he inhales sharply as sam dabs disinfectant around the area. “- hurt! ah!”

“sorry.”

“ow. ow. i don’t get it. i don’t understand how lucifer could die and i could live.”

sam focuses on screwing the cap back on the bottle of disinfectant. “yeah, um… i think that maybe it’s because michael basically drained him of his grace, then, uh. used him as a puppet? must’ve been too much for him to handle. maybe. but, his grace affects him, and, uh, not the person he -”

“possesses and use to almost end the world?” nick finishes, sound resigned. sam coughs.

“yeah. that.”

“it must be weird, you looking at me and seeing him.”

sam forces a smile. “yeah, well. um. last thing lucifer did before - last two things lucifer did, before, uh. dying. he brought me back to life, and he- he saved my friend’s life.” sam swallows, looking at the floor. “ he sacrificed himself to save her. we thought michael had just killed him. turns out, he just used lucifer and what was left of him to reopen the rift.”

nick nods, thoughtfully. “seems a little bit, well. out of character.”

sam laughs. “ yeah. well.” he places the disinfectant back into the med bag and zips it up.

“ i’m glad he brought you back. and saved your friend.” sam’s face falters.

“ yeah, um. she. she died.” he winces, nick’s expression turning surprised. “yeah. when michael got over here, he. he killed her.”

nick doesn’t look like he knows how to respond to that. after an awkward stretch of silence, he finally offers a small, “i’m sorry.”

sam looks at the man, seeing both nick and lucifer at the same time. still struggling to adjust his thinking. “ me too.” he sets the med bag to the side. “ so, do you remember-”

nick cuts him off almost immediately. “ oh, i mean. just little bits and pieces here and there. nothing- nothing about your brother.”

sam tries not to be too disappointed. “ okay. and, uh, michael? did he - say anything? even while… while torturing lucifer?”

nick looks sad, and a little afraid, when he says, “i mean, i remember him saying… he wanted to do it right this time.”

because that’s not ominous at all.

—

the day goes from bad to worse when sam discovers cas has been taken hostage by demons. with crowley gone, a dozen higher-standing, more volatile demons are vying for the throne. they pick the wrong time to screw with sam, though. he utterly destroys the bar full of the creatures and, covered in their blood, announces that there will never again be a king of hell. during the fight, jack gets knocked down by a single punch, wounding his self-esteem and confidence moreso than his body.

sam snaps at his mother, too. he can no longer stand her optimism, the way she keeps saying they’ll find dean. because sam’s not too sure any more. he’s not sure at all, really, and having cas almost taken from them is one more unnecessary blow.

arc is dead, he reminds her, and mary flinches. arc is dead and dean is gone and jack is human, and michael is out there doing who-the-hell-knows what, so if she could just… stop, for a few freakin’ minutes, he would really, really appreciate it.

the next day, ketch calls. sam sits at the kitchen table, a cold beer pressed to his forehead. sam nods, though the man can’t see him through the phone. “yeah. yeah, yeah. i - no, i don’t care. i - just keep looking. thanks.” he hangs up as cas walks in. “ketch,” sam explains, holding up the phone. “ he’s in london searching for the newton-dee hyperbolic pulse generator.”

cas sits down, frowning. “the what?”

“it’s the - it’s the magic egg that kicked lucifer out of the president, way back when. i thought we could use it on michael, but - ketch can’t find it. so, that’s another dead end, which is just awesome.”

“ sam, are you all right?”

sighing, sam twists off the bottle cap of his beer. “ yeah, i’ve been better, i’ve been worse. you?”

cas’ eyes are heavy with sorrow and guilt. “ i’m - i’m just sorry, i should never have gone to those demons.”

“cas, i - no, i - i don’t blame you. honestly, i wish i’d have thought of it first. if it meant finding dean, i’d work with - i’d do anything.”

cas nods. expression drawn and lost. “ i just… we need to get him back, sam,” he says, meeting sam’s eyes. “ arc is - she can’t be saved.” his voice comes close to cracking, and sam’s eyes twitch, trying to force back an onslaught of crying. “ but dean - if he can - we have to. i can’t - not both of them, sam.”

sam looks at the angel, at the grief visible in each plane of his defined face. realises that he might have been missing something. something he knew cas felt for dean, but maybe felt for arc, too. he gets it, in a way. arc is - was - his best friend. while her and dean were always bickering over something, sam and arc seemed to gel so easily. to lose his brother and someone he considered his sister… he just gives cas a sympathetic look. “ i know, cas. i know.”

—

later, cas tells jack he did well in the bar fight against the demons. jack disagrees. “ all i did was get punched in the face.”

cas shrugs, pointing out that, “ well, to be fair, we all got punched in the face.”

jack shakes his head, frowning harsh, brow furrowed deep. “ that’s not - before, when i had my powers, i could have done something, and-”

cas cuts him off. “ jack. you don’t have your powers. your grace should regenerate in time, but until then-”

“ i’m useless!” the boy cries out, anguished. “i can’t kill demons. i couldn’t protect arc. i can’t find dean, and michael is still in our world, and i can’t stop him. i can’t do anything. i don’t have anything.”

the words tug roughly at castiel’s heartstrings. “ oh, jack, that’s just not true. you’ve got me. you have all of us. you have your family. and - and we are going to find dean and we are going to beat michael and we’re going to do it together. we - because that’s what we do.”

when jack looks up at castiel, his face is wet with a steady flow of tears. “ i want arc,” he whimpers, pushing the palms of his hands against his head. “ i want her back, i want her home, she would know - she would know what to do, i want arc, i want her -” he loses his ability to speak as the sobs break through. cas’ feels his own face crumple, and he takes swift steps across the room to take jack in his arms. the young boy feels so thin and fragile, so human, as he shakes and shudders and sobs. “ i know, jack. i know,” cas murmurs, resting his head on top of jack’s soft hair.

“ i- i - i miss her.” he stutters out, clinging to cas with fistfuls of his trench coat. cas closes his eyes, feels several of his own tears slipping out. he just holds jack and sways where they stand, rocking him, almost.

“me, too, kid. me, too.”

—

as sam goes to bed that night, his phone buzzes on his bedside locker. he picks it up and squints at the screen. he picks up, certain that the caller id has to be wrong.

“hello?”
“sam?”

“jo?”

Chapter Text

“who goes to duluth in october? surely michael didn’t touch down in orlando.”

sam examines the impressive array of weapons spread out on the table in front of him. mary picks up a gun, turning it this way and that. she sets it back down and looks up at bobby. “jo was pretty specific. duluth.”

“yeah, well, angel’s ain’t exactly known for their veracity,” the older hunter grumbles. eyes dark with distrust. mary clears her throat, looking behind bobby. he turns to see cas entering behind him and he rubs the back of his neck. “no offence.”

cas responds, “none taken. i tend to agree with you.”

picking up the gun again, mary passes it to sam. he’s sitting by his laptop, staring at the screen. “here you go. hey, what’s that?” she indicates to the articles open on sam’s computer.

“ so i’ve been searching through police reports in duluth. cops just turned up a pile of corpses that was dumped near some train tracks just north of town and their eyes were burned out.”

cas’ expression turns grim, and his tone of voice matches his face. “so, michael. we should go now.”

“no, this isn’t just michael we’re talking about.” sam says, immediately.

“it’s dean.” bobby reminds the angel. sam nods and looks up at cas with look that’s filled with remorse.

“ yeah, cas. you know why you can’t come with us, right?”

cas huffs an irritated breath. “my angelic presence would be sensed by michael, thereby nullifying your hopes of a sneak attack.”

“yeah. sorry.”

“ and, you need me to stay here and babysit nick and jack,” cas continues. sam winces.
“it’s not babysitting, cas,” he protests.

“only in the sense that they’re not infants, but they both have to be supervised. jack is lost without his grace. nick is… he’s just a mess.”

“well, it- it’s not his fault, cas, nick was housing, you know. he- he deserves a shot at rebuilding his life.”

cas’ face is completely deadpan when he says, “and yet every time i look at him, all i can see is the supreme agent of evil.” okay. so cas is not alright with his duties for the day.

“you talking about my dad again?”

everyone in the room turns to the door. jack hovers in the corridor, voice small, face clouded. “look, i understand. being around nick, it’s hard for me, too.” he takes a fortifying breath before saying, “ but lucifer saved arc. that’s… i’m holding on to that.”

mary tilts her head, eyes filled with a gentle, warm, compassion for the boy. “ uh, jack. we’re going to need you to sit this mission out. not a permanent thing.” she reassures him quickly. jack just looks like he expected this.

“i know. last time, i sucked when it mattered, and i need to improve, so… that’s what i’m gonna do.”

sam and mary nod their approval. sam cocks his gun and stands up, looking to his mom and bobby. “alright. okay. let’s move.”
—

cas hears heavy breathing on the other side of the door. the tray in his hands makes it difficult for him to knock, but he manages, somehow. nick opens it, dressed in a white shirt, looking dismal.

“i brought you some nourishment. now that he’s, uh, gone, you- you must remember to eat.”

nick takes the tray, looking down at it’s contents. “ right. thanks.” when he looks back up, cas is already turned away. nick sighs. “ i’m not him, castiel.”

cas sighs, too. “i know.”

“but you still can’t look at me.” his tone conveys hurt, but no bitterness.

“ it’s difficult. you don’t remember all the things you did in his thrall, but i do,” cas explains, quietly.

nick steps back into his room to set down the tray before moving to the door again. “i know. i just don’t - i don’t...get it. i don’t understand why i would do something like that, i don’t, i don’t get how i would let lucifer possess me.” he sounds so lost and confused.

cas turns back to face the mortal. “ you were in a lot of pain. and lucifer saw vulnerability, and exploited it.”

nick gives cas a wry look. “is that what you tell yourself so you can be near me?”

“i guess so.”

“i just don’t know what kind of pain would make me allow lucifer to possess me.”

“it was your family.”

“sarah and teddy?”

cas nods gravely. nick frowns, “no… no!” as memories begin to trickle back, he remembers: his baby boy, his child, the woman he loved.

“a man broke in to your house, and you weren’t there.”

“that was no man. that’s not man. that’s a monster.” nick’s eyes blur with tears, and they fall freely, down rough-stubbled cheeks while he brings both hands to press at the sides of his head. “it’s a monster, and then lucifer found me and made me a monster too.” he sobs, he wails, feeling that unbearable grief for the first time all over again. “oh my god!”

cas just stands there, uncomfortable.

—

in duluth, sam checks out the mortuary, grilling the coroner for info. there’s not all that much to go on. until sam asks about surveillance cameras. finally, a lead. a car, with a license plate, which allows them to track down the owner, and her address. they bang at the front door, and sam calls out, “lydia crawford, this is the FBI. open up.”

he’s forced to kick in the door when he garners no response. lydia automatically knows they’re hunters, trying to formulate an escape. when bobby pulls his knife, she holds up her hands. “i didn’t do anything wrong!”

“no. vampires never do.”

“my nest, we- we fed on animal blood!” she blurts out, voice trembling almost as bad as her hands in the air. sam lowers his gun, eyes narrowed. “we lived quiet lives, until…. until he came.” the girl swallows hard, fear on her face.

“he? he who?” sam pushes.

“i don’t know his name, but..he was strong. he tied all of us up and one by one he’d take blood from us. i couldn’t see what he was doing, exactly, but every time there would be this explosion, and my friends would be dead. when he was coming for me, a couple of the others tried to att- tried to attack him. i was able to get away, but...they didn’t make it.”

“why was he killing you? did he say?”

lydia slowly begins lowering her hands as bobby and mary look as interested as sam in hearing her out. “ i don’t think he meant to. it’s just that … things seemed to go wrong. he wasn’t killing, it was like, it was like he was experimenting.”

bobby does not like the sound of that. he knits his brows together tight. “experimenting? what for?”

lydia shakes her head, regretful. “that’s- that’s all i know.”

bobby nods curtly, before raising his blade again. “okay. nice chattin’ with ya.” he advances on her but she shrinks back, holding her hands up yet again.

“wait! wait! i- i don’t know what he wanted, i don’t know who he was, but i do know where he is. if- if you let me go.”

bobby looks back at his partners. mary looks to sam, leaving the choice up to him.

—

meanwhile, cas is struggling to handle nick. sam calls to update him on what they know. asking if cas could shed any light as to why michael may be experimenting on supernatural creatures.

“ that doesn’t make any sense, sam. i’ve never heard of an interaction between an archangel and a vampire, certainly not in this universe. and why would michael be killing them? i mean they’re not a threat to him. (…) yeah, okay. well, just let me know what you find out.”

he hangs up, and nick comes down the hallway, head hung, having finished his own phone call.

“nick, are you, uh…”

the man shakes his head. “nothing. there’s nothing. there’s no information, no mention of my wife and son past the year they… nothing about the case being solved. if i had been around, i would have been on those cops every single day, castiel. but i wasn’t, because i said yes to lucifer, i was a coward. and now- ” his voices cuts off with a strangled noise, one hand ruffling his blonde hair.

cas feels a pang of sympathy, moving to put a hand on his shoulder. nick surges up as close to castiel as he can get and snaps his fingers, snarling, “don’t.”

cas blinks. backing away, hands raised. nick looks at his own hand, then.

“ why did you do that?”

“do what?”

“what went through your head just now?”

nick says nothing. cas worries there could be some lingering influence of lucifer inside nick. he presses his hand over the man’s chest, frowning deep. when he pulls away, he has a worried expression. “lucifer may have inflicted more damage on your psyche than we suspected.”

“i don’t have time for this right now,” nick insists, “i’m not letting this go, castiel.” he turns and storms off down the hallway. “i’m gonna find out who killed my family.”

“nick! and then what?”

he receives no response. cas stands in place, unsettled.

—

nick is pleading down the phone to someone, cas flipping through a book to occupy himself. seemingly getting hung up on, nick drops the phone from his ear and spins to stare at castiel. “you know what a cold case, is castiel?”

he does, but before he can confirm that he knows nick explains it to him anyway. informs him in a heated voice that there’s no evidence, no dna of any sort. the case died. like everything else.

cas tries again, putting the book back on the shelf and focusing on the other man. “nick, you’re not dead. you’ve been given a second chance.”

nick doesn’t look at him, sniffing harshly and shaking his head. “you don’t understand,” he mutters, darkly.

“ oh, i do.”

“why? because your body was stolen?”

“ because i am occupying someone else’s.” nick looks up as cas then, a simmering rage beginning to rise as cas recounts his occupation of jimmy’s vessel. jimmy novak, who is now dead.

“castiel, you’re just a stone cold body snatcher. you’re no different than lucifer.” nick spits out, eyes flaring with disgust and hatred. cas feels a swell of something thick and suffocating from within. “ i. i need to look in on jack.” he walks past nick, careful to leave a safe distance as he goes. before reaching the door, castiel pauses, and looks back over his shoulder.

his expression is drowning in sorrow. despair and regret. guilt and pain and grief and something very ancient, something very… celestial. something that only eons of experience could make one feel. “you know, in all my thousands of years, what happened to jimmy novak and his family are my greatest regret.” even his voice, always low anyway, now takes on a timbre dipped in distress. stormy eyes reveal his age; a young face with ancient eyes. castiel leaves nick to his thoughts.

—

it’s sunny outside, the rays gentle and pleasing on jack’s skin. a light breeze ruffles his hair, as he raises his hand to knock on an off-white door. an elderly lady with greying hair opens it, greeting jack warmly. “mrs. kline?” he checks, and she nods.

jack hesitates a moment, before saying, “i’m a friend of your daughter, kelly.”

mrs. kline brings a veiny hand to her chest, mouth open in a surprised, “oh!”

“my name is jack.”

“so is mine,” says the elderly man who comes up behind mrs. kline. jack just smiles, a little sadly.

“i know.”
—

the interior of the house is warm and cozy. normal, jack guesses, not that he would really know. it’s not like the bunker, at all. there’s picture frames everywhere, hanging on floral walls and sitting in pride of place on the mantlepiece. colourful flowers fill equally colourful vases, the air heavy with the scent of vanilla and spice.

jack thanks mrs. kline for the glass of water she brings to him, before all three settle in the living room. they ask how he knew their daughter, and jack does his best to dance around the answer. not wanting to flat out lie, but also very aware that he could not tell the truth.

“she basically gave me my start,” he settles on.

her parents - his grandparents - chuckle fondly as they comment that kelly was always like that, always willing to take someone under her wing. jack can see it, sense it. the love radiating from this couple, the love they share for their daughter.

“we haven’t heard from her in a long time.”

jack plays along with the whole top-secret, classified, government mission thing they’ve been fed. jack’s eyes fall on a worn, leather book on the coffee table. noticing jack’s intrigue, mrs. kline smiles, and opens the book, handing it to jack with an encouraging, “oh, please.”

jack gazes down at a young girl, immortalised in a glossy photograph tucked safe and sound behind plastic. she’s beaming, so young and yet there’s a familiarity there that has jack’s heart pounding. “is this her?” he doesn’t really need to ask.

“mhmm. sixth grade. she won the spelling bee. ‘chrysanthemum’ was the winning word.”
“ lucky. we grew ‘em in the yard.” jack senior’s eyes glow with a mixture of pride and nostalgia. mrs. kline leans forward a bit on her seat, playing with a locket on her neck.

“forgive me, but, uh - kelly told us she was pregnant. we didn’t push for details, we felt she’d tell us more when she was ready.”

jack nods, sliding the book off his knee and back onto the coffee table. “she, uh, she had the baby. a boy.”

the klines gasp and look at each other, eyes watering with excitement. “we have a grandson!”

jack feels… conflicted. warm, on one hand. these people, so excited for a baby they haven’t even seen yet (at least, to their knowledge). they’re open and welcoming and kind and lovely, and this… this could have been jack’s life. in any other world. in any other lifetime, this is where he might have spent afternoons after school, and weekends. in this warm, lived-in house, baking cookies with grandma in the kitchen. planting chrysanthemums in the garden with grandpa. sitting on the back of this very sofa, watching out the window for his mom to pick him up from work. his throat tightens.

he can’t have this. but he almost did, and considering everything that’s been going on in his life recently, he decides: that’s enough. almost is enough.

“you do,” he confirms, “and in the time i spent with her, she was an amazing mother. her son loves her very much.” if his voice cracks then and there, the klines are too caught up in their own emotions to notice.

mrs. kline dabs at her eyes with a white, cotton hanky. “ i can just imagine.”

“ she would sing, and talk to him, even before he was born. she made him feel safe, and wanted. i heard her tell him that it isn’t fate, or her, or his dad who sets his path. it’s himself. who he chooses to be.”

the klines are practically glowing with pride now. mrs. kline picks up the photo album and looks down at sixth-grade kelly. “ i know it’s nutty, but, jack here kind of looks like her, see?” she holds the photo up next to jack, looking to her husband.

jack flushes a little and lets out a flattered laugh. “i don’t know. but, i hope some day to have a little of her courage and purpose.” he stands to leave, fearing cas would show up at any moment to drag him home. “i didn’t mean to intrude.”

“ oh, no, no, not at all.”

“if you see kelly, tell her we miss her,” mr. kline asks, and jack forces himself to nod.
“i will. i miss her too.”

mrs. kline pulls him in for a long, tight hug. jack breathes her in, soft vanilla, something sweet, a perfume, most likely. his eyes well up with tears and he holds his eyes open in an effort to keep them from falling.

—

cas is, as expected, very unhappy when jack makes it back. following him step-for-step through the bunker, cas is frowning. he scolds jack for taking a risk.

“i never knew my mother, castiel. my father-” jack can’t even say anything about that one. “ arc is dead. i wanted to - i needed to meet them. i didn’t tell them who i was, i promise. they… they actually think i kinda look like her?”

blue eyes sparkle with fragile hope when he looks to cas, who nods his agreement. a small smile grows on jack’s lips.

it fades when cas informs him that sam thinks they’ve found michael. the plan is to subdue him, trap him with spell work, courtesy of rowena, and warded cuffs, courtesy of gabriel and the angels.

jack examines cas’ face for a while. then, “cas, michael has to be stopped.”

“ i know, and he will be. after we find a way for dean to- ”

jack shakes his head firmly, cutting over the angel. “no, dean doesn’t matter. you’re all so focused on trying to save dean, and i get it, i understand, but - if he can’t be saved, if it comes down to him or michael, michael has to be stopped. caged or killed.”

cas’ eyes widen with disbelief and hurt. he doesn’t even realise he’s shouting when he responds, “and if that means dean dies too?”

“then dean dies.” the words are so matter-of-fact, cas struggles to comprehend them. the boy just shrugs. “i know this michael. i’ve seen what he’s done to an entire world, and so have you. if stopping that from happening here means that dean has to die, then… if arc was here, she would agree with me. so would dean. would he really want it any other way?”

cas is speechless, and jack walks off. for the second time that day, cas finds himself rooted to one place in one of the bunkers many hallways, an error message flashing in his brain.

—

of course, michael has to have set up shop - or experimental laboratory - in an abandoned church. ‘cause it’s always a freakin’ abandoned church, or an abandoned something-or-other. as the trio of hunters creep inside, glancing this way and that, bobby whispers a question.

“you think vamp-girl was lyin’ about michael hanging out here?”

mary nudges bobby’s boot with her own, nodding at the floor. it’s caked with dried blood, splashed all over the walls, the pews. “she wasn’t lying about the slaughter happening here.”
the stillness shatters as the window does, and a pile of werewolves tumble through. sam unloads a round into one, panicking slightly when it does nothing. “uh, silver bullets aren’t working! nothing’s working!” he continues to fire desperately, hoping that maybe the volume of bullets will start to affect the wolves. nope. snapping teeth come ever closer, eye yellow and wide.

shoving the emptied gun into his waistband, he drags his blade from its sheath and swipes mid-air. a furry head topples clean off equally-furry shoulders, hitting the floor and rolling away. sam waits to see if there’s any way the wolves could regenerate that. seemingly not.

thank god.

the trio get with the new plan immediately, fighting and ducking and jumping until every werewolf is minus a head. panting and covered in sweat and blood, sam wipes his forehead, looking to his partners. “ is everybody okay? anybody bit?”

mary shakes her head. bobby waves his machete in the air, perplexed. “what the hell kind of werewolves were those?”

sam glances down at a corpse, shaking his head. mary does, too, then goes so far as to bend her knees to come on her haunches. she examines the corpse with a quick sweep of her eyes and she bites her lip. “silver didn’t touch them.”

sam moves to sit next to his mom, when a set of wooden doors swing open with a heavy creak. michael appears, and mary stands up fast enough that her knees click noisily.

michael enters slowly, one hand up. he - he stumbles. sam blinks. the hand michael has raised is used to steady himself, as he stumbles a second time, this time into a pillar. he pulls off the pea cap and staggers into the light.

“sammy…” his voice is oh-so familiar, rough and gravelly, slightly pained. “it’s me.”

“are you okay?”

“no,” his older brother snaps, still leaning on the post, arm pressed in to his side. “no, i’m not okay!”

“but you got michael to leave.”

dean shakes his head, wincing, droplets of sweat beading up on his forehead. “no, i- i don’t. i didn’t. he just left- he just left.”

stunned silence falls like a blanket over the room. sam can’t take his eyes off dean’s face, while mary and bobby exchanged astonished looks. “why?” sam asks, voice broken.

dean just shakes his head. “i don’t know. i- i don’t know.”

Chapter Text

“look, michael bailed,” dean says, shrugging it off like there’s nothing to worry about. “i don’t know why and i don’t know how: he just cleared out. now as far as my memory goes, i mean everything from the second i said yes to the moment i walked through those doors is a blank. so i’m good. i’m just really, really happy to be home.”

sam gives his brother a worried look, then brings him into the library. the room is full of hunters, and dean’s eyes widen as he takes in the sheer volume of people bustling around. “yeah… there’s been a few changes made,” sam tells dean, a laugh hidden in his voice. a man warily steps toward the brothers, clutching a pile of papers.

“ yeah. not michael anymore.” dean calls out, waving a hand in the air. the man nods.

“right, chief told us. welcome back.”
dean frowns, looking up at a flushed sam. “chief?!”
“i asked them not to call me that.”

a small voice, fragile, hopeful, cuts through the din. “dean?”

jack walks up to them, face a little pale, blue eyes a little dull. his lips are trembling, and he’s not quite sure he’s ready to believe that dean is really back. the hunter smiles softly at the boy. “hey, kid.”

“is it really you?” dean nods. after another second to process, jack throws his arms around dean’s neck. clinging to him tight. dean smiles a little wider, patting the kid on the back. cas comes into the room.

“dean.”
“cas.”

sam can’t believe he’s actually missed this. their awkward interactions, dancing around each other, sometimes dipping just a bit closer to flirting than ever before. cas apologises, explaining why he wasn’t with sam when they went after michael. dean reassures him that there’s no need. he understands.

“where’s mary?” jack asks, looking around.
“she and bobby stayed back in duluth to clean up the situation.”

dean takes this as his cue to go for a shower. when he’s gone, sam turns to cas. “so. how’s nick?”

“he’s gone.”

sam’s mouth drops open, eyes wide. “what?!”

“he left a note, said that he had some personal business to attend to and he hasn’t been returning my calls. he was in a dark place: maybe he just needed some time.”

sam thinks about it for a second, then nods. “alright, yeah, maybe.”

cas scans sam’s face for a second, then asks, “sam. dean, how is he, really?”

sam’s heart warms a little at the angels concern. he doesn’t really have an answer to the question though, and he says as much to cas. the brunette is frowning, that little constipated look taking over his face. “why would michael just give up his vessel like that? and why was michael helping monsters?”

sam throws his hands in the air, head tilting to the side. “cas, truth is, we don’t know anything.” the men share a distressed look, both of them fearful. for dean, for michael, for the world.

—

when dean returns, cleaned up and dressed in his regular uniform of jeans and flannel, he has something to show cas and sam. two scars, each about two inches long, one inch wide, on his upper right arm. dean has no recollection of receiving these injuries. even cas is unaware of anything that could hurt michael like that.

“ so, cas, i’m going to need you to get in my head, do the whole vulcan mind-meld thing because if i can’t remember what happened, i’m gonna need you to drag it out of me, okay?”
sam looks at dean. “wait, are you sure?” dean nods, looking confident.
“yeah, i can handle it.”

“dean…” cas tries with a sigh, but the man is determined, and cas yields. touching two fingers gently to the scar tissue, visions of a cloaked figure stabbing michael in the arm flicker in his mind.

“dean. who was that?”

dean looks shaken. “that’s… impossible.”

—

sam calls jody. he tells her that the thing that killed the young dreamwalker, kaia, in the bad universe… well, it looks like it’s here. sam knows claire is struggling to push on after kaia’s demise. he hates to bring it up to jody, but they have to know. turns out, someone’s been murdering people up in sioux falls. the case jody’s working now, each victim has the same wounds dean does.

so, they’re headed to sioux falls.

“michael’s my enemy, too,” jack protests, looking at the three men. “i fought him for months. he killed arc.”

dean blinks and looks at his feet. he had… not forgotten, but. it wasn’t exactly on the forefront of his mind just now. jack continues, reminding them, “and kaia- i’m one who brought her into this. i’m responsible for what happened to her. i want to help.”

“yeah, well, not gonna happen,” dean says, firm and stubborn.

“because i’m human now.”

“jack, maybe you just need a little more- ”

“training?” he finishes sourly for the younger winchester. “i’ve been training with bobby.”

“c’mon, kid, look at you. you’re barely a hundred pounds soaking wet.” dean did not intend for the words to be as harsh as they end up sounding. jack’s eyes shine with tears and he turns his face away. dean curses silently. “jack, look, i didn’t mean to be a dick.” but jack is already walking away.

a hunter arrives, carrying a young girl in her arms. “a little help here!”

sam is by her side instantly, asking her what’s going on. witches. or, a witch. this hunter - jules - has been working a case up in wichita that turns out to have been a witch holding young teenage girls captive in order to drain them. jules hastily explains that she used the witch killing bullets, but something must’ve gone wrong.

the girl in jules’ arms, lora, holds out her hand. it is aged and withered, like someone going on ninety odd years. cas comments that it looks like an ageing spell. he says he can fix it, but it might take a while. he encourages sam and dean to start the journey to sioux falls, assuring them he’ll catch up. sam is hesitant, but dean’s already out the door.

—

“we still don’t know why michael let you go, where he is now, or what he wants.”

dean just pushes down further on the gas pedal. revving baby’s engine hard and fast. “yep, or who his favourite spice girl is.”

sam rolls his eyes, biting back the urge to scream. he wishes that arc were here now. she never resisted the impulse to snap back or deliver a sharp smack upside the head. “this is not a joke!” he hisses, trying not to raise his voice. “something huge happened and you won’t really even talk about it. look, this whole michael thing. we need to deal with it.”

“i’m going at 80 to deal with it. how can i be running from something when i’m racing toward it?”

sam just looks out the window, shaking his head tightly. “ do you at least wanna talk about arc?”

dean swallows. after a second of trying to loosen his throat, he says, “ what’s to talk about. she’s dead. i’m sure you guys gave her a hunters funeral.”

“no, dean, we didn’t.”

dean nearly swerves off the road, just about managing to hold on to the control of his steering wheel. sam grips the handle of the door, back straight as a rod as it slams against the seat. “what do you mean you didn’t?”

“her body disappeared, dean. her body… we put it in the morgue, and the next day. the day after you - the day after, it was gone.”

“gone? huh? what do you mean, gone?” dean demands, voice grating and thick.

“i mean gone, dean, how else do you want me to explain it?” sam snaps, sick and tired already of the bickering, and his brother’s refusal to acknowledge his trauma.

dean grits his teeth audibly, grinding them for a few seconds before smacking open the compartment and throwing his phone at sam. “call jody. tell her we’re almost there.”

that marks the end of that conversation.
—

of course dean is all swagger and bravado in front of jody. confident and shrugging off the whole possessed-by-an-archangel thing, acting like it was nothing. sam redirects the conversation to the reason they came: kaia’s killer. after scouting out local areas, they choose to venture into the woods. three vampire deaths, so far, and no civilian casualties. sam notes that it’s strange. “maybe michael sent them after her.”

dean doesn’t seem to care that much. he finds the hooded figure in a rundown cabin nestled deep between trees. knocking her out and tying her up on a chair. when her her hood falls away, her face is more than familiar. he knows this face. they all do.

“what are you?” jody asks, white as a sheet as she stares at the girl wearing kaia’s face.

“if you’re asking me if i’m the girl you know. i’m not. i’m her double.”

“like bad cas, or new bobby?” dean asks, and kaia delivers a withering stare.

“what i was to her, she was to me. you can never understand.”

“why did you kill her?” jody wants to know. dark kaia looks at her knees, long, dark hair falling over her face.

“that was an accident. i was tryin’ to kill the blonde.”

well, that doesn’t make any of them feel any better.

she says she’s here because michael is. that he’s been sending his vampires after her. they’re probably on their way to the cabin now.

jody suggests taking her to the station.

“we need to break her, right here, right now,” dean says, eyes glazing over in a discomfiting manner. sam frowns.

“what- what do you mean break her? you- you’re gonna hurt her? torture her?” his voice is incredulous, at a higher pitch than usual. dean never breaks his dead-eyed gaze from kaia.

“he wants my weapon. wants to know where i hid it. that’s what this is all about.”

dean meets sam’s gaze then, defensive. “that pig-sticker she’s hiding, it is the only thing that we know that hurts michael. i’m gonna do whatever it takes.”

he stomps closer the bound girl, leaning down and gripping both arm chairs tight enough that his knuckles turn white. “where is it, where’s the spear? WHERE IS IT?!”

kaia doesn’t flinch. gazes right back at dean, much calmer, much cooler. “i saw what you did to her. when you got angry, you shoved your gun in her face.”

dean thinks back to meeting kaia. when she wasn’t sold on helping them out, not wanting to use her abilities. how he had, in fact, lost his temper and pointed his gun, screamed at her to, “GET IN THE DAMN CAR!”

dean’s stomach turns and twists violent, painfully. he shoves it down, ignoring it. “how d’you know about that?” kaia remains silent, passive.

it’s sam who speaks, from behind, “wait a second. you’re a dreamwalker, too? your powers, they connected you.” he sounds like someone who’s finally pieced together a puzzle they’ve spent years trying to make fit.

“our whole lives, what she saw, i saw. i know where it comes from, your anger, your impatience. it’s fear.” kaia’s voice is strong, plain. dean’s rage builds. his face flushing deep crimson. “you’re scared, and you’re weak.”

“alright, shut up!” dean snaps, pushing himself up and away from her, almost turning his back but catching himself at the last second. kaia just follows him with her eyes, clear, unemotional. “michael hurt you. he hurt me too.”

she tells them how michael appeared to her. wanting to broker an alliance. wanting her to join his side of the war he intends on waging. kaia had turned him down, and the two fought, until kaia was able to get in a hit. stabbing the archangel with a spear, wispy, faint spirals of grace bleeding out from the skin. michael had hissed and gripped the wound before disappearing. the more she talks, the more agitated dean gets. his foot tapping an erratic rhythm against the wooden floorboards.

“STOP!” he can’t take it anymore. can’t think about - doesn’t want to think about that. being michael’s vessel. that’s not what they came here for,

“so michael wants the spear because he knows it can hurt him? and that’s why his monsters are coming after you?” sam clarifies. kaia nods.

sam rubs his hand over his jaw, taking a breath. “dean, we should get out of here.”

“ah guys- ” jody says, shoulders tensing. “it’s too late.” she turns away from the window, and the vampires burst in.

dean pulls out his gun, and one of the vampires begin to taunt him. “those spiked bullets don’t hurt us anymore.”

but dean’s aim is not at the monster, but at kaia. he shoots the leg of her chair, it snaps, harsh, allowing her to free herself. dean turns back to the smug vamp. “now you’re in trouble.” he smirks, until he hears a window pane smashing. when he looks back, kaia is gone out the window. his face falls. “or not!”

together, the three hunters do their best to hold their own. but these vampires, much like the wolves in duluth, are freakishly strong. kaia returns with her spear, twirling it mid-air. she moves with the grace of a ballerina, the deadliness of a viper. she quickly finishes off the trio of creatures, wiping her forehead clean of sweat with the back of one hand.

jody stands up, from where one of the creatures had knocked her to the ground. “you saved us. you didn’t have to.” the sheriff is holding one arm at a bent, awkward angle, wincing as she moves.

“i came back for them, not you.”

“you know, as long as you have that spear you’re going to be a target for michael, his monsters. they’ll keep chasing you,” sam warns her.

kaia is still expressionless as she looks at sam. “i’m used to it.”

with that, she’s gone.

—

sam and dean offer jody a ride to the hospital. seems she broke her arm mid-fight, but she declines the suggestion. she’s fine, she insists. nothing that hasn’t happened before. her face is rather ashen, though, her eyes clouded.

“i’m gonna tell claire. she has to know. and alex…” jody sighs, something worn and deep. sam looks sympathetic.

“it’s just, seeing her face again. raising three hunters and fearing every day that i might lose one of them. i didn’t even really get a chance to know our kaia before she died - just feel like i already lost before i even ever began.”

sam puts his hand on her uninjured shoulder, patting gently. “a hunters life,” he says, sadly. jody gives a frail smile in response.

—

the ride back to the bunker is heavy and despondent. it’s dean who breaks the pained silence.

“i put all of us in danger today.”

sam sighs. “dean…”

“you were right,” the older brother presses forward, ignoring sam. “ i just didn’t want to look at it. what michael used me for. i wanted to skip to the part where i get the weapon and i take out the bad guy. the part where i kill michael.”

“yeah, i know.”

“you know i said yes to him because i thought…. it was stupid. i was stupid.”

sam looks at his brother, worrying his lower lip. “dean, you did what you had to do.”

“and i-.” dean’s still talking, full steam ahead. “i - i made it sound like i was, like it was a blink. but it wasn’t. i got possessed. i don’t remember most of what michael did with me because i was underwater. drowning. i felt every second of it. clawing, fighting, for air. i thought i could make it out. i couldn’t. i wasn’t strong enough.” dean’s voice is utterly wrecked. miserable. piled with blame, self-loathing. “all this, now. he’s out there. hurting people. that’s on me.”

sam tries to cut in, doesn’t get a chance.

“and arc?” dean’s voice shatters under the weight of her name. sam sits back in his seat, focusing his eyes out the windshield. “ she died, man. right in front of me. in front of us. and i let- i let it happen. i- ” dean grips the steering wheel, his fingers taut around the plastic. “ she’s gone. and jack is human. and michael is - and it’s all my fault. it’s on me.”

sam can’t answer, only because his own throat is closing up. dean sniffs a couple of times, trying to be discreet.

they don’t say a word for the remainder of the journey.

———

meanwhile, in the bunker, jack’s spirits are more than lifted. thanks to him, he and cas were able to bring lora back to life. jack figured out the witch was shot through her pendant; and the spell kept working because the bullet was still inside the witch. he rips it easily from the witches corpse, holding it up. “lora’s life force is in here.”

cas tilts his head. “jack, are you sure?”

“no.” the blonde boy smashes the pendant with all his might against the corner of a table. it shatters, emerald pieces scattering all over the floor of the morgue. green smoke rises and twists its way across the room, settling into lora’s pendant. she comes to life with a deep breath. blinking, she looks at jack, shock and confusion all over her face. “what happened?”

once lora is safely on her way home, cas knocks on jack’s door, entering the room a second later. his face is drawn, contrite.

“i just wanted to say i’m sorry. i know you’ve been going through a lot lately… we’ve all been going through a lot, but it’s no excuse. i just haven’t been there for you: not the way i should have.”

jack just smiles, soft and forgiving and warm. “it’s okay, cas.”

cas looks down at jack, heart bursting with so many different things at once. he can feel the emotions in his grace, too. fizzing like fireworks, dazzling and bright. ache and pride and love and protection and a dozen other things he can’t even put a name to.

“well, what you did today made me so proud.” cas’ eyes are shining, his entire face soft and adoring. “you know, learning to hold your own in a fight without your powers. today you proved that you have the mind of a hunter and the heart of a hunter.” he pauses a moment, clearing his throat. “arc would be so proud of you.”

jack’s smile wobbles.

“i was thinking, erm. i’ll talk to sam and dean, but maybe- maybe we could go on a hunting trip- i mean if you want to?”

as cas finishes talking, jack coughs, once, then twice. nodding, he says, “yes!” then coughs again, curling his fist to his mouth to cover it. cas puts a hand on jack’s shoulder.

“you okay?” his eyes search jack for anything off.

“i’m fine. i’m human now. must be getting my first cold.”

cas smiles again, squeezing jack’s shoulder. “well, i’ll make you some soup, then.”

cas closes the door behind him as he leaves. jack lies on his back, turning onto his side. a few moments later he shoots up again as a strong, rougher cough wracks through his chest. he thinks he can taste something salty on his tongue. he brushes it off, too tired after the day’s events to question it.

Chapter Text

it’s about two weeks later when jack begins to deteriorate. he’s fresh off a hunt with dean, involving a zombie and a girl who lured in men for said zombie to feed on. they managed to successfully take down the zombie, but the girl escaped. in the bunker, dean tells jack, “you did good, kid.”

“and?” jack prompts, rocking on his heels, a cheeky glint in his eyes.

“and what?”

“i was right and you should be letting me go out on hunts.”

dean holds back a sigh, not really one for admitting to his wrongs. “ okay, alright, it’s not about being right, okay? you’re gonna make mistakes, hell, i make them all the time. but it’s how you handle yourself once you’ve made those mistakes and you’ve learned from them.”

jack nods, serious. “and how not to beat yourself up over them.” dean smiles. jack covers his mouth, his cough reappearing.

“you know jack, you’re pretty smart sometimes,” the older hunter admits, with a shrug. “i’ll tell you what- when sam gets back i’ll talk to him about getting you out on more hunts. in the meantime, we’ll get you a crate of cough drops.”

jack stops coughing, “i’m fine. it’s all a part of being human, right?” he begins to cough again as soon as he’s finished speaking. dean frowns. looking him up and down.

“you sure you’re okay?”

jack chokes out the words, “i don’t know.” when he pulls his hand from his lips, there’s shiny red blood pooled on his palm. he looks up at dean, who spots the blood trickling from jacks nose. dean’s eyes widen, and jack hits the floor with a thwack.

“jack! jack. jack! jack!”

—

cas arrives, bringing jack into his bedroom and asking to be left alone. sam returns from his hunt with charlie. he and dean sit at the library table, waiting for news. dean drums his fingertips over the worn surface. “what’s taking so long? i mean. kids get bloody noses, coughs.”

cas enters, and dean stands up immediately. “is he okay?” sam excuses himself to go and see jack for himself.

“i- i did what i could, but i don’t, i - i don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

“but you can figure it out, right?” cas opens his mouth, but sam’s voice comes down the hall, deep and panicked.

“jack?! jack! hey! jack!” cas and dean rush to the nephilim’s room, only find him seizing violently. on the bed.

—

utterly freaked out, the trio take jack to the er. dean starts yelling before they even get through the doors. “i need a doctor! hey. look, could you just get him inside?”

“sir, i just need some basic information-” the receptionist presses her lips in a thin line when he cuts across her.

“the basic information is he’s sick!”

“do you see anyone here that isn’t?” she retorts, before picking up a pen, poising it over a blank form. “his full name please.” she pauses, eyes narrowing. “you do know his name, right?”

“jack.” dean all but spits out.
“uh, kline. jack kline.” sam adds, before cas takes the liberty of spelling out his last night.

“date of birth?”
“may 18th.”
“2000-’99. uh. 2000.” dean stumbles, looking over at jack, who is growing paler by the second.

“uh-huh. family medical history. let’s start with the father.”

dean’s jaw clicks. “he’s dead.”
“cause of death?”

“he was drained of his gr- life force.” cas informs her, voice flat. the receptionist raises her arched eyebrows.

dean slams his hand on the desk, red-faced. “ okay, you know what? we don't have time for this. all right, he's sick. his name is jack kline. his father got drained. there, you've got all the basics. now what does he need to do to see a doctor?”

jack passes out.

a swarm of doctors and nurses surround him, lifting him onto a gurney. he’s rushed down hallways, cas, dean, and sam hot on their heels. together, the winchesters call out to him, “jack?! it’s all right, jack. hang in there, buddy. Jack, hey, we’re right here buddy.”
a doctor turns to them, reassuring, “he’s in good hands. don’t worry.”

“so, there’s- there’s been… uh, he’s been coughing. there’s been blood,” sam rushes to tell the doctors, but a nurse presses a hand to his shoulder.

“okay, gentlemen, can you at least wait outside, please?”

sam doesn’t seem to hear her. “it’s been going on for a while.” his voice is trembling, desperate. so is dean’s, when he asks, “what’s happened, is he going to be okay?”

“the doctor will handle it,” the nurse says, firmly. she pushes them harder and a pair of automatic doors swoosh shut, dean frantically yelling before they close, “jack, we’re right here!”

the glass separates them. dean runs a hand through his hair, rough. when he drops it back to his side, a set of cool fingers find his own. he doesn’t even look, knowing it’s cas. he lets their fingers tangle together, each man holding desperately onto each other.

—

“this is crazy. when jack became human, i was worried, you know, given what we do that- that something would happen to him, but i figured it would be a ghoul or a vampire, not a friggin’ cough… he’s just a kid!”

dean’s pacing and ranting in the waiting area, when sam recognises one of doctors from earlier.

“hey. cas.” he calls to the angel, and the three meet the doctor as he approaches. “so, um, what do we know?” he asks, anxious.

“well, i can tell you what we don’t know.”

dean’s shoulders tighten further. “i don’t like the sound of that.”

“all of jack’s tests have come back negative.”

“that’s great, right?”

“he’s very ill. we’re just not sure what we’re up against.”
“you just said his tests came back negative.”

“ well, those test, but we have to run more tests.”

“more tests?”
“yes, until we can figure out what is happening to him.”
“what is happening to him right now?” dean demands.

“jack… jack’s in total systemic failure. his body’s in the process of shutting down.”

the doctor steps away. dean turns to sam. they discuss their thoughts and ultimately arrive at the same decision. sam mentions that he’s already called rowena. they start to help jack up and out of bed. the doctor returns, frowning. “uh, what- what’s going on?”

dean snorts. “what’s it look like? you can’t expect him to hit the street with nothing on but a hospital gown, his ass hanging out.”

“he’s not going anywhere.”

“we’re just getting a second opinion,” sam says, calmly. shooting dean a warning glare. the doctor looks to jack.

“we’re getting a second opinion,” he confirms, much to the doctor’s dismay. the doctor reminds them that if jack leaves the hospital, they are no longer responsible for him. it’s all on sam and dean.

“fine.” jack says, shrugging on his trusty beige jacket and stepping out into the hallway. dean cracks a grin as he passes the doc, and says, “yeah, there’s just no talking to him when he gets like this.”

sam has the decency to look half-ways apologetic as he follows jack and dean out.

—

rowena arrives at the bunker less than ten minutes after they do. sam thanks her for coming.

“i came as fast as i could. how is he?”

“well, uh…”

“i brought the book of the damned,” she tells them, holding it up. sam tilts his head.
“which you stole.”
“which i borrowed amidst the ruckus of all those folks arriving from the other world, but we can talk about that later. just how sick is dean?”

sam winces. “yeah. about that. um…”

rowena takes a step back. “what? is this a trick, samuel? i thought we were beyond this!”

sam hastens to reassure the redhead, “somebody is sick,” he confirms, rubbing the back of his neck with the heel of his hand. “but. listen, i-i don’t know how well you got to know our- our friend jack with everything that was going on when you were here, but we’ve sort of been taking care of him. and, uh, he’s um… lucifer’s son.”

the witches eyes darken. “goodbye.”

before she can turn on her high heels and walk away, sam takes her gently by the elbow, a pleading look in his eyes. “no, wait. stop. stop. he’s a great kid. his mother was a fantastic human being, a-and he wanted nothing to do with lucifer. who- who is dead, as he know.”

rowena curls a painstakingly painted lip. “i hope he’s rotting.” the scottish accent seems heavier with the venom she fits into the sentence. sam nods.

“yes, but michael… he stole jack’s grace. he’s powerless, now, and… and something’s going on with him, and he might die.”

“oh, splendid! the sooner the better! from what i know of the father, the world will be better off without the son!”

sam’s expression falls, as he wracks his brain for a way to convince her. he doesn’t have to.

“you might be right.”

jack is in the doorway. pale, and weak. he smiles gently at rowena. “we’re all still figuring that out. i’m jack. and i know people have a lot of strong feelings about my father, but i’m- i’m trying hard not to be like him.” his eyes move from the small redhead to sam, who nods encouragingly. “sam and dean, they- they say such nice things about you.”

rowena purses her lips. “they do?”

he nods. “arc, too.” his voice lowers, raspy, and a tear slips free from hurting blue eyes. rowena takes a deep breath. “she… she really cared about you. and, you saved us all from apocalypse world.”

rowena shrugs. “ well, that’s true.” she glances at sam. considering.

“so, before you go, i- i just wanted to say… thank you.” his voice trembles, this time from exhaustion. he tips to the side, grabbing for the wall to steady himself. sam darts to his side, shifting jack’s weight to lean on him.

“jack. hey, buddy. hey. you’re all right.”

rowena watches sam supporting the small boy. she sighs.

—

“bollocks.” rowena mutters under her breath. she starts to whisper in latin, examining jack as she does.

“how am i?”

rowena shakes her head. “it’s as i suspected. a nephilim, for all it’s power, is an unnatural presence. part human, part angel… it- it doesn’t quite fit. it’s delicate. it’s- its grace is what holds it in balance. when jack’s grace was taken from him, his being fell into chaos.”

cas’ eyebrows jump up, as something occurs to him. “arc.” he says, flat. everyone looks at him, questioningly. he sighs and rubs his forehead. “i - i can’t believe i didn’t think of it earlier. remember when arc took out her grace? to aid my escape from asmodeus?” the winchesters nod, jack and rowena exchanging mystified looks. “ she went feral, remember?” rowena takes an interest in this, whereas the other two flinch.

“ arc said taking grace from a nephalem made the nephalem go feral… because it unbalanced her.”

“well, how did you fix that?” rowena enquires, and cas closes his eyes.

“we got to her in time. gave her back her grace.”

sam cuts in, fearful that cas would mention it was lucifer that arc gave up her grace to. “so, jack needs grace?”

rowena makes a face when cas offers his own without hesitation.

“he needs archangel grace.”

all eyes fall on cas once more. he sighs. “i’ll get gabriel.”

—

dean takes jack out in the impala. cas and sam don’t like the idea, but jack wants to learn how to drive. and dean wants to give him something. this much, he can manage. while they’re gone, sam and cas admit to each other how much it hurts to see jack in such pain.

sam says, “you know, he’s lost people, we’ve all lost people, but, um…” the youngest winchester trails off, shaking his head. cas understands, and finishes for him.

“this feels different. losing, um… a son… feels different.”

sam looks at him, his expression making it clear that his feelings for jack are the same. it’s the first time any of them have admitted it out loud- that jack is a son. their son. cas lets out a chuckle.

“arc would hate this. she would … she would be tearing herself apart, tearing us apart, to get him better.”

sam coughs to cover up the sob that slips out, unauthorised. “yeah.” he rumbles, heart squeezing tight in his chest.

“i miss her.” the angel whispers in a broken voice. sam doesn’t bother to hide the next sob that erupts from deep inside.

“yeah. yeah, me too.”

—

gabriel’s grace… does not work out as planned. cas had located sergei, a collector of artefacts, artefacts of a specific… interest. he provided them with a spell needed to go with the grace. when they try the ritual, however, jack collapses yet again.

on the phone, sergei admits, rather callously, that he hadn’t been sure it would work at all in the first place. it was an experiment. cas’ body goes rigid, fingers digging into the plastic cell phone to his ear. his voice drops several octaves, promising the dealer, “if jack dies, i will find you.” it’s the voice that makes dean’s blood run cold, even coming from the angel.

—

rowena performs some spellwork over jack’s prone form. in the doorway, dean, cas, and sam watch, helpless. “i shouldn’t have done it. i shouldn’t have taken him out.”

“it was what he wanted. i mean, we knew he was gonna get worse, regardless.” sam’s voice is soft, now. almost… almost resigned.

dean bites his lip. “yeah. but it was too risky. arc never would have- ” he cuts off with a strangled noise and he turns his head. focusing his gaze on the blank wall.

“yeah, but, dean, life, all of it, is a risk. jack knew that.” sam pauses, before putting a large hand on his brothers shoulder. waiting for dean to meet his eyes, he tells him, “and, for what it’s worth… i think arc would have been right there with you, today.”

dean presses his lips in a thin line, blinking rapidly. he looks at the floor.

“you made him happy,” cas points out, soft.
“mm.”
“you did more for him than any of us.”

rowena lowers her hands, finishing her spell. she looks down at the boy, a sadness swallowing her as she watches the gentle rise and fall of jack’s chest. she shakes her head a little.

“so, what can we do?” dean asks. rowena takes a moment to collect herself, before turning back to the boys.

she gives them her most sympathetic expression, swallowing hard, as she tells them, “watch over him. stay by his side… as he dies.”

—

it doesn’t take long.

jack tries to sit up, but sam urges him to relax. jack hears the note of despair in sam’s voice. he longs to make it better. to heal sam’s aching heart. “please don’t be sad,” jack murmurs, quiet. “maybe- maybe this is how things are supposed to be.”

dean huffs in the corner. face dark as a thundercloud. “don’t give me that “meant to be” crap. this isn’t part of some damn plane.” if his face is the thunder, his voice is the lightening, cracking sharp as a whip.

cas looks at dean, pleading.

jack’s breathing worsens. he splutters and coughs until sam can help him raise the oxygen mask to his mouth. dean, no longer able to stand it, storms out of the room. cas looks pained as he follows him.

jack turns his head to sam. “can you tell him… it’s okay?”
sam’s lips twitch. “tell him yourself. he’ll be back in a minute.”

jack stays silent. “i wish arc was here.”
sam’s heart shatters further.
“she used to sing to me, every night…” jack manages a weak smile as he reminisces. “she sang a lot of them, but…” his chest heaves as he speaks, his breathing difficult, “there was one… i don’t know what it was called but… i really liked it.”

sam swallows hard. nothing to say. jack looks at him again, looking so ridiculously calm. like he isn’t in the process of dying-

“sam… what happens next? for someone like me?”

sam hesitates. “i don’t know,” he eventually admits. jack doesn’t look scared, though. he just takes this information in, eyes brighter than they’ve been in days.
“then, it’s gonna be an adventure.” sam tries to match the pleasant smile on jack’s face. can’t quite manage it. “maybe… maybe i’ll see arc there.”

sam squeezes his eyes shut, his hands finding one of jacks. he grips it, bending his head. letting it rest on the edge of the mattress as he cries.

down the hallway, cas catches up to dean. pulling him by the shoulder. “dean- ” he starts, but doesn’t get a chance to finish. dean’s face is the picture of devastation. watery eyes, rimmed-red, pale lips quivering.

“i can’t. it’s not right, cas, you know? it’s just— it’s not—”
the angel raises his eyebrows. “what? it’s not fair? i know that. but he needs you.” his words are not harsh, but they’re firm. dean searches cas’ eyes for a moment. he seems to find whatever it is he was looking for, ‘cause he nods then, tight. the two of them return to jack’s room.

sam looks up at them. face soaked in tears. jack’s pale, limp hand still enveloped in sam’s. jack’s eyes are shut. his chest utterly still.

sam croaks out, “he’s gone.”

Chapter Text

cas, sam, and dean linger in the hallway outside jack’s room.

“maybe we should… start thinking about next steps.” cas suggests.

without missing a beat, dean replies, “wake and a bonfire. hunter’s funeral, s’what jack would’ve wanted.”

sam scowls and stomps away. cas calls after him, stalled from movement by dean’s hand on his arm. “your brother’s in pain.”

“just let him be. if he needs his space, we’re gonna give it to him.”

cas sighs, looking down the hallway, where sam is nowhere to be seen.

dean calls his mother. it goes straight to voicemail, and he leaves a message, telling her what’s happened. he’s kind of glad that she doesn’t pick up - even if he feels a twinge of guilt. cas notices sam heading up the steps, a bag slung over his shoulder. he wonders if he should say something, then remembers what dean said. space.

dean asks him, moments later, “hey, you seen sam?”

—

they’re in cas’ new truck, cas driving, dean riding shotgun.

“how could you just let him leave, man? you saw what he was like.”
“dean, you said to give him space,” the angel says, confused.
“yeah, space, in the bunker, with us, not this.”

cas slows down and nods his head toward the windshield. “dean. look.”

sam’s on the side of the road. leaning against the back wheel of the impala, eyes half-shut. dean leaps from the truck, before cas is even fully parked. “hey!” he calls out, angry. “tell me you didn’t make a deal!”

sam starts, blinking up at the new arrivals. his brow furrows for a moment, then smoothes out as he shakes his head. “a- a deal? what? no. no. i- i was trying to build a pyre. i couldn’t - i couldn’t even do that for him. i should’ve done more.” sam’s voice is cracked through, his chest heaving with dry sobs. dean releases a relieved breath, tension unwinding from his shoulders.

“i should have tried harder. you know, i mean, everything we got, the spells, the lore- what good is any of it if we couldn’t even save him?”

dean doesn’t know how to soothe his brother. not when he feels the same way.

“it just doesn’t feel right,” cas murmurs. “it’s just not how i thought jack’s story would end.”
sam huffs a joyless laugh. “yeah. none of us did.”
“the certainty of… death, even for angels, it’s always felt natural. but this doesn’t. jack being taken before his time. i mean, taken before me.”

dean bitterly despises how broken and lost these two men sound. the two people he is closest to in this world, and they’re hurting, and he can’t - he can’t fix it. he can’t do shit.

“so what do we do?” sam asks.

“we say goodbye… tomorrow.” dean says, firm. “tonight… we get loaded.”

—

so that’s what they do. they gather in the bunker kitchen, with booze and food. they eat jack’s favourite nougat candy, and raise a glass to him. they raise a glass to arc, too. they laugh, and cry, and reminisce. dean reminds them all that if arc were here, she’d have killed them all by now for letting jack die. it’s not really funny, but they laugh anyway, because… well, what else can they do?

sam hits the sack first, refusing another drink and heading to his bed. cas gets up to leave shortly after, but pauses behind dean’s chair. he rests his hand lightly on dean’s shoulder. he can feel the rumble through dean’s body when the man asks, “we did everything we could, right?”

in lieu of an answer, cas simply squeezes dean shoulder, and exits. dean looks down at his half-glass of whiskey, lifting it in the air. “here’s to you, jack… wherever you are.”

—

something’s wrong.

jack’s been here before. he remembers this. standing on the side of the road, dean leaning against the car. their food is laid out on the hood of the impala. sam is wandering around a few feet away, holding his cell phone up over his head. jack has a burger, and he takes a few swift bites, struggling to swallow it down. dean looks at him, over his shoulder. “jack, take it easy,” he orders, “you don’t have to cram it in all at once, right?”

jack smiles and blushes a little. sam has no signal, and dean makes a snarky comment about technology. cas emerges from the passenger side, waving a folded page. “i found this in the glove compartment.”

dean grins, green eyes glittering. “ah! old school! a real map. let’s find our way to dodge city. c’mere, jack, i’m gonna teach you how to read a map. so, rule number one- ” dean pauses, repeating, “rule number one- ” and pausing again. “-rule number one- ”

jack frowns. “dean?”
dean doesn’t seem to notice anything usual. overhead, the sun… flickers. on and off. jack looks up and screws his eyes up. a cold feeling settling low in his stomach.

“something’s wrong.” this time, he says it aloud. none of his companions seem to register the glitching, and when he moves over the road he comes to a thick, silver door. he presses it open, coming into a hallway he does not recognise. it’s long, endless, almost. each door a perfect replica of the one before it. the lights sporadically flicker on and off. something moves in the distance, something wet, something gushing. jack’s eyes widen as a tidal wave of black goo rises in front of him. filling up the hallway, headed straight for him. he turns and runs.

—

sam isn’t one to give up. dean should have known, really. still, even if he had, he’s still pretty sure the last person he’d ever expect to see in the bunker is lily sunder.

“you got old.” is the first thing dean says, receiving a dirty look from sam, and a shrug from the lady.

“did i? an unfortunate side effect of giving up magic, i suppose.”

sam called her. dean crosses his arms, gaze flickering to the silent blue-eyed angel in the corner of the room. “last thing i remember, was her killing a bunch of angels to get revenge for her daughter. she tried to kill you.”

cas is as stoic as ever. “yeah. i remember.”

sam says while they’d been drinking, he thought of kevin’s angel tablet translations. “we tore through the lore looking for a way to cure jack, right? but we’ve never looked through kevin’s angel tablet translations.”

dean scoffs, “yeah, ‘cause they’re worthless. scribbles only a prophet can read. and, last i checked, we can’t exactly ask donatello.” he can’t resist sneaking another glance at cas. the angel tights his jaw and looks down. filled with regret at the mention of the prophet.

“maybe i can read them,” lily says. dean raises an incredulous eyebrow.
“what, now you’re a prophet?”

“she’s the next best thing.” sam insists. “i mean, lily is an angel expert who tapped into their magic in ways we didn’t even know existed. so, if she can read the translations, then maybe we can pull off a miracle.”

“what kind of miracle?” dean wants to know.

cas speaks, his voice heavy but tinged with hope. “a way to bring jack home.”

he and dean make eye contact. there it is, sam thinks, this whole profound-bond telepathy thing. he pleads in his head that dean will agree. his stomach twists itself in knots as the silent conversation stretches on.

“okay.” dean says, finally, breaking his gaze. “go for it.”

sam retrieves the stack of papers kevin had scrawled all over. lily peers down at the chicken scratch, focusing intently for several minutes. everyone holds their breath as they look on. she clicks her tongue and drops the pages onto the table. “i’m sorry. i can’t.”

cas turns slightly away, disappointment in the bowing of his shoulders. dean just shakes his head. “oh. all right. thanks for stopping by.”

“wait. you can use my magic. you said your boy, jack - without his angel grace, his human body died? my magic draws power from the soul. the human soul. it could save him.”

sam can’t quite believe his ears. “you’d give up your soul?”

“not my soul. his.”

“pass.” dean’s reply is hard and immediate.

“it’s not his entire soul, obviously,” lily says, looking at dean with disdain.

“how much of it?” sam asks. dean pinches the bridge of his nose.

“as long as he’s only using it to sustain his body, it won’t cost much. he’ll never miss it.”

sam and cas exchange hopeful looks, and dean throws his hands up. “what are we even talking about? i- it’s too late. jack’s dead. his soul’s gone, right?”

cas tilts his head. “maybe not. if jack is in heaven, i might be able to pull his soul into his body. it would only be for a few seconds.”

“that’s all the time i need.” lily reassures cas, nodding at sam and dean. “if i can open the door, your boy can use my magic to stay alive. resurrection and a cure. you’re welcome.” she says, a little too sweetly.

dean purses his lips and leans back. “and you would do all this for us, huh? eh, for what? out of the kindness of your heart?” his voice is dripping sarcasm and suspicion, and lily proves him right with a demure shrug.

“no. but i’m willing to trade. i’m old, and i’m dying. and when my life is over, i’m pretty certain i’m going to hell.” when sam asks why, she gives him an obvious, pained smile. “i murdered a lot of angels,” she reminds him. “i don’t expect them to welcome me with open arms. so if you want my help… get me into heaven.”

—

stepping away to talk privately, dean’s face says it all. “no. we’re talking about that kid’s soul,” he hisses through gritted teeth.
“not all of it,” sam points out.
dean scowls, jaw clenched hard, “oh, okay then.” he focuses his fiery gaze on castiel. “tell me you’re not cool with this.”

“don’t you think jack should decide for himself?” oh, great. ever the diplomat, cas.

dean points out that even if they agree to the plan, there’s no way they can get lily into heaven. they’re not exactly on billie’s friends list. cas informs them that while billie is powerful, it is not her nor her reapers decision as to who goes where. “it’s anubis. guardian of the dead. the ancient eygptians believed that when you die, anubis would weigh your heart on his scale against justice’s feather.”

sam nods, “yeah- the, the weighing of the heart ceremony, right? but that wasn’t anubis. that was osiris. we met him.” his face wrinkles at the memory. dean’s not all too happy to revisit that particular day of his life, either.

“major dick.” he says under his breath.

“osiris is anubis’ father, and heaven passed him over when they enlisted his son.”

lily appears around the corner, eyes wide, intrigued. “anubis works for heaven?”

cas hesitates, then explains, “he doesn’t work for heaven, but with heaven. when god left -” lily’s jaw drops, eyes wide as dinner plates at this, and cas winces - “sorry, long story- we needed a new judge, and anubis was the obvious choice.”

“so. we summon a god. great.”

—

jack knows this place, too. he was here, not too long ago. the cheery exterior of a lived-in house feels comforting, even just to lay eyes on. he knows the girl chasing the dog in the garden, too. has seen a photo of her in an album, inside this very house.

the little girl pauses when jack approaches her. “who are you?”

“i’m jack. i’m your son.”

suddenly, the little girl is no more. kelly is grown, her eyes watering, hand cupping to cup jack’s face. “my… jack. it’s you. oh, i don’t understand. you were just a baby.”

“i-i grew up,” jack says, throat thick with emotion. “do you know where are?”

kelly thinks about it for a second, then points out that her dog had died. hit by a car, when she was in high school.

“you’re in heaven,” jack tells her, gently. “you’re in your memories, your best, best memories, because…”

“i died. the day you were born. why are you…” she trails off, piecing the puzzle back together. she nods, beginning to remember. she gasps, then, looking up at jack, confused and angry.

“no. no, no, no, baby, no, no. castiel, and arc- they were- there were supposed to take care of you!”

jack takes her by the shoulders, looking into her eyes. “and they did. they did. and sam, and dean- they tried their best. but things didn’t go as planned. that’s why i had to see if you were okay.”

kelly peers up at her son - her grown up son - examining his handsome, boyish face intently. “jack, what’s wrong?”

—

in the bunker library, sam and dean rearrange some of the furniture. making room for the summoning circle they have to paint on the floor. sam puts his hands on his hips as he surveys the available space.

“all right. lily should be done in a second. she’s writing instructions for jack so he’ll know how to, uh…”

‘use the soul-sucking magic?” dean scoffs. “boy, that lady’s a peach.”
sam closes his eyes, practicing his breathing. “listen, we talked about this.

“i don’t like rollin’ the dice on the word of a psycho ex-angel killer.”

“i don’t love it either,” sam reminds his brother gently, “but taking risks, making crappy deals - that’s what we do.”

“yeah, and they usually bite us in the ass.”

“so what do you want to do about it?” sam asks, “leave jack in the morgue? burn him?”
dean looks away, a scowl on his face. “i didn’t say that.”

“because for me, not doing this- that- that would be like letting him die all over again.” dean knows this, can hear it in his little brothers voice. hell. he can see it in sam’s face, that desperate desire to bring their boy home. dean knows and he understands, ‘cause he feels it too. doesn’t mean he can shake the distrust in his gut.

“i want jack back too, okay? i do. i just don’t trust lily.”

cas enters, a frown on his face. dean looks to him. “you got a 20 on jack?”

“not exactly. angel radio is playing a distress signal. all of heaven’s gates are open, even the ones that metatron closed.” his expression is a mix of concern and confusion, and all it does is add to dean’s unease. sam insists that it’s okay. sends cas upstairs, tells him they’ll pray to him when they’re ready. cas nods once at the brothers, before disappearing.

—

he arrives in heaven, finding it desolate and empty. on the floor, puddles of oozing black goo. following the trail, he discovers two angels with the same substance leaking, thick and heavy, from their eyes and nose. he recognises the two, and crouches by one, trying to awaken him.

“zuriel.”

it’s the second angel who begins to come to life, coughing harsh, sitting up fast as a shot. cas rushes to her side. “dumah.”

she looks up at him with wide, frightened eyes. “castiel.”

“what happened?” cas’ voice is urgent, his eyes bright and alert.
dumah shakes her head. “i don’t know. we were just- sorry. that stuff- when it touched me, everything just went black.” she tilts her head to the side, as though realising something. “aren’t you supposed to be on earth?”

cas looks down the hallway, left, then right. “i’m looking for someone. jack. i have to find him.” he rises up and begins to walk away. dumah makes a terrified sound and calls out to him.

“don’t leave me.”

cas turns back, assessing her quickly. “can you walk?”

dumah leads cas to jack’s heaven, finding it empty. she lays her hand on the hood of the fake impala. “it’s cold.”

a voice, familiar, chilling. “he’s not here. hello, castiel, dumah. jack’s gone.”

cas turns to find himself staring into the face of the woman who once tortured and terrorised him. none other than naomi. clenching his fists tight, he asks, “how is that possible?”

“perhaps the angel side of him knew he was in heaven. in any case, he left.” naomi shrugs.

“naomi, what’s happening here?”

“the shadow - the entity that rules the empty…” she trails off a little, eyes flickering over castiel’s face. alight with curiousity. “i’m surprised you didn’t recognise it’s handiwork, castiel. i thought you were old friends.”

there’s a flicker of a memory, more of a flashback. cas remembers standing in a dark place, an empty, silent, place. fear in his voice, in his veins.

“what is this place?”

a humanoid figure, formed from shiny black goo. a voice neither male nor female, coming from everywhere and nowhere. “nothing but empty. angels and demons, you all come here when you die.”

cas frowns. “how did you know?”

“you’re the only one of us who ever escaped.”

“what does it want?” but cas already knows the answer. suspects it, at least. a cold, slimy inkling seeps it way into his chest.

“the boy. the empty considers jack its property. and who knows? maybe it’s right. he is half-angel.”

cas swallows. “so, what do we do?”

“give it what it wants.”

“you’re joking.”

naomi sighs, helpless. “tell me- what choice do we have? if we don't meet its demands, heaven will fall. 46,750,000,000 human souls will be cast in the wind. what’s one nephilim boy against all that? you know i’m right, castiel. this is what we have to do. help me.”

what’s one nephilim boy against all those souls? he’s everything. everything and a promise cas is determined not to let remain broken. he shakes his head, firmly. as he passes naomi she reaches for his arm, cold fingers tight over the fabric of his trench coat. “castiel- ” she cuts off with a wet choking noise. black goo enveloping her form as her eyes widen in utter terror and fear. cas’ own eyes widen in shock as he steps back.

“naomi?”

“castiel, run!”

—

when anubis appears, he says he’s sorry. lily is damned to hell. it’s not his choice, nor gods, nor anyone else’s. every individual person makes their own choice. a million of them, in fact, all over the course of their lives. each one tallied up and counted at the end, consigning that soul to above or below.

the winchesters threaten to keep him trapped, unless he changes lily’s fate. the god is unperturbed. he points out their choice to trap him there for their own desires could impact their own fate. sam is crestfallen as he breaks the circle trap with his boot.

lily starts to pack up her things, avoiding eye contact. sam pleads, pleads with all he has. sam begs and breaks and his eyes tear up, but lily remains unmoved. that’s when dean speaks, voice heated, but not exactly angry.

“you know what i think? burning all that soul? you’re not even human anymore. not really.” sam throws his brother a pained look.

“otherwise, how could you ever, ever let anyone go through what you went through?” and there. there it is. not the anger, but the searing hot pain, the grief to rip through a person’s body and soul. “the pain of losing a kid? don’t do this to us.”

lily pauses, one hand still in her bag. she withdraws it, slowly. then begins to unpack her things. “let’s get ready.” she says, hollow. sam and dean exchange a quick look, before hastening to follow lily’s instructions.

—

“he’ll be here. i’m certain of it.”

“how can you be sure?” dumah wants to know. cas doesn’t answer, just keeps walking, long legs taking big strides through the grassy exterior of kelly kline’s heaven.

he knocks on the door, calling out. “jack?”

the door opens, and cas could actually collapse. jack is standing there, eyebrows furrowed, lips turned down. “cas?” without really thinking, cas pulls jack into a hug and holds him. buries his head in jack’s shoulder, breathing in that delightful, almost-minty scent.

a soft, sweet voice draws castiel’s attention. a voice he has missed almost as much as jack’s. “hello, castiel.”

as he pulls back from the boy - his boy, his son - his face grows soft and sad when he looks into kelly kline’s eyes. those eyes are as beautiful as he remembers, as bright and shiny. she’s smiling up at him. “kelly.” he draws her in for a hug, too. he feels her arms squeezing tight. a silent thank you, an appreciative feeling. “i’m so sorry,” he whispers as he pulls away. “i failed you.”

kelly tilts her head, face full of warmth. she puts her hand on castiel’s cheek, soothingly. “you didn’t. you didn’t jack- he’s wonderful.” her voice is like sunshine, bursting with affection. she looks so damn proud of jack that cas could cry.

“we’ve been getting to know each other. what are you doing here?”

cas turns back to jack. “sam and dean and i - we’ve found a way to bring you home. but to do we- we need to use magic that will draw on your soul. it’ll just be a small piece,” he reassures when jack’s face falls. “and i know it’s too much to ask, but it’s the only way.”

kelly’s voice is a little smaller, now. “no. i- i don’t know.”

cas looks at kelly, sorrowful, compassionate. “it’s not just jacks’ life that’s at stake. it- the empty, has invaded heaven because it wants you.” he. gazes at jack with apologetic eyes, and turns back to kelly. “because jack is half-angel, and we angels- when we die, we go to another place. it’s a place that’s just endless nothing. and this entity- it won’t stop until it finds you, but if you’re not here, if you’re alive…”

jack picks up on cas’ plan, nodding slowly. “it’ll leave heaven.”

for the first time since arriving in kelly kline’s heaven, dumah speaks. “smart.”

cas had almost forgotten she was here. he turns to face her, that earlier cold, slimy, gut instinct returning as he watches her. “dumah.”
“try again.”

cas is quick to push jack and kelly behind him. “you’re the empty.”

‘pretty good, huh? you ready to go?” she asks jack, who clings to kelly’s hand. cas clenches his teeth.

“you stay away from him.”

the shadow sighs. bored. “castiel, you know how this goes. the good souls here, the bad souls there. the angels are mine.”

“enough.”

“stop interrupting! start paying attention. i’m taking him.” the entity wearing dumah’s face turks dark and twisted. she points at jack, a demented smiling growing on dumah’s lips. “and where i’m taking you is worse than hell… because at least hell is something. ohh. ohh, god, they look scared. does that hurt you? god… because I want it too.”

cas’ angel blade drops from his sleeve. before he can get a step closer, the shadow flings him through the air. he hits the wall, hard, sliding to the floor. it continues to hurt cas, the demented smiling only growing sharper. a sickening expression of joy on dumah’s face. “no, stop!” kelly begs, only to find herself on the receiving end.

jack charges it, but the shadow simply drops kelly and chokes the nephilim instead.

full of fear, feeling utterly wretched, cas stands and shouts. “take me. take me instead. i’m the one who woke you up, after all.”

the shadow pauses, raising an eyebrow in the angels direction. “i’m already getting you.”

cas points out that he may not die for centuries. if the shadow promises to let jack go, then cas will come now, and willingly. the shadow considers this proposition a moment, then slowly lowers jack to the ground. releasing it’s hold on the boys throat. “deal.”

cas nods, and closes his eyes. waiting. the shadow laughs, full of rich darkness and malice. “Oh, but not now. no, no, no, no, no. no, you see, i-i meant what i said. i- i want you to suffer. i want you to go back to-- to your normal life and-- and then forget about this and forget about me. and-- and then, when you finally give yourself permission to be happy and let the sun shine on your face, that's when i’ll come. that’s when I'll come to drag you to nothing.”

cas can almost feel what a human would in this scenario: the skipping of a heartbeat, the cold sweat, the shaking limbs. as it is, he has to swallow, hard, before opening his mouth to speak.

“is arc there?”

a heavy, frozen silence hangs in the air. the shadow tilts it’s head. “who is that?”

“my- my friend. she… she was- part angel. and part demon. she died. is she- ”

the shadow snaps back, full of fury. “never heard of her.”

cas tilts his head. trying to suss out whether or not the entity is being truthful. after a painful thirty seconds, he relents. hanging his head, he tells the shadow, “i accept your deal.”

dumah’s body falls to the ground as that disgusting, viscous goo drains out of her. fleeing quickly, leaving them alone in the room. dumah awakens, disorientated. “where am i?”

cas takes her elbow, slowly helping her back to her feet. “easy. it’s all right.”

jack’s voice is full of nails and broken glass when he confronts cas. “why? why did you do that?”

cas puts both hands on jack’s shoulders. needing the nephilim to really, truly hear him. “because i made a promise. because i love you, jack. and sam and dean- they love you. and they are fighting for you at this very minute.”

—

in the bunker, dean and cas carry jack’s body from the morgue to the library. laying him gently on the table, each action taken with the utmost care. dean takes a second to brush a few strands of dark golden hair away from jack’s pale, cold forehead. before he steps back, and lets lily commandeer the room.

—

“i hope sam and dean- they don’t need to know what happened here. what i did- i’m at peace with my choice.” cas says, finally. “i don’t want them to worry.”

jack’s stomach hurts a little- anxiety, guilt. cas looks so - happy, though. despite what he’s just doomed himself to, he looks so damn happy that jack can’t bear to fight him on it.
“i won’t tell them.”

cas smiles, pleased. grateful. “then we should go.”

jack turns to his mother. conflicted; happy to be going home, heartbroken to leave her. “we didn’t get enough time.”

kelly smiles, too, strong and vibrant. “shh. it’s okay. go. have a great life. i’ll be waiting.” she puts both her hands on either side of her son’s face, memorising each and every aspect of his features. “i love you so much.” she guides his head forward and presses a kiss to his forehead. jack can feel the imprint of her love even as she pulls away.

“you ready?” when jack nods, castiel lays his hands on jack’s face. he begins to glow, a gentle, golden light.

—

on the library table, he awakens, sitting up coughing. sam and dean rush to his side, with dean pressing a piece of paper into his hands with haste.

“read this. jack, read this.”
he does, sounding out the strange words, his eyes glowing gold as he finishes the incantation. he looks to sam and dean. “was that my soul?”

“how do you feel?”

“good. i feel… good.” jack smiles, then, and dean all but drags him off the table and into a bear hug. not really wanting to let go once he felt jack’s heart beat against his chest, the warmth of his skin.

“it’s good to have you back,” sam’s tone is light, breaking with relief as he takes a turn to hug the boy. as they share their embrace, dean looks over toward lily.

“thank you,” he says, quiet, solemn.

sam repeats the platitude as he and jack separate, wiping tears from his face with one hand. “yeah. lily- ” he comes to an abrupt realisation as he gazes at the elderly lady. slumped, limp, in one of the armchairs.

dean steps closer, cautious. “lily?”

……..

lily finds herself face to face with anubis for the second time today. he’s hiding a knowing smile as he gestures to his precious abacus.

“i don’t understand. why am i here again?”

the god shrugs. purses his lips. “hm. care to try your luck again?”

lily looks at the abacus with caution. the beads turn white and fly upward. lily can only stare, not sure if this is some kind of cruel trick. anubis is grinning lazily. he leans back in his seat and steeples his fingers together, eyes narrowing. “i’m curious. did you know what doing the spell would cost you?”

lily can still only blink. anubis’ smile softens a touch, and he waves her away with a parting remark.

“say hello to your daughter for me.”

……..

cas departs kelly’s heaven, seeking out naomi. she thanks him for saving heaven, noting that she’s aware it wasn’t really for the benefit of the angels. still. she wants to give him something in return - a way to find the archangel, michael. cas enquires about gabriel. last he knew, gabriel was supposed to be sort-of running things, at the very least, helping to sustain heaven.

naomi looks to the side, purposefully not meeting cas’ eyes. gabriel left, she says. a while back.

cas doesn’t really have time to push the issue. they have a way to find michael, maybe. and his family is waiting for him. at home.

—

jack tucks into a burger, but slowly comes to halt when he feels three pairs of eyes on him. glancing around at cas, sam, and dean, each with a beer in their hands, he asks, “is, uh. is something wrong?”

the three men only smile wider. exchanging fond glances. “no. no, not at all.” sam says, certain.
“just damn good to have you back.”

jack returns the smile, though not as bright. after a second, it falls away, his face downcast. he puts his burger on his plate. “i feel… bad.”

dean puts a hand on the kids shoulder, instantly concerned. “is it your soul?” he asks, eyes wide. jack shakes his head, looking at dean, then at sam, then finally, at cas. cas shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“why do i get to come back, and not arc?”

his voice rings with a sadness they all relate to, and sam reaches out, putting one of his large hands over jacks. “ she would want you to come back.”

dean’s expression turns thoughtful. “you said her body went missing, right?” sam and cas look at him. not sure where he’s going with this. “and you- ” he points at cas, then, “said the empty didn’t know about her.” cas nods once. dean drops his hand, takes a swig of beer. “well, then. soon as we figure this michael crap out, i say we figure out a way to look for her. we need to try, right?”

sam opens his mouth, but says nothing. cas just looks at dean with an inscrutable expression. jack, on the other hand, beams, and nods enthusiastically. untangling his hand from sam’s and squeezing dean’s arm in thanks. dean grins at the kid.

“that’s right. we’ll find her.” he sounds so casually confident, it’s hard for any of them to doubt him. “we’ll find dark kaia, too. get that spear. and then michael- and that son of a bitch is gonna pay.” he holds out his beer bottle, nudging the others with his foot. “come on,” he encourages them, and they all clink their bottles together.

Chapter Text

it’s late. or maybe early. depending on how you look at it. cas flicks the light switch on the kitchen wall. the room illuminates, revealing jack at the table, a bowl of cookie crisp cereal in front of him.

“don’t tell sam.”

cas sighs, joining the boy at the table. “jack, it’s the middle of the night.”

“ah, i know. i couldn’t wait till breakfast.” he indicates to the bowl with his spoon. “sam says this stuff will rot your teeth, but- i like it.”
cas gazes softly at jack. “if you can’t sleep, that’s understandable. given recent events.”

“you mean dying and coming back to life?”

“yeah, we’ve all been through it. it’s something of a rite of passage around here.” cas half-smiles. half-joking. jack looks down.

“arc hasn’t been through it.”

cas doesn’t know how to answer that.

“i’ve been thinking about my mother. you think she’s safe?”

cas frowns, taken aback. “yeah, of course.”

jack’s expression remains troubled, a little crease in his brow. “but how could the empty get in? and i thought heaven was supposed to be perfect. and gabriel, where did he go?”

cas has missed this. jack’s inquisitive nature. even though right now he’s not sure he has any answers.

eventually, he says, “no. it’s not. nothing’s perfect, jack. but i know naomi, and she’s complicated, but there is nothing that she won’t do to protect the souls that are in her charge. try not to worry, okay?”

jack looks at cas for a second, completely open, completely trusting. if cas needed to breathe, it would make his breath catch. “okay.”

“as for gabriel… he’s probably off somewhere, living it up. i’m sure he’s fine.”

cas pats the table lightly and stands up.

“cas. the deal you made. why can’t sam and dean know?”

a bucket of ice water drops over castiel. he inhales deeply, steadying himself. “they can. i- i just don’t- i don’t want them to. they don’t need that burden. you don’t need that burden.”

“of course i do,” jack replies, plaintive. “you did that for me.”

something bitter rises in cas’ throat. he doesn’t want jack to feel responsible for that.

“you know, the empty said that it wouldn't come for me until i had finally given myself permission to be happy, but with everything we have going on, with -- with michael still out there, i don't see that happening anytime soon. this life may be a lot of things, but it's rarely happy.”

jack’s not sure that’s a comforting thought. “i’m sorry.”

cas taps the top of the cardboard cereal box, a wry smile on his face. “hey. at least we have cookie crunch.”

jack nods. “yeah.” he watches as cas draws out a handful of the stuff and eats it. “we do. did you take the decoder ring out of the box?”
cas looks up jack from under his eyelashes. shrugging demurely. “maybe. the secret password is “cookietacular”. shh.”

jack smiles and laughs a little. cas takes more cereal, and jack resumes spooning his own into his mouth.

—
it’s christmas eve, and sam is working on tracking down a genocidal archangel. he was never much for celebrating the holidays, but even this is a bit much.

garth is whispering, trying to be as quiet as possible. “that’s not all, sam. they want me to make the change. become one of them.”

“when?”

“i don’t know. soon, i think. guess that’s what she meant by volunteer.”

sam bites his lip. “well, did they say how it works?”

“uh, yeah. uh, we’re supposed to drink blood mixed with michael’s grace.”

sam’s eyes widen. “no. garth- y- you can’t do that. we don’t know what this stuff does.”

“look, sam, i knew this was a risky one. besides, i’ll just pull the old fake-swallow-and-spit-it-out-later-cough-syrup trick.”

sam blinks.

“used to work on my mom. well, most of the time.”

“this isn’t your mom, garth, this is an archangel.”

a voice crackles down the line, distant. garth whispers hastily, “oh, got to go.”

“garth!” sam pulls the phone away from his ear, staring in disbelief at his lock screen. he swears under his breath and drops the phone.

dean wanders in, leans against the door. “garth, huh? he’ll be okay. he’s fooled michael this far, right?”

“dean, i pulled him out of retirement for an undercover mission. if something happens to him, it’s on me.”

dean pushes off the doorframe and gets closer to his brother. “naomi has given us michael’s location, we have a spy on the inside… for a change, we’re a step ahead. and given everything we’ve pulled off lately, i like our odds.”

cas comes in, beckoning for them to follow. “it’s ketch.”

the three men make their way to the library. jack is sitting in front of sam’s open laptop, ketch on the screen. he waves hello as cas, sam, and dean enter. he has a cup of tea in one hand, taking a sip.

“mm.” he puts the cup on a saucer, dean barely managing not to roll his eyes. “valko’s compound was a breeze, as it turned out. jammed the security system from the outside, sedated the guard dogs- rottweilers, naturally.”

dean huffs. “ketch.”

“hey, you have it?”

“sam, dean. what, no “hellos”, “how are yous”?”

“no time.”

“the egg, ketch.”

“and as i was just telling jack, i did, in fact, manage to expropriate the egg from a certain hungarian rare-weapons collectors.”

sam nods, growing impatient. “yes. yes we know that much - but so?”

ketch grimaces. “unfortunately, once i got back to budapest, where i was intending to catch the red-eye back to the good ole u.s. of. a, he unleashed a swarm of mercenaries on me. i was cornered, and so i was forced to, i’m afraid, drop the egg like, well, to mix a metaphor, like a hot potato.”

the team in the bunker can do nothing but stare down the camera,

“you dropped it?” cas clarifies, dangerously quiet.

“never you mind boys. i put it somewhere safe. in fact, it should be arriving in lebanon, kansas, the day after tomorrow between, mm- ” he pauses, pulling up the sleeve of his suit jacket. squinting at the watch on his wrist. “2:00 and 6:00pm.”

dean bends lower to get closer to the camera. “you put the only weapon we have against michael in the mail?”

“ah, not just any mail. i paid extra. certified priority express.”

dean backs away, looking to castiel with disbelief in his eyes. “he paid extra.”

“look, i improvised.” ketch tries to cover himself. pointing out that he no longer has access to the things he did when he was a british man of letters, asking them to tell him whose fault that is?

sam tries to neutralise the situation. “okay. k-ketch. we’re not mad. we appreciate the effort.”

“do we?” dean snarks angrily in the background. sam puts his hand in the air.

ketch fidgets anxiously on the screen, dean crossing his arms tight over his chest. cas gives a frustrated sigh and leaves the room.

—

sam tracks down the package, getting the postage information from ketch. he finds that it’s being held in a warehouse in missouri. would’ve arrived before now, only the post service is closed for the holidays. sam suggests that he can break in and get it. his phone buzzes, and sam scrambles to answer once he sees the caller id.

“garth.” he says, to cas and dean, a relieved smile on his face. “hey!”

“hey, sam. michael’s sending some guys after someone. they’re headed to an old recycling plant north of omaha. a weapon- a spear?”

dean looks at sam, face solemn. “uh, yeah. but how are you? were you able to fake ‘em out?”

garth chuckles, a little nervously. “oh, yeah. all good. uh, but.”

“but what?”

“i heard michael’s plan.”

sam listens, intently, face growing more and more horrified as garth goes on. once he hangs up, he slowly puts his phone on the table, spinning in his seat to face his brother and cas. he explains what garth just told him. watching matching expressions of terror dawning on their faces.

“the whole damn town?” dean asks, voice steeped in disbelief.

“all of michael’s monsters activating all at once, attacking, turning everyone in kansas city?”

“it’s his army.” cas says, grimly.

“merry freakin’ christmas,” dean mutters, covering his eyes with his hand.

“yeah, well. garth said michael was gonna give the signal at midnight, so if we can get to him before he does- ”

“then we can stop this.” jack finishes.

“and with the spear still in play, that can hurt michael. given as much trouble as he's gone through to find it, it might do worse. could be a shot at actually killing the son of a bitch.” dean says, excitement growing in his tone.

“and we may be able to trap him. i mean, bobby’s been working on those angel cuffs. they might be able to hold him.” even cas’ gruff monotone has something of a sparkle to it.

“we have rowena’s spell,” sam chimes in, “and the egg- it’s literally a trip to the post office.”

everyone looks around at each other. the gravity of the situation beginning to sink in. after all this time, all these months. it could all end, tonight.

two missions, two destinations. sam and jack head off to grab the egg, while dean and cas take baby toward the recycling plant.

—
OMAHA

when dean and cas reach the plant, they exit the car, looking around. “you seem good lately. happy, even.” cas notes. dean ducks low and grabs gear from the backseat. “ you- we have a broken tape deck, we drove this whole way without music, and you did not complain once.”

cas shrugs. “we got jack back,” he says, simply. the short phrase is enough to warm cas’ heart. “when was the last time we had a big, no-strings attached win like that?” the question is earnest, and cas fights the urge to look away.

“but now we have michael. and, dean, we’re taking a big risk going after the spear like this.”

dean walks up to cas and places his hand on cas’ arm. reassures him, that nothing’s gonna stop them from taking michael down. cas returns dean’s smile, and they head toward the plant. sneaking in, silently as they can.

—

MISSOURI

sam hacks the security system keeping the post office locked down. he hears the tell-tale crackle of electricity, and nods at jack. “all right. that should take care of the security system.” he reaches into his back pocket, and pulls out his lock-picking tools.
jack indicates to the tools, and asks, “may i?”

surprised, sam hands them over. “oh, sure.”

jack looks down at the door, saying, “i used to be able to do this just by touching the handle.” he’s not- sad, exactly. it’s more like pointing out a simple fact.

“who taught you how to pick a lock?”

“i did,” jack says, as he gets to work. fitting the metal pieces in the keyhole. “and the internet. i just wanted to stay useful.” within seconds, the tumblers click inside the mechanism. sam grins, impressed.

“nice work.”

jack beams, glowing with pride.

—

OMAHA

a little ways inside, there’s evidence of a squatter. nothing to say that anyone has been here recently, though. until dean points out, the food is still warm.

cas stills. “dean, where are michael’s forces? we’re going off of their intel, and they had a head start.”

dean takes a deep, fortifying breath. “and a shorter drive,” he says, trying to tamp down on the growing unease settling over him.

“do you think they already got her?”

dean examines their surroundings again. he shakes his head, “nah. no signs of a struggle. the dark kaia i know? wouldn’t have gone out without a fight.”

—

MISSOURI

outside the post office, jack turns the brown package over in his hands. “it’s lighter than i expected.”

“yeah. it’ll do the job.”

jack smiles again, pointing cheerfully as he reads out the message stamped on the side. “ ‘happy holidays!’”

sam grins- freezing, when something glints in the corner of his eye. turning subtly, he notes a black van parked across the road. pain explodes at the base of his skull, and he’s vaguely aware of a panicked jack calling his name.

on the floor, sam rolls over, blinking wildly. trying to get his eyes to focus. his vision is blurred but he can just about make out two figures bundling jack into the back of the van. “jack!” tires screech and sam gets the scent of burning rubber on tarmac as the driver pulls away. getting to his feet, wobbly, sam calls out again. “jack!”

“i wouldn’t.”

sam turns, one hand going to his head. wincing hard. a lady stands in front of him, and when she blinks - eyes flash blue. sam’s blood runs cold.

“michael.”

“happy holidays,” she chuckles, holding the egg in her hands.

“how’d you find us?” sam grunts out, trying to see past the flare of pain in his eyes.

“what are you gonna do, sam, hmm?”

sam reaches into his jacket. drawing the angel blade. “you’re gonna kill me, anyways.” he says with a shrug.

more pain, knocking the breath from his lungs, as his body slams into the side of nearby truck.”

sam lifts his head with great effort. michael has the egg held up in the palm of her hand. eyes flaring blue, as the egg begins to glow and melt. “no. no, no, no, no-!” michael flickers her free wrist. sam cries out once, finally succumbing to the black shadows pulling him under.

—

OMAHA

“still no answer?”

dean sighs, and drops his hand to his side. their efforts to reach sam have been unsuccessful. his phone rings and he nearly drops it in his haste to answer.

“sam?” cas asks, hopeful.

“it’s garth,” dean says, before speaking down the line. “hey, garth.”

“hey, dean. uh, i tried to call sam, but- no answer.”

dean’s jaw clenches, almost imperceptibly. “yeah. us, too.”

“yeah, um, listen, michael left a few minutes ago. i overhead him say he was going to back up his forces.”

“oh, do you mean the forces that are supposed to be here at omaha? because they are definitely not.”

“what?” garth’s voice is breathless, shocked. “dean, i swear. michael said-“

“it’s okay,” dean says with a sigh, “just call us if you hear anything, okay?”

“got it.”

dean hangs up, turning back to cas. holding both arms out in the air. “so, what, was this a setup?”

cas surveys their surroundings for what must be at least the fifth time. “i don’t know…”

“do we go to hitomi plaza? do we go to joplin, missouri?”

dean’s drawn from his ramblings when cas’ voice, raised, shouts his name. he spins in place, finding himself on the wrong end of kaia’s spear.

“why are you here?” the girl herself asks.

“hey.” dean tries, kaia shoves the spear threateningly, an inch closer.

“what do you want?”

in his peripheral, he sense cas moving, and holds his hand out to the side. “cas, cas, no. you know what we want.”

kaia bares her teeth. “you think you can take this from me? you’ve tried before.”

“look, we didn’t come to fight you for it.” dean’s voice is calm, placating. “i came to ask.”

“you should know by now i won’t give it up.”

dean inches forward, until the tip of the spear is right against his chest. kaia doesn’t move, but something flickers under her stoic mask. “well, then, you should just kill me. there are people that i care about, my family, and they’re in danger. michael, the one who tortured me, the one who tortured you- he’s gonna hurt them and kill them.”

kaia swallows. “and then, worse. thousands will die. and the only thing in this world that will stop him is the spear in your hands. so if you’re not gonna give it to me, kill me.”

there’s a moment of tension, stretching wide, before it snaps. kaia pulls her spear away from dean. he sighs in relief, chest heaving. her eyes flicker across dean’s face. dark and calculating. “what’ll you do for me?”

cas speaks. “what do you want?”

“i want to go back.”

dean frowns. “to the bad place?”

“i call it home.”

“but you came to this world for a reason.”

“i came here to escape a life running from monsters. but here is no better. no different. not for me, anyway. i understand things, over there. the magic i used to get here, magic from my home, it doesn’t work here. to get back, i need help.”

“we’ll do what we can.” dean promises, and kaia turns to cas.

“the boy. the special boy. the one that used kaia to open up the door? he can do it again, for me.”

“yes, he can.” dean confirms. “and he will- if- ”

kaia shakes her head. “how do i know you’re telling the truth?”

“you don’t.” cas says, plainly. “just like we don't know you're telling the truth. but we do know that you are hiding something. like dean said, you came here for a reason, but if you're so desperate to return, you're so driven that you would consider giving up your spear well, that means you have a new reason, something you're not telling us.”

kaia considers castiel’s words. she locks eyes with dean. almost searching for something inside them.

“you have people you feel bound to protect, to save. so do i.” she hands the spear over to dean, who takes it with caution. “if you don’t bring this back, i will find you and kill you.”

“how will we track you down?”

“you’ve done it before. do it again.”

dark kaia disappears, just as dean’s cell rings again. as soon as he answers it, sam is almost yelling down the phone in a rush. “it was michael. he knew where we were. he got the drop on us and destroyed the egg, and, uh, dean, he’s got jack.”

“how did you escape?”

“i didn’t. he knocked me out. i - i don’t know why he didn’t kill me.”

“so, what, is he playing us?” nothing about any of this is making any sense to dean, no matter how many times he runs through it in his head.

“garth’s not answering my calls. best guess? jack’s in kansas city, and that it’s still game time for michael there. i’m gonna head there now.”

dean nods. “okay. hey, we got the spear. so we’ll meet you there.”

“great.”

before he can hang up, cas grabs dean’s wrist. “and sam?”

“yeah?”

“don’t go in there alone.”

“i know. drive fast.”

Chapter Text

jack isn’t afraid. he knows his family will come for him. so, when sam comes through the doors of michael’s office, bloody machete in hand, he smiles. “hey. where’s michael?” sam begins to untie the bonds holding jack down. the boy winces from the rope burn, shaking his head.

“i don’t know.”

sam helps jack to his feet, breathing heavy. “come on, let’s go.” they head for the doors, but footsteps outside make them freeze. sam drags jack against the wall, pushing flat. “sh. sh.” through the open doors, in steps garth, nervously looking around.

“garth.”

the scrawny hunter-slash-werewolf turns to sam. pale, but uninjured. “hey.”

“you’re okay.”

“yeah.”

sam exhales, sharp. garth’s okay. jack’s okay.

“great. let’s get out of here.”

they head down in the elevator, to the parking garage. sam tells them dean and cas are almost here, on their way, with the spear. “soon as they get here, we regroup, go upstairs.”

“kick michael’s ass.” jack says. sam nods.

“yep.” groans from behind catch his attention. sam frowns, garth is choking, moaning, his back to them. jack approaches the short man, tapping on his shoulder. garth turns and growls, hitting jack hard. eyes glowing a familiar blue.

“jack!”

“oh, sam…” garth’s voice is strained. face red, veins popping out of his forehead. “he’s in my head. he won’t stop. he won’t let me stop.” the groaning morphs into growling, as his claws come out. transforming into a werewolf.

sam holds up both hands, starting to sweat. “garth?”

“i’m sorry.” garth whimpers, before michael fully takes control. snarling, garth lunges for sam. he does his best to dodge garth’s attack. desperately trying to break through to him. he wrangles his friend into a headlock. “you can fight this,” sam insists, holding strong. “you can fight this.”

garth breaks free, flipping sam onto his back on the ground. jack rouses and tackles garth, giving sam the time he needs to recover. garth rolls over, on top of jack. biting and clawing as jack struggles to hold him off.

sam gets him in another headlock, beginning to choke him out. sam whispers an apology as garth’s growls grow fainter, weaker, and his body slumps in sam’s arms. unconscious. sam falls back, letting garth lie limp on his chest. he wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. he gives jack a once over, and then they get to it.

dean and cas arrive as sam is tying garth up, wrists and ankles bound together. they lift him into the trunk of the impala, and dean looks down at him. one hand resting on top of the trunk. “sleep tight, buddy.” he flexes his shoulder, bringing the trunk down with a snap. “well, thanks for waiting for us,” he says accusingly.

“i didn’t have a choice. he drank michael’s grace. why didn’t he tell me?”

dean doesn’t know

. “when garth turned, i think it gave michael a window. i think that’s how michael knew where we’d be, how he got the jump on us.” dean nods, not having any other theory to argue with. “all right, well, garth’s on ice, now. you know, maybe if we kill michael, it’ll cure him.”

“i called in the other hunters. they’re on their way. take care of the city, in case we don’t win up there.” sam glances toward the truck. troubled.

dean forces a fake laugh. “i wouldn’t bet against us.” he lets out “hyah!” noises, attempting to mimic kaia’s movements with the spear. he almost drops it, hitting sam on the head.

“ah!” sam yelps, “whoa.”

“i got it. it’s cool. it’s good.” dean nods self-affirmatively. he looks over, to where cas is healing jack’s wounds. “how we looking over there?”

“good as new,” cas confirms. they gather in a loose circle.
“he’s up there,” jack tells them. “waiting for us.”

cas points out that michael’s monsters are all over the city. why not send some their way? why not kill sam at the post office? sam is grim when he voices a disturbing thought. “i think he wanted us to come here.”

they know he’ll sense cas’ presence, so. there goes the element of surprise. they’re probably walking right into a trap. set up by a fully-powered archangel. dean snorts.

“impossible odds. feels like home. let’s roll.”

so they roll. in the elevator, they draw their weapons.

—

cas lurks in the shadows. waiting. michael’s voice is almost sing-song. “castiel. you do realise i can feel you in here. there’s really no need to be- ” michael smirks as cas attacks. they engage in a fight, as michael continues, “coy.”

“michael.”

“tell me something, cas.” michael pins cas up against the wall. “why come alone? advance scout? strongest player first?” the archangel draws cas away from the wall before throwing him into it. “not that strong,” she remarks. she lands a punch that cuts into cas’ face, courtesy of the cocktail ring on michael’s vessel’s fingers. she uses her powers to topple sam and jack. holding them down with a crushing power. dean leaps from the shadows, spear pointed at michael. each time he swings, michael blocks.

“you got it.” michael says, sounding almost proud. dean raises his eyebrows.

“i sure did.”

michael grabs dean by the throat, fingers tight on the skin. lifting him up in the air. she’s smiling as she reminds him: dean let michael in. this is all his fault. all this bloodshed. all this death. dean struggles for air, fingers grabbing at michael’s, feet paddling air.

“dean!” sam slides the spear back to dean, who swings it, cutting michael’s arm. releasing jack and sam from their pain.

“trust me,” dean spits, all teeth. “that’s gonna leave a scar.”
dean points the edge of the spear at michael’s throat.

“kill him!” jack yells.

dean doesn’t move.

“dean?” sam calls out. uncertain.

nothing.

“dean?” cas, rough, terrified.

dean turns. his eyes flash blue. sam’s face drops.

“no.”

“yeah.” michael smirks. “i left dean for a reason. he was resisting to me. he wouldn’t stop squirming- trying to get back all to you. so i left. but not without leaving the door open just a crack.”

“why wait?” cas grinds out.

“to break him. crush and disappoint hm so completely that this time, he’ll be nice and quiet. buried. and he is. he’s gone.” michael uses dean’s legs to wander over to his desk. picking up the forgotten glass of whiskey, taking a satisfied sup. “and now, i have a whole army out there. waiting. ready for my command. ready for this.”

he holds up his fingers. poised to snap.

sam and cas are stricken, heartbroken. helpless. and michael knows. the evil grin that transforms dean’s face is too much to bear, but they can’t even look away.

his fingers snap. the sound bouncing off the walls, echoing the snap of three broken hearts beating in heavy chests.

—

dean runs a damp cloth over the mahogany bar, careful not to knock the unconscious patron slumped on his stool. he whistles along to the song blaring out of the jukebox, humming and singing under his breath. “my feet are aching, and your back is pretty tired…”

the door opens, and arc enters. a plastic bag in her hand. she shrugs out of her hooded sweater, which is soaked through. she shakes her head as she approaches the bar. “that weather. i swear, people are goin’ crazy out there. raiding the stores like it’s the apocalypse or somethin’.” she runs a hand through her hair as she drops the bag on the counter. dean protests, immediately lifting it back off. “hey, hey,” he clicks his teeth, disapproving, “i just washed that.”

arc rolls her eyes and slides around to his side of the bar.

“i battled through that shit-storm for your freakin’ limes.”

dean opens the bag, grinning at all the green fruit within. “hey, i’m not makin’ the house special without the limes. what are we, inhumane?”

arc grins. “well…” she trails off, looking at dean with the implication that yes, he may be.

he reaches in and plucks out a lime, rolling it up his arm, popping it at the crease of his elbow and catching it in his hand again. arc snorts. “show off.” she teases, bumping his hip with hers. dean chuckles and sets about slicing the lime, before pouring two shots and filling two pint glasses.

“tequila shot and a beer. best damn house special ever.”

“no complaints here,” arc agrees as he passes her a shot glass. they clink and down the fiery liquid. both wincing at the burn at the back of their throats, before soothing it with cold lager. “any word from sam?”

dean sets his beer down, wiping away the foam at his lips. “still working that ghoul thing in wichita with cas. they should be back soon.”

the door opens again. in walks another woman, in a pressed suit, leather briefcase angled over her head to deter the rain. arc nods at the newcomer. “wet one out there, right?”

the woman smooths her already perfectly pressed pants. “yes. and you are?”

“arc. waitress. hostess. tequila enthusiast. we met the last time you stopped by- ”

the woman ignores her, spotting dean and speaking over her. “mr. winchester.”

“ -and the time before that,” arc mutters to herself, eyes rolling.

“i brought the papers i mentioned.” the woman says. she sets her briefcase on the bar, opening it and rifling through the contents. “i know you said you weren’t interested, but it’s just a few signatures and you could- ”

dean leans against the bar. “can i get you in a drink?”
the woman pauses, looking at dean. “oh. i’m in a bit of a rush.”
dean nods, “well, sorry you wasted your trip out here, but, um… rocky’s still isn’t for sale.”
the woman surveys the room. lips pursing. “ rocky’s looks pretty dead. it’s a very generous offer.”

dean shoots arc an amused look. “all the same. this bar? i’ve never had anything this nice. so that sale you want so bad, well, it’s just not gonna happen.”

the woman stares, unimpressed at dean, then at arc. arc grins and waggles her fingers, winking ostentatiously. bristling, the lady packs away the papers and makes for the door. “you need to borrow an umbrella?” arc asks, but the lady exits without turning back. dean grins, then laughs, arc joining in almost immediately.

dean heads to the back, sitting at his office desk. getting through some paperwork. he looks up when he hears footsteps, watching arc head his way with two shots.

“you just gonna leave the drunk guy out there with all the booze?” he raises a brow with his glass, holding it in the air.

“you mean the unconscious drunk guy? yeah. i am. take a shot with me. i’m heading out for a hot date.”

dean pouts, teasingly. “how come you always have a boyfriend or girlfriend?”

arc flashes him a look, eyes running up and down his face. she grins, leaning back. “maybe ‘cause they got the balls to ask.”

dean licks his lips and glances down at the paperwork. tummy tight and somersaulting. they knock back their shots and arc shoves playfully at his shoulder. dean can only smile, watching her walk back to the front. seconds later, her voice carries back, tense. “dean? you wanna come out here?”

“what’s up?” he rises from the seat and follows her, even as he asks.

“trouble.”

“what kind of trouble?”

he comes behind her, as a man with a hood up comes through the door. no. not a man. a vampire. a vampire hell-bent on revenge for he and sam killing their entire nest. the ‘drunk’ patron comes to life and leaps over the bar, grabbing at arc. together, her and dean launch him back over the other side. dean grabs a sawed-off shotgun from under the bar and tosses to arc, who catches it with ease. dean grabs a machete and they face up, taking down the pair of creatures without much hassle. arc gets up on the bar, blasts one in the head with the gun, and dean decapitates the other.

she grins down at him. “nice.”

“sweet.”

she holds out her fist, and dean bumps it. he helps her hop off the bar, letting his hand linger on her arm a little longer than necessary. even with blood splashes patterning her face, she’s stunning. dean’s smile softens and arc winks, more genuine than the one she gave to the realtor.

dean looks at the bar as she backs up. sighing. he’s gonna have to wipe it down again.

“you know, worst part of working here is cleaning up the blood after some pissed-off monster bursts in here to kill ya.”

dean smirks, as arc returns, wiping at his face with a clean towel. “what can i say? i’m famous.” he takes the towel and wipes her face for her, before getting back to re-wiping the bar.

—

Chapter Text

—

cas grabs michael by the collar. unable to temper his rage upon seeing his dean being used this way. michael snarls, “don’t interrupt me.” sam lights some holy oil, tossing it at michael while cas has him distracted. it only lights up for a second, but a second is all cas needs. michael looks down at the cuffs, sigils flaring orange on the metal, tight around his wrists. he looks up, then, sneering, “you think these can hold me?”

“yes, we do.”

michael’s eyes glow blue for a second or two, before returning to dean’s usual green.

“dean. come on, dean. are you in there?” sam calls, loud, determined.

“dean’s not home right now. please leave a message.”

flashing lights outside the window, red and blue and white. sirens and screams rising from the streets below, drawing jack, sam, and cas’ attention. “oh, right. did you forget? my monsters are out there, building an army.”

jack bends to the ground, retrieving a fallen angel blade and a machete, sticky with half-dried blood. sam answers his ringing phone. “maggie. what’s happening out there.” maggie informs him that she recruited every hunter she could get her hands on, but there’s just so damn many of them. no kills reported, just bites or scratches. sam confirms her theory, that they’re trying to infect people, not kill. sam instructs maggie to save as many people as she can.

he, cas, and jack converge, debating on what they should, or even can, do next. noise, outside the locked office doors. monsters. michael’s calvary. jack, frightened, eyes blurry with tears, looks at sam. “are we gonna die here?”

sam’s breathing stops, lungs frozen- wait. die. dying.

that’s it.

“jessica!” he shouts, startling cas and jack. “you said you’re always here, right?” cas blinks. sam explains that billie appointed a reaper to himself and dean a while back. a woman appears, greeting them pleasantly.

“hello.”

sam’s face scrunches up. “who are you?”

“i am violet. it’s my shift. we have shifts now, because you mess so, so many things up.”

“okay, all right. well, violet. we need to get out of here now.”

she nods, sympathetic. “and i want you to know that you have my full emotional support.”

sam’s brain takes a moment to catch up with violet. “uh- wh- what? we don’t want your emotional support. we- we want your actual, physical help?”

“sam, who are you talking to?” jack asks, concerned.

sam looks at jack, wild and emotional. “you can’t see her?”

“i can.” michael drawls. smug. “you know, in my world, we locked death away and enslaved the reapers.”

violet smiles politely. “lovely. well, just look at you now.”

sam pulls the reaper’s attention back to him. “death owes us one, after we stopped rowena,” he insists.

“the rowena thing you started.”

sam grunts, running his hand through his hair. “please. please!”

“shh.”

he frowns. “what- ”

violet shushes him again. holding up a finger. then, after a few seconds, “okay.”

the monsters break in through the double doors, finding an empty room.

—

sam glances around, relieved to see the bunker’s familiar setting. “how did you do that?”

violet shrugs. “i, uh, didn’t. have fun.” she disappears.

maggie calls. sam takes the opportunity to ask her to bring the impala back, forgetting to mention that garth is in the truck. maggie’s voice is rushed and urgent when she agrees, insisting that she has something she needs to say. “the monsters are leaving the city. it looks like they’re heading west.” she sounds anxious. sam can nearly see the small hunter chewing on her lip through the phone.

michael looks to cas. “remind me. we’re west of kansas city now?”

—

sam has a plan. it’s not much. it’s not- it’s not really a plan as much as it is a hail mary. he digs out the old men of letters set-up, from when dean had to break down mary’s psychological conditioning. he explains to cas, as quickly as he can, what it does. cas agrees, just as desperate as sam at this point.

before going under, jack asks if he should do more. use his powers. cas tells him no. no way. not under any circumstances.

“but if i can help- ” he protests, helpless. weak. cas gives him a stern look.
“and burn through your soul?” he shakes his head, solemnly. “no. help maggie if she needs it, but not with your powers. you hear me?”

“just watch us, okay. make sure we don’t die.” sam says. jack sighs. nods.

cas squeezes his shoulder in what he hopes is a comforting manner. “i’ll see you soon,” he says, softly. jack nods again.

they get set up with the headset, and michael looks excited. “you see, out here, i’m all chained up. but in there… you’re all mine. so what are we waiting for?” cas looks at sam, who nods, tightly. he lays his hand on sam’s arm, and turns on the machine.

———
darkness. black. empty. inside dean’s psyche, there’s a hell of a lot of scar tissue and locks to break through. cas and sam wander blindly, jaws clenched, eyes narrowed.

it takes a while to find dean. they run through so many memories. so much pain. fear. worthlessness. loss. hatred. for others. for himself. it’s all cas can do not to break down there and then. it’s a struggle. to drag himself and sam through it all.

“you can’t escape me, dean. you’re gonna die- and this is what you’re gonna become!”
“somebody, help me!”
“your own father didn’t care whether you lived or died.”
“daddy’s blunt little instrument- ”

“there’s so much,” the angel pants, “so much trauma in dean’s mind.”

“well, yeah, dean’s been through a lot. but he’s strong.”

cas hesitates. “sam, you’ve both been through a lot… and dean is more than strong. what i meant was- if i knew- if i knew what i was looking for. but i have to wade through all the memories, because we don’t know where michael has dean.”

something makes sam stop still. “wait. would michael bury dean in trauma?” cas turns to face him. sam elaborates, quick and hushed. “i mean, michael said it himself. the reason he left dean in the first place was because dean was fighting so hard.”

realisation dawns like sunlight on castiel’s face. “so, if michael wanted to keep dean placated…”

“dean thrives on trauma. i mean, he’s had to his whole life, right? it keeps him alert, it keeps him ready, but if i wanted to distract dean, i-i- i’d give him something he’s never had before.”

“contentment.”

“exactly.”

cas switches tack. combing through the good memories dean holds dear.

“i think i’m adorable-”
“strippers, sammy. strippers! we’re on an actual case, involving actual strippers. finally.”
“hey, see if they got any pie…”
“this bar—”
“this bar—”
“this bar—”
“— i’ve never had anything this nice. rocky’s still isn’t for sale.”
“rocky’s still isn’t for sale.”

sam inhales, sharp. “wait. a second. that’s it.” cas glances at sam, needing to be certain. “definitely. that never happened. there. let’s go there.”

castiel’s eyes glow blue, and he and sam appear in rocky’s bar. red glass lampshades hang low from the ceiling, the wooden floor dark, shining. in the corner, the jukebox churns out a slow, dark song.

and we’ve drunk a couple bottles babe, and set our grief aside
the paper say it’s doomsday, the button has been pressed
we’re gonna nuke each other up boys,
’til old satan stands impressed

and here it is, our final night alive

dean turns around from behind the bar and grins, laughing. “hey! there they are!” he grabs two glasses, throwing down the handle of a beer tap and pouring. “kill, a ghoul get a beer.”

sam stares, shock swamping him. “dean?”

—

and as the earth burns to the ground
oh, girl, it’s you that i lie with
as the atom bomb locks in

“got this great ipa from austin, cosmic cowboy. you’re gonna love it.”

sam takes a few tentative steps forward. “dean, what’s going on here?”

his brother glances up, starting on filling up the second glass. “what are you talking about?”

footsteps from the back, and cas is floored to see arc sauntering out. she drapes herself half over the bar, face lit up as she sees him and sam. “hey, guys! i’m glad you’re back safe. i was starting to worry.” she drops her voice to a stage whisper. “don’t tell dean. he’ll use it against me.”

cas blinks. once. twice.

oh, it’s you, i watch tv with
as the world, as the world caves in

in a low voice, so only sam can hear him, he says, “uh. arc died. she was killed by michael several months ago.”

dean pushes the two full glasses toward them. “hey. what are you guys waiting for? drink up.”

sam looks at his brother. who’s- happy. so very happy. he almost hates to do this, but dean needs to know.

“none of- none of this is real, okay? this bar. uh, arc- ”

arc raises her eyebrows and crosses her arms. “the hell you mean, sam?”

cas can’t look at her, so he’s staring at nothing when he tells her, “you’re just a complex manifestation of dean’s memories designed to distract him.”

arc looks amused. “wow, cas. you finally got a handle on your sweet-talk, huh?”

“okay, listen to me. you have to remember what’s going on out- out in the real world.”

“i know.” dean says, giving sam pause. “it’s raining outside. what else do i need to know?”

“no, i’m not- i’m not talking about the rain! i’m talking about michael!”

suddenly, dean is gone. so is arc. laughter, muffled, drifts through from the back. “is that…?” sam asks, and he and cas exchange confused looks. dean walks into the refrigerated room at the back of the bar. suddenly, they’re back behind the bar. the song, however, keeps playing. never skipping forward, never skipping back, never pausing.

you put your final suit on
i paint my fingernails
oh, we’re going out in style, babe
and everything’s on sale

“so, you guys gonna tell us about the hunt or what?”

“okay. w- what? you were just…” sam stutters out, trying to make sense of the situation. “what the hell is going on here?”

dean frowns. “okay. all right. now you’re starting to worry me. what is going on?”

a vampire bursts through the door. it states it wants revenge for sam and dean hunting it’s family. cas and sam watch arc and dean leap into action. taking the two vampires down easily, fist-bumping their success. sam finds himself splattered with blood.

“you guys got real messy on that ghoul hunt,” arc remarks, and cas still cannot look at her. his jaw is clenched, teeth almost grinding.

“no, we didn’t get messy on a hunt.”

arc turns to dean, expression skeptical, “maybe we should rethink the beers.”

dean is nodding, scratching at the back of his neck. “yeah.”

we creep up on extinction
i pull your arms right in

“okay, dean, listen to me.” sam exclaims, loud. pulling their attention to him. “i think you’re - you’re stuck in a loop. in your mind. michael is possessing you. you have to remember that.” sam’s voice is pained, his face red.

“michael is in the cage. come on, guys, what is this, some kind of joke?”

“no, dean, it’s not a joke.”

it’s easier, to look at dean. probably because dean isn’t dead - yet, at least. castiel ignores the thought. arc cuts in, then. “okay. okay. if we’re all in dean’s head, then he should be able to control things, like in a lucid dream?”

sam hesitates. “yeah. maybe. i- i don’t know.”

“get me a shot. with your brain.” arc and dean laugh.

“okay, dean, listen to me. this bar is not real. arc is not real. man, we were all there when she died!”

something flickers in the edge of dean’s eyesight. a shout, something hitting the floor. he turns back to arc- double taking.

her red tank top is damp with something- not water. too thick to be water. dean stares at the wet spot, and when he lifts his eyes up to her face… she’s pale, like a corpse. usually bright green eyes are washed out. dull. arc tilts her head. “you’re dead?”

arc looks at him like he’s crazy. “yeah, dude. for months now. you were there.”

dean blinks, faster and faster. “no. no, no. wait. arc. what happened?”

i weep and say, ‘goodnight, love’
while my organs pack it in

he keeps blinking, and suddenly, arc is gone. dean reaches out to the spot where she had stood, flinching back as though burned. “no. no. no.” he keeps repeating it, over and over, distressed. “no. this- guys, this is my life. this is the dream.”

“no, no, it’s not. it’s just a dream, dean.” cas says, focusing his gaze wholly on dean. “that’s all it is. and you have to try. try to remember. because the people in your life- in your real life- we need you to come back.” cas’ voice is higher than usual, strung tight as a bow.

sam quietly whispers a single word. a last-ditch attempt. “poughkeepsie.”

dean hesitates. dragging his eyes from cas to lock on to sam. “what’d you say?” he asks, quietly. fearful.

“poughkeepsie.”

dean inhales sharply- all at once, memories flood through his brain. all of them, every moment of michael, every death, every attack. he sees it again: michael driving his blade through arc’s chest. how she fell to the floor, silent, limp. the vampire experiments, going after kaia. his eyes water behind his closed lids, and when he opens them, his lips press into a thin line.

“i remember. i remember everything.”

something breaks in both sam and cas. they both release deep breaths, shoulders bowing in relief.

a clap of thunder outside- no. hands, clapping hands. michael. “hey, fellas. well, this is fun.”

dean’s expression becomes dark and enraged. “get out of my head.”

“you don’t mean that, dean. not really. you may lie to them, but, deep down, i know you. i am you. you only tolerate the angel because you think you owe him, because he "gripped you tight and raised you from perdition." or whatever.” he sneers the last part, aiming directly at the angel.
“but since then, what has he done? only made mistakes, one after the other.”

he turns his head to stare at sam. an unsettling smile on his lips.

“and, sam- oh, sam... you know, dean was his happiest when you quit hunting. leaving him with your dad, just the two of them. see, deep down, he knows that you will always abandon him, again and again.”

“shut up!” dean snaps, slamming both fists on the countertop.

“you don’t need them. you don’t even like them. that’s why you said yes. because they’re your responsibilities. weighing you down. you wanted to escape.”

“i said shut your damn mouth!” dean screams, hoarse. throwing his legs over the counter and landing on the wooden floor with a thud.

“wait. something’s wrong.” cas’ voice is soothing, like aloe vera on a burn. dean’s breathing eases up as he turns to him. cas is looking at michael, though. head tilted. eyes questioning. “you’re stalling.”

“am i?” michael challenges. standing his ground.

the penny drops for sam. “you’re buying time for your monsters to get here and rescue you.”

“you think i need them to save me? please.”

“then why don’t you just go ahead and nuke us all?” dean snaps, stepping forward.

“is that what you want?”

“yeah.” dean nods. “i do.”

cas’ lips quirk at the edges. “he can’t. we’re just mental projections, so in here, we’re all the same.”

sam grins broadly. “so in here, you’re all talk.” he says, taunting.

“you think i need my powers? i destroy worlds, and i’d crush you with my bare hands.” michael snarls, face screwing up.

“prove it.”

michael proves it. rather easily. actually.

“you fellas didn’t think this out, did you? even if you could force me out, what do you think i’d leave behind, hm? you’d be nothing but blood and bone.”

rather than deterring dean, however, the man just seems to find more resolve. “then we don’t kick him out. we keep him in.” he nods at sam, and lunges. grabbing michael, throwing him into the refrigerated room. sam slams the door shut. michael screeches on the other side. pounding against it, fists raining down on the metal. he screams and screams.

dean steps back, panting. “it’ll hold. my mind. my rules.

i got him.

i’m the cage.”

—

Chapter Text

back in the bunker, cas finds out that several wolves broke in while they were inside dean’s mind. in order to save the hunters within, jack used his powers, despite cas’ firm instruction not to. cas sits him down at the table, face stern, tone like steel. “that magic burns off your soul.” he reminds the boy.

“it was an accident.”

“you can’t afford that kind of accident. you need your soul to stay alive, to- ”

“they would’ve killed you,” jack protests, puppy-eyes wide. cas sighs.

“ look, i’m not mad at you. i…” he glances at sam, lingering in the doorway. he turns away again, shame bubbling up inside his chest. “i’ve seen firsthand what the absence of a soul does. and it’s not just about you staying alive, jack. it’s about you staying you.”

sam recalls his own time being soulless. winces at the memories, ugly and raw. maggie taps him on the shoulder, coming to him with an update. “it seems that once michael was locked up, his hold on the wolves just… disappeared. after you guys woke up, they just went their separate ways." sam nods, thanking her again.

he turns back in time to catch the end of the conversation. “you understand?”

jack is earnest, nearly apologetic. not regretful, though. nowhere near regretful. he still promises cas, “it won’t happen again.”

“okay.” cas says, before standing up and walking around the table. jack stands, too, letting cas hug him. over the angel’s shoulder, he meets sam’s eyes. smiles, small. sam smiles back, too. he’s exhausted, though. jack must be too. and cas. he knows how hard it was for the angel to see a fake arc. as alive as she ever had been. it hurt sam, too. the whole thing, had just been so utterly jarring. sam’s sure none of them will be over the worst of it any time soon.

—

dean stares into the mirror. inside him, an archangel kicks and screams and batters the door in an effort to escape. the tantrum doesn’t give up, doesn’t bend, doesn’t stop.

“dean.”

in the mirror, billie stands just behind his shoulders. her face is heavy with distaste as her piercing eyes pin him to the spot. “not all good news. i did say i’d see you again soon.”

“you coulda knocked.” dean huffs, turning to face her.
“figured all that banging in your head was more than enough.” she shrugs, her trusty scythe gleaming under the lightbulb hanging overhead. “do you remember visiting my reading room?”

“yeah. upbeat classics.”
“well, it’s the funniest thing, but they’ve all been rewritten. they all end the same way now- with the archangel michael escaping your mind and using you as his vessel to burn down this world.”

dean tries to hide the fear he feels. willing his heart to slow down as he manages his breaths the best he can. attempting a tone of nonchalance, as he asks, “all of them?”

“all of them,” billie confirms. “except one.” from within her long, leather coat, she pulls out a thin black book. billie hands it to him, watching with an expectant gaze. dean takes it from her and opens it. eyes scanning the contents of the final page.

his face falls, before his neck snaps up to stare at billie. “what am i supposed to do with this?”

billie’s voice is smooth and plain as ever. “that’s up to you.”

he blinks, and she’s gone. he looks down at the book again, rereading the words that just upended his entire world. he drops to sit on his bed, heavy. mouth open, nothing coming out. a tightness in both his throat and chest, stomach twisting with nausea.

—

“sam?”

maggie calls out, voice trembling. sam rubs at his eyes, leaving the library to come to the main room. “what’s up?” maggie points up the steps, to the balcony. no, the door. the door, outside of which is someone knocking. the young girl turns, fear in her eyes.

“hello?”

a familiar voice, and sam goes pale. “oh, no. garth!” ignoring maggie’s confused expression he takes the steps two at a time, throwing open the bunker door. a dozen apologies on his tongue, all of them dying immediately as he sees who’s standing there.

“hey, sam.” garth smiles, a genuine smile. there’s no hurt or irritation over the fact they literally forgot he was locked in the impala trunk. “michael’s not in my head anymore. i swear. and i’m sorry that i didn’t tell you about drinking michael’s grace. i didn’t want you to worry, and…” his voice fades into a dull buzzing noise. it’s not his presence in the doorway that freezes sam to the spot.

“arc?”

she waves. smiling lamely. “yeah. hey, sam.”

—
a few minutes earlier…

garth’s fist ached from pounding on the underside of the impala’s trunk. sure, he could probably use his werewolf strength to get free. but that would mean damaging dean’s precious car. garth has too much respect - and maybe a little bit too much fear - to do that. “hello? anyone there? michael’s gone, now. i promise! i won’t attack you again.” he laughs, nervously. then pauses, hearing faint footsteps making their way over. “sam?! jack?! hello! i’m still in here!”

garth flinches as the trunk swings open, eyes adjusting to the strong streams of moonlight in the night sky. he squints his eyes- then blinks once, twice, three times. just to be sure he’s seeing who he’s seeing.

arc looks pretty tired. dark shadows under her eyes, her face the picture of befuddlement. “garth? the hell you doin’ in here?”

garth blinks. “oh. this. it’s- it’s a doozy, i’ll tell ya!” he laughs again, still nervous. he looks down at his tied wrists, then back up at arc. after a second, she realises.

“oh, sorry.”

from her jeans, she takes a small pocket knife, flipping it open and sawing through the ropes on his wrists and ankles. she helps him out of the trunk, letting him lean on her shoulder. “you good, man?” she checks, and he nods, just happy to be breathing fresh air again.

“what about you? sam said - he said you were dead.”

arc looks around them, then shrugs. “yeah. i thought so too.”

garth frowns.

arc looks toward the bunker. “um. anybody home?”

garth nods, then stops. “oh, well. i’m not sure? i hope so.” they walk over to the door. arc reaches for the lock, then stops, frustrated.

“i don’t have a key.”

“that’s okay!” garth says, brightly. he lifts his already-healed knuckles and raps on the door. they wait in silence, arc kicking at the dirt. no one comes to the door. garth chuckles. there’s still a tremor running through it. he knocks again. “hello?”

he can hear heavy, hasty footsteps thudding up the stairs. he grins at arc, who looks a little… scared? before he can ask, the door flies open. sam stands there, face despairing. garth begins to explain and apologise, but is interrupted by sam.

“arc?”

“yeah. hey, sam.”

—-

*******************

ELSEWHERE

night time. no moon in the sky. an old warehouse breathes creakily, slow movement from within. a woman, hands bound behind her back, tied to a chair. on the floor, a devils trap, painstakingly sprayed on the old, worn concrete. a blonde man walks into the room, and she tilts her head.

“never been caught by a human before. you some kind of hunter?”

“no. no, i know a couple. picked up some tricks. and a few other things.” he brandishes a blade: not just any blade, though. unmistakably an angel blade. the demon eyes it, wary.

“well, if you’re not a hunter, let’s make a deal.”

nick shakes his head. “mm-mm. no deals.” he draws a thin line down the demon’s cheek with the very tip of the blade. she exhales harshly at the sting, and glares furiously up at him.

“what do you want?”

“abraxas. the last demon i killed said you and abraxas made quite the team. until he was captured by a hunter. you left your pal in the lurch, but you know who got him.”

the demon narrows her eyes. “if i was there. the hunter who caught him, who almost got me- why would i protect them? hell, i can even tell you where to find ‘em. so… no need for any of this.” to further the point, she struggles against her bindings.

“oh, i don’t know…” nick muses. “where’s the fun in that?” the blade goes from face to neck, and the demon tenses up. looking down at the blade, eyes wide.

“hibbing! she’s in hibbing, minnesota!”

nick smiles, removing the blade. the demon’s eyes flood black as she smiles back. quick as shot, nick thrusts the blade through the demons eye. she screams, until she doesn’t.

hibbing, minnesota, nick notes. cleaning off the blade with an old rag before tucking it back into his waistband. time for a little road trip.

Chapter Text

SEVERAL DAYS EARLIER

arc isn’t sure how many times she’s walked this same path. it’s not even a path. for all she knows, she could be walking in circles, or triangles, or a straight freakin’ line. there’s nothing to mark anything here. just endless, empty white. she walks, and walks. never stopping, never losing breath. never getting tired, or hungry. she just walks.

she doesn’t know how much time has passed.

something changes. shifts, just a fraction. she keeps her pace, slow and steady. not willing, or even able, to get her hopes up. something wobbles in the air. a thin, blue, crack of light. jagged sharp. blue like an angel. like cas, she thinks, aching. like gabriel.

she stops in front of the… whatever it is. a rift, maybe? it’s certainly reminiscent of the rift that led to apocalypse world. after a few minutes of staring, waiting, she blows out a slow breath, and steps into it.

warmth surrounds her, followed by cold- everything warps and shifts and pitches to the side. she keeps walking. pushing on. like walking through heavy snow. the light grows faded. in the shadows, something shifts. a figure. almost a figure. arc stops, heart hammering in her chest.

wait. her heart.

since waking up in the strange nothingness, arc hasn’t felt the need to breathe, nor has she felt her heart. she blinks, suddenly overwhelmed by all the sensation. the heat, the cool air, the thrumming of her heart.

the figure moves slowly, leisurely, but purpose. arc opens her mouth, but finds that she cannot speak.

the figure does speak, voice booming, unrecognisable. “you can go home now.”

arc swallows. with all her effort, she wills her feet to move again. after an indeterminable amount of time, arc feels her feet sink into something. something crunch. daylight appears, brighter and brighter. looking down, she finds herself standing in snow. her surroundings are bright and calm, a small breeze rustling through birch trees. small buildings dot the landscape, several people bundled up in parka’s and thick winter coats strolling down old pathways.

she walks until she finds herself in what looks to be a town centre. there’s no malls, no fast food joints. she spots a kindly looking lady, and approaches her. “um- ex- excuse me.” she winces, hearing the gravel in her voice. she clears her throat and starts again. “um. i’m sorry to bother you, miss, but… where am i?”

the lady gives her a strange look, though the kindness remains visible. “this is flåm, dear.” her voice is heavily accented. arc doesn’t recognise it. her confusion must be evident, because the lady adds, “in norway.”

arc’s jaw drops. “norway?!”

“yes, dear. are you alright?” her tone turns concerned. “is there anything i can do for you?”

arc looks around, then back at her. “i don’t suppose you could point me toward the closest airport?”

Chapter Text

ACT III

HECATOMB

(noun.) ancient greek; a great public sacrifice, or an extensive loss of life for a cause.

CHAPTER NINETEEN: HOMECOMING

arc’s smile is thin and weary as she looks up at sam. his eyes remain stuck on her face, unblinking. “is - is it really you?”

the girl shrugs. “far as i know.” she glances to the side, to garth. “what are you doin’ lockin’ my favourite hunter in the impala trunk?”

sam finally blinks and looks to garth, hands coming up and pressing together. “garth, man, i am so, so sorry. i swear, i, i just got distracted, and- ”

garth waves sam off and steps in for a hug, leaning up on his tiptoes to reach. sam awkwardly wraps his arms around him, chest deflating with relief. “it’s okay, sam! no harm, no foul.” with everything that’s just gone down, sam finds himself soothed by garth’s… well, garth-ness.

“come in, come in…” sam ushers them both inside and shuts the door, sliding his hands into his hair as he turns back to look at arc. she bites her lip and tilts her head, gazing at him.

“look, sam… it’s really me. i dunno how, or why…” she trails off, lost. sam takes a step closer, reaches out to grab her wrist. the heat of her skin burns warm and real against his fingers and his eyes droop shut. he snakes his arms around her neck and drags her against him, hugging her tight. after a moment of tensing up, arc returns the hug, burying her face in sam’s flannel. she pulls away when she hears a familiar voice floating from down the stairs.

“sam? who is it?”

arc leans over the railing, stomach swooping low and fast when she catches sight of cas. his eyes widen almost comically, pale, chapped lips parted in a silent oh. with great difficultly, arc catches her breath and, with trembling words, greets him. “hello, castiel.”

cas forms the shape of her name and whispers it, like speaking too loud will make her disappear. she hurries down the metal stairs and approaches cas. like sam, he grips her wrist in his hand, firm, wary. she looks down at his fingers and then back up at him. baby blue eyes search hers with earnest, and arc grants the angel access to her thoughts. his lower lip starts to tremble as he realises; she’s really here. his arms raise up and come back down around her, crushing her to his chest with angelic strength. arc can’t help but laugh, a breathy, bubbly sound. a mix of relief and happiness, as she tucks her head into the crook of castiel’s shoulder. inhaling the cool, clean scent of him. it always reminded her of the smell of dust, after rain. like the fresh breeze after a cleansing storm. he leans away, keeping his hands on her shoulders, just taking her in.

footsteps, small and soft, at the door. “cas? i think we should check on dea- ”

jack’s words and feet come to a halt simultaneously. face pale and drawn, blinking repetitively at the sight before him. words fail him, and he frowns, feeling his heartbeat drum a rapid beat in his chest. by his sides, his fingers twitch. arc steps out from behind cas, eyes glassy, lower lip caught between her teeth. her chest heaves slightly, her breathing more pronounced. she smiles, shaky, shoulders dropping. “jack.”

“arc?”

cas puts his hand on arc’s shoulder and nods at the boy. “yes, jack. it’s arc.”

without realising, jack takes a few stumbled steps forwards, making aborted motions with his hands. like he’s not sure- like he’s not quite allowing himself to believe it. afraid to reach for her, afraid to touch. fearful that arc would shatter into nothing but shadow and air if he dared to believe she returned. it’s her voice that spurs him forward, so familiar, so soothing. he all but leaps the last few feet into her arms, the girl barely managing to stay upright. she can feel jack’s heartbeat against her chest, feel the trembling of his shoulders as the tears come out.

“oh, jack. my sweet boy.” she whispers, bringing her hands up to his hair. holding him close, pressing her lips to the crown of his head. she nudges him back, hands coming to frame his face. checking him over, seeing if anything has changed. “look at you.” she whispers, awe-struck.

“how are you here?” he cries, his hands moving from her neck to her shoulders to her forearms, not wanting to let go. arc swallows hard and shakes her head.

“i don’t really know, kid,” she whispers in a tight, tear-filled voice. “but i am. i’m here. i’m not gonna leave you again, okay?” jack let out another broken sob, nodding a few times before collapsing into her again.

arc soothes him, as sam and cas exchange looks. cas is smiling, happy, soft. sam is confused, nervous. garth has a dopey smile on his face as he “awww’s” and rocks on his feet. “so sweet!”

eventually, jack gathers himself enough to step away. when he does, arc clears her throat and turns back to the hunters and the angel. “where’s dean?” she looks back over her shoulder at jack. “and what did i miss?”

—

“so michael’s still in dean’s head?” sam nods, wincing.

“unfortunately, until we find a way to get him out without hurting dean.”

“and he’s been in dean the whole time? since michael got here?”

cas nods. lips pressed in a tight line. he tells her how it all went down, how michael promised to leave cas, sam, and gabriel alive if he agreed to go with michael. how they spent weeks tracking him down; that lucifer didn’t survive the journey back home, but somehow nick did. that nick was m.i.a, but has been pretty far down on their list of concerns. they tell her all about michael’s plan, how he fed his grace to vamps and wolves, hence why garth ended up bound in the trunk of the car. they tell her about dark kaia, who confessed her intentions were to kill claire, not kaia, after all. how they’d promised her a way home in exchange for the spear.

arc takes it all in, processing the information as quickly as she can. she’s sitting at the map room table with jack next to her, sam across, and cas at the head of the table. jack frowns as cas recounts the things that have happened in her absence, tilting his head to the side.

“you forgot the part where michael took my grace,” he points out, confused. arc’s eyes widen. sam coughs, nearly choking on air and cas stops breathing. very slowly, arc turns her head and notices immediately that cas is avoiding her eyes.

“michael took jack’s grace?” her voice is pointed. pissed. “you didn’t think that was important to mention?”

cas grimaces, looking down at the table. “uh, well. it was just- you know, uh.” he looks at sam, desperate, pleading. sam starts to nod, though what he’s nodding for, none of them really know.

“yeah,” he agrees, “it was just, like. you know,” arc purses her lips and folds her hands neatly, one atop the other.

“just like what?” sugary sweetness, sticky like syrup, knives coated in honey. “what happened?”

“i died.”

arc’s jaw flexes so hard the joint pops and she turns to sam and cas, fire and fury, as she yells, “you let him die?!”

as cas and sam speak over one another, scrabbling for explanations, jack just sits and looks at arc. arc opens her mouth to cut through the overlapping voices, but someone else gets there first. a voice, harsh, coarse, loud.

“the hell is all the shouting for?”

dean winchester stands in the doorway, a frown on his handsome, tired face. his eyes flash with irritation as he looks from cas to sam, before finally noticing arc as she slowly rises from her seat. the blood drains from his face, and his chest feels like he’s been punched breathless. he enters the room with small steps.

“hey, dean.”

his lips press together as blood-shot green eyes fill with tears, and he shakes his head. silently closing the distance and pulling her into another tight hug. usually, this amount of physical contact would give her the ick, but she can let it slide this time around.

“before you ask,” she says, as dean pulls back. “i have no idea who brought me back. i woke up in this- this weird place. it was completely empty, completely quiet-“

“the empty?” cas asks, and arc looks at him, frowning. “it’s the place where angels and demons go when they die. it’s dark, and, well. empty.”

arc shakes her head. “it wasn’t dark. it was just white. like light, but not? i don’t know. it’s hard to describe. i woke up there and walked - well, i just walked. could’ve been walking in lines or circles, or squares, for all i know.”

“well- how did you get out?” arc looks at sam and shrugs.

“like i said. i just kept walking. i - i saw this, this blue thing. i thought, what have i got left to lose? fuck it. so i walked toward it, and i- it was like a, a, a rift or something i guess. spat me out in the arse end of nowhere, norway. yeah.” she gives a wry grin to the shocked expressions on the boy’s faces. “don’t ask. so how did jack get back to life? which one of you made a deal?”

cas looks at jack and then looks away, guilt in his eyes. no-one but arc seems to notice. sam and dean explain about lily sunder. arc doesn’t remember her, but they tell her she had a spell. one that allowed jack to stay alive without his grace by using a part of his soul.

“his soul?!”

arc immediately returns to jack’s side, manoeuvring his face this way and that. “are you feeling alright? do you feel… different?” jack takes her hands away from his face.

“arc, i’m fine. really. dean’s got control of michael, and you’re back. i couldn’t be happier.”

—

arc can’t shake the feeling that cas is hiding something. the look he gave jack when she asked about who made a deal… she’s sure that sam and dean aren’t lying about lily sunder, so there’s something they don’t know. something only one other person, besides cas, would know.

she goes to jack’s room as he gets ready for bed. when she asks what cas is keeping, he grows flustered. losing his words, face flushing a dark red.

“ what is it, jack? what is it that you’re not telling me?”

jack looks down, then toward the wall. after a moment, he breaks, blurting out, “cas. he made a deal with the empty… to bring me back.”

“but cas is still here.”

jack nods, inhaling deeply. “the empty said it would only come for cas the moment he allows himself to feel true happiness. he didn’t want sam and dean to know, because he doesn’t want them to worry.”

arc doesn’t react at first. needing time to process the information. once she’s sat with it for a few minutes, she takes a deep breath through her nose and nods. “okay. okay. i won’t tell him you told me. okay? he won’t know that i know. thank you for telling me.”

jack bites on his lower lip. “are you angry?”

“no, my love. i’m not angry at any of you. i promise.”

“but…”

arc shakes her head firmly, cutting him off before he can continue. “no, no but’s, jack. cas is a grown man- well, grown angel. he can make his own choices. and i would have done the same thing.”

jack doesn’t feel better to hear that thought, though. arc reaches down, smoothes a hand over his cheek. “you are just too important to us all, jack.” her eyes flicker over his face, scrutinising. “are you okay?” she asks, concern bending her tone. the nephilim nods, smiling.

“you came back to us.” he says, in a sunshine-warm voice. it’s hard not to smile at jack. it always has been. arc pats his shoulder, then nudges him backward.

“you should get some sleep. no protests, kid.” jack pouts jokingly, and then crawls backward on the mattress. wriggling under the covers and peeking up at her from under the duvet. “goodnight, jack.” she bends to press a goodnight kiss to his forehead, lingering a moment to lose herself in his warm skin, his sweet scent, his glowing aura.

“g’night, arc,” he mumbles, already half-asleep.

—

Chapter Text

that night, arc is alerted to an angelic presence by the familiar flap of wings. she turns , thinking it’s cas- stopping still when she sees not blue eyes, but golden. 
“gabriel,” she says, dumbly. he looks- well, not great. handsome, sure. gabriel has always been handsome. but he looks worn down. he looks sad. these last few months have not been kind to him.

“it’s really you,” he mutters, hoarse. “you’re really back.”

“yeah. yeah, i. i am." his lower lip trembles, and arc’s face falls. “oh, no, gabriel…”

he sniffs, hard, wiping at his face furiously. “no. no, it’s fine. i’m fine.” his words are stiff and wooden, and arc puts her hand on his cheek. turning it gently to face her.

“i’m sorry, gabriel,” she whispers, soft. confusion dawns in his honey-gold eyes.

“what- what for?”

“i should have talked to you. i never wanted- it wasn’t supposed to be the last thing- it wasn’t supposed to be the last time we spoke.”

gabriel’s grace twists painfully within his vessel. the night in apocalypse world, nasty words spat out in order to protect his stupid, hurt pride. “i’m the one who should be sorry.”

“i know you are.” she says, simply. “and i forgive you, gabe. and i hate that you saw-” she cuts herself off when gabriel flinches, the memory of her death too much to hold. “i don’t want us to not be friends. i died, and i came back, and i’m not letting dumb arguments get in the way of getting to be around someone i care about.”

gabriel’s face opens up, tears shining in his eyes.

“it’s alright, gabe. it’s alright.”

he nods, looking at the floor and wiping his face. movement outside the door draws their attention to the hallway. gabriel arches a brow, looking interested. “it’s late. who’s creepin’ around at this hour?”

“could be anybody…” arc holds a finger up to her lips. she creeps closer to her door, opening it. the hallway is empty. she throws a confused look over her shoulder at gabe. they both sneak quietly down the hallway, pausing outside the library upon hearing low whispers. sam and dean.

“uh, i was, uh, kinda hoping for some one-on-one time with mom, if that’s cool.”

“ye- uh… sure, yeah. whatever you need.” sam sounds upset, but with everything dean’s been through recently, he’s not gonna push. gabriel leans against the wall, quickly losing interest. arc, though… she senses something in dean, especially as she peers around the corner. sees dean hugging sam. she frowns, pulling back before she’s spotted.

“something’s wrong.” she says, voice taut with worry. gabriel doesn’t look so sure. “just, uh. just wait here.”

she hurries after dean, catching him on the steps up to the door. she calls after him and he turns, guilty. as if he’s been caught out. arc scrutinises his face, searching for anything out of the ordinary. the man forces a smile, and leans causally on the railing.

“everything okay?”

dean nods. “yeah, um. i - i just wanna go see my mom, you know. get a few days with her.”

“yeah, no. of course.” his face is pretty blank as he looks down at her, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes and a small smile grows on his lips.

“it’s so good to see you, arc.” his voice is thick with emotion, and arc smiles too. chest tightening painfully.

“it’s good to be back.” she tucks the tips of fingers in the waistband of her grey shorts. feeling suddenly awkward. dean comes back down the steps and hesitates with his arms raised toward her. asking permission with his eyes.

arc laughs and nods, letting him hug her. she thinks she might have used up her quota of hugs for a lifetime tonight. there’s something strange about the way he holds her. the way he presses his face into her hair, inhaling deeply. his arms tight around her, his hands rubbing slowly up and down her back. as if he’s trying to- to memorise her. her scent, her heat, her shape. she feels it when he swallows thickly, and notices his clouded eyes as he departs. “see you in a few days.”

“yeah. see you soon, dean.”

she watches him go, stomach twisting. overcome with the sudden urge to call him back. ask him not to go. as the door to the bunker closes with a deafening finality, arc feels her heartbeat thrumming in her temple. every beat echoing the word, wrong. wrong. wrong.

—

the next morning, sam gets off the phone with mary. before he even says anything, arc reads on his face that he thinks something’s up, too.

“hey. that dean?” she asks, opening the fridge for a bottle of water.

“no, mom.” he’s staring into space, that look of pure concentration taking over his features.

“she okay?”

“oh, yeah. she’s good.”

arc closes the fridge door quietly. she slides into the seat across from him at the table. he looks up and smiles, painfully thin. he’s fighting not to say something, the struggle evident in the twitch of his mouth. arc takes pity, and bites the bullet so he doesn’t have to. “dean was acting a bit weird last night. right?”

sam leans in closer to her, relief dawning bright in his eyes. “yes. yeah! i mean…” he lets out a slow and heavy exhale, obviously thankful that someone else had noticed. “i mean, i know he’s housing a very strong, very angry archangel. but, i don’t know. mom said he probably just needs space.” he pauses, meeting arc’s gaze. questioning. do you agree? tell me this isn’t something bad. tell me he’s coming back.

arc struggles to keep her eye from twitching, and she busies her hands unscrewing the plastic bottle cap. she averts her gaze as she drinks, savouring the cool water. as she closes the bottle, she shrugs. “i mean, yeah. it has to have been really rough for him. so. i probably would need space.”

she doesn’t sound convincing to her own ears. sam watches her a moment, then nods. a fake, thin smile back on his lips. “yeah. yeah. you’re right.” his voice is strained, and arc finds herself wishing she’d come home to better circumstances.

i hope i am, arc thinks.

—-

later that evening, she overhears sam on the phone to mary again. he wants to drive up there. clearly, their earlier conversation had not soothed a single worry. arc couldn’t blame him; all day, she’d felt something with sharp teeth gnawing at the edges of her insides. even as she listened to jack catching her up on all she’s missed, part of her mind was focused on dean, his behaviour. the goodbye hugs for her and sam, how he tried to leave without anyone noticing.

sam hangs up, frustrated. rubbing his hand over his jaw, hair sticking up at odd angles. he looks at arc, eyes red-rimmed. “mom says- she says give him time, but i can’t- arc, i can’t just sit here-”

“then let’s go.” she says plainly. “you still got the keys to my car?”

sam blinks, before snapping into action. “they’re by the door. no-one drove it while you were-” he assures her, losing his words to breathlessness. she stops by her room to grab some knives and a handgun, checking it’s loaded before sliding it into her waistband. she takes out the first jacket her fingers grasp from her wardrobe. a dark green, zippered hoodie.

sam is waiting with stiff shoulders at the bottom of the steps in the map room. they set off, arc grabbing her keys from where sam points them out. she unlocks the door to her ’98 dodge dakota. she presses down hard on the gas pedal, pushing the engine to the limit.

when they pull up outside mary’s new digs, they hop out, each armed with several weapons. the house is in darkness. there’s footsteps, twigs snapping underneath heavy boots. as they follow the sound, a figure emerges from the darkness. holding a gun to their heads-

“dean? what’s going on?”

“mom’s gone.”

—

the three head to donna’s cabin; she’s full of sorrow and guilt. she informs them she caught nick’s tags, has her men running them now. dean reassures her this isn’t her fault, and sam takes the blame.

“wait- so, nick is… nick. like, not lucifer?” arc asks, shocked.

sam nods, running his hands through his long hair. “yeah. somehow, he made it through all of … well, all of it.” donna’s radio crackles; she puts her hand to it, bringing it closer to her mouth.

“yeah. go for hanscum.”

a voice on the other end informs them that they got nick’s van. “a traffic cam just caught it pulling into a storage facility outside grand rapids.”

“copy that. i got it from here. ” donna eyes dean, who has nothing but cold determination on his face.

“how far is grand rapids?”

“30, 40 minutes,” donna estimates. dean nods, tight.

“we’ll be there in 20.”

sam and dean head off in the impala, arc and donna following in arc’s truck. donna starts asking the questions arc cannot answer: how are you back? what happened? how are you feeling?

arc keeps her gaze focused on the road slipping beneath her wheels. after a moment or two of awkward silence, donna smiles. easy and sweet. “well, i’m just glad we have you back.”

—
when they make it to grand rapids, they find nick’s empty van outside the storage facility. they follow the voices arc picks up on with her enhanced hearing. seemingly making it just in time- nick is advancing on a frightened mary, knife in hand. a man sits tied to a chair, a devil’s trap painted neatly on the floor. sam lifts his gun and fires. it hits the metal gate, the sound loud and startling. keeping his gun aimed at nick’s head, dean, donna, and arc enter. dean goes straight to his mom, undoing the binding on her hands.

“is she alright?” sam checks, never once taking his eyes off lucifer’s old vessel. dean confirms, and sam glares hard at nick. “what’s wrong with you? what are you doing?”

nick’s eyes are dark, but focused. he holds no emotion when he responds, “what i have to.”

he uses his blade to cut through the devil’s trap, while mary cries out for him to stop. the warding lights up, then fades, and the demon grins, sharp, malicious. “showtime.”

he rips himself free, lifting everyone in the room up with a raise of his arm, before dropping them all to the ground. he turns back to nick, stalking him like a wolf stalks it’s prey.

“you wanna know why i gutted your family? orders. i was following orders.”

“from who?”

the demon scoffs. “who do you think? lucifer planned the whole thing.”

“i don’t- i don’t understand. why my family? why- why me?”

“no particular reason. you were chosen, but you’re not special.” lowering his voice to a venomous whisper, the demon leans in closer and says, “we threw a dart at the phone book.”

dean moves first, rising from the floor, beginning the exorcism ritual. the demon just rolls his eyes, slamming dean back into the shelves, winding him. “so, who dies first?” he asks the room, and mary gets to her feet. nick is closer and quicker, though, stabbing him through with an angel blade. sam tries to calm nick, but the man is beyond reasoning. he goes for mary next, but she fires a shot and the bullet tears through his leg. she punches him hard in the face, knocking him out cold. the rest of the them get to their feet.

arc is shaken; that demon had tossed her like a rag doll. sure, her mojo wasn’t at full whack just yet- result of being resurrected she thinks. but it’s not only that. she had frozen, yet again. she froze like she did in apocalypse world; and that had ended in sam’s (temporary) death by vampire. she breathes out shakily as donna slips handcuffs onto nick’s wrists. he comes to after a few seconds, still dazed and disorientated.

donna walks him out to the parking lot, sam follows her; dean, mary, and arc stand next to the impala.

“you okay?” dean asks his mom. she nods. her eyes drift from her son over to arc, who is gazing listlessly out into the night. she frowns just a little; dean follows her gaze, something like guilt flickering in his eyes as he watches her.

sam asks donna for a minute with nick.

“why, nick?”

he needs to know. needs to understand; how could nick have done this? lucifer is gone- nick has a second chance at life and he’s squandering it, and sam just doesn’t understand.

“i needed the truth, sam. i needed revenge for my family. you would’ve done the same thing.” nick is eerily calm, matter-of-fact. sam swallows down the bile that rises, thick and burning in his throat.

“i’m sorry. i’m sorry i couldn’t help you. i’m sorry i didn’t know how.”

nick fixes him with a look that’s almost pitiful. “it’s not about you, sam. it’s never about you. you couldn’t fix me, because i don’t want to be fixed. i was never broken.”

anger begins to overtake the contrition. as he fully realises that nick is truly lost, sam shakes his head. “yeah, nick, you are. i don’t feel sorry for you, nick. i feel sorry for the people you hurt, the people you murdered, the people whose faces will haunt you… every night for the rest of your life. you can burn.”

stepping away, sam nods to donna. “mind your head,” she mutters, as she shoves nick into the back of arc’s truck. arc nods farewell to the boys and mary, says she’ll head back to the bunker once nick is safely behind bars. mary smiles; but the smile is shadowed with a secret.

arc decides there’s been enough crap for one night, so she leaves the winchesters to have their moment.

driving back to the bunker in the middle of the night, she taps her fingers restlessly against the steering wheel. tiredness threatens her eyes, they drag a little more downward with every blink. she can feel her mojo growing stronger within; but it’s not enough just yet. the roads are bare, deserted. she can almost convince herself she is the only person in the world right now.

a figure. almost a figure.

arc inhales, sharp. dark shapes moving slow and threatening behind her eyelids. breath in, one, two, three, four, five. breath out, five, four, three, two, one.

the figure moves slowly, leisurely, but with purpose. arc opens her mouth, but finds that she cannot speak.

arc grits her teeth. the feeling of uncertainty washes over her, weighing down her chest, and she struggles to keep her breathing even. not now, not now, she begs, biting down on her lip.

the figure does speak, voice booming, unrecognisable. “you can go home now.”

that voice. that voice- it echoes in her head, somehow a scream and a whisper all at once. her limbs tremble and she’s thankful she’s driving at night. minutes pass, and she waits for another memory to slam into her. nothing comes. she relaxes, slowly, muscle by muscle, inch by inch.

shaky hands reach to her radio, flipping through stations until the familiar sound of the killers comes through the speakers.

she couldn’t scream while i held her close, i swore i’d never let her go
tell me what you want you want to know, oh come on, oh come on, oh come on,
there ain’t no motive for this crime- jenny was a friend of mine

arc leaves hibbing in the rearview mirror, miles and miles away, where dean tells sam his plan to deal with michael; and she’s unaware of the heartache and struggles coming their way.

Chapter Text

sam and dean have yet to return to the bunker. sam calls cas, who shares a hushed conversation with the younger winchester. arc can hear the whispers from the kitchen, where she fixes herself and jack some grilled cheese sandwiches. he catches her up on all she missed; those terrible three weeks with dean m.i.a, how joyous it was to get him home. he tells her about the case he worked with cas, how he saved a young girl from a witch’s curse. how it felt to finally be useful, helpful. even without his powers. arc feels the sharpness of jack’s loss; can’t imagine how it would be for her to become practically human.

as much as she wants to spend time with jack, however, she can’t help wondering what cas was discussing with sam so discreetly. entering the library, the angel gives her a tired smile when he looks up from a thick book, pages yellowed and curling at the edges with age.

she slides into a chair across from him, leaning her forearms on the table. “anything i can help with?”

cas’ gaze drops back to the book before him. “well. i’m looking into the lore, seeing if there’s any way for us to safely remove michael from dean.” arc nods, slowly, before reaching for the stack of books piled neatly next to cas’ elbow. she swipes one off the top and sets it down in front of her, flipping to the first page.

“well, two heads are better than one.”

cas smiles again, this time grateful. they work in silence, broken only by the sounds of pages turning, or pens scribbling on notepads. a few hours in, and cas’ phone rings. he greets dean, and arc notes the intense relief in cas’ voice. she watches him, closely. cas notices, then stands up and leaves. arc falls back into the chair; what is she missing? what is being kept from her now?

she sighs heavily, before returning to the book. she’s near the end now, with nothing to show for it. by the time cas returns, she’s just opening up the second volume. cas avoids her eyes. eyebrows knitted tight together, a worried frown on his lips.

“sam and dean are working a case.” he tells her, eyes fixed to the floor. “it seems to be related to a, uh, new prophet.”

“so donatello is…” she trails off, remembering the last she heard of the soulless messenger. far as she knew, he was on life-support in a full time care facility. cas doesn’t know, confirms what she remembers. says he hasn’t heard from the facility at all.

“that’s- strange, right? i mean, if donatello is still technically here, then… why call another one?”

the expression on cas’ face is grave, and his voice more gravelly than usual as he admits, “i don’t know.”

it’s not until that night that the winchester’s call again. cas and arc have remained in the library all day, studying, researching, noting down anything that may be useful. they learn that this new prophet - tony - has killed himself. before that, he had insisted he was chosen, that he heard god’s voice in his head.

“so then this might not end with tony alverez. because the next prophet’s gonna show up somewhere and- and the crazy could start all over again. by the way, cas… i thought there could only be one prophet at a time.” sam’s tone is strained, confused.

“and there should, but donatello is between life and death. i mean, you know, perhaps the next prophet was activated before his time?”

dean’s voice crackles down the line, heavy and warm, “and went all hannibal?” arc can’t help but smile a little at his need to relate everything to pop-culture.

“the natural order’s been upset, perhaps donatello’s state has- has created a prophet who’s, who’s not only premature… malformed.”
for the first time since his call with dean earlier, cas lifts his head to meet arc’s eyes. she thinks, carefully, trying to figure this out. sam does his thinking out loud. pointing out that the next prophet will also be ‘malformed’, and the next, and the next. something heavy and cold settles in the pit of arc’s stomach as he continues. one look at cas tells her he knows where this is heading.

“how do we end this?”

it’s dean who answers.

“you know how.”

the line goes dead, and cas stares at arc. “are you up to a field trip?”

—

donatello is the same as he was when they left him here. covered in a mess of tubes and wires. hooked up to a variety of machines keeping him breathing, keeping his heart pumping. cas hovers by the prophet’s head, concentrating deeply. he lays his hand over donatello’s forehead, wincing as he does. when he pulls away, arc opens her mouth to ask a question until -

sam and dean’s voices carry up the hallway. as arc and cas exit the room, the winchesters throw them confused looks. cas is going by doctor novak, and arc by doctor masters. dean raises an eyebrow at the choice of name, but she ignores it.

“so, doctor rashad, you were saying there’s been no improvement with our uncle?”

the doctor nods solemnly. “no real brain activity to speak of. um, nothing beyond the occasional muscle spasm, or uh, babble of words. strictly reflexive,” he reassures them.

sam’s eyes widen slightly, as he presses, “w- what kind of babbled word?”

beckoning for them to follow, rashad leads them back into donatello’s room. “follow me.” cas stops dean in the hallway, and arc forces herself to keep walking. whatever is going on between them, now is not the time or place to get involved.

rashad explains to arc and sam that donatello started making random noises a couple days previously. rashad initially thought that donatello may have been waking from his coma, and shot a video. he shows them the footage; arc and sam exchange pointed glances, before showing cas and dean.

donatello’s eyes are open but glassy in the footage. he shouts out, seemingly nonsense, but arc knows better. when he finishes speaking his eyes roll into the back of his head.

arc looks at cas, “that’s enochian.”

cas nods. “he’s saying ‘i will strike down the first born in the land of egypt. i will execute judgement’.”

“well, that’s the same thing that that screwed up new prophet was spouting.”

something sparks in cas’ eyes- not quite hope, but the beginnings of it. “donatello’s mind is fighting to rebuild. it’s- it’s like he’s trying to organise his… memories, the words of god.”

“so that’s what tony was picking up on,” dean concludes. cas nods, swallowing.

“well, then. i- i can fix him.”

“i thought he was too far gone.” dean points out, and cas suddenly stares straight into dean’s eyes.

it’s a moment of intimacy that makes sam uncomfortable, but only piques arc’s curiousity. cas places a hand on dean’s shoulder. the human blinks, a little freaked out by the sudden intensity.

“dean, if there is a spark - a hope- then i have to try. you taught me that.” he holds the green-eyed hunter’s gaze for a moment or so, then commands rashad to leave. cas goes to work, closing the door behind him. dean lingers by the door before following sam and arc to the waiting room down the hall. out of the corner of her eye, arc watches sam and dean. sam is tense, upset, jaw clenched. voice hitching as he and dean share yet another mysterious interaction.

by the miracle of miracles, cas is able to coax donatello from his slumber. dean turns off the machines, the vents, all of it, despite sam’s protest that it may kill donatello. he’s fine, even as the screens go dark and the whoosh-and-gasp cuts out. as he shoves his face full of jell-o, it becomes clear that he has no recollection as to how he ended up where he is. dean, the dick, slaps cas on the shoulder, informing donatello that the angel would fill him in.

arc slips out the door after him, not all that interested in hearing cas recounting the incident that led to donatello’s corruption at the hands of asmodeus. sam leaves, too, poor cas left to deal with the still-soulless prophet alone.

the night is cold, the kind that induces goosebumps and shivers. at least for humans. arc rolls her shoulders, then her neck, loosening out her muscles from hours hunched over a desk. sam tosses both her and dean a beer. dean raises his eyebrows. “where’s the party?”

“it’s right here. i mean, we’re celebrating, right?” there’s an edge to sam’s overly-cheerful tone. one that has arc tearing off the bottle cap and chugging the entire bitter beverage in one. neither sam nor dean notice.

“yeah, but not too much,” sam continues, “tomorrow morning, we’re, uh, back on track. no rest for the self-destructive.”

dean shrugs. not rising to the bait. not yet. “well, i will call this a win. kinda nice. going out on a high.”

“going out being the operative phrase,” sam says, sharp, taut.

dean looks at his brother for a long moment. all he comes up with in the end is a single word.

“sorry.”

sam laughs at him; disbelieving, loaded with fear and hurt and rage. arc watches them both, frozen to the spot.

“um-” she tries to get their attention, but sam launches into a huge-ass monologue, voice raised, spit flying everywhere.

““sorry.” how sorry are you? sorry that you fight to keep donatello alive, but when it comes to you, you just throw in the towel? or are you sorry that, after all these years, our entire lives, a-after i’ve looked up to you, after i’ve learned from you, i-i-i’ve copied you, i followed you to hell and back… are you sorry that all of that it – it – it means nothing now?”

arc throws her hands up in the air, waving them desperately. “hello, i am still here and i do not understand what we’re fighting about now.”

the brothers turn to her. dean looks winded, defeated. sam is panting, red-faced and watery-eyed.

“oh, yeah. you don’t know! arc doesn’t know!” he yells, throwing his long arms up in the air. “why not, dean? huh? why did you try so desperately to keep this from all of us? it’s because deep down, you know it’s not right. you know it’s wrong.”

dean closes his eyes, shakes his head. pushes the palm of his hand to his forehead. “sammy-”

“what’s wrong?” arc asks, loud, clear. sam keeps looking at his brother.

“do you want to tell her? or should i?” before dean makes a decision, sam tells her anyway. “he’s building a malak box.”

arc stares, blankly. “um, am i supposed to know that is?”

“it’s a coffin!” sam spits, rage and hurt and fear sharpening his tone. “a coffin, warded, meant to hold down an archangel - dean wants us to put him in it!”

dean does not look at arc, but she looks at him, a slight frown on her face. “you want us to bury you alive?”

“he wants us to seal him in that thing and drop him in the middle of the damned ocean.”

arc inhales sharply; from dean, she can sense fear. radiating off him in waves. urging herself to calm down, to think this through logically, she forms a single question to ask the oldest winchester. “why?”

“because-“ she cuts sam off with a hand in the air. never taking her eyes off dean’s back. when he eventually turns, he wears a pleading expression. eyes boring into hers, wet, but otherwise alight with clarity.

“because billie showed me the end, arc. all my endings, in her death library?” he shrugs, helpless. “all rewritten. the only version of this story that doesn’t end with michael taking over and destroying the world? this one.”

he’s in pain, arc thinks, feeling her heart twist in her chest. he’s in so much pain. there’s nothing she can really do to take it away. to make it better. except, maybe this one thing. she keeps breathing deep, slow. voice soft when she tells him, “okay.”

sam’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline - “w-wh-what do you mean, okay?!” he stutters, hiccoughing breaths tearing from his chest. arc fixes him with a steady look.

“if it comes to it. if we can’t find another way-”

“there is no other way,” dean interrupts, desolate. sam pulls harsh on his hair, face now crimson, long limbs trembling.
“we don’t know that!” he insists, desperation leaking from every pore.

“sam’s right,” arc says, quietly, “so we keep looking, for as long as we can. we look for another way. but if it makes dean feel better about it-” she hesitates, then, holding her breath as she gazes at dean winchester.

the man who frustrates her more than any person on this planet; the man she cares about more than she’s ever really told him. she tilts her head to the side, shoulders lowering as she exhales slowly. “- to have a back-up plan? then fine.” then, just in case anyone hasn’t told him yet, she says, “it’s okay, dean.”

his face softens with appreciation; he swallows, hard, nodding, before looking at the ground. sam looks back and forth between them, bewildered, hurt, and scared. he glares half-heartedly at arc, but he’s too fragile for it to be angry. she gives him an apologetic look, and he shakes his head. sniffing furiously, lips pressed tightly together.

“fine. but i’m not giving up.” he jerks his chin upwards in defiance. daring dean to challenge him again. dean doesn’t. “you know why?” sam’s voice wavers; “because i believe in us.” he takes a half-step forward, an aborted motion, and his voice cracks wide open when he asks his brother, “why don’t you believe in us, too?”

dean rubs his hand over his jaw, turning back to sam. “okay, sam. let’s go home.”

sam pauses; not trusting this calm reaction. “what?” dean closes the distance between him and his brother, lays a hand on sam’s shoulder, before pulling him in for a long, tight hug. a flutter of wings, and cas stands next to arc. in a low voice, he asks, “they told you?”

arc nods.

“let’s go home,” dean says, firmly, as he pulls away from the embrace. sam is watching dean with wary eyes. “maybe billie’s wrong. maybe. but i do believe in us.” he glances over his shoulder, a soft smile on the edges of his lips. he nods at cas, who returns the gesture. “i believe in all of us. and i’ll keep believing until i can’t. until there’s absolutely no other way. but when that day comes - if that day comes…” dean corrects himself quickly, “sam, you have to take it for what it is - the end. and you have to promise me that you’ll do then what you can’t do now. and that’s let me go. and put me in that box.”

he turns to look cas in the eyes. “you too.”

sam gives in. he says, “alright. alright.” cas nods, and when dean looks at her, arc stands strong as she says the words he needs to hear.

“i promise.” he smiles, again, a tiny thing, but beautiful. he taps sam on the cheek gently, making the younger brother laugh.

“now, you heard me. let’s go home.”

—

when dean goes to bed that night, and cas excuses himself to do more research, sam rounds on arc. “what the hell?” he demands, fists clenched, jaw tight.

“sam-”

“how could you be so okay with it, so soon?”

“sam, i’m not okay with it. not even a little,” but sam is angry, now. there’s room for the rage now that the fear has faded into the background.

“is this because of what he said when you left with jack?” he asks, voice cold and hard as a stone. the words are like being winded; like a punch to the gut that drives your breath from your lungs, leaves you bent double in pain. “because he said he’d kill you if he saw you? is that what this is?”

arc can only stare, wordless, throat tightening every second. sam also doesn’t blink; never wavering in his unforgiving, frozen stare.

“no, sam.” arc says, muted. it feels like she’s speaking through a mouth full of cotton wool - the words don’t come out so easy. “i- this isn’t- i don’t want this. and i can’t believe you’d even…”

for once, her mind shuts down entirely. for once, there’s no buzz of thoughts or plans or fears, no whirlwind inside her head. she’d always wished for a moment of peace, but this is not peaceful. sam just shakes his head, eyes still full of disgust and anger. he leaves the kitchen, slamming the door shut behind him.

Chapter Text

sam picks the lock on the door to the apartment; easing it open silently. dean slips inside, followed by his brother, castiel, jack, and arc. immediately, arc is hit with the smell of burning flesh and something she can’t identify. something too sweet to be safe, too heavy to be a good thing.

entering the kitchen, they spot a body draped over the counter. cas’ shoulders slump, and he lets out a long-suffering sigh. “oh, no.”

jack steps closer to examine the corpse, noting the organs have been removed. looking slightly shaken, he tells the other hunters, “he’s cooking body parts again.”

“i got nothing,” sam says, glancing around the empty room for some sort of clue. “seriously? how does this keep happening? i thought we had him this time.”

arc scans the corpse, but nothing seems very strange. aside from the fact that the dude was sliced open and picked clean, of course. “no restraints, like last time,” dean points out, standing by arc’s shoulder.

jack’s expression turns to one of utter confusion, looking like a lost puppy. “i don’t understand. why don’t any of them fight back?”

“yeah. who would just let themselves be eaten? hey, i’ll say it again, my money’s on witchcraft.”

a scottish lilt from behind startles the older winchester; rowena pouts disapprovingly from the doorway. “och, you. always blaming the witches.”

“because a lot of times, it’s witches!” dean defends, looking to cas and arc for backup. arc turns away, smiling pleasantly at rowena. cas grimaces.

“rowena, your tracking spell was supposed to make things easier.” sam says, eyebrows raised.

rowena laments that she had been in the middle of a “glorious rosewater and vanilla oil massage” when she got the winchester’s message. reminding them that she’d dropped what she was doing in order to help.

“well, because we’ve been chasing this guy for weeks,” dean grumbles, “what’s the point.”

“my point, dean, is that you asked for my assistance, and i obliged. and while the killer eluded us, it certainly looks as if he was here quite recently. i’d call that a success.”

dean’s expression remains unimpressed. “oh, yeah, that’s a success.” he tosses something small through the air. “sam.” the taller man catches the item - a wallet.

rowena bats her eyelashes and smiles, wide and predatory. “hello, castiel.” the angel stiffens minutely and nods tersely.

“dinner guest’s name was dennis barron. 43, this is his home, and no signs of forced entry, no restraints.”

arc frowns, re-examining the body. “if it was witches there’d be some sign, surely?” she muses aloud. “a hex-bag, or a bowl with some concoction in it…” she trails off.

jack discovers a length of dry, flaky snake skin on the floor. sam thinks it could have been the homeowner’s pet. he doesn’t sound convinced.

a rough hacking sound starts up. jack coughs a few times, trying to catch his breath. he realises everyone is staring at him, deeply concerned. arc steps around the counter to lay a hand on his shoulder. he forces a smile and insists he’s fine. “there was some pepper on something. i don’t know. i’m fine. i’m not dying.”

arc exchanges a serious look with castiel, but lets it go.

“okay, so what? this guy’s some real houdini?” cas asks, frustrated.

“he’s avoiding us somehow,” arc mutters, crossing her arms. “that’s, uh, six? six lives across northern new mexico.”

“that we know of,” cas finishes darkly.

arc looks back to the body as a frustrated silence descends on the group. she beckons to rowena, then, pointing something out to her around the victim’s mouth.

“aye, but this is the first one i’ve seen in the flesh. did they all have these blackened lips?” she retrieves a white handkerchief from her coat and wipes at the goo gathered in the seam of the mouth. arc nods.

“that, or blackened patches of skin on their face and neck.”

“yeah, but we’ve been more focused on the ‘missing eyeballs and cannibalism’ angle.” dean chips in, very displeased with how today’s mission has gone.

jack, on the other hand, has lit up slightly. “do the black lips mean something?”

rowena fixes him a look, “darling boy. everything means something. be a dear and bring the snakeskin.”

—

leaving rowena and sam to dig through lore, arc heads out with cas, dean, and jack to grab a coffee at a nearby diner. well, for dean to grab a coffee. jack retreats to the toilet after dean’s order comes. arc scrolls through her phone as they await jack’s return from the bathroom. doing her own research. dean leans over his mug of steaming coffee, eyes dropping shut. cas watches him, as usual, concern evident in darkened blue eyes. arc can see him from the corner of her own eyes.

cas finally breaks the silence, asks how dean is doing. dean says he’s okay, and cas, of course, has to call him out on it. instead of snapping, however, dean gazes softly back at the angel. appreciative, and tired. he admits that he’s not good. that there’s a constant banging in his head. michael is putting up a good fight to get out.

dean glances over his shoulder, and then turns to cas again. “listen. uh, before the kid gets back… i know i agreed to give you guys time.”

arc bites her lip and puts her phone down. cas glances at her, worried. “hey, dean, and we will find a solution.”

dean’s smile is agonising; “okay.” he nods, placating, before continuing, “but if- if you don’t we still have plan b.”

cas catches his breath, and shakes his head firmly. “dean, come on.”

dean leans across the table, lowering his voice to a firm whisper, “coffin, ocean, done.”

before either of his friends can respond, jack returns and takes a seat next to dean. cas’ gaze focuses on the young boy, narrowed and concerned. “are you all right?”

“i’m fine.”

dean lifts his mug in the air, as though to cheers the statement. “hey, see? look at that. everybody’s fine.”

“what?” jack frowns, not sure what’s going on. dean just shakes his head.
arc stares at dean, displeased, but picks up her phone again and returns to her reading.

“okay, um, these killings- it seems like there’s a ritualistic quality to the crime scenes, right? it’s almost liturgical.”

arc nods her agreement. dean and jack look utterly blank, and arc lifts her head slowly. “it means religious.” she says, an amused quality yo her tone. dean grins.

“yeah. see, that one i knew. ah.”

“maybe we were wrong- and this isn’t a monster at all,” cas muses, gazing at the stained table. “maybe this is just a deranged person who’s been getting lucky.”

“anyone who could do this is a monster. i mean, even if they’re human,” jack says in a small voice. dean’s phone rings. before he answers, he nods at jack.

“kid’s not wrong.” he hits the answer button on the screen, puts it to his ear. “yeah? okay. got it.” he hangs up just as quick. “looks like sam and rowena have something.”

—

“a gorgon?” arc clarifies, looking equal parts unsure and excited.

“like, snakes for hair? that’s like medusa,” dean says, to which rowena tilts her head. surprised, narrowing her eyes.

“you know about medusa?”

“oh, yeah. clash of the titans? turns guys to stone?” he turns to arc, beaming. arc returns his smile with a “what the hell are you talking about?” look. rowena sighs and rolls her eyes.

“oh. that’s the exaggerated version. it’s not stone. more of a venom-induced paralysis. hence, the blackened lips.”

“venom,” arc mutters, laughing breathlessly. “that’s - i think i could smell it, just didn’t know what it was. something sweet, but heavy, sharp. almost- almost too clean, like a hospital.”

“yeah, so we expanded our search based on this new information, and we found 17 unexplained deaths that could fit our guy. last three months, moving west across the southern u.s.” sam moves to the side, displaying a chart that tracks the killings along a map.

“17 people,” jack whispers, desolate. sam nods.

“legend has it, every few months, the gorgon goes on a spree and gorges itself.”

“like a snake. that makes sense,” dean says, pleased with himself for getting something right.

“still. none of that explains how the damn thing keeps evading us,” arc points out, standing from the couch and stretching her back. rowena and sam exchange pained looks.

“uh, some lore says that a gorgon can tell people’s fates, and, by consuming human eyes, they may ‘glimpse the future’,” rowena explains.

“yeah. we think that’s how he sees us coming.”

cas grits his teeth. “so, then even if we use your tracking spell again, he’ll know.”

“so how do we get him?”

sam looks at jack, eyes full of sorrow. “i don’t know,” he sighs.

—

another murder drags arc, cas, and dean to a grisly scene the next morning. a trucker was found dead in his vehicle, missing his eyes and marked with patches of black. they stroll up to the officer and flash their badges. “agents page, jones, and bonham, FBI,” dean introduces. the officer squints at them in the early morning sun.

“why is the FBI-“

“we had a few more of these across state lines. anything usual?”

“other than the guy missing his eyes?” the officer asks, a nervous laugh escaping. cas, as usual, doesn’t read the other man right and sharpens his gaze.

“is this amusing to you?” he asks, slow and with the barest hint of anger. dean swallows, shifting from one foot to the other. arc grins, sly, knowing the effect cas’ dominant side has on the winchester. even she’s not immune - hell, she’s only human.

well. parts of her are.

“uhh-no, sir. sorry,” the officer stutters, gaze flickering downwards as a light blush blooms in his cheeks. “i, uh, i’m just a little freaked out. i’ve never seen anything like this, and, uh, yes. there is one other thing - a note on the body.”

this piques dean’s interest, even moreso when the officer tells them “it’s made out to some guy called dean.”

“can i see that? thank you,” he unfolds the paper and scans it, a pinched expression on his face. “what does it say?” cas peeks over dean’s shoulders. dean holds the paper out and reads aloud.

“ ‘dean, i see you standing alone by the truck reading this note. i see you and the tall man and the red-headed witch chasing me. i will always see you. stop, or i will make you stop. regards, noah.’”

he drops his hand, letting it bounce off his denim thigh. “i’m on a first-name basis with some psycho pen pal. that’s aces.” dean shoves the paper into cas’ chest. the angel frowns as he reads the letter himself.

“wait- but you’re not standing alone,” arc points out. “cas and i are here, with you. so why not mention us in the note?”

“it is a glaring omission,” cas agrees, while dean pulls out his phone and calls sam. before his brother answers, dean shrugs, arching his lips.

“maybe you’re not his type,” the hunter jokes, receiving deadpan stares from the other two. he explains to his brother what they’ve found out, and rowena’s voice floats down the line, distressed.

“for the record, i don’t love being included on his little hit list.”

“but he can’t see arc, jack, or cas?” sam confirms, sitting forward in his seat.

“it’s strange,” cas notes, but sam’s excitement is clear through the phone.

“no, it’s our shot. i mean, this guy- for some reason, he- he can’t see angels.”

simultaneously, in two separate locations, arc and jack speak up, “i’m not an angel.”

“well, apparently you’re close enough,” dean says, not missing the look of almost-disgust on arc’s face.

“so if jack, arc, and i approach noah on our own, we- we may surprise him.”

“yeah. i- it’s risky,” sam admits, “but i- i think it’s probably our best play.”

that’s enough for dean, who says, “rowena, get your tracking spell ready.” then hangs up.

as the trio make their way back to the motel, cas appears lost in thought. dean falls into step with arc. “so. back there. you didn’t seem too impressed at the idea of being associated with angels.”

arc lifts her shoulders, then drops them. “cas doesn’t really like to be associated with angels,” she mumbles, acting like it’s not big deal.

“they are winged-douche monkeys. well, most of ‘em.”

arc hums, hyper-aware of dean’s gaze on the side of her face. his steps slow down until he’s halted in place, putting his hand in the crook of her elbow to get her attention.

“what is it?”

dean’s lips are dry; he swipes his tongue over them swiftly, arc’s eyes noting the movement. she waits with an expectant look on her face. “are you okay?” he asks, eventually. arc smirks, one corner of her mouth ticking up.

“i’m fine,” she says, light, “everybody’s fine, right?” 

dean bites on his lower lip, shaking his head fondly as he realises she's repeating his own words back to him. arc is still smirking at him, when cas realises he’s quite a bit ahead of them. he calls their names, confusion evident in the way his voice dips. arc’s smirk softens into something kinder when she looks at the angel; dean’s own heart skips a beat at the sight. he swallows, hard, kicks himself mentally. they apologise and speed up the path, leaving that particular conversation behind.

—

maggie calls sam; sam relays the information she’s dug up. how to kill a gorgon? decapitation with a silver blade.

dean looks wary. “but if we cut off their head, then is more creatures gonna crawl out?”

everyone stares at him, bemused, slightly irritated, confused. sam realises- “h-he’s talking about clash of titans again.”

“we don’t know!” dean exclaims, growing huffy when everyone ignores him. rowena hands castiel a little glass vial with a dark liquid.

“a few drops of this concoction should counteract any poison. theoretically.”

cas pockets it, face grim. “‘theoretically’” he repeats. “that’s comforting.”

“yeah, well, assuming you’re not all paralysed or eaten…” rowena trails off, before looking intently at sam. “off with his head.”

arc grins. she’s feeling pretty good, for once. for the first time since she’s been back. her powers are returning to full-whack, and she’s on a case that has nothing to do with archangels or devils or princes of hell. it feels normal; almost, anyway.

sure, the dark shadow of dean and the ma’lak box plan looms over her. in the back of her mind. but arc is very good at repressing things; compartmentalising. she could give the winchesters a run for their money. perfecting the ability to lock down emotion to the point where one could very well consider it an art-form.

for now, she’s living in the moment, and rather enjoying herself.
—

the three non-humans silently walk up the hallway. arc catches the scent she can now identify - sharp, sweet. pausing outside one of the doors, she hears movement - arc looks to cas and nods. he’s there. cas knocks on the door, arc hiding down the hallway. the gorgon is a young man with perfectly-coiffed hair, a snakeskin jacket, and a very real snake. he pouts, “oh, no fair. you’re not human.”

his current victim is tied to a chair, dead, patches of black on his cheek.

arc and jack appear behind him in the flat, effectively trapping him. “and you’re a monster.” jack growls , hands curling into fists by his sides.

“demigod, technically,” the gorgon flashes a flirty smile, winking. he turns back to castiel, taking a few steps toward him. cas drops his angel blade from his sleeve.

“you stay where you are.”

“hey. i’m a lover, not a fighter.”

“watch him.” cas instructs the other two in a growl. they remain in their spots, closely watching the snarky gorgon who launches into a story about a chicken and a snake. arc gets very, very bored, while cas grows vexed, questioning noah’s motives behind telling the story.

the young man chuckles, eyes dancing with dangerous mirth. “because i can’t quite tell if he’s the chicken or the snake.”

and then the gorgon’s eyes latch onto arc. flickering green, pupils an oval shape, like a snake’s.

“and you… who are you in this story?” he muses, interested. cas hits his breaking point.

“we’re done here.” he launches at noah, the two of them side-stepping one another in a flurry of movement, failed punches. unfortunately, noah gets close enough to land his lips on cas’ cheek, infusing the man’s skin with his venom.

sam and dean burst in, just as cas collapses with a heavy thud.

noah’s eyes alight on dean. “hello, dean. wish i could say it’s nice to meet you in person.”

“yeah. it’s a real pleasure,” dean snarls, while sam lunges for noah. arc holds the gorgon in place but he struggles out of it; sending sam crashing to the floor. the man is deft, dodging her punches with snake-like ease. he lands his own blow to her stomach, knocking her breathless. dean gets his arms around the gorgon, but is overwhelmed just as quickly. the back of his head collides harshly with the wall, a sickening crack sounding out as he goes limp. out cold.

noah prepares to take off, striding with determination down the hallway. his gasp of surprise is cut short when arc’s swift blade swing takes his head clean off his shoulders. it rolls like a malformed bowling ball up the wooden floor, body dropping like the pins.

“cas? can you breathe?” arc drops her blade with a clang, following the note of panic ringing through jack’s voice. the blonde boy applies a few drops of rowena’s anti-venom to his pale lips; nothing happens.

in a moment of desperation, jack places his fingers on either side of cas’ temples, eyes flaring gold as a bright light pours from his hands into cas. arc’s breathing stops as she lays a hand on jack’s shoulder, already knowing it’s in vain.

cas awakens with a violent inhale, shooting up and panting hard. he looks at jack, realises what’s happened. with crestfallen eyes he asks, “jack, what are you doing?”

a few feet away, sam is slapping at dean’s face. arc half-crawls across the floor to the brothers, touches her hand to his forehead. she winces. sharp pain shooting through the back of her skill. “head injury,” she mutters to sam, “it’s bad. we gotta get outta here. now.”

—

maggie hovers anxiously over dean’s prone form. “why isn’t he waking up?”

“because it’s a head injury.”

the young girl bites her lip, and rushes for the door. “i’ll get some ice.” sam looks over his shoulder at cas.

the angel approaches, carefully. like dean is a bomb that may blow up at any given moment. he tries to heal dean, unsuccessfully. “i can’t even see what’s going on inside his head.” arc gazes at dean, face hardened.

“neither can i. must be michael.”

jack steps forward, hands already out. “i can help.”

cas puts his palm flat on jack’s chest. “no. jack, i appreciate what you did for me, but you cannot afford to burn off any more of your soul.” the boy’s face crumples, and he leaves.

rowena stares, gobsmacked. “that’s what you have him doing?” she looks to arc, accusatory.

“i wasn’t even alive when this happened, so,” she holds up her hand, as if to deflect the blame. rowena instructs sam to clean dean’s wound, make him comfortable. as sam gets to work, arc and cas search the bunker for jack. he’s in his room, sitting on the bed, head bowed.

“jack?”

“i hate seeing him like that,” jack says, trembling. he looks to arc, who shifts on her feet at the pleading look he gives her. “but he’s gonna be okay, right? i mean, it’s dean. it was a fight- it was just a fight.”

arc finds that she has no way to reassure jack here. at least, not without lying. cas, thankfully, takes this one. reminding jack there’s always a risk when they go out there.

“i just can’t think about - about losing him. or sam. or you… or you, arc. i- i hate thinking about it.”

cas inhales, deeply, steadying himself.

“yeah. so do i. but, jack you know, sam and dean, they're human, and they're very extraordinary, brave, special humans, but they're -- they're still humans. and humans burn bright, but for a very brief time compared to, you know, things like us. and eventually, they're gone, even the very best ones, and we have to carry on. It's just -- It's part of growing up.”

“losing people?”

“yes.”

jack takes this on, muses on it for a time. “what’s the point?”

“the point?” cas’ brow crinkles.

“what’s the point of being a cosmic being if everyone i care about is just gonna leave?”

arc suddenly understands; because she’s been here, too. the realisation that you will go on even after inevitable loss. that you will outlive every person you ever grow close to, that you will watch them grow old and die while you remain the same. it’s hit her hard before; she sits on the bed next to him. covers his hand with her own.

“the point is, i think, that we get to know them at all,” she says, softly. “that we get to know them, and have a life with them, even if it’s only a part of ours. it- there’s an old saying. it’s better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all.” she expands on her point when she notices jack struggling to grasp exactly what she means. “would you rather have known sam and dean, worked with them, loved them, and then, one day, have to say goodbye, or… would you rather never have met them at all?”

a light dawns on jack’s face. he nods, slowly, eyes sliding from warm green to gentle blue. “i- i would rather- i would rather have them, even for a short time.” he decides, and arc squeezes his hand.

“it will always hurt. it hurts because it matters.”

“that hurt will remind you of how much you love them,” cas chimes in. jack gazes at his duvet cover, still saddened.

“it still sounds awful.”

“it is,” cas agrees easily, “but it’s also living. so when dean wakes up - and he will wake up - we just have to remember to appreciate the time that we all have together now.”

“what if he doesn’t wake up?” jack’s lower lip juts out, beginning to tremble. “what about michael? what if-”

“i don’t know, jack,” cas replies, sounding just as ancient as he really is.

“okay, but i could use my powers-”

arc sighs, dropping her head. cas immediately says no, while jack battles against him, frustrated. “what is the good of having these powers if i can’t help the people that i love? if i can’t help them when they need it? it’s selfish of me not to.”

cas reaches for him when he stands abruptly, but jack backs away. “rowena said that the gorgons can see people’s fate. and noah said that he could see me. that-

“that story?” arc glances up, “the story about the chicken and the snake?”

“it- he was just stalling!” cas huffs out.

“what does it mean?”

when arc says nothing, jack looks to cas. the brunette sighs. “well, it’s a story about greed, mostly. but i guess it’s also-” he cuts off, clearing his throat, reluctantly continuing, “it’s also about being willing to give up the thing you love in order to kill the thing you hate.”

it strikes arc then; how childlike jack still is. she knows, rationally, she’s aware that he’s still basically an infant. right here, right now, despite his height, he looks it. like an overgrown toddler, frightened of the monsters under the bed.

“he said that he didn’t know if i was the chicken or the snake.”

the sharp tension snaps when a violent shout comes from somewhere in the bunker. cas looks to arc, face solemn, “dean.”

arriving in sickbay, dean is- sort of sleep-walking, arc thinks? he’s blindly stumbling around, roaring, tearing the place apart. “where is he?! where is he?!”
sam hangs back, wanting to help his brother, but unsure if touching him would help.

“you’re in the bunker!” he reminds dean, who shouts back that he knows where he is.

he faces them, face dropping with shock and fear. “he’s gone. michael. he’s gone.”

“how?” jack asks, but dean has started to spiral.

“this is my fault. i let my guard down. this is my fault, i told you!” he points at them, eyes blazing. “i told you to let me take that coffin ride to the bottom of the ocean!”

he wrenches himself from his spot and storms off down the hallway. the others follow, trying to catch up wit him. “okay, dean,” sam soothes, consoling. “just-" sam stops short at the sight of hunters spread out, lifeless, on the bunker floor. face down at the war table, pale. cold. everyone freezes. 

maggie comes, sprinting, screaming, from the back of the library. she’s covered in blood - not hers, somebody else’s. she spots sam, crying out for him. a bright light beams from her eyes and mouth; an agonised scream falling into silence as her body drops to the ground. dead.

heels click on the floor, rowena strolling casually toward the group gathered. “hello, boys. i could’ve burned them all, but i’m feeling very hands-on.”

before she’s even spoken, before the blue glows in her eyes, arc can see it straight away. “michael.” she bites out, through gritted teeth.

“that’s right. i thought you’d appreciate this vessel.”

“you let her go.” sam says, face turning red.

“oh, please. she’s much sturdier than she looks. must be the hundreds of years of magic.”

arc thinks fast; gabriel had left his archangel blade here. somewhere in the library, she thinks, or maybe in the storeroom. she’d never make it fast enough. and, anyway, killing michael kills rowena. she runs herself in circles as michael explains how he wheedled his way into getting rowena to say yes.

“if only dean had used that coffin when he had the chance.” rowena’s face is smug, michael poking at dean with the thing he knows will truly hurt.

“never too late for a good idea. sam, get the cuffs.”

when sam moves to do as he is told, rowena raises a delicate wrist and flicks. he falls to the floor with a sickening crack from inside. “what if you couldn’t breathe?” she whispers, malice dripping from her tone. suddenly, all but cas and arc are on their knees, coughing and struggling to inhale. “what if you were also blind?”

arc and jack look around, feeling helpless. the men’s eyes are milky-white, calling out for each other.

“what if you just hurt?” rowena snarls, pure hatred and venom infused through that familiar scottish accent. “this time, you all die. this time, the world burns.” rowena/michael promises. jack steps forward, angling his body as though to protect the dying hunters behind him.

“let them go!”

arc wants to pull him back, be the one guarding him. but she’s not strong enough to tackle michael on her own. she stands elbow to elbow with him, and michael laughs.

“you think you can match me, boy?” the word boy is coated in condescension. “this power you have now, it’s nothing. it’s just a crutch! and you. arc.” rowena's mouth curls around her name, her face contorted in disgust. “abomination,” she spits, eyes just slits they’re so narrowed. “how did you come back?”

arc doesn’t plan on answering, not verbally, at least. jack starts to glow next to her, a glimmering sheen of gold light enveloping the room. he blasts rowena back, and when she gets up she’s practically vibrating with undiluted wrath. “how dare you!” she barks, “burning off your soul? you’ll run out soon enough!”

“it’s worth the cost.”

“no, jack-” arc’s voice pitches up with panic, but jack freezes her in place while he focuses all his energy on michael.

“i should have killed you when i had the chance.” rowena’s eyes flood with a blue-white gleam, pulsing with grace.

jack never flinches, holds his ground with ease as he responds, “i feel the same.”

“jack, stop it!” arc yells, furious, terrified.

“listen to your friend, boy. i am the commander of the host! i am the cleanser of worlds! i will not be challenged by a child!”

“i’m not a child!” jack snaps. “i’m the son of lucifer. i’m a hunter. i am a winchester!”

cas rolls over, michael’s hold weakening on them as jack attacks. “jack! no!” he groans, but jack is gone to them all.

“you won’t hurt anyone ever again!”

bringing his outstretched hands together, michael’s grace flows from rowena’s mouth, circles in the air like a fish trapped in a bowl. jack glares up at it, before directing it down. opening his mouth, and inhaling whatever’s left of the archangel michael.

the air settles in the room, sam and dean getting to their feet, wincing. arc remains rooted to the spot, though jack is not holding her there. rowena stirs, sitting up, shaken. blinking up at jack with wide, deer-in-the-headlights eyes. silence reigns for a while, until jack speaks up.

“michael. he’s dead.”

jack turns in place, a strange expression on his face. he looks at his family.

“jack,” castiel breathes out, “a-are you, uh-”

“i’m me again.”

his eyes glow gold, bright and alert. he unfolds his wings, their outline casting a large shadow over the library shelves. something heavy and painful drops in arc’s gut. dean’s expression is filled with terror, sam seems like he’s not quite processed it all. cas is plain horrified, while arc feels a pounding in her own head.

this can’t be good.

Chapter Text

arc flips through an old volume on the topic of - well, she’s not sure, actually. the words blur together, sentences running off the page. she stares, unblinking. not taking anything in. all the excitement with jack killing michael, the gorgon case, dean worrying about sam, cas worrying about jack… they’ve just returned home from the third hunt completed in a row. arc is getting tired, simply needing something to do to keep herself occupied.

sam is on autopilot. refusing to sleep, barely eating. he blames himself, for maggie. for the other hunters. for rowena’s trauma, being possessed by michael. dean had intended on sleeping for as long as he possibly could, soon as they hit home. several minutes later, he joins arc in the kitchen, throwing together whatever he can scrounge up from the fridge. offering arc half of his monstrosity of a sandwich.

she declines with a weary smile. cas enters, then, face woven through with worry. his brows furrow deeper when he spots dean. “oh. thought you, uh, were gonna sleep until the cows dragged you home.”

arc stifles a laugh, dean shooting her an exasperated look. “that’s not the-” he shakes his head, waving it off. “never mind. i was putting some gear away, and rowena called.”

“how is she?”

“not great. she’s coping. but, uh, you know, at leas she’s not dead. how’s the kid?”

“well, he says he’s good, but…” cas trails off, eyes unfocused as he gazes at nothing in particular. shaking himself out of his daze, he asks, “what about sam?”

“he says he’s good,” dean takes another bite of his sandwich. “i think they’re both full of crap.”

just then, the taller hunter appears in the doorway. he looks terrible. drawn, exhausted. “found us a case. arkansas.”

“we’ve just done three back-to-back hunts,” dean complains, and with good reason. “i need some rest. at least a night. we both we do.”

sam just shrugs. “yeah, well, i’m leaving in ten.” he walks away again. dean looks pointedly at cas.

“like i said, not good.”

cas nods, “maybe i should go with him, and you two can stay with jack.”

dean pauses, taken aback. “why?”

“you were right. jack is struggling, and i’ve tried, but-”

“why do you think he’ll talk to me?”

“well, because he looks up to you,” cas says, earnest, “and his soul- i mean, you’ve seen this before.”

dean’s face clouds over, immediately. “no, no. no. see i was - i was not great, with sam, you know, when he was, uh.” arc silently agrees. dean was terrible at handling that whole soulless-sam thing, truly.

“but jack’s soul isn’t completely gone,” cas counters, “at least i don’t think so… w-we just don’t know how much is left.”

“well, how am i supposed to figure that out?”

“i don’t know!” cas snaps, “just talk to him. get him to open up.” he turns to follow sam out the door, speaking as he goes, “and then sleep until the cows come home.”

dean rubs his hands over his face, sighing. “there it is, that’s the saying.” he looks at arc, who tries to comfort him with a wry smile. he just sighs again and stuffs the remaining few bites of his sandwich into his mouth.

—

sam and castiel head off, sam clearly itching to escape the bunker. his foot taps impatiently on the floor, his eyes never staying in more than one place for longer than two seconds at a time. dean watches them go, face screwed up.

“they’ll be okay,” arc says. “cas’ll take care of him. and, uh. we’re gonna take care of jack.” dean stands face to face with her.

“what do we do?”

arc tries to come up with an idea, and something clicks. “donatello. he’s soulless, right? maybe we could take jack up for a visit. get a- an expert’s view on the situation.”

dean sucks his teeth, considering. “yeah. yeah, okay. sounds good. i’ll go get him.”

jack is in the kitchen, his new pet snake in it’s container. the counter is covered in a mess of food packages, jack frowning down at something in his hand. “what, you setting up a science project?” dean asks, going for casual, leaning with one shoulder on the doorway.

“i’m trying different foods for the snake.”

“why?”

“i think he’s sad.”

“oh.” how can you tell? he wonders, coming fully into the kitchen, observing the mess in the room. “have you tried bacon? do snakes like bacon?”

“i don’t know,” jack tells him. nose scrunching up.

“i like bacon,” dean says with a nervous smile. jack sizes him up, put off by his edgy behaviour. dean clears his throat.

“well, anyway. you and the, uh, snake, want to go for a little dri-ive?” his voice goes high and skips like a scratched record as he opens a takeout container, only to discover several live mice at the bottom. he closes it back up quickly, sliding it onto the countertop.

“you mean a hunt.”

“uh, more like a field trip,” dean corrects.

“okay.”

dean sighs, relieved. “yeah. good. all right. i’m gonna make some bacon now.” he opens the fridge, rooting through it’s contents to find the right package. jack leans over the snake’s tank, asking, “would you like some bacon?”

dean waits, half-expecting the snake to answer. thankfully, it doesn’t.

—

they load into the impala, arc on the passenger side, jack and his snake in the back. dean keeps glancing in the rear-view mirror. arc isn’t sure if he’s more nervous because of jack, or the snake. after a couple hours on the road, dean pulls into a gas’n’sip to fill the tank. as he heads into the store to pay, arc relaxes in the leather seat. she turns her head slightly to the side. jack is studying the snake with interest.

“hey, jack?”

he looks up at her.

“i, uh. i-” she finds herself flustered. not wanting to annoy him, be another person asking how he is. but she doesn’t really know what else to say. jack, though visible bewildered, waits, patiently.

“i just, uh… i like the snake.” she says, eventually. “i like snakes. always have.”

jack smiles. “he’s pretty cool. i don’t think dean likes them very much.”

arc chuckles. “yeah, no, he’s not - he’s not much of an animal - or reptile - person.”

dean gets back in, a plastic carrier fit to bursting with snacks. he dumps the contents over the space between arc and himself, telling jack to tuck in. dean slides the key in the ignition, firing up the engine, and peeling out of the gas’n’sip parking lot.

jack peers over the front seat. he shuffles through the various sweet and savoury treats with one hand, before pulling his hand back. “i’m not really hungry.”

“well, maybe feed the snake something,” dean encourages. he grabs for one of the packets, snags two - angel cakes, one vanilla, one chocolate. he tosses them behind him without looking, eyes still on the road. “here. give him one of these. i bet he’s never had that before.”

jack inspects the sponge cakes, turning them over in his hands. “i don’t think you have a firm grasp on what snakes eat.”

dean laughs. “yeah, no. yeah, i always thought they were kind of cool, though.”

arc snorts at that. he shoots her a weak glare.

“well, most people think they’re dangerous,” jack counters.

“mm. well it’s not the snake that’s dangerous. it’s their bite.”

“is- is that a saying?” jack asks, trying to recall whether or not he’s heard it before. dean shrugs, grinning stupidly.

“it is now,” he states, proudly. a warmth flickers in arc’s belly. she worries her lip, trying to ignore it. dean meets jack’s gaze in the rear-view mirror. “you try one of those,” he suggests, a little too forcefully.

arc watches dean watching jack; the way jack takes a moment to choose between the vanilla and chocolate flavoured cakes. the vanilla is in a wrapper with the name angel cake, the chocolate called devil cake.

arc connects the dots. dean is almost sweating, waiting for the kid to pick a damn cake.

when jack tosses the chocolate ‘devil’ cake back on the pile, dean visibly relaxes. arc stares at dean, hard. “what did you think- he picks chocolate over vanilla that makes him bad?” she hisses, low, hot.

dean turns red, spluttering, and reaches to switch on the radio. arc rolls her eyes and blows out a frustrated breath, running one hand through her short, white-blonde hair. she snatches up the abandoned devil’s cake and tears open the plastic. dead looks at her, unamused, as she bites into it while maintaining eye-contact.

—

it’s the next morning when they finally pull up outside donatello’s house. the man himself is waiting at the door, meeting them at the gate with outstretched arms and a beam on his bearded face.

“dean, arc, jack! great to see you!”
“donny,” dean greets, climbing out of the car and leaning on the roof with one arm. “good to see you up and around”

“ah, i’m just the picture of health. except for my prostate. it’s shaped like a papaya,” he explains, gesturing with his hands to indicate the shape and size. arc moves her head back, thrown by this information.

“wow,” she manages.

“our field trip is to see donatello?” jack asks them, clearly wondering why.

“well, with this whole soul thing, it’s, uh— we’re worried about you, okay? and when it comes to souls, or not having them, donny here’s an expert.” he flashes a smile that’s just strong enough to be believable.

jack hesitates, looking at arc. she nods, locking eyes with him. “it’s okay, jack. donatello’s good people,” she promises.

“please, come on in!” the jolly prophet encourages.

“actually, you know what? we’re gonna- we’re gonna let you guys talk. we’ll uh, keep an eye on the snake.”

jack gives dean a suspicious look. arc rolls her eyes, “i’ll watch the snake,” she reassures him, ignoring dean’s confused frown. “and him,” she jerks her thumb at dean.

jack nods, and allows donatello to drape an arm over his shoulder and lead him up the pathway. the front door closes behind them, with an echoing finality. dean walks around the car to lean against the passenger door, until he remembers the snake is there. he peers in the half-rolled down window, trying to figure out if the snake is breathing. arc watches him with amusement.

he knocks once on the roof of the impala, the snake jumping with the sudden loud noise. dean jumps too, and slides his way closer to the hood of the impala while arc laughs. really, really laughs, a full-belly laugh that curbs dean’s embarrassment. he makes a face, but there’s no real annoyance.

it’s good to hear her laugh.

for a while, neither of them speak. arc’s laughter fades, and they lean against the impala in a comfortable silence.

dean is the one to break it. “you sure you’re okay?” arc looks at him, confused as to the sudden question. dean pulls his mouth to the side, looking at his boots. “we just- we haven’t really had a chance to, y’know, talk. since you got back.”

“ah,” arc says, understanding. “i’m okay. really.” dean shoots her a disbelieving look. she laughs. “dean, i died, but… who of us hasn’t died at this point?”

well. there is that.

“i know,” he acquiesces, “but it can be weird. disorientating, to say the least.”

“yeah, well. i adjust fast. and, s’not like i had any time to… to dwell. i mean, things got pretty serious, pretty quick, so.”

dean inhales deeply, guilt clenching in his stomach. “yeah.”

another silence, then arc, in a voice that’s almost vulnerable. “dean?”

“yeah?” when he turns his head, he’s surprised by the look of uncertainty in her face.

“i just, um… i just, i wanted you to know that… the whole thing with the ma’lak box…” she struggles to get the words out, dean standing straight and turning to face her. “i mean, i wasn’t - i didn’t want that. i know i said- i know i promised. it wasn’t because i wanted to do it. i didn’t, i mean, i- i really didn’t.” sam’s voice echoes in her ear; laden with disgust, accusing her of hating dean enough to throw him thoughtlessly into that damned coffin.

“i know,” he assures her, not certain of where this is coming from.

“i could feel how scared you were. and sam - he was, he couldn’t see it. and cas- and jack didn’t know.” her voice is heavy, and thick with withheld emotions, breathing growing laboured in the effort it’s taking her to admit this. “they couldn’t understand. no-one did. and i couldn’t- couldn’t fix it. couldn’t take michael away, couldn’t take any of it away.” she’s determinedly not looking at him the whole time, her fingers trembling a little. “the one thing i could do was - was be the person who understood. i wanted to be that for you. that’s - that’s all.”

she keeps staring to the side a minute or so longer, until the threat of tears has passed. dean gazes at her, choked up and speechless.

“y- you know, when you died… i didn’t have to face it,” he tells her, making her meet his eyes again. “i was … drowning, under michael. trying to fight. i didn’t have to feel it. not for- three weeks.” he tucks his hands in the pockets of his jeans, tilting his head away. now he’s the one who can’t maintain eye contact. “i came back, and… you were gone. and i didn’t- i tried to pretend it… i walked by your bedroom for the first time since that day. and i stood outside it, in the hallway. god help me, i stood outside there for a good freakin’… twenty minutes, until sam came along. he asked me if i wanted to open the door. go inside. i told him no.” dean scuffs the toe of his boots along the grey path, a small, awkward laugh escaping.

“it was - it was stupid, really, but… standing there, looking at the door, i could imagine you were behind it. listening to music. writing in your journal. sleeping,” arc smiles at that, very touched by dean’s admission. “i could pretend you were still there. so i did.”

green eyes glisten with tears and arc’s throat seizes up; she turns away without really meaning to. dean coughs, awkward, and she grits her teeth, guilt biting harsh in her gut. she forces herself to circle back to stand in front of dean. she doesn’t tilt her head, keeping her eye line on his shirt.

“thank you,” she whispers, voice spotty, like a radio with bad signal. “thank you, i- i know you- you hate chick-flick moments.”

“you know i love them really.” he admits, voice full of gravel.

arc nods, still looking at his chest. his hand raises, cautious, fingertips resting gently on her bare arm. she jumps a bit, dean pulling back immediately. she laughs at herself. covering her face with one hand.

“i am so terrible at this,” she mutters into a breathless laugh of exasperation.

“same,” dean says in a comforting voice. she glances up at him, getting distracted - as usual - by the smattering of freckles decorating his face. dean mistakes her gaze for a desire; and pulls her into a tight hug. her joints lock up, body tensing so hard and fast dean fears she might snap in two. as he draws his arms back, she breathes out, and wraps her own arms around his waist. holding him tight, and letting her face bury into the side of his neck, inhaling his scent of woodsmoke and cologne. he presses his own face into her hair, smelling raspberry and peppermint, savouring her burning heat against his front.

they separate kind of awkwardly, not quite meeting one another’s eyes- but both of them feel better after.

dean asks if she’s worried about jack.

“i’m always worried about jack.” she stares uneasily at the front of donatello’s house. jack and donatello pass by the front window a couple of times. it’s impossible to gauge the vibe from this distance, though. the sun is rising in the sky, reflecting brashly off the glass, too. making it difficult to really see through it, even for arc.

“i think he’ll be okay,” dean says, far too nonchalant. he’s trying to convince himself, arc thinks.

“you’re worried about sam.”

it’s not a question. dean nods. “i think he- he just needs time,” arc murmurs, an understanding look in her eyes. “he’s like you. he blames himself for everything that goes wrong.”

dean raises his eyebrows at that one. “yeah, well.”

“yeah, well, what?” arc challenges, not letting him off the hook. dean leans back against the hood of his car again, folding his hands together on his legs.

“yeah, well, things go bad, it usually is my fault,” he mutters, and arc shakes her head. she kicks lightly at the bottom of his shoes, making his head jerk up. she’s observing him with stern features.

“dean, the weight of the world is not on your shoulders. it never was. your dad was wrong.”

he blinks at her.

“i know you don’t believe it. i wish you would. i wish i could make you see that. if i could make you see that, i would die happy.”

she doesn’t mean to say it - her eyes widen, lips parted as she realises what she’s said. dean regards her with a sudden softness and surprise; her nostrils flare as she turns away. more silence, awkward, now.

“you barely spoke to my dad, when we, uh. accidentally brought him here,” he observes. eyes fixed on her back, her white tank-top allowing him to see the tension in her muscles. “but you did say somethin’ to him. in the library. couldn’t hear exactly what you’d said, but. you said something.”

her shoulders twitch; he doesn’t even blink. needing to watch her every reaction. “nothing you’d like or agree with.” she informs him, voice clipped. “and s’not like he was going to remember it, so.”

“what?”

arc holds silent, memories flaring in her mind of john winchester’s stupid face.

then

bunker kitchen.

“turns out, that antiques place we raided? one of the items listed in the inventory is a pearl that grants wishes. it’s technically supposed to give you what your heart desires.” sam tells her.

arc nods slowly, leaning against the metal countertop. “so, what, you’re gonna give yourself an extra-special night?” she winks, voice suggestive.

laughing, sam shakes his head no. “arc, think about it. that pearl? can kick michael out of dean’s head.” he’s excited; practically glowing. the realisation slaps arc in the face and she pushes off the counter, all business.

“you’re kidding me.”

grinning, sam holds up his mug and says, “right?” after another, longer, gulp, sam sets the mug down. “now, all we gotta do is very carefully go through the inventory and find it.”

arc’s already on her way out the door.

—
bunker library.

sam finds the pearl, wrapped loosely in dark purple fabric- a tiny thing, iridescent, gleaming under the library’s lights. the three of them stand and form a semi-circle as they stare down at their new hope. sam suggests calling cas or mary, but dean declines. just in case, he says, no need to get anyone’s hopes up. he gestures down at the pearl. “so, what do i…”

“i don’t know, i- i guess you- you hold the pearl and - and concentrate on what your heart desires.”

dean nods. “michael out of my head. got it.”

he picks up. the pearl, holding it in his hand before closing his fingers around it. his eyes flutter shut, and there’s a moment of utter stillness, absolute silence. then, the lights flicker overheard, before shutting down completely. the emergency lights come on, bathing the room in an eery red glow. dean opens his eyes, and all three of them look around the room. arc is about to speak when a large silhouette comes at sam from behind.

“hey!”

the warning is too late; sam crashes to the ground, the man’s gun aimed directly at him. arc kicks it from the guy’s wrist. when he tries to hit her, she shoves him backward, getting a decent grip on denim before throwing him into the nearest wall. he hits it with an “oof!”, sliding to the wooden floor, just as sam gets to his feet, dean steadying his brother.

arc stands over the newcomer, fingers lighting at the tips with sparks of flame. threateningly, she kicks the man’s boot soles, hissing, “who the hell are you and how did you get in here?”
wide brown eyes look up at her, and there’s a hint of familiarity there - something arc can’t quite place, and nowhere near enough to drop her guard. then, dean’s hand is on her shoulder, soothing, pulling her back. “wait- dad?”

brown eyes widen further when they slide from arc to dean, and behind to sam. “dean? sam? what in the hell?” dean tugs at arc’s shoulder. she drops her hands, douses the flames. eyes narrowed as she takes a few steps back. john gets to his feet, looking around at his surroundings.

frowning at his younger son, john asks, “sammy. aren’t you supposed to be in palo alto?”

sam looks to dean. dean looks to sam.

“what happened to you?” john continues. a realisation dawns on dean.

“what year is it?” he asks, to which john answers, “2003.”

arc’s face goes from suspicious to shocked. “yikes,” she mutters, turning away when john looks at her in confusion.

“it’s 2019.” sam says, gently.

john gawks at his sons. “how?” sam looks to dean again, briefly.

“uh, i think… we summoned you.”

arc fixes sam with a sardonic look. “ya think?”

john blinks a few times, takes a minute or two to find his footing - then says, “you boys better tell me what the hell is going on right now.”

bunker kitchen (again).

john smiles at sam, then chuckles to himself. “so, you’ve um- you’ve been busy.”

“a little bit,” sam says, smiling.

“i just wish that i had been there to see it,” the older man says, voice tinged with regret and wistfulness.

dean is quick to reassure his father, leaning in close across the kitchen table, “dad, none of this would have happened without you.”

arc cannot help the noise that escapes from her throat; dark, guttural. disbelieving.

it seems the winchesters finally remember that she’s there: she finds herself in the spotlight of each of their eyes. she moves from her spot by the fridge, inching toward the door.

“arc. wait. we haven’t even formally introduced you!” sam says, in a voice so excited it’s hard to keep leaving.

john turns in his seat, one arm draped over the back.

john winchester is, admittedly, handsome. his brown eyes meet arc’s, and he smiles tentatively. holding out his hand and introducing himself. arc sets her jaw tense and taut, glaring at his hand as though it’s offensive. after a few seconds, john awkwardly drops it. laughing nervously.

“well, boys, which, uh. which one of you is the lucky guy?”

sam and dean, still baffled at the turn of events, take a moment to process the question. arc twists her mouth in a snarl. “both of them are the lucky ones,” she says with a shrug. “i’m their friend. just. a. friend.” the words come out through clenched teeth. john nods slowly, a little- well, a little afraid, honestly.

“dad, this uh, this is arc!” sam says, trembling all over with excitement.

“nice to meet you arc.”

“can’t say the same for you,” she shoots back, face dark with anger. dean finally snaps back to reality and forces a chuckle.

“isn’t she. isn’t she funny?” he reaches his hand out to her, as if to beckon her to the seat across from him. she remains by the door, shooting him a look that asks, are you fuckin’ crazy?

“arc?”

now

“arc.” dean presses, snapping her back to the present. nudging at her temper. she doesn’t want to start an argument, not now, after they’ve just shared such a sweet moment. dean won’t hear a word said against his father, and she- well. she’d said plenty bad words to the man.

“what did you say to him?” it’s more demanding, now, insistent. arc bites hard enough on her lip to draw blood, closes her eyes to calm down. it doesn’t work, as all she can see is red pulsing behind her eyelids.

she turns, and glares at him, feeling like the nice moment in the sun has been spoiled now. “you wanna know so bad?”

he simply nods.

so, through gritted teeth, she recounts her encounter with john winchester in the bunker library.

then

sam glances up as she passes the door, and his face brightens. john turns to follow his son’s eye line, chancing a frail smile of his own. arc’s mood sours instantly. sam stands, hasty, and makes his way to her. he clasps her shoulder warmly. he edges past her, and john pushes his own chair back with a rough dragging noise.

“can we talk?” he sounds hopeful, eyes full of light.

arc sighs.

“sure.”

she steps into the room, remaining a good few feet away from the man. she crosses her arms over her chest, and waits.

waits. and waits, even longer.

john winchester gazes at her like he’s trying to read the secrets of his son’s lives in her face. in the way she holds herself, in the glow of green eyes. it’s disconcerting, to say the least. arc makes a face, and tilts her head forward, arching her brow.

“well? you wanted to talk. so talk.”

he laughs at that, finally dropping his eyes from hers. “you don’t like me very much, do you?”

arc says nothing; she doesn’t feel she needs to.

john sucks in his teeth and nods. “can i ask why?”

arc looks away, swallowing. this isn’t - she has no right to this. to do this, here. not with him. “it’s not my place.”

john narrows his eyes, hazel alight with curiosity. “i mean, we’ve never met.” he pushes, tone light.

“that’s… technically not true.” at john’s widened eyes arc drops her arms, brings one to rub at her temple. she elaborates, voice rough. “we- the time travel thing. i met you when you were… younger. you, and mary, before sam and dean.”

“ah. and i did something to you then?” he frowns, clearly trying to remember. arc tells him not to bother, tells him the angels wiped his memory of the incident.

“it’s not about what you did to me.” she says, finally, and she feels like her voice is loud. too loud. john looks confused, and she hates him for it. hates him. she hates even more that he looks wounded, too. innocent. hurt.

he opens his mouth to speak, but arc cuts him off before he can begin. “no. just. shut up. just shut up, man. i don’t care - sam and dean can defend you as much as they want to, or- or- as much as they feel like they need to. but it won’t ever change the fact that you were a terrible father.” her tone is clipped, taut. words clear and concise. this may be the only chance she ever gets to say this, so. fuck it.

“i don’t care what your excuses are. you don’t leave two kids alone for weeks at a time, in crappy motel rooms, with no food, and no money, and no one to take care of them. you don’t give your six year-old child the responsibility of looking after his two-year old brother while you’re off in another damn state, chasing some freakin’ ghoul! you don’t get to beat your oldest kid ‘cause something happened to the younger one when you, the actual fuckin’ parent, were too busy getting drunk at a bar somewhere, hustlin’ pool.” her voice rises in volume, but drops an octave to a thundering roar at the same time. john’s sucker-punched, pale, breathing shallow. arc curls her lip in disgust, a muscle twitching in her jaw.

“you screwed those boys over, six ways from sunday, but you know what? they’re all grown up, now. they’re men, and they’re- they’re brilliant men. smart. and caring. and loyal. they make people want to follow them. to believe in them. they are amazing, and you know what?” she sets her lips in a frozen smile, the barest hint of teeth showing. “they’re amazing, not because of you, but in spite of you.”

now

when she’s finished speaking, she waits for the outburst. waits for, you don’t know my dad, he tried his best, he loved us in his own way. waits for excuses and anger and you had no right.

dean’s eyes are clear of irritation when she finally meets them again. they’re bright, awed. his entire face is awed, she realises, suddenly uncomfortable. she had expected- was expecting - anger. defensive anger. not… not this. not this softness in his eyes, and the warmth, and the twitch of plush pink lips threatening a smile.

is this a trick?

“you really said all that?”

arc wraps her bare arms around herself. “well. are you surprised that i did?”

of course he’s not. arc’s not one to keep her opinion to herself, not usually, at least.

dean looks toward donatello’s house, maybe checking to see if there’s any sign that either man will come out the door. seemingly satisfied that they’re good for now, he turns his head to the empty road. the sun shines down on his hair, golden-brown, one side of his face dipped in shadows, following the edge of his sharp jawline, the curve of his nose. the length of long lashes, specks of orange-brown revealed in emerald green by the sunlight.

“i- my dad… i didn’t deserve it. i didn’t deserve what he put on me.” the words are stiff; dean is not used to them. “you really think that?” he asks, breath catching as he does. arc’s head falls to the side.

“think what? that your dad was a dick?”

“that i’m- uh, that we’re amazing.” a flush creeps up from dean’s neck. he could use the sun and the heat from it as an excuse; but arc knows dean is blushing.

“why would i have said if i didn’t mean it?”

dean nods, slowly. “it’s hard. i don’t. i don’t see myself, like… like that.”

“i know.”

but i wish you did. she thinks wistfully.

“y’know, i uh. i wish you could see you.” dean says, too fast, stumbling, tripping over the words. “like. from me. from mine. from my eyes,” he gets there eventually, laughing at himself to hide the shame.

“i don’t. um.” arc stares at the ground between them. “no, i mean, i - i like myself.” she reassures him, stomach squeezing. dean is no good with compliments, yet she’s just basically give him a tonne - is he going to try and say something nice for her?

“and, anyway,” she sniffs, “dean, i thought - we don’t need to lie. to each other, i mean. i know how you see me.”

dean pauses. “what are you talking about?”

arc looks at him, resigned, but peacefully.

the front door opens, muttered fragments of conversation floating out. arc greets the two men as they exit the house. dean keeps eyeing arc with suspicion a second or two longer, before greeting the men himself.

“well, there they are,” his tone is forcefully brash. loud. jack smiles, a little puzzled at the eagerness.

“how’s the snake?”

“he’s good. might be hungry.”

“okay.”

jack heads to the other side of the car and gets into the back, checking on his new pet immediately.

dean and arc sidle up to donatello, checking to see that jack isn’t listening.

“so, what’s the verdict? does he have a soul?” dean asks, heart thudding loud enough that arc can hear it.
donatello sighs. “i suppose the first question we must ask ourselves is, what is a soul?”

dean closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “donatello,” arc says, sharply.

“what? i’m sorry. um, i’d keep an eye on him, but i think if he seems okay, he probably is.”

dean’s face falls. “so he’s not like you?”

he wants donny to say it, arc thinks.

“oh, no. i’m a prophet of the lord, but he-” donatello looks over the pair before him, at jack in the car. “jack’s probably the most powerful being in the universe. i mean, who really knows what’s going on inside his head?”

arc and dean glance at the boy themselves, who looks up through the window. he smiles his sunshine-smile, so bright it’s almost blinding. arc smiles back.

“thanks,” dean claps donatello on the shoulder. arc shakes his hand and they get into the car, beginning the long drive home.

—

dean tosses the keys of the impala on the table, rolling his neck from side to side. “well, it seemed like the snake enjoyed the trip.”

jack holds up the container, peering in. “hard to say. he’s, uh, very guarded.” blue eyes flash at arc. “he reminds me of you.” he says with a smile.

“yeah. yeah. and what about you, huh? good time?”

“it was… illuminating.” jack says. arc grimaces, feeling a little off. she glances at dean, who looks relieved.

the bunker door creaks open, and heavy footsteps come close. “hey!” dean calls up, as sam and cas make their way down. “how was arkansas?”

sam makes a face. “arkansas was, uh… it was weird.”

dean grins at cas, coming up behind sam. “heard you wore a cardigan,” he says to his brother, a shit-eating grin on his face. sam pulls out bitch-face number 36, directing it at his hunting partner.

“yeah, i told him about the cardigan,” cas confirms, drily. unperturbed.

“and the wife,” dean adds, enjoying it far too much. “he said you were, uh, really happy.”

“great.” sam’s lips press in a thin line. “thanks.”

“yeah. where’s jack?”

arc nods to the door. “his room.” cas strides off immediately to check in on him.

“really happy, huh?” dean says to sam, something sadder running as an undercurrent in his tone.

“i mean, i guess i was happy, but… it wasn’t real, you know? just…”

dean shrugs. “well, not a lot of happy goin’ on around here.”

sam removes his duffle from his shoulder, drops it heavily on the war table. “i hate this place right now. i hate it. everywhere i look, i see them. i see maggie. guess that's why, uh -- why i was so desperate to get out of here, why i kept running us ragged. but I got to stop that. i-i can't keep running. i— this is my home. this is our home. dean, i think i just need some time.”

dean glances at arc, who returns a sympathetic look and moves close enough to pat sam’s arm. “okay, sam.” he says, grateful that his brother has at least admitted his troubles.

—

farther into the bunker, cas pauses outside jack’s bedroom door. it’s slightly ajar, leaving just enough space for cas to peek in. the nephilim has his back turned, holding the snake up and talking quietly to it.

“cas says you miss your friend. you need help. sam and dean would help you, so -- so i’ll help you. i’ll help you see your friend again. in heaven.”

with a deep breath, jack focuses his energy on the snake, letting it turn to dust in his hands. cas’ grace runs cold inside him.

Chapter Text

cas is acting weird. arc notices the switch in behaviour right after the visit to donatello’s. she wonders if that has something to do with it. the angel spends less and less time in the bunker. he’s jumpy, and colder than usual - he’s hiding something, she thinks. she just doesn’t know what it is, but she is determined to find out.

she gets her chance sooner, rather than later. sam and dean find a case, up in iowa. sam is hurt to hear cas had left that morning, and dean doesn’t want to take jack. sam asks if dean thought donatello was wrong about giving him the all-clear, but dean denies it. with his mojo back, dean just wants to give the kid some time to get used to his powers again. that’s all.

sam nods, and looks at arc. “you want in?”
“oh, no, i think you guys have got this handled.”

“you wanna keep an eye on jack?” dean guesses. arc holds her breath for a second, shaking her head.
“no, i wanted to - well, stretch my legs, i suppose. maybe just go for a walk somewhere. have a- a normal day.”

the boys believe her so easily. she hates it. hates lying to them, hates keeping things from them. but whatever cas is up to, he clearly doesn’t want either of them in on it. so, they’re just gonna have to wait.

before they leave, arc reminds jack several times to call her if he needs anything. he just nods continuously, repeating, “i know, i know,” exasperated but fond. she leaves before the boys, cas had gotten a decent head-start that morning.

it takes a while, but she manages to track the angel’s dwindling grace to a - a diner?

cindy’s waffelette restaurant is at around half-capacity, mostly kids and teenagers, a handful of families scattered at booths. cas is sitting alone by the window, and arc strolls up, waiting for him to notice.

he senses her almost instantly, looking up and around the room, before turning to the window. his face falls, irritation written in all-caps on his features. arc just grins, waving. he rearranges himself in his seat, sending her death-eyes as she enters the brightly-lit restaurant. she slides into the seat across from him, beaming pleasantly.

“what are you doing here?”

“good to see you too, cas.”

a waitress approaches, notepad in hand, pen poised over the page. “can i get you anything?”

“black coffee, please,” arc asks, receiving a nod in return. the waitress departs. cas leans over the table.

“how did you find me?”

arc gives him a look. “i was taught witchcraft from the age of, like, two. you’re not especially hard to track outside the bunker, castiel.” he glares again.

“so, what the hell man? what’s going on?”

“nothing,” he huffs, tugging at the fabric of his trench coat. arc responds with a stare as cold and hard as a rock.

“try again.”

cas tightens his lips, before giving in. “i’m- meeting someone.” arc tilts her head, raising an eyebrow. cas’ eyes roll, as he continues, “an angel.”

“why?”

“because i’m- i’m worried. about jack. his soul.”

arc watches him, carefully. sussing out whether she’s being told the truth here. deciding that he is being honest, arc settles her arms on the table. “why? donatello gave him the all-clear.”

cas shakes his head, leaning in even closer. informing her in a barely-audible whisper, that he witnessed jack killing the gorgon’s snake - that jack seemed to believe it was an act of mercy. cas leans away again, glancing out the window, at the door.

“and you think the angels can help?” something still isn’t adding up. cas huffs.

“no,” he mutters, strained. “i think god can.”

“chuck?”

cas nods, then something- or someone- grabs his attention. he leans back in his chair fully, nodding at the newcomer. arc first gets a whiff of sweet perfume, before finally seeing a familiar face. red hair falls in pristine waves to her shoulders, which are covered by a blood-red coat. in high-heels, with neatly painted lips, anael looks down at arc, long lashes fluttering.

“this place is so… ugh.” she mutters dismissively, before flapping her hand at arc. arc slides closer to the wall, allowing space for anael to sit. arc wasn’t expecting her of all people. cas watches arc with an exasperated expression.

the waitress reappears with arc’s coffee. “and anything for you?”

anael flashes a fake smile. “no, thank you.”

the waitress leaves. arc finally tears her eyes off the gorgeous angel beside her, taking a sip of piping hot coffee. “i appreciate you coming,” cas starts. anael folds her arms over her chest.

“well, you said you had something for me.” arc pauses, looking at cas over the rim of her mug. he spares her a quick glance, before reaching into his coat. he removes a velvet box, opening it and presenting the gift for both women to see.

earrings. beautiful earrings, expensive ones. arc’s not an expert on jewellery, but damn. even anael is impressed. “16th-century burmese blood rubies. five carats. excelltent clarity.” she reviews, narrowing her eyes. “castiel, where did you get these?”

“on a case. they are lightly cursed, but it’s nothing that would affect an angel.”

anael squints across the table, “uh-huh. and you’re giving these to me?”

“no. no. i- i need something. i need your help. to contact god.”

anael’s laughter is beautiful. a light, airy melodic sound that enchants arc even further. “yeah. good luck with that.”

“you forget, anael, i know you. i know what you did before your demotion. when you were joshua’s right hand. and i know that god spoke to joshua. and only to joshua. now, he’s dead, but— but you understand how they communicated.”

“why do you want to know?”

“there’s a nephilim- jack.”

oh. arc is starting to put the pieces together.

“lucifer’s son?”

“yes. jack killed michael.”

“good night, sweet prince,” anael says, mockingly.

“but to do so, he - he used magic that consumed his soul. not all of it, i hope, but we just don’t know how much jack has left. and i’ve been looking through all the lore, and it all says the same thing.”

“only god can restore a soul.” anael finishes, “and that’s why you need him.”

cas nods. arc shifts, uncomfortable. she looks at cas, hurt that he has kept this from her for so long.

“why didn’t you tell me?”

cas’ expression is weighed down with sorrow. puppy-dog eyes in full effect. “i didn’t want to worry you,” he tries, sighing when arc leans back in her chair. unimpressed.

anael looks between the pair of them, something clicking in her mind. “the winchesters - they don’t know you’re here, do you?”

cas straightens his shoulders. bluffing. “why do you say that?”

anael smiles, no, smirks, revealing pearly-white teeth that gleam almost sinisterly. “oh, i don’t know. just a general reek of ill-conceived lone-wolf desperation.” she glances at arc. “maybe not so much lone-wolf.”

cas grumbles, “it was supposed to be lone-wolf. either way. will you help me or not?”

“not. sorry. you see, joshua never spoke to god. god spoke to joshua. there’s a big difference.”

cas nods, reaching to retrieve the earrings. anael watches him, seeming to reconsider. “but… there was a rumour. a whisper, after the fall. joshua placed a long-distance call, and god picked up.”

“okay. how?”

anael shrugs. “i don’t know. i wasn’t there. but i know someone who was, and i can take you to them.”

—

on their way to anael’s mysterious witness, cas and arc get into a heated whisper-argument. he tells her to go home, which arc refuses to do.

“jack is my responsibility, too,” she reminds him harshly.
“i know! i know,” he mutters, dropping his volume again when anael glances back at them, curious. “i still think you should return to the bunker.”

“fine,” arc says, stopping on the street. “i will.”

cas frowns, not trusting this. arc doesn’t give up, or do as she’s told.

“you should know, first thing i’m doing when i get there is telling sam and dean what you’re doing.”

cas curses silently, jaw twitching erratically. “arc.”

“this is something we should be doing together,” she insists, clearly not willing to back down on this one. “i don’t like lying to them.”

“and i do?”

“no! i know you don’t, cas. do you really think chuck is even going to answer?”

cas lifts his arms, then drops them. “i have to try.”

“then let me come with you. you don’t have to do everything alone, castiel.”

he sighs. she’s using his full name like she knows what it does to him, to hear her say it. maybe she does. he studies her again, sees nothing but earnestness, a desire to help in any way possible. it’s hard to say no to dean, and even harder, somehow, to say no to her.

cas relents.

anael calls out to them. “um, are you two finished having your domestic?”

arc’s cheeks go red- cas notices, wondering if she’s feeling well. “sorry, anael,” the girl calls back, stepping around cas to reach anael. “it’s not fair to leave such a beautiful lady waiting in the cold.”

anael’s lips slowly pull into an almost-predatory smirk. her eyes draw up and down arc’s body, eliciting a subtle shiver from the younger. she turns and continues on up the street, heels click-clacking against the pavement. cas frowns.

whatever that was, he doesn’t like it. not one bit.

—

anael leads them to a place named orlando’s emporium. as they’re walking up the street, anael retrieves her new earrings from her pocket to admire them. “you know,” she says, “i’m not sure i have anything to wear with these!”

she’s joking - mostly - mainly making fun of castiel. arc just grins. “well, you could just wear the earrings. nothing else. i’m sure that would be fine.”

anael glances over at arc, returning the grin, “just fine?”

cas watches the interaction, temper simmering slow and steady. on it’s way to boiling point.

“anael, are you looking for compliments?”

“if you’re the one giving them,” the red-haired angel banters back, making cas inhale heavily. neither woman seems to notice.

“if you two could just-” he’s cut off when they both pause and glance back at him. he stutters, then just pushes onward down the street.

pushing open a swing door, the three of them enter a shop where a man sits at a desk. he’s writing something on a page, not even looking up from his task when he informs them, bored, “we’re closed.”

“even for us, methuselah?” anael pouts, and he simply grunts an affirmation.

“we’re friends of joshua,” cas tries.

“joshua didn’t have any friends.”

“except you,” anael points out, eyeing the angel. “you sheltered him after the fall.”

“i didn’t shelter- we were roommates,” methuselah responds, in a tone that conveys pure exasperation. “he made a mean lasagna.”

“you saw him trying to contact god. how did he do it?”

methuselah forces a pinched smile at castiel. “yeah. ask him.”

“can’t. dead,” anael states, casual.

“well, guess you’re outta luck.”

arc hates angels, sometimes. she really, really does.

“no. you’ll tell me, or i’ll burn this place to the ground and you with it,” cas steps forward threateningly. his glare is met with nothing but tired eyes that show no fear.

“kiddo, how old am i? go for it. put me out of my misery.”

cas’ eyes light up, as he asks, “is that really what you want?”

methuselah scrutinises castiel for a moment, deciding not to call his bluff. “the, um, thingamajig he used, it’s around here somewhere.” he gestures with an outstretched arm to the rows upon rows of items filling the room.

“where?” cas asks.

“i don’t know, somewhere. you’re angels, right?” his eyes slide from the two seraphim and onto arc, narrowing slightly. “or… close enough. i’m sure you’ll know it when you see it. or not.”

he smirks, none-too-friendly, and stands up, walking out. leaving the two angels and one nephalem to spread out and examine each and every object shoved into any given space.

an hour into their search, they’ve cleared maybe a quarter of the room between them. everything in here is old, and unused, if the inches-thick piles of dust covering it all means anything. arc and anael continue to exchange light, flirty banter. cas tries to tune it out, but his hands clutch everything he touches a little too tight. when anael moves away, into another section, he tugs arc toward him. “you can’t trust her,” he grumbles, eyes flashing dark.

arc leans away, confused. “who said i do?”

cas presses his lips into a thin line. “she’s not-” he sighs, hard, “you shouldn’t be-”

arc moves her jaw from side to side, until the joints click. “what? flirting?”

they gaze at one another, until cas falters and looks down. “i’m just saying. you- you deserve- she’s just playing with you.”

arc examines cas carefully. not sure why he’s so invested in her interest in the angel. “and, what, you think, i’m looking for- promises? something real?” she shakes her head. “no, cas. i’m having fun.”

cas nods, a pensive expression on his face.

they continue their search.

cas picks up a porcelain doll, blowing the dust. the particles land on anael’s coat. she blinks indignantly at cas and snaps, “are you insane? this is mulberry silk!”

“sorry,” cas tells her, in the least-sorry voice he can muster. “so, methuselah said…”

“we’d know it when we see it, right.” anael regards the old doll with disinterest. “no.”

cas sighs and puts it down, following anael down the aisle between two large shelves. “well, you might. when you were working for joshua, did you ever- ”

“even if we found joshua’s bat-phone, god’s not gonna care. you wanna know how i know?”

“how?”

anael scoffs. scans the items on the shelf at her eye line. “you ever wonder why a vaunted apprentice became a lowly button pusher?”

“well, i heard that joshua offered you more responsibility, and you walked away.”

in the next aisle, arc listens in and frowns.

“i believed in heaven. in our mission. i believed, castiel. but then i got to earth, and i saw that it wasn’t the paradise that god promised. i mean, there was so much hate, so much suffering. so i asked joshua- i mean, these were god’s creations- his perfect people. why wasn’t he helping them? and do you know what he said?”

arc pushes a few old tomes aside to poke her head through the shelf. “that god is hands-off?” she guesses. anael’s answering smile is tight and cold.

“‘god doesn’t meddle.’ he doesn’t meddle? well, i do. so i do.”

arc meets cas’ eye, before straightening up and walking around to meet them.

“and here i thought you just performed miracles for the money,” cas mutters, cynical.

“well, you haven’t been paying attention then. i do them for me. i don’t need heaven. and i don’t need god. and… i’m happy, castiel.”

cas tilts his head to the side, nose scrunching up. “really? because that sounds lonely.

anael fixes cas with a pitying look. “we’re all lonely, because we’re all alone. from ant to lion to human to angel-” she turns to arc, “to nephalem-” and back to cas. “every last one of us.”

wow. cheerful.

“you know, he does meddle. god reached down and he brought me back to life.”

“so he saves one angel… and watches millions of people die screaming, every day. what does that say about him?” she challenges. cas’ face falls, as he fails to come up with a rebuttal. satisfied, anael turns, nodding at arc with arched brows, and clicks away on her heels.

another hour or so passes in relative silence. arc sorts through the most random collection of items, ever. an old boombox missing a speaker, an out-of-tune button accordion. a clock with the little hand missing, and a box of monopoly still wrapped in plastic. a handful of white-brown seashells, with grains of sand embedded in the ridges. nothing that could be used to contact a divine being, though.

she circles back to where they started, joined by anael and cas soon after. “anything?” she asks, deflating at the despairing look on cas’ face. methuselah reappears, asking, “you throwin’ in the towel?”

everyone ignores him. arc takes one last look around as anael picks up her bag. something shiny catches her attention, winking in the low light of the shop. “wait.”

she steps around anael and walks to a nearby desk. on it, a jewellery stand, with several pieces hooked on the pegs. she reaches out for a necklace; she’s seen something like it before. a black rope with a metal face hanging off the middle. she turns, holds it up to cas. his eyes widen and he takes it from her.

“i’ve seen that before,” he murmurs. anael frowns.

“where? crystal shop? a dollar store? ren fair?”

“dean had one, right? the thing that glowed in the presence of god.” the ‘samulet’, if arc is recalling correctly.

cas nods, hope lighting up his eyes. “this is what we’re looking for.”
anael remains unconvinced.

“good eye,” methuselah comments, sounding impressed. “joshua forged it after he fell.”

“that thing talks to god?” anael asks, pointing to it with disgust.

“only one way to find out,” methuselah shrugs.

cas swallows, and clutches the amulet in his fist. closing his eyes, he concentrates fiercely, envisioning chuck in his mind. “god… i don’t know where you are. i don’t know if you can hear me. but please. sam, dean- we need you. please.”

when cas opens his eyes, chuck is not there. a moment holds, a moment of anticipation. it falls flat quickly, and methuselah clicks his tongue. “yeah, it never worked for joshua, either.”

—

in the cool air outside, anael stands in front of cas and arc.

“it’s too bad,” she shrugs, “i would have really enjoyed giving god a piece of my mind.”

“i would’ve really enjoyed seeing that,” arc assures her. anael flashes a more genuine smile.

“but what can i say? i’m always right. so, what are you gonna do now?”

“go home.” cas spares an apologetic look at arc. “go home and tell sam and dean the truth.”

“so that’s it?” arc asks, “you’re sure jack’s soul is- completely gone?”

cas doesn’t answer. he can’t. anael watches arc’s face darken with sorrow.

“and then?” she asks.

“i don’t know.” cas admits, shrugging his shoulders. “do you need a ride?”

arc perks up a little. “i can drop you off… somewhere.”

cas grits his teeth. anael laughs, before rummaging through her bag. she produces a silver pen, clicking the top of it. she beckons arc forward, taking her hand in one of her own and using the other to write down a number. “you ever want to feel a little less alone, just for a night…” anael’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “call me.” arc pulls her hand back when anael lets go, reading the numbers on her palm.

a smile grows on her lips and she nods. “sure thing.” anael winks. she turns to go, but cas calls her back.

“anael. you know, you’re not always right. just because god’s not with us, doesn’t mean we’re alone.”

anael purses her red lips, considering this. “why? because we all have each other?” she’s mocking him, again, but cas is sincere. firm in his stance.

“yes.”

anael pushes her tongue against the inside of her cheek, eyes flickering between arc and cas as if trying to figure something out. then, she turns abruptly and walks away.

when she disappears around the corner, arc finds it hard to meet cas’ eyes. she’s not mad at him, per say. but now anael is gone, and their search has proven fruitless, and arc is left with the cold realisation that jack as she knows him may truly be gone.

shit. dean is going to kill them all.

when cas opens his mouth, he means to ask if she’s ready to go home. what comes out is this, “are you going to take advantage of anael’s kind offer?”

it’s- snide, sort of, and arc tilts her head back to look up at him. “what is up with you?” she asks, and cas goes pale. “what, what is- why are you so bothered by my flirting with anael? i thought you were “utterly indifferent to sexual orientation’.” she mimics his voice, rather terribly, in truth, but cas enjoys it nonetheless. what he doesn’t enjoy is arc’s irritated confusion, the accusation in her blazing eyes when she looks at him.

“i am,” he confirms, stiffly. “i just… we need to get back.”

arc snorts, very unamused- but cas is already taking large strides back the direction they came in. she follows him, the trip back to his silver dodge ram is made in silence. they get into the car, neither of them bothering with a seatbelt.

cas reaches over, opens the glove compartment and pulls his phone out. arc remembers her own cell, taking it from her pocket and frowning as more than a dozen messages pop up on her screen. missed calls from sam and dean, voicemails, text messages. cas has received similar ones, and immediately calls dean when they read that nick has been trying to raise lucifer from the empty.

“i got your message, nick was trying to raise lucifer?” cas balances the cell phone on the dashboard, pressing speakerphone. on the other end, dean’s voice is heavy with exhaustion.
“yeah.”

“where is he now?”

“i don’t- uh, kid said he took care of him. so, right now, we’re just trying to find jack and mom.”

cas’ jaw tightens, fear and apprehension in his face. “are they together? a-alone?” the angel’s attempt to keep his voice calm and controlled fails.

“y-yeah. w-why do you— yes, cas, they were together. alone.”

in the background, sam’s voice comes down the line. “what’s he saying?”

dean doesn’t answer his brother.

“i don’t- cas?”

cas stutters; trying valiantly to force the words out of his mouth. arc’s stomach twists violently. a throbbing pulse building slowly in her temples.

“if you have something to tell us, now’s the time,” dean tells cas, a warning tone.

“i saw jack. he- he- he did something when i got home with sam. i went to check on him, and felix was sick.”

dean is utterly bewildered by this point, “felix? you mean the snake?”

“yes. jack used his powers. he killed the snake. i think jack considered it a mercy.” he winces at the heavy silence down the phone. “i-i was gonna tell you.”

“but you wanted to wait until we were already freaked out. does arc know?” dean’s voice grows harder, and arc bites her lip.

“yeah, dean. i- i just found out.”

there’s a sigh, thick with frustration. cas swallows, leans closer to the cell phone, “i don’t think jack is well, dean. dean?”

all they hear next is the aggressive tone that signals the other party has hung up. cas slumps back heavily in his seat. arc hits ‘end call’, the beeping noise only worsening the thud in her brain.

“how did nick get out of prison?” arc wonders aloud. “and how did he escape without any of us hearing about it?”

cas barely hears her, a swirling wave of nausea rising within.

“cas.” she says, serious. “what the hell happens now?”

cas has got no answer for her.

—

Chapter Text

“dean sent me a text. he wants us to meet him here.” cas leans over to show arc the screen of his phone.

arc looks at the address and nods, tersely. cas pulls back from her slowly, resting his hands on the steering wheel.

“arc-”

he begins, but she shakes her head. “no, cas, it’s okay. i’m not mad at you. i promise.” she looks at him, then, and she smiles. it’s faint, and weak, but it’s real. cas’ chest eases just a touch- he knows what he’s in for with dean. what arc is in for. she probably does too - hence her grim expression. steadying himself with a breath, he starts the car and begins to drive toward his fate.

it’s dark when they reach the run-down cabin in the woods. the snow crunches underneath arc’s ratty old boots as she follows cas up to the door. entering, sam greets them, his face drawn with nerves and fear. a body lies on the floor near the back. broken and burnt; resembling moreso a guy fawkes effigy than a human. dean lingers in a dark corner, silent and seething.

“is that nick?” cas asks, in a voice that says he already knows the answer.

“yeah. we looked around. no sign of jack or mom. there’s a, um, blast site behind the house. it looks angelic, just bigger.” sam’s voice wavers, arc takes note of the blast site mention.

“might have been lucifer,” dean argues. “nick was trying to bring him back.”

“yeah, but jack said-”

“who cares what jack said?” dean snaps, face writhing with fury. “we don’t know what happened! but i swear, if he did something to her, if she is-” he doesn’t finish, but they all knew where the sentence was going. dean points at cas, the coldness of his eyes a stark contrast to the heat of his rage, “then you’re dead to me.”

cas doesn’t respond, but he looks absolutely crushed. arc sighs, having expected this from the older winchester. sam, too, looks annoyed and hurt and tries to reason with his brother. “dean-”

“no, he knew. they both did. they knew something was wrong with the kid, they knew, and they didn’t tell us! they didn’t even tell us!”

in the corner of his eye, cas sees arc tensing up at the accusation. he waits, but she makes no move to correct dean. so he does it for her.

“arc didn’t know,” he states, in a low, matter-of-fact tone. “she knew nothing until, quite literally, just before you.”

“oh, you expect me to believe that?” dean spits, not even looking at his other friend until arc speaks up.

“i don’t care if you believe it, dean, it’s the truth whether you’re willing to accept that or not.” her eyes flash with a threat; go ahead, dean, challenge me. do it. he runs his tongue over his bottom lip and mashes his lips together. shaking his head in disbelief.

cas tries his best to explain himself. “i was scared. i believed in jack for so long, i- i believed that jack was good. i knew that he would be good for the world. and he was good for us. my faith in him, it- it never wavered. and then i- i saw what he did: it wasn’t malice, it wasn’t evil. it was like jack saw a problem, and, in his head, he just solved it with that snake.”

dean holds his breath as he yells, “the snake?!” in a rumbling voice, shattering like a wave hitting the sand.

“what he did wasn’t bad. it was the absence of good. and i saw that in him. but we were a family, and i didn’t want to lose that.”

arc’s heart breaks, and suddenly the mask of numbness slips just enough to allow in a sharp storm of pain. she clenches her fists, lets her fingernails bite into the palms of her hands.

“i thought i could fix it on my own. felt like it was my responsibility. so i left. and i didn’t tell you. if i could go back and just- just talk to him right then and there, i would. but i can’t, dean. i failed you. and i failed jack. and i failed-”

“no, no,” dean snaps. “don’t even say it. don’t even say her name.”

sam’s phone buzzes and sings, and he lifts it to his ear. “rowena. hey.” he pulls the device away and hits the speaker button.

“hello, samuel. i did what you asked. i used scrying magic on the boy, tried to find him. but his energy, it’s too unstable. it was like looking at the sun.”

“and mom?” sam asks, forcing the words out. the silence on the other end of the phone is deafening.

“say it!” dean yells, making sam jump.

“i don’t know what happened or where she is,” rowena begins, careful, slow, “but i can tell you with certainty mary winchester is no longer on this earth.”

sam lowers his hand, the phone resting on his legs. he brushes ‘end-call’ with his thumb, face the the picture of devastation.

dean paces up and down a few times, before placing his hands on the back of a wooden chair. his fingers flex painfully around the wood, then he lifts it up in the air and smashes it, hard, against the wall. sam jumps again, shoulders shaking.

“so, what do we do?”

“what do we always do when we lose one of our own? we fight. we fight to bring them back.” dean says, plainly.

“how?” sam wonders, face creased. “billie?”

“rowena. she’s got the book of the damned. she’s resurrected herself more times than we can count.”

“how? we don’t even know where your mother is.” cas points out.

“then go to heaven and find her!” dean spits, venom and carnage in a sentence. to sam, he says, “tell rowena we’re on our way.”

he finally looks at arc, for the second time that day. the anger falls back to a low flicker, still there, just ebbing for a moment. “you.” he says, tightly, through gritted teeth. “you can find jack.”

“i can try.” arc says, tipping her chin upwards defiantly. she’s already pretty sure she won’t be able to find him - she can usually feel him, his presence, maybe not be aware of his actual location. but able to feel his soul out there.

now, she can’t feel anything.

dean shoves past cas with an unneccessary amount of force. cas looks broken, eyes glassy, lips turned down. he’s wringing his hands together, a crease deep in his forehead. arc lays her hand on his arm. “cas, i’ll come to the gate with you.”

in the doorway, dean stops. “you’re gonna go with him?”

arc looks over cas’ shoulder. “what good am i going to do with you, dean? you can’t even look at me.”

dean doesn’t deny it- he can’t- so he keeps his mouth shut and stomps out into the night.

*******************

arc takes cas’ keys from his trembling fingers and coaxes him into the passenger seat. they hit the park where the gate of heaven is located, and arc tries hard not to think about the last time she was here.

something warm, something alive, reaches out and presses in on arc’s soul. it’s not violent or aggressive, but soft and caring. i can feel him, she realises, with wonder, i can feel this kid-

the sound of the passenger door slamming shut jerks her from her painful reminiscing. she scrambles to chase after cas, who is already walking toward the sandbox.

reaching the edge of the red wood border, cas puts a finger to his temple. tuning in to angel radio. “hello? hello? naomi.” no light or smoke rises from the sigil carefully traced in the sand.

arc and cas wait, and wait, and wait. heaven’s not answering, wow, what a shock, arc thinks to herself.

“naomi. i’m still here, and i’m not going anywhere, not until i have a word with you.”

it’s not naomi who is revealed once the wispy smoke has cleared; it’s-

“dumah.” cas eyes her warily. “where’s naomi?”

“well, i’d tell you it’s none of your business, but you already know it’s none of your business. why are you here?”

“nice to see you too, dumah,” arc grins, forcefully. dumah side-eyes her, sneering slightly.

“i’m looking for someone.” cas tells her.

“mary winchester? if that’s why you’re here, then you should leave now.”

“why? there may be a way to bring her back.” a hint of desperation leaks through cas’ voice; arc hates to hear it, only because she knows dumah would enjoy using it against him.

“why would you want to do that? because she’s gone. she’s at peace. you know, she died painlessly. instantly. completely. she’s in heaven, a special heaven. mary winchester is complete. you and the winchesters may not be. but she is.”

cas inhales, slow and sharp. he asks for proof, and dumah offers to bring him up to see for himself. she glares again at arc, curling her lip. “she can’t come.”

“she doesn’t want to.” arc bites back. cas looks at her, and she nods. he disappears up to heaven with dumah, returning not long after. he confirms dumah was telling the truth.

arc’s headache is getting worse. she reaches up, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. pushing hard enough to create neon lights and random shapes behind her eyelids. dean is going to be so, so, so done with them.

*******************

arc feels unwelcome in the bunker. mostly due to dean’s inability to look at her still. cas explains what dumah told him, about mary’s special heaven.

“so, what? are you just gonna take her word for it?” dean asks, skeptical. cas shakes his head.

“no, no, she let me in. i saw your mother’s heaven, and she is happy. she’s with john, and there’s no sorrow. there’s no guilt. just joy.” cas’ words are soft, mostly directed toward dean. he’s trying so damn hard here, arc thinks, bitterly. dean’s never going to see it.

“i talked to rowena. um, she said she thinks that what jack brought back is a shell. a body, you know. that it was empty. just a replica. “incapable of holding life”,” cas quotes the witch directly, withdrawn.

that’s the other thing. jack had tried to bring mary back using a spell from the book of the damned, but only brought back a body. it’s - chilling, in a weird way. arc is a hunter, she is not someone who gets ick’ed out by corpses. but the shell thing - that’s what’s creeping her out, she thinks.

at least they can use it to give their mom a hunter’s funeral. they burn her body on a pyre, watching the flames consume her. cas never takes his aching eyes off of dean, who never takes his cold, grief-stricken ones off the pyre. when cas tries to walk over, to stand next to dean, sam stops him.

the taller winchester walks forward, a photo of his mother in his hand. he bids farewell, again, and tosses it into the fire.

*******************

a couple of nights later, the bunker is filled with hunters from all over. people are drinking, swapping old stories, mainly ones involving mary. some of her things are spread out on the war room table, like some morbid museum exhibit detailing her life. arc hangs back, keeps to her room, mostly.

dean gives a big speech. it’s very sweet, and he has sam, cas, and arc stand with him as he gives it. it takes all of arc’s strength not to fidget in front of the mourners. she wants to be alone. wants a moment to breathe, to grieve mary herself.

as dean raises his glass of whiskey, he says, “goodbye mom.”

sam copies his brother, “bye, mom.”

the hunters all follow suit, beer bottles and whiskey tumblers filling the air as they salute their fallen comrade. “to mary!”

a hatchet whistles through the hair, lodging into a man’s neck and killing him, instantly. everyone jumps back, looking in the direction that the weapon came from. bobby steps in, pulling at his baseball cap.

turns out, the ‘hunter’ was a wraith; one from a nest bobby had tried to take down with mary just a few weeks ago. as a group gather to carry the body out and get rid of it, bobby snaps after them, “make sure i get my hatchet back!”

“thanks for coming out.” sam says, hushed.

“a hunter’s memorial, complete with monster. mary would’ve appreciated it.” cas says, a fond smile on his face. bobby nods along, agreeing.

“now that you mention it, yeah.” he matches the small smile on cas’ face. then, to sam, “how are you?”

sam shrugs. “hey, you know. it’s tough.”

bobby nods, eyes searching out dean. “and the other one?”

“yeah,” sam says, watching his brother packing up mary’s things. “dean seems to be doing okay. hard to say.”

arc, for once, bites her tongue. dean is not doing okay, and sam should know that. they all should. this is what dean does. he bottles it all up, keeps it inside, finds someone to blame and then directs ten thousand pounds of crap on that person.

“yeah. maybe he’s like me,” bobby suggests, “bein’ teary in public’s not my style.”

arc hums. dean is grieving, of course, but that’s all hidden behind his thick walls of anger and blame. dean comes their way carrying a cardboard box. sam calls out to him as he passes by.

“hey. uh, most everybody’s headed out, but bobby’s gonna stick around. i thought maybe we could open that scotch ketch left and hang out, talk about mom,” sam’s expression is fragilely hopeful.

“talk about mom?” dean checks, “isn’t that what we’ve been doing?” he sets down the box in a corner and wipes his palms on his jeans. “i need a drink, and to get out of here for a while.”

sam’s face falls. “but, dude, we need to talk about jack,” he protests. dean walks out, reassuring sam over his shoulder that they will.

sam, cas, arc, and bobby gather in the kitchen. sam grabs two beers from the fridge, for himself and bobby. he takes from his pocket a photograph from his childhood. mary is holding a baby sam, while a toddler-sized dean grins up at the camera.

“memory lane?” bobby asks. sam nods, smiling weakly.

“yeah. i mean, dean couldn’t have been but 4 years old. i wasn’t even six months.”

“you know, at one time, you boys were good-lookin’,” bobby jokes, nudging a laugh from sam, who thanks him.

bobby asks, then, because of course he does. “what exactly happened to her? ‘cause i’m hearin’ the kid-” he lets himself trail off at the sombre expressions of the other three. “i liked the kid. we fought together. but there’s only one way this ends,” he warns. cas doesn’t quite get it.

“bobby’s right. we have to find jack and help him.”

bobby’s mouth falls open, as he stares down at cas, incredulous. “what? that kid- he killed mary!”

“i know that,” cas tells the older hunter flatly.

“ah-ah,” bobby shakes his head firmly. “don’t say ‘but’.”

“but…” cas says anyway, “he… jack may not even realise what he did was wrong.”

“if his human side is gone, you know what's left- lucifer. now, if you lot want to sit around and talk, fine. but me? i’m gonna get on the horn to some of my people and go find that boy.”

“and then what?”

“an unstoppable monster who don't know right from wrong gets put down -- or the closest we can get to it. and anybody who don't know that needs to go back to school.”

the condescension in the man’s voice makes something snap inside arc. she’s suddenly so very glad that this bobby isn’t her bobby. as he turns to walk out the door, he flinches back in surprise when arc appears in front of him.

her face is void of any expression. “you go looking for jack, and i really hope you find him,” she says, sincerely. “i really, truly do.” she insists, not angry, but dark. bobby hesitates, regarding her with the wariness a deer would give a lion. she steps to the side, allows him to leave.

cas looks up at her, devastation written into every fibre of his being. sam’s no better. they both understood the threat under arc’s words.

*******************

arc drops cas off at the sandbox gate once again. she takes in the shiny slides, often going unused, the bright red paint on the monkey-bars. she closes her eyes, searches within herself and then looks outward. nothing. no spark, no hint of jack. her stomach folds and squeezes, a bitter taste lingering in the back of her throat.

if bobby and his friends go after jack, then jack will kill them. it will be self-defence, sure. but it’ll still be murder. it will still be more blood on his hands and another step down the darkest of paths.

arc hasn’t seen dean since the previous night. she hates it. everything between them had finally settled again, and now this.

arc promised kelly that she would protect jack at any cost - could she really take dean’s life in order to keep her promise? she can’t imagine it. killing him. can’t picture it in her head without being gripped by the urge to throw up. she also can’t imagine letting dean kill jack, though. so what does she do?

the gorgon had asked her, who is she in this story. the truth is, arc’s still not entirely sure.

is she dean’s killer? jack’s protector?

a memory;

“the thing is, arc, is that you were never meant to be a part of this story. ” chuck hesitated. “ like, at all. ”

a bar constructed from god’s head, a nebbish scribe huddled in a corner booth. leafing through a stack of pages, absorbed in his work. a shock identity-reveal, and a whole lot more.

“what do you mean i’m not meant to be a part of this story? you wrote it,” arc retorted, utterly confused. chuck rubbed the side of his neck, mouth twisting to the side. he was every bit the skittish author she remembered, only now she knows his true identity.

“arc, i didn’t create you,” he confessed. “i have no idea where you came from. i think- probably just a blip. i mean, i wasn’t exactly around to oversee it all, so, some things just slipped through the cracks.”

those words have haunted her since that day. because chuck created every soul, every person who has ever lived, who is living, who ever will live. but not hers. he doesn’t know what her role is, because he never wrote one for her.

arc’s not so sure that’s a good thing anymore.

arc is a lesser version of jack, that’s all she knows. or, at least thinks she knows. she crosses her arms, tapping her foot in a steady rhythm on the grassy ground. a whirlpool of thoughts and fears and worst-case-scenarios flood her mind, beginning to form a black-hole intent on sucking her right in.

it would be so easy, to fall apart right now. she may never see jack again. dean may never look at her the same way. it’s painful to watch cas tear himself to shreds in the hopes of winning dean over. she loves them both, how could she not? after all this time. after all they went through together. but to see cas willing to bow to dean’s hateful remarks…

before she can truly begin a downwards spiral, cas returns from heaven, nodding once at her. he explains in the car as they head back to the bunker, the conversation he shared with dumah. then, he relays the same information over to sam and dean.

“i was promised every effort would be made to, uh, locate jack.” cas seems genuinely relieved by this, even if only a little.

dean, on the other hand, has no faith in the upstairs crew. “oh. heaven promised? great. well, we should take that to the bank.”

“jack’s powers could also be a threat. it serves them to help find him.”

at this, sam leans in, opening the browser on his laptop. “yeah, about that. um, i’ve been looking for anything weird. and a university professor was found dead in his office in ohio. his body was crystallised into a block of salt.”

dean frowns. “salt. why’s that sound familiar?”

“it’s a pillar of salt,” cas explains, “it’s biblical. lot’s wife. punished by heaven.”

dean leans over sam, scanning the news page. “this guy was an atheist,” he reads aloud.

“he wrote a bunch of best-selling books trying to disprove god and heaven.”

“okay. so you think an angel iced him?” dean asks. cas locks eyes with arc, both of them feeling the same sense of unease building.

“no ordinary angel could do something like that.” dean purses his lips.

sam switches tabs, with more strange stories for them to dig into. “just wait. there’s another. a few hours after the professor was killed, a lady in texas fell into a crevice that opened up, and she was killed.”

“like a sinkhole,” dean reasons.

“that’s what i thought, too. but a witness said it was more like ‘a fissure opened under her feet then closed back up with her inside’”. he raises his eyebrows at dean, and something clicks in arc’s mind. she leans back against one of the stone pillars and begins to recite something.

“and the earth opened her mouth and swallowed them up, and their houses, and all of the men that appertained unto korah.”

cas knows what she means, the other two do not. “it’s numbers 26:10.” sam says a silent “ah” of understanding. dean tilts his head, scrunching his face up.

“you just knew that? like, off the top of your head?” for a second, the interaction is normal. almost lulling both into a false sense of comfort, security.

“yes?” arc says, as if it would have been weirder had she not known it.

“this lady was a- a tv evangelist,” sam reads out, “um, she was under investigation for stealing thousands of dollars through fake charities.”

“so either chuck came back,” dean says, snorting, “which- that ain’t gonna happen-”

arc glances at cas, who ducks his head in almost-shame.

“-or-”

“jack,” castiel finishes grimly.

the next day, another incident hits the news and catches their attention. a man hospitalised claims his prayer group had been ‘raptured’ by some powerful young man. the description he gives is sickeningly familiar.

they all head straight to the hospital, arc stays outside the patient’s room. letting sam and dean handle it.

she probably should be helping more, but she’s- she’s stuck. inside her head. inside her heart. she’s terrified. terrified that her family is falling through her fingers, like ash and dust. regardless of how this ends - jack walking away, or dying - everything has changed, between every single one of them. their little family act has shattered, been swept aside, like it was all one big cosmic joke.

all of this, seeking out jack, investigating like it’s any other case… it hurts, almost too much to bear. and arc has watched sam and dean die, go to hell, go to purgatory; has watched sam high on demon blood and dean corrupted by the mark of cain. she’s watched castiel dying, too, watched him suffer at the hands of naomi, at the hands of metatron. she’s watched the angels fall, and sam nearly succumb to the trials. arc has witnessed the king of hell regressing to a state of being more human than demon. she’s lost people; so many people.

she’s seen so much, and through it all, made it through, mainly, due to her ability to numb herself. to shut it off, shut herself down. process things in bits and pieces, never all at once. it’s different, now. this is… different. jack made it all different, for all of them.

her guard is close to falling. too close. she doesn’t know what will happen if it does.

the patient’s voice wafts out the door. “he just waved his hand, and i landed on the floor, and these cuts opened up all over my body. and worms crawled out of ‘em. worms!”

he is terrified, obviously, and the three men leave him to rest. when they exit the room, arc looks at them blankly. “ ‘immediately, an angel of the lord struck him down, because he did not give god the glory, and he was eaten by worms and breathed his last.” she recites, flat.

“wait. so this is another bible thing?” arc nods at sam.

“what the hell is going on?” dean wonders, stalking off down the hallway. cas asks arc to once again bring him to heaven’s gate. arc wonders, briefly, if she should simply set up a tent there and take up permanent residence.

she doesn’t voice this, simply says sure. sam and dean return to the bunker in the impala.

arc drives cas to the playground, the sky dimming and drawing a velvet, navy-blue curtain as the night falls in. stars wink above them, too cheery for arc’s liking. what have they got to shine for? what’s the occasion?

she tries to remember the last time she slept. wonders if this is what it’s like to be delirious.

*******************

the park is, of course, empty. at least, almost empty - for once, it’s not unguarded. a short man dressed in layers of rags warms his hands over a fire. anyone passing by would simply think him a homeless person. arc and cas know better.

“eremiel. open the portal.”

the angel turns, looks them both up and down. “no can do, my brother. heaven is now closed.”

“no, it’s not,” cas argues. “i was just there.”

“i’m sorry. i said that wrong,” eremiel corrects himself, pleasantly, “heaven is closed to you.” he points upward with one finger. “orders.”

“eremiel.” cas states, just about holding on to his calmness. a stitch away from snapping entirely. “i am going to heaven.”

the angel smiles, playful. “that’s what everyone thinks.” something silver glints in the angel’s dirty sleeve. his blade.

cas drops his own into his hand, eyes heavy with regret. arc gets eremiel from behind, holding him in a head-lock. cas manages to talk his way into heaven without spilling any more of his kin’s blood. he looks at arc, grateful for that.

again, arc is left alone, unable to enter heaven. he carries extra weight on his shoulders when he returns, and there’s blood on his blade. arc feels sorry for him, for jack, for herself.

“jack was there,” cas tells her, “making angels.”

arc’s eyes widen. “he can do that?”

cas nods, pulling a crumpled tissue from his pocket and wiping his blade down, tucking it back inside his coat. “jack’s powers are… unimaginable, arc,” he says, solemnly.

“wait- so where is he?”

did he not want to leave with castiel?

did he not want to see arc again?

“i don’t know. i got into a - heated argument with dumah, and, well, by the time i returned jack had disappeared. dumah was manipulating him the whole time, arc. making him do those things. she wanted humans to fear heaven’s wrath.”

“lovely,” arc mutters, rolling her eyes. “i assume she’s been dealt with.” she raises an eyebrow at cas, who nods his head yes. eyes spilling over with of another heap of hurt and regret and guilt.

“where would he go, cas? did he have another heavenly assignment, or what?”

cas shakes his head, lips pressed together so tight they disappear. he doesn’t know. “we have to get back to the bunker. sam and dean - they need to know jack was being manipulated.”

there’s a flickering lightness fighting for a place in cas’ blue eyes. arc wants to tell him that she doesn’t think that anything will make a difference to sam or dean, but can’t quite bring herself to douse that flame struggling to grow.

*******************

sam and dean are sharing a beer in the kitchen, a heavy atmosphere surrounding them. arc feels it the moment she enters, like walking into a bog - it’s hard to push herself through.

“sam. dean. there’s news. dumah was manipulating jack into doing those things. she told him it would please you.”

dean looks away, fists clenching. “oh, so now it’s our fault?”

arc looks between him and sam. something’s wrong.

“i’m just saying it’s urgent that we find him and tell him.”

sam speaks up, quiet. “cas, he’s here.”

cas tilts his head. arc goes cold, all over. “where?” she asks, breathless. sam looks helplessly at dean.

sam looks… sad. he’s sad, he’s- he’s heartbroken by something. and it’s not mary. and dean, too, has fresh anger rolling off every angle of his body. when sam is hurt, he shows it. when dean is hurt, he covers it. something has happened. maybe only in the last five minutes, even.

“where is he?” arc repeats, demanding.

“he’s locked up, safe. he’s in the ma’lak box.” dean’s voice is too forceful to believe the tough act he’s putting on.

arc stops breathing. cas freezes in place.

“no!”

“and that’s where he’s gonna stay.”

arc backs up until she hits the wall. her heart is thudding viciously in her chest. surely at any second it’s gonna break through her ribs. her hammering pulse throbs in her stomach, her throat, her temples. a red haze tinting her vision. she watches cas and dean shout at one another, sam cowering at the table. a weightless sensation cuts her loose from her body. like she’s drifting, gazing at the scene from above.

“even after hearing what i said, you want to keep jack in a living death?!”

“he agreed to it,” dean points put. “because deep down, i think he knows it’s best.”

“no. you’re doing what dumah- you are manipulating him.”

dean’s lips pull back in a snarl, face turning red. “he got in that box because he trusts you. after everything. after -” arc’s words fall away into a scratching, strangled noise. sam looks at arc with hopeless eyes. “he got in that box because he trusted you!” arc hates that she can’t reach her anger right now - that her voice wavers, goes high, tears prickling behind her eyes. “because he has always trusted you, looked up to, followed you - and you- you never deserved it!”

“guys,” sam tries to intervene, his voice breaking immediately. all eyes fall on him, cas and dean with scorching glares, arc’s green gaze so frozen it’s like getting frostbite.

“what? you just want to forget about him?”

“i wish i could forget about him!” dean bellows, his tone burning hot. “after what he did? and you know what he can do. this is our only play.”

there’s a rumbling, then, dark and sinister. it seems the very foundations of the bunker are shaking; the lights cut out, and they are bathed in dark red as the emergency generator kicks in. jack breaks free of the box, confronting the winchesters, how they lied to him. his eyes glow dangerously as he stands in the darkness, little more than a silhouette standing before them. he throws out his hands, emitting a powerful wave that crashes through sam, dean, and cas. knocking them backward, hard. arc remains standing, able to hold herself up against his attack. something like satisfaction twinges in her chest when she hears dean’s grunt of pain, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the tightness in her throat.

“jack…” she breathes out, lost, desperate. jack is already gone. disappeared, out into the world.

angry, heartbroken, and all alone.

*******************

jack doesn’t understand. he hadn’t meant to hurt mary. he hadn’t wanted to do it. why couldn’t any of them see that?

he walks down the street, hyper-sensitive to his surroundings. the sun is too hot on his skin, the air too thick with pollution. and the people - all the people and their lies. so many lies. he can hear them, in his head, every thought from every passerby, every pedestrian and driver and cyclist. a thousand white lies spoken each day, each one another slap his very nervous system. the pain and confusion builds and builds until it overwhelms jack to the point where he literally can take it no longer.

stopping dead in his tracks, his glow yellow-good as he slaps his hands over his ears, screaming out, “STOP LYING!”

there’s a split second, less than a second, even, where it all just… stops. completely. like a dvd that’s been scratched skips over a scene. the people freeze in place, then continue on their day, not even aware that the something is very, very different about their world now.

Chapter Text

jack leaves the bunker in utter chaos; smoke and dust fills the hallways as the remaining four stumble back toward the library.

“damn it!” dean swears, kicking at the wall, hurting his foot in the process.

arc’s snapped back to her usual self, rolling her eyes. “well, great plan, dean. it really worked out for you.”

“all right, shut up,” he snaps, getting her riled.

“what the hell do we do now?” sam asks, raising his arms above his head, tangling his fingers in his hair.

“we have to find him,” cas states, trying to come up with a plan.

“and then what?” dean barks.

“oh, i don’t know, dean, no more ma’lak boxes lying around?” arc’s snarky tone pushes dean further into his fury.

“ya know what, arc?”

“what?!” they step into each other’s faces, breathing heavily. cas tries to pull them apart, and dean shoves him, one hand on his shoulder pushing hard.

“stay out of it, cas!” his nostrils flare wide and angry. cas looks like a puppy that’s been punched. sam sinks into one of the chairs, hanging his head.

“dean,” cas tries, but the hunter shakes his head dismissively.

“no, you know what, cas? screw you,” he hisses. “screw you! you lied, to my face- to our faces- for weeks! for weeks! so much for that profound bond we’re supposed to have!”

cas blinks. “dean. we do have a profound bond-”

“really, cas? ‘cause i haven’t exactly been feelin’ the love, lately!”

cas pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. after taking a moment to gather himself, he says something that blows arc’s mind.

“you know, i think arc may have been right.”

“what?” her and dean ask at the same time.

“some time ago, back when jack and arc first returned to the bunker… arc made a comment toward you, dean, that, at the time, i’m sure was- probably just said in the heat of the moment.”

arc scrunches her nose up, running through her memories, lips moving as she recalls anything snide or mean she may have said to dean. i mean, there’s a long list.

“she said she believed you may have been jealous… of my connection, to jack. i believe, now, that she was right. you felt threatened by how much i cared for jack.”

dean splutters, red face, indignant. “you- i- that- that’s ridiculous!” he huffs a forced laugh, looking at sam like, isn’t this ridiculous?

cas pins dean with a pitying look. “dean, you must know by now how much i care about you. all of you. jack is my son, and that is a different kind of love.”

dean blows his cheeks out, shaking his head, hands gripping his hips iron-tight.
“i- you-” he still can’t seem to string a sentence together, his blush strengthening.

arc laughs, because why the hell not? dean is uncomfortable and he can’t even deny what cas is saying is true.

“i’m glad you’re finding this amusing,” cas remarks, drily.

arc shrugs, throwing her hands up as if to say, oh, well. “come on, cas. it’s funny. look at him. so quick to throw blame and anger on everybody else, all because of an inability to admit his real feelings. he can’t ever admit his own shortcomings.”

“oh, what, like you’re so perfect?”

“i don’t pretend to be,” arc says, lips pressed together. “you know, dean, you love finding someone to blame, so why don’t we find someone now? huh?”

she crosses her arms, face twisting into a violent, aggressive expression. “who was the one who constantly threatened jack? who was the one who never believed in him? who straight out told him he’d be the one to, and i quote, “put him down”?” she’s taunting him, now, an almost sing-song like quality to her voice.

“you did this, dean. you pushed, and you pushed, and you pushed. you never believed in him, and you made sure he knew it. made sure! and it didn’t matter. not to jack. ‘cause he still loved you. followed you, looked up to you. he tried everything to get your approval. your love. and you treated him just like your father treated you, so well done, dean, you are just like your daddy!” why did i say that? why did i just say that? why can't i stop?! 

sam inhales, pained. dean lunges at arc and shoves her into a shelf. several books shift and fall to the floor with heavy thuds, but no one takes any notice. arc shoves him back, harsher, almost causing him to lose his balance.

“so you blame me, huh?” he demands, spit flying into her face. “you blame me for all of this?” stop talking, his inner voice screams, stop talking now! 

“yeah, dean, you know what? i do. i do blame you.” she exclaims, finally falling silent. panting heavily. 

“i blame all of you,” sam finds himself muttering. he doesn’t mean to speak. he doesn’t want to. but he can’t stop himself. it’s like he’s been shot full of truth serum, and he’s powerless to resist it.

“this is why things always go wrong. this is why nothing ever gets done, not until the last minute. ‘cause we’re all too damn busy fighting each other, and- and lying to each other, that we get caught up in the wrong thing!”

“no, no, no,” dean rumbles, pointing at arc. “it’s not- she gets to say that, i get to say something. what, so i’m cruel? aren’t you? cruel and cold? don’t talk to me about my ‘inability to to admit real feelings’ when you can’t either! you are blind, arc, and you’ve always been blind, especially when it comes to jack. i know you don’t like me, but i always thought you cared about sam and cas. how can you put him first all the time?”

“the same way you put sam first all the time!” arc argues, like she can’t believe what dean is asking. “you- you know what it’s like, you have sold your soul for sam, you have killed death for him, fuck, you passed on the chance to close the gates of hell for your brother. how is it that you are the one person who doesn’t understand?” anger fades into desperation, her voice raspy from shouting.

dean, too, seems to deflate a little. eyes watering and he sniffs, once, twice, before finally, finally admitting, “maybe because i am jealous.”

it’s even less than a whisper. so low sam doesn’t even hear it. the angel and the nephalem do, though. arc’s breath catches in her throat. dean’s not supposed to confess that. he’s supposed to keep fighting her, keep fighting it all. she opens her mouth with the intention of reigniting the argument.

“what do you mean, that you know i don’t like you?” she tilts her head, a pained sort of puzzlement washing the fury from her face. peering intently into dean’s eyes, lips slightly parted.

dean’s throat tightens, as he tries to find the words. “i-uh-”

the whole time, cas has been fighting the same urge the other three fell victim to easily. the itch he can’t scratch, the whispering in his ear, say it, say it, say it.

“i’m in love with you.”

sam’s head shoots up, eyes widening like dinner plates. arc lets her head fall back, slightly exasperated. upon hearing his voice, she holds her finger up to silence castiel, then pauses. she looks at the angel, expecting him to be gazing at dean-

he’s looking at her. he’s looking at her, with a downtrodden expression, but an earnest one. arc’s brain short circuits and she just stares at him, a half-frown etched into her face. arc blinks, her arms loosening, falling to her sides, moving her feet so she’s facing castiel. he’s gazing at her, earnest, the sweetest and tiniest of smiles on his lips. she swallows, hard. wait, what? dean is looking at cas, too, like he’s been shot.

“you asked me, before. why i was so annoyed with you for your flirtations toward anael.” cas’ voice is gruff and gravelly, hiding nothing as he explains. “it was because i dislike seeing you flirt with anyone.” arc tilts her head to the side, blinking slowly. her eyes twitch nervously. words escape her; but they don’t escape dean.

arc’s gaze flickers to dean, who - oh, fuck. dean looks stricken. lost. as confused as arc feels.

“you- you love-” he cuts himself off at the last second, rubbing his jaw with the back of his hand. “cas,” he he tries again, hoarse, “i thought you were in love with-”

“ah-hem.”

the group spin around, eyes landing on two new figures standing by the door. “wow. yeah. you guys are screwed,” chuck says, chuckling as he does. gabriel is next to him, dour, glaring at his brother.

the creator of all looks smart, for once, in a burgundy blazer. under it is a blue shirt, several of the top buttons left undone, allowing them a glimpse of the plain white tee beneath it. gabriel dons his leather jacket, a plain pair of blue jeans, his golden hair swept to the side. arc hasn’t seen him since she returned.

“h- how are you here?” cas wants to know, brow furrowing deep.

“you called for me?” chuck reminds him, questioningly.

“my prayer? you came because you heard my prayer?” cas sounds disbelieving; arc cannot blame him. they’d called for god days ago, and only now he decided he had time to show?

“yes!” chuck beams, before amending, “well, that and. him.”

“jack,” arc fills in, lips tightening into a thin line. chuck nods and gestures to her with finger guns.

“you don’t think you’re the only ones suddenly overcome with the urge to spill the truth?” chuck snaps his fingers, and all the radios come on. static crackles loud and coarse, until chuck tunes in to a frequency.

every news channel is reporting riots on the street; danger, pleading with people to stay home. a british voice comes on the line, stating that the queen of england has been confirmed to be a lizard.

arc can’t help but mutter, “called it. called that one years ago,” moreso to herself than anything.

sam looks to chuck with a helpless face. “what’s going on?”

chuck crosses his arms, standing with his legs hip-width apart. his grim tone of voice conflicts harshly with the amused expression he can’t quite hide. “jack wanted everyone to stop lying. so they did.”

another snap of his fingers, and sam’s laptop opens on the war room table. the screen flickers and displays yet another news bulletin. behind a desk, a lady with immaculate blond hair reads off the teleprompter. “… the president spent over two hours documenting his entire tax history, as well as admitting close ties to both russia and north korea. and a, quote, demon deal he made with someone named crowley.”

snap!

the screen goes blank.

***************************

when the initial wave of shock passes, dean’s anger returns with a vengeance. “where the hell have you been?!”

chuck pulls a chair out from the war room table and sits down. “well, you know, it’s a funny story.” he clicks his fingers, a guitar appearing in his arms. “it reminds me of a song.” he strums a couple notes, humming along.

dean stomps across the floor and yanks the instrument from chuck’s grasp. he smashes it into pieces against the floor several times, before throwing the snapped neck away. “answer the damn question!”

chuck stands abruptly, growling into dean’s face, “don’t!”

dean gulps, remembering who he’s dealing with. chuck’s holds his gaze, simmering anger dropping until he lowers himself back into his seat and crosses his legs.

“so, how’s things?” chuck asks nonchalantly, smiling. everyone stares at him with varying levels of disbelief and frustration, and he sighs, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward. “okay, look, i get it. all right, i’m from the deus of the machina, and you have questions. so, great. go.”

“yeah, like dean said. where have you been?” sam asks.

“it’s hard to explain,” chuck grimaces, “um… everywhere and nowhere, to the edge of the universe and beyond. and i saw springsteen on broadway. man’s a genius.”

“what about amara?” is what dean wants to know.

“she’s been with me. yeah, it’s been nice reconnecting after the whole ‘trying to murder me and end all existence thing’.”

“where is she now?” castiel, with narrow eyes.

“reno. turns out, she loves keno.”

arc’s turn. “and you’re here because of jack.”

it’s more of a statement than a question, but there’s one in there.

“listen, you guys know me. i’m hands-off. i built the sandbox, you play in it. you want to fight leviathans? cool. you got that. you want to go up against - what was it? - the british men of letters?” chuck winces, looking. “okay. little weak, but okay.”

“okay?” arc repeats, dumbfounded. “we didn’t ‘want’ to go up against the men of letters, we didn’t have a choice!”

chuck continues on like she never spoke. “but when things get really bad, like the apocalypse or the other apocalypse, that’s when i have to step in.”

“so you’re saying jack is apocalyptic?” sam sounds skeptical.

chuck fixes him with a stern look. “the kid said, ‘stop lying’, and i don’t know if you noticed, but the world kinda went insane.” he flicks his wrists, the radio crackling to life once again.

different countries report the same scenarios, dramatic events unfolding worldwide. arc is the only one of them who can speak multiple languages, so she translates solemnly as they listen in.

“germany… the purge is real. spain… stay in your homes, it’s too dangerous. china… the state is a lie…”

chuck gestures and the radio switches off. “see?”

“can you fix it?” cas asks pointedly.

rolling his eyes, chuck sighs. “fine.” he snaps his fingers, waits a second, then proudly states, “fixed.”

sam stammers, arc picking up where he can’t finish. “really? just like that?”

“i’m god, arc. yeah, really. just like that. go ahead, try it out.” he encourages.

no one really wants to speak. an awkward tension grows as team free will start to realise the things that they’ve said. cas watches arc out of the corner of his eyes, the way she adamantly stares at the floor. dean shifts from one foot to the other, and sam doesn’t really know where to look.

gabriel sighs, speaking up for the first time since arriving. “who’s your favourite singer, sam?”

“elvis presley.”

dean shoots his brother a funny look, and chances his own lie. “celine dion rocks.” he nods, once, satisfied. “yeah. yeah, we can lie again.”

“and the rioting?” cas checks.

“like it never happened.” chuck pauses, expectant. “you’re welcome,” he says loudly. he’s met with sour glares in response. he clears his throat. “look, the point is, the kid did all that with two words. what’s next? he sneezes and- whoops- there goes india?”

arc scoffs, face pinching. “oh, come on- that’s not- no. is your arm tired from that reach, chuck?”

chuck gazes at her, almost pitifully, patronising. “i don’t know. maybe. but this is bad. like, me level bad.”

“can you stop him?”

chuck presses his lips together and shakes his head at sam. “not exactly. but you can. with that.”

he motions to a silver gun lying on the map table. it definitely wasn’t there before.

“what is that?” cas eyes it with suspicion, looking from it to his father.

“i’m think of calling it…” chuck pauses for dramatic effect, then brandishes his arms out to the side, waving his hands. “the equaliser!”

a stiff silence follows.

“or the hammurabi!” he presents with yet another flourish. 

his face falls when no one reacts. “no? all right, cool.” he shrugs, trying and failing to act like it’s not a big deal. “that’s cool. cool.”

dean walks to the table and leans on it with both hands. “wait, y- you’re saying that this thing could kill jack?”

“that? that’ll kill anything,” chuck reassures. sam’s lips twitch and he clenches his fists.

“so you’ve had this the whole time and- and we’re just now getting it?! why?”

“because i haven’t?” chuck says, as though it’s obvious. “i just made that sucker. hasn’t been fired yet.”

“so you don’t even know if it works.”

chuck dismisses cas’ doubts with a wave of his hand. “if i say it’ll work, it’ll work.”

dean reaches for it, removing the magazine and turning it over in his hand. he weighs the mag in his hand for a moment, then points out the obvious. “there’s no bullets.”

“right, it doesn’t exactly use bullets. see, existence is all about balance, right? dark and light, good and evil, chocolate and peanut butter.”

“get to the point,” arc pleads, getting sick of chuck’s irritating habit of going off on tangents.

“right,” he points at her, as if to thank her. “so, this doesn’t so much fire bullets as it sends a wave of multi-dimensional energy across a perfectly balanced quantum link between whoever’s shooting it and whoever they’re shooting at.”

cas, sam, and dean exchange utterly perplexed glances.

arc presses her palm to her forehead. “who ever shoots the gun, they die. kill, and be killed.”

chuck nods. “right. yeah.”

dean considers this, thoughtfully. he clicks the empty magazine back into place.

“look, i know it’s not perfect, and i’d do it myself, but you know, if i bite it, then… existence also kind of bites it, so one of you…” he trails off, apparently saddened by it all. “sorry.”

“i don’t understand why we’re talking about killing jack, y- you can fix him. you can- you can restore his soul, that’s why i called you!” cas implores his father.

“yeah, not so much.” chuck shakes his head, making a face.

“you’re god,” sam reminds him.

“well, souls are complicated, even for me.” he explains, clasping his hands together and focusing on dean. “besides, even if i could, would you really want- i mean, after what he did?”

arc responds, “yes,” immediately. dean looks at her out of the corner of his eyes, not saying anything.

“then we bind him,” cas persists, not willing to go down without a fight. “we throw him in the cage until-”

“stop, cas.” dean says, flat, fierce. “you heard him. this is the only way.”

“didn’t billie also say the only way to stop michael was by tossing you in a ma’lak box?” arc muses in a faux-thoughtful voice.

chuck screws up his nose, making a noise of distaste. “ugh. billie. i liked the old death better. he was all about fried pickles and tickle porn. this new death, she’s always sticking her scythe where it doesn’t belong.”

“there has to be another way!”

“well, there’s not.” dean snaps; his tone leaving no room for debate or argument. “now, i know you don’t like it, and i don’t really care. ‘cause you just heard it from god himself that this” he holds up the damn weapon “is the only thing that can kill jack.”

“aw, look,” arc clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. pouting sweetly when dean looks at her over his shoulder. “dean finally believes in god. and all it took was god telling him what he wants to hear.” she clenches her teeth, an expression of utter loathing on her face.

dean half-turns, staring at cas and arc. “you either get on board, or you get out.”

here’s the thing about dean: once he has a plan, there’s no talking him ‘round. he finds a path and he takes it, and there’s no desire left in him to argue.

cas leaves. arc waits a second, looks over to gabriel, who avoids her eyes. “and you?” she asks, high-pitched. “you’re okay with this?”

chuck glances at his son, who’s head is hung low. the archangel just shrugs.

arc shakes her head and pushes off the wall, walking out of the bunker after castiel.

if this is the path dean chooses, then so be it.

*******************

cas is in his car when arc catches up to him, so she hops into the passenger seat. the events of the afternoon has introduced tension between them. arc cannot give him what he may want to hear - not right now, at least.

for one, it’s blown her mind that cas could feel that way for her. secondly, arc is spinning at a million miles a minute right now. that gun, and chuck wanting jack dead, and dean accepting it so quickly. she should have grabbed the gun first, grabbed it and ran - but then chuck would have incapacitated her the second she made a move. perhaps even killed her. 

“cas, i-”

he gives her a weary, understanding smile. “it’s okay, arc.”

she bites down on her lip, her expression dejected. it’s not okay. it’s not. and cas- his self-esteem is non-existent. cas is the kinda guy who you could shoot in the friggin’ face, and he’d be the one to apologise. but arc doesn’t have- she doesn’t have the tools to deal with this. doesn’t have the coherency, the emotional bandwidth to process everything. “cas, i just…”

her breathing is short and sharp. cas is too kind when he speaks again, too warm, too loving, “arc, i know. it’s a bad time. let’s just on.”

there’s nothing left to say after that. it’s not a question, but cas is pleading with her to let it go. she looks out the window, unable to keep looking at him. a cocktail of guilt and confusion making her feel inebriated. cas puts his key in the ignition, twisting it until the engine rumbles to life. they drive off, leaving the bunker behind them in the rearview mirror.

meanwhile, dean pours some whiskey into his trusty hip flask, asking sam to sit with him. sam doesn’t fight his brother when dean says that he will be the one to use chuck’s gun.

“you want me to say i’m cool with losing jack and losing you, all at once?” sam laughs, a fragile, wavering noise. “‘cause i can’t do that. i won’t say that, ‘cause i…” his throat tightens, strangling his voice. “no. i’ve already lost too much.” he leaves dean’s room, shutting the door hard behind him.

leaving dean to deal with the fact that he really does have to do this one one on his own.

*******************

cas drives them to a cemetery, of all places. he gets out, and arc follows, watching him slam his fist on the hood of the truck. arc feels a sweeping warmth, hears the flutter of wings.
“jack.” arc chokes up when she finally sees him, dragging him into a tight hug. she steps away, allowing cas to embrace the nephilim boy. when they’re finished, jack looks up at them with an earnest expression on his face.

“i’ve been looking for you. both of you.”

*******************

in the bunker, chuck is playing with gabriel’s archangel blade. twirling it midair, pointing it at an invisible foe. sam watches, a sickened knot hardening in his stomach. chuck is a strange guy - well, not a guy. sam had believed in god, once. in what god was to him, his own version of the divine, benevolent creator. it had been hard to reconcile that vision to the real thing. to a low-rate writer in stained underwear who called sex hotlines nightly. especially considering it wasn’t all that long between learning the truth and chuck taking off, yet again. but he had gotten there, eventually. sort of.

but something is eating him. something just isn’t right about all of this. yes, jack is powerful, and yes, he can be dangerous. but chuck is chuck. chuck is god, for fucks sake. and chuck wants them to believe that he can’t restore the kid’s soul because it’s ‘too difficult’ for him?

no. something else is at play here. ever since learning of all the alternate worlds, alternate versions of them and their people, sam’s ever-inquisitive mind had generated many questions only chuck could answer. problem is, chuck likes to be - well, poetic. cryptic. he’s not one for giving straight answers. but this is the eleventh hour, and sam - and jack - are running out of time. it’s now or never.

“so, michael - other michael - said that you create these words and you just toss them away, like failed versions of some book.” sam reveals, keeping a careful, close eye on any reaction from chuck.

“and you believe him?”

sam shrugs. “was he lying?” he challenges, unflinching. “is that what you’re doing to us?”

chuck’s eyes are round and intense when he fixes them on sam. “no. sam… you and your brother, of all the sams and deans in all the multiverse, you’re my favourite. you’re just so… interesting.” a weird smile plays on his lips.

sam doesn’t trust the divine being’s words. they’re almost too- honest? too passionate? maybe it’s the way chuck is all but ogling him - like he’s not a person, but something else. sam’s forehead crinkles; a thought comes to mind.

“do you watch us? when you’re not here, are- are you… watching us?”

“yeah!” chuck exhales, deep. “i mean, you’re my favourite show.”

that’s it. that’s the look - the look of someone staring at their favourite fictional character. becky rosen springs to mind, briefly.

“then why don’t you do something? if i had your power-”

“sam.” chuck stops him, a hand in the air. “we talked about this. not the way it works.”

sam sighs. it just doesn’t make sense to him. all the crap they’ve been through, all the shit that’s fallen on his shoulders, on his brothers shoulders. “wait a second. why, when the chips are down, when the world is, is falling, why does it always have to be on us?!”

“because you’re my guys,” chuck tells him brightly. “but right now, we need to focus on jack. ah, that kid.” he shakes his head, a shiver running through him. ‘whew!”

sam analyses chuck a moment; noting for the first time the nervous intonation in his voice. “wait a second.” he says, slowly. letting the pieces fall together, waiting for the puzzle to be made whole. a realisation lights up sam’s face, the first rays of the sun at dawn. “you’re scared of him.”

chuck pauses. “aren’t you?” he counters.

“do you know where he is?”

“i do.”

“then what are you waiting for?”

“oh. nothing. dean’s already gone,” he hums, gesturing over his shoulder.

sam’s blood runs cold.

*******************

arc and cas walk around the cemetery with jack. jack walks between them, explaining his actions. “and i thought i could make the world a better place if people couldn’t lie.”

it’s such an innocent view. that’s the worst part - jack isn’t acting out of maliciousness. not out of evil. if he was truly wicked, truly evil, callous and cruel, this would be easy. but he’s not, so it isn’t.

“well, it didn’t,” cas tells him. it seems that jack already knows that, has learned pretty sharpish from his accidental truth spell.

“it really didn’t. and then i went to see my grandparents.”

“the klines.”

“yeah, i thought they liked me. maybe they’d still like me.”

“wait- you’ve met kelly’s parents?”

jack nods, huffing out a long breath. “when you were- when you were dead, and michael had dean, i paid them a visit. i never told them who i was, just that i worked with kelly.”

arc looks at cas, not sure how to take this.

“and?” cas presses softly, “how did it go?”

jack shakes his head. “my grandmother said i killed her. my mom. and i did. just by being born.”

“jack,” cas’ voice is breathy, pained. arc’s own heart skips when she thinks of her own parents.

“i used to hate myself for it,” jack confesses, “but i don’t feel that way anymore.”

the trio come to a halt. around them, the sun reflects off blades of grass bending gently in the breeze. birds caw and chirp, providing a backing track to their talk.

“after she said that, what did you do?” cas asks, heavy. scared of the answer. arc holds her breath.

“i just… i ran.”

tension eases from arc’s shoulders. out of habit, she almost mutters ‘thank god,’ but catches herself at the last second. chuck’s face pops up in her mind, and she shoves it aside. cas reaches out and pats jack on the shoulder. face melting into the relief, a smile on his lips.

they make their way over to a concrete bench in the middle of the cemetery, jack once again in the middle.

“mary was a mistake. but ever since then, i’ve tried to do the right thing- except for dumah,” he concedes.

“she, um, she led you astray.” cas agrees, a hint of regret flickering over his features when he hears the angels name. arc wonders briefly what exactly transpired between dumah and cas.

“and then i tried on my own, but every time i try, it- it never goes right. it never…” he trails off, helplessly vexed.

somewhere in the distance, a bell tolls. heavy, slow. eerie.

“all i ever wanted was to be good. but now i’m just… empty.” he turns slightly, knees slanted toward cas. “i know you’re here because you love me. and i want to love you back. it’s just, i can’t.”

arc isn’t hurt by this; she’s seen sam without his soul. knows that it’s not a choice jack is making, nor is it truly his fault.

“you can’t yet,” cas chides softly. “we just need time to fix this. we need to go somewhere safe, somewhere where no one can find us.”

arc grips one of jack’s hands, and he looks to her. looking so young and naive and vulnerable.

“we did it before,” she reminds him. “when you were born.”

jack looks down, thinking hard.

the hair on arc’s arms suddenly stand up, goosebumps rising across her skin. despite the sun and the warm breeze, she turns cold all over.

it’s too late.

he’s here.

Chapter Text

several feet away, dean stands with the equaliser in hand. his face is set with cold determination. a willingness to act that cas can’t bear to witness. he stands up, blocking jack as dean begins to approach. he warns him off, saying his name in a low voice.

“cas, step aside,” the hunter orders.

“dean.”

“step aside!”

arc rises behind cas. keeping her eyes on dean, as she urges jack to leave. “jack, go. run.”

he stands up, too. “i can’t.”

cas turns his head, fear written on his face. “you have to.”

“i won’t run anymore,” jack murmurs, quiet, accepting. his eyes glow, then he throws cas out of the way. the angel groans, landing about 30 feet away, hitting the ground and rolling over. arc looks at jack imploringly.

“what are you gonna do, arc?” he asks, no accusation, just a gentle, knowing tone. he knows, she thinks, knows what it will do to her to hurt dean.

she glances back at the man, who is waiting patiently. she runs her eyes over his face, searching for something, anything, to trust. to believe in. finding nothing, she steels herself, tilts her head back daringly. blinks away the burning sensation in her eyes as she locks gazes with dean. green on green, neither one wiling to look away. “whatever i have to.” she promises, in a voice filled with regret.

jack’s hand lands on her shoulder, squeezing softly. “i can’t let you.” before arc can turn her head to look at him, she, too, is hurtling through the air. she lands heavily on her front, several yards behind cas. “ugh!” she moans, the breath knocked from her lungs upon impact. she forces herself up onto her hands, watching the scene she’s dreaded to see.

“you’re not gonna lock me up again, are you?” jack asks.

dean shakes his head. “no.”

he raises the gun and aims it at jack. jack gets to his knees, completely surrendering himself to dean’s wrath. the hunter lowers the gun a little, puzzled. a lump forms in arc’s throat, suffocating, painful. cas’ torment reaches out to touch her own, their souls winding together in a moment of wrecked helplessness.

dean walks closer to jack, never faltering in his stride. coming to stop right before the boy, he aims the gun directly at his head. arc throws her fists into the earth, sinking deep into grass and damp soil. an engine rumbles at the gates, tires screeching painfully on rough gravel. sam barely has the car in park before he’s jumping out and sprinting headfirst toward dean and jack.

the distress carries his booming voice across the open space. “dean? dean!”

arc watches jack’s lips move, hears his voice despite the distance. “i understand.”

for the first time in her life, arc hates her heightened sense of hearing. without noticing, she rips clumps of grass up in clenched fists, clods of dirt hanging on for dear life.

“dean, don’t!”

“i know what i’ve done.”

“no, no, no, no, no, no, no, dean! hey, hey, hey! dean!”

as sam slides to a sudden halt, dean bellows at his younger brother. “stay back, sam!” the taller man bends double, hands on his thighs as he struggles to catch his breath.

jack pays no mind to the new arrival, maintaining his eye contact with dean. “and you were right all along. i am a monster.”

no, no, no, you’re not. arc drops the grass and presses her palms to her head, smearing her skin with dirt. another presence tugs at her attention. chuck strolls up, standing next to sam, who pleads, “do something.”

chuck is smiling. broadly. sam’s stomach flips, a rush of bile forcing it’s way up his throat.

“you’re enjoying this!” he accuses, sharp, disgusted.

“ssh,” chuck hushes, unable to tear his eyes off the scene in front of them. sam looks at chuck in almost-disbelief.

dean cocks the gun, looks jack dead in the eyes. cas twitches, as though trying to move. the clock stops; each of them trapped in one painful, stretched out moment suspended in time. cas gets to his knees, but what can he do? it’s too late, he thinks, despairingly, too late, too late, too late, too late…

arc sits up too, suddenly alert. eyes narrowing slightly. she’s hit, out of nowhere, by a sudden realisation that can only be the truth. her chest eases and she huffs out a short, sharp breath. “it’s okay,” she says, awed. “he won’t do it.”

cas looks at her, drowned in anguish, taken off guard by her sudden shift in attitude. she gazes back at him with a look of clarity clearing the mist in her eyes. “it’s dean. dean won’t do it.”

the clock starts ticking again, and dean lowers the gun. jack’s face crumples in confusion. dean un-cocks the gun and tosses it carelessly to the side. cas stands, shakily, holding out a hand to pull arc up with him. they run back to the pair, while chuck approaches, angrily.

“no. pick it up! pick it up!” he commands, eyes flaring at dean.

“the hell, chuck?”

“this isn’t how the story is supposed to end!” he whines, pursed lips, one step away from stamping his fucking foot like a child throwing a tantrum.

“the story?” cas echoes, lips pulling into a snarl.

“lookit, the- the- the gathering storm, the gun, the- the father killing his own son. this is abraham and isaac, this is epic!” chuck explains wildly, erratic and excited. almost manic; a dangerous gleam in his blue eyes.

dean goes perfectly still. “wait. what are you saying?”

“he’s saying he’s been playing us. this whole time. our entire lives, mom, dad- everything. this is all because you wrote it all, right? because we’re your favourite show? because we’re part of your story?” sam pins chuck to the spot with a blazing look.

a nervous chuckle slips past chuck’s lips. “okay, dean, no offense, but your brother is stupid and crazy. and that kid is still dangerous. so pick up the gun.”

dean doesn’t move.

chuck’s voice drops, lowering to a warning. “pick it up… pull the trigger… and i’ll bring her back. your mom.” the look on his face turns smug, like he knows he’s won, that dean can’t deny himself his mother.

except, maybe he can.

“no.” dean responds, firmly. “my mom was my hero. and i miss her, and i will miss her every second of my life. but she would not want this. and it’s not like you even really care.”

“you said, back in the bunker,” arc begins, stepping in between the brothers to look chuck in his cold, dead eyes. “you said you stepped in when things got apocalyptic. but that was a lie. that first apocalypse? we did that on our own. so what. the. fuck. why the games? why not just snap your fingers and end it?” arc shakes her head, changing tack, “actually, why not just end me? i’m the spanner in the works, right? the proverbial thorn in your side?”

“don’t push me, arc,” chuck warns, voice low. eyes flashing. “look, i-” he’s shaking, physically, a strained smile struggling on his lips.

“not to mention every other bad thing we've been killing, been dying over- where were you? just sitting back and watching us suffer so we can do this over and over and over again- fighting, losing people we love? when does it end? tell me.” arc often forgets how dangerous sam’s anger can be. she’s used to dean’s rage, but sam’s doesn’t come out as much. he’s glowering at chuck, eyes simmering, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

chuck tenses, looking up at dean with a pleading expression. “dean, don’t do this.”

“no, we’re done talking. ‘cause this- this isn’t just a story. it’s our lives!” dean is shouting now, bat-man voice in full swing. “so god or no god, you go to hell.”

arc’s eyes flicker to his face. he looks at her, and nods slightly. arc grins, just a little.

chuck laughs, lightly. he lifts his hands in the air and says, “have it your way.”

the adrenaline of standing up to god is doused immediately when chuck snaps his fingers, and jack starts screaming.

bright light blasts from his eyes and mouth, dropping to the ground, screaming and gasping. cas drops to his knees next to him. “jack? jack!”

“stop it,” dean whispers, “stop it!”

he and arc lunge forward at once. chuck pushes his hand out, sending them both flying backwards. arc crashes straight into a tombstone, a head-splitting crack sounding out as it breaks clean in half. dean narrowly misses his own impact with a headstone. arc grits her teeth and howls out in a mixture of pain and frustration.

cas desperately presses his fingertips into jack’s forehead, trying to heal him. sam chokes out the boy’s name, before his eyes spy the abandoned weapon by his feet. chuck is walking away, his back to them all.

sam makes a decision without thinking; he picks it up, cocks it with his thumb, yells, “hey, chuck!”

just as the man turns, sam fires. they’re hit in the shoulder simultaneously, falling to the ground and crying out as pain rages through like fire.

“fine!” chuck spits out, enraged beyond description. “that’s the way you want it? story’s over. welcome to the end.” he announces ominously.

chuck claps, once, and the day switches to night. he is no longer in the cemetery. arc, gabriel and dean find their footing, dean stumbling over to his brother, arc throwing herself on the ground by jack.

his eyes are burnt out, blackened, the acrid scent of burned flesh invading her nostrils as she runs her hands over his chest, fails to feel his heartbeat. fails to feel the pulse of his blood in his veins. “no,” she whimpers, “no, no, no. no.”

cas, on his knees, falls back, his legs tucked beneath him. arc cups jack’s face, her breathing ragged, laboured. leaning on dean for support, the brothers approach cas and arc.

“i don’t understand,” sam says between gritted teeth, one hand pressed to his wound. “i thought chuck said that the gun was the only thing that could…” he indicates to jack’s corpse. arc is still leaning over him, eyes glued to his face. fingers clutching the fabric of his jacket.

“he’s a writer,” cas states, emotionless. “writers lie.”

the ground rumbles. sam and dean look around, cas looking up. something snaps, pops, and a bright light streaks toward the sky. it leaves a shimmering trail behind as it takes a sudden nosedive, slamming into the ground. more and more lights follow, punching through the ground as they land.

“what the hell is happening?!” dean shouts over the noise.

“souls.” cas breathes, not believing his eyes. “they’re souls from… from hell.”

fissures crack like lightening bolts, running through the ground, splitting open. every time one runs through a grave, a corpse rises. screeching voices fill the air, rising in pitch, causing ringing in their ears.

arc is the only one to not react. not caring about what’s happening, or what’s about to happen. cas taps her on the shoulder urgently, garnering no response. cas drops his blade into his hands, gripping the handle tight. dean loosens several of the bars from the iron fencing around the cemetery, handing one to sam, tossing one to arc.

“arc?” cas drops to one knee, grasping her chin with his fingers and forcing her to look at him “arc! i know. believe me, i know. but look around you! we need you! i need you!” arc’s hazy eyes slide back into some sort of focus. covered in dirt and blood, she finds one last bit of fight inside her. just enough to grasp the iron rod and get to her feet.

the hunters, angels, and nephalem form a circle, back to back. one last stand. the famous final scene.

Chapter Text

HARLAN, KANSAS

less than a half-mile away from the cemetery stands the small town of harlan, kansas. the people living there go about their lives, unconcerned, making plans for the weekend. doing homework, sneaking cigarettes behind the garage, swapping out mom’s vodka for water. changing the oil in their cars, changing lightbulbs, wondering why and how it had gotten dark so soon?

so blissfully unaware of the carnage flying their way.

in one house, a mother carries a large, brightly decorated cake toward a room of clamouring children. the doorbell rings, so she sets it on a table by the door and opens it. outside, a clown stands. face garishly made up with grimy oil paint, a bunch of balloons clutched in his gloved hands.

further down the street, a pair of teenage girls enjoy their weekly sleepover. trying on each other’s close, posing for selfies, discussing boys and lipgloss and testing out new make-up looks. one of them clasps a ruby necklace around her neck and asks her friends opinion. she strikes a pose in the mirror before giggling and turning away, missing the girl with long, black hair and pale skin appearing in the glass. her hand presses against the inside of the mirror, ice forming where she touches. eyes dripping blood.

on the outskirts of town, a man is driving home when he notices something strange on the side of the road. a woman walks alone, wearing a white dress, long, dark hair falling to her shoulders. the man pulls in, rolls down his window. it’s late, and dark, and dangerous, and he is nothing if not a gentleman. “hey, miss? do you need a ride somewhere?”

the lady turns in place, smiling widely at the offer.

—

THE EMPTY

jack awakens with a gasp, flat on his back. he sits up on his elbows, looking around. a figure made up of slimy black goo approaches, making an awful squishing noise. the featureless thing draws a smile on it’s face, giving jack a thumbs up.

“what’s happening?” jack asks, his own voice echoing back to him in the vast space.

it’s a voice from behind that answers him. “yeah, about that…”

he turns, looking up at - billie?

she towers above him, hand gripping her precious scythe, regarding jack with interest. “we need to talk.”

Chapter Text

ACT IV

INCITING INCIDENT

CHAPTER 30: HUNTERS AND DEMONS AND GHOSTS, OH MY!

the following ten minutes are a blur; adrenaline, sweat, and desperation fuel the group as they slash their way through an ever-growing horde of zombies. cas and arc are low on juice, leaving them to rely on physical skill to cut down the corpses lunging for them on all sides. cas has another disadvantage in the fact he’s carrying jack over his shoulder. sam spots an old, broken-down crypt, not too far away. potential refuge, he thinks, desperate; he calls for everyone’s attention and gestures to be followed.

they dodge and swipe and duck until every last living person in the cemetery is safely locked behind a heavy wood and iron door. sam and dean barricade it, and arc presses her palm against the flat surface. muttering a spell that should do it’s best to keep the undead out.

cas lays jack’s corpse gently on the floor. dean watches, grim. “he didn’t deserve this.”

“cas, is he here? c-c-can you… can you…?”

cas shakes his head in answer to sam’s unfinished query. “i don’t think so.”

arc slips over to the furthest corner from everyone, sliding her back down the wall. she tilts her head back, knees to her chest, arms loosely wrapped around her knees. she needs a minute. well, they all do. panting and sighs of pain puncture the otherwise still air of the mausoleum. the quiet doesn’t last long.

“so, what? chuck’s throwing freakin’ zombies at us now?!”

“i don’t know if they’re zombies, dean. i think… i think whenever the souls came up from hell that they… they just…”

“they what? just jumped into the nearest body?”

sam nods, hand still clasped tight to his wounded shoulder. the doors rattle threateningly. dean looks at them, then at arc. “door gonna hold?”

arc shrugs.

“the doors are banded iron, so it… i hope.” sam starts to examine the room, kicking through a variety of junk littering the dusty floor. dean’s mind is still spinning, and he needs an answer.

“chuck, he said - ‘welcome to the end’ - what… what does that mean? cas?” the angel lets out a long-suffering sigh. not moving from his spot by jack’s body. “come on, man! ideas! can you smite our way out of here?”

“no.” cas answers, clinical. “you saw them. even with arc…”

dean’s eyes drift to her, her gaze unfocused, utterly zoned out.

“we would be overwhelmed. there’s just too many. they are technically ghosts. maybe we can burn their bones?” he suggests.

“burn their bones?” sam echoes, incredulous. “cas, their bodies could be anywhere.”

dean grinds his teeth together, growing jittery from the adrenaline beginning to drain away. “great. so we go outside, we get ripped apart. we stay in here, w-what, starve to death?!”

cas shrugs. “well, i wouldn’t starve,” he points out.

“well, good for you,” dean snarks.

sam gets down on his knees, presses his ear to one of the far walls, a rustling sound on the other side piquing his interest. “you guys- i think i hear water.” he looks back at the group, “there must be a- a drainage pipe or something.”

“maybe a sewer line,” dean murmurs, face lighting up.

the brothers begin to pry the stone slab from the wall, watched by two angels. dean shoots them a look. “a little help here?!”

cas steps forward, and a zombie crashes through the bricks. dean and sam fall back in surprise, and cas lifts the heavy stone slab and crushes the skull. gore and goo splats all over the floor, and the spirit possessing the corpse flies away with a piercing shriek.

“well. so much for the pipes.” dean’s hope has passed as quick as it had come. “what the hell are we gonna do now?” he pushes to his feet, wiping his hands of grime and ash. then, realises arc is standing.

so is jack.

“hello.” the eyeless boy is grinning and waving.

“jack?” sam nearly chokes up. “you’re alive?!”

“no. demon.” arc spits out.

“yeah. sorry about that. look, i just got here, and, uh, i needed a body, so…” the demon wearing jack grimaces dramatically, before digging through a pile of trash sam had determined useless earlier.

“you…” dean stops and starts again, “what the hell are you doing?”

“blending,” the demon informs them casually, plucking an abandoned pair of sunglasses from the pile and slipping them on.

arc flies at the demon and slams him, hard, into the wall. “get out of him,” she snarls, eyes glowing dangerously.

“ooh. woah.” the thing inhabiting jack’s body chuckles nervously.

“she said, get out of him!” cas repeats. arc pulls the demon off the wall, only to shove him back even harder. the demon coughs and tries to wriggle his way free.

“no, i can help. okay? i can help!”

“hey, let him speak,” dean says, nudging cas in the side. cas stares at the hunter like he’s just grown an extra head.

“he’s an abomination!”

“you’re an abomination with that stupid, dumb trench coat!” the demon returns, petulant.

arc snarls, twisting her fists tighter in jack’s shirt.

dean pulls arc off jack, withdrawing his hands immediately once there’s distance between them. she’s tense enough to pull a damn muscle, eyes ablaze with rage. “hey, hey, we need the help,” he reminds her.

“he is defiling jack’s corpse!” cas growls, and dean sighs. it’s not like he likes it either, but they’re not exactly in any shape to be denying help.

“but if he can help…” he tries, desperately, turning to look at cas. “jack’s gone, alright?” he doesn’t mean to be rude, or mean. the words themselves are soft and sympathetic. “so let’s listen to what the demon has to say. if we don’t like what he says, then we stab him.”

cas searches the hunter’s green gaze; eventually relenting, though his hard glare doesn’t soften.

“cas. arc,” sam mutters. “dean’s right.”

after a few moments pass, and no one does anything violent, sam nods at dean. “so. you are?”

“the names belphegor.”

“okay, we are-”

“the winchesters,” belphegor finishes for him. “uh, i know. i read the papers.”

“you have newspapers in hell?” dean asks, skeptical. belphegor shoots him a look.

“yeah, the wi-fi sucks,” he explains drily. “anyway, i’m guessing this whole, uh, hellmouth thing is kind of, uh, you?” he points with both index fingers to team free will.

“no. it was god.” cas announces, which makes belphegor laugh.

“yeah, sure.” he keeps chuckling, until he notices he’s the only one. notices the tired anger, the hopeless rage in every face before him. “oh. you’re serious.”

“it’s a long story.” sam sighs, wondering where he should even start.

“okay, okay. look. i-i’m not some crossroad demon. i’m not even one of those black-eyed goons who crawled his way up here to eat, you know, virgins and puppies and, uh, virgin puppies. look. downstairs, i punch a clock. a soul comes in, i torment it. it’s what I do.”

“what’s your point?” dean asks, cold.

“the point is, i like my job,” the demon explains. “i like hell the way it is- or, the way it was. so all those bad guys? you want them back where they came from, right? well, me too. okay? we’re- we’re twinsies, guys.”

“oh, we are not twinsies,” cas shoots back, irate.

“can you fix this?” sam quizzes.

“um, no, but i can get you out of here.”

“how?”

“ohh. little spell. you know, nothing major. alright, uh…” he bends over, scoops up a handful of soil. “just need some graveyard dirt…” belphegor hesitates, eyes flickering to the seething angel glaring at him. “and some, uh, angel blood.”

“cas,” sam requests, surprising cas. with slow, reluctant moves, he cuts the palm of his hand, letting his blood drip over the dirt in belphegor’s hand. the demon dramatically claps his hand together, and any noise outside disappears. the doors stop rattling, the moans and groans fade away.

“huh?” belphegor nods, satisfied. “you’re welcome.”

cas unbars the doors, and the group quietly go above ground. the cemetery looks like a bomb site; smoke rising in spirals, the scent of burning wood in the air, open graves like open wounds in the skin of the earth.

“hey, it worked. high-five!” belphegor cheers, holding his hand up to cas. cas storms past him, looking all around.

“the spirits have been destroyed,” he confirms, then belphegor stretches his - jack’s - mouth into a wince.

“no, i just, uh, blasted them out of the bodies.” four sets of disbelieving eyes fall on him, and he lets out a nervous, “heh. yeah.”

“so, where are the ghosts then?”

—

in the impala, arc refuses to sit near belphegor, forcing cas to take the middle of the backseat. belphegor keeps poking at cas - verbally - trying to spark up conversation. “i mean, come on. i look good,” he insists, while cas rolls his eyes and focuses on the road in front of him.

sam’s face is illuminated by the screen of his tablet as he swipes through research.

“anything?” dean asks, hands tight around the wheel.

“no, not yet. i mean, the news, they didn’t… it just… i’m not seeing anything about a- a worldwide zombie apocalypse.”

dean nods. “okay. so, ghostpocalypse. maybe it’s just happening here,” he muses, trying to be upbeat.

“yeah. for now.” belphegor chimes in, leaning forward. “i mean, the souls gotta go somewhere, right?”

sam considers this, doing some math in his head. “yeah, how many souls are we talking about, by the way?”

“in hell?”

“yes.”

“two, three billion,” belphegor estimates. sam and dean exchange a worried look - their concern only creasing when a car horn honks somewhere near them.

“alright. let’s just stick to the plan,” dean decides, firm, “we head back to the bunker, figure out how to close the rift.”

“if you wanted to buy some time, you could always contain the ghosts,” belphegor suggests. cas looks at him sideways, eyes squinting.

“contain them how?” sam checks, looking at belphegor in the rear-view mirror.

“magic.”

“and you just happen to know the right spell?” cas, skeptical, suspicious. belphegor just smiles.

“lucky you.”

belphegor’s spell will create a sort of invisible dome, a mile around the cemetery. there’s a town, less than a mile - which means it’s time to lie about being feds.

sam shifts in his seat, leaning forward. “hey. you see that?” he points out the windshield, urging his brother to pull over. on the road ahead, a car. abandoned, lights on, doors open. sam and dean get out of the car, guns at the ready as they stealthily approach the vehicle. surveying the scene and the surrounding area, dean lowers his weapon.

“there’s no body.” that’s not the weirdest thing, though. dean feels - deja vu? there’s a sense he’s seen this before. an old case pops into his head, he frowns, meeting his brother’s eyes. “this look familiar to you?” he hopes and hopes sam will say no. he doesn’t.

“yeah. looks like a woman in a white.” sam passes the beam of his flashlight over the car again, before a thought occurs to him. “dean. this could be our woman in white. think about it. hell is torn open, all those souls spill out…” he trails off, looking at his brother intently.

“you sayin’ every sonuvabitch we ever put downstairs could be up here again?” sam shrugs, an unsurprised expression on his face.

—

as soon as the sun is in the sky, sam dons his FBI jacket, beginning the town-wide evacuation. arc goes with him, barely remembering to grab a fake badge from dean’s box of goodies in the front.

dean suggests that he, sam, and arc can handle the evac. he asks cas to help ‘crowley jr’, aka belphegor, gather what he needs for the containment spell. cas is, as expected, utterly repulsed by the idea. he slams the door of the impala as he climbs out and approaches sam and arc.

arc turns to see what’s happening, sees cas striding toward them. looks beyond him and spots dean and belphegor alone in the car. “good,” she thinks, “he wants to work with this dude so bad, let him.”

the sheriff is flustered, not entirely sure whether he can trust these two supposed agents.

“the pipeline outside of town sprung a benzine leak,” sam repeats, a growing sense of urgency in his tone. the sheriff furrows his brow, looking from sam to arc and back again.

“w- what pipeline?”

arc turns her face so she can roll her eyes without sheriff dumbass seeing. sam snaps into his professional demeanour, explaining that the safety of harlan’s citizens is at stake. the sheriff takes it all in, rather slowly. he mentions the local high school could be used as a refuge shelter. after checking that it’s past the radius of belphegor’s spell, sam thanks the sheriff.

“great. get these people on the move.” he instructs, then looks at cas and arc. “we’ll go house to house. come on.”

the two men head straight down the street, but arc lingers a moment. looking back over her shoulder, dean’s eyes on her through the impala windshield. an indecipherable expression on his face. after a moment, arc follows the other two, pushing images of the green-eyed hunter out of her mind.

—

arc splits off on her own; they can cover more ground that way, she says. luckily, it makes a whole lotta sense, so neither man can deny it’s the best way forward. she darts away, feels baby-blue eyes on her back the entire time.

she bruises her fists as she knocks on door, yelling until her voice is rough and hoarse for people to head for the high school. it doesn’t take long to clear her section, and once it’s done, she does a mental sweep- checks to see if she can sense any other resident who may have been too frightened to answer the first time.

nothing; only the freezing whisper of ghosts lurking around every corner. that, she doesn’t care about. she walks the empty road, stopping for a breather and trying to even out her breathing.

jack is dead.

stop. no.

jack is dead, and chuck killed him-

stop it.

she clenches her fists, as tight as she can, ‘till the knuckles pop, ‘till her fingernails carve bloody-half moons into her palms. the slight burn grounds her. quiets the nasty voice in her head, whispering things she cannot hear right now. she does a quick self-assessment.

her head is healed from the gravestone, and already the cuts on her palms are smoothing over. physically, there’s not all that much wrong with her. she’s tired, sure, a little hungry. nephilim and angels, they don’t require sleep or food. arc is mostly the same, only she does find herself burning out about a month or so without rest. she usually tries to get some shuteye once or twice a week. it helps keep her on form, in the best shape for hunting.

none of that matters to her anymore. a black hole has opened in her soul, sucking away all sense of passion and joy and motivation. it’s all she can do right now, to keep moving, keep going.

she thinks if she stops for too long, she might not start again. that thought is not as scary as it should be.

something electric whips through the air, skims her skin. glancing up, she sees what must be belphegor’s spell taking effect. pinkish waves ripple in a curved path, meeting in an arch overhead. several streets over, raised voices, a crying child. sam’s voice - they’re in trouble.

she spins on her heel, running in the direction of the noise, once again succumbing to autopilot.

—

sam and cas have picked up a couple of strays- a woman and a kid. there’s four ghosts attacking, and sam’s in a pretty bad way. cas, too, in fact. the woman is shrieking, panicked, one of the spirits trying to drag her by the leg into a shallow pond. the child is just crying. utterly petrified and overwhelmed.

arc comes up behind two of the ghosts. she knows they’re ghosts because no one dresses like that anymore. there’s a clown, poor sam, and a man dressed like a gentlemen would in, like, the 1800’s or something. they don’t hear her sprinting full-speed until it’s too late - she tackles the lady in the dirty dress, both of them tumbling over the smooth tarmac. the ghost shrieks, indignant, striking arc with a slap that does absolutely nothing. arc kicks her off, just about dodges an attack from the mad in the top-hat.

she turns her head to the side, laid flat on her back - sam has freed the lady from the ghosts grasp. cas scoops the kid into his arms as they run hard and fast for the edge of town. arc focuses her intentions and fires a blast of energy, the ghosts fleeing for their own safety.

she hops up, hurtling down the road, making it to sam and cas, who thank her for the assist. she gives a thumbs up in response; turning, the four ghosts reappear, smirking less than five feet away.

the clown steps forward menacingly - is forced backwards. his head tilts; the other ghosts beginning to frown. sam sneers, calmly. the clown pounds his fist on the invisible wall, letting out a high-pitched scream. arc grins, shouting “hah!”

sam puts a hand on her shoulder, patting gratefully. “shut up,” he scoffs at the screaming spirit. “come on, let’s go.”

—

dean, sam, cas, and belphegor drive to the high school, taking the lady and her daughter with them in the impala. arc says she can walk there, just as fast as dean can drive. she’s halfway down the road before anyone can protest.

it’s kinda obvious that ghosts are the problem, not a leak in town - the car ride is basically explaining how ghosts can be real to the shaken kid and terrified mother. pulling up in the parking lot, dean suggests that they not mention the ghost thing to anyone else.

the little girl walks right up to sam, smiling innocently and thanking him sweetly. sam says he’ll escort them inside, leaving dean and cas by the car. arc saunters up several seconds later, not even out of breath. she doesn’t speak. her eyes are dull and hazy, as she leans against the side of the impala. dean strolls toward her, hands tucked casually in his jacket pockets. without looking at her, he asks if she’s okay.

he gets no answer, so he asks again. this time, reaching out his arm to grasp her shoulder. she jerks away, violently. a silent, but very clear aggressiveness to her sharp movement. she walks away from dean, and he closes his eyes, counts to ten inside his head. he heads castiel’s way, and asks, “are you okay?”

cas nods, adding a “but-”, only for dean to state “good” disinterestedly and walk away again.

belphegor lets out a low whistle. “wow. awkward. wanna talk about it, or…?” without responding, cas stomps off. belphegor watches him go, scractching the back of his head. “is that a no?” he checks, before nodding to himself. “that’s a no.”

—

when sam exits the school-turned-evac shelter, dean snaps into big-brother mode. he checks out the wound from chuck’s special gun, wiping it down with antibacterial solution stashed in the trunk. cas tries to fix it, but explains that he’s blocked, somehow. arc asks if she should try, raising her hand. sam flinches back unintentionally, before shooting her an apologetic smile. “last time you tried to heal a wound, charlie ended up with three extra layers of skin,” he reminds her. arc’s hand remains mid-air a moment, before she lets it drop to her side, and walks back around to the front of the car.

guilt twinges in sam’s growling stomach as he watches her with watery eyes. he hadn’t meant to make her feel bad. a few seconds later, he realises dean has started talking to him. he tunes back in, tries to fill in the gaps that he’s missed.

it’s about chuck, obviously. his brother is ranting about how they never had free will, never had a choice. sam gets it - he hates it just as much as dean does, of course he does. he just… he doesn’t have the strength or the energy to be angry right now. all he wants is to return the souls to hell, save the town, and get some sleep, some food, and a shower. not necessarily in that order.

sam listens to dean, until he runs out of steam and sam suggests that, maybe, this time chuck is really gone. like, for good.

“you think?” dean asks, doubtful.

“that’s what he does. he gets bored and... and... and... and pulls the ripcord. i mean, that's what he did with apocalypse world and... and probably with all of them. he moves on, starts another story. but you know what? good. ‘cause if he bailed, it's just us. for the first time. It's just us.”

“yeah, and about three billion ghosts.”

“yeah, well, what’s one more apocalypse, right?” sam shrugs, using his good shoulder. dean’s eyes are already clearing up; his thoughts tipping toward rational again. sam insists that as long as they get through this one, then they win. they win, and god’s gone, and they can be free.

dean hums, contemplating. he tilts his head back, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “so, team free will versus every soul in hell?” he smirks; a signature dean winchester smirk, cocky, unbeatable. “i like those odds.”

sam matches the determined smile with one of his own. “yeah, me too.”

they nod, and it’s a relief to finally be on the same page again. “you know what that means?” dean asks, tossing the bottle of antibacterial solution into the boot, pushing it shut, heavily with one hand. “we got work to do.”

Chapter Text

after rounding up and shepherding the town’s citizens to safety, dean and belphegor patrol the town. dean comments on how he should have learned his lesson, by now. working with a demon, again. he wonders if he’s cursed to relive all his old mistakes without ever breaking the cycle.

back at the high school, cas is growing anxious. people are restless, unsettled. one man has told him his wife has gone missing, which cas relays to sam. sam being sam, he takes it upon himself to stand up and give a big speech about how essential it is to keep the area clear. he opens up the floor for questions, not expecting the dozens upon dozens of hands that fly into the air. he looks to cas, both of them equally lost.

in the meantime, sam also dispatches several other hunters to cover the area, and make sure no one gets in or out.

—

belphegor and dean wander the streets. dean has his trusty homemade EMF meter, but it’s beeping like crazy. the pure volume of ghosts in close proximity renders it all but useless.

at least belphegor can see the ghosts, despite his vessel’s lack of eyes. he informs dean there’s one to his eleven o’clock, trying to escape. dean fires a salt round in the direction belphegor indicates, blasting the spirit far away.

“nice shot,” the demon comments.

“well, he hit the warding. at least that’s still holding.”

“mm. for now. i mean the spell is… it’s not gonna last forever. and these aren’t your normal ghosty-ghosts, you know. they’re more dangerous.”

dean frowns; “dangerous how?”

“well, i mean, that guy you just shot? it’s francis tumbltey.”

the hunter blinks. “who?”

“uh. jack the ripper,” belphegor says with a pained smile. dean’s shoulders slump; great.

—

rowena arrives, tutting at the mess they’ve found themselves in. “a town full of ghosts! messy even by winchester standards.”

she places her bag on a table before facing sam, an inquisitive look on her face. he forces a strained grin. “we were hoping you can help.”

rowena arches a perfectly plucked brow, “can you boys do nothing on your own?”

“you know they can’t,” comes a dry voice from the door. arc smiles for the first time in days as rowena greets her cheerily.

“very well,” the witch sighs, a fond light in her eyes. “what do you want?”

sam and cas exchange unsure looks. “well, that- when we were going up against amara-” sam begins.

“god’s sister, aye. sticky business that,” rowena shudders, recalling that particular fight. it had certainly taken it’s toll on them all.

“you made a crystalline device… a bomb,” cas picks up, staring intently at the red head. rowena’s brow furrows, head tilted to the side.

“you want me to blow up the ghosts?” she checks, and sam shakes his head.

“no. no. no, no, but the ‘bomb’ was powered by souls. souls that were sucked into it,” he explains, sounding cautiously hopeful.

“ah. and ghosts are nothing but souls…” she meets the younger winchester’s gaze and purses her lips. “samuel, no. that was so difficult, it took everything i had.”

sam’s face sinks, and jules - one of the back-up hunters called in - pops their head around the door. “sam. we got a situation.”

jules relays the situation: several of the town’s citizens have disappeared. most likely headed back into town to look for other missing people. arc swears, a heated whisper. sam asks that jules remain at the high school while he and arc go to search.

they don’t have to go far; at the exterior of the town, dean and belphegor stand chatting to the two townsfolk. the closer sam and arc get, the more obvious it becomes that something isn’t right. as dean tries to shepherd the dissidents back to the shelter, a thick black goo begins to ooze from the corners of their eyes.

“they’re possessed!” sam shouts, breaking into a run and reaching for his shotgun.

sam, dean, and arc raise salt-filled shotguns at the possessed folk, before jack the ripper turns up again. he tips his head forward at them, a grave look on his dead face. “clear the way. we’re leaving. open the warding. now.”

“obviously that’s not gonna happen,” dean replies, finger curling around the trigger.

“we’re not in the mood to argue.” he waves a hand, and the possessed man begins to groan in pain. “his insides are being torn apart by the spirit possessing him. so sad.”

the trio advance, and tumbltey raises a hand, causing the woman to bend double in agony. “that’s far enough. stop. the warding. now!”

no sooner are the words out of his mouth, there’s a crack and a whoosh; jack the ripper is sent flying by a salt-filled shell. arthur ketch lowers his gun, before greeting his old colleagues.

“hello, lads.”

—

in the town, the ghosts gather themselves in a house. francis takes the role of leader, riling up the already angry spirits. he wants them all to band together and force themselves outside of belphegor’s barrier. the barrier is weakening. it won’t hold against them all.
—

in the school, the hunting group congregates and crack open some beers. rowena’s hard at work on the soul-catcher, which ketch finds very interesting. his eyes hold on the witch’s face, who returns his sultry look in spades.

dean’s eyes, however, on the strange gun ketch carries. “what is that?” he tries not to sound too excited - this is ketch, after all.

ketch glances down at it, then smiles excitedly as it lifts in the air. “uh, it fires iron flakes, expelling ghosts without harm to the possessed victim. courtesy of the british men of letters. i lifted it along with a few other… toys when i left.”

belphegor strolls in with an update; the streets are quiet. ketch greets him, believing it’s still jack .

“jack’s dead,” sam informs the ex-man of letters.

ketch looks to dean, as though for confirmation. “killed by god. guess the kid got under his skin.” dean’s lips twitch, and he sucks them in to cover the movement up.

“and now i’m under jack’s, literally. belphegor’s the name.”

ketch’s eyes widen, as he looks the demon up and down. “you’re belphegor?” the demon nods. “and you’re assisting sam and dean with this whole ghost business? this is awkward.”

“what?” ketch avoids dean’s gaze, coughing lightly to stall his confession.

“well, truth be told, in my current employment as a freelance contractor, i was asked to, um, to assassinate the demon belphegor.”

“so you’re not here to help?” sam demands, ketch growing defensive.

“well i certainly am now! i was told that belphegor was a monstrous threat to humanity. apparently not correct, yes, hmm?”

“who told you that?”

“an attractive female demon named…”
“ardat,” belphegor sighs. ketch nods.
“she doesn’t like you.”

belphegor smiles balefully

“well, don’t kill him. we need him.” sam instructs, firm. dean gives belphegor the once-over, before muttering, “for now.”

—

rowena hands arc a list, but dean snags it first. he scans the items, shaking his head, “this is quite the list of ingredients. hope you got an amazon account.” arc fights the urge to roll her eyes.

“prime,” rowena replies sweetly. “the trap requires a tricky but of spellwork. i need what i need. even then,” she warns, a serious look on her face. “no guarantee.”

“well, you’re the mad scientist,” dean says. even if there is no guarantee, this is all they’ve got, so.

rowena asks about ketch, and dean automatically looks at arc as if to say “seriously?”

it’s something they may have shared a laugh about, if things were different. dean keeps forgetting, kind of, that things are very, very different. arc very pointedly does not look at him, and instead leaves the room. dean follows moments later, tracing her steps to the back office of the high school. she’s standing against the wall, and she’s not alone. cas is there.

“hey,” dean says, ignoring how the tension in the room suddenly ratchets up the moment he sets one foot through the door.

“yeah, hey. dean, i recognise that i… dropped the puck,” cas laments, despondent.

dean forces back a chuckle. “ball,” he corrects, closing his eyes. “it’s, uh, it’s dropped the ball.”

“ball, right. i didn’t tell you about jack, and then after what happened with your mother…”

usually, arc would want to avoid a scene like this. cas getting all weepy and puppy-eyed as he apologises, dean gruff and rough as sandpaper in response. now, she doesn’t have the energy to leave, nor pretend to be interested in joining the conversation.

dean turns, then. pissed. “don’t,” he says, lips curling at the word.

“you’re angry.” cas states plainly.

arc pinches the bridge of her nose; way to go, cas, or should she say, captain obvious?

“yes, i am angry. at everything. all of it.”

cas tilts his head to the side. “all of it?”

“this mess… all the messes. it turns out that we’re just hamsters running in a wheel our whole lives!” dean’s ridiculous batman voice drops even lower. “what do we have to show for it, huh? tell me you don’t feel conned,” he challenges, eyes hard and cold. “god’s been lying to you, cas, forever. you bought into the biggest scam in history.”

so did you, arc thinks, when it suited you. she doesn’t say it, though. she doesn’t have the will or the desire to speak. what difference would it make now?

cas bristles; straightening his shoulders. “you don’t think i’m angry?” he asks, dangerously low, “after what chuck did? after what he took from me? he killed jack.”

arc inhales sharply through her nose; forcing away the brutal images of jack’s life burning away from the inside out.

“but that doesn’t mean it was all a lie.”

“really?” dean asks, disbelieving.

“chuck is all knowing,” cas says, voice more controlled now. “he knew the truth, he… he just kept it to himself.”

not all knowing, he never knew about me, arc remembers. dean must remember too, if the way his eyes flicker to her for a brief second means anything.

“well, now that his cover’s blown, everything that we’ve done is for what?” the hunter wants to know. his tone has cooled, not softened, but it is no longer scorching. he shrugs his shoulders, purses his lips. “nothing?” he guesses.

“even if we didn’t know that all of the challenges that we face were born of chuck’s machinations, how would we describe it all?” cas challenges, eyes squinting at dean. the two are sharing space, staring unblinking into the other’s eyes. a tension surrounds them, rising to a boiling point.

“we’d call it ‘life’,” cas answers, “because that’s precisely what life is. it’s an obstacle course, and maybe chuck designed the obstacles, but we ran our own race. we made our own moves. and mostly, we did well with that.”

dean’s voice is like ice when he questions, “did we? i’ll tell you what we do know. nothing about our lives is real. everything that we’ve lost, everything that we are is because of chuck.”

that last line strikes the last remaining spark in arc’s soul like a match - fires it up, for just a second. ‘cause, yeah. she’s feeling hopeless, too. dull and lifeless and - and empty. but even she can’t quite swallow the idea that chuck made them who they are. she’s seen the winchester’s struggles over the years. every move they’ve made, every choice that has ripped them up inside. has seen cas choose humanity over his own kind, again, and again, despite the consequences he would face. it can’t all have been chuck’s. and she, she wasn’t chuck’s at all. dean points at her, his eyes still locked on castiel’s.

“the only one of us who has ever been free of chuck’s damn story is arc.”

“that’s not true,” arc protests, in a voice that is creaking from lack of use. two pairs of eyes bore into her, then. she feels them, doesn’t see them, as she keeps her own eyes on her feet. “i may not have been chuck’s character, but i was just as much trapped in his narrative as any of you.”

dean clicks his tongue against his teeth and looks back to the angel in front of him. cas gazes at the hunter with caution and wariness. “well. maybe you can stick your head back in the sand, maybe you can pretend that we actually had a choice. i can’t.” he sidesteps cas and heads for the door.

the angel calls after him, deep and warm. “dean. you asked, ‘what about all of this is real?’’ he turns then, dean’s back to him in the doorway. he waits until the other man faces him, before informing him, with all the belief, faith, and trust in his heart, that, “we are.”

dean leaves, without saying a word.

—

arc’s hanging around the outside of the high school that night when her phone beeps. it’s a call for help - two hunters on patrol haven’t checked in. she sighs and pockets the device, checking her shotgun for rounds, then heads toward the town.

she bumps into ketch and dean, both of them draped in iron chains. dean passes her one, which she accepts silently. slipping it over her head without breaking her stride. a meat packing plant looms before them, seemingly abandoned. arc nods to it, hearing the faintest whisper of activity within. flashlights on, the trio take small, quiet steps around the space, searching every corner, every nook and cranny. a door slams, somewhere in the building. dean calls out for the missing hunters - ben and frankie - while arc follows the sound to it’s source.

while she runs ahead, a ghost steps out of the shadows and attacks dean and ketch with a hatchet. they yell for arc; but someone gets there first. another ghost with a strikingly familiar voice yells at the ghost. demanding that it stop and leave - it obeys.

arc makes it back to dean just in time for this ghost-whisperer to reveal himself.

“kevin?”

—

kevin introduces himself to ketch as a former prophet. the brit introduces himself as a former assassin, “mostly”.

arc steps past dean, shoving him aside a little harder than maybe is necessary. “kevin, what the- i thought you went to heaven?”

kevin sighs, shrugging. “yeah, not so much.”

“chuck said he was going to send you to heaven,” dean states, anger chipping at his words.

“yeah, what he said, not what he did,” kevin explains, resigned.

“wait, he lied?” ketch questions, face creasing into a confused frown. “for what? kicks?”

dean scoffs, breathlessly, “turns out, god’s a dick. look, it doesn’t matter. we are going to get you to heaven, okay? right after we shove all these ghosts back down.”

“careful what you promise, dean” arc mutters, folding her arms over her chest. dean jerks his head to look at her, but she still won’t meet his gaze.

“at least the town is warded,” ketch points out, looking on the bright side of things.

“yeah, but it’s fading. i can feel it,” kevin tells them. he’s not sure if the other ghosts can feel it, but if they do, they’re in trouble.

dean asks if his ‘pals’ know about kevin’s history with the winchesters - wants to know why that other ghost had actually listened to and obeyed kevin’s command.

“i yell at ‘em all the time. they take it. since god himself cast me down, i’ve got kind of a bad-boy rep.” he grins, almost smug.

“oh. that means you can mingle.” dean says, in the voice he uses when a plan is taking shape inside his brain.

—

of course, dean’s idea is to use kevin, send him to the group of unruly ghosts and feed them some bullshit about what the hunters are doing. the real plan consists of taking advantage of having the ghosts all in one room, and using rowena’s soul catcher to, well, catch them.

sam doesn’t like it; none of them do. but the barrier is fading, even arc can feel it now. can sense the way it’s weakening, and how fast. they’ve got no other choice.

dean calls rowena; they need that crystal, and they need it now.

—

when rowena reaches them, she’s flustered, hair a little out of place. “i got here as quick as i could. mr ketch and i were attacked by ghosts. he may still be fightin’ them.”

her eyes flicker over sam’s face, and he reads something there that the rest of them can’t see. “are you okay?”

gulping, rowena looks down. “he… francis said they have your boy.”

“kevin?”

rowena nods.

“did you bring the soul catcher?”

“there’s been such a fuss,” rowena says, reaching into her handbag and lifting it out. “there’s no telling if it works.” she passes it over to dean, who grips it tight.

“well, if it doesn’t, nice knowin’ all of you.”

—

they manage to suck up quite a few of the souls; saving kevin from being tortured. the ghosts turned on him when tumbltey revealed the boy’s ties to the winchesters. unfortunately, tumbltey is one of the ghosts who get away.

“it’s not as powerful as the first one,” rowena explains, regretfully. “a few ghosts at a time i’m afraid.”

kevin tells them he learned about the ghosts back-up plan: they are going to rush the barrier at one weak point, all at once. so, the next trip takes from to the barrier, the weakest point. the barrier flashes red during second-long intervals; the only sign the ghosts are even there.

belphegor clicks his teeth, cringing. “there’s at least a hundred of ‘em. more keep coming.”

nearby, a series of bushes begin to rustle. there’s no breeze at all, so that only leaves one explanation.

arc and sam aim their guns in that direction: but ketch stumbles out, hands up. “easy. it’s just me.” sam and arc lower their weapons, relieved to see he’s alive. arc examines him closely; a sense of unease nagging in her head. he seems unhurt, though. she brushes it off.

dean fires randomly, hoping to hit as many ghosts as he can. belphegor tells him it’s useless, there’s too many. dean nods at rowena, who holds out the soul-catcher and takes several steps closer to the barrier.

“capare!” she calls out, and several souls are sucked toward her, into the soul-catcher. belphegor grins excitedly.

“it’s working!”

“capare!” rowena repeats, stronger this time.

arc looks at ketch again as he approaches rowena. the unease hasn’t settled, is still there, oh shit, wait a second, where’s his-

“chain!” arc yells, pointing her gun at the brit, “his iron chain is gone!” her shotgun clicks uselessly, empty.

ketch has already knocked the crystal from rowena’s hands, striking her again to knock her down.

when he turns back to the others, ectoplasm drips from his eye. dean growls, gun raised, aimed, cocked, trigger pulled- nothing. ‘ketch’ smiles, twisted and cold. “oh, dean. did you run out? wouldn’t matter anyway.” he taunts, before glancing back down at rowena. “and thank you. thank you so very much.”

rowena’s lips pull back in a snarl. “francis…”

“the thing about souls is… they’re almost pure power, so even with the few trapped inside your little gizmo here, i am in possession of a massively powerful weapon, one which i will happily use to blow open that warding.”

arc hates to do it, but they cannot allow the warding to be blown open. she drops the shotgun and whips out a handgun in the same breath, the shot firing loud in the air before the shotgun has hit the floor. ketch crumples, as the iron bullet forces francis’ spirit from his body. the crystal tumbles from his hand, dean flinging himself forward to catch it before passing it to rowena.

“capare! capare!”

what remains of the ghosts flow into the soul catcher, while arc rushes to ketch’s side. she presses her hand to the wound on his shoulder, apologising frantically when he moans.

an ambulance arrives not long after; cas finding himself unable to heal him, and arc too insecure about her abilities to try. sam tries to soothe cas, hearing the confusion and fear running under his gravelly tone.

arc and dean stand either side of the gurney as ketch is bandaged up, ready for transport.

“sorry, man,” arc says, shoving her hands in her pockets.

“please, if anything, you should be apologising to dean. he killed me once, been itching to do it again.”

arc doesn’t laugh, but dean does. “well, there’s that. take care, man.”

“i’ll come see you when we’re done here,” arc promises, patting his uninjured shoulder awkwardly. ketch nods gratefully, and the paramedics wheel him off toward the ambulance.

—

so, just in case the winchesters and co. weren’t feeling lousy enough, belphegor has another blow to land: kevin can’t get into heaven. any soul that’s been to hell are not allowed upstairs: sam and dean are the only exceptions, thanks to god. who definitely isn’t on side any more, so.

left with the choice of remaining a ghost or returning to hell, kevin chooses the former. he says he might go crazy, sure, but at least he’s not being eternally tortured in the mean time.

“kevin, you deserved… so much better,” arc asserts, voice low and breathless. “you- i’m sorry, man. i’ve really missed you.”

the former prophet smiles, adorable as ever. “i’ve missed you, too. all of you.” arc leaves him to bid farewell to the winchesters; sam in particular finding it extremely difficult. arc knows he still dreams about it: gadreel, in his body, killing kevin with his hands.

sam wishes he could make it right, but kevin shrugs it off. he can only do what he can with what he has; and there are worse places to be, he reminds them with a small grin.

“take care, kev,” dean says, gruffly, waving as kevin joins belphegor at the barrier’s edge. the demon makes a hole just big enough for kevin tran to slip through, out into the world. before he does, he turns back one more time. smiling, light and free.

“i love you guys.”

—

rowena and cas watch as yet more souls rise from hell. sam, dean, arc, and belphegor return to them, following the direction of their eyes.

“what’s going on?” dean asks, face paling as he spies the smoky wisps flitting through the sky.

“they just keep coming. soon, they’re gonna overrun us. again. once m spell comes crashing down…” belphegor holds his breath, biting on his lip. even he doesn’t want to see that scenario come true.

“my little toy isn’t strong enough to handle all this. we have to find another way. before it’s too late,” rowena tells them, grim, concerned.

sam just nods. face set with determination. “alright, then that’s what we’ll do,” he says, cracking his neck from side to side.

arc and dean look at him, hopeless, at a total loss. “how the hell are we gonna do that?” they snap, at the same time. no one’s holding their breath for an answer.

Chapter Text

arc wonders if there’s a word stronger than ‘desperate’. they’ve certainly sped right by that particular descriptor at this point. the barrier is failing, ketch is out of action, and souls are only escaping hell faster. their only hope now is rowena - rowena has a hail mary, so to speak. she just needs a protected area to work in, close enough to the epicentre.

dean leads the group through the cemetery, bringing rowena toward the crypt they’d sheltered in that first night. empty bodies lay scattered haphazardly all over the ground, cas rolling his eyes and noting with sarcasm, “ah, great. a nice, protected space.”

once they’re in the crypt, sam locks the door tight behind them. rowena drops her bag, removing her coat and opening the book of the damned. she begins to add the spells ingredients into a small wooden bowl. cas and dean sprinkle salt along the edges of the room. the door rattles as someone - or something - begins knocking heavily on the other side.

rowena centres herself, focusing on the flow of energy within her, around her. after taking a breath to steady herself, she begins to read aloud the incantation.

“prendi ciò che è debole, rendilo forte. d’una piuma d’oca, fai una spada. d’una piuma d’oca, fai una spada. d’una piuma d’oca, fai una spada.” her eyes take on a violet glow as her power surges outward.

arc senses the barrier rebuilding itself; sam’s phone chimes, a message from one of their hunter friends on patrol in town. he squints at the screen then looks up, hopeful. “looks like it’s working.”

rowena stutters. the spell stalls out, barely still in the air. closing her eyes and scrunching her face, rowena forcefully spits out more incantation. “rendilo forte. rendilo forte. rendilo forte!”

what feels like a bolt of electricity jumps from her bowl and zaps her, causing her to cry out. her knees buckle, leaving her breathless on the dirty stone floor. arc drops to sit by her, one hand on the witch’s shoulder. the redheaded scot is trembling like a naked woman in the midst of winter ice. teeth practically chattering as she looks up at the hunters with wide, terrified eyes.

“we’re all going to die.”

—

after taking a moment to let the words sink in, rowena tries to stand. her legs don’t get the memo, though, and arc catches her as she stumbles. “drink,” rowena demands, looking at sam. he passes her some water, which she turns her nose up at. “a real drink.”

sam looks to dean. reluctantly, the older winchester gives up his trusty hip flask. rowena takes a long, sustained gulp from the flask.

behind them, belphegor taps his foot impatiently. “okay, now that we’re waiting for the hooch to kick in, can we finally admit the obvious? uh, she failed. so if we’re keeping scores, that’s uh, 1 for the demon and, uh, 0 for the witch.”

arc throws a vicious look over her shoulder. “shut up,” she snaps, before sitting back a little to give rowena some space.

“the enchantment couldn’t work,” the witch explains, “no magic could. the spell put me into a - a communion with the wall. i- i could feel how weak it is, how close to collapse- and i could feel why.” she pauses, shuddering fiercely. “i could feel them. all of them,” she whispers in a low tone.

“the spirits?” arc guesses. rowena nods.

“their anger and hatred. writing and raging. they’re pressed up against those walls breaking them down. there are too many, and they’re too wild and desperate and angry. together, they are too strong. those walls will fall, and there’s no magic on earth can stop it.”

“how long do we have?” cas asks, grim.

“hours, if we’re lucky.”

“then we get out of here, and we take out as many as we possibly can before those walls fall.” arc glances up at dean, with his shoulders back and his back straight. “rowena, mix up some of those crystals you got.”

rowena laughs disbelievingly. “it wouldn’t matter! those things? it would be like tossing mousetraps at the great plague! i’m telling you, it’s over,” she insists, firmly. “perhaps if i had gotten here sooner, there are any number of spells i could’ve tried to close the gate to hell before it got to this point. but now it’s too late. the cat’s out of the bloody bag.”

arc holds her head in her hands, eyes closed. a faint throbbing starts up behind her temples. she hears footsteps, and dean grumbling at someone, asking where they’re going. when she looks back up, cas is following belphegor out the door.

“we’re not just gonna give up. that’s not who we are. let’s go out there and let’s take care of-”

sam gestures to his brother to quiet down. he kneels beside rowena, and arc shifts herself, pushing to her feet, giving them some space. dean watches her walk to the doors, looking out them. after a moment, he seats himself down on a step and begins loading his gun.

sam joins him when rowena asks for a minute alone. arc doesn’t mean to listen in on their conversation, but she literally can’t help it. dean is at the edge of a cliff right now; he’s desperate, arc almost laughs, wondering again if there’s a stronger word for that. he’s telling sam that they’re gonna fix this all up and they’re gonna be free to live their lives. arc keeps her eyes on the figures standing by the huge rupture splitting open the cemetery ground - cas and belphegor.

something tugs at her gut. a bad feeling. but what about? she ignores it. probably just stress. right?

something rustles in the background of the winchester’s words. rowena rifles through the pages of her spell book, determining there is nothing useful. there’s a sad look in her eyes, a hesitance to how she moves through the book and the contents her bag.

cas suddenly glances over his shoulder, meeting arc’s eyes. he’s conflicted about something, and belphegor waves jovially. arc grits her teeth, exhaling sharply through her nose. she wants that bitch out of jack’s body and she wants it to happen now. the pair make their way back toward the crypt, cas pausing by arc in the doorway to inform her they - well, belphegor - has a plan.

—

“what do you mean, ‘lilith’s crook’?”

“like a shepherd’s staff?” arc asks, frowning. belphegor nods.

“it’s just a nickname, it doesn’t matter, what matters is, this crook can call all the souls from hell right back down there.”

“and why is this first we’re hearing about it?” arc presses, head tilting to the side.

“lilith forged it so she’d have a way to force demons back to hell, if they ever got too cosy on earth. she never needed to use it, though. when she ruled, it was enough for us to know that she could.”

sam and arc look at one another, skeptical. dean, too, isn’t sold just yet, as he then asks where the crook is located.

“last i hear, it was in lilith’s chamber. which has been sealed for ages.”

“but now that the doors are open in hell-” sam starts.

“- it’s just sitting there, ripe for the taking.” belphegor finishes, almost excited. “i get the crook, sound the crook, and we suck all hell’s ghosts back into hell. then, if the witch if feeling up to it…” belphegor shoots rowena a grin, similar to the one forming on her own blood-red lips.

“i slam the door shit behind them.”

“wait a second, how? with a spell from the book of the damned?” sam checks, suddenly confused. rowena shakes her head.

“a spell of my own devising,” she ducks her head in faux-coyness, tucking a strand of fiery hair behind her ear. “the sanetur acre vulnus. it’s a healing spell, of a kind. if the gateway to hell is less a gate, more a wound or rupture, i can use the spell to undo the damage chuck did and the hole will heal, close itself up.” she pauses, eyes narrowing as she thinks through the specifics. “we’ll have to time it perfectly. if- if you’re in hell when all this goes down, how will we know when to start?”

belphegor grins, chuckling lightly. “oh, trust me. you’ll know.”

“what are you gonna need?” dean asks rowena.

she tells him she doesn’t require anything terribly difficult to procure; basic spell ingredients, really… and an owl skull. dean texts a list to one of their hunter friends, stevie, ensuring to note that time is of the essence.

“i’ll also need some quiet, and an assistant to do the spell, dibs on samuel,” she flutters her long lashes at the tall hunter.

“er, what?”

rowena shrugs demurely. “besides arc, you’re the closest thing to a seasoned witch. and i hear arc isn’t great with healing spells,” she sends an apologetic look to arc, who holds up her hands as if to say no worries. she’s listening, but slowly getting distracted by the bad feeling in her gut. it’s returned, more insistent this time. like a child impatiently pulling at their parent’s hand to get their attention.

“i’ll also need someone by the rupture.”

“why?” cas frowns.

“i need to do this spell in the safety of the crypt, but we need someone close to the edge to serve as a fulcrum, a carrier.” she pauses, assessing the looks of confusion staring back at her. she sighs, simplifying the explanation. “well, to put it in, uh, american action movie terms, they’ll be carrying a bomb, i light the fuse, they toss it in-” she claps her hands once, sharply, “boom. whoever does this, they’ll be unprotected,” rowena warns solemnly. “no salt circles - all manner of angry spirits right up in their grill.” her eyes slide to dean, who nods once.

“sounds like fun.”

arc scoffs quietly, looking away. belphegor thrusts his hand in the air. rowena narrows her eyes as she addresses him. “yes, belphegor?”

“uh, who’s coming with me?” a barrage of questioning expressions come his way. “i’m sorry, but i’m not going down to hell and getting past all those pissed off ghosts and demons that are maybe loitering down there, and sounding the crook all by myself.”

“so you want company?” sam asks, exasperated.

“i want protection,” the demon corrects, looking right at cas with a wide smile. “muscle.”

“yeah, cas’ll go,” dean says, as if it’s no big thing. cas looks at dean with hurt, stunned into silence. dean barely looks at the angel as he continues, “you’ve been to hell before.”

“well, it sounds like i don’t have a choice,” cas replies, strained.

“good. great.” dean’s eyes fall on arc. “guess that leaves you’n’ me, kid.”

arc jumps a little, startled. “you- what?”

“cas and belphegor can go to hell, sam and rowena can do the spell, and you can watch my back at the rupture.”

a tense silence holds steady, rowena stepping back subtly. arc swallows audibly, and she curls her fingers tight until the knuckles crack. dean waits, expectant. arc takes a breath, holds it, opens her mouth to speak -

something’s wrong, something’s wrong, something’s wrong.

dammit.

she exhales slowly and shakes her head. “no.”

dean double-takes, blinking fast. “what?” he tips his head to the side as if he had misheard. arc locks eyes with him, standing her ground as she repeats her answer.

“you’ll be fine,” she dismisses, trying to be as casual about it as he was about sending cas to hell. a deep furrow appears in dean’s brow, a quizzical (and hurt) look in his green eyes. “if it bothers you so much, swap places with castiel.”

she shoves at the wooden door, not pausing even when sam calls after her, asks where she’s going.

“i have something i need to do.”

—

if arc could feel anything right now, she might actually feel really bad. guilty, for having left the team minus a player at such a critical moment. as it is, she’s cold and empty and following her gut; she lets it take her straight to the nearest hospital, in through the doors and across the lobby.

she takes the elevator up to level five, the feeling increasing further as she walks past rows of identical doors and rooms. a harsh voice sounds out near the end of a corridor; followed quickly by the heavy scent of sulphur in the air.

sticking close to the wall, arc follows the voice, mind shut down, focused on the job. when she gets to the last room on the end, she peers in at the occupants - a woman (possessed) is holding arthur ketch to the wall, a snarl on her lips, her hand on his throat.

she tilts her head closer, picks up on the demons words. “… protecting the others. humans. your friends.” she sneers, voice dripping with disdain. ketch manages to nod despite the vice grip on his neck.

the demon narrows her eyes. “and you won’t give them up?” arc hears ketch gasping as her grip tightens, choking him. “not for any price?”

her hand is on the door handle when the question makes her stop. her mind is screaming at her to go in, save ketch, now! yet she finds her feet aren’t listening to her mind right now - only her gut instinct, it seems.

ketch chokes out what he thinks are his final words. they are full of pride, and lacking in regret, “not at any price,” he confirms. once he’s spoken, arc’s body finally reacts to her brain’s commands.

she wrenches the door off the hinges, ardat dropping ketch upon seeing her. “you’re the winchester’s little mutt,” she says, eyes running over arc’s face. “what are you-” arc twists her hand mid-air, and the demon cuts off with an agonised shriek. ketch watches on from his spot, slumped against the wall. he’s kind of scared right now - arc’s face is sharp and icy, cold, ruthless.

arc spares ardat no words, but simply expels the demon from the host, wordlessly. using an old, old technique that has a history of leaving her half-dead, arc simply draws from all the emotion hiding under her self-defence mechanisms. the anger toward chuck, and gabriel, and dean, the pain from losing jack, the concern for rowena and sam and the world, the fear that the barrier will break before the souls get pulled home and unleash misery and pain on the world - she holds it, until it burns, not letting go, lets it power her up, supercharging her. ardat screams and wails and thrashes, before her head falls forward violently, thick black smoke pouring from her mouth and pooling at her feet, before disappearing underground. the unconscious vessel falls limply to the floor.

ketch blinks; trying to process the scene. he’s witnessed arc use her abilities before, yes, but never like this- he wasn’t even sure she had the power to do a thing like that.

“w- what- what-”

arc turns, green eyes flashing blue-white, noticing the shaken nurse in the door-way. drawn by the cries of pain, most likely. a shaky hand grips the doorframe, wide eyes watery and panicked. arc’s shoulders lower, and the hard mask of anger falls from her features. “you saw nothing. there was never a patient in here. you don’t know the name arthur ketch, and you don’t know me.”

the nurse opens her mouth - then drops her hand from the wooden frame and walks away.

arc sighs, deeply, remembering the injured man she’d come for. “shit. ketch. you okay, man?”

“i am now,” ketch manages, still overwhelmed by the events of the last five minutes. arc crouches down to take his hands, drawing him up to his feet. “how did you even know-”

a wave of dizziness crashes over arc, consumes her. her vision blurs and fades out, a surprised gasp leaving her mouth. sharp pains stab at her chest and back, making her wince and moan a little. ketch has to support her, then, trying to walk her backward to the bed. by the time her knees hit the back of the frame, the blurriness has cleared, and the pain has subsided.

“we need to get out of here,” she tells him breathlessly. ketch keeps his hands on her shoulders, concerned.

“arc, you just pulled off an amazing feat. if you need to rest?”

despite the obvious toll on her from exorcising ardat, arc doesn’t listen. she grabs ketch’s clothes from the plastic bag on his bedside locker and throws them at him, with strict instructions to get dressed.

ketch isn’t sure he’s ever going to argue with arc, like, ever again.

—

on the walk back to the cemetery, arc grows more and more exhausted with each step. to keep herself awake, she fills ketch in on the plan to seal the rupture with all the souls back where they came from. ketch is interested in rowena’s spell, and to hear about lilith’s crook. he notes that in a file in his brain for later research. in his peripheral vision, he watches arc closely. he doesn’t miss the heaviness of her steps, this close to stumbling rather than walking. doesn’t miss the ghost-like paleness to her face, making her look ill. he tentatively inquires how she knew he was in danger.

she doesn’t look at him, keeps her eyes on the road ahead. “i don’t know,” she admits, “i just - had a feeling, i guess.”

ketch nods, thoughtful. “well. i’m certainly grateful,” he says, “if you hadn’t come when you did ardat would have torn my heart from my chest.”

arc huffs a small, joyless laugh. “yeah. probably.”

they walk in silence for another sixty seconds. “i’m sorry, by the way. about jack.”

arc’s jaw tightens; a muscle twitches in her jaw, and her hand comes up to press against her right temple. she mutters a flat thank you.

the closer they get to the cemetery, they begin to see the souls flying in the opposite direction from before: instead of spilling out into the world, they’re being sucked back in. they both look up, and arc thinks to herself, shit, it’s working. thank g- thank fuck for that.

pushing into the cemetery, however, it soon becomes clear that something has gone horribly wrong. cas and dean are by the rupture, no belphegor in sight. rowena is slowly making her way over to them, a purple glow obscuring her sternum - the souls aren’t flying into the rupture. they’re being pulled into her. arc and ketch freeze, then arc breaks into an unsteady run.

sam’s face is streaked with tears, cas and dean looking on in horror as rowena makes it to the edge of the split in the ground. she looks over shoulder, bidding a shaky farewell. “goodbye, boys.”

arc halts near the opposite side of the rupture, and when rowena turns, she lifts her gaze - her eyes brighten a touch when they fall on the nephalem girl. she lowers her head, whispering, “goodbye, arc.” arc can only watch, frozen, as rowena topples forward, tumbling down into the dark depths below.

the remaining souls fly in after her, then the ground seals itself up with a pop.

arc stares at the flat, unmarked grass, trying to comprehend what just happened.

she looks up at dean, who is just as lost as she is. sam’s still crying, and cas has a pained look of guilt on his face. dean’s eyes move past her- to ketch, finally caught up, standing behind arc.

“what the hell happened?” he asks, eyes wide.

“i could ask you the same thing,” arc counters, not spitefully, but truthfully.

the throbbing in her head returns, building faster this time. she winces and presses her palm to her forehead. ketch lays a hand on her shoulder and she pulls away automatically, tripping over her feet and landing heavily on her ass.

“arc?” cas’ voice, concern laced through. “are you okay?”

she waves off his worry, rubbing at her temples. “m’fine. m’- m’fine.” after a long moment, she looks up again, face crumpled with despair and exhaustion. “is that it?” she pleads, voice moments from breaking. “is that it? can we go home now? can we just go home?”

dean checks on sam with a look, before nodding stiffly. he stays put just long enough to give cas a heated, angry look, before stomping in the direction of the car.

arc moves her hands to her eyes, rubbing hard. whatever happened just now, added to everything that has occurred over the last forty-eight hours or so…

there’s been a lot of damage, and arc isn’t so sure that, this time, it can be repaired.

—

Chapter Text

the drive back to the bunker is sombre. no one says a word, no one meets anyone’s eyes. dean’s knuckles threaten to break through his skin as he grips the steering wheel tight. sam lets his head rest against the cool window pane, eyes shut, breathing pronounced as he tries to keep it together. cas is once again in the middle of the back bench, ketch to one side, arc to the other. his eyes swap between the back of dean's head and the side of arc's face the whole way home. 

when they arrive, ketch slips away to the guest room to change his clothes, and give the rest of them some space. sam walks right into his bedroom, closing the door tight behind him. a clear indication that he needs to be alone. arc makes it as far as the war room, collapsing heavily in a seat there. she lays her head in her arms on the tabletop, fighting the urge to fall asleep.

she can hear footsteps, heavy, on the wooden floor. the tell-tale clink of glass and fizzing pours, and the little “ah” of refreshment.

“you want a drink?” dean asks, plainly.

with her face still tucked into her elbow, arc manages a muffled response that sounds something like this: “argshfgarhgs.”

dean processes the nonsense, then states, “i don’t know what that means.”

with great effort, arc lifts her head. “no.” she returns to her previous position.

dean can’t let go. chuck made them a story in every damned way and- dean can’t let it go. it’s under his skin, thrumming in his veins, simmering just below the surface. a moment’s notice away from bursting out.

arc can’t shift the feeling that things are past the point of fixing. can’t shake the idea that the distance is too wide to bridge. she’s been here before- hell, they all have. something’s different now. something’s changed. jack. jack made it different… for all of them.

can dean come back from what happened to mary?
can cas come back from watching dean aim his gun at jack?
can sam come back from losing rowena- killing rowena?

can i come back from any of it? arc wonders helplessly to herself. the answer is firm and immediate, from the harsher side of her. i don’t think i want to.

arc has stood by the winchesters for more than ten years now. landing in their lives at the age of nineteen, never once backing down. never once abandoning them. not when dean tried to say yes to michael, not when cas consumed leviathan, not when sam was minus a soul - not ever. the closest she’d come to walking away was-

the mark of cain. dean, post-cure, had given up on himself, and arc was just. so. tired. tired of fighting for someone who gave up on himself so freakin’ easy. who would refuse to let any of them do what he was insistent on doing to himself. arc came so close to hating dean, then. hating him. hating him as much as she ever cared for him.

white hot rage, rolling off dean's body as cas lay, bruised and bloodied on the floor. the library was turned upside down, books thrown and scattered, chairs upside down and pages fluttering on otherwise empty shelves. dean’s face hardened even more when arc came running into the room.

dean, now an almost-empty vessel running on bloodlust, who just stabbed an angel blade into the space next to the angel’s head.

“i don’t want to hurt you arc,” he told her, eyes flashing dark. arc stood her ground, squaring her shoulders.

“you sure about that, dean?” she pressed, glancing at the shake of his curled fists. he’d shoved her, then, tried to get her to move. the resulting fight had been brutal. the sting of broken skin over aching knuckles only fuelled both sides, the scent of copper in the air, the taste of rust and salt on lips and tongue. the strength dean had thanks to the mark of cain made him more of a threat to arc than he’d ever been - and he only grew more incensed when he realised that arc was pulling her punches. using all his strength to launch her against a wall, dean gripped the collar of her shirt and dragged her up so they were face to face, nose to nose. hot breath washed over her face, almost as hot as the green eyes boring into her. “what? afraid to hurt me?” he snarled, half-offended, half-tauntingly.

“of course i am,” she’d replied, hollow.

arc lifts her head, studying the taut line of dean’s back, the tension holding his shoulders in tight. she’d been so scared, then. so scared that she would hate dean, that if she did, she’d never stop hating him. her worst fear has come true, and there’s no mark of cain to blame this time.

she realised that this would only end with death or surrender; and it would be her doing either. so she managed to get some distance from dean, his face trickling blood and sweat, utterly unrecognisable from the man she’s lived with for so long. hands up, she gazed hard at him, ordering him to stop. he had paused, eyes narrowed. wondering if it was a trick. nearby, cas let out a pained groan. arc’s nose twitched, but she forced herself to maintain eye contact with dean.

“just go. just go.”

dean lingered a moment longer before leaving - walking out of the bunker entirely. arc had prepared herself for that to be the last she ever saw of him. 

(maybe it would have been better if it was, the traitor in her mind whispers.)

arc returns her head to the cradle of her arms. what use is reminiscing now? what use is anything, anything at all?

several minutes later, more footsteps. the swish of extra fabric flapping - cas.

“how’s sam?” the angel asks.

“not great.” dean’s voice is stony. freezing cold.

no one speaks for a long, long time. in fact, arc is on the edge of slipping under when dean speaks up again.

“aren’t you even gonna ask?”

arc startles into alertness, looking at the hunter, then at cas. when cas never responds, she realises the question is aimed at her. she frowns. “what?”

a muscle twitches in dean’s jaw. “what happened. at the cemetery.”

arc considers her response. i mean, she can kind of gather the basics. obviously, belphegor did something bad and that led to his plan going tits up. rowena then used a spell that cost her life in order to save the world - which, first of all, wow - and considering her one ‘true’ death always came at the hands of sam winchester, well…

it’s not too hard to figure out.

“cas betrayed us,” dean spits, fingers tightening around his half-full glass.

“i don’t believe that,” arc mutters quietly. dean hisses a broken, violent laugh.

“of course you don’t. the guy who professed his love for you?” dean all but mangles the words as he says them. “except, you know, he doesn’t. so.” he shrugs, cas’ eyes widening and arc finally looking at dean.

“what the fuck are you talking about now, dean?” arc asks, voice low and despairing.

dean takes a drink and frowns mockingly. “if chuck wrote this story, then he wrote this- this- this dumb romance subplot, right?” he looks from arc to cas, reading utter exhaustion on one face, pure pain on the other. “he’s, like, pushing his character’s together going, ‘now kiss!’”

setting the whiskey down on the table, dean continues his little spiel. “i mean, hey, i’m sure arc is pleased. judging by the look on your face when he said it-” dean grimaces, whispering yikes!. “but it doesn’t matter, ‘cause, you know. none of it is real.”

“you don’t get to say that,” arc says, voice clipped.

“uh, yeah. i do.” dean states casually. “none of this is real. nothing about us is real, nothing about our- nothing about my feelings for ei- for anyone…” dean flusters himself, thanks to his not-quite confession, face flaming as he clears his throat loudly. “none of it matters, ‘cause none of it’s real.”

arc would usually argue, here. would press back against his dumbass statements, bicker over it for hours. as it is, all she manages is a shaking laugh, a little too high-pitched to be normal.

“no one made me feel anything i didn’t want to,” cas defends, firm.

dean’s nose twitches.

“like she cares about you,” he points out, a little emotion breaking through now. wounded pride, wounded heart. “she doesn’t care about anyone-”

“don’t,” arc snaps, sharply, icily. slowly, she stands up straight, shoulders back, chin up. “ don’t you for one second ever, ever say that i don’t care. or that i didn’t care.” her voice is dangerously low and eerily calm, the kind of calm that barely masks the unrestrained storm underneath. “i never wanted - this!” she gestures wildly to their surroundings. “i never wanted to, never meant to- to- to stick around! i stayed because you asked me to, dean. because sam asked me to. and then, i stayed because i- because i cared.” dean’s eyes fall from hers, shamed, cowardly.

“you wanna sit back and pretend- pretend none of this matters, ‘cause of chuck, that’s on you. you don’t get to tell me, or cas, or sam, or anyone else, that our lives, our choices, our feelings, weren’t real. you know, i get it, dean.” she adds, something sour creeping in to her words. “i get that you are loving this - that you get to hide your feelings under another layer of- of shit. you don’t get to use me like that, use me to hurt cas. see, one thing i can’t understand about chuck writing you to be the hero of this story… how did you turn out to be such a coward?”

the rage slips a little, she fights for control, forcing her mouth shut. dean’s breathing grows heavier, lips pulling into a snarl.

“me?” dean asks, slowly, eyes flaming. “me, a coward? you left us!” dean thunders, pointing accusingly. “you left us right in the middle of the plan! you’re the one who ran away!”

“i didn’t ‘run away’, i saved ketch! if i hadn’t left when i did, he would be very dead right now!”

dean scoffs, half-hearted. his gaze softens minutely, as he looks at her from the corner of his eyes. cas asks, “what happened?”

arc looks at the floor, flickers of ardat’s demonic soul being pulled from the vessel - she spares a quick thought for the human, actually. feeling a bite of harsh guilt that eases away in seconds. “ardat, she was pissed that ketch hadn’t killed belphegor yet. when she confronted him- when i got there- she had him pinned to the wall, and she wanted to know where belphegor was.” arc slides her hand into her pockets.

not at any price.

oh, she never thought she’d hear those words from the mouth of arthur ketch.

“and?” dean pushes.

“and,” arc continues bitingly, “he wouldn’t tell her. ‘cause of you. ‘cause he knew that we needed belphegor for the plan. so.” she lifts her head as she speaks, looking at dean not quite directly. the closest she’s come to meeting his eyes since leaving them in the crypt.

“yeah, we did need belphegor,” dean snipes, a sideways glance thrown at cas. the angel curls his fists and takes a deep, exasperated breath.

“whatever cas did, i’m sure he had a reason,” arc defends, cas nodding at her gratefully. dean is unmoved, lifting his glass to his lips.

“i’m sorry about rowena,” cas says, and arc knows that. sam knows, too, she’s sure - dean- well. dean’s not exactly handling any of this very well.

“you’re sorry?” he echoes, disbelieving. “why didn’t you just stick to the damn plan?!”

“belphegor was lying!”

“belphegor’s a demon,” dean counters.

“he was using us. he wanted to eat every last soul to take over hell, earth, and every-”

“yeah, and we would’ve figured it out… after. with rowena.”

“the plan changed, dean. something went wrong. you know this, something always goes wrong.”

“yeah, why does that something always seem to be you?”

the room temperature drops hard and fast; even arc swears she can feel goosebumps on her skin. cas’ face nearly shatters at dean’s cruelty, left speechless, stunned.

“what did you just say?” arc whispers, slamming her hand down on the desk hard enough to make it shake. dean doesn’t answer her, just takes another sip of his whiskey. “dean! apologise. now!” she demands, urgent, angry. dean’s eyes move to her face - there’s walls up behind them that look like they’re made of pure granite.

“you selfish son of a bitch,” arc whispers, putting her hands on her head and squeezing her eyes shut. “you fucking- you fucking selfish, self-centred, arrogant-”

“arc, don’t,” cas replies, worn out. she looks at him, a lump in her throat. his posture is slumped, limp - there’s no more fight in him. when she notices that, she realises she doesn’t have much fight in her, either. she falls onto the chair, head hung in her hands.

cas turns back to dean. “you used to trust me. give me the benefit of the doubt. now you can barely look at me. my powers are failing and- and i’ve tried to talk to you, over and over, and you just don’t want to hear it. you don’t care,” cas shrugs, sounding utterly drained and spent. “i’m- i’m dead to you.”

at arc pushes her fist into her mouth and bites. cas isn’t fighting, here. he’s just being honest.

“you still blame me for mary.”

it’s not a question. when arc looks up again, dean is nodding. cas is unsurprised.

“well, i don’t think there’s anything left to say.” he finishes, quietly, before walking toward the stairs. arc lifts her arms, starts to stand from the seat. dean asks cas where he’s going.

“jack’s dead. chuck’s gone. you and sam and arc have each other. i think it’s time for me to move on.”

dean says nothing; arc isn’t sure cas was expecting him to. she does, though. voice ringing through the space like the crack of a bullet.

“cas, don’t. you can’t just-” desperately, she looks to dean, silently begging him to make cas stay. he just keeps drinking his damn whiskey, face flat, eyes emotionless. arc heaves a shuddering breath, and cas just shakes his head at her sadly.

when he leaves, she follows, finding him as he climbs into his junker of a car. “don’t leave.” she says, not sure what exactly she can do here. cas pauses with the door open, leaning on it with one arm.

“arc, there’s no place for me here anymore.”

arc blinks, struggling to find words, panicking when none come. so when she blurts out, “i should have said something,” it’s not what she means to say, but she has nothing else, so she repeats it, firmer. “i should have something. anything. i’m sorry that i-”

“arc, i meant what i said when i told you. but you heard dean. and my feelings, too, were… not divided, but- shared.” cas pauses, before a weak, but warm, smile grows on his lips. “it was supposed to be…” he drifts off, his eyes on the bunker. a wistfulness within the almost blood-shot baby blues. he shakes his head. “i’m sorry, arc.”

with that, he climbs into the driver’s seat, shuts the door, turns the key. arc watches until the lights disappear from sight, forcing her eyes to remain open to avoid completely breaking down in tears. as it is, she has to tilt her head up toward the sky and unleash an anguished, raging scream into the night. once that’s out of her system, she finds it a little easier to control herself.

until she returns inside, spies dean calmly pouring himself another glass of whiskey. arc pauses and watches him, then stomps over to where he stands. he looks at her, surprised, then shocked, then angry - she tears the bottle from his grasp and smashes it heavily on the floor. glass shatters and scatters across the smooth wood, the heavy scent of alcohol slowly rising.

arc’s eyes glow a little when she returns dean’s heated glare; so he says nothing.

her footsteps echo back up the hall.

in her room, she grabs the closest backpack by the door and begins to throw clothes in haphazardly. she stuffs her journals in last, squeezing them into the sides, before zipping it up. passing her dresser, she pauses as she spots a picture in a silver frame. she reaches for it, lifts it up. drops it to the floor and stands, hard, an odd surge of satisfaction rippling through her at the crack of the glass.

it’s ketch who stops her in the hallway, a gentle cough to grab her attention. “you’re leaving?” he questions, nodding at the bag slung over her shoulders. arc just nods. ketch does, too, then straightens himself up. “well, i would like to accompany you.”

arc raises an eyebrow, face scrunched in confusion. she considers asking why, or straight up saying no- but whatever. she shrugs. marches past him to sam’s room, knocking on the door.

“sam?” there’s no answer on the other side. “sam, i know you don’t want to see anyone right now, but i need to say- i need to say goodbye.”

the door opens, sam’s wet, blotchy face gazing down at her. “what?”

“i’m leaving. i’m done here. cas is gone, too. dean all but kicked him out,” she mutters angrily, lowering her eyes. she glances back up, sympathy easing the harsh lines of hurt on her face. “i’m sorry about rowena. i know what she meant to you.”

sam swallows hard, and nods shakily. she watches him sniff, hard, wiping fruitlessly at his face as more tears slip free. she leans up on her tiptoes, wraps her arms around his neck. he clutches at the fabric of her shirt, shaking in her embrace. “you need anything, you can always call me. okay?” she pulls back, brings her hands to his face. making him look her in the eyes. “promise?”

“i promise,” he manages, weakly. she pats him once on the side of his face, brushes a few tears away with the pad of her thumb, then walks through the bunker with a steady gait. dean lingers by the war room table. ketch is fidgeting by the bottom of the steps, waiting for her.

she adjusts the strap on her bag, and nods once at ketch. he glances at the hunter brooding in the corner, chancing a short farewell. dean grunts in response. eyes glued to arc the entire time. she makes it to the top of the stairs before doubling back, standing on the top step and looking down at dean.

“if he hadn’t - if cas hadn’t stopped belphegor, then you would have been just as mad,” she tells him, no more anger left. “you would have blamed him for us having to deal with belphegor. there’s nothing castiel can ever do that’s enough for you. and that’s not on him, dean. that’s all you.”

dean opens his mouth to respond- she’s already disappeared, the bunker door swinging open to let her and ketch out.

it shuts heavily behind her with a deafening finality. she shudders a moment, an almost dizzying sense of relief and freedom washing over her. a few traitorous tears threaten behind her eyelids; she forces them back, climbing into her car, left lonely the last few days of action. ketch slides into the passenger seat. arc throws her duffel over her shoulder, into the backseat. she leans back against the comfortable seat and covers her face with her hands, still reeling from cas’ departure. her own, now, too.

ketch regards her with concern in the dim light of the truck. she yawns, wide, making a deep noise as she does.

“i can drive,” ketch offers, taken aback by the glare he receives in response.

“no one,” arc says, slowly. “no one but me drives my car.” her eyes are dark and serious, boring into his own.

“yes. of course.” he accepts quickly.

she lays her hands on the steering wheel, shoving the key into the ignition and twisting hard. “there’s a motel about- twenty minutes away, i think,” she tells the brit, “so, uh. we can get some sleep there, and then, uh. pick up in the morning.”

ketch smiles reassuringly. “sounds good to me.”

“okay,” arc breathes out, putting the car in drive and pressing down hard on the gas.

———

dean remains in the one spot for possibly an hour or more - he’s not all that certain. he’s standing long enough for already-exhausted limbs to grow fuzzy with pins-and-needles. for his back to protest, loud and angry, and he drags himself with great effort to the kitchen.

was he waiting for cas and arc to return?

no.

maybe.

he doesn’t know.

he sits at the kitchen table and drinks until his eyes refuse to open again after blinking, and passes out right there. upper body sprawled over the table, head turned to the side, drool sliding down the side of his chin. in the morning, he’ll be stiff and hurt from the awkward position - but it will be nothing compared to the ache that will finally come as he finally processes what he’s lost.

Chapter Text

the emergency lights bath the bunker in a sinister red - shadows move over walls and floors, wet stabbing sounds puncturing the air every few seconds. arc lifts her hand. realises a bloody dagger is curled in her palm. dean sprints past her, barking her name over his shoulder as he goes. she follows without choosing to, entering the kitchen to see dean on one knee by benny lafitte. the cajun is wheezing, sitting upright against the steel counter. dean lays a hand on his friends elbow - “hey, you’re gonna be okay,” he insists, but benny shakes his head dolefully.

“nah, i’m not. i… i’ll see you on the other side, brother.” his head falls forward, his chest no longer moving. he’s dead. dean sighs, bites on his fist - when did dean grow a beard? arc wonders to herself. he gets back up and notices movement from a body on the floor.

“where is he?” dean asks, deep and coarse.

“he’s closer than you think,” the injured man grins. his eyes flash black. dean presses the barrel of his gun to the demon’s head.

“where?”

“maybe i’ll tell you. right before i rip out your-”

dean pulls the trigger. arc frowns, confused - the demon sparks up as though stabbed with a demon blade. he dies, slumping to the floor, and dean’s already moving again. arc steps around the corpse, trying to remember what she’s doing here.

movement in the back of the war room attracts arc’s attention - dean follows suit with his gun as she lifts her blade and steels herself. sam steps around the corner, hair curling at his shoulders, a sharp, twisted expression on his face.

“he was right. closer than you think.”

arc lowers her arm. dean moves closer. gun still raised. still aimed.

“you know, i knew you’d both come looking for me. after sioux falls… i suppose you had to.”

sioux falls?

half-formed memories trickle like grains of sand in arc’s mind. screams and blood and guts - sulphur stinking up the air.

“what you did to them…” dean’s voice is unsteady. shaken, through to his core. “what you did to bobby… to jody…”

more flashes - bodies. corpses. at least, what was left of them. arc finds herself raising her blade yet again as she vaguely recalls sam’s slaughter of their friends, family.

“they tried to stop me. but i will not be stopped.”

“sammy, listen to me. this is the demon blood. you have to fight it!”

sam’s head tilts to the side. “why would i do that?” his lips curl at the sides, turning up into a smile of pure evil.

dean’s voice cracks’ “sammy. please. please.”

arc can’t help the gasp that escapes her as sam’s eyes flood with black. he cocks his head to the side, and dean’s head jerks fast and sharp. a sickening crack rings out as he crumples to the floor, neck snapped. arc drops her blade and screams, “no!”

sam turns to her, smiling wider, unsettling, teeth too white, too sharp-

“arc? arc? arc!”

a cold hand brushes her shoulder tentatively. she shoots up, gasping and finds her fingers gripping ketch’s wrist tight enough to cut off his blood supply. she lets go and he winces, eyes roaming her face with concern.

“i do apologise,” he begins, clearing his throat. “only you were screaming in your sleep.”

arc brings her hand to her chest, pressing a palm over her thin white shirt. her heart hammers impossibly fast, like a hummingbird hidden in her ribcage. she swallows, red light and dark blood and black eyes still running on the screen inside her mind. she runs one hand through her hair, tugging harsh at the strands to ground herself.

“sorry,” she eventually manages. “sorry, i- bad dream.”

“i thought as much.” ketch watches her throwing the creased white duvet off her lower body. she climbs out of the bed and heads straight for the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind her.

arc gazes at herself in the mirror, the flush in her cheeks, the wetness gathered at the corner of her eyes. her fingers tremble as she turns the creaky faucets, ice-cold water gushing from the tap. she cups her hands beneath the flow and splashes her face a few times, reaching for a towel and patting her face dry.

“just a dream,” she tells herself, firmly. “just a dumb dream.” unscrewing the cap on the half-empty tube of toothpaste, she squeezes some out onto her toothbrush. she repeats herself as she brushes her teeth, the words gargled and muffled. “just a dream- just a dream- just a dream.”

she fixes her hair with her fingers, pulling frustratedly at the strands getting irritatingly long at the front. after struggling for five minutes to look presentable, she retires with a sigh, then grabs her things and returns to the main room.

it’s a nice motel - certainly nicer than where she’d usually stay. while she had put her foot down on the idea of splashing out on a five-star place, ketch had also put his own foot down in regards to where they’d be stopping over for a night or so. nothing less than three stars, he insisted, and arc had relented.

the man himself is circling some text in the local paper, holding it up to show her as she enters the bedroom. “might have something,” he tells her lightly, passing her the newspaper. it’s the town’s local rag, and arc gets to reading what caught ketch’s eye.

“four mysterious deaths this week?”

“it’s in town” he shrugs, smiling tentatively at her. “no harm in checking it out.” after a pause, arc nods, dropping the paper to the table. “great. meet you out at the car in ten minutes?”

“sure. i’ll head to that cafe down the street and grab a coffee. you want?”

ketch reels off his order, and they part ways.
—

the case turns out to be a rather simple salt and burn type deal. an old shut-in who’d passed nearly a century ago, pissed that her house had been ransacked by neighbours after the funeral. the item the spirit had clung to all these decades was an old music box. the kind you turned a crank on the side and it played a terrifying, out-of-tune melody in a minor key. ketch had taken a pretty hard hit to the side of the head, leaving a gash on his temple that arc is now trying to sew up.

“stop fidgeting,” she orders, wiping away blood before it can drip down the side of his face. he falls still, focusing on his breathing. arc gets back to work, weaving the thread as smooth as she can. she’s sitting on the motel room table, ketch on one of the chairs, giving her the chance to work from the best angle possible. ketch can feel the warmth glowing from her skin on his own, resisting the urge to shuffle closer, lest he jar her movements and finds himself with a needle in a less-than-desirable place. the only sound in the room is ketch’s own breathing and the hum of central heating. arc pulls the last of the thread and cuts it with a small pair of nail scissors she’d dug out from the bottom of her bag. “there,” she states, proud of herself. “all done.”

ketch lets out a slow exhale and smiles gratefully. “thank you.” he hesitates a moment, watching arc tuck the scissors into the first aid kit and tidy away the rest. “arc? can i ask a question?”

she hums an affirmation, hopping off the edge of the table to pack the kit into her duffle.

“why are you unable to heal people the way angels can?”

she looks over her shoulder, eyes widening a little. not expecting that question.

“i don’t wish to offend or intrude…” ketch explains hastily, worried he’s overstepped. she waves him off with a small smile.

“it’s fine. um, well, thing is, when i was growing up i was raised by a hunter. not by- someone like me. i mean, art did his best, but there was a lot about me he didn’t understand, and there’s not exactly a mine of information of a thing that’s never existed before, so.” she shrugs. “i never learned how. a lot of the things i can do, i learned by - it’s hard to explain, but… art knew witchcraft. so he taught me how to harness the abilities i have the same way one would harness magic.”

ketch takes this all in with great interest. he doesn’t know all that much about arc - he hadn’t been exactly privy to the details the men of letters had compiled on her.

“i guess, like anyone else, i have strengths and weaknesses.” she flops on one of the neatly made twin beds, creasing the covers.

ketch nods, smiling. “yes. like i’m good at killing, and not so good at anything else,” he jokes, half-serious.

“nah, don’t say that. there’s more to you than that. you just need time to figure out what that is, y’know, after… men of letters and all.”

ketch considers the woman before him for a few minutes. she’s kind, he realises, though he’s not sure why that surprises him. he’s seen her in survival mode, all hard lines and sharp edges, and in regular hunt-mode. focused and quick-thinking, unafraid to throw her all into a fight against the big bad of the week.

much like many of the hunters ketch has come across during his time in the states, arc is a fighter. hardened by struggle and loss, skeptical of good things and wary of others to an almost unhealthy degree. yet here she sits, reassuring him that he’s more than the blood on his hands. more than the lives on his resumé. after all he and his previous organisation had done to her, and her family, she was still being kind.

arc lies back on the bed, letting her body rest after the days events.

ketch’s phone trills with an alert. he snaps out of his thoughts and reaches for it. opening the message on the screen, he smiles a little and taps out a short response. arc rolls to the side, watching him curiously.

“who you texting?” she asks, a mischievous smirk growing slowly on her lips. ketch lifts his head.

“pardon?”

sitting up on her elbows, arc nods to the device in his hands. “you’re smiling down at your phone— and now you’re blushing!” she accuses, and ketch denies it, despite the fact that he can feel the heat in his cheeks.

“come on. what is it, some hunter dating site?” she quirks a brow, quite enjoying this. ketch shakes his head, moving to put his phone away. it buzzes with another response and he freezes, feeling caught out. arc looks at him, expectant. he sighs, stomach tightening a little as he admits,

“it’s dean. i’m texting dean.”

like shutters falling over a window, arc’s eyes darken. “oh.”

“i’m not - he just likes to know we’re safe.” that you’re safe, he adds silently.

arc shrugs. “what dean wants isn’t my business anymore,” she says carelessly, sitting up fully and kicking her shoes off. “long as he doesn’t show up screaming in my face, i don’t care.”

without undressing, arc crawls under the duvet, her back turned to the man at the table.

“arc, i thought you didn’t need to sleep,” he says, questioningly. without moving, arc responds, “just ‘cause i don’t need to, doesn’t mean i can’t, or don’t want to.”

she lapses into silence then, one that stretches out from seconds to minutes. after ten minutes or so, ketch shakes himself into action. he’s not entirely certain she’s asleep, or pretending. either way, he’s tired himself, and they’ll have an early start in the morning. he slips into the bathroom and changes into his own hundred-percent cotton sleepwear. creeping back into the main room, he chances a glance over to arc. her eyes are shut, face relaxed. the blanket tucked up under her chin. doesn’t she overheat? he wonders to himself. pulling his own covers down, he climbs in and settles down for the night.

—

elsewhere…

becky rosen fights to hold back her tears; chuck shurley’s new idea for supernatural’s ending has thrown her off balance entirely. she’s shaking her head, pleading with him to change his mind… except, there’s something different about him. something off. a sinister gleam to his once-kind blue eyes.

her front door opens, her husbands voice ringing through the hallway. “babe! we’re home! babe!”

“you have to leave,” becky insists, trembling all over. chuck glances around the vast space and tucks his hands into his pockets.

“nah. i kinda like it here,” he says, smiling. beck’s husband, rod, enters the living room.

“babe, you won’t believe what happened. junior was fine, but i puked everywhere,” he chuckles, before his eyes fall on the stranger in his home. becky meets chuck’s gaze, imploring.

“please,” she breathes out, hoping that somewhere behind this strange mask is the man she once knew.

“babe?” rod asks, looking between her and chuck, perplexed.

chuck snaps his fingers, and rod - disappears. into a puff of dust. becky shrieks, hands coming to her face. “rod?! what happened? where is he?”
“he’s gone,” chuck tells her, dismissively.

“what?”

one of her children walks in, then, excited and amused. “hey, mom! we’re back! dad got sick! he threw up all over the side-” his story is cut short when chuck snaps his fingers again.

“no! the kids!”

“oh, don’t worry. they’re not dead. they’re just… away.” when becky turns to him, horror on her face, utterly dumbstruck. “oh, yeah,” chuck says, as if the thought has just occurred to him. “i’m god.”

“wh- what are you… no. you bring them back. you bring them back!” chuck smiles, enjoying her distress. “please,” she whimpers, the tears finally falling. “you can’t do this…”

chuck steps closer to becky, giving her a look that’s a mix of pity and condescension. “oh, becky. i can do anything.” she watches, utterly helpless, as he raises his hand in the air again. snapping his fingers. as the dust that once was becky rosen clears from the air, chuck tells the empty space, “i’m a writer.”

—

the next evening, arc checks the stitches on ketch’s temple, satisfied that they’re good for a while yet. while they clear up and get ready to move on, ketch gets an alert from a connection in the mid-west.

“an old friend believes he may be dealing with a chimera,” ketch reads out, fixing his tie with one hand.

“why are you always in a suit when we’re just - driving?” arc asks, perplexed.

“i like to look nice,” he says, simply.

arc shrugs. “fair enough. where’s your friend and his chimera?”

“wyoming. up for the drive?”

she snorts. “obviously. sure, it’s right next door, practically.”

ketch makes a noise of disagreement, and they share a laugh. it’s a nice moment - a normal moment, which is something arc hasn’t had in years. it’s… nice. real nice.

after returning the motel key, they head out to the parking lot, stashing their bags in the trunk of arc’s dakota.

“i’ve replied to my friend, let him know we should be there by the morning.”

“alright. traffic should be fine, this time of night -” arc cuts off with a sharp gasp. a wave of incredibly strong energy slams into her, pushing her physical body forward. she winces, pressing against the car for support. “shit,” she whispers, harsh, wincing. the power crackles like fireworks in the air for several seconds, before slowly ebbing away. “shit,” she repeats, blinking and shaking her head.

“arc?”

meeting ketch’s concerned gaze, arc’s throat tightens. she looks over shoulder, into the distance. swallowing hard, she rubs her hand over her face. “i- i felt… something. power. a - a huge surge of- power.”

ketch inclines his head to the side.

“i don’t know what it was, but… it wasn’t good.”

Chapter Text

several days later, they’ve made it as far as texhoma. ketch pulls up an article for arc to read: my friend was raptured while i was drunk.

arc snickers. “right. raptured.” ketch gestures to the door.

“shall we?”

—

they meet the county sheriff, man by the name of dillon. he is, as most sheriffs are, confused as to why the feds are investigating a small-town disappearance. “we just go where we’re told, sheriff,” arc smiles professionally as she flips her badge shut.

“well, truth be told, i think you’re wasting your time, agents.”

“why’s that?” ketch asks, raising an eyebrow.

“angela, the girl supposed to be missing? her car is gone, too. cars don’t usually disappear unless they’re being driven somewhere.”

“so what’s your theory?”

the sheriff tucks his thumbs into his belt and shrugs. “that girl wasn’t taken. she left on her own.”

at the skeptical looks on arc and ketch’s faces, the dillon gestures in the air, explaining further. “look, this is a small town. angela’s mom and dad passed a few years ago, but even before they did, she was talking about moving to l.a., trying to get on one of them competition shows, like the one with the knight rider.”

“right.” ketch glances at his partner out of the corner of his eye. she’s not looking too happy.

“it happens,” dillon insists. “kids usually last a week before they return. i stayed there a whole month.” a look of wistful reminsence passes over the sheriff’s face. “oh, they don’t know what they missed. i could’ve been the next denzel, huh?” he points to himself, with an expectant expression.

“uh, i don’t think there’ll ever be another denzel,” arc murmurs, fixing the hem of her jacket and redirecting the conversation. “so why would her friend report her missing?”

“oh, i don’t know. for the attention. sally’s got issues.”

arc’s voice sharpens a touch. “what kind of issues?”

“the kind that keep her over at swayze’s bar just about 24/7.”

arc and ketch exchange a look. ketch nods, and sticks his hand out, exchanging a firm shake with the other man. “well, thank you for your time sheriff.”

“no problem.” he tips his sheriff’s hat in farewell, before calling them back. “oh, agent cooper?”

arc turns, wary. dillon smiles, wide and bright. “hollywood ain’t that far. you could catch angela there. while you’re at it, you could give show-biz a shot for yourself.” he holds up both hands, arranging his fingers in a frame around arc’s face. “you’ve got the look.”

ketch swallows down his laughter and focuses on his shoes. arc just smiles, strained, and nods in response. when she turns back to ketch, he smiles and she rolls her eyes. “what the hell, man,” she mutters. she throws one last disbelieving glance over her shoulder, shaking her head.

“so, swayze’s?” ketch assumes, pausing by the car.

arc checks her watch; “bit early. might not be open.” she tilts her head, eyes studying ketch intently. “you hungry?”

“oh, well. are you?”

“not really. i don’t get hungry. you humans do, though. and i could eat, either way.”

ketch’s stomach chooses that moment to chime in, with a thunderous roar. a small blush colours his cheeks as he drops his gaze, bashful. arc just grins, tapping the roof of the car. “come on, get in. saw a place on our way in.”

as arc peels out of the parking lot, she turns the next corner just in time to miss the sleek, black, chevrolet impala that pulls in.

—

it’s a bit later than they intended when they finally make their way across town to swayze’s bar. slipping in through the swinging doors, the place is packed with rowdy drinkers. arc wrinkles her nose as the smell hits her immediately: stale smoke, whiskey breath, drying sweat. ketch ducks his head to whisper in her ear. “any idea what this sally anderson looks like?”

arc reaches for her phone, thumbing over the screen until she finds the photograph featured in the article. she’s blonde, with ringlets in her hair. ketch scans the crowd, finding nothing. “i do hope we don’t have to mingle,” he murmurs, shuddering at the mere thought. arc cracks an amused smile.

“what? still a prude, are we?” she shakes her head, laughing lightly. “you can take the man outta the british men of letters, but i guess you can’t take the brit out of the man.” she lightly slaps his shoulder, his narrowed eyes betrayed by the amused quirk of his mouth. she steps back far enough to give him a once-over, making him self-conscious. she leans back in, closer, to shout over the sound of the live band playing at the far end of the room. “you stand out like a sore thumb in that damn suit!”

ketch clears his throat and fiddles with his cufflinks, straightening his shoulders. “we are supposed to be working,” he reminds her, haughty.

“alright. let me buy you a drink,” arc says, turning to head for the bar. ketch moves to follow, only to find himself crashing straight into her as she freezes several steps in.

he frowns and peers around her shoulder, noting the look of cold shock on her face. he follows her line of sight to the stage - oh.

there’s two men performing a song, one with long, black hair, red-faced and grinning. the other has sharp green eyes, and a jawline one could recognise anywhere. dean freakin’ winchester.

a woman sidles up to them, brandishing a woven basket. she eyes them both sultrily, nodding at the basket. arc, thrown off by spotting the last person on earth she wants to see, frowns. “what?”

“phones. it’s not a party if everyone’s on their phones.”

the lady doesn’t miss their hesitation, and she tilts her head to the side, putting a hand on her hip. “house rules, guys. no exceptions.” she waits with bright eyes and a smirk, and eventually, the two fake-feds toss their cell phones into the basket. “thank you,” she blows a kiss from shimmery lips and sways her hips as she walks away.

the song finishes to uproar from the crowd. there’s hoots and hollers and clapping like that beats in arc’s temples, louder and louder, even as they slow to a stop. dean and the man on stage slap hands and hug hard before stepping off the stage. the closer they get to arc and dean, the more arc is able to pick up of their conversation.

“…whoo! well, never got a standing ovation before.” dean is … giddy, arc realises. giddy and carefree - as carefree as dean winchester can manage, anyway - and smiling. easy, lax. his pal throws an arm around dean’s shoulders.

“yeah, feels pretty good, doesn’t it?”

when the pair are only several bodies away from arc, a sudden yell of frustration rises in the air. immediately, all eyes are drawn in the direction of the sound - a young woman, arc recognises as sally anderson, is being harassed by two men. arc taps ketch twice on the wrist - that’s our mark - and weaves in and out of the crowd. unfortunately, dean and his new bestie get there first.

“hey. hey! i think you fellas have had enough. time to leave.” dean declares, arms folding over his chest. one of the men sneers his direction, shaking his head no.

“nah. i think we’ll stay a while,” he tells dean. arc stands back and watches as dean exchanges a glance with the other man. the one he’d sang with. in seconds, both men are being hauled bodily from the room, no match for an experienced hunter. in the doorway, as the drunks stumble onto their asses, dean and the man exchange fist bumps.

“still got it,” the singer says proudly.

“bunch’a jerks,” mutters the woman from earlier, who had confiscated their cell phones. she’s to the side of arc and ketch, standing next to sally, who nods her agreement.

“yep.”

ketch glances between sally and dean, looking to arc for direction. she turns her back on her old friend, and approaches the blonde girl. “sally anderson?”

sally is wearing a wide-brim black hat, tipped over her face. “yeah. why?”

“i just need to ask you a few questions.”

-- -- -- -- -- --

“she was a good girl, you know? she… she loved jesus and…” sally trails off, despairing.

“oh, this angela we’re discussing?” arc inhales sharply, tensing immediately as dean’s shadow falls over her shoulder. a warm hand settles on her back and she shrugs it off with as much anger as she can.

“this is a federal investigation.” arc snaps, not making eye contact. dean is undeterred.

“well, would ya look at that? i’m a fed, too.” she hears fabric rustling as dean draws out his own badge, the slap of leather as he flicks it open and offers it to sally. arc turns to shoot him a glare, just in time to see dean wink at the dark-haired man. she frowns.

“sally, can i have a moment with my colleagues here?”

sally looks between them, picking up on the clear tension between them and escaping as fast as she can. she takes her drink and hurries to the other side of the bar, glancing back furtively a couple of times.

arc takes a deep breath in and turns in her seat.

“so. fancy meeting you two here, huh?” dean’s trying to be casual, and failing miserably.

“friends of yours?” asks the man who arc now is thinking runs the place.

“no.”

“yeah-”

dean breaks off, his response contradicting arc's. he rubs the back of his head awkwardly. ketch wades in, offering his hand and introducing himself.

“i’m lee. dean and i, we used to hang out when we were teenagers. nice to meet some of dean’s… co-workers,” lee settles on, eyes falling on arc.

“names arc,” she all but grunts. “i’m going to the bar.” she rises from her seat and stalks away. ketch pulls at his shirt collar, suddenly feeling very warm and awkward. he accidentally meets dean’s inquisitive gaze.

“ah. we were in town, and we heard about…”

“the rapture,” dean finishes knowingly. “yeah.” he pauses, before shrugging his flannel-clad shoulders. “well, i probably got this handled, so, if you two wanna, uh. take the night off..” he suggests, and ketch glances at arc, sitting on a stool at the end of the bar. he winces.

“i think you might want to bring that up with her,” he answers quietly. dean follows his gaze and guilt weighs down the creases in his face. he pulls his lips in, painting the picture of a man drowning in regret.

“well,” lee interrupts, then, loud, forceful, “like i told dean here already, there’s no case, probably, so.”

“oh, you’re-” ketch points at lee.

“ah, not anymore. once upon a time. this is my life now.”

“right.” ketch gets to his feet and makes an aborted motion with his arm, as though he intended to shake dean’s hand but changed his mind at the last second. “well. i’m sure we’ll- see you around.”

“yeah, man. yeah.” dean’s answer is soft and despondent. ketch strides toward arc, who has already been joined by sally. the girl is in tears, lower lip trembling as she recounts the night her friend disappeared.

arc catches sight of ketch approaching and nods at him. “hey. this is my partner on the case. agent palmer, sally anderson. she’s just told me what happened that night. she doesn’t believe angela would just run off on her.”

sally shakes her head vehemently. “she would never,” she repeats, serious. “she isn’t that kind of girl.”

ketch bows his head and thanks sally for her help. arc slides her a card and asks that sally call if she thinks of anything else. sally departs, wobbling away into the crowd. ketch takes the seat she’s just vacated, eyeing arc with caution.

she has three empty shot glasses in front of her. “c’mon. pick your poison. i never got ordering you that drink.” the bartender makes his way down to their end, ketch ordering a neat scotch, arc holding up three fingers and nodding at the glasses in front of her.

the man busies himself preparing their order. ketch keeps watching arc. not sure what to say.

“dude, stop.”

he startles, then holds his hands up in defence. “do you want to… talk about it?” he ventures, awkward. she snorts, shaking her head. the bartender slides three more full shot glasses in front of her, flicking a light and letting the alcohol flame up dramatically. sambuca, then.

arc tosses back all three in quick succession, not pausing. the bartender gazes on, impressed. he passes ketch his scotch. “is this all on dean winchester’s tab, too?” he questions, and ketch pauses, glass halfway to his mouth.

arc grins, all sharp teeth and dark humour. “oh, you bet. thanks.”

ketch peers over the rim of the - very expensive - scotch in his tumbler. he hesitates, then takes a sip. oh. that’s good. definitely worth the probable argument that will blow up later. arc fills ketch in on what sally had told her.

“said she was hammered, angela was taking care of her, helping her to the car. sally had to yak, so she doubled back to the bushes. she stood up and angela was gone. car, too. she thinks it got raptured, too.”

ketch ponders the information. “you know, lee - who owns the bar - he thinks it’s not a case.” at arc’s wide-eyed look, he nods. “he used to be a hunter.”

“wow. and he got out?” arc laughs, a disbelieving noise. “cheers to that.”

“mm.” ketch looks out across the room. “ah.” he says, quietly, arc’s super-hearing picking up on it even over the rushing roar.

sally is sitting at a table next to dean and lee, spilling her guts as dean nods and gives her his best sympathetic expression. arc’s face screws up.

“asshole,” she mutters, eyes dark. ketch relays dean’s offer - that he could take this case on himself. “no, absolutely not,” arc snaps immediately. “absolutely not.” she’s still focused on the trio at the table across from them. “i don’t trust him.” she says, out of nowhere.

“dean?”

she shakes her head, suspicion growing in her eyes. “lee. he seems pretty damned set on convincing dean this ain’t a case.”

ketch watches the other three- lee is mumbling to dean, obviously ketch’s own mere-human ears can’t hear. arc can. he hesitates before voicing a dangerous thought. “perhaps… or, maybe, you just… don’t like him.”

arc frowns at the brit. “i don’t even know the guy,” she defends.

“true, but you know that he has a history with dean. they’re clearly still good friends.” he doesn’t elaborate, not wanting to push her too far. she studies his face with a scorching gaze.

“i’m not jealous,” she argues, looking disgusted.

“i didn’t say that.”

“i’m not.” she glowers at him. “i just - i have a bad feeling.”

ketch sighs, looking around - noticing the crowd has thinned substantially. “must be getting to closing time,” he points out, and arc takes notice. with a defeated noise of discontent, she hops off the stool.

“guess we should go.”

dean’s green eyes follow them out the door, and ketch pauses by their table. lee greets him with a friendly grin, and dean leans back in his seat, interested. “just wanted to say good evening,” ketch says, laying his hand on the - ugh, sticky - tabletop. “and thanks again, sally, for all your help.” he nods at dean. “enjoy the rest of your night.”

—

back at the motel, arc lightly kicks the edge of her bed. lightly, in arc’s case, means it’s shoves back against the wall but doesn’t break.

“what a waste of a night.”

ketch shrugs, reaching for his laptop and opening the lid. “well, i wouldn’t say that.”

she gives him a disbelieving look. “are you kidding? ketch, we got nothing. no- no boyfriend or girlfriend, no idea of where to look or what we might even be dealing with.” she rants, face animated with irritation.

ketch calmly boots up his computer and loads a programme. “perhaps dean will get something out of sally - or lee,” he lets his words hang in the air before peering at arc.

“what?”

“you said you don’t trust lee. well, you’re my hunting partner, and i trust you.” he says, as if it’s that simple. “so, when we were leaving, i discreetly bugged dean and lee’s table.”

the annoyance fades from arc’s expression, slowly transitioning to delight. “what?! ketch!” she gasps excitedly. “damn. i could kiss you right now!”

ketch smiles wanly, looking at the screen. “i wouldn’t be opposed,” he murmurs, briefly forgetting arc’s sensitive hearing. she freezes in spot, and he can practically hear the rush of thoughts tumbling through her mind. coughing hard, he shakes his shoulders and loosens his tie, before hovering the mouse over the connection button. “shall we take a listen?”

arc nods, stiff. ketch complies. at first, there’s just static, dim and muffled and scratchy. then- there. dean’s voice, and lee’s. in the background, sally.

forgetting the awkwardness, arc comes closer and drops to her knee next to ketch in his seat. they both focus on the rough audio coming from the speakers.

“…her story, dude. i mean…” that’s lee. he’s trying to brush it away, brush it off. dean won’t let him.

“i know, i know. look, i’m not saying she’s the most reliable witness, but… but best friends don’t just up and leave without saying goodbye.”

“unless they deserve it.” at lee’s words, arc rolls her eyes. then, she thinks of castiel. that last night in the bunker. no. not now.

“yeah, but something seems off here,” dean is firm, holding out, standing his ground. there could be a note of disappointment in lee’s answering sigh.

“i’ll tell you what i’ll do. i’ll lock the joint up. you and i can work the case just like old times.”

arc sits back on her haunches, biting her lip. there’s still nothing of use to be heard. ketch, of course, is much more patient.

dean asks where a person might dump a car around these parts. lee suggests the lake, but a fourth voice counters with the local wrecking yard. merle’s, it’s called. arc and ketch look at each other, with renewed hope.

lee stutters a little when he speaks again. “i mean, that’s… i think the lake.” his tone is strained, almost pleading.

“look, i’ll check the scrapyard, okay? you, you take the lake. we’ll meet back here tomorrow morning, say, ten-ish?”

“okay. oh.”

arc reaches over, hits the mute button. ketch looks proud of himself. “so, lake or scrapyard?” he asks, and arc considers it.

“scrapyard. both of us.”

“i thought you would have wanted to follow lee.”

arc bites her lip again, harder this time. “yeah, well. somethin’ tells me that lee won’t be at the lake tomorrow morning.”

—

the sky gleams a shade of blue-pearl in the early morning light. arc and ketch sneak through the scrapyard, light footsteps, careful not to make noise. ketch likes this - one of his strengths is stealth. unlike dean, arc seems to recognise the value of a covert approach to things.

time passes slowly, the sun drawing higher into the sky inch by inch. almost an hour has passed in silence when arc hears the rumble of a car pulling up. she holds a finger to her lips, ketch understanding.

dean winds through the derelict junker cars, peering in through dusty windows, stopping to check out anywhere a body could be hidden. arc and ketch follow him like they’re his shadow, sticking close to the sides and crouching low so as not to raise attention to themselves.

dean’s eyes light up as he spots something - a car, one he clearly recognises.

“is that?” ketch breathes out. arc nods.

“angela’s car,” she confirms.

arc risks raising herself a little higher to see what dean is doing. his back to her, she can only see his hands smoothing over the dented metal trunk. he pops it open, lifts it wide in the air-

arc freezes when another figure sneaks up behind the unsuspecting winchester.

from her angle, she can see pale legs lying limp in the back of the car. it has to be angela. which means…

lee’s gun clicks as he pulls off the safety. the air is still and quiet, letting his heavy, rueful words carry over to her. “couldn’t leave well enough alone, could ya?” then, he lifts his arm in the air, clocks dean right in the back of the skull with his elbow. dean slumps to the ground. arc’s body coils like a cobra ready to spring.

it’s ketch who stops her, getting a grip on her wrist and tugging her back down.

“dude, he’s got dean!”

ketch hushes her gently, needing to reason with her. “if what i believe is about to happen, then lee will lead us to what we’re looking for.”

arc pulls a face. “what, you think he’s sacrificing people to- to something? what if he’s just a murderer?” arc’s voice is tight and fiery, even whispering.

“lee told me yesterday he used to hunt, and that the bar is his life now,” ketch relays, poking his head around the corner, glimpsing lee hauling dean over his shoulder toward his car. “if lee made a deal with some sort of- monster, what are the odds that monster will deal with him in his bar?”

arc struggles to tamp down the boiling anger in her gut; the sheer raw energy of fear sparking her nerves. she swallows, hard, breathing heavily. she nods, tight. “okay. okay. how do we get to the bar without him realising we’re following?”

ketch thinks a moment. “we’ll have to wait until we can’t see his car on the road.” arc’s mouth opens again, to protest. ketch brings his hand up to silence her, pleading with her. “we will get there in time. dean is going to be fine.”

arc drops her head, fighting the urge to simply chase lee’s car down on foot and tear his head from his shoulders. as she tries to calm herself, ketch watches, waiting for lee’s car to disappear from sight. he taps arc lightly on the shoulder when it’s gone.

“we have to move, quickly.”

—

i did tell her to move quickly, ketch thinks to himself as he holds tight to the handle of the door. the gas pedal is practically flat from the force behind arc’s foot as she revs the engine and tears down the roads. ketch isn’t a nervous passenger, far from it- and he loves the thrill of riding a motorbike, so speed is something that gets his blood pumping.

it’s just that arc is driving well over the speed limit, her expression violent, a determined single-mindedness hardening her eyes. as she hits the brakes to screech to a halt outside the bar, ketch’s stomach flattens against his spine. the key is barely out of the ignition before arc has thrown open the door and is marching toward the door. ketch slips out of his belt and joins her, just as she kicks it open hard.

lee looks up, startled. a broom between his hands. he doesn’t get a chance to speak before arc has thrown out her hand, propelling lee up against the wall, hard. he grunts and lets out a pained “oof” as he slides to the floor, looking utterly dazed at the turn of events.

“where’s dean?” ketch demands, cold. arc’s eyes flicker to a door she had not noticed the previous night. it’s shut tight, marked with a sign that reads “PRIVATE - WE DON’T CALL 911”, a crude drawing of a gun pencilled at the end. arc looks to ketch.

“watch him,” she orders. “don’t kill him, yet.” she sends the fallen man an utterly scathing look before ripping open the private door. ketch hears her thudding down a set of stairs. more sounds float up, like someone’s engaged in a tussle. ketch’s eyes wander to the door, which has swung itself almost shut again.

he tightens his grip on his gun as lee tries to crawl away. “don’t.”

lee freezes. “look- man- i don’t know-” he tries, desperate, pathetic. ketch thumbs off the safety.

“i said. don’t.”

lee falls silent. the racket from below cuts off all of a sudden, and ketch waits with bated breath. from around the gap in the doorway, the head of an utterly hideous creature rolls along the scratched wooden floor. lee’s eyes widen in fear. the door opens, revealing arc and dean - dean holding a machete, dripping with dark blood. he looks apoplectic. seething with rage, stung from the betrayal of an old friend.

(ketch abruptly thinks about mick davies.)

arc kicks the head like a football, sending into flying into lee’s lap. he shrieks, high-pitched, flinching against the wall and batting it away.

“sorry about your friend,” arc spits, not at all apologetic.

ketch doesn’t take his eyes off his target, calmly inquiring if dean would like him to deal with lee. lee shoots dean a beseeching look, one that only fuels the anger in arc’s gut. dean breathes out, controlled and steady.

“i need to do this.” he says, firm, decisive. ketch glances at arc, who looks up at dean - he looks back at her, expression raw and vulnerable. “i need to do this,” he murmurs, gentle. arc’s eyes roam his face with care, all the ire seeming to evacuate her body as her mind gets to grips with the knowledge that dean’s life is no longer in danger. she silently gives dean his wish, beckoning for ketch to follow her. at the door, arc lingers, locking eyes with lee.

“fuck you,” she says, shortly, “you absolute son of a bitch.”

with those parting remarks, the doors swing shut loudly.

—

ketch steps into the open air, noticing arc never shut the car door behind her. such was her desire to save dean. he smiles a little to himself, knowing she still cared. despite what she may have him think. despite what she may even think herself.

she steps to his side in the parking lot, looking up at the cloudless sky. the adrenaline is waning fast; he can tell she’s not overly pleased with her own response to dean’s life being threatened.

“i would have done it for anyone.” she says, to ketch, but also to herself. like she’s trying to talk herself into believing it.

“of course,” ketch replies with ease. but you wouldn’t have been so angry, or scared. is what he leaves out.

a muffled crash from inside the bar. ketch peers over his shoulder. arc doesn’t move. there’s several more dull bangs and thuds, then a period of silence passes. arc seems satisfied that all is well when there’s no more commotion after ten minutes, and tells ketch they should go. he hangs back as she climbs into the car, leaving the door open still when she sees him standing there.

“you- you don’t want to see if everything’s okay?” ketch checks, stalling for time as he waits for dean to exit.

“no.”

ketch bites his tongue - there’s no room for argument in the tone she’s responded with. taking one last look at the wooden doors, ketch joins her in the car. they both pull on their seatbelts, a heaviness in the air. as arc turns the key in the ignition, and reaches for the gear stick, movement from outside catches her eye.

dean steps out, hands bloody, lower lip split open. he scans the lot, looking for arc’s dodge. his shoulders slump a little bit more when he realises she’s already leaving. he’s hurt; stricken, even. under the layers and layers of protective walls, arc’s heart smarts for him. any other day, any other time, she would be with him right now, all day, hell, all night if he needed it. and he would need it, she’s sure. to be betrayed by someone you trusted- it’s not easy.

it’s not easy for her to drive away, but she does anyway. leaving dean standing, beaten and alone, in a texhoma bar car park. she tells herself it's better this way, and she almost believes it. 

Chapter Text

it’s late. arc can see into the library from her hiding spot. sam is sitting at the head of a table there, dressed in a pressed white suit. dean is creeping up from behind, samuel colt’s fabled gun in his hands. arc watches with bated breath, unable to shake the awful feeling that this won’t work.

“it didn’t work before,” she’d pled with dean, “remember?” dean had remembered, but he was helpless.

“what else can we do?” he’d asked, looking lost and child-like. frightened, heartbroken, making arc want to draw him close and hold him tight. tell him it was all gonna be okay - she knew, though, that it wouldn’t be. dean’s hand doesn’t shake as he aims the gun at the back of his little brother’s head. his voice as he speaks does, though. “forgive me,” he asks, rough and trembling. he squeezes the trigger.

BANG!

sam’s head falls forward, hitting the table with a heavy thunk. dean’s shoulders slump, and arc is by his side in an instant. their hands finding each other’s without looking, fingers lacing together as if they were made to fit.

sam sits up. arc can hear, can feel dean’s heart breaking. her own shatters into dust as the deep voice comes out of sam’s mouth. “the colt. did you really think that would work? poor, faithful dean. we both knew it had to end this way.” sam looks over his shoulder, his eyes glowing red. lucifer. dean screams - arc glances down, sees flames consuming him, not affecting her. “no!” she cries out, her hands locking tight around sam’s lucifer’s neck-

“ah!” arc wakes with a breathy gasp, hair stuck to her forehead with sweat. it takes a moment to get her bearings - she turns her head as soon as she does, checking to see if she’s woken ketch.

he’s tucked up in the other twin bed, his back to her. snoring softly, sound asleep. arc turns on her side, her eyes falling on her duffle. it’s tipped on the side, a journal spilling out over the unclosed gap. somewhere in there is one of her old phones. the one with sam’s number still saved. the one sam can call if he needs anything. she’s checked it a few times, but there’s only ever brief updates from sam.

12:34pm: hope you’re doing okay.
19:22pm: if you need anything, let me know.
05:01am: i miss you.

she’d turned it off again a few days ago.

arc swallows, tightening the duvet around her. he hasn’t mentioned any dreams. as far as she knows, dean hasn’t mentioned anything to ketch.

it’’s probably nothing, she tells herself silently. just your traumatised mind figuring shit out. trying to protect you from worse things. like jack. she presses her face into the pillow, hard, resisting the urge to scream into the fabric.

—

another day, another hunt done and dusted. arc leans against the hood of her truck, needing a rest after the fight. ketch is loading their things into the trunk, quiet, lost to his own thoughts.

arc tilts her head back. gazing up at the inky sky, glittering with stars. the moon is a faded crescent slowly rising. despite herself, she can’t help but wonder if cas or dean are somewhere looking at the same spot in the sky.

ridiculous, she thinks to herself, laughing quietly at her own stupidity.

in an effort to distract her wandering mind, she focuses on the energy in the air, feeling out as far as she can. she’s taken to checking in every day, after that strange and disturbing surge of power she sensed. it’s been a week now and nothing like it has occurred since. maybe it was just - who knows, gabriel’s out there somewhere, doing who knows what. it was probably just him- but somehow she can’t quite convince herself to believe it.

—

“i had a message from sam last night,” ketch tells her, before even saying good morning. arc looks at him, questioning. he holds out his cell, letting her take it from his hands. she reads the message, and her stomach twists and turns. she sighs and hands it back, letting her hands fall to the tabletop with a slam.

ketch locks the screen and slips the phone into his pocket. “so, i assume that this lilith character is a big deal?”

“she’s supposed to be dead. sam killed her. years ago,” she mutters, remembering it, that night in the abandoned church. lilith’s blood forming a sigil as it drained from her body. the rumble of the floor as the marble broke apart. the blinding light swallowing up the room. lucifer, free from his cage.

“why would chuck bring her of all people back?” arc wonders aloud, staring into space. “i mean- it just doesn’t- ugh.” she brings her hands to her face, before running them over her head. “whatever. ’s’not my problem anymore.”

ketch hesitates. “are you certain?”

she doesn’t answer.

—

ghouls and wraiths and ghosts terrorise a series of small towns across north dakota, so it takes almost a week for the two of them to clear up that mess. they’re tired and bloody when they finally check into a decent motel, taking turns with the shower. at least it has good water pressure.

arc scrubs away at least two layers of skin in an effort to rid herself of days of sweat. she lets herself enjoy the hot spray beating down on her body for a long while, feeling like she’s earned it. from under her nails, she digs out cemetery dirt; watching the water turn red, then brown as it swirls down the drain.

when she steps out onto the ratty bath mat, she wipes the mirror with the back of a clean hand. after a moments hesitation, she drops the towel to her feet, leaning in on the sink to get a closer look at the scar on her sternum.

she remembers the hot burst of pain, like holy fire raging through her veins - michael’s cold breath on her ear, the wretched realisation that her death was imminent. she presses two fingers to the pink, puckered skin. feels the roughness that contrasts with the rest of her. she turns her back, then, craning her neck to see the place where the archangel blade had forced it’s way into her.

there’s a matching mark there, too, a little to the left of her spine. another a few inches down on the right, where michael had grazed her in apocalypse world.

it’s strange. arc isn’t used to having scars. her bruises heal in seconds, the worst of injuries healed in a matter of minutes. this is divine wrath, she thinks to herself, and no one’s supposed to survive it.

she sighs and reaches down for her towel, drying off quickly and dressing in a simple black shirt and grey sweats. she unlocks the door, finding ketch settled on the patched sofa, beer in hand. he lifts the bottle in greeting, his own hair still slick from his own shower.

after packing away her battle-bloodied clothes, she snags her own drink and twists the cap off. dropping heavily on the couch next to ketch. he offers his bottle to her, and she knocks hers lightly against it. they both drink, exhaling satisfied “ahh’s” after swallowing.

ketch slings one arm over the back of the couch, crossing his legs as he sets his bottle down on the ring-stained coffee table before them. “what a week,” he comments, stretching his back a little.

arc huffs a little. “yeah,” she mutters into the neck of the beer bottle. “what a damn week.”

a comfortable silence fills in the space between them. arc fidgets with the label on the glass, peeling it off from the edges and smoothing it back over and over.

“i don’t think my life was supposed to go like this,” she says, finally, throat thick with ache. ketch glances at her sideways. “i don’t- it’s not-” she cuts off with a frustrated noise. sighing and shaking her head.

ketch turns his bottle side to side in his hands, understanding how she feels. “did you have a plan?” he asks.

“no. yes? i don’t know. i was- i was raised to be a hunter. to save people. that was my purpose, my reason for being. it was the only good thing i could do,” she bites on her lower lip when it trembles, and ketch frowns a little.

“what do you mean?”

arc takes a few minutes to answer. trying to formulate a response that will make even an ounce of sense. “i wasn’t supposed to be here,” she whispers, subdued. “something like me was never supposed to exist. you know, i know nothing about my parents. what they looked like. their names. nothing.” her eyes grow hazy, unfocused. ketch tries to stay still. arc’s never opened up like this before, not to him. there’s a vulnerability in her face, and he can’t help but feel that this moment is fragile.

“art wasn’t a father to me. he was a mentor. a teacher. a drill sergeant. he wasn’t cruel, or anything. but i never had… a family. art told me, taught me, that people like us… hunters, i mean, it’s best to go it alone. this life chosen for us, it- it’s dangerous. people get hurt. and people wouldn’t understand me. what i am. i think he was protecting me, in his own way,” she laughs, breathless, undercut with dejection. “then i came here. over ten years ago, now. never meant to stay, never intended to. i came here to help out with an influx of demons let out of a devil’s gate that got opened in wyoming. wasn’t here a week before i ran into the winchesters. then i kept running into them.” arc leans over to set down her beer bottle, rolling her shoulders and sinking back into the couch cushions.

“if i didn’t know better, i’d say chuck had written the whole thing.”

ketch inclines his head, a thought occurring to him. “maybe he did. maybe he’s lying about not knowing you.” arc shoots him a disbelieving look, arching a brow.

“chuck’s not that good a writer,” she scoffs, reaching for her drink.

ketch smiles to himself. “they do have a way of getting under your skin, don’t they? the winchesters. believe me, it was never my intention to see them as friends.”

arc gazes at ketch, a soft look on her face. “you were so different when we met you,” she recalls, thinking back to meeting “mr. ketch”. the cold-blooded assassin, merciless, a machine.

“kendricks brought me up to believe my worth lay solely in my ability to follow the code. to carry out orders without question. be a good soldier. never dissent. breaking free of their indoctrination… in a way, it was like i truly did die, then.”

“i always thought the only thing i was good for was fighting, too,” arc shares, sympathetic. “i was the one who took the hits. i could get over it, heal faster. nobody’s hero, just the one who makes sure the heroes survive.” something shifts on the planes of her face. something darkens, hardens. “i was stupid. i let myself believe… i got caught up in the winchester’s world and i never found the exit. i should have walked away a long time ago.”

“they became your family,” ketch remarks, quietly.

“no,” arc returns, her jaw setting. “art was right. i don’t get one of those. and i don’t need one. ‘cause i’m better off alone. he was right about that, too.” she tips her head back, draining the last few drops of beer.

“you don’t mean that,” ketch argues, still gentle. “you- would you prefer to be alone now?” he tips his head to the side, his expression challenging. arc resists meeting his gaze for a few seconds, then relents. her mouth quivers at the sides, as though she’s fighting a smile.

ketch makes it clear that he’s expecting a verbal answer; she groans and covers her eyes with one hand. “fine. no. i’m glad you’re here,” she admits, shifting in her seat and pulling her legs up to her chest.

ketch settles back, pleased. “i’m glad i’m here, too.”

arc ducks her head between her knees, peeking up from under eyelashes. checking to see if ketch is still looking, looking down again when she sees that he is.

ketch watches with a fond look on his face, soft eyes, a warm glow lit in his stomach.

“shut up,” she mumbles against her legs.

“i said nothing,” ketch defends, the hint of a laugh under his words.

“shut up,” she repeats, laughing herself, unable to stop herself. they both just laugh, for a while. it’s like loosening the lid on a pressurised bottle. you can’t get it back on until everything is let out.

arc wipes at her eyes, little peals of giggles still escaping her mouth. “seriously, though.” she says, then, looking at ketch. “thank you. for coming with me. just… thank you.”

for a moment, ketch can just sit, struck dumb by the weight of her gratitude. struggling to make himself speak, he simply nods at her, and tips his bottle towards her again. she picks up her empty one and they clink glasses. a moment of friendship and solidarity cementing the bond between them.

—

it’s late when they finally retire to sleep. arc finds herself plague by snippets of moments of chuck. sam shooting the equaliser in the graveyard; amara, face lit up with a realisation- "you can’t leave this world, not without my help"-
there’s a computer screen, a word document titled 'SWAN SONG'. chuck’s voice echoes from everywhere and nowhere, all at once; “so, what’s it all add up to? it’s hard to say.” his voice distorts and fades out, making way for… a blonde woman with wary eyes, somewhat familiar, and chuck is whining to her.

“i used to be able to see sam and dean in my head. and now it’s just gone…
…and now it’s just gone.
… and now it’s just gone.” as the phrase repeats itself, like a needle caught on a scratched record, the volume increases.

arc is vaguely aware of her body as she falls helplessly through these paper-thin visions; it hurts, she thinks, it burns, but cold, like frostbite. the pain recedes, travelling to just one spot - her right shoulder. agonising pressure builds and builds.

ketch is awoken as she shouts and thrashes in her bed. she jerks into an upright position, eyes shut as she babbles nonsensically and winces. ketch is uncertain - should he try to wake her?

arc’s eyes snap open, she pulls in a ragged breath, hand flying to her shoulder. the pain is gone, now, nothing but a dull throbbing memory. ketch blinks, mouth falling open. it takes a minute for arc to come back to herself entirely; she turns her head to the side, guilt flashing over face. “i’m sorry,” she mutters, voice rough, coarse with sleep. “i- sorry.”

ketch shakes his head, “no, no, please. no apology necessary. is everything alright?”

“yeah. yeah, just like… weird dreams.” she rests her face in her hands a moment, then lies back down again.

“would you like to talk about it?”

arc stares up at the plain white ceiling, unintentionally zeroing in on the tiny dark spots of decay invisible to the regular person’s sight. her mind’s way of distracting her.

“it’s… it’s just weird. but it’s fine. i’ll be fine.” she turns over, her back to ketch. “just go back to sleep. g’night.”

ketch remains sitting up for a while, weighing the idea of pressing for details. it’s not the first time he’s witnessed these night terrors, and he can’t help but wonder of the contents. deciding it’s best to let her be, he assures himself she’ll talk about it when, or if, she’s ready.

—

nothing ever lasts. not the bad, certainly not the good. there’s a message on ketch’s phone when he awakens early. arc is sleeping still, peacefully, for once. he’s struck by how young she looks; a youthful face disguising her years. when he checks the time, he notices the alerts on the screen. (2) Messages From: SAM W.

a cold feeling settles in ketch’s stomach.

(05:21AM): we might have something. a way to finish off chuck. need you and arc.
(05:29AM): please come.

Chapter Text

“what do you mean, no?” ketch’s voice pitches high with disbelief, eyes wide as he stares at arc. she shrugs, face blank.

“i mean no. i’m not going back.”

“so you’re just going to let them go up against god on their own?”

“what they do is up to them. they should know better, ‘cause this is god, ketch. god,” she repeats, emphasising hard. “they wanna run head first into another kamikaze fight? that’s their choice.”

the brit searches for any weak point in her voice; any slip in the facade of careless attitude, and comes up short. he eyes arc as she flops onto the motel sofa, wincing as a spring under the sagging cushions jabs at her side.

“you’re better than this,” ketch states, disappointed. arc’s eyes darken a touch, but she just shrugs.

“this isn’t my story, ketch. i don’t belong. i never did.”

pinching the bridge of his nose, ketch shakes his head stiffly from side to side. “you winchesters. every one as stubborn as the last.”

“i’m not a winchester,” she snaps, heated. ketch pins her with a ‘seriously’ look. folding her arms over her chest, she lets her mask fall back on. “go on then. go. i can take care of myself.”

there’s a stand off, then, of sorts. ketch waiting for arc to break, to say she’s coming, too. she waits for him take off, unmoving. ketch grabs the handles of his bag and lifts it at his side, laying his hand on the door knob. taking his time, giving her a dozen chances to choose differently.

she doesn’t.

“you’ll regret it if you don’t,” he murmurs as a parting remark, tone low and heavy. arc’s face twitches a little, but she remains stoic. he walks out, leaving her alone in the motel room.

—

after handing in the keys, arc strolls through the parking lot, her phone in one hand. she scrolls aimlessly through local news sites, waiting for something monster-y to catch her eye. leaning against the door of her car, she keeps looking, not having much luck.

a burst of wind pushes dry leaves across the concrete with a rustle; followed by the flutter and flap of wings. arc sighs, turning around. she frowns; coming to face to face with the last person on earth she ever thought she’d see again.

pushing off the door, she stands back a step, assessing the newcomer with cautious eyes. “michael?” she questions, a furrow in her brow. the archangel smiles peacefully at her, nodding once in greeting.

“hello, arc. can we talk?”

—

michael directs arc to a local diner, where he orders a pepperoni pizza and a coke; arc declines to have anything. she sits, stiff, on the very edge of the booth.

“i thought angels didn’t need to eat,” is what she says after the waitress leaves for the kitchen. arc knows that angels don’t need to eat, so what she’s really getting at is why michael has just ordered food.

“we don’t, but humans do. and adam enjoys pizza.”

“adam? he’s still… in there?”

michael nods. “oh, yes. we - we share this vessel now.”

“right.” arc swallows, glancing around. the place is half-full, the afternoon lunch rush just settling down. when michael doesn’t continue, arc finds herself chewing on her right thumbnail. pale blue eyes follow the movement, and she pulls her hand from her mouth. clasping her hands together on the table and taking a deep breath. “so, you wanted to talk?” she prompts, tense, ready to escape if need be.

“yes.” he says nothing for a long time after, arc flexing her fingers under the table and biting hard on her lower lip. the waitress returns to the table with michael’s pizza.

“you sure i can’t get you anything, hon?” she checks, and arc nods, a strained smile on her lips. michael bites in to a greasy triangle, a soft noise of pleasure humming in the back of his throat.

“michael.” arc says, finally. “what did you want to talk about?”

his eyes brighten, and he drops the crust, reaching for a napkin to wipe his fingers. “oh, yes. apologies. i don’t know, really. it’s been a long time since i’ve been topside.”

arc remembers.

“i don’t know what i’ve missed. i was hoping you could fill me in.”

arc frowns. “why me? you don’t like me. pretty sure adam’s not a fan either.”

michael shrugs, lifting another pizza slice to his lips. “you were the first one i found,” he explains, simply. “and wherever the action is, the winchesters are bound to be nearby. wherever the winchesters are, you are.”

arc’s throat tightens, hands curling into fists. “not anymore. i don’t run with them. haven’t for a while now.”

“oh?”

“look. you want the run-down on what you missed?” arc thinks back, to that day in stull cemetery. so much has transpired in the thousands of days since that one. sam’s moment of clarity, as he overpowered the archangel within his body; dean’s face, swollen and bloodied, internal injuries killing him, slowly.

“uh… cas pulled sam outta hell, left his soul down there. death got it back, but the memories were… too much. cas opened purgatory and accidentally sucked in a ton of leviathan, who killed him and then tried to take over the world. we stopped them, but dean and cas ended up stuck in purgatory for a year after. cas was being controlled for a while, and sam almost died trying to finish the trials to close the gates of hell. metatron went all megalomaniac and threw all the angels out of heaven. dean took on the mark of cain in order to kill abbadon, killed her, then cain, then metatron killed him, he went dark side. we cured him, then got the mark off, unleashing the darkness on the world-”

michael’s eyes bulge out of his head as he interrupts in a horrified tone. “the darkness?!”

arc nods, remembering that he would have been there the first time chuck had imprisoned her. “oh, yeah. shit got real bad for a while. her and dean had - or, have - this weird connection. um, chuck tried to imprison her again, with lucifer’s help-”

“chuck?”

“yeah. your father. like, god. he goes by chuck, now.” arc falls silent after that, the look on michael’s face telling her he needs a minute or two. when michael remains quiet, she continues with caution.

“well, yeah, anyway. amara blasted chuck and he was dying, so dean became this like, soul-bomb thing and was gonna blow amara up. somehow he managed to talk her and chuck into making amends, and they went off on a, uh, inter-world tour?” she makes a face, waving her hands dismissively. “brother-sister bonding time, i guess.”

“then there was the british men of letters, and amara brought mary winchester back. we had to deal with, uh, lucifer then. he had a kid.”

“a nephilim came into being?”

“a few years ago, yeah.” arc coughs, looking away. “uh, chuck killed him, though.”

michael nods, slowly. “good.”

arc grits her teeth. “no. not good. jack was good. he was a good kid.”

“he was an abomination!”

“so am i!” arc shoots back, leaning over the table on instinct. michael’s eyes are hard as they bore into hers, she leans back slowly, squaring her shoulders and glaring right back at the archangel before her.

“lucifer’s dead,” she informs him frostily, not sure he’d care either way. “and you…” she trails off, a twisted smirk on her face. “you killed me.”

michael takes pause at that, tilting his head to the side.

“yeah. well, not you. a different you.”

“a different me?”

“you’re not the only michael,” she explains, an empty laugh accompanying her words. “you’re not even the first. your father’s made a dozen worlds, all of them playing the same show. when jack was born, the power generated by his birth opened a rift to an alternate universe where you killed lucifer and gabriel, and tried to subjugate the entire human race. then you came to ours and tried to do the same.”

michael takes a shuddering breath, lips pressed tight together. “you’re lying.”

“why would i bother?”

“you’re telling me my father has been back, for how long?”

“i dunno. few years. well, no. he was back, then he left again, then he came back, then he left again. now, apparently he’s back. looks like he has a big plan to end this world. the winchesters want to fight him.”

michael lets loose a disbelieving chuckle. “you- my father- he knew i was in the cage. he would have freed me.”

arc takes a moment to examine the young man in front of her. yes, he’s housing an ancient being of divine intent, but adam milligan is young and fresh-faced, just a child. it’s hard not to take pity on the human dragged into this celestial battle.

“he didn’t. and he did know.”

michael’s fists clench. he shoves the plate of half-eaten pizza across the table. “no.”

“yes.”

“no-”

“yes.” arc insists, firm. “your father doesn’t care. not about anyone but himself. not about anything but his damn story. you wanna know why he killed jack? ‘cause dean wouldn’t. abraham wouldn’t kill isaac, and - and he did it himself. cracked open the gates of hell, let millions of tortured souls free. we just about managed to close it back up. we… we lost a lot in the process.”

michael shakes his head, face unimpressed. “you- you are a liar. this was a bad idea.” he stands and storms out of the diner, several other patrons looking up from their conversations to watch. their eyes drift back to arc, alone in the booth. swearing under her breath, she fishes in her pocket for a few dollar bills, slams them on the table and follows michael outside.

he’s pacing, back and forth, fists tight, muttering to himself.

“michael?” arc calls out, worried that she’s just pushed him over the edge. he freezes in spot, face hardening as he lifts his head to meet her gaze. “look, i’m sorry, okay? i’m sorry that you had to find all this out so fast. and i’m sorry that your father didn’t try to help you. i’m sorry that he sucks.”

“you- you are a liar. you said the other michael killed you.”

“yeah. he did. i came back.”

“how?”

arc shrugs, hating the fact she still doesn’t have an answer to that question. “i don’t know, michael. i don’t know anything anymore.”

he eyes her up and down, taking note of her deflated posture, the weariness in her words. arc watches him watching her, and an idea pops into her head. she risks a few stops closer, holding up a hand in offer. “if you want- i can show you. i can show you everything that’s happened.”

he looks at her fingers in the air, eyes narrowed.

“it might be easier for you… if you see it.” she steps closer again, and he backs up on instinct. she stalls, and sighs, deep.

michael swallows, then listens to adam in his head. just see what she has to show you. it can’t hurt, right?

after a moment of holding out, michael relents. he nods, once, tight. arc slowly walks up to him, moving two fingers to lay on his temple. she closes her eyes, and focuses.

her memories pour into michael’s head-

-the demon has flaming red hair and matching bloody lips. a seductive smile and a ruthlessness in her bones, but now dean has an angry scar carved into his forearm, and the first blade is alight with power as he drives it right through abbadon’s gut-

-as metatron drives the blade right through dean’s gut, and then he’s dead and gone until sam finds footage of a demon walking around in his older brother’s meat suit, but it’s not because ohshitsam dean’s a demon-

-and then the bunker, and dean doesn’t want to be cured, he doesn’t want it, dammit, and he slips loose. stalking through the bunker, every bit the predator the mark has made him, a hammer in his hands as he chases sam and arc but it’s okay because cas is here, cas overpowers dean and he’s cured-

-but he’s not better, ‘cause the mark is still on his arm, the mark is ravaging him, carving him up, leaving him hollow, and arc runs into the room just in time to witness dean narrowly miss cas’s head with an angel blade. dean’s face is cold and unrecognisable as he hits her, as she hits him, and her nose crunches where his ribs crack, and their blood mixes together to the point where she can’t tell what’s his and what’s hers-

-dean has death’s trusty scythe in his hands, and he swings for sam. the blade makes a perfect arc, hooking through death himself, who crumbles to nothing but ash. in the moments that follow, dean drops to the floor in agony, but when he comes to the mark is gone, his arm is clean, and cain’s influence is gone forever-

-the fog is not fog; too thick, too dense, too utterly black, and it swarms the impala, and there’s no way anyone is running fast enough to escape-

-there’s a bar, then, and a scribe rifling through a thick manuscript in the corner, and a man with curly hair and a dorky smile reveals his true nature - god, this is god, i’m talking to god right now, arc thinks-

-amara is screaming, but it’s more than physical pain, it’s an ache that comes from the core of her being, as she realises, chuck is sending her back, locking her away, and she says, no, no, not again, not again, never again-

-chuck is dying, and lucifer is gone, and the sun is going out, and billie gives them what’s required to finish their soul bomb, and it’s in dean’s chest, pulsing brilliantly. it’s cold in the graveyard where they say goodbye, and when dean walks over to arc with a fake smile she doesn’t return it. she crosses her arms over her chest and tells him, no, i’m not saying it, and no, i won’t say it’s okay ‘cause it’s not, and he’s crying, and she hates it, and she hates him, and she hates chuck-

-she can’t reach her powers, she can’t feel it, just feels dizzy and cold and hungry and, wow, fucking tired, and the blonde woman with the british accent flares her nostril when arc spits back another smart comment. arc cringes when she watches toni bevel slip on those brass knuckles, the orange sigils flaring up, and then the impact comes and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts-

-dean is alive? mary winchester is alive? the men of letters let them go, and arc is still in pain until they get as far from the warding as they can manage, and even then…-

-the baby growing in kelly kline’s stomach is reaching out to arc, warm and curious and sweet, and he’s holding her soul is his own and for the first time in her existence, she doesn’t feel so damn alone-

-the rift is a ripped golden thread in the fabric of their universe; and the other world is dark, barren, sharp. a nightmare place that mary and lucifer are trapped in, and castiel is dead, and kelly is dead, and dean hates her, dean hates arc enough that he might try to kill her-

-jack is growing, and the sun is shining, but it’s not half as bright as the child’s smile. his blue eyes glow warm and loving, and he’s listening intently to arc as she teaches him how to tie his shoelaces-

-and cas is back, but everything is different. dean is cruel and nasty and resembles john winchester more and more every day-

-jack is gone, hating himself, afraid of himself, and arc blames dean, and she’s gone, too-

-blurry images, lots of screaming, and arc is wincing where she remembers this part-

-gabriel is not like he was before; he is small and broken, cracked wide, spirited scooped out, grace drained, frightened and childlike-

-sam is dead because arc froze, and this is in apocalypse world and the vampires here are nothing like they are at home, and dean is angry and sad, then jack is there and mary is there and they’re both alive, warm, fighting-

-sam is alive? lucifer is here… no one likes that, least of all gabriel, and he throws some hurtful words at arc, and then there’s a fight, and there he is, alternate michael, trying to kill arc, but lucifer is saving her, and the rift is shut and everyone (almost everyone) is safe and sound on the other side, until-

-until arc is dead and she remembers the flare of white-hot pain bursting in her chest as the archangel blade pierces through-

she stumbles back, a dull ache settling in her temples. michael blinks, staring at her. “what about the rest?” he demands, following as she falls back.

“i was dead,” she reminds him, breathing heavily.

“well- what about when you came back?!”

“give me a minute!” she snaps, throaty and panting. michael clicks his tongue and taps his foot impatiently as arc gathers herself.

she raises her hand again, and brushes his face again-

-how the fuck am i alive? how am i in norway?-

-someone’s in the trunk of the impala… it’s garth, why is garth in the impala trunk?-

-and everyone’s looking at her like they can’t quite believe she’s here, as if they’ve never witnessed a resurrection before-

-dean is hiding something, he has an archangel in his mind screaming twenty-four seven, battering at the walls and the door trying to get out, and sam is worried, and lucifer is dead but nick is alive and he’s gone kinda crazy, and jack’s soul is sustaining him after michael stole his grace-

-dean wants them to bury him alive in a malak box and sam is terrified and crying and dean is terrified but no one seems to see that; arc does and she can’t get rid of michael, she can’t fix anything for him, but she can do this, she can be his advocate, she can agree to his plan even if the idea tears her into pieces, even if sam can’t even look at her anymore-

-dean takes a hit and falls unconscious, michael possesses rowena, tortures them all, and jack uses what’s left of his soul to kill the archangel-

-jack kills nick, and then mary, and the second one is an accident, but dean doesn’t care. chuck is back, and gabriel doesn’t fight him, when he says jack needs to die, and dean says he’ll do it-

-and it’s a graveyard, then, another graveyard, and dean has his gun pointed at jack, but he lowers his hand and his face crumples and he can’t. because he hates what jack did, but he can’t stop loving jack despite it, and chuck is wrath and only wrath, and he inadvertently reveals the truth. he’s been writing this story, this epic climax, father killing his son, and everyone has to do as chuck says because chuck is god and chuck knows better and chuck gets what he wants, because he's the writer, but dean refuses, and chuck kills jack, and it hurts so much that arc wants to die, too-

-sam shoots chuck and it only pisses him off further, and the gates of hell break and souls flood the earth and it’s three days of rock salt and desperate measures and rowena is falling into the ruptured ground, and that’s that, then, that’s it, it’s over-

-they can never take back what they’ve said today; not now, not ever, when dean tells cas, “why does that something always seem to be you?”, when arc calls dean selfish and arrogant, when cas walks out, when dean does nothing to stop it, to stop him. when arc begs cas to stay and he doesn’t, so she walks out too, and dean, again, does nothing to stop it, just lets her go, just lets them go, and this family was never mine, i never had one, jack is dead and rowena is gone and none of it was ever real so-

she draws her hand back again. the rest of it is just her and ketch, and those memories, these last few months are hers, and his, and theirs alone. the headache intensifies slightly, and she closes her eyes as if to shield herself from the pain.

michael turns away from her and yet again begins to pace. after walking up and down several times, he stands still. looking at the floor, lost in thought, lost as he tries to process everything he’s just seen and heard. a long time passes before he finally raises his head. there’s a defeated note to his voice when he speaks.

“i can hear castiel praying for me to come. they want to me to help them take my father off the board.”

he’s strangely calm, and arc shifts from foot to foot. “uh, okay?”

michael lapses into another lengthy silence. arc glances around, looking everywhere but at him. she’s waiting for him to, like, explode, or something. to snap at her, lunge at her, try to kill her. he doesn’t do any of those things, though, he simply nods to himself, maybe to adam.

“are the winchesters in contact with a prophet?” he asks, and arc tells him yes. “what about an angel tablet?”

“no. i think it got destroyed,” she says, “but we do - i mean, they do have a demon tablet, far as i know.”

michael hums, a noise of understanding. “they found metatron’s note. which means they know.”

arc’s head tips to the side. intrigue claws at her throat, pushing her to ask questions, “know what?”

michael’s smiling again, sad, doleful. “that i know how to trap my father.”

arc lets loose a deep breath, shocked. “there’s actually a way? but, he’s god.”

“and amara is just as powerful as he, yet we managed to lock her up.”

arc’s brow furrows deep; “yeah, and it took four archangels and god himself to do that,” she points out.

“there’s a spell. one you can all put together, and it will lock my father away as he once locked amara away.”

arc takes this in, then opens her mouth to protest-

michael rests one hand on her shoulder, and their surroundings change. the air is a little thicker, the heat more noticeable. it’s the bunker, she realises, startling. she rounds on michael, glaring furiously. “hey!”

cas steps inside the library, eyes widening as they land on michael, then on arc. arc turns away, huffing to herself. “brother,” castiel greets cautiously.

“castiel. i hear you are in need of some assistance.”

cas hesitates, glancing at arc’s back. he looks at michael’s face, examining him carefully.

“arc has shown me some of the recent events that our father has had a hand in,” michael states, primly, “and i understand you are aware that i know his biggest weakness.”

when arc peeks at cas over her shoulder, his blue eyes are wide and wary. ketch is the next person to enter the room, doing a double take upon setting eyes on arc. he raises an eyebrow, greeting her plainly.

“why would you help us now?” cas asks, voice deep, deep enough to get lost in. warm enough that arc wants to wrap herself in it, a voice that sounds like coming home.

“god lied to me. i gave everything for him. i loved him. i’m not even the only michael,” a twinge of bitterness seeps through his words. cas looks at arc again, who sighs, and shrugs.

“we have the demon tablet,” cas says after a few minutes. “donatello translated it, but… but chuck used donatello to speak to us. he warned us against trying to stop him.”

michael exchanges a glance with arc. “i presume that has not deterred you.”

cas nods. “no. it hasn’t.”

—

dean can’t stop staring at michael; there’s guilt and regret in his stunning green eyes, heavy and sharp. the archangel is explaining to them that there’s a spell, one that will lock chuck away as he once did amara. he slips his hand into his pocket, pulls out a folded piece of paper. placing it on the tabletop, he slides it across to arc. she picks it up and reads it, before passing it to cas, who in turn passes it to dean.

“and the ingredients?” cas asks.

“myrrh, cassia, rockrose.”

“we’ve got that,” dean confirms, side-eying cas.

“and to bind the spell together, the nectar from a leviathan blossom.

dean arches an eyebrow. “a leviathan blossom? what is that, like a flower?”

“a flower that only grows in one place. purgatory.” michael snaps his finger, and a rift opens up in the air. static and crackling, a sharp, jagged line of yellow splitting the atoms of the universe. “that’s the door. it’ll remain open for 12 hours.”

dean swallows, hard. “you coming with us?”

michael shakes his head. “no.”

dean nods. “before you go, can i talk to him?”

michael’s eyes flash blue, and his entire demeanour changes. his face softens, his posture becoming relaxed. adam. he stares up at his big brother, and arc has to look away at the cracked expression on dean’s face.

“adam, i want you to know we are sorry,” dean tells him, vehemently. “what happened to you… you’re a good man. you didn’t deserve that.”

adam’s lips quirk in a sardonic smile. “since when do we get what we deserve?” he asks, airy. “good luck.” he turns to arc then, nodding once.

“wait!” she calls out, holding her hands in the air. “my car’s still where i left it when you dragged me here.”

pale blue eyes flash again, and michael snaps his fingers a second time. “it’s outside the bunker.”

in the blink of an eye, he’s gone.

—

ketch breaks the tense silence in the moments after michael’s exit. “so. who’s going to purgatory?”

cas and dean look at each other and nod. there remains a strain in the way they communicate, even non-verbally. all has not been smoothed over, arc thinks. she wonders how long cas has been returned to the bunker. does her best to block out the painful twist in her gut as she wonders.

“i need to call sam,” dean mutters, ducking his head and scrolling through his phone. he puts the cell to his ear, foot tapping impatiently as it rings out. “come on, sam!”

“this is sam. leave me a message.”

dean curses as he brings his phone back down.

“have you tried eileen?” cas inquires, and arc frowns.

“wh- eileen?”

dean glances over at arc. “oh, yeah. eileen’s back.”

arc blinks, and then looks to ketch, who grimaces slightly. “wow,” she mutters. “that must’ve been awkward for you.”

“no answer from eileen, either.” dean informs cas.

“where are they, anyway?”

ketch explains to arc that the pair had headed off shortly before arc and michael had arrived. a hunter friend of eileen’s had called in for back-up. “well, they’re probably just busy with the case, right?”

dean hums, unconvinced. “yeah. or they’re in trouble.”

dean’s phone sings, then, and his face drops in relief. “eileen, where the hell are you?”

a distinctly masculine voice creeps down the line. dean frowns. “eileen?”

arc plants her palms on the library table, leaning over toward dean and tuning in to the hushed conversation happening on the other end. the three men watch her, waiting.

“…really know what i’m looking for here, so this might get messy.”

a match strikes low in arc’s gut, her face twisting in a cold snarl. “chuck,” she mouths, fists curling in tight.

“eileen? eileen?” dean calls, desperately.

“hi, dean,” chuck greets cheerily. dean’s face slowly turns more and more red.

“chuck, you dick-”
“‘bye, dean.”

the call cuts out, and dean seizes his laptop, practically tearing the lid off as he opens it. “how the hell did this happen?”

“what are you doing?” cas asks, peering over his shoulder.

“tracking sam’s phone…” dean trails off, eyes scanning the screen as it loads. “okay, here we go. uh… milford, nebraska, at a casino. what the hell is chuck doing at a casino? whatever. we need to go.”

he slams the lid of his computer shut and stands. cas takes a breath. “to purgatory,” he reminds the older winchester.

“chuck has sam. i’m not leaving him.”

“chuck’s not gonna kill him,” cas speaks to dean in the tone of an adult who is explaining something to a child for the hundredth time. “that’s not the ending.”

“wh- then he’ll torture him.”

“should we go after him?” ketch asks, doubt lingering in his tone. dean swings his head around to look at the brit, nodding, jaw tense enough to snap. cas rolls his eyes.

“dean, will you stop? just stop being so stupid.”

arc snorts, taken off guard by the scratchy irritation in cas’ voice. dean, too, is not expecting it, as he blinks at the angel, utterly baffled. “what?”

“if we attack chuck now, we don’t have anything that can hurt him. neither do ketch nor arc. we get that leviathan blossom, complete michael’s spell, build the cage. that’s our chance. that’s the way we’ll save sam, and that’s the way we’ll save the world.”

dean’s heavy breathing slows and grows less pronounced; he can’t deny that cas is right. arc takes a deep breath and nods.

“you two go, get the blossom. ketch and i will stay here and protect the rift.” she glances at the other man, who nods his affirmation. “watch each other’s back out there,” she says, dully. “try to come back together, and in one piece. or at least alive.”

cas directs a soft smile her way, and arc’s stomach jumps into her throat. “we will.”

dean squares his shoulders, straightens his spine, and nods firmly. “let’s do this.”

Chapter Text

ketch settles in for the evening, watching the timer counting down on his phone. arc moves in and out of the library, carefully reading through each and every line of michael’s instructions. she measures out the ingredients several times over, movements slow and meticulous. ketch watches from the corner of his eye, waiting for her to pause for just a moment.

it’s about forty-five minutes after cas and dean have slipped through the rift that arc finally stops. she wipes her hands on her jeans, and then moves to sit opposite ketch. she stares at the glowing rift, chest completely still. ketch leaves her be for around three minutes, before coughing slightly to grab her attention. she turns to him, face blank.

“hey. um. hi.”

ketch smiles. “hello. how are you?”

“yeah. fine. you?”

“fine.”

arc nods, and ketch nods, and they return to watching over the purgatory rift.

a handful of pinpricks sting at arc’s temple. she brushes it off, but it happens again, and again, then the pain ratchets up a few levels. she can’t hold back from gasping out when what feels like a mallet whacks her right in the back of the skull. her vision blurs and ketch’s voice drifts in and out of focus. she’s not even aware that she’s tipped herself off the chair onto the floor. ketch kneels at her side, one hand on either side of her face. “arc?”

arc moans, pained, as the pounding builds to an aching climax, and her eyes slip shut.

when she opens them again, she’s in the bunker, and there are two sam’s - and she can see herself, too. not a reflection, but like she’s outside her body, watching on.

“arc?”

she turns her head. one sam is sitting in another chair in the background of the scene. “sam?”

“what is this?” she asks, and sam shakes his head. “is this… is this a dream?

dean is snoring in a chair in the library, laptop balanced on his knee. dream!sam and eileen are sitting directly across from one another, arc by eileen’s side, scrolling through her phone. eileen peers over the lid of her lip and signs to sam. “that man who disappeared in florida? turns out he was eaten by an alligator.”

dream sam chuckles, and follows arc’s - dream! arc’s- eye line. sam notices that dean is pretty much asleep, and calls out, “hey dean, if you’re tired, why don’t you go to bed?”

dean jerks awake, grabbing at the laptop to stop it sliding off his knees. “i’m not tired. i’m not tired. i’m just resting my eyes. i’m good.”

dream! arc smirks, nudging eileen with her elbow as the pair giggle at the older hunter. cas enters with ketch, both of them holding several beer bottles between them. dean grins widely up at the angel.

“ooh, jackpot!” dean shuts his laptop and places it on a side table. “ahh. thanks. alright, well, i say let’s call it, hmm? movie night?”

the others faces light up. “i’ll make popcorn,” eileen says, standing up.

arc and sam - real arc and sam - exchange confused glances. then, dream! sam’s cell phone rings.

“oh. jody. jody. hey. how’s it going? jody?”

the sheriff’s voice is frail and low on the other end, arc can barely pick it up. “sam…”

“yeah, hey.”

“it was just supposed to be a little nest, maybe three vampires. claire and i went in armed to the teeth, but there were more. so many more. she’s dead, sam. claire’s dead. claire’s dead.” jody’s voice crumbles away into sobs. cas drops the beer bottle in his hand, dean automatically reaching to - what? - to lace their fingers together. eileen looks between them, and dream! arc signs the news for her with stiff gestures. eileen’s hand flies up to cover her mouth, as tears fill her eyes.

real arc hears real sam whisper a determined, angry, “no!” before the ceiling caves in and she wakes on the floor with a gasp. ketch leans back, concern on his face.
“arc? what happened are you alright?”

arc tries to sit up, the images of the, what, vision? dream? she just had flickering behind her eyes. her lips tremble around silent words, as she grapples with processing it all. before she can fully come back to herself, the pain shoots through her head yet again, and she falls back, the back of her skull dropping to the floor with a sickening thunk, and passing out.

the back of the impala, this time. it’s just sam and dean, while arc and sam watch from the back seat. the ‘dream’ versions of sam and dean are bloodied, bruised, exhausted. dream sam is gazing listlessly out the passenger side window into the night, dean glancing over at him, worried.

“i know what you’re thinking. but we did everything we could.”
sam scoffs. “no, we didn’t. we could’ve gone in there sooner.”
“the place was crawling with wolves,” dean reasons, “we had to wait.”
“and because we waited, the victims- they all died. they bled out on the floor.” sam turns his head to look at his brother. “now, if cas was still here, he could’ve healed them.”

dean’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel. “yeah, well, he’s not.”
“cas?” this time, it’s the real sam who speaks. he looks down, and arc looks down, too. only just noticing the golden stopwatch clutched loosely in his right hand.

“they’re winning, sam.” says dream dean, tight and hopeless. “the monsters are winning.”

—

the scene changes. the bunker, again. sam holds the stopwatch out to arc, so she can read the date and time.

november 3rd, 2021, 11:42:38AM. sam’s expression is uneasy, and arc is sure she’s wearing a matching one.

future sam loads a gun with a flat expression. future dean watches on, tired. “what are you doing? come on, man. we just got back.”

“i-if we don’t hustle, the nest’ll move on.”

dean shakes his head, bowing it low. “no, sam. it doesn’t matter.”

sam pauses. “what are you saying?”

“what i’ve been trying to say for months. it’s time to stand down.”

“you want to quit?” sam protests, disbelieving. “what’s happened to you, dean? ever since-”

dean cuts him off with a weary heat, the picture of a shattered man. “-ever since what? we lost pretty much everyone we’ve ever cared about? ever since the mark made cas go crazy? ever since i watched him drive that damn blade through arc’s chest? ever since i had to burn her and bury him in a ma’lak box? ever since then? yeah. you know why? ‘cause the monsters- they’re everywhere. everywhere! what we do- it’s not even hunting anymore. it’s whack-a-mole. we don’t even save people. every friend we’ve ever had is either dead, or they got wise and packed it in.”

sam swallows, eyes filling with tears that spill over when he blinks. “jody’s still fighting, and bobby-”

“bobby’s got a death wish,” dean finishes firmly, “and you know it. and jody- ever since what happened to donna and the girls, she does, too. and after eileen… so do you.”

sam looks at his brother, utterly forlorn, red faced, wet eyes. “no. what happened to butch and sundance? dean, what happened to going out swinging?”

dean shrugs, a defeated look on his tired face. “we lost, brother. we lost. i’m done.” dean turns and walks away, sam calling after him in a strained and pitchy voice.

real sam suddenly snaps, startling arc. “this is a lie. chuck, i know what you’re doing. chuck?!”

the man himself strolls in, grinning. “enjoying the show?”

sam responds with a death stare. “you’re just showing me this so i give up, so i lose hope.”

arc feels breathless, like she’s run a hundred miles and still has further to go.

“i’m just the messenger,” chuck tells sam, shrugging. “i’m sharing my omniscience with you.”

“no, the dean i know… the dean who raised me- he’d never give up, no matter how bad things got.”

“well, he does. he will. this is the truth, sam. this is what comes next.” arc thinks she can hear an inflection of sadness in chuck’s voice, and it riles her.

“this is- you can’t be-” she loses her sentence halfway through, chuck turning his eyes on her pityingly.

—

sam twists the mechanism on the stopwatch, and the time jumps forward to 12:36:40PM. dean is sitting at the war table, his eyes shut. future sam comes into the room, backpack slung over his shoulder.

“i’m raiding that nest with or without you.”

sam makes his way up the stairs. he’s nearly at the top when dean forces his eyes open and sighs, deep. “then i guess i don’t have a choice, do i?|

chuck leans in closer to sam and arc. “oh, they’re back. oh, dean, bad idea. you should’ve trusted your…” the bunker door slams as the winchesters leave. “gut.” chuck finishes with a wince, shaking his head mournfully.

“no. it can’t end like this.” sam states, firm.

“see for yourself,” chuck says, “you’ve got the watch.”

sam swallows, and with one desperate look at arc, he twists the mechanism yet again. on december 9th, 2022, at 3:11:23AM, it sticks. sam yanks and pulls frustratedly at the golden knob, but it won’t go any further. arc watches him, a cold, sick feeling in her stomach. his movements slow before stopping completely. breathless, he stares down at the white face of the watch.

“it’s stuck,” he mumbles.

“guess that’s as far as it goes, sammy. the end of the line.”

—

this time, it’s not the bunker or the impala. it’s a motel-room, the doors barricaded, sam and dean inside.

“alright, only way in,” sam says to dean, who nods.

“let ‘em come.”

“we’re outnumbered,” the younger points out. dean grins, a familiar grin, so familiar it hurts.

“what else is new? those bastards take us down, at least we go down together.”

sam smiles. “butch and sundance.”

dean winks. “go out swinging.”

real sam - or, present sam, really - checks the watch. it remains stuck in place. arc can hear footsteps, then voices that strike her hard in the heart. it’s jody and bobby.

something’s not right, she realises, and without thinking she reaches for sam’s free hand, grasps his wrist in a vice grip. he hisses in pain but it fades to a whispering ache as he notices the stricken look on her face. she’s staring right at sam and dean, and sam does the same. just in time to see the boys bare their teeth, and show a set of vampire fangs descending in each mouth.

the hunters break through the barricades, and jody shoots at sam. vampire dean snarls and lunges, tackling the smaller woman and leaning down to - oh, shit - rip her throat out. bobby comes in and gets sam down on his knees, beheading him with one swift swing of his machete. arc’s throat tightens and she wonders if this is what nausea feels like. she doesn’t realise she’s crying until she jerks awake again in the bunker. ketch has a damp washcloth covering her forehead, and she snatches it off, tossing it away as she stumbles to her feet.

“arc? arc, what happened?” arc swallows, unable to meet his gaze.

could it really be true? could that- that horror story she just witnessed - could that be reality if they go through with this?

she flinches back when ketch lays his hand on her forearm, her hands coming to claw roughly at her face. she feels the hot tears leaving a damp trail down her cheeks. her chest heaves, her stomach writhing in discomfort. “ketch…” she breathes out, shaking her head, wiping at her face as hard as she can. he watches on, helpless, arms still outstretched as he waits in limbo for what she has to say.

behind them, the rift fizzles and crackles and spits; and two figures tumble through. cas and dean, both looking a little worse for wear, but alive. they pause at the sight before them; how obviously distressed arc is.

“what happened?” dean demands, fingers curling around the white flower in his hand. cas automatically reaches out to ease it from his grip, moving to where arc had set up the spell ingredients.

“let’s just - do the spell. come on.” arc breathes out, hurrying to castiel’s side. as they prepare the spell, cas reads out the words on the paper, his angel blade already in one hand. dean takes cas gently by the wrist, interrupting.

“wait. wait. wait. are you sure?”

“dean, you’ve already taken the mark.”

arc’s blood turns to liquid ice in her veins. she’s seized in the jaws of a recent memory; “-ever since what? we lost pretty much everyone we’ve ever cared about? ever since the mark made cas go crazy? ever since i watched him drive that damn blade through arc’s chest? ever since i had to burn her and bury him in a ma’lak box?”

her chest tightens, expels all oxygen from her system. no, she thinks. no. i can’t let that happen. i can’t. while dean and cas are distracted gazing into each other’s eyes, arc whips her own blade from her waistband and cuts deep into her palm, holding her hand out over the metal bowl. ketch knows what she’s doing before it’s done, and can only watch the looks of horror on dean and cas’ faces when they realise. arc snatches the paper from cas’ hands and reads out the entirety of the spell.

“arc! what are you doing?” cas asks, stunned.

“we don’t have time for this,” arc says firmly. “finish the damn spell.”

dean and cas exchange pained looks, but do as she says. dean ignites the spell and cas carefully holds a black sphere above the smoke to capture the power of it. with a pointed look at arc, he passes it to dean.

“one of us will have to break it, as arc is taking the mark, she can’t,” he explains through gritted teeth.

arc nods and heads for the stairs. “come on. you remember the address for that casino?”

dean does, and somehow he convinces his feet to move despite every fibre of his being screaming at him to stop. they pile into the impala, none of them bothering with a seatbelt. dean slams his foot down on the pedal, driving well over the limit. speeding toward the casino, speeding toward destiny.

i might have changed it, arc thinks desperately, maybe i changed it enough…

deep down, she knows she hasn’t, but then they pull up outside the casino, and there’s no more time for thoughts or regrets. they sneak inside, one by one, spotting sam in the middle of the room. tied to a chair, breathing heavily. his shirt is ripped open, his injured shoulder on show.

dean creeps up toward his brother. “hey. where’s chuck?”

“i don’t know. he’s close,” sam pants, watching as dean bends to cut off the ties holding him fast. movement catches sam’s eye, and he yells, “watch out!”

dean turns, and finds himself whacked squarely over the head with a guitar. eileen’s face is crumpled like wet paper as she pushes him back, and retrieves a scalpel. holding it out toward dean.

dean holds out his hands, voice low, “eileen, i don’t want to hurt you.”

cas tackles her from behind, and sam wriggles loose from the half-cut ropes. he snatches up the fallen scalpel, meeting arc and ketch’s eyes across the room. he shares a solemn look with arc in particular, and her heart rate ratchets up a notch.

dean turns, face to face with chuck. “hi, dean.”

the green-eyed hunter responds with a heavy punch that doesn’t even make chuck flinch. “you know i had to.” he says, shrugging. chuck nods, then hits back, sending the hunter flying across the room.

“me too.”

cas calls out to sam, holds up the sphere holding the spell. he rolls it across the thick carpeted floor, where it comes to a stop at the tip of sam’s boot. he leans forward with some hesitancy, before picking it up. “break it!” arc yells, utterly wretched.

sam meets her eyes, a shine in his eyes that betrays his tears. his jaw is loose, his lips shaking. arc swallows and pleads with her eyes. come on, sam. come on, sam.

dean, impatient, roars across the room: “sam!”

sam drops to his knees, limp, shoulders slumped. he lets the sphere roll gently out of his hand. it traverses the floor once again, this time, stopping by chuck’s foot. “i can’t,” sam chokes out, miserable. “i’m sorry. i… i just can’t.”

arc closes her eyes, face crumpling. no, no, no-

“what did you do to him?” dean whispers, and chuck suddenly cries out in relief and joy. a light passes over his shoulder, and sam’s - their wounds from the equaliser are finally healed.

“ahh! ahhh! yeah! oh, man. whew! yeah, that’s the stuff!” chuck smiles, rolling his shoulders back, rubbing his hands together.

“what happened?” cas asks, cold.

“um, short version - sammy lost hope, and now i’m free.” he gives dean a crooked smile. “hey, take it easy on the kids.” he gestures to arc, too. “it took a lot to beat it out of both of ‘em.”

arc drops her head and looks away when scorching green eyes fall on her. chuck crushes the sphere in one hand, the spell dissipating into the air and becoming useless.

“no!” dean bellows, jaw clenched. “no! well, what now?! you’re not gonna dust us.”

chuck’s eyes light up with amusement. “oh, yeah? why not?”

“because you’re holding out. for your big finish,” dean taunts. “yeah, we know about your galaxy-brained idea, how you think this story is gonna go. sam got a little look in your draft folder.”

chuck considers dean a moment, then looks to arc again. “you saw them, too, didn’t you? he asks, quietly. arc nods. voiceless. chuck presses his lips together, and sighs, patronising.

“sam’s visions, arc’s dreams… they weren’t drafts. they were memories. my memories. other sams and other deans in other worlds. but guess what? just like you, they didn’t think they’d do it, either. but they did. and you will too.”

“how?” arc asks, croaky. “you said i’m not in this story. that i was never… how did i see it? how i was there?”

chuck shakes his head. “no idea. you weren’t there, arc. not in any other world. i guess your brain tried to make sense of the memories by creating a false place for you in them.”

arc swallows, stone-faced. “and. and what you showed us. how i died- that was-”

“oh, no, that was real,” chuck assures her. “i know about your existence now, so i can factor you in.” arc’s lip trembles and she takes it between her teeth, biting down until the pain is overwhelming.

“it won’t happen,” dean insists, voice dark and gravelly.

“it will,” chuck counters, serene, sure.

“no. not this sam. and not this dean. so you go back to earth two and play with your other toys. because we will never give you the ending that you want.”

chuck studies dean intently, before shrugging, careless. “we’ll see.” he vanishes, the ransacked casino now eerily quiet.

—

stumbling out into the early evening, sam stares resolutely off into the distance. eyes faded and red-rimmed, jaw set harshly. arc steps toward him, tilting her head to meet his gaze. they share a look, a moment of understanding passing between them. sam takes a juddering inhale, before swallowing and nodding once at arc. they wear twin expressions of dejection, fear, hurt. dean, cas, and ketch glance between the two, no one sure of what to say now.

Chapter Text

arc’s bedroom is exactly how she left it. untouched by all but thin layers of dust accumulating on un-walked floors, unused surfaces. dropping her bag off her shoulder, she sighs and sits on the end of the double bed covered in a thick black duvet.

it’s over. it’s just over. there’s nothing they can do to stop chuck. which, and she doesn’t mean to be smug - but she knew it. how could you ever hope to go up against the creator of the literal universe, and win?

the image of sam and dean baring sharp vampire fangs flicker behind her eyelids, tinted red and hazy. screwing up her face, arc presses her hands to her eyes to push back tears brimming hot and insistent. she reaches for her duffle, laid sideways on the ground. from it, she yanks a notebook. small, thin, rectangular, bound with fake brown leather and a loop to keep it shut. arc roots around the odds and ends she’d left behind in her room, looking for a pen.

with shaking fingers, she touches pen to paper, and begins.

—

it’s late that night when dean knocks on the door. arc is hunched over her lap, scrawling furiously, hand sweaty with the pen in her grasp. she glances up, torn from her thoughts by the knock. “come in.” dean lingers in the doorway, an air of uncertainty surrounding him.

he points toward the ceiling. “i, uh. saw the light on from under the door. just wanted to see if you- if you’re good.”

arc nods, slowly. she closes the notebook and lays it on the bed next to her, shrugging. “i dunno,” she admits, “are any of us 'good' right now?”

dean presses his lips together. she’s got a point. rubbing her tired eyes, she asks, “sam tell you why he couldn’t do the spell?”

dean shakes his head. “no. whatever it was… freaked him out pretty good.”

when she finally meets his green eyes, soft and interested - he knows she knows what sam saw. knows that she saw it too. taking a deep breath, she picks up the journal by her side and holds it out to him.

“i wrote it down. what i can remember, at least. could be some parts missing, but uh… yeah.” dean visibly hesitates, gingerly stepping into the room as though arc were a bomb on the verge of explosion. when he touches his fingers to the cool faux-leather, arc tightens her grip and gives him a solemn look. “just… it’s a lot.” she warns, grimly. “like… a lot, a lot. you can show cas, too. and ketch, if he- if he wants to see.” she releases her journal and dean draws it to his chest.

“thanks,” he murmurs, quietly. arc just nods. he swallows, audibly, gulping hard. arc waits for whatever it is that he’s about to say.

“so, uh… you stickin’ around?” he asks, failing miserably to sound nonchalant. keeping her gaze on her knees, arc shrugs.

“dunno. guess… guess we’ll see,” she says after a long pause. dean releases a breath and smiles, a small, fragile smile. he clears his throat and rubs at the back of his neck with his free hand.

“alright. well. i’ll let you get some rest.” he thanks her again for her journal and then slips out of the room.

rest is the last thing on arc’s mind; but somehow, she finds herself drifting off regardless. the sleep is restless, disturbed; shadows move in the peripheral of her mind’s eye, fast and flickering.

it’s not over yet, a voice whispers from within the darkness. rest now. it is not over.
—

the empty

jack has no way to gauge how much time has passed since he awoke in the empty. it has to have been months, he thinks, if not years. billie hadn’t been very informative when she came to present her plan. he was simply instructed to wait here. all of a sudden, he becomes aware of another presence. he turns to find billie eyeing him with a solemn expression on her face.

“it’s time,” she informs him deeply, eyes serious. jack nods.

Chapter Text

ACT V

TO TAKE DOWN A GOD

CHAPTER 41: HELLO, GARTH

when arc awakens from her afternoon nap, for once it’s not to indecipherable whispers lingering in the back of her mind. it’s to a loud crash, and sam’s muffled voice drifting through the bunker hallways. when she arrives in the kitchen, boiling water is spilled across the floor, twists of pasta scattered in the puddles. sam is hopping around the dry patches on the floor, blowing desperately on his hands. his hair is wild, his hands bright red. he freezes on one foot when he clocks arc standing in the doorway, a dark flush appearing in his cheeks.

“what the hell?” arc asks, staring down at the mess on the ground. sam shrugs, helpless.

“bad day?” he tries, and then dean calls out as he enters, home from his run to the store. his face is dark as thunder as he stomps down the stairway. arc and sam head for the war room, sam stumbling as he trips on the step up from the hall to the room. dean shoots his brother a confused look.

“was that a trip?” he asks, face screwed up. sam nods, glancing briefly at arc before looking back at dean.

“weird,” sam comments.

“there’s a lotta that goin’ on,” dean mutters. “in town, i just got a parking ticket.” arc frowns; sam tilts his head to the side.

“because you always park in front of that fire hydrant?”

“no!” dean scowls, but he relents under sam’s gaze. “i mean, yes. okay, i park there every time. i never get a ticket, all right? oh, and uh…” he roots in his pockets, taking out a credit card and holding it up. “this? doesn’t work.” he tosses it on to the table.

“that’s the card charlie hacked for us, the one-”

“-yeah, the golden one that’s supposed to be our ‘no more hustling, always working’ golden ticket.” dean interrupts.

“weird.”

“that’s what i’m saying!”

sam nods, before letting loose a hard sneeze. arc jumps, taking a few steps back with an alarmed expression. “are you getting sick?” she asks, and sam wipes his nose with the back of his hand.

“i don’t know. maybe. oh, and - and dinner’s-” sam’s interrupted by another, harsher sneeze. arc drags the neck of her tee-shirt over her mouth.

“man, this day!” dean laments, “i’m telling you-” sam coughs. “what is next?” somewhere, a cell phone rings. keeping her shirt over her mouth and nose, arc slips her phone from her shorts. “it’s garth,” she says, words distorted beneath the fabric.

“hey, garth.”

“hey, arc, it’s garth,” arc smiles at his greeting. it’s good to hear his voice. “i uh, i need your help.”

sam sneezes again, and arc slowly backs up out of the room.

—

as they’re getting ready to leave, dean is working himself right up, insisting that they’re cursed. arc snorts as she shrugs on a jacket. “you’re having a bad day. it’s not a curse.”

“no, no, no. no. no. this is- this is more than just a no good, very bad day,” dean disagrees, hotly. “chuck must’ve boned us before he left, you know? or maybe some of that crap you brought back from rowena’s went sideways. ‘cause this? i mean….”

sam pauses his packing and sneezes into his sleeve. arc and dean make identical faces of disgust as he leaves behind a thick glob of snot. “this is not normal,” dean says, pointing at the offending sleeve as if to prove his point.

“look. cas is in heaven, seeing if they know where chuck went, or anything,” sam starts, dean immediately dismissing him with a scoff.

“oh, yeah, ‘cause angels, they’re always really happy to help.”

ignoring his brother, sam pushes on. “- and i’m sick, and you got a ticket. it happens. we’ll deal.” he finishes packing, throwing the bag over his shoulder pointedly.

dean just shakes his head, fiddling with his car keys. he eyes arc up and down. “you ready?”

“yeah, but i’m taking my own car. way your luck’s going today, the engine might blow up,” she smirks as she slides past the pair of men. dean makes a face as she laughs at their misfortune, chalking it up to dean’s streak for drama.

—

they’re on the road a couple hours when the lights of the impala guiding arc from in front sputters out. arc frowns, pulling in on the side of the road. when she gets out of the car, dean and sam are standing on each side of the car, arguing.

“what’s going on?” she calls as she approaches.

“baby’s dead.” dean snaps, face red. “still think this is normal?” he asks sam accusatorially. instead of waiting for an answer, he turns around and stomps over to arc’s car, yanking at the passenger side door.

“oi!” arc shouts, voice hot. “don’t take it out on my car, asshole!” she turns back to look at sam, who’s wearing one of his famed kicked-puppy faces. “c’mon,” she sighs. “we’re already running behind.”

—

it’s dark when they reach garth’s place, after a very long, very silent drive. any time arc sensed dean was about to start bitching about the car again, she’d warn him stonily to stay quiet. sam shuffled around uncomfortably in the back, long legs cramped against the front seats.

“garth say exactly why he needed us?” the younger brother had asked, and arc had shook her head.

“not exactly.’

garth looks - really good, actually, when he flings open the front door to greet them. he’s glowing, almost, smiling wide, eyes bright and happy. “hey! there they are! come in.” his hair is parted neatly to one side, and he’s wrapped up in a deep red cardigan over a striped shirt.

the trio of newcomers shuffle into the hallway; a well-lit, homely atmosphere welcoming them in.

garth pulls arc in, hugging her tight - he always seemed to be the one person she wasn’t fussy about touching. sam is next, then dean.

“still a hugger, huh?” dean jokes, through gritted teeth, arms wrapping around the smaller man.

“you know it. you smell so good!”

dean’s face drops, and he pulls back. “and we’re done.” he clears his throat and glances at sam.

“what took you guys so long?” garth asks. dean scowls at the floor.

“we had some car trouble. well, dean did,” arc corrects herself, nodding at the brooding hunter.

“yeah, impala broke down a while back. i think it’s the plugs.”

“really?”

“yeah, we’re having a super normal day.” dean comments, an underlying edge to his tone.

“okay. well, no worries. we’ll fix you up.”

a little girl wanders out from a doorway. “daddy, the twins are still hungry,” she tells him, and garth’s smile is almost blinding as he gazes adoringly down at her.

“be right there, baby,” he reassures warmly, beckoning for sam, arc, and dean to follow him. “come on. come back and meet the kids.”

“you’ve got more kids?” dean asks, disbelieving. garth chuckles as they enter a kitchen area, where there are two infants strapped into high-chairs for dinner time.

“so, this is my daughter gertie. gertie, say hi to daddy’s friends.” gertie greets them sweetly, the three hunters waving awkwardly down at her.

“and these are the twins,” garth says, indicating to the food-covered boys kicking chubby legs from under the food trays. “this is sam,” he nods to one, bashfully glancing at sam. “i, uh, sorta named him after you.”

arc smiles; how sweet. sam’s eyes go wide and he stumbles over what to say in response. “wow. that’s, uh… wow.” dean starts to grin as he nods to the second boy, straightening his back and squaring his shoulders proudly.

“that means this one must be-”

“castiel,” garth finishes happily, nodding. dean deflates a little, but coughs and quickly plasters on a smile. sam gives dean a look, while arc bites back a smirk.

“uh, on the phone, you said something was wrong with your cousin?” arc grabs garth’s attention, and his expression turns sombre.

“oh, not mine, bess’. he’s uh- well… i think you should see for yourself.” he winces a little, and then leads them up a set of plushly carpeted stairs. bess meets them on the landing, standing outside an ajar bedroom door.

“i tried to wake him,” she mutters to garth, “but he’s in and out.” bess pushes the door fully open, letting arc, sam, and dean lay eyes on her cousin. their jaws practically drop; eyes wide as monster truck rims.

he’s very badly torn up. bloodied, bruised. face swollen, deep gashes in his arms. his clothes are barely clinging to his bulky frame, passed out on a bed far too small for a grown man.

“this dude’s a werewolf?” dean confirms, and bess nods.

“pure blood, like me.”

“what happened to him?” sam asks, shock coming through in his voice. garth shrugs, looking troubled.

“we’re not sure. cops found him down around st. cloud, in minnesota.”

dean enters the room, arc following. they stand either side of the bed, leaning down to examine the wounds. dean points to the cuts in his arms. “those look like knife wounds.”

arc shakes her head, jaw clenching. “no,” she says, seriously, “no, those look like they’re from a wraith,” she turns to garth, who nods once. arc’s eyes are wide and stunned.

“arc’s right,” garth says, “brad - whoever did this to him thought he was dead, and they dumped in a swamp. but he somehow managed to climb out, and the cops found his body by the road. and bess has been looking after him, but…” arc and dean look at their friend when he trails off.

“… why would a wraith go after a wolf?” he asks, quiet.

dean, on instinct, looks to arc. she doesn’t return his gaze, so he turns his head quickly, spying- a-ha. a bowl of candy on a nearby shelf. he reaches for a piece. “when he comes to, we’ll ask him,” he says, popping the candy in his mouth.

as he starts to chew, a deep furrow appears in his brow and he winces, hand pressing against the side of his jaw. sam lets out a sneeze and flushes scarlet. “sorry. i’m, uh…” he trails off, sniffling pathetically.

bess tilts her head, sympathetic. “sick, i know.” she finishes, before taking him by the elbow and guiding him back downstairs. “come with me. i’ve got something for you.”

they all head down, with sam being led into the kitchen by bess. dean, arc, and garth linger in the living room.

“you know, i gotta say, aside from pin cushion in there… this is pretty nice.”

“yeah, better then i ever thought i’d get,” garth admits, arc’s heart squeezing painfully for him. “i mean, hunting…. i thought i’d be dead before i’m 40. you know, go out young and pretty. but now i’ve got a great wife, great kids. i guess… sometimes things work out.”

dean nods, finds himself looking at arc again. she’s looking at him, too, this time, an indecipherable expression on her face. “yeah, sometimes,” dean agrees, looking back at garth. “good, man. you deserve it. you do.”

“yeah,” arc agrees, “more than anyone i know,” she says sincerely. garth smiles, cute and warm.

“thanks guys.”

dean suddenly winces again, and presses his lips together tight. garth observes him for a moment. “what’s up with your teeth?”

dean blinks. “what?”

“your teeth. they hurt, right?”

dean looks at arc again, this time for back-up. she suddenly finds herself very interested in the series of family portraits hung around the room. “a little,” he admits, which earns him a hard look from garth. “a lot.”

“since when?”

“since yesterday.”

“mm. all right, come on.” he claps dean on the shoulder and moves past him. “i’m a dentist, dean.”

dean blanches, and arc peeks over her shoulder. “oh, no. you know what? i’m good.”

garth reaches and grabs dean forcefully by the elbow, manhandling him into the hallway and toward a door. “no- oh, you’re very strong,” dean comments, taken aback as he’s all but dragged away and down some stairs.

when arc wanders into the kitchen, sam is staring at a glass of thick liquid that smells - well, interesting, to say the least. bess is encouraging him to drink it, assuring him it will cure all ails.

“what’s in it?” sam asks, worried.

“what part of secret recipe don’t you understand?” the blonde lady crosses her arms and nods at the glass. sam looks at arc, before shrugging, and drinking it all.

“mm. yeah, actually, it’s- it’s not too, uh… oh god,” sam’s face slowly begins to turn red, his eyes watering fast.

“i will tell you it’s mostly cayenne pepper.” bess smiles, a wicked glint in her blue eyes.

sam’s own eyes bulge out of his head- “what? oh, god,” he moans again, shuddering hard as he tries to breathe.

gertie turns to get a look at what’s happening. “mommy, the giant’s crying,” she says, just as sam’s knees give way and he drops to the floor. one of the twins starts to cry; sam rolls over as he desperately tries to reassure the wailing infant that he’s okay. the second twin joins in with his brother, a soaring chorus of sobs - sam grunts and glares from the ground. “how do you think i feel?” he gasps out, struggling to catch his breath.

arc meets bess’ gaze and shakes her head in amusement. bess attends to one child- sam, arc thinks - leaving arc to pick up castiel and try to sooth him. she walks him down the hallway, into the living room. there’s a mirror hanging over the fireplace, and arc holds castiel up to it. his sobs subside as he blinks tearily; catching sight of his reflection.

“oh, who’s that?” arc asks, whispering. “is that you? oh, wow. look at you,” she takes a chubby fist and waves it around, earning a tentative smile. “oh, and smiles for me? oh, that’s a lovely smile…” she mutters, smiling herself and beginning to bounce the baby on her hip. he’s a warm weight against her, a grounding presence. with blonde tufts of hair, bright blue eyes, and rosy cheeks, little werewolf castiel is utterly adorable.

arc smiles and presses her nose to the crown of his head, overwhelmed by that wonderful smell of new baby. “hey,” she whispers, as he grabs for strands of her short hair. cas starts giggling as she leans her head back, and she makes a face, scrunching up her nose. “what do you think you’re doing?” she asks, faux-sternly, enjoying the peals of laughter shaking the tiny human-werewolf in her arms. “huh? you think you’re gonna pull my air?”

she’s suddenly aware of a presence in the doorway. bess watches them, a soft smile on her lips. “you’re a natural,” she comments, voice full of praise. arc laughs nervously.

“oh, uh. i’m - i’m really not,” she disagrees, “i think it’s just easier when they’re not your own kids, hah.” she swallows, hard, suddenly remembering another young boy with blonde hair and blue eyes - a laugh she’ll never hear again, a smile she’ll never see. her stomach clenches sudden and hard; painful, twisting harshly. arc carefully but quickly passes the child back to bess, trying to play it cool.

“i’m gonna put him to bed,” bess says, plainly, a knowing look of sadness in her eye. she says nothing more, which arc is grateful for. soon, she is joined by sam, back on his feet, and bess yet again.

“kids are finally asleep,” she says, taking a seat on an armchair. “how are you feeling?” she asks sam.

“uh, better, actually,” he admits with a breathy laugh.

“i told you,” bess says, smiling. dean and garth come in then - dean’s cheeks bulging outwards, like a squirrel who's been collecting nuts. arc frowns at him; he smiles dopily, his pupils blown wide and hazy as he sends a thumbs up her way.

“where have you been?” sam asks, confused.

“gettung ma teef fixed,” he mumbles, barely intelligible.

“i had to numb him up,” garth explains, “he’ll be fine in an hour.” sam looks at arc, silently communicating via his expressive features: what the fuck. arc just shakes her head in disbelief. dean spits into a plastic cup, drooling over his slightly swollen lower lip.

“seriously, what is going on here?” garth asks, hands on his hips. “dean’s never been to a dentist before? suddenly, he’s got a mouthful of cavities. you’re sick,” he points at sam, “and your car is broken down. who did you guys piss off?” garth’s voice is full of wonder.

arc and sam exchange hopeless looks, before arc lets loose a sigh and tells him, “god.”

bess blinks, leaning over as if to hear better. “i’m sorry. what?”

sam smiles, flat and baleful. “yeah.”

“god.” bess repeats. “the god is trying to kill you?”

“well, uh, trying to make us kill each other.” sam corrects, while dean just pouts down at his spit-cup. sam relays the entire bizarre, tragic tale, the married werewolves listening intently.

by the time sam gets to the end, garth is able to surmise, “so, he’s a writer, and you’ve been the heroes of his story?”

sam nods. “i guess, yeah.”

“but now he doesn’t like them anymore,” arc says, shrugging. “they don’t want to just play out his story.”

garth nods, thoughtful. “so… you’re not the main characters anymore,” he says. arc narrows her eyes, considering these words.

“what?”

garth turns to sam. “well, think about it. when does a main character - the hero of any story - ever sweat the small stuff? like, when was the last time batman got a flat tire? or superman couldn’t pay his water bill?”

“or the power goes out in the red room?” bess adds, all eyes falling on her. garth lays his hands on her shoulder, as he moves to stand behind her chair.

“we love fifty shades,” he explains, the two of them sharing a brief, heated look. “but, yes - all that normal person stuff, it slows down the story.”

“so, then, what happened- chuck… downgraded us?”

arc makes a soft noise of understanding, and she nods slowly at garth. “no more plot armour,” she says, voice awed. “no more protection from the random shit that hits every regular person on the planet.”

“maybe, yeah,” garth nods. “and now you’re-”

“cursed,” dean says, muffled around the cotton filling his mouth.

“no - normal,” garth corrects. “for the first time in your lives, you’re having normal-people problems.” his eyes land on dean, who plants himself on the couch heavily. “you need to get a colonoscopy, stat.” he advises, serious.

confused, dean frowns. “what?”

sam ignores his brother. “so - how do we fix this?”

“i don’t know,” garth admits quietly. before anyone else can speak, a voice calls from the upper floor. looks like brad is awake. he’s calling for bess, pained and panicked - his eyes narrow with suspicion when everyone arrives at the door.

“who’re they?” he demands, defensively gripping at the duvet.

“they’re friends?”

“like hunter friends?”

“brad, they’re cool,” bess says, quickly, soothing.

“now tell us what happened to you,” garth says. brad sits up, wincing, then folds his arms across his chest.

“fell down the stairs.”

sam sighs and steps into the room, standing at the foot of the bed. he dons a soulful, pleading expression as he says, “brad, listen, we don’t care that you’re a werewolf, but you got attacked by a wraith, which is really weird. now, we’re just trying to understand what happened.”

brad laughs, a deep chuckle vibrating from right in his chest. “wow. i mean, wow. with the furrowed brow and the puppy eyes- did you see that?” he asks the others through laughter. “that never actually works for you, does it?” he asks, genuinely interested.

bess rolls her eyes, and then grabs brad by the hand. she squeezes forcefully, putting pressure on brad’s injuries, making him gasp and groan in pain. “answer the question.” she demands, coldly.

“woah, bess,” arc says, surprised by her actions. “respect.”

brad shoots a dirty look at his cousin, but relents anyway. “it’s - it’s a place… monsters go. they fight for money.” arc’s eyes light up, and she steps closer to the injured wolf.

“money? like, real money?” dean asks, before smiling dopily and pointing at himself. “hey, i can talk.”

“good for you,” brad snarks, scoffing. “yeah, real money. okay? they pay to watch it. they livestream it on the dark web.”or whatever.”

sam pauses, processing. “wait a second. so- so, you-”

“yeah, i needed the cash,” brad says, as though it’s obvious. “i got three baby mamas.”

sam chews on that piece of info for a minute, before moving on. “this place - where is it? i know you don’t want to tell us, but-”

“belgrade, minnesota. old warehouse off peach street.”

sam pauses mid-sentence. “well, that was easy,” dean remarks, lightly. brad grins.

“yeah, well, lot of fangs in there. you know, i figure you guys walk in, they’re gonna rip you to pieces.” he laughs again, only for the laughter to morph into pained groans as bess squeezes his hand again. “ow! really?!”

sam glances at arc, who nods at him. just like that, the case is a go.

—

“i don’t think you should go,” garth tells them, as they prepare to head off for minnesota. dean insists they don’t have a choice. that many monsters, crammed in one space? they can’t just let this one lie.

“yeah, but the old sam and dean, they could’ve handled this, no problem. but you guys…” garth trails off, making a face.

“can’t?” sam finishes, sounding tired.

“hey, look. just because god yanked the magic horseshoe out of our ass or whatever doesn’t mean that we’re gonna give up. this is our job. it’s what we do.” dean’s voice is solemn, his eyes bright and determined. “and, yeah, it might be a little bit harder right now, but so what? bring it.”

sam smiles at his brother. “what he said.”

arc frowns; “why would the magic horseshoe be in your ass?” three sets of eyes land on her. dean glares and asks, “really?”

she shrugs, holding up her hands. “you’re the one who said it, weirdo,” she protests, before trying to reassure garth. “look, chuck can’t touch me,” she says, trying to smile at her friend. “alright? so, long as i’m there, we should be golden.”

garth does not look convinced. but the boys won’t be stopped, you can’t reason with a winchester - so they all pile back into arc’s car and head off into the night.

—

it’s just a little before noon when arc pulls up outside the address brad provided. they each scan the dilapidated warehouse before them, with everyone coming to the same conclusion.

“isolated, run-down - yep, that’ll do monster bloodsport.” dean remarks, before hopping out of the car and unwrapping yet another sandwich bess had given them for the road.

“oh, man,” dean says around a mouthful of cheese and bread, “bess makes the best grilled cheese,” he all but moans as he stuffs half into his mouth. sam opens the trunk, wrinkling his nose at his brother.

“yeah, you ate like seven of them.”

“well, i’m a growing boy.” dean defends, polishing off the last bite and grabbing a duffle from the trunk. he sets off toward the front doors.

“whoa- dean!” sam calls after him, dean spinning on his heels and asking what. arc opens the false bottom of her trunk at sam’s request. “dean… extra rounds, dead man’s blood, first-aid kit, emergency flares…” he sorts through various items, tucking them into his own pack.

“seriously?” dean groans, rolling his eyes.

“hate to say it, sam, but, even i think the flares might be, uh… overkill,” arc mutters, rubbing the back of her neck.

“guys, if garth was right, if we’re really normal now, we can’t just charge in there guns blazing. we need to be ready for anything.”

dean considers this for a moment, before a slow smirk begins to spread over his face. “well, i guess we’d need a grenade launcher.”

“oh, come on,” arc snaps, grabbing a gun and a knife and stalking toward the doors.

sam and dean flail about, grabbing what they can hold and hurrying after her, weighed down by the extra gear. just inside, there’s a large fight cage. sam bumps into a metal wastebin, sending it clattering loudly to the floor. arc glares hotly his way.

“you forget how to walk?” dean hisses, raising his eyebrows. sam winces apologetically, mouthing “i’m sorry.”

then, dean’s stomach starts to gurgle. arc looks at his belly immediately, a look of utter dread dawning on her face. dean himself is starting to look a little pale and sweaty. “oh,” he mutters, faint.

“what was that?” sam asks, already knowing the answer and yet hoping he’s wrong/

“not good,” dean grunts, as he screws up his face. his stomach continues to gurgle, getting louder and more violent as he groans and grabs his stomach.

“oh, god. i gotta go.”

“go?” sam repeats, disbelieving.

“bathroom. bathroom. bathroom.” dean drops his gear bag, barely letting it fall to the floor before he rushes off in search of solace. sam and arc watch him go, despairing.

“dean?!” sam calls, “dean! you know, i think you might be lactose intolerant.”

faint noises filter through the walls - for arc, it’s as though it’s happening 4k. “oh, shit,” she shudders, “yeah, you might be right,” she says to sam, grimacing as she listens to dean vomiting.
a click sounds out next to her head. “all right, kid. no funny stuff,” says a rough voice she doesn’t know. great. just fan-fucking-tastic.

arc huffs a laugh, acting unbothered. “like that thing can kill me,” she dismisses, turning to face a man with slicked-back hair and an infuriating face. he smiles, then aims the gun at sam.

“it can kill him, though.”

arc’s jaw clenches. dammit.

—

dean joins them moments later, unceremoniously yanked from the porcelain throne and tossed into the fight cage with sam and arc.

“you stink,” arc mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose and shaking her head.

“hey, it’s not my fault!” dean hisses defensively.

“both of you, shut it,” sam snaps, his eyes alert and glued to their captors.

the door opens, and another man strides into the room. “ah, sam. dean. arc. can i get you anything? water? hot towel?”

he comes to stand next to the bulky guys that had got the drop of them, a customer-service smile on his face.

“who are you?” sam asks.

“cutty. this is my place.”

“oh, so all this chain-link, razor wire, and rat crap is yours, huh?” dean snarks. “well, congrats.”

cutty just smiles, serene, and begins to walk around the cage. “so, now you know me, and i know you. we’re like… friends,” he says, brightly. arc’s face is much darker as she asks him, “you keep all your friends in a cage?”

unperturbed by the attitude, cutty just jokes back. “only the ones i really like.”

“all right,” dean says, snappy. “so, what’re you? a monster?”

“i am. shapeshifter. ” cutty says, holding his arms up. he’s dressed in a rather fine, well-pressed suit. he bears no scars, no bruises, so, not a fighter, arc thinks. the host maybe, if this is his place, as he claims.

“shifter? so you chose that face?” dean’s attempts to rile cutty up bounce like rubber off his smarmy persona.

“but i don’t let my gifts define me,” cutty continues, “see, more than anything, i’m a sportsman. see, to me, man, monster, they’re at their best, their most pure, in the heat of competition. yeah, sure, i could’ve killed you, but now. i want to see your best. i want to see what the winchesters are capable of. stripped down, closed in, just you against the world. or maul here,” cutty indicates to the very tall, brutally muscular man that had dragged sam into the cage.

“maul?” dean echoes with disdain. maul growls in response. vampire, arc thinks. dean, shut up.

meanwhile, the penny drops for sam, and he exclaims, “you want to us to fight?”

arc glances between the brothers, working her way through a plan.

“obviously. together though. i don’t want to break up the team.” his vulture-sharp eyes slide past sam and dean to arc. “except for you.” arc focuses back in on the current situation, intrigued. she tilts her head to the side. “you magnificent thing,” he praises, as excited as a child on christmas morning.

“no one knows what you really are, do they? not that it matters. i’ve heard many a tale about your prowess, arc, and i can’t wait to see you in action.” he bares his teeth in a snake-like grin, which arc matches, pushing past the guys to stand in front.

“can’t wait to show you what i’m made of,” she responds, coolly. sam and dean look at her in shock.

“what are you doing?” sam hisses, resisting the urge to grab and shake her. arc ignores them, rolling her shoulders back and tipping her chin up.

“i have a condition, though. i fight, i win, we all walk. the winchesters don’t have to fight.”

cutty pouts; “that’s no fun.”

arc shrugs. “it’s like you said, right? no one really knows what i am. what i can tell you is that what i am, there’s only one of them in the whole world, and you’ve got her ready to star in your- little monster fighting extravaganza. i’ll take on as many of your guys as you like. but i win, we walk.”

“and if i say no?” he counters, enjoying this little tete-a-tete far too much.

“i’ll just die,” she says, tucking her hands in her pockets. everyone freezes - cutty takes this in, and swallows, pointedly.

“what do you mean?”

arc just smiles lazily, shaking her head. “i mean just that. i’ll die. i’ll get in that cage and i won’t fight. i’ll just lay there and take the hits. won’t be much of a show for your loyal audience, but, hey.”

cutty inhales sharply, lips pressed in a thin line. he narrows his eyes at her, calculating. his shoulders are tense - he’s pissed as all hell that she’s trying to negotiate.

sam leans in again and repeats his earlier question. “what are you doing?”

“shut up,” is all he gets. he and dean share concerned looks - then cutty claps his hands together and nods.

“okay. we have a deal.”

arc nods once. “great.”

“but.” cutty holds up a finger, his earlier snide smile finding it’s way back to his lips. “if you don’t win, if you lose, then the boys have to fight. it’s a fair exchange, no?”

arc holds her breath, and remains silent for a long stretch of time, trying to think her way out of this. cutty’s smile only grows sharper, his eyes glinting with excitement. arc exhales suddenly, curling and uncurling her fingers to stretch the joints. “fine. deal.”

“what? no!” sam protests, grabbing arc’s shoulder. cutty is already striding away, waving with his hand as he bids farewell.

“maul will show you to your rooms.”

the vampire bares his fangs. dean gulps, hard.

—

they’re put into smaller cages, separate, in the back of the arena. sam and dean are pissed as hell at arc, and it’s getting on her nerves.

“what do you think you’re doing?” dean asks, growling as loud as his stomach earlier. 

“sorry, dean, did you have another plan to get us out of here?” she checks, sharply. he bites his lip hard enough that arc can smell his blood breaking through.

“arc, you could die,” sam whispers, pained.

“i’m not gonna die, okay? i can fight. i’m good at fighting, hell, i’m great at fighting. better than both of you.”

dean scoffs, covering his wounded pride, and his fear. “it’s not about that. what, you think you can just walk into that ring and take down - i mean, what if it’s maul?”

arc just shrugs. “then it’s maul, and i’ve taken down plenty of vamps before.”

“not one his size!” dean protests, face red, spit flying from his lips. “like, that’s- that’s radioactive count dracula right there!”

arc fixes dean with a disgusted look. “you’re being dramatic. it’s my choice, anyway. you don’t get a say.”

“arc,” sam says, more patient, having calmed himself to the best of his ability. “you are putting yourself at risk, here.”

“what, like you never put yourself at risk?” she scoffs, laughing, sounding almost genuinely amused. “you almost killed yourself trying to close the gates of hell. you spent months in hell taking lucifer down to the cage.” her cold gaze turns on dean. “soul bomb? mark of cain? any of this ringing a bell?”

the winchesters are struck speechless by how angry arc sounds; hearts still burdened with the weight of their guilt.

“it’s always one of you taking the risk. but this is something i can do, that neither of you can. i am our best shot out of this place, like it or not. so get over it, quit your whining, and let me get some peace before i haul ass out there.”

with that, she sits on the small, creaking cot squashed in along the side of her cell. sam and dean wear matching expressions; both stunned, left nearly breathless by her ferocity. eventually, they both nod, though neither of them feeling any better about the situation. they each take a seat, in their respective cells, and fall quiet.

sams reminds arc, that her fight has more at stake than just her own life. “you lose, maybe none of us walk outta here,” he murmurs, gentle. arc rests her elbows on her knees, her chin on her hand. she gazes into space, at nothing, but nods at sam to show she’s listening.

“yeah,” she breathes out. “guess i better not lose.”

—

Chapter Text

as the night gets underway, sam, arc, and dean sit in a stony silence. until dean gets an idea in his head, and begins to mess with the top of the door frame. he grunts as he yanks and twists at something - sam asking what the hell he’s doing.

“ha-ha!” dean crows, triumphant. he holds up a rusted nail and grins. “i’m picking the lock.” sam sits up straight, a spark of hope in his eyes. arc rolls her own eyes and sighs, loudly. dean jimmies the tip of the nail into the lock, wrenching it several different directions. sam whispers for him to hurry, and dean bites back a noise of frustration.

“i can’t get it.”

“what?”

dean squeaks, earning strange looks from his companions. “ow! broke a nail,” he mutters, pouting as he inspects the cracked fingernail. sam grunts and pushes his hand through the bars of his cell.

“here, let me do it. here, come on.”

sam’s attempt goes no better, ending when his fingers grow too sweaty to maintain his grip. the nail slips to the floor and rolls away, just out of reach.

“we do this all the time! what the hell?!”

“friggin’ normal!” dean all but stamps his foot petulantly as he runs his hands through his hair. “arc, you could break these locks with your pinky finger!”

arc glowers across the hall. “and, what? we get caught? suddenly, it’s not a cage-fight but a monster-hunter-all you can eat? how do i protect both of you against, what, a hundred or so monsters? get some sense.”

dean’s foot taps impatiently, expression pained. “no way. wait. after everything, there’s no way chuck lets us die like this.”

sam laughs, empty. sitting back on his cot heavily, holding his hands up in defeat. “or, he does, to— i don’t know, to teach us a lesson. or maybe we just end up paralysed.”

out in the arena, a bell dings, signalling the end of the first fight. arc stares down the corridor, her chest suddenly tight. “i’m next,” she says, aloud. the gravity of her situation finally beginning to sink in.

she glances at the boys, sam’s puppy face, awash with concern, and - dean. dean’s face, stricken, green eyes gleaming. a whole world of unspoken things, regrets, and guilt pouring filterless from his eyes to arc’s. she’s not sure she’s doing a great job at keeping her own face under control, so she focuses on steadying her breathing. she’s made her bed, now it’s time to lie in.

footsteps, then, coming closer. time to nut up or shut up, arc thinks - then, a scent hits her. soft and familiar and comforting. a figure walks up to their cages, and when the head lifts -

“garth?!” dean shouts, making sam and arc hiss at him to shut up.

“yo,” he greets, looking over his shoulder.

“what are you doing here?” arc asks.

“i tried to call, and when you didn’t answer i figured you were super boned.”

dean’s eyes are wide as saucers, expression light with relief. “yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. we’re super boned. super boned! get us out of here!”
garth nods, and pulls the locks off the doors with his bare hands. arc makes quick work of her own cell, slipping out and joining the men in the hall.

“you are so strong,” dean praises, dreamily.

the four of them check the coast is clear, and then slip away through the crowd, hurrying as fast as they feel is safe. as soon as they hit the air, they pick up the pace. garth pauses, though, turning to look back at the warehouse.

“garth! hey!” sam shouts, panic pitching his voice up.

“hey, what are you doing?” dean asks, thunderous. “we gotta get outta here before the monster squad shows up!”

“i’ve already got a plan,” garth explains, calmly. he holds up a radio controller, extending the antenna. he pushes a button, and the warehouse goes up in smoke.

“whoah!” arc gasps, as the place explodes, glass shattering and wood splintering loud. the fire billows out from the wide doors, a glowing beacon in the dark night.

“c-4,” garth tells them with a sweet grin. “a hunter’s best friend. cool, right? ”

sam and dean begin to laugh, impressed and grateful. arc is smiling, too. “yeah, so cool,” she confirms, nodding.

“all right,” garth says, pocketing the remote and holding out his arms. “bring it in.”

dean blinks. “oh.”

sam gestures to his nose, using his sickness as an excuse not to hug him. arc is about to put the poor wolf out of his misery, when something moves in the warehouse. something— someone— strides through the flames, casting a large, muscular silhouette. her shoulders drop, as she pauses mid-step.

“someone’s coming,” she alerts the guys, quiet, but solemn.

it’s maul who joins them in the parking lot, covered in ash, rolling his neck. the bones crack noisily, and dean feels sucker-punched. “no way.”

“go!” arc yells, urgent. “i got this!”

before anyone can protest, she swipes at maul, ducking as he swings out a burly fist toward her. somehow, maul feigns too well and he bodily throws arc across the lot. she skids over the loose gravel, sitting up looking dazed.

“everything’s… yellow,” she slurs, reaching a hand to her forehead. “g’night.” she passes out. garth tries next, shifting into werewolf. he lasts even less time than arc before he’s flying into a nearby dumpster.

maul turns to the hunters, then, bloodthirsty, snarling. sam and dean are rooted to the spot. maul growls at them and moves, sparking dean into action. “bring it on, madison! hyah!” dean kicks maul in the groin, and the vampire doesn’t even flinch. maul mimics dean’s attack, a nut-busting surge of pain exploding from his own groin upward. dean drops and grabs his crotch, breathless.

sam tries to throw several punches, maul smirking sinisterly, pointing at his chin, offering it up to be hit. sam’s fingers scream when he makes contact with maul’s face, but sam is soon distracted by the broken nose he surely sustains as maul’s knuckles collide with his face. in the meantime, dean has dragged himself back to his feet, trying to get the jump on maul. he ends up in a chokehold, face slowly turning purple as he desperately taps against the bigger man’s forearm. maul releases him, honouring the tap-out.
they prepare to fight again, and then a machete slices through the top of maul’s head right down to his jaw. as he falls to the ground with a heavy thud, dead, garth is standing behind him, uttering his signature phrase.

“he got garth’d.”

dean laughs, high and pained. his voice is several octaves higher than usual as he tries to explain that the pain from his balls has somehow moved into his stomach, or even his ribs. sam rouses from the floor, while garth checks on arc. she’s drowsy and uncoordinated when she gets to her feet, but otherwise unharmed. the warehouse continues to burn through the night.
—

back in the safety of garth’s house, sam and dean get a chance to cuddle the babies. dean frowns down as baby castiel grizzles at him. “this cas keeps looking at me weird.”

“so, kind of like the real cas.” sam remarks, grinning.

“i packed you some of those grilled-cheese sandwiches you love,” bess informs them, setting a plastic tupperware box on the counter. the boys thank her warmly, and arc slips out of the room.

garth excuses himself, following her to the front entrance.

“hey - arc?”

she turns, rearranging her face to a casual expression. “hey, garth. listen, thanks for coming in with the save tonight. you - you were amazing.”

he blushes lightly, glancing at the floor. “you’re welcome.” he observes her from underneath his lashes, before biting the bullet and asking something that’s been bothering him since their arrival. “is- is everything okay? with you, and- and the guys?”

arc takes a deep breath, eyes flickering past his shoulders to the doorway to the kitchen. tucking her hands into her pockets, arc shrugs. “uh. no.”

“what happened?”

garth’s eyes are wide and concerned, and arc feels a twinge of ache in her chest. laughing quietly, she just shakes her head, lifting and dropping her shoulders hopelessly. “it’s a long story. and i -” she breaks off, biting her lower lip. “i just… i’m not sure- i can’t do it anymore. things will never be the same between us.”

garth exudes an air of sorrowful helplessness. “i’m sure whatever happened, you can work through it,” he encourages, a hint of desperation in his encouraging tone. arc regards him with sad eyes.

“no, garth. not this time,” she tells him, forlorn.

sam and dean enter the hallway, then. “we better go.” sam says, and garth insists on walking them out. the impala sits on the road outside, all fixed up.

sam and dean relay their gratitude to garth for his big save. “that’s- that’s being a hero.” dean tells him, and garth glances at arc, smiling.

“garth’s always been a hero in my book,” she says, soft.

“i guess i learned from the best. you guys, you gonna be okay?”

“what? because we’re normal?”

“yeah, and because the almighty’s after you,” he reminds them, a troubled look in his eyes.
“right, yeah. um, i, uh…” sam looks at his brother, “ we don’t know.”

garth nods, wearing a thoughtful expression. “listen,” he starts, hesitant. “i wasn’t gonna say this earlier, but…. there might be something that could help.”

dean’s eyes light up. “what kind of something?”

“not sure,” garth admits. “the guy who told me said it was in alaska. on the road between barrow and kotzebue. he said, “you’ll know it when you see it”, whatever that means. look, it might not even be real, and you know how this stuff works. there’s always a catch. and being normal - i mean, maybe you’ll get used it.”

“yeah. maybe.” dean nods, but he’s exchanged a meaningful look with his brother.

“anyway, if you ever need anything…”

“we know,” sam reassures his friend, eyes twinkling and smile wide. “thanks for everything.” the three of them take their turn hugging garth, and dean takes a big sniff on his turn.

“all right, garth. hey, you know what? you don’t smell too bad yourself.”

“it’s hai karate,” garth explains, shrugging.

dean smiles. “okay.” they head off to the impala, waving at garth one last time as he reenters his home, bidding farewell with a final “stay safe out there.”

dean lingers on the sidewalk, staring in the front window. arc follows his eye line, softening as she spots garth and bess dancing in their living room. arc smiles, unable to help it. dean’s eyes move to her, something pained and wistful in them.

“uh, you guys gonna head off to alaska, then?” she asks, ignoring dean’s look. sam nods, glancing at his brother.

“think so. you coming with?”

“ah, it’s a long drive, and - i’m sure you guys got it covered.”

“so, you gonna head home?” dean asks, voice low. arc nods, gaze on the pavement.

“i’ll, um, go back to the bunker. yes.”

dean swallows, and asks if cas is home, that she fill him in on what’s going on.

“i can do that,” arc confirms, easily. she tells sam to text her when they get there, and to watch each other’s back. he holds up a hand, waving, before climbing into the passenger side. recognising that dean and arc may need a moment.

dean wishes arc would just look at him. not past him, not through him, but at him. he’s starting to forget when the last time she really looked at him was. the cemetery, maybe?

“i should hit the road. drive safe,” arc says eventually. as she turns to walk to her own car, dean’s hand drifts to the pocket of his jeans. he feels his wallet there, and a jolt goes through him as he remembers something.

“hey, wait a second- i have something for you.”

slowly, arc turns back around, eyeing him warily. dean takes out his wallet, pulling a folded over paper from inside. he smoothes the creases as he unfolds it, and, after gazing down at it for a moment, holds it out to arc.
she moves just close enough to take it from him. it’s a photograph, she realises with surprise. an old one, taken maybe two, three years ago. it’s her, cas, and dean, playing pool in some dive bar after a successful case. it had been a rare moment of peace - an even rarer moment that they were all together in peace.

dean has one arm slung over cas’ shoulders, the angel stiff and awkward. arc is leaning against a pool cue, grinning madly at the camera. dean is looking at her, a sweet smile on his lips. cas is blinking, and they all look - well, kind of a mess.

arc stares down at it, thrown off by the memory. “uh. why- where did you get this?”

“oh, you - it was in your room. you broke the picture frame, when you…” dean trails off, pressing his lips together balefully.

“the night i left. i remember, now,” she says. yeah, she had broken that frame, hadn’t she? looking at this picture in the aftermath of dean’s cruelty and cas’ heartbreak had just been far too much to bear. it was a reminder of what they’d all lost, maybe out of carelessness, maybe just sheer shitty luck.

as awkward as cas is, his pale lips are turned upward in a small smile; a genuine smile. arc’s throat burns, a lump forming thick and hard. “and you- ” she clears her throat, to get rid of the gravelly tone. “you’ve just been, uh… carrying this? in your wallet? since… since that night?”

dean rocks on his feet and shrugs. “yeah.”

arc holds her breath, trying to calm down. dean watches her, the tense curve of her shoulders, the subtle twitch of her upper lip. maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.

eventually, arc inhales and looks up, mask firmly back in place. “oh. well. thanks, i guess.” she folds the photo up and slips it into her back pocket. “drive safe.”

“arc, wait- ”

this time, when arc turns, her eyes are fiery and gleaming. “we’re not okay, dean,” she snaps, tight and desperate. “we are not okay. we’re not friends, we’re not- ” she breaks off, pressing her lips together. “when i get back to the bunker, i’m going to get my stuff and go somewhere else. if you - if you find out something about chuck, about a way to fight him, sure. call me in. but - ” she shakes her head, unable to find the end of the sentence.

dean’s eyes burn, his throat seizing.

“ ‘bye, dean.”

dean can only watch as she walks away, getting into her car and driving down the street. no hesitation, no looking back.

—

cas is wandering aimlessly around the library by the time arc arrives at the bunker. his face brightens as he lays eyes on her, searching behind her for the guys. she explains how garth has sent them off to some place in alaska to try and boost their luck.

cas frowns, tilting his head to the side. in her pocket, arc’s thumb brushes over the edge of the photograph dean had given her. her heart skips a beat and she tries to excuse herself; cas blocks her exit, gazes down at her with pleading blue.

“can we talk?”

arc groans internally, but nods. cas gestures toward the war table, and arc drops her bag off her shoulder before pulling out a chair. cas sits opposite her, pale, tired. dark bags weigh down crystal blue eyes, eyes that bore into arc’s own, bright and sweet.

“how’ve you been?” cas asks, politely.

“let’s not do this,” arc begs, folding her arms over on the table before her. “the whole- casual, small-talk crap, cas. how long have you been back here?” she hates the accusatory tone in her words, but then again, it is an accusation, isn’t it?

cas sighs, eyes falling from hers. “not long,” he admits, “just, a day or so before you.”

“why?”

“because i’m supposed to be here. we’re supposed to be here.” arc leans back in her seat, face clouded, closed off.

“you forgive him?” she asks, a sour laugh accompanying. “no, of course you do. ‘cause dean will never do anything unforgivable, not to you.”

cas’ shoulders slump, and he leans in over the table. “arc, he’s - you know who dean is. you know that when he’s hurt, he lashes out.”

“don’t,” she snaps, frostily. “don’t- yeah, i know. doesn’t make it okay. doesn’t mean you deserve it. doesn’t mean i do.”

“i know. dean - apologised.”

arc looks up, surprised. “what? he actually - he actually apologised?”

“in purgatory.” cas smiles, just a little, lips barely turned up at the edges. “he said … well, he prayed to me, when we got separated. he was - there was so much regret, so much sorrow in his thoughts. not just for me. for you, too.”

arc bites her lower lip, pulling it to the side. struggling to hold on to her anger.

“if you give him a chance, he’ll tell you, too.”

arc’s gaze slides over the floor, toward the hallway. she thinks about dean, wet green eyes, a strained frown, an attempt at holding things together.

then, she thinks of jack, down on his knees. surrendering entirely, handing his life to dean.

“jack’s dead,” she whispers, biting down harder on her lip. she hears the catch in cas’ chest at the mention of jack, knowing it hurt him as much as her. “jack’s gone, and it’s - i don’t know who’s fault it really is. chuck’s, probably, maybe mine.”

cas frowns, opening his mouth to protest. arc surges onward, not allowing him to speak. “but i can’t help it. i think of jack and all i can think of is that dean is the one who took him from me. i know, i know he didn’t shoot him. i know he - but he was so awful to jack. he was so awful, and it hurt jack so, so much. you know what it feels like, to get stabbed by an archangel blade?” she asks, then, suddenly tilting her head up and meeting his eyes. the intensity takes him aback, a shadow dancing in the green.

“it hurts, a lot. like - pain i can’t even- it hurts.” arc confesses, trying to shove down the clamour of emotions the thought of her death brings to mind. “but nothing… nothing compares to how it felt to watch jack die. i wanted to die, too. i want to die, too, cas, but i can’t. i can’t - i let him down. i didn’t protect him. every day it feels like it takes everything in me not to just claw my own heart out to try and stop the pain, but maybe i deserve it. and dean, he probably doesn’t even feel guilty. and maybe i can get past it, the shit he said, the shit he did. maybe you can, too. but what i can’t get past is the way he treated jack, and the way he treats you. i can’t stay here, watch him pretend like jack never existed, like nothing’s changed. and i can’t keep watching you make yourself small so that he can feel big.” pushing her chair back, the legs screech loudly as they drag against the surface of the floor. she bends down and picks her bag up, straightening up and sighing, exhausted. “i’m sorry, cas.”

as she moves past him, he turns in his seat, calling out to her. “where are you going?”

“to the room i’ve been staying in,” she replies, pausing in the doorway. “i’m gonna grab some things i left and head out.”

“this is your home,” cas insists, and she hears him stand, voice warm and pleading. “we are your-”

before he can finish, arc cuts in. “no. no, cas. it’s not. i can’t stay here.”

cas falls silent, and arc takes a step out the door. “not even if i ask you to?”

his voice is small, quiet. hopeful. arc’s stomach twists and flips, pain striking like a hot iron right through her chest. glancing over her shoulder, her heart snaps apart at the sight of his open, vulnerable face. the way it falls when she shakes her head, lips turning downward, disappointment heavy in his shoulders. “no. not even then.”

—

arc is throwing stuff blindly into a duffel bag yet again, trying very hard not to think. she focuses on moving, counting her journals, checking different items of clothing, gauging what she should bring and what she should toss. it’s not long after she’s left castiel desolate in the war room that a phone starts ringing somewhere in the bunker. it cuts off maybe twenty seconds in, and the low timbre of cas’ voice buzzes in another room.

reaching for the last of her notebooks, arc accidentally knocks it off the nightstand. sighing, she stoops low to pick it up. cas is standing on the other side of the bed when she stands back up, her eyes widening in surprise. she slowly continues to pack, but is interested by the look of sheer astonishment on his face.

he’s holding a black burner phone to his ear, listening intently to whoever is on the other side. arc tilts her head, furrows her brow, a silent question. cas’ expression shifts to something intense and determined as he mouths a single word, just one word, one word that changes everything all over again. arc’s breath leaves her, the journal once again slipping through her hands to land with a thud on the ground as her head reels. cas acknowledges the stunned look on her face, and covers the phone with his hand, whispering a confirmation.

“it’s jack.”

Chapter Text

arc takes her laptop to the map table in the war room, opening it and logging in. cas sets down the phone, hitting the speaker button. the man on the other end is a sheriff named evans, calling to say he’d caught wind of a guy the ‘fbi’ had put out a search for, a long time ago.

“okay, you got the video, right?”

arc clicks through the fake email they’d set up for working cases, opening the most recent attachment in the inbox. she nods at cas, who confirms out loud for sheriff evans.

“okay, so, so, vic was a local doctor, and the office security cameras gave us a good idea of what went down.”

“just an idea?” cas questions, brow furrowed. arc waits, tapping her foot impatiently as the video loads.

“you’ll see,” the sheriff informs them, grimly. “now, dr. sariel was a good man. he delivered both of my kids.”

arc’s gaze snaps to the phone. “did you say sariel?”

a silence on the other end reminds her that the sheriff had been unaware of her presence. grimacing, cas hurriedly assures evans that arc is his partner. “sorry, i’m agent cooper, sheriff. you said sariel, right?”

“i did, why?”

cas frowns at arc, eyes alight with questions. arc returns her gaze to the screen and moves the arrow over the play button. “just thought i recognised the name.” with that, she clicks the trackpad, and grainy footage appears on the screen.

a tall, slim-built young man walks into the doctor’s office and peers in through the window - arc’s stomach drops right to her feet, and cas breathes out the kid’s name like a prayer. “jack.”

“this thing’s got people pretty spooked,” sheriff evans adds as the video continues to play.

a man in a white coat, presumably doctor sariel, opens the door and begins to speak with jack. arc leans in a little closer, as though wanting to reach through the screen and grab jack out of it. jack glances away from the man, before punching his fist clear through the man’s chest. the screen crackles and fills with static, arc leaning back again, jaw dropped.

“i don’t understand,” cas murmurs, frowning deep.

“me neither. signal goes out for about two and a half minutes, during which time the suspect kills the doc in his office.”

“why?”

“keep watching.”

arc drags the cursor forward, until the image clears up. jack walks into the doctor’s office yet again, something red and dark in his hands. he sits down on a chair, brings the thing to his mouth.

“is that-” cas asks, just as jack bites into it, slick crimson smearing over his chin and upper lip. cas voice drops, low with shock and disgust.  “that’s his heart.”

—

“okay, how is this possible?” arc asks, for the third time. they’ve bid farewell to sheriff evans and ended the call, the angel and the nephalem stewing in a heavy silence. “it has to be a shifter, right?”
cas slowly shakes his head.

“well it can’t be him. he’s dead, chuck killed him.”

“well, it wouldn’t be the first time one of us came back from the dead.” cas reminds her drily. he closes the lid of her laptop gently, before standing and fixing the hem of his shirt. “how long’s it gonna take to drive down there?”

“uh, i don’t know. just - let me grab a suit, and fingers crossed i haven’t left all my fake ID’s in the impala.”

—

they make it to sheriff evan’s jurisdiction by mid-afternoon. first port of call is the scene of the crime, doctor sariel’s office. as soon as they’re inside, arc is searching high and low, focused intensely on what she’s looking for. it’s cas who finds it, breaking a lock on a cupboard and opening it. he calls her name in a rough voice.

behind a rack of pristine white lab coat sits a glossy black box, which arc lifts and sets on the doctor’s desk. she eases open the hinge-lid, muttering, “bingo” to herself upon seeing the contents.

it’s a large sword, silver, a shiny hilt, and razor sharp. it’s also not just any sword. “i knew when i heard the name,” arc explains, glancing up at her partner. “sariel.”

“sounds angelic,” cas mutters in response, eyes running over the gleaming surface of the weapon.

“yeah. this is a grigori sword.” cas doesn’t respond; but instead removes the sword from the case, lifting it up and examining it closely.

the last time arc had come into contact with a grigori was a long time ago. claire novak was searching for her missing mother, and all roads led to a man named peter holloway. holloway killed the guy who put claire onto him, and the stab wounds looked like the product of angel blade, only wider.

dean had the mark of cain, then. he was slipping, fast, falling under it’s control, losing more and more of himself. instead of coming with cas, arc, and sam to find holloway, he’d taken claire to play mini golf. it was actually the golf putter that had given dean the idea to look for angel swords, which led them to the grigori.

peter holloway’s real name was tamiel, making him a watcher angel, otherwise known as a grigori. they feed on human souls, considering themselves above other angel-kind. what was it that tamiel had said? a brotherhood of perfectly crafted, engineered beings sent to protect the pathetic, bottom-feeding disasters called humans.

what a charmer.

back then, cas had believed the grigori were extinct.

claire novak lost her mother that day.

but that was then. this is now, and right now, arc has a case she needs to focus on.

“cas, if this is jack… what is he doing going after grigori?”

cas lowers the sword, eyes faraway and narrowed. “i’m not sure.”

—

later that night, the sheriff messages them the address of a rundown, abandoned factory on the outskirts of town. he’s standing in the darkness, a lone stream of light from his torch illuminating his figure in the vast darkness.

as cas and arc make their way across the room, cas holds up his FBI badge - upside down. arc quickly snags it from his grasp, turning it the right way before tucking it back between his fingers. he throws her a thankful look.

“oh, uh, agent liz- lizzo,” the sheriff greets, a little awkwardly. he nods at arc, who holds up her own badge. “agent cooper. i’m sheriff evans.” they take turns shaking his hand, and he tells them, “glad you came.”

“glad you called,” cas answers, nodding once.

“so, local transient spotted our boy in some sort of altercation.”

“did they say with whom?”

“no. she ran the other way when she saw the other guy had a … sword. looks like he used it.” the sheriff angles the torch downward, all three looking at the bloodstains splashed across the ground.

“are there any other abandoned buildings in town?” cas asks, and the sheriff hums thoughtfully.

“yeah, i- i guess. i mean, there’s uh, plenty of old cattle barns, empty warehouses, old church, that kind of thing.”

arc and cas exchange pointed looks; “church?” arc asks, “where’s the church?”

“uh, two blocks down on your right.”

“thank you.” cas turns and walks away, arc following. evans calls them back, looking frustrated.

“i called you guys for answers,” he points out, eyeing the two of them warily.

“i know,” cas calls back. “and we intend to find them.”

—

it’s a cool night, with a breeze running through the branches and bushes around them. cas is walking fast, but restrained. arc is barely breathing, barely thinking, because what are they going to find in this church?

is this really jack?

or something that looks like him?

as they near the old stone building, there’s no sign of life. dirty stained-glass windows shed no light, but arc and cas can hear the faded buzz of voices from within. cas slips the sword he’d hidden in his trench coat out, and passes it to arc. his own angel blade falls from his sleeve, his knuckles burning with the strength of his grip.

they edge closer to the building, checking out all possible modes of entry. the back door is slightly open, splintered wood that’s easy to pull back and slip inside. the interior smells musty, mouldy, making arc wrinkle her nose. staying in the shadows, her and cas creep stealthily through the back rooms, crouching down low to peer around another door - leading into the church itself. in front of the altar, a man stands - another grigori - peering down at something. someone?
he introduces himself as kabaiel, beginning a long-winded speech, and cas risks darting out to press against the back of the altar.

“we grigori have our own frequency of angel radio. did you know that? before he died, my brother called to me. did you want him to? to draw me out? kill me, too?” arc loses sight of him as he drops to bend low on his knees. cas cranes his neck, slowly inching around the altar. arc carefully steps over the floorboards, mindful not to make a noise. leaning up on her tiptoes, she can see just over the altar, see the man crouched in front of his victim, his back to her, a switchblade held aloft.

a soft sound, and soon, the smell of iron and rust floats through the air. then, she hears it. a sound that’s not quite as warm as it used to be, not quite as innocent. but it’s still his laughter, and it pins her to the spot in both shock and fear.

jack chuckles; almost amused. “you can’t kill me.”

“i can make you suffer. you killed the last of my kind, you ate their hearts! this is more than fair.”

“fair?” jack echoes, disbelieving. “the last one i killed was pretending to be a doctor. feeding on the souls of humans he was supposed to heal. you do it, too. only you like children.”

kabaiel stands suddenly, closing the switchblade and picking up his sword. “who told you that?” he demands, voice low like thunder.

“death.” jack says, flatly. kabaiel swings his sword, but suddenly cas is right behind him. cas catches kabaiel’s arm, wrestling the sword away. they fight, and when cas gains the upper-hand arc darts forward, brandishing the stolen sword. without a moment’s hesitation, she drives it through the grigori’s chest, and cas releases his limp body. letting it fall to the floor with a heavy thump.

breathing heavily, they gaze down at the dead watcher a moment, before simultaneously turning to stare at-

jack.

jack, on his knees, wrists bound behind his back. sparkling blue eyes return their gazes, a face so familiar and beautiful it hurts to see. the sword clatters against the floorboards as it slips from arc’s loosened grasp, and she gets down on the floor, taking jack’s face in her hands. examining him thoroughly, needing to be sure.

“hello, arc.” he whispers, a moment after her hands pause their searching and rest on his shoulders. she releases a shuddering gasp and drags him into a bone-crushing hug. jack moves his arms uncomfortably, as they remain tied back. cas is quick to slice through the restraints, and as soon as arc pulls back, his hand tightens on jack’s shoulder. guiding him to stand, just looking at him for a long, long, moment. then, he pulls jack in for a warm and desperate embrace.

—

arc makes cas sit in the backseat of her truck as they make their way back to kansas. “so, you’ve been awake in the empty this whole time?”

“most of it, yeah,” jack explains, sitting sideways in the passenger seat to address both arc and cas. “after chuck killed me, billie came to speak with me. she said she had a plan to get rid of chuck once and for all, but for it to work, chuck has to think i’m dead up until the last minute.”

cas glances at the rearview mirror, waiting. arc meets his gaze, sees the concern in his blue gaze, shares it in her own green eyes.

“so, did she say what this plan entails?” arc asks, trying to focus both on jack’s answers and the road.

“well, this was the first part.”

“this being…” cas trails off, gut clenching. jack picks up the sentence with chilling ease.

“eating the grigori hearts, yes.”

arc’s jaw clenches; her heart pounding in her stomach, her throat, her temples. as she spins the wheel to make a right turn, she asks the question that’s been revolving in her mind since the moment she laid eyes on jack. “and your soul?”

“it’s still gone.”

arc isn’t exactly surprised, but somehow she’s still disappointed. cas reaches out, pats jack gently on the shoulder. “what matters is that you’re here. you’re home.”

jack smiles over the back of the seat, cas wearing a matching grin. arc wants to smile, too, but now they’re heading back to the bunker with jack in tow - and how the hell is dean going to react when he sees the nephilim?

cas realises what she must be worrying about, and when they climb out of the car upon arriving home, he stops her with a hand on her elbow. he leans in close, murmuring in her ear that it’ll be okay. they’ll figure it out, together. biting her lip, arc tries to ignore the tightness in her chest as she nods, and locks her car.

on the map table inside, her phone screen lights up - she’d completely forgotten about it. “crap,” she mutters, mostly to herself. “sam and dean said they’d check in when they got to alaska. i never responded…”

she picks up the cell phone and thumbs through the texts she’s missed.

(01:15) SAMMY: halfway there. all good so far.

(09:30) SAMMY: stopped for pie and coffee. got directions to the place garth told us about. it’s a pool hall apparently.

(12:50) DEAN: baby still acting up. this luck thing is janky.

(14:06) SAMMY: are you okay? is cas back yet?

(16: 29) SAMMY: we think we may have figured out what’s going on here. will keep you updated. let me know when you get this.

(16:51) SAMMY: getting kind of worried now. dean is jumpy when i mention you. did i miss something?

(16: 59) DEAN: did u lose ur phone??? text sam back he’s all jittery and anxious

(17:03) DEAN: srsly… what is going on

(17: 45) SAMMY: on way back now. hope to see you when we get home.

she reads the messages out loud, frowning. “should i text back? what should i say?”

cas shrugs. “tell them you’ve been asleep since you got back.”

arc shoots him a look. “yeah, and they’re gonna believe that.” she makes a face at the screen, before gasping, “ah!” as the screen lights up once again, dean calling. “oh, shit.” she tosses the phone onto the table as though it’s radioactive.

“what are you doing? answer it.”

“no! i don’t wanna answer it. you answer it.” cas rolls his eyes and reaches for the phone, freezing in place when arc shrieks, “no, wait, don’t!” they stare at each other in some kind of face-off until the ringing stops.

jack looks back and forth between cas and arc, a furrow in his brow.

arc’s screen lights up again, this time with a text message. (1) MISSED CALL - DEAN.

arc’s nose twitches, and she leans over to grab the offending cell phone and knock the call off the screen. she looks up, flushing a little under cas’ accusatory gaze, one eyebrow raised to complete the look.

she opens her mouth to protest, then remembers that jack is in the room. she glances his way, then shakes her head subtly in cas’ direction. cas sighs, almost imperceptible. he lays a hand on jack’s elbow, suggesting he help jack get settled in his own room. as they exit, castiel is sure to shoot arc a firm look over his shoulder, letting her know that this isn’t over.

arc just sighs, covering her face with her hands. after a few calming breaths, she unlocks her phone screen, taps into the message chain between her and dean.

the last texts before today are dated months back - memes and inside jokes and dean texting in all caps to tell her to turn her music down. her lower lip wobbles dangerously, a dull ache settling in the middle of her chest. she swipes out and instead opens a new message, opting to text sam instead.

to: SAMMY: what time will you be back here?

it’s only seconds later she receives a response.

from: SAMMY: about 2 hours.

great. that’s just great.

—

arc lets cas know they’ll be back tonight, and they head to the library to talk.

“you and dean are going to have to -”

“dean and i don’t ‘have’ to do anything, castiel,” she hisses, dragging his full name out in spite. cas frowns at her, shaking his head.

“are you going to stay?”

“of course i am. jack’s here. i am not leaving him.”

cas nods, he had thought as much. “you’re going to have to find some way to be civil,” he says, pained.

“i can do that,” arc says, as if it’s obvious. cas raises an eyebrow. “what? i can be an adult. can’t say that dean can, given his track record-”

cas sighs heavily and pinches his brow, eyes squeezing shut. arc relents, promising to be good. “alright, from this point on, i will be mature, i will be an adult. at least, i’ll do my best.”

cas’ eyes flutter open again, and he can’t help but smile at the earnest expression on arc’s face. he smiles even wider when she smiles back at him, not missing how she looks away when he grins brighter, fingers twisting together almost nervously.

“look, cas. about earlier. when i said i wouldn’t stay for you-”

the bunker door slams shut heavily, startling both beings. all thoughts of anything but jack’s re-arrival flee both their minds, and cas notices the look of anxiety passing over arc’s face. he steps closer, takes her wrist in his hand. her pulse thrums fast as a hummingbird, and without really thinking about it, his thumb begins to rub soothing circles on the soft skin.

“hey. we got this, okay? it’s going to be alright.”

arc bites her lip, obviously struggling to believe it- cas is surprised when she nods, doesn’t argue, and twists her wrist to catch his hand in hers. she squeezes, gentle, and he is warmed by the gesture of trust and thanks, minuscule as it may seem. footsteps on the stairs, footsteps coming up the hall.

jack looks between cas and arc, waiting for direction. cas instructs him to wait here, and he and arc go to the library to greet the boys.

sam and dean come to a standstill when they spot the two figures standing stock-still between the shelves, noting the tense atmosphere and the strange expressions on each face.

“hey, cas. arc.” sam greets, cautiously. “is everything okay?”

arc lets out a shaking exhale, glancing at cas. tears gleam unshed in her eyes, but cas just nods at her, and, so, she turns her head, and beckons with her hand. cas steps to the side, and jack enters.

sam’s face falls hard and fast, then lifts just as quick. dean looks sucker-punched, utterly winded.

“hello,” jack says pleasantly, raising his hand.

“jack?” sam asks, in a terribly fragile whisper.

“it’s really him,” cas confirms, warm. sam takes slow stumbling steps over the floorboards, long arms coming to draw jack into his chest and hold him there, tight.

arc tries to gauge dean’s reaction - he watches sam embracing the nephilim, and arc can see that he’s still not sure. “it’s him, dean.” she tells him, earnest eyes bright and shining as she finally looks at him for the first time in months. dean’s breath catches in his chest as he realises she’s not looking through him, then his breath gets caught somewhere in his throat when he realises: jack’s home.

he makes his way over to the boy, who waits for dean to do something. dean places his hand on jack’s neck, searching those blue eyes intensely. seeming to find what he’s looking for, he looks to cas for one final confirmation. cas nods, and dean does too.

—

jack catches them up over beer, the freshly-reunited team free will 2.0 seated around the map table.

“jack, you… you ate their hearts?” sam echoes, disgust on his face.

“i… i had to.”

dean grunts, eyes darkening as they flicker to cas. “and you let him?”

arc tenses; cas nods. dean hums.

“you could’ve called us,” sam tells jack, hurt, and pained. hating the thought of jack out there alone, in the cold, hiding from god.

“every day i wanted to come home,” jack insists, “but… i couldn’t.”

“why not?”

“because if i don’t stay hidden, if i use my powers, my grandfather… he’ll know i’m back, and he’ll try and kill me… again. he’s afraid of me. and that’s why we had to wait.”

at the mention of a ‘we’, sam frowns. “billie kept him hidden in the empty until chuck went off world.” cas explains.

“she let me out when it was safe?”

“safe to what?” dean protests, scrunching his face up. “eat a bunch of angel hearts?”

arc flexes her fingers under the table, biting back a hurtful remark. cas sends her a thankful look out of the corner of his eye.

“safe to do what i have to do,” jack corrects dean, calm, but solemn. “the hearts, they were just the beginning. they made me strong, but i- i’m not strong enough. i… if i do exactly what she says, if i follow her plan, then i’ll get stronger and… i’ll be able to kill god.”

Chapter Text

when jack leaves to get some rest, the conversation moves to the kitchen. dean grabs a beer, of course, seating himself at the table there. cas and sam stand in front of him, troubled expressions on each face. arc does her best to disappear into the corner of the room, pressing herself in as much as possible.

“i don’t like it,” sam protests, clearly unhappy.

“which part?” dean questions. “jack’s deal with death? or the part where she’s got him eating angel hearts?”

cas shudders; “ugh. the hearts were disturbing.”

“so, what’s next? we’re just supposed to trust her?”

“well, apparently billie’s got jack on a need-to-know, which, not a shock. we’ve made deals with cosmic players before… ‘cards-up’ ain’t their style.”

“jack still doesn’t have a soul,” sam points out, voice low. “and he’s been in the empty for months. i mean, we have no idea where his head is right now.”

cas sighs, and shrugs, glancing over at arc. “well, i have my concerns, but…. jack trusts billie, and i trust jack.” arc nods slightly his way, but sam remains unconvinced.

“but what about cosmic balance? i mean, jack’s gonna kill god? what about amara?”

abruptly, dean stands, picking up his beer. “i don’t know. i don’t know. but i have seen billie’s library, and i have spent time with her. i… well, ‘trust’ is a strong word, but… i believe in her. there’s no one more committed to the rules than she is. she’s probably got it all figured out.”

dean’s comment about billie being such a stickler for the rules jars arc a little; and she doesn’t know why.

“probably?” sam counters, shaking his head. “like she had the ma’lak box figured out?”

sam makes good points. dean seems unperturbed.

“yeah, i dunno. i mean, she’s still death. she was right about rowena.”

sam’s throat bobs, lower lip trembling a little. his shoulders slump as he releases a breath. “all i’m saying is, i wish we knew more.”

“we know that chuck is going to die. that he has a book in billie’s library. death told us that himself, way back in chicago, right?” dean twists to face arc, startled. he nods, remembering the conversation they shared with the original horseman over a very tasty pizza pie. “if chuck has one, it’s safe to assume amara does, too.” pushing off the wall, she moves to stand by cas, shrugging both her shoulders. “i can’t say i exactly trust any of this, but at least we have something to work toward. i think that’s gonna have to be enough for now.”

dean nods, clearly pleased. “yeah, i got questions too, but right now this is the only plan we got.”

sam looks back and forth between arc and sam, before backing away. “right.” he leaves the kitchen without turning back.

cas and arc force wry smiles at each other, before cas eyes dean. he’s studying arc intensely, green eyes shining and bright. deciding to give them both a moment, he hopes for a good outcome as he strides out the door silently. arc watches him go, eyes wide as saucers, stomach churning.

dean sips at his beer, savouring the light taste, the fuzzy bubbles on his tongue. he clears his throat, trying to figure out what he should say.

“i guess this means you’re staying?”

“for jack. yes.”

“good. i’m glad. i’m glad you’re staying.”

arc bites her lip and throws dean a sideways glance. “i’m not staying for you,” she reminds him, cold and flat.

“i know,” he assures her, softly. pale lips turning up in the gentlest of smiles. “but i’m still glad. gives me time.”

“time for what?”

taking another gulp of his drink, dean breathes out a satisfied “ahhhh” and places the beer bottle back on the table. “to win you over.”

the words strike arc speechless, so she manages to find an empty laugh somewhere inside. nodding sarcastically, she follows cas out into the hallway.

—

cas hasn’t wandered far — dean finds him in the library, sitting in one of the plush armchairs. deciding now’s as good a time as any to crack open the good stuff, dean fetches two glasses and pours a healthy amount of strong whiskey for each of them. he takes the seat next to cas.

arc lingers somewhere between the shelves of books, listlessly trailing her fingers over leather-bound spines and dusty surfaces.

“i knew it, dean,” cas starts, eyes warm and alive. “when i was with jack’s mother, she… you know, kelly just had faith that jack would be good for the world, and i felt it, too. i knew it. and then, when everything went wrong, and god took him from us… i was lost in a way I’ve never been before. because i knew the story wasn’t over. i knew jack wasn’t done. and I was right.”

dean considers these words, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “well, here’s to being right.” he holds his glass up, and cas clinks his own against dean’s. “and here’s to payback,” dean adds, rolling his shoulders and sipping his whiskey. “hmm? come on. what, revenge doesn’t sound good to you?”

cas gives dean a look. “what sounds good to me is jack fulfilling his destiny.”

“okay, yeah. but…” dean sits sideways, legs crossed over so he’s facing cas. “icing on the cake? i mean, chuck wanted cain and abel, and… now we’re going all biblical on him. killed by his own grandson. that sounds right to me.” he chuckles, pleased with himself and the idea of throwing chuck’s story right back in his smug little face. cas can’t help but smile fondly at how animated dean is; how normal things feel between them. how right.

in the background, a book clatters to the ground. they both turn to find arc stepping out from behind a shelf, eyes round and curious, and fixed on dean. “cain and abel,” she states, a thoughtful look on her face.

dean and cas exchange confused looks; “uh, yeah?” dean pushes, tilting his head to the side in an effort to determine the emotion in her eyes.

“cain and abel,” she repeats, though mostly to herself. “michael and lucifer. sam and dean. chuck and amara.” frowning to herself, she gets lost in her thoughts as she backs up into the shelves and disappears among the pages again.

dean frowns, bemused. “the hell was that about?”

cas presses his lips together, shaking his head. “she’s just… overwhelmed, probably.” still, he finds himself casting his gaze backwards yet again. he can hear her rifling through pages and yanking books off shelves, and wonders what she’s thinking about.

dean’s phone trills in his pocket; when he takes it out, he grins at the caller ID and answer it on speaker, greeting the caller happily. “heya, jody.”

jody’s tone of voice is the opposite of dean’s: rushed and solemn. “dean, i’m in trouble. route 11. fletcher farm, the old barn. if you don’t come, i’m dead.”

the words are spoken reluctantly, almost, through gritted teeth. “jody?” dean looks down at his phone, and the call ends. he looks at cas, concern and worry wiping away the previous joy.

—

arc hangs back at the bunker, as the others rush off to rescue jody. she gathers as many tomes and volumes she can carry in her arms, carries them down the hallway to her room, dumping them with a heavy thump on her mattress. she grabs a notebook and a pen, and begins to write.

her notes are haphazard at first, and after a while she turns to a fresh page, organising her thoughts and ideas into neat columns and sentences.

“brother and sister… family conflict…” she mutters to herself, touching the pen the her lower lip as she narrows her eyes. “ah. abraham and isaac. jacob and esau.” she gets lost in her research, so much so that she nearly misses the sound of dean and co. returning to the bunker.

when she wanders out of her room, rubbing at her eyes to clear ancient latin text from her retinas, jack and cas are playing a game of connect four at the map table.

jody follows sam down the steps, and cas immediately takes interest. he smiles warmly, invitingly, holding out his hand for jody to shake. “nice to finally meet you in person. so, what happened?”

dean appears next, gripping a young girl by the shoulders. “long story.” he mutters darkly, glaring at the dark-haired woman -

“kaia?” arc asks, in disbelief.

all eyes fall on her, and she questions sam with a look.

“long story.” he repeats, sighing. kaia pays no attention, focuses in on jack, still sitting at the table.

“hello, jack.”

jack’s lips twitch, and he casts his eyes downward, as though feeling shame.

—

they catch arc up on the whole kaia-dark-kaia thing, explaining that dark kaia came from one of chuck’s alternate worlds. the kaia from their world isn’t dead, as was widely believed for a long time, but stuck in dark kaia’s home. dark kaia had a weapon that dean needed when they were facing off against michael; and the deal they made meant jack was supposed to help dark kaia get home.

“jack can’t help her,” cas reminds them all, urgency in his tone.

“yeah, we know that, cas,” sam responds.

“i already told her he’s off-limits.” dean reassures cas, who relaxes an inch.

“we’ll find another way… we have to. i mean, kaia is there because of us.”

dean nods at his brother, patting his shoulder lightly. “alright, so you and me, we’ll hit the lore, you too, arc.”

arc agrees easily, to dean’s surprise. it sparks a sense of hope within him that things between them aren't irreparable.

“yeah. cas, why don’t you and jody dig through our stores? we might have something in the inventory we haven’t thought of yet, something that can help us jump worlds.”

“i’ll call sergei, as well,” cas decides, “he may have more archangel grace. gabriel is still m.i.a. other than jack, it’s the only thing that’s worked for us before.”

“we’re running out of time,” kaia tells them all, tone dark. they all turn to face her. she gestures to jack, expression desperate and wild. “he is standing right there. he could bring us there now.”

“hey, not-kaia… not helping.”

“i can help in other ways,” jack offers, turning to dean to calm him. “research.”

“sure. meanwhile, what are we gonna do with her?”

jody strides across the floor to stand in front of kaia. “well, she killed a prized heifer just to get my attention, then she jumped me, beat me up, and threatened to kill me. do i get a vote?”

kaia glares at the sheriff, eyes hard and angry.

they chain her to the kitchen table and leave an old, out-dated magazine in front of her. she pushes it away, utterly disinterested. the rest of them split up, and get to work.

jack carries an open book over to the table where sam, dean and arc are sitting at in the library, setting it on the surface and pointing to the page. “guys, what about this? la piegatrice mondiale. it’s an old italian spell… stregharian magic. it means ‘the world bender’.”

“what’re the ingredients?”

“basic stuff… crystals, herbs, and the, uh…” he squints at the text, reading aloud, “‘liver of a mandragora.’”

the trio of older hunters scoff and sigh, and jack looks at them, confused. “what? what’s that? some kind of monster?”

“yeah. one that’s extinct,” dean explains.

“our dad wrote about it in his journal. ‘a hunt in fargo’…” sam recalls. “killed the last one.”

arc scoffs. “leave it to john winchester to screw something up for us.” she mutters the words into the pages of her book, but sam and dean still catch it.

“hey, why don’t you go see if cas and jody are having any luck?” dean suggests, and jack nods, closing the book. when he’s gone, dean checks over his shoulder that the nephilim is out of earshot. he leans in closer to sam and arc and whispers, “we’re not finding anything.”

sam’s face is tired and hopeless. “i know.” his eyes slide to the side, to arc. “hey, you wouldn’t be able to do anything about this? i know there’s a difference between you and jack, but…” he trails off, and arc sighs, looking down at her hands.

“maybe, if things were different…” she starts. sam frowns at her, not understanding. “ever since that day at the cemetery, with chuck… i think since he’s been off-world, my powers are… draining. i used to sleep because i liked it, but now i sleep because i need it. i get hungry, too. not much, but more than i would usually. i think i’m more human now than ever.” she admits, quietly. sam’s expression becomes soft and understanding.

he hesitantly rests his hand on her shoulder, hopes it’s comforting. arc smiles balefully at him and dean, but her eyes betray distress and vulnerability.

“listen, i can try and jerry-rig up some magic using a substitute for the archangel grace. but then again, the only substitute we have that would even stand a chance of working is…”

“nephilim grace,” dean finishes, following his brother’s thoughts.

“yeah. and i’m guessing that would be against billie’s rules. so…”

“we’re batting zero,” dean states, grim.

—

they keep going, leafing through the most ancient of tomes the library holds. as time drags on, the clock on the wall seems to grow louder, echoing arc’s own heartbeat. suddenly, jack comes back into the library, determination in his stride.

“i’m saving kaia.”

arc looks up, frowning. “what?”

“i owe it to her. she’s running out of time… i saw it.”

“what, you… how?” sam questions, before his face falls. “no, wait a second. did you dream walk?”

dean’s face drops, too. “whoa, wait. what?”

“jack, what about billie’s plan?”

“i know, i know, but… saving kaia, it’s the right thing to do.”

“you’ve got to be kidding me.”

they all turn in shock at the new voice chiming into the conversation; arc, sam and dean jump up from the table as a middle-aged lady enters. she’s fixing jack a stern look, eyebrows arched high.

“who the hell are you?” arc asks, making a face.

“name’s merle.”

“she’s a reaper,” jack explains. “works with billie.”

“how’d you get in here?”

“piggybacked on the boy.”

“she’s been watching me,” jack mutters, eyes on the floor.

“yeah, i’ve been watching you screw up. one measly life on the line, and you’re ready to risk it all? that’s not just dumb. that’s winchester dumb.”

“hey!” dean yells, face turning red. merle simply rolls her eyes.

“i’m the only one who can do this,” jack says, firmly.

“well, try, and i’ll tell death.”

jack stares her right in the face, standing his ground. “okay.”

merle narrows her eyes; gauging jack’s expression, trying to figure out if he’s bluffing or not. she hums, analysing the nephilim before her.

“go. in the meantime, i’ll open a rift to the bad place. i’m sure billie will appreciate hearing about it after the fact when it’s already too late.”

“okay. and how about i just stop you? right now.” merle counters, crossing her arms over her chest.

“you can try,” jack says, unmoved. “run to billie. tell her everything went sideways on your watch, and see how she reacts… what she decides to do with you.” merle’s expression is carefully neutral, except for the tell-tale flare of her nostrils. “or help us. help us find the safest, smartest way to pull this off, and she never has to know.”

merle repeats her earlier comment about this being winchester stupid. this time, dean looks hopeful instead of offended as he presses her with a, “but?”

“but, there might be a way.” merle accedes, “the, uh… cosmic warding that amara peeled off these walls that somehow, you’ve all been too stupid to even try and repair…”

dean’s back to being pissed. “uh, we fixed that.”

“oh, you fixed part of it. you slapped up some anti-demonic monster warding. you didn’t come close to restoring the original, cosmic-grade stuff.”

dean glares at merle, and sam steps in to try and keep the peace. “okay. then how do we restore it?”

“well, you can’t. not permanently. but i know how to get it back up… for a while. but it won’t be enough. this good-enough warding, i’m gonna have to juice it up, feed it. i’m gonna need to borrow your angel…” her eyes slide from dean to arc. “and your nephalem.”

‘and with all that, you think that’ll keep us off of chuck’s radar?” dean checks, and merle’s eyes darken.

“better hope so.”

—

cas fetches all the necessary ingredients for the spell required to boost the warding, while jody passes sam a spell book. dean mixes up the various things in a small bowl, and sam recites some words off the page.

“magia, quae olim inhaeserat in his symbolis, nunc depletes, reducatur, reducatur.”

slowly, the invisible warding begins to illuminate, and merle places a large rock with symbols etched on the surface onto the table. she nods, and sam and dean prepare to head across the rift. jack and arc undo the chains binding kaia, and jody strolls in with her duffle bag. she nods at arc and cas, grateful.

“hey, thanks for staying, keeping an eye on the reaper.”

“yeah.” cas mumbles, eyes on the ground. he hesitates, lips pressed together, before saying, “um… jody, i- i’d… i’d like to ask you to stay, as well.”

jody’s expression turns indignant, arching an eyebrow up at the angel. “what is that? some kind of b.s male chivalry thing?”

“no. no, it’s not. jody, it’s, um… well, you know… i was never able to make things right with claire, what i took from her. i mean, i’m never going to be able to make that right. but… you and claire found each other, and she has you now. if something goes wrong with this rescue, and… and kaia isn’t saved… claire will be devastated, but she’ll survive. she already has.” cas’ eyes are pleading, as they bore into jody’s. “but if she loses you both…”

jody nods, understandingly. “that’d kill her.”

cas swallows, overcome with sorrow and regret.

merle calls out to cas and arc. “ready when you are.”

cas lingers in place, waiting for jody’s answer. jody sighs, and nods. some tension eases from cas’ posture and he thanks her warmly. arc lightly touches his elbow and smiles encouragingly as they make their way over to merle.

all three of them place their hands on the rock merle had brought, both it and the warding beginning to glow.

“alright, jack. you’re up.” dean gestures for jack to move into the middle of their loose circle. jack lifts his arm, and his eyes start to glow gold. a familiar rift opens up, tearing through the fabric of reality.

dark kaia steps around the winchesters, gazing at the rift with a torrent of emotions in her dark eyes. without a word, she steps through, disappearing into the bad place. sam looks to dean, who nods, and sam passes, followed by dean.

“how long do you think it’ll take?” arc asks, quiet.

nobody answers. in the corner, jody crosses her arms, and keeps her eyes fixed on the rift.

seconds tick by, moving into minutes. five, then ten. jody begins to tap her foot impatiently against the floor, lips pursed tight. cas tries to focus his energy and grace on the warding, and arc does the same. near the fifteen minute mark, arc begins to feel light-headed. she blinks slowly, shaking her head.

merle looks at her, eyes narrowed. “can you keep this up?”

cas turns his head, concern in his gaze. arc takes a deep breathe and nods determinedly. “i’m fine.”

merle doesn’t look too sure, but she doesn’t push the subject. jody stops tapping her foot and moves toward the rift, cas’ eyes following her with an alarmed expression. she sits on the floor by the rift, legs crossed.

she looks at arc, whose breathing is steadily growing more pronounced. bright spots puncture her vision, so she closes her eyes, tries to ignore the spinning mosaic of flashing lights behind her eyelids.

“arc.” cas presses, rough, fearful. his own grace is draining, fast, and he’s not sure how much longer either one can hold on.

the rift spits and crackles, arc’s eyes flying open - sam passes through, followed by dean, holding kaia in his arms. the rift fizzles out, snapping shut, and arc drops her hands from the rock, leaning back against the wall for support.

dean lets kaia down, and jody gets to her feet, face open and pale. “kaia.” she murmurs, in disbelief. she draws the girl into a tight hug, and everyone in the room breathes a collective sigh of relief.

—

jack provides a clean set of clothing for kaia, who leaves with jody after expressing her gratitude. that leaves sam, dean, cas, arc, and jack to deal with merle. they meet up in the library, where merle regards them with something almost like respect.

“if i cared for a second about saving that girl, i guess i’d say that was a victory.”

“so you think the warding worked?” sam asks, optimistic. “kept us off chuck’s radar?”