Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“No doubt, endings are hard. But then again…nothing ever really ends, does it?”  -Chuck, Prophet of the Lord

Across the country, in a small town, a small, out-of-the-way cemetery sits on the outskirts. On the far edge, a small grey headstone lays flat, buried against the ground. The plaque bears the name, a familiar one, of one so loved.

Clouds gather in the sky, casting dark shadows across the ground. Thunder rumbles its deep growl, offering only a moment’s warning before a heavy rain begins to fall, its waters washing away the small bouquet of wildflowers that someone had left for their beloved. 

A strike of lightning shatters the darkness with a hair raising crack. As the flash fades, disappearing as quickly as it came, the stone reveals the lightning’s mark. A fracture runs through the center of the stone, splitting the engraving of a woman’s name apart. 

With another flash of lightning and a world altering rumble, a woman is revealed to be standing at the grave. She looks down at the name that seems so familiar. 

As her mind begins to clear, memories flood in like the rain pouring down around her flooding the soft earth. 

Her name matches the one now scratched out, as if God reached down and erased her name from the list of the dead. 

A familiar voice speaks from behind the woman, causing her to spin around. Steel blue eyes meet her dark brown. 

“Welcome back, George. You’ve got work to do.”

Chapter Text

4.18: MONSTER AT THE END OF THIS BOOK

Time is a funny little thing. Some days it seems to speed by, some days it seems to be taking its sweet…well, time. 

Time as a construct can vary depending on which plane of existence one finds themselves on. A week on earth could be a day in heaven. A month on earth could be a year in hell. There’s never a way to know for sure until you experience each for yourself and then manage to find your way back to your point of origin–earth—to make the comparison. 

However, as a constant rule, once a person dies, their time on earth is no longer written, therefore leaving the question unanswered.

That was, however, until Dean Winchester went to hell and came back. And then the Angels from heaven came to earth. 

It didn’t take long however, for one other person to offer their perspective. After all, George Finley never was one for following the storyline. 

*****

Reality came crashing down with the rain that poured across the well kept grass of the cemetery. George was back. She was alive. Which could only mean one thing.

George turned away from the angel standing before her and looked down at the broken headstone. Though the rain had lessened, it still fell. Droplets soaked into her dark hair, turning it even darker. Her pristine clothes turned a deeper hue as they too soaked up the rain. 

Lightning flashed in the distant sky, matching the fire growing in her eyes. Heaven didn’t want her here. They never would have sent an angel to bring her back—that much she knew. Which meant someone had made a deal. Someone had somehow managed to get her back. Though how, she couldn’t figure out.

She spun towards Castiel, her face dark with emotions. “What did they do?” Her voice was almost hoarse, as if she hadn’t spoken in so long. George stepped closer to the angel, her entire body demanding an answer with her movements. “Who did it, Cas? Who made a deal and brought me back?” A fearful and angry tear slipped from her lashes, mixing with the rain that continued to fall. 

Sorrow filled pain swamped her being at the thought of one of the boys or Bobby making a sacrifice of themselves in a deal just to bring her back to earth. She had died saving Sam. She had died saving Dean and the rest of the world from the evil force that was Samhain. George had finally accomplished what John had asked of her—to take care of his boys—though his last request hadn’t been the reasoning behind her last actions. 

But now she was here, brought back from death, raised from her resting place. Her anger lashed out as she demanded Castiel to tell her who was responsible. None of them should be sacrificing their own souls for her. It wasn’t worth it. She wasn’t worth it.

Castiel’s face turned sympathetic, ignoring the angry demands she threw at him. “No deal was made, George,” he replied softly. 

The fire in George’s eyes was doused with the angel’s words. Confusion quickly took its place. “Then how? Heaven wouldn’t let me back and…” Her words trailed off. “So how am I here?”

“To be honest, I’m not entirely certain of the logistics.” Castiel seemed just as confused as George was about the situation. “All I know is that I was supposed to make sure you were brought back. Your work isn’t done.”

George wiped the droplets from her face as her mind worked to make sense of anything. She looked down at her headstone before she turned back to Castiel. “What do you mean? What work?”

Castiel stepped up to George, his face turning serious. “The Winchesters are going to need you now more than ever.”

Concern caused her brows to furrow as a sudden desperation swelled in her chest. It had been too long since she’d seen the brothers. Too long since she saw Dean, felt his hand in hers. Even if she had only been gone for a day, it was too long. Beyond that, worry settled. What was happening that would require her presence? “Where are they, Cas? Where’s Dean?”

Castiel shook his head. “It’s not time.” He scanned the area, as if suddenly wary that someone might be spying on them. “But we need to go before you’re discovered.”

“What do you mean, it’s not time? Cas, wha—” George’s words were cut off as Cas quickly laid a hand on her shoulder. In the next second, she was standing in a small motel room, a low sun shining through the dingy looking curtains, lighting up the room with a soft orange glow. 

George’s clothes and hair were dry, not a trace of having been in a rain storm evident. She looked around the room. “Where are we? Is this where the boys are?” Her eyes scanned the area with precision, marking everything about it. It looked like every other motel she’d ever stayed in, though this room held only one queen sized bed. A small kitchenette took over one corner, a small unbalanced table and two chairs sitting in the center of the small area. 

The most obvious thing to George about it all was the emptiness. No duffel bags or weapons were out, signifying the absence of Winchesters. 

“We’re in Arizona,” Castiel explained. “Sam and Dean are currently working a case far from here.”

George frowned at him. “Cas, what is going on? What’s wrong with Sam and Dean? Why won’t you take me to them?”

Castiel looked around the room before responding. “Nobody can know you’ve returned.”

Anxiety and something akin to frustration flooded her being. She was back and the only thing she wanted she apparently couldn’t have. “What? Why?”

“There are reasons, but for now all you need to know is that it’s not safe. People can’t know you’re back. Not yet. If they find out, this will all be for nothing and people will die.”

“What exactly is ‘this’, Cas? What is going on?” 

Castiel let out an impatient sigh. “For now, it’s best if you just try to remain calm.”

George let out a humorless chuckle. “Don’t angels know not to tell a woman to calm down?” 

Castiel’s eyes squinted in confusion at her words. Ignoring him, George took a deep breath. Her mind worked to process everything, thinking over everything. “So what now? I just hide and wait? Wait for what?” 

Castiel shook his head. “As I said, you have work to do. Right now, it’s research.”

George chuckled as she motioned to the empty and outdated motel room. “What exactly am I supposed to be researching? Nineteen-seventies motel decor?”

“You’ve been gone for six months. It might be best to catch up on what has happened in this world while you’ve been gone.”

George’s mouth snapped shut, her eyes widening slightly at the angel’s words. Six months. She’d been dead for six months. It hadn’t felt that short of a time for her. Her mind worked to process that she had ceased to exist on this plane of existence, and for months. Life had continued on without her. She knew death well enough that it shouldn’t be a shock, yet it still was. 

Suddenly worries and thoughts swamped her mind. What had happened to Bobby? Had Dean felt as lost without her as she had felt after his death? What about Sam? Had he stayed with his brother? Kept his promise to stay away from the demon named Ruby? Or had he gone and done something stupid and that was why she was back? There were so many questions and not enough answers.

Apparently seeing her internal and mental struggle, Castiel took a half step closer to her, drawing her attention. “I can’t promise that everything will be okay. But I can reassure you that Dean, Sam, and Bobby are all okay. Right now, they’re safe. And I know that you want nothing more than to run to them, but it’s better for everybody right now if you stay away. Just for now.”

George swallowed against the questions that wanted to pour from her mouth, choosing instead to nod in acceptance. She’d been dead for six months on earth. She had to trust the angel who had brought her back to know what he was doing. At least a little more than she did.

In the next moment however, Castiel disappeared, leaving George to blink in surprise. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting to happen but it hadn’t been that. She looked around the room again, taking it all in as she considered what to do next. She didn’t have clothes, or food, or money. She would have to figure out how to procure those items at least.

Before she could decide on anything however, Castiel reappeared suddenly. George flinched at the sudden appearance but was quick to recover. The angel held a familiar looking duffel bag in one hand and a small stack of books and a laptop in the other. 

“I am afraid I can’t gather more of your things without alerting Bobby to their disappearance, but I was able to collect these for you. I believe you’ll find these books most helpful until we can acquire you more.” He set the items on the bed, stepping back to allow George to scan through them. 

“Helpful for?” She looked over her shoulder at the angel before returning her attention to the books. 

“The apocalypse.”

His answer was simple and succinct, yet severely lacking. The Winchesters and herself had been knee deep in all things apocalypse the last time they’d been together. There was no telling how slowly or quickly things had progressed after her death. George turned to fully face Cas, a book laid open in her hands. “That’s a pretty broad subject. Anything specific?”

“As you know, the Winchesters have been working to prevent the breaking of the seals. Unfortunately, the number of seals still intact is dwindling at an alarming rate. I think it’s best if you study those and perhaps their effects should the last seal be broken.”

George looked at her stack of books. “Well, if you were hoping for that, you probably should’ve grabbed different books,” she offered a kind smile with her words. “But I guess these will work for now. I’ve already got a pretty decent grasp on most of the seals, though. It won’t take long to figure out the others and the effects of them.”

Castiel tilted his head slightly. “You’ve studied the seals already?”

George nodded as she traded out the book in her hand for another and flipped it open. “After your’s and Uriel’s not-so-pleasant visit in finding the witch for Samhain, I figured we might need to know more about them. I guessed it wouldn’t’ be long before you guys showed up for Dean again.”

Castiel nodded to himself as he processed her explanation. “Of course. I apologize for assuming your lack of knowledge. I sometimes forget who your father was and how you were raised.”

George’s body tightened at the mention of Al, her grip on the book in her hands tightening. Her voice was even but full of an emotion Castiel couldn’t place when she responded. “We may share the same last name and the same DNA, but as a wise man once told me—that doesn’t make the man my dad.”

Castiel simply nodded in response before turning to the next topic. For this, George was grateful. The man’s name made her skin crawl for reasons she chose to shove as far down as her soul would allow. 

“There is a small food mart at the end of the road,” Cas motioned down the road towards the window. “I’ve made sure there are no cameras or churches from here to there, so you may shop there for food. Please avoid going anywhere else. There’s one more thing.”

Castiel stepped forward and reached out, only to hesitate a moment. “I apologize if this is painful, but I assure you, it is necessary.” Without waiting for a reply, he placed a hand against George’s ribs. A strong and sudden burning pain flooded through to her bones, causing her to want to pull away. But something about Castiel’s hold prevented her from doing so. 

As quick as it came however, the pain was gone, Castiel’s touch removed. George released a gasping breath as Castiel removed his hand. “What the hell was that?” She asked, looking down at her torso, running a cautious hand over her ribs.

“I’ve inscribed a ward onto your ribs. Now angels and demons won’t know of your presence. It won’t hold them off forever, but as long as you stay here, you should be okay.”

George gave Castiel a wary look as she continued to rub at her ribs. “Thanks, I guess.”

“It’s imperative that you remain hidden for now. Do you understand, George?” Castiel’s piercing blue eyes held George’s dark ones with a seriousness that she could feel.

George nodded, finally releasing her ribs. “Yeah. Keep quiet, stay out of sight and trouble. I’ll do my best.”

Castiel nodded in approval. His demeanor turned more comforting and compassionate. “Stay safe, George.” And with that, the angel was gone.

George looked around the empty motel room with a heavy sigh. She wanted nothing more than to run out the door and run to Bobby’s. She wanted to find Dean and run into his arms, letting him know she was alive and back.

Though the angel hadn’t given her a reason, he had assured her that she was keeping them safe by keeping hidden. And so, George would do what she did best. She would research, and she would keep the Winchesters safe. Any way she could.

Chapter Text

Seven Days. One entire week. That was how long George had been holed up in the small motel room in Nowhere, Arizona.

She had managed to stay off everyone’s radar, though it hadn’t been very hard to do. Castiel had managed to select one of the most remote motels George had ever seen. She was tucked away in the middle of the Arizona desert landscape. Though she couldn’t deny, she wished he’d found one with air conditioning. Even for being almost the middle of April, the Arizona heat was rearing its ugly head, making the dump of a motel almost unbearable.

Castiel had only returned once, later that first day, to drop off a collection of more books. He had called them ‘The Winchester Gospels’ and it hadn’t taken George long to see why. It was the complete, fully detailed story of the life of the Winchester brothers. From the night Dean showed up at Sam’s college apartment for help finding their dad, all the way through to Dean going to hell.

While some parts were laughable and amusing, some broke George’s heart. The things the brothers suffered through were more than anyone should ever have to experience.

It was weird however, reading through some of the cases that she had worked with them only to find she wasn’t part of the story. It was apparent these books were the ‘storyline’ the angels were following. That detail made it clear as to why George was considered a stain on their story. It was obvious how Dean’s reactions had been altered in the stories versus what she’d seen for herself. The man in the story was more angry, more hurt. And definitely more promiscuous. Besides that however, Sam and Dean seemed to get along better in George’s story, which made her thankful. If there was anything in this world that George knew was absolute, it was that the Winchester brothers needed each other.

George had just finished the last chapter in the book titled ‘The Kids Are Alright’ when Castiel showed up.

His abrupt appearance left George wishing she had at least one of her weapons back. She felt exposed without a blade or gun at her back.

“You’ve gotten farther than I thought you would by now,” Castiel observed, reading the title of the book in George’s hand.

George shrugged as she tossed the paperback onto the table in front of her. “Well, it’s not like I had much else to do.” She motioned to the seat across from her. “Would you mind sitting down? You standing over me while we talk is weird.”

Castiel obliged, taking the seat before her. He sat straight in the chair, his hands on his thighs as if he didn’t know what to do with them. George took a moment to take in the angel. It was clear he wasn’t used to human behavior. The thought of him trying to blend in brought a slight smile to her lips. She tilted her head slightly as she studied Castiel’s face. “Can I ask who that is?” She nodded towards his body.

Castiel looked down at his body before looking back up to respond. “His name is Jimmy Novak.”

George nodded in thought. “So do you guys just hijack meatsuits like demons?” She was always curious and eager to learn and angels were one of the topics she knew the least about. She wasn’t about to pass this opportunity to learn more about them.

“No,” Cas shook his head. “Angels can only take on a vessel with permission.”

George thought about it for a moment. “What if they change their mind?”

“In most cases, they can refuse and turn the angel out.”

“Most cases?” George asked, leaning forward in curiosity.

“I’d like to believe that my brothers and sisters are righteous enough to obey and honor the vessel’s wishes.” He took a deep breath that let out a sigh. “Unfortunately, I’m not so sure anymore. From all that has happened, I now know that it is possible for the angel to refuse.”

“What would happen then? The person is just stuck with an angel driving for the rest of their life?”

Castiel nodded. “Most likely. They would have to fight and win against the angel in order to cast them out. Unfortunately, an angel’s strength is far greater than a human’s.” He nodded towards the book on the table, moving on to the reason for his appearance. “Have you noticed that you’re not in any of these stories?”

George picked up the book and fanned through the pages. “Yeah. It’s a little weird, reading about their lives. I kind of feel like I’m spying on them. I mean,” she set the book back on the table, “they’ve got sex scenes in here.” She made a face at that. “I skipped those. Felt like way too much of a violation of their privacy.”

A small smile ticked at the corner of Castiel’s mouth. “Understandable.”

“Have you figured out how I’m still around if I wasn’t supposed to be a part of their story?”

“No, I haven’t. I still don’t know how you managed to change their story. What I do know is that something else is happening here.”

“But what?”

“I don’t know. But it’s clear Heaven doesn’t know either.”

An uneasiness settled in the room. No matter how hard George tried, she couldn’t figure out what would make her so special. Her eyes caught on the cover of the book on the table. It was the classic romance novelization of Sam and Dean, but in the background was a child’s birthday party, a woman standing beside a child that resembled Dean’s looks. The sight of it fueled the question that had been hovering in her head since she’d been introduced to one of the lead characters. Biting at her bottom lip, she finally worked up the courage to ask Castiel her question.

“Cas,” she hesitated as the angel looked at her, waiting patiently to hear what she had to say. “These stories, they’re similar to what actually happened, that much is obvious. But,” she paused, “how similar are they to Dean’s life the way it is now?”

Castiel tilted his head in uncertainty at what George was asking. She cleared her throat and worked up the courage to continue. “Is Lisa one of those similarities?”

George was afraid to hear the answer. If Castiel confirmed that Lisa was indeed part of Dean’s story, it would’ve been during the time that she had left the life behind and settled in the small town as a morgue tech. She wasn’t sure why she was so bothered by the idea of Dean falling in what seemed to be love with the woman—George knew she had been the one to walk away and give it all up–but it still hurt just the same. If Castiel confirmed her fears, she wouldn’t stand between Lisa and Dean, not if Dean chose her.

Castiel reached out, as if to lay a hand on George’s fidgeting ones only to pull back and rest it on the table instead. “In the books, Lisa was a love of Dean’s.”

George forced her breath to remain steady, nodding in understanding.

“That, however, isn’t what happened. As I said, you changed the story. Lisa was an old fling of Dean’s, but he helped her only as a friend when Sam found the articles of curious deaths in her neighborhood.”

George felt a weight lift from her shoulders. She felt that perhaps she was being overly dramatic and worrying over nothing, but it was an answer she had needed to hear, no matter which way it had gone.

“Thanks, Cas.” She grabbed the books from the table and returned them to the small pile on the bed, trading them out for a few new ones and a journal Castiel had brought for her to take notes in. She took a moment, with her back to the angel, to clear her head.

Castiel looked around the small room for a moment before returning his attention to George, seemingly hesitant to say something. “I should apologize.”

George looked up from flipping through the pages of her notes as she sat back at the table. “What for?” Seeing the hesitant and almost remorseful look on the angel’s face, George closed the journal and gave him her full attention.

“I wasn’t aware…” Cas trailed off as he worked to find the right words. “If I had known, I would have—”

Understanding what he was trying to say, George cut his words off with a wave of her hand. “It’s okay, Cas. Like you said. You didn’t know. And even if you had, there’s nothing to apologize for.”

Castiel held her gaze for only a few more seconds before she broke it, returning to the journal in front of her.

“How are you handling all of it?”

George shrugged one shoulder, meeting the angel’s eyes with strength and courage that she didn’t feel. “I’m back and like you said, there’s work to be done. Let’s just focus on that, okay?”

Castiel studied her for a moment. He wondered if this was the mask Dean had mentioned before. He could see the scars on George, the ones that weren’t visible to the human eye. She had endured enormous amounts of pain and misery throughout her short existence, yet she still stood against the bad and fought for what was right.

The angel nodded subtly to himself. He saw the same strength and walls in George that he had seen in Dean. They both hid their pain behind a wall of strength. Castiel briefly wondered if they endured so much pain because they were so strong, or if they were so strong because they’d endured so much pain.

Whichever the case may be, he could see why whoever was rewriting things had chosen to keep George alive. The Finley girl and the Winchester boy were well made for each other. They would need each other to survive what was coming.

*****

There were books. Supernatural books. Books that were written in detail about Dean and Sam Winchester’s lives. As if they were just fictional characters someone had dreamt up and not real live bleeding brothers who were just trying to survive and save the world. It was weird and creepy and all the other words used to describe something like that.

Dean pulled the Impala to a stop outside the address the publisher had given them. Carver Edlund was the listed author, but it turned out to be just a pseudonym for Chuck Shurley.

The brothers studied the house for a moment. The entire situation was strange, weird. They wanted to just walk away, write the whole thing off as a weird coincidence and find the next hunt. But they knew they couldn’t. This Chuck knew things about their lives. Things nobody should know let alone publish publicly. And so, they needed answers.

One main answer Dean sought, the one question that pushed him to open the door and slide out of the Impala, was George. Why wasn’t George in any of the books? When they’d asked the publisher about her, the woman had looked at him with pure confusion and asked who ‘he’ was.

The familiar pang of ache had churned in Dean’s chest at the thought of George. It was a pain that never truly went away, resurfacing less frequently, but still often enough. It had been six months–half of a year– since George’s death and Dean still hadn’t recovered from it. He didn’t think he ever would.

The brothers had shared a knowing look at the publisher's comment, each recalling Castiel’s words. George had rewritten the story. She was supposed to have died before ever meeting the brothers.

Dean and Sam walked up the long sidewalk to the house that had seen better days. The older brother reached out, his shoulders squaring, and rang the doorbell.

To hell with whoever this author was, because George was— Dean mentally corrected himself–George had been a major part of their lives. But now she was gone. And Dean wanted to find whoever this Carver Edlund or Chuck Shurley was and find out why the hell he hadn’t written down George’s story so that Dean could read the moments with her over and over again.

The door opened a few seconds later, a shorter, scruffy looking man in a bathrobe standing before them. “You Chuck Shurley?” Dean asked.

“The Chuck Shurley who wrote the Supernatural books?” Sam clarified.

The man tilted his head hesitantly. “Maybe. Why?”

***

Chuck was short with a scruffy beard and curly hair, lacking in all aspects of well-maintained hygiene it seemed. And an alcoholic apparently. The man had finished freaking out about the Winchester brothers being real and had moved on to apologizing for putting them through some of their ‘episodes’.

“Well, there’s only one explanation,” Chuck mumbled out as his eyes scanned the air in front of him. “I’m a god. A cruel, cruel capricious god.”

Dean wanted to roll his eyes. “You’re not a god.”

“I mean—” Chuck began to argue.

“No. You’re not.” Sam reiterated.

“Why isn’t George in the books?” Dean changed the subject as Chuck continued to pace the untidy living room. It looked like a college boy’s dorm room, old papers, beer cans, and dirty liquor glasses covered the few worn surfaces. The man stopped pacing at this, spinning around to face the boys.

“George? You mean George Finley? You know about her?” Chuck looked nervously between the two brothers, shock and anxiety flowing from him in waves as he continued to process everything.

Dean chuckled without humor. “Yeah. We know her.”

“Clearly you know her, but she’s not in any of your books.” Sam was confused about the situation. If Chuck knew about George, then he had written about her at least. But then why wasn’t she in any of his books?

“She…” Chuck ran a nervous hand through his hair as he poured himself another drink. “Look,” he began again. “You guys have to understand. I write what I see in my dreams—in my…nightmares,” he corrected with hesitance. Chuck threw back the glass of liquor he held in his hand in one gulp. “I have these, like, visions, and I write about them. Even after the publisher went bankrupt, they kept coming. So I kept writing.” He poured himself another large drink.

“And?” Dean demanded.

“And,” Chuck shrugged, glass in hand. “George was never in the published books.” He turned to face the brothers but paused. It was clear they weren’t exactly thrilled with him stating the obvious. Chuck scrambled to get the rest of his words out. “She was originally, but then, well, she died on a werewolf hunt. So the publisher decided it was a waste of text and to just cut her out completely. There was no point in having a side character that died within the first few paragraphs.”

Chuck held up his hands in defense at the hard looks the boys gave him at this comment. “That was completely the publisher’s opinion. I swear.”

“Did you ever write more about her?” Sam asked. “Another draft maybe? A different story line? One where she lived?”

Chuck held up his hand in defense before he chugged the liquor in his glass. “No. But…” he trailed off again, making his way nervously to his living room.

“But what?” Dean insisted with a fierce intimidation. He wanted answers and wasn’t exactly thrilled with the hesitance the author was giving them.

“She uh, well, from the few visions I had of her—outside of the werewolf hunt and her death,” he quickly added, “it seemed more like she was gonna have this whole story line with you guys, but then…” He trailed off again, making Dean’s frustration mount to the climax. Chuck scrambled for more words at the look Dean was giving him. “She wasn’t any big thing, okay?” He let out a sigh as his shoulders slumped slightly. “But from the little bit I got to glimpse her, it seemed like she was gonna be the savior of the world type thing. You know,” he finally settled down collapsing onto the couch as he looked up between the brothers, “the big final sacrifice or whatever.”

Chapter Text

Dean had shown back up at Chuck’s alone later that day, demanding answers. How could this man know so much about their lives? Sam and Dean had read what Chuck had written about their day, for that day, and no matter how they’d tried to counteract the writing, do the complete opposite, things had always ended up exactly as Chuck said they would.

Dean had ordered a tofu burger, he’d accidentally been given a bacon cheeseburger. Chuck said Baby’s back window would be busted out in an accident, Dean walked. But then a group of kids had smashed the back window anyway. Nothing they’d done had worked out except how Chuck had written it. And so Dean had wanted answers.

He was in the process of berating the author, his frustration and aggravation on the rise when Castiel had showed up suddenly, declaring that Chuck was not to be harmed as he was a Prophet of the Lord.

“This guy?” Dean looked between Castiel who was perusing one of the Supernatural books and Chuck who was now scrambling away, eager to open another bottle of liquor. “C’mon, he’s practically a Penthouse Forum writer! This guy gets to decide our fate?” He asked incredulously.

“Chuck doesn’t decide anything,” Castiel explained as he continued to flip through the book in his hand. “He’s a conduit for the inspired word of God.”

“God?” Dean couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It all seemed too outlandish and made up. He’d spent his life hunting and fighting things that weren’t supposed to exist, but having his entire life written by a man who wrote on behalf of god? That took the cake.

Chuck took an unsteady breath as he pushed himself up from the chair he sat on. The man looked like he was about to toss his cookies over everything they’d learned. “If you'd both please excuse me one minute.”

In the next minute he was running up the stairs, two bottles of liquor clutched tightly to his chest.

As soon as the man was gone, Dean turned back to Castiel. “Him? Why’d he get tapped as prophet?”

Castiels’ face remained stoic as he addressed Dean’s question. “I don’t know how prophets are chosen. The order comes from high up on the celestial chain of command.”

Dean paused at this, his face curious. “How high?”

“Very.” Castiel’s answer was simple, but spoke volumes,

Dean paced a few steps in thought before he turned back to the angel, his arm thrown out in the direction Chuck had disappeared to. “If a prophet of the lord is chosen by someone so high up in heaven, then how come he doesn’t even know about George?

Castiel shifted uncomfortably, but remained steady in his gaze.

“How come she was such a huge part of our lives, but the friggin’ prophet of the lord thinks she’s just some side character that got killed off after a few paragraphs?” Dean continued.

Castiel stepped forward slightly, his voice even but hard. “As I have said in the past, she wasn’t originally part of your story.”

“I got that–” Dean was cut off as Castiel stepped closer, his words quiet but firm.

“Heaven doesn’t know how she changed it, Dean.”

All of the gusto drained from Dean, leaving him feeling tired about it all. Losing George still ate away at him, and now all of this…it was just so much. He tried to remind himself that she was happy in heaven. It was a daily mantra, despite selfishly wishing she were still here on earth going through all the mud and muck right beside him.

Castiel watched Dean carefully, seeing the emotion and hardship cross over his features. The angel found himself wishing that he could share with Dean that she had returned, but he refrained, knowing he couldn’t. He’d been ordered not to. But the order had come from someone outside the story, someone the angel didn’t know. He had so many questions, but somehow knew to trust where the order came from and was reassured that it would all make sense in the end.

With that knowledge, he refortified his belief that keeping the news of George’s return from Dean was the best course of action for the time being. However, there was something else he could offer the man he was beginning to consider a friend.

Castiel met and held Dean’s gaze, ensuring his words would be heard and understood. “She misses you too, Dean.”

Dean’s face softened, his mouth opening to say something only to close. He nodded at the angel before turning away.

“But there is still work to be done,” Castiel continued, the softness of his voice returning to its usual firmness.

Dean shook his head at that. “If Chuck is writing our story, these so-called Winchester Gospels, and there’s nothing we can do to change them, then what’s the point in doing anything? Why even try?” He paced the floor again, his frustration returning. “I mean, our lives are already written out, our choices made for us. We’re just playing puppets for god’s amusement.”

Castiel felt sympathy for the hunter. For the first time, he felt guilt at not being able to give Dean the hope he knew he could. The feeling was foreign and uncomfortable to the angel. It was something new and unwelcomed. He fought against the rising desire to tell Dean everything, knowing it wasn’t the right time. Not yet.

A thought appeared in the angel’s mind with that resolute decision. He couldn’t offer Dean the comfort he wanted, but maybe he could offer George a small amount of comfort instead. With a new decision made, Castiel caught Dean’s attention.

“George changed the story. Don’t give up just yet.”

And with that, the angel was gone.

****

George was starting to feel like she was going nuts. She’d been staring at the same four walls for the past week and a half. Before her death, she would have been content to stay in the room by herself, her nose buried in books. It was a life she was used to, a life she sometimes preferred.

Now, however, it was almost terrifying. Sat alone in a silent motel room, in the middle of nowhere, George was left with her own thoughts. They were something dangerous to be left alone with.

Images and sounds she never thought she’d know haunted her, flashing through her mind at the slightest provocation. She avoided reflective surfaces, afraid of what she’d see staring back at her.

The only interaction with another human being George had had since she’d returned from the dead had been one time at the small market down the road–more of a gas station than market, and not really selling anything edible. The teen at the cash register had looked bored out of their mind, their focus more on the phone in their hand than on the customer before them. George couldn’t really blame them though. She’d probably been the only customer for a few hours.

Currently, she was sitting at the small table and chair she’d dragged over to the window. The curtains were pulled closed, blocking out the heat from the Arizona sun, but the window was propped open. George was hopeful a breeze of any kind would flow through and bring a cooling effect to the room she was holed up in.

Castiel appeared in the center of the room, causing George to jump slightly in response. Registering who the newcomer was, she closed her book and turned her attention to him. She was grateful for the company and distraction from her mind.

“Hey, Cas. What brings you around? Please tell me you’re here to say I’m free to go?” George worked to keep the desperation from her voice, though she could hear it bleeding through.

Castiel looked at George with his usual stoic face. “You know you need to stay hidden, George.”

George let out a huff of despondence. “But I’m supposed to be helping the boys. That’s what you said, right? That I was here, I was brought back to help keep them together? So why can’t I do that instead of sitting here in this oven?” She tried her best to keep her voice even and not sound accusing or like she was griping and complaining, but even someone stronger than George would be pushed to their limits if they were forced to hide in an oven.

“That is not an option right now.”

“Why not?” A whining frustration had entered her tone.

Castiel stepped forward, his tone turning more serious–if that was at all possible for the angel. “Because heaven doesn’t know you’re alive. As far as anyone is aware, you’re still dead, and no longer interfering with their story. It needs to stay that way. If you’re reconnected with the Winchesters, heaven will be alerted and all of this will be for nothing. They’ll hunt you down until you’re sent back.”

George let out a breath of a sigh and fell back against the chair she sat in. The entire situation was grating away at her, but she understood. Sam and Dean needed to be kept safe, even if that meant George had to slowly cook to death with her own thoughts. Too many times in her past she’d taken the selfish route, and every single time someone had paid the price for it. George was determined to never let that happen again.

“Okay,” she agreed. “I guess I’ll keep plugging away here. Any chance you can swap out some of these books for me?” She pointed at the stack of five books Castiel had brought her. Most she’d already read through before her death, but was able to glean a little bit more information from this time around. Others were just completely useless as they held none of the information they sought.

When Cas didn’t answer, George looked up at him. “Cas? Everything okay?”

The angel’s eyes squinted slightly in thought before he spoke. “The Winchesters can’t know you’re alive, not yet. But perhaps there is someone who can.” Castiel stepped forward and placed a hand on George’s shoulder. In the next second, they were standing in a yard.

George rocked on her feet slightly at the sudden motion. “Holy crap. A little warning next time maybe?” She half joked. As she looked around, a swelling emotion filled her chest. She stood in a familiar salvage yard, looking at a familiar house.

“Make sure you stay hidden. At all costs.” Castiel said.

When George looked over to agree to his terms, the angel was gone, leaving her standing alone in Bobby’s yard.

George swallowed against the lump forming in her throat as she turned back to the house, and took slow steps towards the door. She knew it had been at least six months for Bobby since she’d died. She wondered how he had handled it. Would he welcome her home? Would he be suspicious of her return?

George chuckled to herself as she stepped up to the door and lifted a tentative hand to knock. Of course Bobby Singer would be suspicious of her return. She’d be disappointed in him if he wasn’t.

The door opened a moment later to reveal Bobby. The old hunter’s face turned from one of slight annoyance, to pure disbelief before settling on a form of anger.

George was quick to raise her hands in defense, showing she meant him no harm. “It’s me, Bobby. I swear.”

In a flash, Bobby grabbed something off the fridge by the door before stepping forward through the frame. A silver knife was held in his hand, pointed at her throat, but still distant enough to not allow her to push it away. His forceful steps forward pushed George back and off the steps into the dirt yard.

“What kind of sick joke is this?”

George kept her hands raised but let a small smile lift her lips. “It’s really me, Bobby. I promise. Do all the tests, I swear, I’ll pass them all.” Emotion swelled in her eyes as she took in the beautiful sight of Bobby Singer standing in front of her. “I’m really back.”

Though hesitant and still cautious, Bobby allowed her to lead the way back into the house a few moments later, his knife still poised and ready for an attack. As soon as she stepped over the welcome mat on the small porch, she looked over her shoulder at him with a small smirk. “Passed the devil’s trap.”

Bobby’s eyebrows rose at her words. There had been a devil’s trap beneath that mat since long before he’d met George. She’d eventually learned about it, one of the few he trusted with the knowledge. The fact that George knew about it now made his heart hope that something had happened and brought her back. Dean had come back, hell, even Sam had come back from the dead. Who was to say George couldn’t too?

George took the bottle opener off the fridge, holding it without reacting to prove she wasn’t a monster. Next, she held up a finger, indicating Bobby should wait a moment, before she moved to the cupboard and pulled out two flasks. She took a drink from the one she knew contained holy water before holding it up to show Bobby there was no reaction. “Anything else?” George inquired patiently.

Bobby motioned to the other flask in her hand. “That ain’t holy water.”

George smiled. “I know. But I figured we could both use a drink.”

Bobby lowered the silver knife in his hand, his jaw slackening. “It’s really you, isn’t it?”

George only nodded with a smile.

A second later, Bobby was in front of George, wrapping her up in one of the tightest hugs he’d ever given her, George responding in kind. Bobby’s eyes squeezed shut as he held his little girl.

“I missed you, kiddo.”

George hugged him tighter, happy to be back home. “Missed you too, dad.”

After a moment longer, Bobby suddenly released George from the hug, stepping back to look at her. Worried realization marred his face.

Seeing and knowing what was running across his mind, George put his fears to rest immediately. “No deals, Bobby. No deals were made to get me back.”

Relief showed as Bobby’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but the worry didn’t fully subside. “Not that I ain’t jumpin’ the moon to have you back, darlin’, but…” He trailed off, almost afraid to ask for an answer.

George smiled at him. “Cas did it.”

Bobby frowned. “Cas? The angel?”

George nodded, moving to grab two whiskey glasses from the cupboard. The pair moved over to the table, taking their usual seats as George poured them each a drink. Bobby took a moment to take in the sight before him. His little girl was back from the dead, sitting in her spot across from him as if she’d never left in the first place. He wasn’t usually one to be so sappy and emotional, but he didn’t care right then, he was happy.

George smiled at him from over the rim of her glass before taking a sip. Bobby did the same, knocking his mind back to the present. “That angel boy must have a thing for this family. He say god had a plan for you like he did Dean?”

George shook her head, taking another sip before responding. “Uh, not so much. It seems I’m working against god. Or rather, whoever wrote the original story.”

Bobby let out a grunting chuckle, shaking his head in amusement. “It’s no wonder you and Dean get along so well.” The thought of Dean brought another question to Bobby’s mind. “Speaking of, he know you’re back yet?”

George looked down at her glass as she shook her head. “No, the boys don’t. Nobody does except you.” She looked up at him, her eyes earnest. “And they can’t know. Nobody can know I’m back.”

“Why the hell not?” Bobby’s brows furrowed at the thought of keeping this sort of thing from Dean. The man had barely been half himself since he’d lost George. He couldn’t imagine not telling the boy.

George leaned back in her chair. “Castiel said it was important for me to remain hidden. In everything he’s said to me, that’s the thing he’s said the most. Over and over. Apparently, heaven wants me to stay dead. I keep changing their story and the angels aren’t very thrilled about that.”

“What, are the angels gonna hunt you down and kill you? Really? Angels?” Bobby wasn’t so certain he wanted to believe that angels could do something so evil.

George shrugged. “Angels, demons. Apparently I’ve got a lot of enemies that don’t want me alive. Cas even went so far as to give me special warding on my ribs to keep me hidden. Hurt like a bitch, I’ll tell you that.”

“Did Cas happen to tell you why heaven hates you changing the story so much?”

George shook her head. “The boys are apparently the main character in whatever story heaven has, and their parts are evidently really important. Other than that, Castiel didn’t tell me much. The only thing I know is that I need to stay hidden. If I end up showing up with the boys, it’ll be like a beacon and it’ll put a target on their backs. I don’t want that to happen.”

Bobby nodded in understanding. “Well, I guess I’m thankful to angel boy that I’m low enough on the list to be able to have you around.”

George laughed lightly at that. “You’re definitely not low on my list. But I’m grateful that you’re low enough on heaven’s that I can come back here. I was going insane in that motel room.”

Bobby paused at this. “How long have you been back?”

“A little over a week,” George said sheepishly. She hated that she’d been back so long and not been able to let anyone know or see anyone she cared about.

Bobby grunted humorlessly. “You realize Dean is gonna kill you when he finds out you’ve been back and not let him know?”

George nodded solemnly. “I know. Trust me, I wish I could tell them. I wish more than anything that I could see Dean, but…” She trailed her words off with a small shrug.

“I get it,” Bobby offered in sympathy. He scooted his chair back and pushed himself up from the table. “I’m guessing that since you’ve been hiding in a motel somewhere, you haven’t actually eaten. How about I rustle us up some food?”

George grinned as she stood. “Only if I can help.”

“You ain’t gonna hear me protest.” Bobby smiled at her before he pointed at her empty glass. “If the boys ain’t allowed to know you’re back, we better be careful. You can’t go leavin’ a trace. Dean looks for anything he can that’ll connect to you when he’s here. They’ve been coming back regularly. If you say they can’t know, then it’d be best not to tip them off with something as small as leaving a glass or something out.”

George nodded in agreement, picking up her glass and washing it out. She quickly dried and put it back in its place in the cupboard, looking over her shoulder at Bobby as she did. “Can I rent out your safe room then?”

Bobby scoffed at the request. “Don’t be an idjit. You can stay in your room just like normal. But if they show up, then you can high tail it to the safe room. They shouldn’t have any need of it. Just no extra dishes left out or anything.”

George nodded with a grin. “Got it.”

As the two got to work on dinner prep, Bobby couldn’t keep the smile from peaking out from under his scruffy beard. It was surreal almost to have George back, working at his side to cook up a simple meal they could share together. Silently, he sent up a prayer to Castiel and whoever else was responsible, thanking them for bringing his little girl back home to him.

***

It was late the next night, Bobby and George having finished cleaning up from their supper, the two of them now relaxing in the living room. George was curled up with a book in her usual seat, Bobby was sitting at his desk, a large tome open in front of him, and the small radio in the corner played soft classic rock music quietly.

Everything was as it should be, the only thing missing being the Winchester brothers.

As if the universe agreed, the familiar sound of a rumbling engine coming up the drive reached their ears. George looked up at Bobby with wide eyes. Knowing what was coming, she scrambled from her place on the couch, grabbing her drinking glass that sat on the end table, and the book she had been reading and darted down the basement stairs to the safe room. Bobby came behind her, handing her the sweater she’d left on the back of the couch to ward against the cool South Dakota spring air.

“Stay quiet, I’ll see if I can get rid of them.” Bobby offered quietly.

George shook her head. “No, Bobby, don’t chase them away. I’ll be fine down here. Just let me know when it’s safe to come out,” she whispered as the Impala’s engine reached the edge of the yard.

Bobby nodded, and though reluctant, closed the door to the room, making sure George could still open it if necessary.

George sat down on the small wooden chair at the desk Bobby had down there and looked up at the ceiling. The sound of the engine had cut off as Bobby had headed back upstairs. Now, the faint sound of footsteps on the hard wooden floors drifted down to her. A moment later, the familiar deep timbre of two new voices drifted down.

A pang of hurt flooded through her chest. George immediately recognized the new voices, even though she’d already known who the new arrivals had been from the sound of the engine.

Dean was standing on the floor above her, talking with Sam and Bobby. Tears began to build up in her eyes. Tears of happiness at hearing their voices again, even if from a distance, mixed with tears of sadness. They were so close, yet still so far away.

Her phone let out a quiet buzz, indicating that she’d received a text. Pulling her phone out, she read the text from Bobby informing her that the boys would be crashing there for the night. George didn’t respond. Bobby would know she got the text. She didn’t want to risk setting his phone off with the boys around, no matter how small the risk.

Castiel had been adamant that Dean and Sam couldn’t know she was returned, not yet. And knowing that it would put them in any kind of danger, George promised to stay hidden. She’d be surprised if heaven hadn’t figured out that she was back yet, which meant she more than likely had a big fat red target on her back. And head. And everywhere else. If she were discovered around the boys, they’d be in more danger than they probably already were. George couldn’t do that to them.

And so, remaining silent, she made her way to the small cot pushed against one of the curved walls as best it could be and curled up on one end of it. There she laid, listening to the quiet hum of voices, soaking them up and storing them in her memories. She missed them so bad it hurt. A sniffle escaped, her hand reaching up to wipe away a tear.

While hearing their voices was a balm on her soul, it was also tearing her up inside. Wiping away another stray tear, George focused herself. Carefully, she built up the internal walls that were so familiar to her. Deciding to use the pain, she pushed herself up from the cot and made her way back to the desk. Castiel said she needed to focus on research and so she would. George would search for the answers to questions she didn’t know.

What she did know, as she opened up the tomes sitting on Bobby’s desk and got to work writing down notes, was that her work would help save the boys. That was the only motivation she needed. It was the only thing that mattered.

Save the Winchesters.

Chapter Text

The night passed silently in Bobby Singer’s house. Sam and Dean slept soundly for the first time in a while. Breakfast was quick, but filling for the brothers. Dean sat at the kitchen table, his eyes staring at George’s familiar spot on the couch while his mind was elsewhere, reliving happier memories.

“You okay, Dean?” Sam asked as he poured himself another cup of coffee.

Dean snapped his attention away from the couch, pulling away from the memories he more often found himself getting lost in. “Yeah, fine.” Dean ignored the look his brother gave him, grabbing the pot of coffee and topping off his current cup.

“What’s on your boys’ agenda for today?” Bobby asked as he made his way into the kitchen from his office.

Dean smiled exaggeratedly at the old hunter before the smile fell. “Gunning to get rid of us already, Bobby?”

Bobby shook his head. “Don’t be stupid. But don’t think you’re the only ones with things to do.”

Sam looked over at Bobby with a smile. “You got a date with a pretty lady or something?” He joked as he took a sip of his coffee.

“Maybe,” Bobby responded vaguely.

“Well aren’t you gonna tell us who the lucky lady is?” Dean teased as he leaned back in his chair.

Bobby just huffed at the boy as he took a sip of his coffee. “Maybe when I’m dead.”

Sam chuckled lightly before pushing himself up from his seat, finishing off the last drink of his coffee. “Well, we’ve got the lead on a case out in Minnesota we have to take care of. So we’ll be out of your hair soon.”

Dean cast Sam a dark look at the mention of the case. They’d discovered a voicemail on one of their dad’s old cells from a man claiming to be John Winchester’s son. Despite Dean’s protests of it being a ruse or a trap, Sam had decided they needed to check it out.

“Well, you two be careful, and keep me posted on things,” Bobby nodded as the brothers grabbed their bags.

“You know it,” Dean offered with a faint smile, slinging the strap of his duffel over his shoulder. He cast one last look over at the couch where George had always sat.

Bobby caught the look on Dean’s face, his own eyes following Dean’s to the couch. Guilt settled into his chest. George was not only alive and well, but sleeping just below their feet. And Bobby couldn’t say a damned thing to ease Dean’s sorrow.

“I’ll call you later,” Dean said, tearing his eyes away as he cleared his throat and offered his friend a faltering smile.

Bobby nodded, standing up to walk the boys out. As soon as the sound of the Impala faded into the distance, Bobby made his way down to the safe room to check on George.

He knocked on the steel door before pulling it open, careful not to spill the fresh cup of coffee in his hand. He stepped over the threshold and took in the sight of George sat at his desk.

“Mornin’,” he offered, slightly lifting the cup in his hand. “Figured you could use a little wake up juice.”

George smiled in thanks, taking the cup Bobby offered. Tentatively, she took a sip of the hot liquid. “Thanks, I needed this.”

Bobby looked at the pile of books and notes that were now scattered across his desk. It was clear that George had been busy. He turned his gaze to her and took in her appearance. She didn’t just look tired, it was something more than that. He hadn’t heard anything the night before, and the boys hadn’t mentioned anything to him about hearing screams or cries coming from the basement, but if Bobby had to guess, he’d wonder if George was suffering from nightmares again. “You sleep okay?” He inquired.

Taking another quick sip of the coffee, George nodded. “Yeah, a little.” She rubbed at her eyes for a second. “Just trying to get my brain to take a rest isn’t as easy as it looks,” she chuckled out lightly. George resisted the urge to avoid Bobby’s gaze. She knew he could see through her, but she was hopeful that he wasn’t seeing everything. Truthfully, she hadn’t slept more than a few minutes at a time, and when she did, she was haunted with images she had hoped she’d never remember. She should’ve known better.

Leading Bobby away from asking anymore questions, she asked one herself. “Got anything that might be a good distraction?”

He eyed her a moment before answering. “Maybe. I got a call this morning from another hunter asking if anyone was near him. Said he could use a hand figuring out what he’s going after. I know it’s been a while, and it’ll be a bit of a change from taking it easy up in heaven, but…interested?” Bobby offered.

George hesitated in her answer. While the prospect of going on a hunt was tempting, she wasn’t sure it would fly well with the angel. “You sure it’s such a great idea for me to get out there? Castiel was adamant about me staying hidden. And what about the other hunter? I wouldn’t wanna risk our paths–or even his–crossing with the boys and word getting out.”

Bobby mulled over her argument for a few moments before he answered. “Well, the boys don’t know Garth, and I doubt any word would get back to them. With your rib tattoos keeping you invisible to angels and demons, I’d say you’d be pretty safe. Just stay low and out of trouble.”

George considered his rebuttal before nodding in agreement. “Okay. I’m in.” A smile lifted her lips at the thought of going on a hunt. It had been so long, and she could use the distraction. She knew Castiel might have a problem with it, but with Bobby’s reassurances, she felt better about it. Besides that, she just needed a hunt. More than she would admit.

“He’s over in North Carolina. I know it’s a hell of a drive—” Bobby began, but George cut him off with a reassuring wave.

“No, it’ll be good to get back on the road. Maybe it’ll help clear my head enough so I can focus better on all this.” George motioned to the books and notes scattered on the desk. “And it’ll be farther from the boys.” The thought made her heart ache once again. Forcing a smile to her face she headed for the door. “I'll pack a go-bag if you write the address and number for Garth down. I can give him a call on the way.”

Bobby nodded his head, but studied her as she smiled and headed up the stairs. She had an energized pep in her step with the idea of going on a hunt, but there was something more. It was almost as if she had been trapped and was grasping at an escape. Not from him, he knew, but from something else.

Bobby shook his thoughts free as he made his way up to his office to write the information down for her. Maybe it was just her having been changed from heaven somehow. Maybe it was just her missing what her life had been upstairs. That particular thought made Bobby almost sad. George deserved to be happy and now she had been yanked back here to help them deal with their problems.

George came back down the stairs to the den, her familiar duffel bag slung over her shoulder. “I was thinking,” she grinned out at him as she walked into the office. “Using the name George might get more attention than intended. What if I used an alias?”

Bobby thought about it as he handed her the slip of paper with the information. “What name would you use?”

George’s grin widened. “I figured I could use the name Bobby.”

Bobby gave her an ill-humored look, which only made her laugh out loud.

“What?” She defended. “It’ll be confusing as hell and just as funny.”

“How about you stick with George, and I’ll let Garth know to keep his mouth shut.”

George’s smile didn’t dim as she tucked the paper into her canvas coat pocket. Feeling the familiar fabric stretched across her shoulders made her feel human again, so to speak. “You mean you’ll threaten him.”

“Same thing,” Bobby replied with a look.

George paused in her movements as she looked at Bobby, her smile falling away slightly into something more resembling concern. “You sure this is such a good idea? I mean, Castiel aside, I just got back to you.”

Bobby stepped around his desk and stood in front of George. “I love you, kiddo. And I can’t even begin to describe how happy I am to have you back. But I think we both know that you need this.” He raised his voice slightly as he looked up at the ceiling. “And if Castiel has a problem with it, he can get his fluttery ass down here and stop it himself.” Bobby looked back down at George with a soft look. “You go do you, George, and kick some monster ass.”

George leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Bobby’s chest, hugging him tightly. “Thanks,” she whispered.

Bobby kissed the top of her head. “You just make sure you come home in one piece.”

George pulled back and adjusted the duffel in her arm with a smile. “I’ll do my best.”

*****

The drive to South Carolina was long, but beautiful. George had regrettably left her Chevelle behind at Bobby’s—the man assuring her that Dean would undoubtedly mark it as missing the moment he pulled onto the property—and had taken an old beat up Charger instead.

The trip was estimated to take a little over twenty hours of driving to get from Bobby’s place down to South Carolina where Garth was anxiously awaiting her arrival. She’d fielded several calls with updates from the young hunter, the man clearly eager to get going on this hunt. Apparently whatever the monster was had already claimed the lives of three men at a small local banana farm. George wasn’t well versed in the knowledge of banana farms in North America, but Garth had readily filled her in. While Florida and Hawaii were major growers, several smaller private farms dotted the south.

George met up with Garth at a small diner seventeen hours later. She smiled to herself as she glanced at the clock on the dash before sliding out of the car. Dean would be proud of her.

She made her way into the small diner in a less dense part of the city and glanced around. It wasn’t hard to spot the hunter named Garth. The man was tall and gangly looking. He was dressed like an actual hunter, wearing camouflage shirts and pants and an orange cap. Except the clothes seemed to be a bit too big on him, hanging loosely from his thin frame. As soon as he spotted her, he raised a hand in the air to get her attention. George stopped by the counter on her way over to order a cup of black coffee.

Stepping up to the booth, she slid into the seat across from the hunter and offered a friendly smile. “Gary, I presume?” She knew his real name was Garth, but a lifetime of hunting with Al had taught her to be wary, and to never offer up the name of the person you were meeting. It would be too easy for an imposter to take the name and run with it.

“Garth, actually,” the man tilted his head as a small smile of amusement lifted his lips. “But you already knew that, didn’t you, George?”

George smiled at the man. There was no doubt they would get along just fine. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“You too. I gotta say though, when Bobby said a hunter named George would meet me, I wasn’t expecting a woman. I mean, I know we talked on the phone, but seeing you in person it’s still a bit of a wowza.”

George leaned back as the waitress placed her coffee in front of her with a smile.

Garth continued after the waitress left, leaning forward slightly in anticipation of her answer. “Can I ask? What were you going after when you ditched that motel in Illinois? I saw the walls of that room and I gotta say, it was kinda seriously dark.”

George took a breath as she thought back over those times. It felt like ages ago since she’d been in that motel room, searching for a way to summon a prince of hell. “I think it’s best if you let that question go, Garth,” George offered with an even look. There had been a lot of things George had discovered in her search for the princes of hell, and she wasn’t about to give that knowledge to a complete stranger. Hell, she wasn’t even sure she’d give that knowledge to Bobby if he asked. Some things were better left alone.

“What more can you tell me about this thing? Anything new since we last talked?” George took a sip of her coffee, making a slight grimace at the weakness of the drink. She’d survived many years on the intense strength of Al Finley’s coffee, and then on Bobby’s. This stuff was almost like drinking weakly flavored water.

“No new deaths, but I’ve heard some more comments from the workers about seeing a ghost.”

George thought about what Garth had explained so far for the case. Three men had died at the local banana farm, their stomachs having been ripped open and their guts spilt out. Several of the workers reported seeing the ghost of a beautiful woman wearing a white dress.

Her eyes darted back and forth at the nothingness before her as she flipped through her mental journal of monster research. Finally, after Garth patiently waited a few minutes, she shook her head clear. “I’m not sure what exactly it is. The facts we know fit too many possibilities. I’m guessing it’s a ghost, but you said there haven’t been any violent deaths in the area?”

Garth shook his head as he sipped at his own coffee. “I went back as far as the records would let me. There wasn’t anything linked to the farm or the immediate area around it.” He took another sip of his coffee. “So we’ve got a ghost that isn’t a ghost. Now you can see why I called Bobby.”

George smiled. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out. Are you okay if we take a trip out to the farm? I know you’ve been out there already, but it might be helpful for me to look around.”

Garth nodded his agreement, pulling some cash out and tossing it on the table. “We can head out right now. I was thinking of swinging by again anyway to see if anybody had anything new.”

The two slid from the booth and made their way towards the parking lot.

“Can I ask who they know you as?” George asked as she thanked Garth with a nod for holding the door open for her. The guy turned out to be taller than he looked–standing almost as tall as Dean would— and was a sweet gentleman.

“FBI seemed most appropriate for gaining access without question. I considered Health Inspector, but it seemed a bit underwhelming considering the deaths.” Garth paused in the middle of the lot. “Are we carpooling or do you prefer to go separate?” He motioned to his own car–an El Camino. George couldn’t help but smile in amusement at his choice of vehicle. Somehow it fit him.

“We can carpool, just let me grab a badge from my car.”

Garth waited for her to collect the things she would need before they headed in the direction of the farm. It was a quiet ride, Garth’s choice of music playing quietly on the radio. It wasn’t Dean’s classic rock, but it was pleasant nonetheless. Less than twenty minutes later they arrived at their destination.

George allowed Garth to lead the way. It was his hunt after all, she was only there to help. Though George doubted that Garth was the kind of man to have a problem, it was always good to never step on another hunter’s toes—or hunt as the case may be.

Garth introduced the two of them to the manager, each of them flashing their badges before tucking them away in their pockets. Neither really looked the part of an FBI agent, Garth being in his camo outfit and George in a t-shirt and jeans with her canvas jacket, but that didn’t seem to phase the manager much. The man was clearly willing to accept any help in figuring out who was killing his workers.

George let Garth take the lead in refreshing some questions and information while she stood at the office window. The position of the manager’s office gave her a higher up view of the small farm, allowing her to observe the workers below. Field work still wasn’t really her expert area. She chose to let another hunter ask the questions while she observed and calculated. It was what she did best.

Beyond that, Garth already had a repertoire with the workers and manager, having questioned them all already.

“When again did the attacks happen?” Garth asked, his pen tapping against the notepad in his hand. Seeing the uncertainty of answering the same questions over again in the manager’s eyes, Garth gave the man a friendly smile as he pointed at George with his pen. “If you could just go over things one more time for my partner. She likes to have information right from the source. It helps so we don’t miss anything.”

The manager nodded, reiterating what had happened. “The deaths occurred on three separate mornings. Each time, the morning shift workers came in and found the bodies.”

George paused at this, looking over at the man. “You said the morning shift came in and found the bodies. So they were killed overnight?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Is it normal for people to work at night here?” Garth inquired.

The manager nodded. “We offer a skeleton crew night shift for those who work second jobs during the day. It’s also easier to beat the heat working at night.”

“Was it possible that they were working with some sort of machinery and were injured?”

The manager shook his head. “No, the most machine like thing they use at night is rolling scaffolding that allows them to reach the bananas.”

“And they didn’t fall from the scaffolding? Maybe fall onto something?” George didn’t want to assume the workers were careless or their deaths were their own fault, but she had to know exactly what had happened.

“No. They were found on flat ground with nothing else around. And…” The manager seemed to shudder at the memory. “It was like their stomachs had been ripped open from the inside out. The coroner said parts of their organs were missing.”

George’s brows furrowed at this information. It wasn’t something Garth had mentioned, and based on the look on the hunter’s face, it was news to him as well.

After a little more exchanged information, the two hunters thanked the manager and headed back towards the car.

“So what are we thinking? Vengeful ghost fits pretty well,” Garth offered as they climbed into his car. “Except the whole no violent death thing.”

George shook her head. “That and the fact that whatever it is is apparently eating the victim’s insides. I take it that’s news to you?”

Garth nodded with a grimace. “I hadn’t gotten the corner’s report yet, but man. That’s just gross.”

George chuckled at the comment. “How long have you been hunting?”

They pulled out onto the main road, heading back to the diner to retrieve George’s car. Garth shrugged. “A while now. I was in school to be a dentist, but switched to hunting when I found my first case. Ironically, it was a tooth fairy case.” Garth smiled over at George with his brief story. “But mostly I’ve just dealt with regular ghosts, werewolves, a few vampires. Nothing extreme. Nothing as gruesome as whatever this is.”

“Well, it could still be a ghost. There’s a lot of different types just here in the U.S. Go outside the country and you’ll find hundreds of different kinds of ghosts in cultural lore.”

“So what’s the next step?” Garth asked.

George considered the different aspects of the case. “I think we should head back to the farm tonight, see if we can learn anything more about this monster, maybe ask the night shift employees what they know. Then tomorrow morning, I say we pay the coroner a visit and see what they have to say.”

“Any ideas yet on what it might be?”

George shook her head. “I’m still thinking ghost, but I’m not sure. You said the workers keep seeing a beautiful woman?”

“Yeah. They said she had long dark hair and wore a white dress.”

“Sounds like a ‘Woman in White’, but that’s usually a roadside hitchhiking gig.” George sighed out as she considered everything. “I need a place to spread out. You staying close by?”

Garth lit up with a smile. “Yeah, I’ve got this room at a nice bed and breakfast closer to town. I could hook you up with a room. The lady that runs the place has a thing for hunters.”

George laughed softly. “I take it that’s the reason for the camo outfit?”

Garth shrugged with his elbows as he held the steering wheel. “You’d be amazed what and where a good hunting outfit can get you in the south.”

Chapter Text

The El Camino pulled alongside the edge of the farm, the lights knocking out with the sound of the engine. George and Garth took a moment to observe the farm in the dark. Large spot lights lit the trees from tall poles, allowing the workers to continue working through the night.

George glanced down at the small notepad Garth had been jotting all his notes down in, a flashlight illuminating the tiny scrawled writing. What little information she could recall or search up hadn’t given them any more of a lead than they already had. Hours later, they’d decided to head to the farm and see if that could help solve their questions.

She flipped to the next page, scanning the words she’d already heard from his mouth. As she was about to flip to the next page, a small note at the bottom caught her attention. She looked up at Garth.

“This note here, what does it say?” She handed the notepad over to Garth to see.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Uh, some of the women told me they’d heard a baby crying. I just figured it was a mom trying to get a cranky baby to sleep. Some of the women bring their infants with them on the night shift.”

“Did any of the women have their babies with them the nights of the murders?”

He looked up at George’s face as his mind seemed to make the connection. “No. They didn’t. You think it’s related to the deaths?”

George closed her eyes as her mind worked through her research again, adding in the possibility of a crying baby. “I’m not sure,” she mumbled out. “All male victims, all at night, stomachs ripped out, eaten insides,” she continued to list off the checklist for their hunt. “Baby crying… banana farm. Shit.” George’s eyes flew open, wide in realization. “I know what it is.” She began looking around Garth’s car, twisting in her seat as her eyes scanned everything. “You wouldn’t happen to have an iron nail around would you?”

Garth gave George a strange and confused look. “Uh, no, I don’t think so. Why? What is it?”

George opened the door and stepped out of the car as she answered Garth. “If we’re right about everything, It’s a pontianak.”

“Wait, a what?” Garth scrambled out after her, his long legs easily catching up to her as they headed towards the farm.

“A pontianak. A woman’s revenge ghost. They originate from the Asian islands, usually Malaysia or there abouts, but it’s been found other places too. Some origin stories call it a kuntilanak, but they’re pretty much the same thing.”

“Okay, so how do we kill it?”

George paused in her steps and looked at Garth in suspicion for a moment.

“What?” The hunter asked her when he noticed she’d stopped walking.

“Just like that? I say it’s one thing from another country and you’re good with it?”

Garth shrugged. “Bobby said you knew your monsters. I don’t know anything about whatever this pontianak is, so I’m good with following you.”

George blinked at the man. It was odd to find such a trusting hunter, especially one that didn’t know anything about her beyond what Bobby had told him—which hadn’t been much, George knew.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. So, we going in or staying out?” Garth asked as he pointed his thumb over his shoulder at the farm.

With the question, George nodded and resumed the trek towards the banana trees.

“Can I ask, if there’s no violent death or suicide, how’s there a woman revenge ghost?”

“We were looking for deaths connected to the property. But a pontianak isn’t born from a death on the property. She’s usually a woman who died in childbirth. She could’ve died at the local hospital.”

“So why a banana farm?”

George shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not entirely certain. But these things are more like vampiric ghosts known for living in the trees during the day, only to come out at night. They take on the form of a beautiful woman to lure their victims in. Then they turn into something that looks like a nightmare and use their long nails to rip the victims open and devour their insides.”

“Vampiric ghost? That’s a thing?”

“Unfortunately,” George nodded.

“Wait, if this thing is from Asia, what’s it doing here?”

The pair slipped through the large chain link gate that separated the tree farm from the parking lot. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed lately, but the world has gone a little screwy. Monsters are traversing continents now.”

Garth gave her a concerned look that held a hint of impressiveness. “How do you know all this stuff?”

“It’s what I was raised to do,” was her simple reply.

Garth paused in his steps and looked at George with wide eyes. “Woah, I just realized you’re George Finley.”

George stopped and looked over at the man, waiting for him to continue with whatever he was going to say next.

“Wait,” his face contorted into something more comical with his next words. “I thought you were dead?”

George chuckled as she turned and continued on the path towards the trees. “So did I.”

Garth caught up to her quickly, keeping his eyes peeled as they approached the area of the recent deaths. His voice was lower as he asked his next question. “So what’s with the nail?”

George paused beside the edge of the row of banana trees. “You’ve gotta stab it in the neck of the monster. By doing that, you’ll turn it into a woman and then you can decapitate her with an iron machete, killing the monster.”

“So in order to kill the ghost, you’ve gotta get up close and personal?”

“Yup.”

“And in order to kill the monster, you’ve gotta chop off a poor woman’s head?”

George shook her head. “Not really a woman though, is she? She’s just the ghost taking on a mortal form, making it possible to kill her.”

“Great,” Garth commented, looking around. “So we need to find an iron nail, an iron machete, and then try not to get our faces ripped off in the process of taking it down.”

George smiled sarcastically wide at the man. “See, now you’ve got it.”

“I can head back to the car and grab a machete, but where are we gonna get a nail?”

George motioned to the farm’s tool and supply buildings. “I’m hoping somewhere in there. I’ll work on finding that nail and see if I can get the workers out of here. You go get that machete. Hopefully we can take care of this thing tonight.”

Garth nodded in agreement of the plan and darted back the way they’d come. George found the man interesting. He was trusting but smart enough to know when he was being duped. He had to be a decent hunter to still be alive, though George wouldn’t be surprised if he’d had a few close calls. Besides all that though, she found it intriguing that he’d been so ready to split up and let her search out the ghost on her own. She knew for a fact that Dean, though he would’ve trusted her to hold her own, still would’ve fought against her taking on a pontianak on her own.

George wasted no time in making her way towards the supply sheds. Any worker that she passed on the way there, she made sure to flash her badge and tell them to get out of the farm area and at least to the parking lot. The first few she made sure to ask what areas the other night employees were working. No doubt, being farther into the banana trees, they were more likely to become targets.

Reaching the shed, she quickly searched the supplies before she finally came upon an organizer full of nails and screws. It wasn’t long after that that she located a long iron nail. Grabbing a few for good measure, she made her way out to the farm and down the row of trees the night workers had indicated the others were working.

With a nail gripped tightly in her hand, she kept her eyes scanning the trees, her ears alert. A few moments later, the sound of employees chatting as they worked filled the air. A moment later, however, the sound died out when a baby’s cry was suddenly heard. It was quiet and soft.

Enough research told George the crying meant the ghost was close by and on the hunt for her next victim. She quickened her pace, running to the area where the workers had paused, looking around in terror.

George held up her badge. “FBI. I need you all to quickly exit the farm. Stay together, don’t stop for anything. Let’s go!” With a few waves of her arm, George rushed the small group of men and women towards the exit. She caught the arm of the last man leaving. “Are there any others out here?”

“Felix and Kevin went ahead to prepare for harvesting the next row,” the man explained with wide eyes.

“Okay, I’ll get them. You go. Quickly and quietly. If anything shows up, you scream for me okay?” She caught him again before he could take more than a step away. “And hey, if you see another agent in hunting clothes, tell him where Felix and Kevin are, okay?”

The man nodded frantically before setting off after the other employees.

George quietly but quickly made her way to the next row of trees, where the man had indicated. A little ways ahead, she spotted two men joking around together as they worked on moving a set of rolling scaffolding into place.

“Hey!” George called out to them, snapping both men’s attention to her.

George opened her mouth to tell them to head out when the sound of a baby’s cry filled the air, a sudden rotting stench accompanying it. Suddenly, a woman in a white flowing gown appeared behind the men. Her dark hair floated gently, as if floating elegantly in water. She was beautiful, but George knew she wouldn’t stay that way.

With practiced aim, George threw one of the iron nails at the ghost’s form. The image didn’t completely dissipate with the contact, instead the spot where the nail had hit created the appearance of an injury.

A pontianak wasn’t like normal ghosts. Oh, how George wished it was. She yelled at the men to run, watching as the woman’s focus turned on the one on the right.

George’s feet picked up speed, her form stepping in front of the man just as the image of the beautiful woman turned into something much more terrifying. Her entrancing eyes turned wild and red, her face baring sharp teeth with a snarl. Her flawless skin turned into something more likely found in a horror film, while the elegant nails on her hands turned into something much more deadly.

The woman reached for the man, her hand aimed at his stomach, but George’s body got in the way. The feeling of knives stabbing into the side of her abdomen caused George to gasp out, her eyes darting down.

Before her sharp nails could dig any farther into George’s flesh, her form disappeared as Garth swung his iron machete through her floating form.

George let out another gasping breath at the sudden disappearance of the nails in her stomach. “Son of a bitch,” she growled out, pressing a hand against her side as her body tried to curl up against the pain. She looked up at Garth who scrambled to her side.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked, concern lacing his voice as he looked over her wound.

George nodded in reassurance, pulling her jacket closed so Garth couldn’t see the injury. “Yeah, I’m fine. What about the other two?” Her eyes scanned the empty area.

“Oh, they’re probably in Mexico by now,” he jested, though his eyes still held a concern at her injury. “What now? Think she’s gonna come back?”

George nodded, putting more pressure against her wound. “Oh, I’m counting on the bitch coming back.” Her smile was slightly manic as she scanned the area. She was going to have a hell of a time explaining this to Bobby. Castiel would probably have a few choice words for her as well.

Garth wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her over to the cover of a nearby tree, though they both knew there wasn’t really any hiding from a ghost that was out for blood.

“How are we supposed to get the nail in without getting ourselves killed?”

George handed two of the iron nails she had over to Garth. “First one with an open shot wins.” It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all they really had.

“You sure she's gonna come back?”

George’s eyes caught on the image of a beautiful woman just to the right of them. “Positive.”

Garth followed George’s gaze, his eyes widening at the sight of the ghost. In the next instant, the woman appeared back in front of George, her hand reaching out towards the fresh wound already inflicted.

The entire situation became a race. George lifted the iron nail in her hand towards the woman’s neck the same instant the woman reached out for George. Together, they dug their respective nails into the flesh of the other.

George let out a grunt of pain as the nails dug into her stomach for a second before disappearing, her own nail remaining lodged in the neck of the ghost.

The woman’s terrifying features reverted back to the beautiful woman, her demeanor calming as she stood waiting patiently.

Garth and George exchanged only a brief glance before Garth lifted his iron machete and swung.

Garth gave the headless corpse a pumped cheer. “You’ve been Garthed!” He looked over at George with a proud grin.

George breathed a sigh of relief, her hand putting pressure against her side in an inconspicuous way, so as to not alert her hunter friend.

*

With the body of the vampiric ghost taken care of, the two hunters headed back to the El Camino. George climbed into the front seat and took a moment to inspect her injury while Garth informed the terrified workers gathered that it had been an animal attacking people but they could be rest assured that the agents had taken the animal out. They no longer had to worry.

Garth climbed behind the wheel of his car and looked over at George who had pulled her jacket back over the wound. “You’re gonna need stitches, aren’t you?”

George didn’t look over at him, instead keeping her focus straight ahead. “Yeah,” she breathed out softly against the pain. “Sorry if I bleed on your seats.”

Garth shrugged as he started the engine. “That’s something we can worry about later. For now…” he trailed off as he pulled out his phone. “I’m gonna call Bobby. See if he knows anyone nearby that might be able to stitch you up.”

George held out a hand, resting it on Garth’s that held the phone. “I know a place. It’s only a few hours from here. Just don’t tell Bobby. It wouldn’t go over too well with him right now.”

Chapter Text

The drive took little more than a few hours. Despite Garth’s insistent protests, George had driven herself. It was reckless, and perhaps a little dangerous with her having to drive with one hand on the wheel and the other pressed against her wound, but she had insisted.

George knew Garth couldn’t hang around for too long and she would need to get her car back. And so, George had led the way, Garth following closely behind, regularly calling to check on her.

It was mid-day on a weekday, so George headed to where she knew Dr. Perkins would most likely be: the morgue. With a less than necessary, but welcome helping hand from Garth, the pair made their way through the front doors and down to the morgue. That was where they found Dr. Perkins, sitting at the desk looking over a folder.

The man looked up at the sound of the doors swinging open. The moment his eyes landed on George’s blood covered torso, he scrambled to his feet and over to help her. “What in heaven's name happened to you?”

George let out a grimace of a smile. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. But I could use a little fixing up if you’re up for it, Doc.”

“Of course, of course,” Perkins nodded as he motioned to the long metal table.

Garth helped her slip up onto the table and remove her canvas jacket while the doctor grabbed a pair of gloves and slipped them on.

“It’s not as bad as it seems,” George offered as the doctor moved over to stand at her side.

He looked at her over the rim of his glasses with a serious look. “How about you let me be the judge of that, hmm? Now, lay down so I can get a better look.”

With Garth’s attentive help, she laid down against the cold metal slab. It felt slightly awkward to be laying down on an autopsy table, but she supposed she’d laid in worse places.

With trained hands and a gentle touch, Dr. Perkins gingerly lifted her shirt up away to reveal her wound. Ten different puncture wounds created an almost circle in the right side of George’s stomach. She lifted her head slightly to get a better look at them. Five fingers, plunged twice into her stomach. With a scolding look from the doc, she laid her head back down on the table. She guessed it could be worse, considering what the ghost did to her other victims.

George looked over at Garth. “See, not that bad.”

Dr. Perkins shook his head as he moved over to the cabinet to grab some supplies. “I’d hate to see what you consider bad,” he spoke as he set supplies out on a rolling tray.

George looked at Garth who seemed more worried than the situation called for. “I’m okay, Garth. Promise. Just a few stitches and I’ll be good.” She lowered her voice so the doctor wouldn’t hear. “It might’ve been a lot worse if you hadn’t been there. Thank you.”

Garth glanced at the doctor before leaning forward slightly towards George. “I take it he doesn’t know what we do?”

George shook her head, her lips offering a soft smile as she looked over at Dr. Perkins. “No, but he’s a good friend. You can trust him.”

Dr. Perkins rolled his tray of supplies over, setting to work on cleaning and repairing her wounds. “So,” he hummed out as he began working on threading the suture needle. “I know George, but I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of your company before.” He glanced at Garth from over his glasses.

“Oh, uh, I’m Garth. George’s cousin. Pleased to meet you,” the man spilled out with a quick glance at George.

Dr. Perkins paused in his movements, his face lighting up slightly with something George didn’t recognize. “Oh? Cousin?” He looked down at George. “I wasn’t aware you had family other than your dad.”

George tried not to wince as the doctor carefully sunk the needle of numbing medication into her skin around the wound. “He’s a distant cousin,” she offered up.

Dr. Perkins sent her a look but didn’t say anything further on the subject. As he fed the suture needle through the tender but mostly numbed flesh, he spoke again. “I apologize for any pain. I’m not used to working on people who still have feeling left,” he joked,

George smiled but shook her head. “It’s fine. Actually,” she looked up at the doctor, “I’ve gotta admit, you’ve got the softest touch I’ve ever experienced with getting stitched up.” She almost chuckled at her words. The most experience she had with other people patching her up was Dean and Sam and they weren’t exactly known for their soft touch. Regardless, it was still slightly surprising at how light the doctor’s touch was–as if she wasn’t getting stitched at all.

Dr. Perkins looked at her with furrowed brows. “I suppose it’s safe to assume this type of thing has happened often in your life?”

Garth spoke up quickly, offering an excuse. “Well, uh,” he chuckled awkwardly, “being a klutz is a family trait. Happens to all of us.”

Dr. Perkins looked at Garth like he could see through the lie. “In all the time I’ve known George, I’ve never seen her be a klutz. In fact, she’s one of the most well put together people I’ve ever met.”

A condemning silence hung in the air for a moment, neither George nor Garth sure how to save the lie Garth had spoken. Strangely, it was Dr. Perkins who broke the tension, chuckling to himself with a sly smile as he continued to work on stitching up George’s wound. “I suppose it can happen to the best of us.”

George and Garth exchange looks of uncertainty, but neither were willing to look a gift horse in the mouth.

After a short time, Dr. Perkins applied the last of the tape to hold on the bandage. “There we are. You should take it easy for a few days at least. It wouldn’t do any good to tear out those stitches.”

George nodded as she pulled her bloodied shirt back down. With Garth’s help she carefully sat back up on the table. Grabbing her coat, she carefully fed her arms through the sleeves and pulled it on. “Thanks, Doc. I owe you.”

The doctor tossed his removed gloves onto the tray of used supplies and adjusted his glasses that had begun to slide down his nose. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m happy to help.” He picked up a notepad and scribbled something out before handing it over to Garth. “Would you be so kind as to pick these up at the corner pharmacy? Just let Sue know it’s for me and she’ll take care of you.”

Garth sent a hesitant look at George before nodding to the doctor. “Of course. I’ll be quick. You gonna be okay, cuz?” He looked over at George who nodded with a smile at the nickname.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

Garth sent one last glance at the doctor before nodding again and heading out the swinging doors.

With Garth gone, Dr. Perkins set to work on cleaning up the supplies. George pressed her hands against the table in an effort to slide off. “Here, let me help you with that,” she offered.

Perkins held a hand against her shoulder, giving her a studious look. “You stay right where you are, young lady. You’ve just been through a bit of an ordeal. Take a moment to rest.”

Though it rubbed against her the wrong way to just sit there while her friend did all the work of cleaning up from her own mess, George obeyed.

Dr. Perkins gathered the wrappers from the sutures and bandages and crumpled them up as he walked over to the garbage bin. “You know, having worked here as long as I have, and having lived as long as I have, there are some things a person gets good at.” He tossed the items in the bin and turned around to face George. “Reading people, for instance.”

George couldn’t help but let her hands fidget under the doctor’s knowing look. She’d known and worked with him for almost a year before she’d left. The two had grown close, having spent almost every day together at work, as well as dining together at least once a week. The man had become like a grandfather figure to her, taking her under her wing and unknowingly helping her figure out who she was.

Though, as George sat there on that cold table, his kind and knowing eyes studying her, she wondered if all his help had truly been ‘unknowing’. There was something about him that was different from everyone else she’d ever met in her life of travel. He was kind and accepting, but there was something else. George sometimes felt as if he knew more than he let on. Right then was one of those times.

Dr. Perkins stepped up to George, drawing her attention to him. His brows were furrowed slightly as he studied her face. For a moment, George felt as if he might be studying her very soul. The thought that he could see how dark and scarred she truly was inside made her almost close in on herself, her shoulders hunching slightly as if she were trying to hide.

Perkins patted her gently on her fidgeting hands. “There is something you try to hide, George.” His voice was soft, caring. “Something dark that you’re ashamed of. But you shouldn’t be ashamed of who you are, dear.” He gently tapped twice against her chin to encourage her to look up at him with more pride. His eyes studied her for a moment before a soft smile lifted his lips. “Yes, there’s nothing for you to be ashamed of.”

He cleared his throat, his brows furrowing slightly more as he peered over his glasses once more at her. “I worry about you, my dear. I know there are secrets that you keep,” he held his hands up before she could protest, “and you are entitled to those secrets. But…” he patted her hands once more. “If you ever need someone to talk to or just need to get something off your chest, or even just sit in silence with, well… I’ve been around a lot longer than you think and have seen quite a bit in that time. I’m here if you need me.”

George smiled softly at her friend. “Thanks, doc. But…” she trailed off, unsure of what to say. “I think this one is a burden meant only for me.”

The older man seemed to study her once more, his eyes again seeming to look directly at her soul. George tucked her hands beneath her thighs, an attempt to keep from fidgeting.

“No one in this world is meant to carry a burden alone, George.”

George let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “I wish that were true, doc.”

Perkins wrapped a gentle hand around her arm with compassion and sincerity. “Despite what others might say, or what you might believe, you’re not alone, George. There are more on your side than you realize.”

George tilted her head slightly in confusion at the Doctor’s words. Before she could formulate a question in return however, the door to the room swung open, Garth walking in with a bag.

“I got the items from your list.” Garth’s words slowly trailed off, matching his slowing footsteps as he looked between the two friends.

“Thank you, son,” Dr. Perkins said, his voice returning to normal, as he held out a hand for the bag.

Once Garth handed it over, he scanned the contents before nodding in approval. “Good, good. Sue knew what to do.” He pulled out a small orange pill bottle and handed it to George. “Here. Make sure you take these, one every hour for the next six hours. It’ll get you back up and on your feet just fine.”

George looked at the unmarked bottle in her hand with a raised eyebrow. “These some miracle pills or something?” She laughed out.

Dr. Perkins gave her a scolding, tight-lipped look over his glasses. “They’re pain pills, George. I’m a doctor not a guardian angel.”

George couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped her lips at the comment. If only the man knew what angels were really like.

Next, he handed her another pill bottle, but this one held only four pills. “Take two of these now and another two in four hours.” He sent her a wink as she looked at the pills through the orange plastic. “Those are miracle pills.”

George laughed lightly at his remark. As a reflex, she lightly grasped at her side where the bandage was, expecting to feel the stitches pull at her quick movements of laughter. To her surprise, however, no twinges of pain or pulling against her skin came. She looked down at her side for a moment but was pulled away when Garth spoke up.

“Hey, uh, any chance you could point me in the direction of a motel?”

George turned slightly to look at Garth. “No motel necessary. I’ve got an apartment here in town.” She hadn’t had a chance to cancel her lease before dying, and she knew she had a couple months left before it ran out. The monthly payments had been automatically deducted from a fraudulent credit card so she didn’t worry about that being a problem. It had actually all worked out well in her favor for this moment.

Garth looked at George in surprise. “You’ve got an apartment?”

Dr. Perkins looked up from where he was cleaning the tray he’d used. “Of course she does. But you already knew that being her cousin and all.” His tone was nonchalant and again too knowing.

George and Garth exchanged a look, but Dr. Perkins continued away. “That doesn’t matter anyways. You’ll be staying at my house. I’ve seen your apartment, George. There’s only one bedroom and it’s terribly unwelcoming. No, you need a place to rest. You’ll do that at my house.”

“Uh, well,” Garth began, looking at George.

“We wouldn’t want to—” George talked over Garth, only for both of them to be silenced with a wave of the good doctor’s hand.

“You’ll be staying with me where you’ll be comfortable. No more arguments.”

Garth and George exchanged a look, Garth’s more concern, George’s more amusement. “Yes, Doctor,” she answered.

“Now come on, help me get your cousin off the table and back to my house.” The doctor waved at Garth who darted forward quickly at the command.

With George standing easily on her feet a moment later, Dr. Perkins produced a key. “You know where my house is, George. You’ll find the guest rooms already made up and clean. Why don’t you two get some rest. I’ll be home once I’m through here. And Sue already made a feast’s worth of food for tonight, so as long as you don’t mind her company, dinner is already taken care of.”

George smiled at the memory of Sue. Though she didn’t know the woman well, she had met her enough to know she liked her. Sue was an older woman, though not quite as old as the doctor, who worked at the local pharmacy. She seemed to have lived and worked in the town as long as the doctor had, her relationship with Perkins like that of a father and daughter. As far as George knew, there weren’t many people in the town that weren’t fond of their local coroner.

“Sounds like a plan. Thanks again, doc.”

Dr. Perkins nodded, catching George gently by the arm before she could follow Garth out. “Rest well, George. You’re safe here.” He smiled reassuringly at her.

Though George was sure she’d never truly be safe from the evils in the world, something about the Doctor’s warm smile and reassuring words made her feel the safest she’d ever felt.

Chapter Text

Doctor Perkins’ house was a small old Victorian style house that sat on a corner lot in the middle of town. Large flowered bushes lined the front porch, greeting visitors with a welcoming scent. Inside, happy memories and large artwork covered the walls in a sophisticated taste. His house had always been a warm and happy place for George to visit. The couch and chairs were comfortable in a way that they seemed to mold around your form, as if it had always been your spot.

George and Garth had let themselves in at the Doctor’s prompting. Perkins had informed them that he’d need to finish up some paperwork, but encouraged them to make themselves at home and rest up before dinner.

While Garth had readily accepted the open invitation, heading up to find his room for a quick nap, George had settled into her favorite chair in the doctor’s library, a book open on her lap. A nap had slightly been tempting–George being exhausted from the long drives and injury–but she was too terrified of what she would see should she close her eyes long enough.

And so, she was reading quietly when Dr. Perkins returned home, Sue joining him.

“Oh, George, it’s so good to see you again,” Sue sang out when she caught sight of George walking into the entry having heard their arrival.

“It’s good to see you, Sue. How have things been?” George knew the lady from the time she’d worked with Dr. Perkins, but she’d never really had a chance to get to know her well beyond the times she ran errands to the pharmacy for the doc. Sue was a good friend of the doctor’s, George knew this, but their schedules had always seemed to contradict, neither being able to get together for a meal or anything. In the beginning, George had worried that Sue disliked her and purposefully avoided her for how well their schedules refused to line up. All her worries had been abated however, when Sue apologized repeatedly for their lack of get-togethers, insisting that it was her work keeping her away.

“Well, here we are, dear,” Perkins nodded, his arms full of several bags holding food containers. “Where is your cousin?” He looked around the empty room.

“Oh, he was laying down. I can run up and get him after I help you with those.” She motioned to the bags in his arms, stepping forward to take them from him. But the doctor turned away with a shake of his head.

“Oh, no, let us do this,” Sue insisted, taking one of the bags from the doctor. “I heard you got a little banged up. You don’t need to be straining. We will take care of this while you go get your cousin. I’m excited to meet your family.”

Sue left no room for argument as she quickly led the way to the kitchen with a bright smile, the doctor following behind.

With a small smile to herself, George made her way up the stairs and down the hall, knocking on Garth’s door. The man opened it, his hunting clothes replaced with a plush housecoat and a smile.

“Enjoying yourself?” George smiled in amusement.

Garth tucked his hands in the pockets of the robe as he smiled and looked down at his attire. “Yeah, I feel like I finally know what a vacation feels like. I found this in the en-suite bathroom.” He looked up at George. “You don’t think the doc will mind, do you?”

George shook her head. “No, if I know Dr. Perkins, he had that in there knowing a guest would use it.” She stepped back and waved down the hall. “Come on. Sue and the doc just got home with dinner.”

Garth followed her down the hall, closing his door behind him. “How are you feeling?” He asked as they made their way down the stairs.

“Great,” George answered honestly. “Honestly, it feels like it never happened.” Her brows furrowed only slightly at the thought.

Garth’s face was steady as he took in the information. “Doc really knows his drugs, huh?”

“Guess so,” George answered as they made their way to the dining room.

*

Dinner was plentiful to say the least. Doctor Perkins hadn’t been lying when he said that Sue had prepared a feast. The four of them now sat in the living room, each of them stuffed from a magnificent meal and sipping on some after dinner coffee.

George’s mind wandered back to when she’d sat on the same couch so long ago, Sam sitting beside her instead of Garth. Frank and Annie had been sitting where the good doctor and Sue were now sitting. It had been the last time she’d seen Frank alive, and only a day or two before she’d found out about Dean’s deal. All of it seemed a lifetime ago. Perhaps it was, considering she’d died and come back.

Sue’s cheerful voice pulled her out of her sorrowful reverie. “It’s so good to have you back again, George. Even for a visit. And that I was actually allowed—uh, able to see you.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Doc has been telling me about your travels. Sounds like you’ve been busy.”

“Yeah,” George glanced at the doctor curiously before looking back at Sue. “Something like that.”

“What’s next for you?” Sue asked.

“I’m not sure yet.”

“And your cousin?” Sue continued with almost excitement. It almost seemed as if the woman was interviewing her favorite celebrity rather than an old colleague of the doctor’s.

Garth grew slightly timid at the question, unsure of how much they’d delve into the whole family tree topic. “I, uh, actually heard from another relative of mine. He asked for some help with a project.”

Perkins nodded as he set his mug of coffee on the table beside him. “Another cousin?” He inquired lightly with a slight twinkle in his eye.

“Yeah,” Garth gave a squished looked as he waved off his words. “But this one is more distant. Twice removed and all that.”

George smiled at the man beside her before her attention was pulled away by Sue.

“What have you been up to, George? Besides traveling, that is?”

George only nodded with her answer. “Just traveling, I’m afraid.”

“Have you been anywhere exciting lately? It’s been so long since I’ve traveled.” She sighed out dreamily as if longing to travel again.

The thought of her death crossed George’s mind as she took a sip of her coffee, using the action to figure out how to answer Sue’s question. She was now finding herself thankful her paths hadn’t crossed with Sue’s as frequently as she would’ve liked when she lived in town. The woman was certainly eager to learn all she could about the two visitors. George knew she meant well, but it was the persistent curious ones that were harder to twist the truth with.

Perkins gave Sue a chastising look, preventing George from needing to answer. “Leave her alone, Sue. Don’t go prying into her life.”

George felt slightly bad at the look on Sue’s face with the doctor’s words. Though the doc had been kind and meant well, Sue looked like a child that had just been lightly scolded.

“It’s okay,” George offered with a smile. “I um, haven’t really gone anywhere interesting lately. I was in Arizona recently for about a week. I wouldn’t exactly call that a vacation though. The place I stayed at didn’t have any air conditioning,” she joked lightly.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Sue held a hand out to George for a moment, her face sympathetic.

“Have you been in touch with those agents lately?” Doctor Perkins inquired himself.

Sue gasped out at this like an old woman latching onto gossip. The sound made George breathe out a laugh in amusement. The woman was something, that much she knew.

“Oh, I heard about them from Annie before she moved,” Sue spoke quickly with a grin. “Tall, dark, and handsome?” She hummed in agreement. “Please tell me you’ve been in touch.”

“Sue,” Perkins huffed out like an exasperated father. Garth and George both found amusement in the woman’s words, though the reminder of Sam and Dean brought a melancholy to her mood.

“No, unfortunately,” George answered honestly. “We actually fell out of touch a while back.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Sue answered quietly. “I would’ve liked to have met them.”

Perkins spoke up, tampering Sue’s enthusiasm to ask another question. “How about your dad, George? How is he doing?”

Garth looked over at George with a questioning look. George caught his confusion and did her best to explain her lie to the hunter without exposing anything. “Yeah, he’s been good. He’s staying busy with the salvage yard.” She looked at Garth when she spoke of Bobby’s salvage yard, hoping he’d catch on.

Thankfully, he did, Garth’s eyes widening slightly at the information.

“Now is he your uncle through marriage or blood?” Perkins directed his inquiry to Garth.

“Uh, yeah, Uncle Bobby,” Garth played off George’s lie, uncertain of how far he should or shouldn’t take his answer. “He’s my uncle through marriage. My mom was his wife’s sister.” Garth grimaced slightly at his own words, uncertain how much the doctor knew.

Sue looked between the two. “So George’s mother?”

“Yeah,” Garthed dragged out, still uncertain what he was talking about as he glanced over at George.

Thankfully, the two were saved by another, easier, question from Perkins. “He’s out west, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” George easily answered. “The Dakotas.”

Perkins nodded to himself. “Perhaps it would do you some good to go see him for a while. Going home for a bit can be good for the soul. And I’m sure you already know, the place to feel safest is home.”

George took a sip of her coffee as she processed the doctor’s words.

“I’m sure he’d love to see his daughter,” Sue offered with an encouraging smile as she looked over at Perkins. “There’s nothing quite like a good father’s love.”

George smiled at the thought of going home to Bobby. She’d just been there earlier that week, and had been anxious to get out and stretch her legs, but Sue was right. There was nothing quite like going home to a dad’s welcoming arms when the world was falling apart. “I think I might just do that.” She looked over at Perkins. “When do you think I’ll be good to head out and drive, doc?”

Perkins studied her for a moment, as if reading or listening to something. “I think you should give it another day. Just to be safe. Until then, you two should head up and get some rest. You’ve had a long day.”

The four stood together, Sue and Perkins insisting they’d clean up from the coffee and shooing them off to bed. With a goodnight for the two, and a goodnight to Garth, George closed the bedroom door behind her.

She stood for a moment, her back leaning against the solid door behind her as she eyed the large bed. Normally, the feeling of dread would begin crawling into her blood, the thought of closing her eyes terrifying.

Now, however, as she took in the warm beckoning bed, George realized that she felt safe; the safest she’d felt in a long time. It wasn’t that she hadn’t felt safe at Bobby’s, it was just that this was something else. Something she couldn’t quite place.

With almost no reluctance, she crawled under the covers, laying on her side to face an empty side of the bed. She laid her hand against the cool mattress. More than anything, she wished Dean was laying beside her, holding her hand like they used to, telling her he was there and everything was going to be okay.

From habit, she tried to keep her eyes open, afraid of what would come when they closed for the night. However, a soothing feeling seemed to envelope her as if reminding her that she was safe.

Moments later, George’s eyes drifted closed as she fell asleep. For the first night since she’d been back, the nightmares didn’t come.

*****

The next morning came too soon. George woke from her uninterrupted slumber feeling refreshed and better than she had since her return. Breakfast was simple and spent in quiet leisure with Doctor Perkins and Garth before the two hunters had to set out.

The risk of staying any longer with her friend was too great, knowing it wouldn’t be long before heaven and hell were on the hunt for her.

“How’s the side holding up?” Dr. Perkins inquired as he walked to the two through the front door to their cars.

George gently laid a hand against her side, a smile spreading across her face. “Interestingly enough, it feels great.” She held up a hand as Dr. Perkins peered at her over his glasses with mocked offense. “Not that I doubted your skills for a second, doc. I just didn’t know you had miracle working hands,” she grinned out.

“I’m glad to see I haven’t lost my touch. I was afraid working with the dead for so long had dulled my skills in taking care of the living.”

The trio came to a stop beside George and Garth’s cars in the looping driveway.

“Thanks for the rest, Dr. Perkins,” Garth said, shaking the doctor’s hand in farewell. “Best night’s sleep I’ve had in a while.”

The doctor smiled warmly at the words. “You’re welcome here anytime you find yourself in the area, Garth. It was good to meet you. And thank you for taking care of my George here. She’s a dear friend. It gladdens my heart to know she has people out there that care about her.”

Garth looked over at George with a warm smile. “I’m happy I get to call her family,” the hunter said honestly.

George waved at the two men’s words, unused to the compliments. “We better be off,” she said instead.

“Right you are,” Garth said before pulling George into a hug. Stepping back, he held up a finger. “Drive safe. Don’t go faster than your guardian angel can fly,” he said.

George avoided grimacing at the man’s chosen phrase, instead plastering a smile on for him instead. In truth, she’d rather outrun the angels if she could.

With final goodbyes, the two hunters set out, each going their own way. George pulled out onto the interstate headed west, ready to get home to Bobby. Dr. Perkins was right: it would do her good to be with her dad. She’d enjoyed the hunt and meeting Garth, and the chance to see her old friend again, but she found that she just wanted to go home.

The road was hard and long, leaving her tired by nightfall. Knowing she still had about eight hours of driving ahead of her, she decided to find a cheap motel for the night. It was a small run down place in the middle of nowhere, but she’d lived in worse.

After a quick shower, she worked on replacing her bandage, as instructed by Dr. Perkins. To her surprise, however, she found the wound almost completely healed. Her fingers lightly traced over the puncture holes only to find barely any pain in response beyond a slight pull from the stitches. George examined her wound in the mirror, curiosity piquing. Was something about her return responsible for her sudden healing? George looked down at the orange pill bottle the doctor had given her. Or was it something else?

George had seen a lot in this world—most of it dark. An idea played in her mind: could it be possible that Dr. Perkins was something other than human? A witch perhaps? There hadn’t been any evidence to suggest that he might be, but it was possible, she supposed. Could he be an ancient god? George chuckled at the thought. She’d find it hard to believe that Perkins, a man who needed glasses and couldn’t figure out technology, would be an ancient deity. Well, ancient perhaps, but not a deity. Regardless, George shrugged to herself and took her medication as instructed.

Making her way to her duffel that rested on the single bed, George opened it, searching for a book to read. The sudden feeling of a breeze brushing against her from behind sent tingles over her arms. Instinct told her someone else was now in the room with her. Experience told her it was an angel.

She turned only partly to glimpse the newcomer. Her instincts were spot on. It was in fact an angel. He, however, was not Castiel. This man, dressed in a nice suit, with curly dark hair cut in a way that made his head look like it was a head of broccoli, was new to her.

“Can I help you?” Her voice was even, but held an edge. Her hand stayed buried in her duffel, her fingers wrapping around the handle of her weapon.

“You’re not supposed to be here, George Finley,” the angel spoke smoothly. His voice held a note of glee at having found her.

“Congratulations. You can go now.” Her stance was poised, her muscles relaxed, everything in her ready for a fight she knew was to come. But she had to play it right if she wanted to gain the upper hand on an angel. George considered calling Cas but immediately decided against it. As far as heaven was aware, Castiel was a good soldier who had no hand in her reappearance on earth. She wouldn’t risk putting him in trouble or danger because she couldn’t lay low.

“I’m not going anywhere without you.”

George raised an eyebrow. “How did you find me?”

The angel looked around the motel room with a look of disgust. “I was in the area. Happened to see you drive past. I couldn’t believe it at first. You weren’t showing on any radar. How did you manage that, by the way?”

George lifted one shoulder. “I have my ways. There’s a lot about us humans you don’t know.”

“I know enough. And I know that Zachariah will be pleased to see you again.” He clicked his tongue against his cheek as he looked her up and down. “All those scars and all that darkness. Carved so deep into your soul. I’m amazed you can even get past heaven’s gates.”

George resisted the urge to curl in on herself at the mention of her soul. “What makes you think I’m going anywhere with you?”

“Honey, please. Like you have a choice.”

George smirked at the angel. “I find it hard to believe that someone like you, someone so low on the list that you were sent on an errand in the middle of nowhere to deal with a measly sinner in a church, could do anything to me.” She adjusted her stance only slightly, her hand remaining connected to her duffel that sat on the bed. “In fact, I’d like to see you try,” she taunted.

Making such comments against an angel was stupid for any human, but George needed the angel to come to her rather than the other way around. It was the only way she would be able to get the upper hand on him.

Luckily for her, angels were egotistical dicks. The man let his anger an hatred against humanity win, lashing out at her. His hand quickly found her throat, his fingers pressing tightly against her skin.

“Who do you think you are, some puny and harmless human, to talk to me that way? I’m the angel Gideon you wretch.”

George strained against his grip, allowing a smirk to lift the corner of her lips. “Gideon?” A sharp chuckle escaped her mouth, the sound strangled against the angel’s grip. “Are you sure you’re getting that right? Gideon is supposed to be heaven’s assassin. Heaven’s feller, a hewer of evil.” Her eyes dropped judgmentally to scan his frame. “Not some errand boy.”

Gideon’s grip against her throat tightened, making George’s smirk widen into an almost sadistic smile.

“What’s so amusing in your time of dying?” Gideon growled out.

The pressure against George’s throat caused her voice to strain, but it came out clear enough. “It’s amazing what one can learn after they die. For example,” her neck muscles strained against the crushing grip as she took in a breath. “Turns out, anything and everything on and above this green earth can be killed. Even seemingly immortal dick angels.”

Reinforcing the accuracy of her words, the hand hidden in the duffel appeared, the tip of an angel blade now pressing against Gideon’s stomach.

Feeling the pressure, the angel looked down only to jump back, releasing George as if she were a snake. “Where did you get that?”

George rubbed at her neck gingerly as she answered, the angel blade held up and ready to strike. “Like I said. You don’t know humans very well. Especially not me.”

A sudden breeze was felt in the room with the appearance of another angel. George’s muscles tensed for a moment before relaxing. Thankfully, this time the newly appeared angel was Castiel.

The look on Gideon’s face turned gleeful with the arrival of angelic backup. A moment later however, he registered where Cas now stood—as if guarding George against him—the glee morphing into something more akin to betrayal. “Castiel. What have you done?”

“What must be done, brother,” Cas spoke firmly. Without waiting for another reply, Cas reached out and grasped George’s shoulder, transporting them somewhere else. It seemed to be a park nearby where the motel was.

George reached out to grasp onto a tree, using the hard surface to help reorient herself at the sudden transportation. “Thank you, Cas,” George breathed out roughly before looking up at the angel. Her eyes were apologetic. It was her fault he was now in trouble with heaven. “How’d you find me? I didn’t pray to you.”

Castiel looked around the empty park, his form on high alert. “I heard it on angel radio. Gideon sent out a message saying he had found something that concerned heaven. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to see what he was talking about since I was nearby. I just didn’t think it would turn out to be you.”

The angel pinned George with a hard look. “By now, all of heaven knows you’re alive and of my involvement in it. Things just became infinitely more dangerous for us both.” He took a half step closer, his eyes hard. “You never should have left Bobby’s.”

George let her shoulders slump at the angel’s berating. It was deserved, she knew. “I’m sorry, Cas,” she said honestly, looking up at him. “I never meant for this. I just needed to get out, to do something.” She ran a hand through her hair as she looked around at the darkness surrounding them. “I stupidly figured going on a hunt in the middle of nowhere wouldn’t be a problem.” She held the angel’s gaze. “I really am sorry.” She shrugged defeated. “Although I doubt those words mean much at this point.”

Castiel let out a sigh, his own shoulders slumping slightly as he took a step closer. Admittedly, he was angry and disappointed in the woman for her brash actions. Yet, still, the anger dissipated as what he knew to be true came to mind. “You don’t need to apologize, George. I’m just as much at fault. I heard Bobby’s remark to get my fluttery ass down there and stop you. I was aware of what was happening, but I thought that it would be good for you to get out on a hunt. I had faith in you staying beneath the radar and I thought…” he trailed off as his face turned soft for the woman. “I thought that maybe it would bring back the spark that has been missing in you since your death.”

George leaned back against the tree, her head looking down at her feet, her hands tucked into her jacket pockets. She knew what Cas was talking about. She hadn’t truly felt herself since she got back.

“And while I believe the hunt did help,” Castiel continued, “I realize now that it isn’t the hunt that brings out the spark in you.”

George didn’t look at Castiel when he didn’t continue, nor did she say anything. There was nothing to say. The both of them knew what the true cause of her spark was. It was Dean Winchester. Somehow, somewhere, along the way, Dean had become the piece that made George whole.

The thought of Dean made an aching hurt and frustration rise in her chest, her eyes finally lifting to look at Castiel with her question. “Why was I even brought back, Cas? Who wanted me back? What the hell am I even supposed to be doing?” She ran both her hands through her hair as she leaned her head back against the tree’s trunk, the energy from a second ago draining away. “What was even the point in bringing me back if I’m just gonna be stuck in Bobby’s basement the entire time?”

“I don’t know, George,” Castiel said softly. There was a hint of frustration and tiredness in his own voice. “I share in your frustration, but what I do know is that someone with higher authority than the angels wanted you back.”

George looked at the angel at that. “You mean god?”

Castiel took a moment to think before he answered. “No. No, I don’t think so. This is something else beyond him. Something I can’t see. Something I don’t even think heaven can see.”

“Well that’s comforting,” George chuckled out in sarcasm. She pushed herself off the tree and faced the angel. “So what now?”

“For now, we continue to lay low. Separately. Now that Gideon has seen my involvement with bringing you back, heaven will be searching for us both. You should get back to Bobby’s.” He looked around the park and up at the night sky. “It should be safe enough to take you back to your motel room. You should head out immediately. Stay safe and hidden. Keep on your research as best you can. You have to find a way to save them.”

George nodded in understanding. She still wasn’t sure what the hell she was saving the boys from, but she’d start with saving them from whatever hell the broken seals were going to be bringing. “Are they okay?” George asked quietly.

Cas nodded solemnly. “For now. But I believe you’ll be needed soon. Until then, keep out of sight. No more hunts.”

George nodded in agreement, the pair of them appearing back in her motel room a moment later. Gideon was thankfully gone. “Stay safe, Cas,” George said with a soft smile.

“You too.” And with that, the angel was gone.

George wasted no time in getting to work. With a lifetime of practice, she gathered her things into her duffel bag, tossing it into the passenger seat of the Charger she drove and hightailed it out of there. She was on the road in less than five minutes.

Once she had made it across state lines, she called Bobby with an update on heaven and the angels, explaining her meet and greet with Gideon.

Worry coated Bobby’s voice. “You headed back here?”

“That’s the plan, as long as you’ll have me.”

The old hunter grunted through the phone. “You already know I will.”

“It might get bad, Bobby,” George warned. “Heaven now knows for sure that I’m back. That means they’ll be watching everyone, including you.”

“‘Bout damn time someone marked me as important,” he joked back.

“I’m serious, Bobby,” George breathed out. She didn’t want to risk him getting hurt or becoming collateral damage. Even at the cost of a blow to his ego.

“Don’t you worry about me, kid. I’ve already warded the place against angels. They ain’t gettin’ in without an invitation.”

George smiled. “Of course you did. I’ll see you soon, dad.”

“Be safe, kid.”

Chapter Text

George had kept her promise and stayed hidden at Bobby’s. Though the old hunter had reassured her that the place was warded against angels, she still spent most of her time holed up in the safe room in the basement, surrounded by stacks of books, parchments, and notes.

It was around one in the morning almost a week later when her cell phone buzzed with an incoming text. George ran a tired hand across her eyes, hopeful that it would brush the exhaustion away. Sleep had been almost impossible to come by ever since she’d left Dr. Perkins’ house. Worry and stress ate at her wakefulness while nightmares of haunting sounds and images plagued her sleep.

George flipped open her phone, reading the text. Concern furrowed her brows as she read the short message. Castiel said he needed to see her immediately and had sent coordinates along.

George looked around the safe room she was in for a moment as she worked to process the message. Undoubtedly, Bobby would still be sleeping. She’d have to leave him a note to let him know where she went so he wouldn’t worry. Pushing herself up from the chair with a slight groan, she got moving.

With a quickly and slightly coded note she knew Bobby would understand left on the counter by the coffee maker, George was ready and on the road less than ten minutes later. If the angel was needing her to meet her somewhere besides the safety of Bobby’s place, it meant something was finally happening. Or very wrong.

***

It was still dark when George arrived at the coordinates Cas had sent. It was a large warehouse in a small town she’d never heard of. With her gun at her back and the angel blade Castiel had given her tucked into her boot and beneath her jeans, she quietly made her way into the large building.

Castiel was waiting for her a short distance in. He heard the large metal door groan as she entered. Though he couldn’t sense her, the wardings on her ribs preventing it, he knew it was her.

New developments had occurred in the Winchester story. Developments and revelations that Castiel desired to share with George. He wanted to tell her everything, but knew he couldn’t. The information he had learned would put her in more danger than she already was. But he needed to share some things; it was imperative to her safety and success. And it needed to be done somewhere the angels wouldn’t hear.

Cas knew George was special. It didn’t take an angel to figure that much out. Dean had known it almost from the moment he met her. It seemed everyone George met knew there was something special about her. What Castiel found more fascinating, however, was that—to put it simply—there was nothing special about her. George Finley didn’t have any supernatural powers, she wasn’t written into the Winchester Gospels—in fact, she’d been erased completely from them by the prophet himself.

Yet, here she was, meeting with him in an old abandoned warehouse, playing a part only someone much higher ranking than he knew about. George was an incredible woman. And Cas knew he would do whatever he could to protect her. So, no, he wouldn’t tell her everything tonight. Not yet.

Unfortunately, there were things she did need to know. Certain events had been put into motion that would require her knowing; things that would put an even bigger target on her back.

Castiel paced a few steps, only turning when he felt George enter the large space. “Good, you made it.”

“Everything okay, Cas?” George scanned the large area, the hunter in her sensing something wasn’t right.

“No. It’s not. I don’t have a lot of time, but you need to know. You need to be warned. They’re in danger. The boys. They’re—” Castiel’s words were cut off as he sensed something, his head snapping around.

George’s heart pounded in her chest at this sudden news. What was going on with the boys? What danger were they in? She followed Castiel’s gaze, seeing only darkness. “Cas,” she whispered.

Castiel snapped his head back to hers, his eyes wide. “You need to run. Hide. Now.”

George could see the panic in the angel’s eyes. Obeying, she turned and ran, her hand reaching down to lift the angel blade from her boot. Quickly and quietly, she found a spot in a small room off the larger one, and slid beneath an old metel desk.

Almost as soon as she was safely hidden, loud voices were heard, the sound drifting in through the door that George had left slightly ajar.

“Castiel, you are ordered to return to heaven and stand trial for the crimes committed against heaven.”

“What crimes?” Castiel asked.

“You retrieved a soul that wasn’t meant to be retrieved, Castiel.” The angel speaking held the tone of a superior chastising a child. “You harbored said fugitive soul, warding her against heaven and hell alike. And then there’s the Winchesters.”

“Nothing I have done for the Winchester brothers is a crime against heaven,” Castiel argued.

It didn’t escape George’s notice that he didn’t defend himself against crimes regarding her. Was bringing her back really a crime against heaven? If so, why? Why were they so desperate to make sure she was dead and tucked away in a dark hole?

More conversation was held, words that George could no longer make out before sudden loud noises erupted. Metal crashed and electrical wires popped. The building itself seemed to tremble with the force of the apparent fight. Castiel fought against several angels. George clutched the blade in her hand, her muscles taught in frustration. She wanted to fight, to do something, but she knew she was no match for one angel let alone a group. That didn’t stop the pain from flowing, knowing that she was the reason he was in this mess.

A sharp and bright light flooded through the large building, illuminating the shadows for an instant before it was gone. A moment later, silence. Eerie silence. She could feel the change in the air. It hung like something uncomfortable and deadly. Something wasn't right. George held her breath as she waited.

Seconds ticked by before an angel’s voice was heard. “Search for the girl. Find her and eliminate her.”

George’s mind spun with the words. She couldn’t take on angels, but she couldn’t stay where she was. They’d surely find her in only a few minutes time. Her hiding spot had been chosen in a hurry and wasn’t exactly the best. With a quick thought, she crawled quietly from her spot on her toes and hands and over to a large bare wall that was a short distance away. With quick movements, she ran the angel blade across the top of her forearm, opening up the skin and allowing blood to flow freely.

It only took a few moments to draw out the sigil Castiel had shown her to use in case of an emergency. She’d seen it before in her research, but had never been able to determine what it was used for. Until Castiel had shown her. The angel had been stringent and tightlipped on sharing his knowledge, but even from the little he did, she had already learned so much.

“There!” The shout came from a familiar voice. George looked over her shoulder in time to meet eyes with Gideon across the large space. A menacing grin spread across his face when he spotted her.

But it didn’t matter. He was too late. They all were. Gideon’s eyes traveled to the bloodied wall where it had been painted in blood red. His dark eyes widened. George smiled her own smile, meeting his eyes, before she slammed her bloody palm onto the sigil. A bright light shattered the darkness of every corner of the destroyed warehouse, before disappearing, taking every last angel with it and casting them to the ends of the earth. Or at least somewhere around there. George honestly wasn’t entirely certain how far it would send them.

A sigh of relief escaped her lips at the silence. Hastily ripping a scrap of fabric from her flannel, she tied up her arm before she lost too much blood. As the knot was tightened down, movement from the debris caught her attention, the metal scraping loudly as someone tried to free themselves. George scrambled from where she stood over to the heaping pile of scraps and picked her way through to the person. The angel blade was kept ready in her grip. The angels were gone, but that didn’t mean the foes were.

To her surprise, however, the remaining individual was Castiel. Or rather, his vessel. Jimmy Novak. That had been the name Castiel had told her. The first light that had exploded as she hid beneath the desk, she realized, had been Castiel being cast out. His sudden absence was what had caused the air to feel so wrong. Her friend was gone, the angels having forced him somewhere. Worry settled for a moment that Cas had been killed, but she quickly pushed the idea away. There was no proof either way, so she would focus on the now. As George picked her way closer to his side, the man continued mumbling in confusion, fighting to stay awake.

“Hey,” George said softly, kneeling down next to him. “It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay, Jimmy. Just take it easy.” She gently pressed against his shoulders, encouraging him to remain laid back for a moment.

Jimmy met her eyes, staring at her for a moment in recognition before his eyes closed, his body falling unconscious. Though he still had the same blue eyes Castiel did, Jimmy’s were somehow different. It was strange to look into Castiel’s blue eyes and not see the angel.

George began to look around to see if she could find a way to help get Jimmy out of the wreckage and to somewhere safe. There was no telling how long it would be before the angels returned. Or worse, demons showed up to collect the angel vessel. A moment later however, her movements froze with the sound of the large metal door creaking open, followed by whispered voices.

George looked over her shoulder in the direction of the noise, her heart pounding as she worked to determine the level of threat making its way closer. A deep timbre of a voice caught in her ears causing her breath to catch for a moment. She’d know that sound anywhere. Her heart tore at the sound, begging her to stay, to see Dean and Sam.

But George knew she couldn’t. She needed to leave. Castiel had been adamant that it wasn’t time yet. She needed to keep them safe. And so, as quietly as she could, George left, slipping out the back door, the Winchesters none the wiser to her presence.

*****

Sam and Dean sat at a table watching Jimmy Novak stuff his face full of food. The man apparently was starved after having ridden shotgun with Cas in the driver’s seat for so long.

“What the hell happened back there?” Dean finally asked.

Jimmy shrugged as he looked between the brothers. “There was a flash of light and I woke up. And then… I was me again.” He stuffed another bite of burger into his mouth.

“So what, Cas just ditched out of your meat suit?”

“I really don’t know.” Jimmy paused in his eating for a moment, looking between the boys in thought. “There was a woman.”

“A woman?” Sam asked, leaning forward. “Like an angel woman?”

Jimmy shook his head, taking another bite. “No, just a woman.” His chewing paused. “I think. But she was…she was familiar. Like I’d seen her—or rather Castiel had seen her before. But she was there.”

“At the warehouse?” Sam asked in clarification.

“Yeah,” Jimmy nodded as he took a large gulp of his drink before continuing eating. “Just after Castiel flashed out. She told me it would be okay.”

Sam and Dean leaned back in their seats as they shared a look. After a few more questions, the brothers paired off at the other end of the table, leaving Jimmy to eat in peace.

“So we have an ally?” While there was hope in Dean’s words, they dripped with uncertainty.

Sam shrugged, glancing over at Jimmy. “I don’t know. Maybe. Think she’s really just a person?”

“Well, if she was an angel, she would’ve been slammed out of there along with all the others, right?”

“Right,” Sam conceded. “So what do we do now?”

After some arguing, it was finally agreed upon that Jimmy couldn’t be allowed to go home, despite the man’s protestations. The risk was too great for him and his family. Jimmy Novak now had a target on his back. He had had a bonafide angel riding around in his skin for quite some time now and was still alive and functioning. Sam and Dean knew demons would just love to get their hands on an empty functioning vessel in order to do some less than pleasant interrogating. The brothers wouldn’t let that happen.

Dean made a mental note to come back to the mentioning of the mystery woman. If they could find her, maybe she could help them out with stopping the end of the world.

*****

Unsure what to do, George made her way back to Bobby’s. The pair sat, once again, at the kitchen table, each one nursing a glass of amber liquor. George had clued Bobby in to what had gone down.

“Did you ever find out what it was that Cas wanted to tell you?”

George shook her head. “No. He was about to but was rudely interrupted.” She rubbed at the back of her neck, stress tightening her muscles, while Bobby carefully watched her. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, Bobby.” She looked up at him.

It didn’t take much for him to see how lost she was. It was evident in her eyes. To say life was hard and unfair for any of them was just the tip of the iceberg.

“What do I do?” George asked, almost pleading.

Bobby shook his head as he leaned on his elbows on the table. “I don’t know, kiddo. I wish I did.” He tilted his head slightly in thought. “Maybe it’s time you gave the boys a call.”

George looked away in thought, her eyes studying her hands. Her thumb rubbed deeply back and forth across her palm, her body weary. After a moment, she nodded, her gaze coming back up to meet Bobby’s. The idea made the most sense now. With Castiel gone and knowing the boys were in danger, it made sense to her that now was the time to make her presence known. It wasn’t like the angels and demons didn’t already know she was back anyways. Her mouth opened to speak her agreement, but snapped closed when Bobby’s phone rang.

The man looked at the name on the screen then back at her. “Speak of the devil,” he joked before giving her a small shrug and a look. “Maybe a poor choice of words considering what’s been going on.”

George smiled at him, but remained silent as he answered the phone. “Hey, Dean.”

As the older hunter listened, his face changed into something disconcerting. It was clear something was happening and it wasn’t good. Perhaps not ‘end-of-the-world’ bad, but definitely not good.

“Yeah, okay.” Bobby paused as Dean continued to speak, his eyes staying on George’s. “Yeah, I’ll give him a call in a bit then.” With that, he hung up.

“Everything okay?”

Bobby let out a heaving sigh as he shook his head, taking a drink of his liquor. “No.”

George sat up more at the single word, her worries rising.

“Listen,” he hesitantly began. “A lot has happened while you were…well, away. And some not so good things have come to light.” Bobby knew she probably should’ve been looped into this sooner rather than later, but he supposed it was too late for ‘should have’s’. He hesitated to find the right words to say, but decided to just push through. “Sam has been meeting back up with Ruby.”

George’s face fell with that news. It couldn’t be true, could it? Sam had promised he wouldn’t go down that road. Both her and Dean had warned him that it was a dangerous and slippery slope.

Bobby continued ahead. “He’s had all hours of the day and night rendezvous with her. Turns out, after you died, Sam dove deeper into his dark side. He’s been throwing demons out and casting them back to hell with just his mind.”

George nodded in understanding. The entire thing had been the cause of a rift forming between the brothers before her death. Disappointment settled heavily at the thought that he had continued despite their words of warning.

“Come to find out,” Bobby sighed out with his own disappointment, “he’s been gaining these powers by drinking demon blood.”

George’s face went slack, the color draining away. “What?” The single word came out with a disbelieving hiss.

Bobby nodded solemnly. “He was going good there for a while. But…” he motioned at the phone, referencing Dean’s most recent call. “It seems he went and fell off the wagon.”

“What the hell, Bobby,” George breathed out as her mind struggled to wrap around his words. Her eyes were wide as she looked to the side, studying the air in front of her in thought. It was a struggle for her mind to accept the knowledge that Sam—her friend, Dean’s brother, that sweet giant of a man—was willingly drinking the blood of demons for any reason.

Her swirling thoughts were broken by Bobby. “They’re headed this way. I’m supposed to give Sam a call in a bit as an excuse to get them here.”

George furrowed her brows as she looked back up at him. “For what purpose?”

Bobby sighed again, lifting his cap and running a hand through his thinning hair. “The only thing we can do right now, I s’pose. Try and detox him.”

It didn’t take long before the meaning of his words clicked in George’s mind. “The safe room,” she said.

Bobby nodded.

Uncertainty and disbelief settled once more on her face. “You’re going to lock Sam up like a prisoner?”

The older hunter leaned on the table, his face sympathetic. “Look, kid, I know it ain’t peaches and roses, but it’s what we’ve got. And you know as well as I do that we can’t let Sam keep going down this road. It ain’t just not right, it ain’t safe. For any of us.”

As much as she was reluctant to agree to throwing her friend in a metal tin jail, George nodded in agreement. “Yeah, you’re right,” she offered. Her frustration ebbed away as she collapsed against the back of her chair, rubbing at her forehead, the stress mounting.

“As for you being here…” Bobby’s words trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish the sentence in order to get his thoughts across. George could read it in his face and she couldn’t say she didn’t agree with him. Because she knew he was right. As much as she had been ready to agree to joining the boys again, she knew this wasn’t the right time. Not anymore.

With a nod, George finished her drink off in one swallow before pushing up from her chair. “I’ll head out. Me being here, suddenly alive, is only going to complicate things.”

Bobby stood to join her, reluctant to agree, but knowing she was right.

“You sure?” He offered, though his voice lacked the agreement of his words.

George smiled sorrowfully at him. “Yeah. Besides,” she chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood. “You’re giving away my room.”

The look Bobby sent her told her he didn’t find her joke funny. Instead he shrugged with an alternate plan. “Maybe you coming back from the dead is what Sam needs to kick this thing.”

George shook her head as she set her empty glass in the sink and headed for her duffel, still laying at the bottom of the stairs. “No, I think Castiel was right. It’s not the right time. Not yet.”

Passing back into the kitchen, George grabbed her books from the end table, placing them in her bag. She grabbed her sweater from the back of the couch, draping it over the bag to hang. Every last hint of her return to life was once again erased. The boys wouldn’t know she had been there. The thought made her heart pinch.

Clearing the thought from her head, she stepped up to where Bobby stood watching her. “Keep me posted?”

The continual erasure of his little girl in their home left a twist of dread and sorrow in Bobby’s gut. She was back, but only partially. “You know I will. Just try and stay out of trouble, okay?”

George nodded with a small cheeky smile. “Always.”

Bobby huffed out in half amusement but pulled her in for a hug. “Love you, kiddo.”

“Love you too, dad.”

With a final clearing look, George slipped out the back door into the sun. She tossed her bag in the trunk before climbing behind the wheel of an old beat up Ford Galaxy from the sixties. The thing looked like it had been through hell and back, but Bobby had fixed it up so it ran cleanly. She still couldn’t take her Chevelle, still parked across the way, a tan cover hiding all but its shape from view. Bobby had made sure it had been taken care of, for what reasons he didn’t know. But she couldn’t risk taking it back. Not yet. Dean would instantly notice its absence as soon as he showed up, and then he’d have questions Bobby couldn’t give him the answers to.

So, George pulled away, the gentle roar of the Galaxy’s engine filling the air as she slipped back into the lonely solitude of an abandoned highway before Sam and Dean could show up.

Chapter Text

4.21: When The Levee Breaks

Bobby kept his promise and kept George updated.

Sam was slowly but literally losing his mind, locked away in the safe room. Dean was going crazy listening to his brother’s screams. And Bobby was feeling more and more helpless as the days went on.

Beyond all that though, George could tell there was something else. There was something Bobby wasn’t telling her. She could hear it in his voice when they spoke on the phone. Words weren’t spoken, but somehow, George had a feeling she knew what it was.

Sam’s drying out was causing the rift between the brothers to reappear and widen again.

George hung up after Bobby’s latest update, tossing the phone onto the bed before she herself plopped down onto it. She ran a frustrated hand across her forehead.

“Cas, where are you?” She spoke quietly. Her voice was pleading. Lost. “What the hell is going on? I don’t know what to do anymore.”

No response came, not that she was really expecting one. He’d been dragged back to heaven, leaving her all alone once more. George felt as if she were going insane with everything happening knowing she couldn’t do a damned thing. She desperately wanted to help her friend. She’d already lost Levi and Frank. She couldn’t lose Sam.

A tear slipped from her lashes before she swiped it away, pushing herself abruptly to her feet as she began to pace the length of the room. Her hands brushed through her hair, her fingers gripping at it tightly. Everything from the past few weeks and even before her death was mounting, piling up as heavy weights on her chest and shoulders, weighing her down. It seemed as if in that moment, everything was coming to a culmination inside of her. It was all building up into something she wasn’t sure she could handle. A pain, a weight, a desperation. It was all becoming too much. It was leaving her feeling like she was lost at sea, drowning with no one to help her claw her way back to the surface. She needed her anchor. George needed Dean.

But she couldn’t have him.

“Castiel!” She screamed out at the ceiling. “What the hell am I supposed to do?” The anger and frustration continued to grow in her chest as if the problems flooding through were Miracle Grow, the pain and uncertainty growing like ivy and thorns, cutting out the light. “Why am I here? What do you want from me?”

The silence held. No response from the angel came.

“You pulled me out, you son of a bitch. The least you could do is tell me what I’m supposed to be doing!”

She collapsed onto the bed in defeated exhaustion. Research could only get anyone so far, and George was at the limit. Something needed to change. But what?

*****

Bobby sat at his desk, keeping an eye on local LEO calls across the country. Sam had survived five days in the safe room before someone or something had busted him out. Bobby had caught him out in the junkyard but Sam had knocked him out in order to escape.

It was official. Sam Winchester had gone off the deep end.

Now, Bobby worked to find the Escalade Dean believed Sam stole in his escape. Nothing about any of it felt right to the old hunter. If they’d kept Sam locked up, Bobby was convinced Sam would’ve died. When Bobby had said as much to Dean, the boy had shocked him with his reply. “At least he’ll die as my brother and not some monster.”

Bobby flipped another page in the book he was poring through. Whatever the hell had broken Sam out had some serious mojo. Bobby was trying to see if he could figure out what it was.

A bulletin from an officer in Minnesota pinged on his computer. Sam’s Escalade had made an appearance. With the information marked down, Bobby pulled out his phone to call Dean, only to pause. With a quick decision, he pulled up George’s number and hit call.

“Hey, what’s up?” George’s voice sounded worn down and drowning with tension. It worried Bobby knowing she had to stay hidden, but he hoped this phone call would change all that for her.

“I think it’s time for you to make an entrance. If Castiel says you’re meant to keep the boys together while heaven and hell tear them apart…well, I think this is your cue, darlin’.”

George sighed out through the phone as she thought over the entire situation. It wasn’t clear if it was the right time, but there wasn’t anything else she could do staying hidden. “Okay,” she breathed out with hesitance. Castiel wasn’t around to give her answers or guide her anymore. And Bobby’s plan sounded like it was right. “Where am I headed?”

Scanning the map and notification, the old hunter shared the information. “Sam is somewhere around a small town named Cold Spring, Minnesota. It’s got demon signs lighting the place up like a bar’s front window. Dean’s already headed that direction,” he warned. “I called you first, but he’ll still have a bit of a lead on you. And if I’m not mistaken…” Bobby sighed. “Sam’s gonna be with Ruby.”

“Shit.” The old saying always warned, be careful what you wish for. George’s wish was coming true. She was finally stepping back into the story—except she was being dropped right into the middle of a demon shit show apparently. “I’ll be on the road in less than three.”

“Okay. Do I give Dean a heads up?” Bobby asked.

George considered the action for a moment before shaking her head. “No. You can let him know you’ve got a friend in the area that can help if he needs it, but don’t tell him it’s me. It would cause too many problems with his mind and he’s stressing about enough. I’ll keep my distance for now, but I’ll keep an eye out.”

“All right. If you’re sure.”

“Yeah. We’ve gotta do this right,” George said, already working on packing her things up.

Bobby raised an eyebrow she couldn’t see. “What about the angel?”

“Well, since the angel has decided to block my number, guess he doesn’t get a say anymore.”

A chuckle floated over the line as Bobby nodded in understanding. He liked Cas just enough, but the angel had performed a Houdini and left George on her own. If he had a problem with their plans, well that was his own damn fault. “Just be careful.”

“Okay, dad.” George smiled into the phone. “Go call Dean but keep me posted.”

“Same for you, kid.”

*****

It didn’t take long before George was pulling into a parking spot across the street from the hotel Bobby had given her the address to. She looked up at the tall building with an impressed look. It definitely wasn’t like any of the motels they’d camped out in before. George shook her head in amusement as she leaned back in her seat. Sam was trying to do the opposite of what he normally did in order to shake his brother. But of course, Dean had found him. Dean knew his little brother better than anyone else; even Sam.

The small smile slipped away from George’s lips as her eyes landed on Ruby leaving through the front doors of the hotel. With a newly rising fire in her chest, George slid out of the car and wound a path in the direction of the demon. The angel blade Castiel had given her was tucked securely in her boot, ready to be drawn in a moment’s notice. Her hand flexed, George having every intention of using it on the demon that was no doubt deceiving Sam.

Before she could reach the blade however, her phone began to ring loudly in her pocket. George slammed herself against the stone wall beside her, quickly fishing it out. She frowned down at the phone—knowing she’d put it on silent—before her frown lessened. The number belonged to Dean.

George wanted to answer it, but instead sent it to voicemail. There was a demon on the loose that needed to be taken care of first. Carefully, she leaned around the corner of the building to find Ruby again, but the demon was already gone. Silently, she cursed herself at having lost the demon.

Her phone beeped, indicating the caller had left a voicemail. A second later, her eyes caught on the unmistakable form of Sam Winchester leaving the hotel lobby in a hurry. An angry hurry.

What the hell was going on? Bobby had mentioned that the boys had been drifting apart more, butting heads. The question was: how deep and wide was the chasm splitting them?

Deciding to find out, she made her way back to the car, pulling her phone out. The notification for a voicemail popped up. If Dean called her, that meant Bobby had given him the number.

Sliding behind the wheel of her car, she played the voicemail, putting it on speakerphone as she kept her eyes scanning her surroundings. The moment she heard his voice sounding so broken however, an ache clenched around her heart.

“Hey, uh, this is Dean Winchester. I’m a friend of Bobby’s. He, uh, he gave me your number, said you were close to where I’m at. He said you’d be able to help with a problem I have. If you could give me a call back, it’s kinda urgent.”

Dean gave his number before the line went dead. George squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. The next steps had to be done right. She knew that if Dean heard her voice on the phone, he’d recognize it, and more problems would arise. So, instead, she sent him a text in response, giving him the address of a small inn on the edge of town that she’d marked on her way in, telling him to meet her there in an hour.

George took a deep breath and quickly made her way to the inn. Without wasting any time, she rented out a room and parked her car in the back lot before making her way to the room.

It seemed rather stupid and maybe a little cliche to be meeting up with Dean at a motel room for their first meeting since she’d come back, but she didn’t know the area well, and the conversation they were about to have would require privacy. George was back from the dead after all. That wasn’t exactly a conversation they could have in the middle of a coffee shop without drawing unwanted attention. Or scaring some patrons.

As soon as she was checked in and at the room, George sent Dean the room number via text and began to pace, her teeth gnawing at her thumbnail in anxious thought. Her mind raced with trying to figure out how the conversation would go. What would she say? Would Dean be happy to see her? Would he be upset that she’d been around for so long and not told him? Would he even want to see her? Or had he mourned her death and moved on? She realized that she’d never asked Bobby or Castiel how anyone had handled her death. It had just been an unspoken thing between her and Bobby that her death wasn’t talked about.

Roughly thirty minutes later, a knock sounded on the motel room door. From habit, George gripped her gun as she looked through the peephole. Dean stood on the other side, gazing over his shoulder as he waited. She walked over to the nightstand beside the only queen sized bed, laying her gun on top. Whatever happened in the next few minutes, she was sure it wouldn’t start out well. She would prefer to keep a gun out of Dean’s reach until she had a chance to explain. Although, she was quite certain he already had one on him.

Taking a shaky breath and pushing away her anxious thoughts, George opened the door.

Dean turned back around at the sound, only to freeze. So many emotions played across his face in an instant, before it all swirled together in disbelief. Then it turned to hard anger.

Dean stepped forward with a force, shoving her back. The door swung shut behind him with a kick as his forearm came up to press against her neck. George slammed against the wall, Dean pinning her there with a fire in his eyes.

“What the hell is this?” He ground out. “What the hell are you?”

George remained calm, though her face flinched against her head slamming against the plaster. Her eyes were glued to Dean’s, at a sudden loss for words. He was there, finally, standing in front of her. A happiness and completeness she hadn’t felt in so long swelled in her chest.

When she finally managed to get her words to come out, they were strained from the pressure on his arm, but still held a softness and a small smile. “Hi, Dean.”

Her soft reaction fueled the anger growing in Dean’s chest. The pressure against her neck increased as he took in the sight of George. His mind couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be true. There was no way she was back.

“If you want me to talk, Dean,” George squeaked out, “you’re gonna have to loosen the hold.” George’s hands slowly lifted to show she meant no harm, that she wasn’t fighting him.

After a moment of hesitation, Dean loosened the pressure, but made sure to keep her pinned.

“It’s me. I swear it,” George said softly.

Dean’s green eyes searched her dark browns for the lie, for the monster, but it wasn’t there.

“Bobby wouldn’t have given you my number if it wasn’t really me.”

Dean shook his head, fighting against everything in his being as emotions swamped him, pricking at the back of his eyes. “How do I know this is real? How do I know you’re not just some monster come back to haunt me?” He tried to keep his voice from sounding like a plea, but it was still there. He wished more than anything this could be true, that George had somehow been brought back to him. That all of his pain and sorrow would disappear with the knowledge that she was really back; that he lived in a world where she was alive, walking the earth once more.

George’s face softened in sympathy and understanding. “I’m me, Dean. Call Bobby,” she encouraged. “He can vouch for me.” She chuckled slightly at the memory of their reunion. “Trust me, he’s done all the tests.”

Dean searched her eyes again, still uncertain. Without removing his arm from her neck, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his cell, dialing Bobby’s number. Not once did his eyes leave George’s face. His heart beat wildly in his chest, but he could feel hers pounding just as hard beneath his arm.

Bobby answered after the first ring. “How’d it go?”

“Bobby,” Dean struggled out.

Bobby’s voice filled with worry. “Dean?”

“Tell me she’s real, Bobby.” His eyes began to glisten with hope and fear. “Tell me she’s really back.”

The line was quiet for a moment before Dean heard the hunter sigh. “She is, Dean. It’s really George. She’s back, son.”

Dean didn’t need to hear anything else. He snapped the phone shut and dropped his arm only to pull her into a crushing embrace, his eyes flooding with joyful tears as he held her close. For the first time since her death, Dean felt like he could breathe again.

George didn’t hesitate to hug him back, burying her face in the crook of his neck as her arms wrapped around his chest. The embrace, the feeling of being back in his arms was familiar, safe. She was finally home.

“For better or worse, I’m back,” she mumbled into his neck, using his own words from when he’d been the one brought back from the dead. Her eyes flooded as she breathed in the familiar scent of Dean Winchester and held him tight. George Finley had been back, but not fully. Not until now. Not until him.

“I’ve missed you so damn much,” Dean breathed out against her hair, his voice cracking with emotion.

George held him tighter, her hands clinging to the shirt on his back. “Me too, Dean. Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Dean pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes before he leaned forward and kissed her. Deeply. Passionately. He let himself fall, allowed it to distract him from the end of the world and the demon issues with Sam. Just for that moment, he fell, like a man drowning in bliss. George was back. She was in his arms, alive and well.

After a few moments time, he reluctantly released her from the kiss, his forehead leaning against hers, a cautious smile lifting the corner of his lips. The pair stood in silent bliss for just a moment. A tightness he didn’t know he’d carried loosened and drifted away as he breathed in the familiar scent that was the woman he loved. A scent he had dreamt of every night and had missed desperately.

He looked down at her, not releasing her from his grasp. “How are you here? Why are you here?” His joy suddenly turned to concern and worry with his own question. She had been happy in heaven. Who and why had she been yanked back into this hell hole?

“Castiel,” George answered lightly. “It was Cas that brought me back. But as to why I was brought back, your guess is as good as mine.” She shrugged slightly, her hands holding tightly around Dean’s waist, refusing to let go just yet. “What I do know is that I was brought back against heaven’s orders.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Dean frowned.

“Welcome to my world.” George smiled up at Dean who smiled back at her. His hands slipped from her waist, moving to cup her face as he kissed her again. Happiness that felt like home bled through each of them. She had worried over nothing. Dean still loved her just as she still loved him. He had more questions, she could see as much in his eyes when he pulled back and looked at her, but the world wasn’t stopping and waiting for their reunion to finish. No, things were moving at a frighteningly dangerous pace.

“Dean, we need to talk.” George’s voice was soft as she pulled an arm forward from around his waist and played with a button on his shirt. With a reluctance that took all her strength to overcome, she took a slight step back, allowing some space between them, but only a little. More than anything she wanted to close the gap back up—they both did—but George knew they needed to focus on the issue that had brought them back together.

“I know about Sam,” she said softly, stepping back out of his arms, but keeping hold of his hand as she led him to the table and chairs by the window. Dean followed willingly, not wanting to be parted from her, to keep feeling her skin against his.

Her comment however, brought reality crashing down on Dean like an ice cold wave. He sat down in the chair beside her, scooting it as close as possible, though not letting go of her hand.

“I don’t know everything, but I’ve been kept in the loop,” George continued, her fingers tightening around his as if she too were afraid he might disappear if she let him go.

Dean held up his free hand, his brows creasing in confusion at her comment. “Wait, how long have you been back?”

The look on George’s face told Dean he wouldn’t like the answer before she even gave it. “A few weeks.”

This news hit like a brick wall. Why was he only just now learning of her return? Why hadn’t she come to him as soon as she’d come back? Had she not wanted to?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dean leaned back in his chair, his grip on her hand loosening slightly.

Fearing he would misunderstand, George leaned forward, grasping his hand tighter in her own, not willing to let him go. “Castiel said it would be better if I stayed hidden. It wasn’t until recently that heaven realized I was back—”

“Wait,” Dean cut her off with realization at the mention of Castiel. “You were there.”

“Where?”

“At the warehouse. You’re the woman Jimmy Novak saw.”

George nodded her head slightly. “Yeah. I was there. But we’re getting off topic here, Dean. Things are happening right now with Sam. With you.”

“With me?” Dean leaned forward again in his chair again, confused. “What about me?”

“You two are being torn apart. Heaven and hell want you at each other’s throats for some reason. You can’t let that happen.”

Dean stood from his chair and began pacing the room. George let him go, knowing he needed to be moving. It was who Dean was. He needed to move when things got hard. He needed to process. She watched him carefully for a second before pushing forward. They were running out of time, this she knew. “You need to get Sam back, Dean.”

“I’m not going there, George.” Dean’s voice was firm, his ire at his brother leeching from his words. He had tried to save his brother. Time and time again, but every time, Sam had chosen to run back to Ruby. And each time it had broken Dean a little more. He wasn’t going to keep wasting his time anymore.

George stood to block Dean’s path as he paced, garnering his full attention. “Dean, you’ve gotta call him. Get him back. Mend things. He’s your brother.”

“That’s the problem, sweetheart,” Dean spoke with a cracked voice. “I don’t know if he is anymore.”

“Don’t say that,” George tried, but Dean shook his head.

“If you knew what he’s been doing. What he…” He trailed off as the knowledge replayed in his head. His brother was turning into a monster. Sammy was slipping through the cracks and Dean couldn’t save him. Not this time.

George stepped closer to him, reaching out to hold his hand in hers. “I know,” she said softly. “Bobby told me.”

Dean gazed down at her, his voice softening. “Then you know why I can’t call him. I’d rather lose him than watch him become a monster.”

His words broke George’s heart. She could understand where Dean was coming from, but she wasn’t willing to give up so easily. Perhaps this was what Castiel had meant when he said she would be needed to hold them together. When Dean was worn down and had lost all hope, she could step up and help him see the sun again. “He’s struggling, Dean. Your little brother has fallen. He’s lost. Sam needs his big brother to help him back up. Even if he’s fighting to stay on the ground.”

“I tried, George,” Dean huffed out, his frustration climbing. “I tried to talk sense into him. But he’s got this stubborn ass idea that he’s the one that needs to put a stop to all of this.”

George scoffed in amusement at the words, releasing Dean’s hand as she shook her head.

“What?” Dean asked. His hand flexed at the lost contact of her warmth.

She crossed her arms across her chest, pinning him with a look. “You and your brother are exactly alike.” A small knowing smile spread across her lips. “Two stubborn asses competing to see who can kill themselves for the other one first.”

Dean shook his head. “It’s more than that this time, George. Sam has gone off the deep end and is refusing to listen to reason. I tried to help him. And look where that got us.”

“So what?” George threw her hands up with her words. “That’s it? You’re just done? Walking away? Refusing to lift another finger for your brother?”

“No, dammit!” Dean’s emotions got the better of him, his voice snapping in frustration over the whole situation. His face turned sorrowful; for his snapping as well as for his brother. “You haven’t been around, George. You’re not seeing everything. Sam…he’s not…” Dean trailed off, rubbing at his face as he collapsed onto the end of the bed. “It’s like déjà all over again.”

“What do you mean?” She sat beside him, their shoulders brushing together. Her presence beside him, knowing she was really there, helped Dean get out his words.

“Sam ran away to Stanford. He didn’t want this life. First chance he got, he split. Didn’t bother looking back.”

George nodded. She’d heard this story before. From Dean, from Bobby, from Sam. Even from John one drunken night.

“Sam might’ve wanted out of the hunting life, Dean, but he never wanted away from you.”

Dean was quiet as he looked down at his hands. “Don’t think he feels that way anymore.”

“Why?”

“The last thing I said to him in that hotel room earlier…” Dean’s voice strained as he struggled to repeat the words he’d yelled out in anger at his brother. George waited patiently, knowing Dean needed to do things in his own time.

“The last thing I told Sam was that if he walked out that door, he better not come back.”

George’s eyes closed softly with the words. They had been the same words John had yelled at Sam the night he’d left for Stanford. Her lips parted in a heavy sigh.

“And I meant it,” Dean continued with a sniffle, his voice returning to his sharp edge. “I’m done chasing him, George. I’m tired of it. He can do whatever he wants now.”

“He’s still your brother.”

Dean looked down at her before his gaze fell away in thought. “I’m not so sure anymore.” He looked back over at her with a sharp sadness, their eyes meeting. “I’m not so sure he ever was.”

A tightness formed in George’s chest with those words, a sudden irritation growing. “Bullshit,” she spit out with a humorless laugh.

Dean’s head snapped up from where he’d looked away at her sudden change in attitude. “What?”

“You heard me,” George pushed up onto her feet and stood in front of Dean, hands on hips like a mother about to scold a child. “It’s all bullshit and you know it. You’re not sure Sam was ever your brother? Are you serious? Are you freaking kidding me right now?”

“Look, you don’t know—” Dean began to argue, rising to his own feet only to be cut off by George.

“Oh, don’t tell me I don’t know everything; that I don’t know what I’m talking about. You know damn well that Sam Winchester is your brother. That he has been and always will be Little Sammy.” She stepped up to him, poking him in the chest. “And you’re Dean Winchester, Sam’s big brother that will always be there for him, no matter how hard or dark or awful things get.”

Dean stood silently as George continued her tirade against him. “Family sucks, Dean. I know that better than most, and so do you. But that doesn’t mean that we turn our backs on them. You think Levi and I always got along? That, had it not been for Al, we would’ve had dream lives? Well, newsflash, Dean, family doesn’t work like that. Family means you get to see the dark secrets and ugly side of each other, that you get to shove and they shove you back harder, but at the end of the day, you’re still there for each other and still love each other. And you are the one that is there by their side when the world shoves them down, shoving the world right back for them. Because that privilege—the privilege of shoving them back—belongs to you and nobody else.”

George’s chest heaved as she finished her irritated rant. Her shoulders moved as she took a deep, calming breath.

Dean paced away to the window as he processed her words. Deep down he knew she was right. Sam would always be his brother. And heaven and hell be damned, he would always fight for him. He was just so tired of fighting.

“You need to call him, Dean. Remind him he’s not alone in all of this. That he still has his big brother.”

George watched as Dean gazed out the window. She released a heavy sigh, her eyes closing softly for a moment. When she opened them again, however, Dean was no longer in the motel room.

But neither was she.

Chapter Text

George looked around the room she suddenly found herself in. The faded papered walls of the motel were gone, replaced with something more cold and sterile looking. The walls were solid, no windows or doors to be found.

She spun on her heels, taking in the entirety of the square space. It wasn’t large, but neither was it small. A steel table sat at the center of the room, a single white fabric chair tucked beneath. Unsure of what was happening, she pulled out her phone, lifting it high above her head. Despite the action, however, the phone refused to receive a signal. Frustrated, she snapped it closed and shoved it back in her pocket.

Panic threatened to rise up into her throat, but George kept it at bay. Panicking wouldn’t do anyone any good right then, certainly not her. She tried to find a sign, a book, a crack in the wall—anything that might give her an idea of where she suddenly found herself, but fate it seemed wasn’t on her side.

Minutes crept by. George searched the walls, hopeful in finding a way out of whatever prison she’d been dropped into. Something told her this was the work of angels. It made the most sense. If it were true, that meant she was in trouble. And there was no way out of the box she’d been locked in.

After another few minutes, a man finally appeared. George flinched inside slightly at the sudden appearance of the man in a suit, but she held back her outward movements. She wouldn’t give her captors the satisfaction.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the thorn in my side. I’d say it’s finally nice to meet you, but then I’d be lying.” The man was tall and round, his hair buzzed short to hide the receding hairline. His face held a look that made George want to slap him. The smile on his face was forced.

When George didn’t respond to his words, he held a hand out to her with a pep she could tell was fake. “Oh, where are my manners? I know who you are, but you don’t know who I am. The name is Zachariah.” George remained still and silent, forcing the angel to pull back his empty hand.

His face turned into something more sinister, his smile more predator-like as he continued on. “And you’re George Finley.” He pointed at her as he began to casually pace the bare room. “You know, now I know how Job felt. That thorn in his side.” His words were filled with forced politeness but still snarled with disgust as he turned back to her. “Festering and oozing puss from infection. I just can’t seem to quite get rid of the thorn that is you.”

George studied the man in silence, unsure of what was happening. “Where is Dean?” She finally dared to question.

Zach smiled at her with self-satisfaction. “Dean is right where he needs to be. He’s no longer someone you need to worry about. Dean Winchester made his deal and now he’s keeping his promise.”

“What promise is that?” George was hesitant to believe a word that came out of the angel’s mouth. She didn’t know if angels lied, but she knew they wouldn’t hesitate to twist things around to make you think something else.

The angel's face turned more irate, his words sharp with a forced lightness. “That’s nothing that concerns the likes of you, missy.”

“What about Castiel?” She tried. “Where is he?”

Zachariah turned on her with a snarling look barely covered by his forced smile. “Castiel is where he belongs. We’ve made sure that he understands, once again, whose side he’s on. That he knows he serves heaven and the story written for us.”

Concern for the angel she had grown to consider a friend rose, giving her the courage to step closer to the fiend of an angel stood before her. “What did you do to him?”

Zach, however, waved off her question as if he were swatting at a fly that might barely be pestering him, his face turning to something more relaxed. “You know. Now that we have you, we aren’t quite sure what to do with you. I mean, we could toss you back where you came from, but,” he held his hands up with a slightly disgusted look, “I don’t like to get blood on my hands.”

George pushed away the emotions and feelings the thought of going back brought. There wasn’t time to think about that. Instead, she let her fists curl against the fear and anger she felt rising. “So what now? You just keep me locked up for all eternity?”

Zach leaned back with a smile, as if she’d just given him the best idea he’d ever had. “Now there’s an idea. Let’s start with that, shall we?”

With that question, he disappeared, leaving George alone again.

“Great.”

*****

Dean looked on in complete confusion as Zachariah droned on about the apocalypse. He’d finally shown his ugly face after a short period of forcing Dean to wait. When Dean had turned away from the motel window to respond to George’s pleas that he call Sam, he’d found himself in a white room with golden accents. The place resembled something you’d find in a fancy hotel or a mansion. A marble topped table and chairs sat in the center of the room. A bucket of ice with bottles of Dean’s favorite beer sat next to a platter of bacon cheeseburgers. Fancy statues littered the surfaces of the rest of the room.

The angel had shown up and immediately started talking about the end of the world and Dean’s place in it. Dean had refrained from asking about George, hopeful that she’d gotten out before the angels discovered she was there.

Now, Dean struggled to wrap his mind around what Zach was explaining. The angels had wanted to break all the seals. Despite the impression they’d given Dean and his brother, breaking the seals had been their goal all along. Him, Sam, and George never stood a chance. And now Dean was learning that he wasn’t going to be the one to kill Lilith or stop the apocalypse. At least not the way he had thought.

Zachariah explained that Dean was needed to stop Lucifer. But that made even less sense to him. If he couldn’t stop Lilith, like Zach claimed, then how the hell was he supposed to stop Lucifer? There was so much the angel wasn’t telling him, and what little he did, made no sense at all. What Dean did know was that there was a chance Zach was wrong about it all. Because Dean had George.

Zachariah finished his spiel on the end times and heaven’s vaguely shared plans and started to walk away. “One day, we’ll all look back on this and laugh,” he said with a smug face.

“Tell me something.” Dean’s words made the angel pause in his steps. “What makes you think that’s how things are gonna go down?” He asked, referencing the vague story line Zach had just laid out.

The angel laughed smugly as he threw his arms out. “Because it’s already been written.”

Dean gave the angel a curious smirk. “It’s been written?”

“Yes.” Confusion clouded Zachariah’s face, not understanding how Dean couldn’t grasp that simple concept.

“What if it doesn’t go down the way you think it will though?”

Zach’s face fell slightly at the knowing question, his tone turning more serious. “It will. Because like I said, Dean. It’s already been written.” His voice turned more venomous with his next words. “And no smudge of a stain is going to change that.”

Dean knew who Zach was talking about: George. George was the blot on their story and it pissed them off to no end that they didn’t know how.

“In fact,” Zach stood straighter, his voice returning to something more casual but more dangerous. “I’m just on my way to make sure that specific stain is wiped away completely.”

Dean’s face fell, fear rising in his chest. “No.” He darted forward to attack the angel, to stop him somehow from getting to George, but in the next second, Zach was gone.

*****

George continued to scan the walls, running her hand across the material in hopes of finding a crack, anything that she could use in her escape. Finding none, she leaned against the corner, sliding down until she hit the floor. She took a deep, mind-clearing breath and began to work through all the knowledge she knew in order to find a way out. She could banish the angels away, but then what? Could their absence make the material susceptible to damage?

Her mind continued to work through everything, the gears turning quickly but smoothly. Her return, the angels’ intense interest in Sam and Dean, the seals breaking… none of it was making sense or adding up. What the hell was heaven up to?

Catching onto the thought of the seals, George’s mind ran full speed. How were the demons breaking all the seals so quickly? How was it possible for them to beat out the angels? Weren’t the angels supposed to be so much stronger?

It was the answer to those questions that led to George having a brain spark. What if the demons weren’t beating the angels? What if the demons were winning, not because they were beating the angels, but because the angels weren’t fighting to begin with?

The thought of that being true caused fear to rise and join her panic. This wasn’t good. If that were the case, she needed to get out of there and get to Sam and Dean. They needed to know what was really happening. With this speck of gleaned information, it seemed as if the dam of her mind burst, the pieces of research Castiel had insisted she spend her time studying finally fitting together in a way that made sense.

According to prophecies and ancient scriptures, the angels and demons were preparing for their final showdown. Both sides needed Lucifer raised for that to happen. That was what heaven’s story said, she concluded. The apocalypse was the final battle between Lucifer and Michael. Heaven versus Hell. George hated herself for not connecting it all sooner.

Pushing herself up to her feet, George looked at the room with renewed determination. Grabbing the single chair there, she began to swing at the wall. With only a few swings, the chair broke to pieces. Undeterred, she raised her fists, pounding at the same spot the chair had hit.

Her mind continued to work as she pounded against the wall, connecting more dots. Castiel had said heaven and hell were going to try and tear the boys apart. But why? What did they need with the brothers?

A thought passed through her mind, the shock of it causing her to pause in her futile work on the wall. Her fist rested against the panel as she took in a deep breath, her eyes wide. “Well shit,” she breathed out. Lucifer and Michael. The final fight of the apocalypse. Sam and Dean. Somehow, they were connected. Somehow, heaven and hell were going to use the Winchester brothers to break the final seal and let loose Lucifer; use them to obtain their perfect story-line of two archangels battling it to the death. The event would wipe out most of the earth’s population, if not all of it.

Desperate to find a way out, George lifted her fist again to pound against the wall, only to suddenly find herself, once more, somewhere else. Rather than her fist pounding against a metal wall, she found herself knocking lightly on a familiar wooden door in a familiar little town.

George stumbled back a couple of steps in surprise. She looked around suddenly, spinning each way, unsure of what the hell was happening.

A moment later, the door opened up to reveal Dr. Perkins looking at her with slight surprise on his face. “George!” He spoke kindly. “Come in, come in.”

George looked around again before following her friend into his entry and through to his living room. Her mind swirled in complete confusion, unable to work out what was going on. She knew Zach hadn’t sent her here. Had it been Cas? Had it been someone else?

“It’s good to see you again. What brings you to these parts?” Dr. Perkins’ welcoming words pulled her from her running thoughts. Hesitantly, she sat in the chair he motioned to, her eyes scanning her surroundings once more.

“I’m not entirely certain, doc,” she answered honestly.

Chapter Text

Dean was anxiously pacing the room he was trapped in. Panic and fear swirled in his chest. He needed to get out of this damn place and get back to George. He needed to know what was happening, that she was okay.

He turned to pace back the room’s length once more only to stop in his tracks at the sight of Cas now standing before him. “Cas, what the hell is going on? Where is George?”

Castiel’s face turned soft for only a second before his face returned to its hardened state. “I know how much you care for her, Dean, but things are happening now. You need to focus on that.”

Dean gave the angel a hateful look as he resumed his pacing past the angel. “So what, you're here to play good cop to Zach’s bad cop?” He spun in anger towards the angel. “Why are you even here in the first place, Cas? Huh? You won’t help me get back to Sam, you won’t help me get back to George. So then what the hell is it that you want?”

When Castiel didn’t answer, Dean scoffed out in frustration. “What are they gonna do to George? To Sam?”

Castiel paced away a few steps, his mind thoughtful. “George will be placed where she belongs. As for Sam,” he turned to look at Dean. “We aren’t going to do anything to your brother. He’s going to do it to himself.”

This caught Dean’s attention. The words caused dread to settle in the pit of his stomach. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Again, Castiel remained silent, simply looking away in response. Frustration formed again in Dean. “Oh, that’s right. You gotta toe the company line.” His words dripped in a venomous sarcasm as he stepped up to the angel. “Why are you here, Cas?”

Emotions and thoughts battled inside of Castiel’s mind. He knew what was expected of him, what heaven wanted, what had been written. But he liked to believe that Dean was his friend. “We’ve been through a lot together,” he started.

Dean’s voice was hard when he responded before Castiel could finish his thought. “Yeah. You’ve been through a lot with George too, it seems.”

Castiel paused at this, his brows furrowing.

Dean continued, answering the angel’s unspoken question. “Yeah, that’s right. I know. George is alive. She’s back.” His chest swelled with so much joy at those words, but he pushed it down with a deep breath. The moment required focus on the issue at hand. He needed to get out of there and find her, because his heart was tearing apart not knowing what Zach was putting her through. It pissed him off to no end that he was stuck here with a traitorous angel and not able to do a damned thing to save her or Sam.

“You know, you told me once that she told you she saw you.” Dean pointed at Cas’ chest. “The real you. Said you weren’t like the other angels.” He looked around the room, his arms stretched out at his sides. “Standing here? Right now? Seems like you were wrong. Like she was wrong.”

Dean shook his head at that, allowing his arms to fall to his sides. “But one thing I know in this life, Cas? People are wrong about a lot of things. But George? No. Not her. George makes sure she has the right answers before she opens her mouth.” He held the angel’s gaze, his hard glare challenging him. “So which is it, Cas? Is George wrong? Or are you?”

Castiel took a moment to formulate his response, the battle inside of him evident on his face. “Try to understand, Dean. This is long foretold. This is your—”

“Destiny?” Dean cut off with a sharp tone. “Don’t give me that ‘holy’ crap. You already told me George changed the story. A story that heaven is using as their playbook. Well guess what, Cas? That playbook is outdated! There’s a new one that they don’t have. But you do.”

Castiel sighed out. “Dean,” he tried again, to again be cut off by the Winchester, his voice rising.

“No. You know George. You know us. You’ve seen people. Been around them. Hell, you even helped save them! But now? What? You’re gonna watch them all burn? For what? A dick of an angel named Zachariah?” Dean stepped back up to the angel, again challenging him. “Do you really think they’re telling you the whole story, Cas? Are you so naive to just do whatever the hell it is that they tell you to, no questions asked?”

Having finally been pushed too far, Castiel snapped back, meeting Dean’s challenging glare with one of his own. “What is so worth saving? I’ve seen inside of you, inside of George. There is nothing but guilt, pain, and sorrow. In paradise, you’ll finally be at peace. Even with Sam. George,” Castiel stressed, “the person you seem to care about the most—George will finally know what peace is.”

Dean’s entire frame froze at those final words, his brows curving slightly in bafflement. “What do you mean ‘George will finally know peace’?”

The angel paused, realizing the words he spoke in a fit of frustration. His jaw worked to recover his secret, but Castiel’s mind struggled to provide any words.

Dean adjusted his stance, anxiety thrumming through his limbs. “You said George was in heaven, that she was at peace. That’s what you told me. So what do you mean, Cas?”

For once, Cas had the decency to look remorseful. “I thought—I was under the impression that she was in heaven’s care. That she…” His words trailed off.

Dean leaned forward slightly, angling his head to catch Cas’ eye line. “You mean heaven lied to you. You mean George wasn’t in heaven?”

Castiel nodded solemnly.

“If she wasn’t in heaven then that means she…” Dean’s chest pounded painfully with the words. “This whole time? She—George was in hell?”

Guilt flooded through Castiel’s frame. The angel wasn’t George’s personal guardian; there was no way for him to have actually known, but he felt the guilt just the same. “Yes.” He met Dean’s glistening eyes full of fear. “It seems hell was on the look out for her soul. She had defeated so many demons, they had been keeping a close eye out for her passing.” Castiel took a breath as he worked to explain to Dean Winchester what had happened to the woman he loved. “When they gripped her soul, heaven it seems, turned a blind eye. They considered her a blot on their story. A stain they would rather remove. And so they allowed it.”

Dean spun, running a hand across his mouth as fought against everything right then; worked to wrap his mind around the truth. The thoughts and memories of what he had experienced in hell himself rose to the surface. Knowing now that George had suffered through the same things he did… His eyes glistened with pain and empathy.

Anger drove through his heart, his fists clenching, his voice rising, as he spun back on the angel. “And this is what you’re choosing over us? You see us living the lives that we do, you see heaven letting an innocent soul go to hell, and yet you’re still choosing that over us?”

“Dean,” Castiel tried, though there seemed to be no strength left in his voice. His words were stopped when Dean stepped up to him once more.

“Let me tell you something. This pain? And guilt? And anger? I’ll take it. Hell, I’ll even take Sam as is. Because it’s better than being fed lie after lie from some stepford bitch. And that?” Dean gestured to the angels beyond the walls of his gilded cage. “That ain’t paradise, Cas.”

Castiel turned away from Dean, avoiding the harsh glare the man gave him with the put-down.

“There is a right and there is a wrong. And right now, you know that whatever the hell heaven had planned isn’t right!” Dean grabbed Castiel by the shoulder and turned him around, forcing the angel to look at him. “You know it!” He yelled at him.

Taking a breath in a futile attempt to calm himself, Dean continued berating the angel into seeing sense. “You know it, Cas, because you know George. And there is no way something evil is the one keeping her in the story. You wouldn’t have rescued her if you thought for even a second that it was the wrong thing to do. You knew what was right and what was wrong. But then they dragged you back to bible camp and forced you back into being the good little soldier you claim to be. But we both know that’s not who you really are, Cas.”

Dean’s eyes turned pleading, his voice softening as he spoke of the woman he loved. “We both know that George saw something better than that in you. Otherwise, she never would’ve stayed with you, never would’ve confided in you. She never would’ve trusted you.”

A war raged inside Castiel’s mind. Everything that Dean was saying fought against everything Castiel had been taught, had known and believed for millennia. In such a short time, Dean, George, and even Sam, had shown and taught the angel things that he knew to be right, but warred against what heaven claimed was right.

“You wanna help us? Help me? Help George? Now’s your chance.”

Castiel inhaled deeply, his head still turned away, unable to meet Dean’s gaze. “What would you have me do?” He asked with an almost defeated desperation.

“Help George do what you told her she’s supposed to do. Save her and get me back to Sam. Help us stop this before it’s too late.”

“If I do that, we will be hunted,” Castiel snarled in warning.

Dean’s anger returned. “George is already being hunted!”

“We will all be killed!” Castiel tried again, fear evident in his voice.

Dean held Castiel’s gaze, his shoulders relaxing slightly, his voice low. “If there’s anything worth dying for, it’s this. It’s for all of us, and all of this. For all the innocent people that are going to die because angels want to follow a story that isn’t even right.”

Castiel’s jaw worked as he ruminated on Dean’s pleadings. He knew the man was waiting for a response, but he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to make the decision he knew deep down was right.

“Come on, Cas,” Dean pleaded once more.

Castiel opened his mouth to respond when a sound caught his ear. His head tilted slightly, an effort to more clearly hear what it was. “Dean,” Castiel began, the strength in his voice returned, though his attention was still on the voice.

“Come on, Cas. You know—” Dean tried again, believing Castiel had spoken in protest again. Before the Winchester could offer another pleading argument however, the angel was gone. Defeat spread through Dean’s body.

*****

George heard the familiar fluttering of wings and turned back around. “Cas,” she breathed out, relieved that the angel had heard her. The pair stood in the backyard of Dr. Perkins’ home. Uncertain of what was happening or going on, George had resorted to praying to Castiel. She knew she could trust him to help.

Not allowing George a moment to speak, Castiel stepped over to her, gripping her shoulder. “I need your help, George.”

In the next blink of an eye, the pair stood in a white room with gold accents. George’s eyes widened as she caught sight of Dean.

**

Back in that small town, Dr. Perkins stepped out from the kitchen door into the back yard, a warm cup of tea in his hands. George had excused herself to make a call a few minutes earlier while he made her a cup of tea. As he took in the sight of the now empty yard, a small proud smile spread across his face. He hummed lightly to himself as he turned back into the house, taking a small sip of the steaming tea he held, returning to his chair and the crossword that sat beside it.

**

Unaware of their arrival, Castiel strode forward, grabbing Dean by the shoulder and spinning him around. Silently and swiftly, he clamped his hand over the Winchester’s mouth and shoved him back against the wall.

Dean’s eyes widened at the sudden assault. They softened in the next moment however as he caught the sight of George over the angel’s shoulder. Understanding the moment, he looked back at Castiel, nodding. He would stay quiet.

Castiel released Dean and stepped back to George. Pulling out the demon knife he looked at her, a silent conversation seemingly held between the two. George nodded, accepting the knife from Cas. She stepped close to him, hugging him tightly in order to whisper in his ear. “Get as far away as you can, Cas.”

The angel nodded, disappearing in the next second.

George turned to Dean, sending him a smile. As if acting as one, the pair reached for each other, holding on tightly for just that moment. Time was running out, they both knew that, but they needed to hold each other for just a moment. Just to know the other was okay.

George pulled back first, knowing what had to be done. Stepping away from Dean, she lifted the demon blade Castiel had given her and drew the sharp edge against her forearm. Dean’s face morphed into concern as he watched the blood begin to seep from her skin. He wanted to stop her, but he trusted her. She knew what she was doing.

George handed the knife to Dean, using her free hand to dip into her blood and draw a sigil against the pristine white wall. After a few strokes, Dean recognized the mark, understanding what she was doing. He recognized the sigil from the warehouse they’d found Jimmy Novak. She was getting ready to banish the angels away.

“What the hell is happening here?!” Zachariah’s voice boomed through the small room with his sudden appearance. He turned angry eyes on George. “How are you here?”

The large framed angel began to storm towards the couple but it was no use. George peered over her shoulder with a smirk, slamming her palm against the wall. In the next instant, a blinding light lit the room, banishing the angels from the space.

As soon as the light dissipated George turned to Dean. “We need to go. Now. That asshole will be back soon.”

“How are we getting out of here? I’ve tried, trust me, sweetheart,” Dean looked around the room. “There’s no way out.”

George gave Dean a knowing look. “Do you know me at all, Winchester?” She grabbed his shoulder and quickly led him over to a clear space of wall. “Your turn,” she said, motioning to the wall.

Dean looked at her confused. “For what?”

“You’re the muscle,” she mused, pointing at the wall. “Kick it out.” When Dean still didn’t seem to comprehend, she continued. “With Zach and his goon squad not around to hold the spell, it’s just drywall.”

With understanding, Dean wasted no time in sending a booted foot through the wall with a forceful kick. They peeled away the hole, making it large enough for them to escape through, crawling out into a large open space. It seemed the entire display had been set up in a large warehouse.

Dean looked over at George with a smile, grabbing onto her hand. “That’s my girl.” The two quickly made their way outside into the sunshine. “Now where?” Dean asked. “We can’t outrun an angel.”

George gripped his hand and pulled him along, the pair making their way farther down the road. When it started to seem like George didn’t know where she was going, she finally pulled Dean to a stop at the edge of an empty and overgrown parking lot. There, Castiel stood waiting for them.

“Hey, Cas,” George called as the couple approached.

Castiel nodded in hello before turning to Dean. “We need to get to Sam.”

“Say less,” Dean responded anxiously.

“We have to stop him,” Castiel persisted.

“I know.” Dean wasn’t understanding where the extra commentary was coming from. He had George, now he only wanted to get to his brother.

“No, you don’t understand, Dean. We need to stop him from killing Lilith.”

Dean tilted his head at this information. “But Lilith needs to die before she can break the final seal.”

George shook her head. “Lilith is the final seal, Dean. As much as I want that bitch dead, we can’t let Sam kill her. If she dies, the end begins.”

Dean looked over at Cas. “So what are we waiting for?”

“We need to find out where Sam is,” Castiel explained. With that simple and vague explanation, he reached out and grasped both Dean and George by the shoulders. A moment later they were standing in the center of Chuck Shurley’s living room.

They watched as the man paced away from them on the phone. He apparently had seen the end of the world as well, talking to someone in an effort to order a pile of call girls for a party. When Chuck turned around and caught sight of the new arrivals in his living room, the man froze, his voice catching in his throat.

“I’m gonna have to call you back.” Hanging up the call, he scuttled over to the others. His eyes held a panic as he looked at Dean and Cas, but widened even more so when they stopped on George.

“You’re…” he trailed off, unable to find the words.

“Yeah,” Dean said, stepping forward slightly, as if to protect George from the writer. “She is.”

“But…but…she’s not,” Chuck turned to Cas, his finger scanning between the three. “You’re not… Neither of you are in this part of the story. Not here. Not now.” He pointed at George. “Not ever.”

“Guess we got a different version,” George replied with a shrug. “Where is Sam?”

“What?” Chuck looked between the three of them. “No, no, you guys aren’t supposed to be there.”

“I’m not gonna ask again, where’s my brother?” Dean stepped up to the writer.

“He’s uh…” He swallowed his words. Understanding the threat, Chuck turned slightly and grabbed a manuscript off of the cluttered desk and quickly offered up the answer. “He’s at St. Mary’s.”

Dean took the offered script from Chuck, reading through the page Chuck had turned to. “St. Mary’s? Is that like a convent?”

“Yeah, but like I said, you’re not supposed to be there. You’re not in the story.” He looked over at George who was reading over Dean’s shoulder. “She’s definitely not supposed to be in the story.”

Before anything more could be said, a bright light began to shine through the windows, the items in the room shaking on the shelves.

“Awe, man,” Chuck groaned out as he scurried to hide like a mouse. “Not again.”

“Not what again?” George asked, reaching out to brace herself on a bookshelf against the shifting building.

A high pitched hum filled the air, the entire building seeming to shake with a roar. Castiel turned to warn Dean and George. “It’s the archangel! He’s here to protect the prophet.”

“Well, shit,” George breathed out as she looked around at the items falling from the shelves.

“I’ll hold him off. You two stop Sam!” Castiel placed his hands on Dean and George’s heads, transporting them to a church in Maryland in the blink of an eye. St. Mary’s.

It took a second for George to adjust to the sudden change of location and noise level. They stood in a hall built of stone, candles the only source of light in the dark night. The two hunters shifted, scanning down each hallway before looking to each other.

“We stay together,” Dean said, grabbing George’s hand and heading down one of the hallways. George wouldn’t argue. Things tended to go to hell whenever they split up.

The quiet noise of people grew as they jogged farther down the hall. Dean came sliding to a stop as he turned a corner, George right behind him. They both looked down the new hall to find a set of opened double doors. Ruby, Sam, and Lilith stood in a face-off on the other side.

Fire raged through George’s blood. She hated demons. With every fiber of her being. But Ruby outmatched them all. The bitch had almost succeeded in destroying the Winchester brothers. She’d driven them apart, playing and toying with Sam’s mind, convincing him to follow her til the end. Whatever happened next, Ruby needed to end here. Permanently.

George and Dean moved to run towards Sam, to stop him from unknowingly breaking the final seal, but Ruby heard them first. The demon looked over her shoulder at them with a satisfied smirk before lifting a hand and slamming the doors closed, locking Dean and George out.

“Son of a bitch!” George yelled as she pounded on the door. “I hate demons.”

“Sam!” Dean pounded on the door, calling for his brother. George and Dean screamed Sam’s name again and again, their fists wearing down from the force of their beating against the solid doors. “Don’t do it, Sam!”

Suddenly, something in the air shifted. George’s pounding lessened, as she focused on the change. Dean paused in his fight with the door to look at George, their chests rising and falling in tandem. He had felt it too. Somehow, they both knew. They didn’t know how, but they could tell they were too late. Lilith was dead. Sam had broken the final seal.

“We’re too late,” George whispered, eyes widening with a subtle shake of her head.

Dean’s jaw worked in anger. “It’s not over yet.” Glancing around for something, he spotted a tall candelabra just down the hall. Running to grab it, he returned and began to bash it against the door. After a few hits, it finally gave way, revealing Sam and Ruby. Beside them lay the dead body of Lilith, blood flowing from her head to form a pattern on the stone floor. George had never seen something like it before, but she could easily guess what it was doing. It was the key that would unlock the cage, releasing Lucifer into the world.

Ruby turned to face them, a smug look on her face. “You’re too late.”

“I don’t care.” Dean growled out at the woman, his teeth gritting as he and George moved across the stone floor in unison.

George gripped the angel blade Castiel had gifted her weeks prior. Something beyond murderous rage and hatred for demons flooded her veins. No, this was a fiery protection and hell-bent revenge. Ruby had messed with George Finley’s family, and there was a price to pay for that.

Booted steps echoed off the stone walls as George’s rapid steps drew closer to the demon. As if seeing in George’s eyes what was coming, Sam grabbed Ruby’s arms from behind the same time that George grabbed her shoulder, her nails digging in with a strength that surprised the demon.

“You messed with my family, you bitch.” With the strength of all her rage, George drove the angel blade straight through Ruby’s chest.

With a gasp, Ruby’s body lit with an orange glow before it faded away, the vessel falling to the floor, the demon finally dead. Satisfaction filled George as she looked over at Sam, her chest heaving. Never again would Ruby be able to hurt her boys.

Without hesitation, Dean stepped closer, his eyes looking to his little brother. Sam’s eyes were filled with tears, his face full of guilt, remorse, and sorrow.

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered, his voice cracking. There were no words to describe how Sam felt in that moment. He had betrayed his brother, Bobby, George; he’d betrayed the world. All because he had put his trust in a demon. Something Dean and George had warned him against time and time again. Yet, he had still done it. And now the world was going to pay the price for his stupid mistake.

George stepped closer to the brothers, placing a hand on each of their arms. But there wasn’t time for anything else. A bright pillar of light shot straight up from the pooling blood, a roar getting louder by the second. George gripped the boys’ arms tighter. “Time to go!” She yelled over the sound.

In the blink of an eye, the growing pillar of light grew drastically, a bright white light enveloping everything.

And then the boys were gone.

Chapter Text

It became quickly apparent that whoever was consistently saving the Winchester brothers had no interest in saving George. As the blinding light grew, the boys disappeared, leaving George by herself in the abandoned church.

Realizing she was about to face down Lucifer himself, George jumped into action. “I’d rather not meet the devil face to face,” she whispered to herself and to whoever had taken the boys.

Spotting the large stained glass window in the room, she grabbed the candelabra Dean had used to break down the door and smashed it through the window. Colored pieces of glass fell, skittering across the floor. Only taking the time to remove enough of the remaining glass to allow herself to escape, George climbed through the window. The remaining shards protruding from the casing dug into her legs as she climbed through, collapsing onto the grass on the other side. Ignoring the now bleeding slices, George pushed herself up to her feet and began to run. She’d suffered worse pain than a few slices, and if she didn’t hurry, she’d experience much worse pain with the devil’s arrival.

Her feet pounded against the overgrown grass, her only intention being to put as much distance between her and St. Mary’s as possible in as short a time as possible.

The column of light behind her seemed to explode, the noise sounding akin to a jet engine as it enveloped the entire church. It continued to grow, shooting up beyond the clouds in the sky and spreading across the lawn, chasing at George’s heels. The heat grew against her skin as the light encompassed her. The force of its arrival shoved her forward, her hands reaching out to help break her fall into a roll on her shoulder.

Instead of falling against soft grass, however, George fell against something hard. The ear splitting roar was replaced abruptly with the sounds of crickets quietly chirping, the soft grass now a solid door.

George gasped at the sudden change of environment before she steadied herself on her feet and looked around. Rather than seeing the fields of an abandoned church in Maryland, she saw the front door to her apartment and the small town she once resided in.

George spun around, taking it all in as she worked to slow her heartbeat. What the hell was going on?

*****

“What the devil is your name?”

“Sa—s–s— Yosemite Sam!”

Dean and Sam slowly lowered their arms as they looked up in confusion. No longer were they about to be smote by Lucifer’s arrival. Instead, they found themselves on an airplane, classic cartoons playing quietly on the screens in front of them, the ringing in their ears slowly fading away.

“What the hell?” Dean asked quietly, disconcert and uncertainty spreading.

“I don’t know,” Sam replied as his eyes scanned the passenger-filled plane.

“Wait,” Dean spun in his seat, panic flooding through him. “Where’s George?”

Before Sam was able to respond, the shockwave from a sudden and blinding pillar of light caused the plane to tilt, the pilot being forced to conduct an emergency maneuver in order to maintain control of the plane.

Dean looked out at the light from his window, the sight terrifying. He begged anyone that would listen that George had made it out of that disaster alive.

*

As soon as they were allowed to disembark from the plane that had been forced to make an emergency landing, Dean headed straight for the first payphone he could find. He needed to call Bobby. His own phone had been fried in the opening of the cage.

Sam easily kept up with his brother’s furious pace, his own concern and disbelief rising as he worked to process everything that had just happened. “George is really back?”

“You saw her with your own eyes,” Dean answered, not slowing his pace.

“How?”

“Cas brought her back.” Dean gritted his teeth in worry and fear. “And now I’m about to lose her again.”

Sam shook his head as he offered reassuring words to his brother. “If she was brought back, there had to be a reason. And I don’t think whoever brought her back would just let her die immediately after, man.” A concern crossed his mind. “Do we know who brought her back?”

“No,” Dean said as he stepped up to the payphone and began to dig in his pockets for change. “But I can tell you it wasn’t heaven. Or hell.”

His brother’s words made Sam curious but also concerned. “Well, that’s good news, right?” He tried to be optimistic. “Maybe we’ve got someone bigger on our side.”

Dean didn’t have a response for Sam’s optimistic comment. While he was grateful to whoever brought George back to him, he wasn’t about to trust them or count them as an ally. Not yet. Not until they had more answers. Punching in Bobby’s number, Dean waited impatiently as the phone rang.

“Hello?” The old hunter finally answered.

Dean didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Bobby, tell me you’ve heard from George.”

The response was quick but calm, Bobby recognizing the man’s anxious voice. “She’s okay, Dean.”

Relief flooded through Dean, his body collapsing slightly against the phone terminal. He nodded to Sam, conveying the good news. “Do you know where she is?”

“She said she popped up in front of her apartment.” He paused. “She also said Lucifer is back. That true?” Bobby believed George, but he wished she’d be wrong for just this one time.

Dean sighed into the phone. “Yeah, he’s back.” His eyes lifted to Sam, causing the younger man to look away in shame. “Thanks, Bobby. If you can, let George know we’re on our way to pick her up.”

“Will do. You be careful. And take care of each other.”

*****

Thankfully, it was only a few hours drive to George’s apartment. George was sitting on the bottom of the stairs that led to her front door when the boys pulled up in a rental car.

As soon as Dean had the car in park, he jumped out and found his way to George, pulling her into a crushing embrace. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he breathed out into her neck before pulling away to look at her. “You are okay, right?” He held her at arms length, inspecting her person for any visible injuries.

“Yeah, I’m okay, Dean. A few cuts on my legs from some stained glass, but they were easy enough to clean up. I’m just thankful that someone pulled me out in time and sent me here. At least I had clean clothes and a decent first aid kit.” George’s tone was light as she looked up at Dean. Her eyes tore away from him as Sam stepped from the car and hesitantly made his way to the pair.

A smile lit George’s face as she took in the sight of her friend for the first time since she’d come back. She pulled away from Dean, meeting Sam halfway, her arms open in welcome.

Though it stayed hesitant and uncertain, Sam’s smile lifted as he returned George’s hug. “I’m glad you’re back. I missed you.”

“I’m glad to be back,” George smiled.

“Yeah, somehow I think you’d rather be back in heaven than down here dealing with all this,” Sam said lightly, having his best friend return acting as a balm to the misery of the world.

Dean caught the flash of almost pain that crossed George’s face with Sam’s words. “Alright kids,” Dean said, stepping up to the pair and turning the subject away. “The day ain’t over yet. We’ve had our reunions, let’s get going before things start falling apart again.” He led the way back to the car, Sam and George readily following.

He wished they could stand around and catch up, maybe drink a beer or two. But Lucifer was rising and the world was about to end. Besides that, Dean knew the truth of where George had been. As far as Sam knew, George had been happy and at peace in heaven. It would be better for his brother if it stayed that way for now.

In truth, Dean didn’t know how he hadn’t figured it out before–though he hadn’t really had the chance. But as they pulled out onto the main road and headed in the direction of Chuck’s house—their next stop for answers—Dean looked in the mirror at the woman sitting in the back seat. The look in her eyes was a familiar one—one he’d seen too many times when he looked in the mirror. Though, admittedly, George seemed to do a better job of hiding it than he had. But it was there, hidden behind the fighter that she was.

Though he desperately wanted to just pull her into his arms and tell her it would all be okay, that he knew and he was there for her, that he understood; he wouldn’t do it. Dean wouldn’t ask her about her scars from hell. Not yet. George would need her own time to process it and come to terms with what she had endured. Until then—and ever after—he would be there for her. When it all came crashing down and it all became too painful, he would be there for her.

*

After a few hours worth of driving, the trio arrived at the front steps of Chuck’s house. They didn’t bother knocking this time around. Seeing as the front door was partially open and it was clear the house had suffered a serious storm, they pushed their way in, past the broken furniture.

They found Chuck in the living room, hugging a bottle of liquor amidst the war zone that now made up his home. Blinds were shredded, furniture was smashed to bits, personal effects littered the floor, and most alarmingly, blood was splattered throughout every room it seemed.

“Chuck?” Dean called out carefully as they approached the man.

The man startled from his position, scrambling to his feet at their approach. “Sam?” The man’s face showed the shock he felt at seeing the Winchester alive.

“Hey, Chuck,” Dean said, relieved that he had survived.

“You’re okay,” Chuck breathed out in relief to Sam, his anxiety high as he panted for breath. “The last vision I had of you—you went full-on Vader. Your eyes—your eyes were black.”

Concern marred Dean’s face at that news. He looked over at his brother. “Your eyes were black?”

Sam turned slightly to look at Dean, shame covering his features. “I didn’t know,” he answered softly but honestly.

“Where’s Cas?” George asked, changing the subject to something not focused on Sam. It was clear whatever had happened was a tense subject—something they could come back to later on. But for now, they needed to focus.

The question drew Chuck’s attention, the prophet finally realizing a third person was in his house. “You…how—how are you here? This is… you’re—” The man seemed to struggle to breathe through his stuttering question.

“Where is Cas, Chuck?” Dean asked, pulling the prophet’s attention back on track.

Chuck stared at George a moment longer before tearing his gaze away and answering Dean. “He’s dead. Or gone. The archangel smote the crap out of him.”

George’s heart stuttered a beat at the news. She had considered Castiel a friend of hers. He had made some mistakes, some bad decisions, but hadn’t everyone? The news that he was most likely dead was saddening.

“Cas, you stupid bastard," Dean said with a shake of his head.

“Stupid?” Sam questioned. “He was trying to help us.”

“Exactly,” Dean answered.

“Oh crap.” All three hunter’s attention snapped to Chuck with his words.

“Oh, crap, what?” George asked, but the answer given came from behind them.

Zachariah’s voice was loud. “Thought we’d find you here.”

As if in reflex or second nature, Dean and Sam stepped forward and together, partially shielding George from the new arrival and his two goons.

“Play times over, Dean. Time to come with us.”

“You just keep your distance, ass-hat,” Dean said, anger dripping from his words.

Zachariah stopped in his steps, remaining on the other side of the room. He cheekily smiled at Dean’s words. “You’re upset.” It was an observation not a concern.

“Yeah, a little,” Dean answered. “You sons of bitches jump-started judgement day!”

“Maybe we let it happen,” Zach defended with a smile, “but we didn’t start anything. Right, Sammy?”

Anger burned in George’s chest with that last comment. “Bullshit you didn’t start anything,” George snapped, stepping up beside Dean rather than hiding behind. Dean held out a hand, grasping her forearm to hold her back from potentially attacking the angel.

Zach’s face morphed into one of disgust at the sight of George. “You again. How do you keep surviving? You’re like a cockroach that keeps coming back,” he said, turning to share his words with the two angels stood beside him. “Now, getting back to the pressing matter, it’s time to come with us, Dean. You want to kill the devil, we want you to kill the devil. We’re all back on the same team.”

“And how exactly is he supposed to kill the devil?” George asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “And the full playbook this time would be nice.” She gave him a sarcastic tight-lipped grin before letting it fall from her face.

Zachariah forced a laugh at her question, shaking a finger at her angrily as he forced a smile. “Always with the questions, this one.”

“And yet you never have the answers,” George snapped back.

The angel’s smile fell, replaced with how he truly felt towards her: anger and spiteful hatred. “Won’t you just die already?” He growled out.

“Hey!” Dean snapped, stepping closer, Sam following suit. “Watch it!”

“We don’t have time for stupid questions from an insipid little girl. Dean, we need to move now. We need to strike hard and fast. Before Lucifer finds his vessel.”

“His vessel?” Sam asked curiously.

Two seconds ticked by as Zachariah remained silent. George caught the look on his face: as if the angel had spoken something aloud he was meant to keep quiet. She had a pretty good idea what he was hiding when it came to that specific topic. Castiel’s forced week and a half of studying and research had allowed George to learn quite a bit about the end times. Combined with her brain spark in her angel prison room, she was fairly confident in what she’d put together.

“He is an angel,” Zach chuckled. “Thems the rules.” Lucifer would need a vessel just like any other angel. And it would require permission being given.

The room was quiet as Dean considered his answer. He took a breath, his voice hard with his response. “You listen to me, you two-faced douche. After what you did, I don’t want jack-squat from you!”

Zachariah’s forced lightness dissolved to anger. “You listen to me, boy!”

With that, George stepped forward, her patience with the angel run out. She stopped no more than three feet from the angel, an angel blade gripped tightly in her hand. It had been tucked into the inside pocket of her coat, knowing that the angels weren’t going to sit back and let them walk away from the end of the world. Not when they seemed to so desperately need Dean to win.

Zachariah stepped back in silence, his eyes wide. “Where did you get that?”

“A friend,” George said. She knew should Zach really want to defend himself, all he had to do was snap his fingers. But it was the principle of it all. She wouldn’t stand idly by and let this asshat mess with her boys any longer.

Zachariah looked over her shoulder at Dean. “You gonna call off your guard dog?”

Dean shrugged. “George is her own woman. She can make her own decisions. Hell, if she decides to gut you from the inside out, I might just help her.”

Zach dared to take a half step closer, his anger evident as his voice grew. “You think you can rebel against us? Against heaven? You think…” His words trailed off as his eyes finally caught on the blood dripping from Dean’s hand. “You’re bleeding. Why are you bleeding?”

“Yeah,” Dean said confidently. “Insurance policy in case you dicks showed up.” In a quick and clean movement, Dean spun around, pulling open a pocket door to reveal the angel banishing sigil. Without hesitation, he slammed his palm against it. The angels vanished in the next second.

The trio of hunters each looked at each other, their minds whirring as they processed everything that was happening.

“This sucks ass,” Chuck breathed out.

George, Dean, and Sam heartily agreed.

*****

Sam pulled into the parking spot beside the motel the three of them were staying at. They’d left Chuck to figure out the state of his house and headed out of town. They’d driven for a short while before deciding it was time to stop for the night and take some time to rest.

While Dean showered, George ran an errand to the nearest apothecary shop she could find, Sam offering to tag along. Knowing his brother would be with her, Dean felt better about her leaving, even if just to a nearby store.

Though it had taken a couple stops, George had managed to find the ingredients required to make two masking spell hex bags.

Now, she sat in the front seat beside Sam, tying the last one closed. She looked up at Sam as he put the car in park. “Thanks for helping with this.”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded hesitantly. “I was happy to help.”

It was obvious that Sam felt a heavy weight of shame and guilt over having broken the final seal that opened Lucifer’s cage. George knew it wouldn’t be something easy to let go, or to forgive himself for, but she was determined to not let him carry the burden alone. While he had made the decision, and a few wrong choices, the blame couldn’t fully lie with him. In fact, George laid complete blame on the angels and the bitch named Ruby.

“Here you go,” George handed over the hex bags. “You and Dean make sure you keep these on you at all times. It’ll help keep you hidden from angels and demons.”

Sam nodded, taking one of the bags and tucking it into his pocket.

George fiddled with the empty paper bag that had held the supplies. Gathering the courage, she finally spoke, the thought weighing on her mind. “I noticed you were familiar with the ingredients.”

Sam nodded, his eyes staring at the center of the steering wheel. “Uh, yeah. Ruby taught me.”

George nodded in understanding. She reached to open the door, only pausing when Sam spoke again.

“She was playing me the whole time.” The man looked down in shame at his hands in his lap. “I should’ve listened to Dean. He told me. He warned me. You even told me to trust Dean. That we would need each other.” Sam sighed with his confession. “But I was just… I was just being selfish.”

“No,” George corrected. She laid a gentle hand on Sam’s arm, garnering his attention. “You were trying to save your brother. To do the right thing. You couldn’t have known, Sam.” With those words, George pulled her hand back, her own focus turning to her now fidgeting hands in her lap.

Sam, having noticed the sudden change, frowned. “George?” He called softly.

George twisted her hands together with her own guilt. “I knew, Sam,” she confessed quietly. “I figured out that Lilith was the last seal.”

This time, Sam was comforting her. “Hey, you couldn’t have—” his words were cut off by George shaking her head, her words firm.

“Al might’ve been a bastard, but he made sure to teach me one thing, above anything else. Over and over again he made sure I knew. I had to know. I had to be prepared. I had to have the answers. Right then. I had to be ready before I even stepped foot into the fight. Because if I didn’t…” she paused, her chest rising with a breath as she looked out the windshield at the world going by. “If I didn’t, then mistakes were made. Wrong choices were chosen, and people died.” George watched the people walking past, living their lives. Oh how she wished she could have lived one of their lives, going about the regular day to day, existing in complete and total ignorant bliss. But she hadn’t been so lucky. She was a hunter who saw the dark underbelly of the world. Her gaze dropped to the dashboard as her eyes held steady in memories. “He was a bastard, but he knew what he was doing. And now, it’s not just someone dying. It’s the entire freaking world.”

The pair sat in silence for a few seconds before Sam tried again to reassure his friend. “George,” he started, but George waved off his words.

“No, please don’t, Sam. There’s nothing you can say, just like there’s nothing I can say for you. Not this time.” Her attempt at a smile was pitiful but honest.

Sam collapsed back against his seat, remaining silent. Because he knew she was right. There was nothing anyone could say for either of them. Each of them held the guilt of the world ending on their shoulders, in their own way, and nothing would take it away.

Quietly, the two climbed out of the car and made their way up the exterior metal staircase that would lead to the room. At the top, George paused. “Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Regardless of everything else? You and Dean need to talk.”

Sam thought on her words for a second before nodding.

*

Closing the room door behind him, Sam turned and tossed one of the hex bags to a freshly showered Dean.

“What’s this?” Dean asked as he looked down at the dark velvet pouch.

“Hex bags,” George explained. “They’re not perfect, but as long as you keep it on you, it should keep you hidden from angels and demons.”

Dean nodded as he looked at the bag. “Speaking of which,” he hedged carefully, looking up at Sam. “How are you feeling? You jonesing for a hit?”

George waited for the answer. Sam had essentially become addicted to demon blood, using it to fuel his psychic abilities to exorcise demons and send them back to hell. It had all been a ploy on Ruby’s part to get him strong enough to kill Lilith. George too, had wondered if Sam was dealing with any sort of withdrawal.

“No,” Sam answered confidently. “It’s weird. To tell the truth, I’m fine.”

George sat back on one of the beds in relief. That was one less thing they’d need to worry about.

Dean lightly tossed the hex bag from hand to hand in thought before nodding. Holding it up, he pointed at George. “What about you?”

“What about me?” She asked in confusion.

“You get one too?”

“Ah. Uh, I actually don't need them.” George subconsciously rubbed at her ribs in memory.

“How not?” Sam asked, intrigued.

“Rib tattoos. Courtesy of Cas.” George continued her explanation, though her words remained vague and reluctant. “When…well, when I came back, heaven didn’t know and uh, hell wasn’t too happy. So he hooked me up. Kept me off everyone’s radar.”

Sam tilted his head slightly, a puzzled look taking over. “Angels didn’t know you were missing from heaven, but demons did?”

Dean looked at George, but turned his attention to reloading the gun sitting on the table beside him, already knowing the answer to that question. George avoided looking at anyone, instead offering only a shrug before focusing on her duffel beside her.

Sam noticed the sudden awkwardness, though he wasn’t sure what had caused it. Deciding it was best to move on, he turned back to his brother. George was right. They needed to talk. He took a deep breath before stepping closer. “Listen, Dean, about—”

Dean, already knowing what was coming, cut his brother off before he could continue. “Sam, it’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.”

Sam chuckled humorlessly. “That’s good because what can I say? I’m sorry? I screwed up? Doesn’t really do it justice, ya know?” There was a pause before he continued. “There’s nothing I can do or say—”

Dean’s frustration became evident in his tone, his voice raising a level. “So why do you keep bringing it up?” He didn’t want to dwell on what had happened, he didn’t want to think about how his brother had turned his back on him and trusted a demon over him. Dean didn’t want to deal with any of it anymore.

“Dean!” George scolded softly, her face disapproving.

Dean tossed the magazine he was reloading onto the table, feeling chastised by George. His hands rose for a moment in surrender. “I’m sorry, okay? I just—I wanna move on.”

Sam shrugged with his arms. “So do I. Trust me, but,” Sam glanced at George who gave an encouraging nod. “We need to talk about this.”

“What more is there to talk about, Sam?”

Sam’s frustration was growing; for Dean as well as himself. “How about how I broke your trust? How I turned my back on you?”

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but Sam didn’t give him a chance.

“About how you turned your back on me and pushed me away just as much?”

Dean raised a finger at his brother. “I never pushed you away, Sam. You ran.”

“Dean, you called me a monster. And I don’t blame you,” he rushed out, “I don’t. But you pushed just as much as I ran.”

“I apologized for that, Sam,” Dean defended, his tone carrying a sharp edge.

“When, Dean? Because last I checked, you didn’t.”

“I left you a voicemail.”

Sam’s brows furrowed. “What? When?”

“When you ran off with Ruby.”

Sam adjusted his stance as he thought about the voicemail. Sam hadn’t forgotten it. The words he’d heard come through in his brother’s voice hadn’t left him since he’d heard them. Dean had called him a monster, a blood-sucking freak. He’d said he wasn’t going to save Sam anymore, but rather kill him for the monster he was.

“Dean,” Sam said, his voice quieter, “I listened to that voicemail. There was no apology.”

“What? No.” Dean’s face contorted in disbelief and confusion. “I said that I was still pissed and owed you a serious beatdown for what you did, but I apologized for what was said.” His voice softened, his next words coming out honest and sincere. “No matter how bad it gets, it doesn’t change that you’re my brother. Always will be.”

George rolled her eyes in slight amusement at the situation. “You boys are idiots.”

Both Sam and Dean looked at George, each one clearly offended and confused.

“Angels are trying to split you up. Look at everything that’s happened. Heaven and hell want you at each other’s throats for some reason. Pretty sure they did some hinky shit to change that voicemail in their favor.”

Realization played across the brother’s faces. Sam’s held more relief and looked less burdened with the knowledge that Dean didn't hate him. His relief was short-lived as he asked a question. “If heaven and hell want us split apart, then what chance do we stand against them then? I mean, are we really gonna stand here and pretend we can hold our own against an entire host of angels?”

George thought back on Castiel’s words. He had said she was needed. She still wasn’t entirely certain how, but for now, she would be their glue, their shield. Heaven and hell wanted her, so she would use that to their advantage: George would be the distraction.

Rather than sharing those thoughts, she shared another fact she knew to be true. “You boys are Winchesters. And if I know anything about Winchesters, it’s that they’re pretty good at surviving the impossible.” She smiled up at the boys. “Now, shake hands and make up.”

The brothers chuckled at her demand, but obliged, hugging each other tightly.

“Good,” George said smugly as they parted. “Now that the chick flick moments are over, what now?

Dean gave her a look but plopped down on the bed beside her, looking between her and Sam. “Let’s say this is just another hunt. What’s first?”

“We, uh, we figure out where the thing is,” Sam offered up.

George scrunched her nose in dislike. “Great. Any ideas on how to find the devil?”

Chapter Text

5.1: Sympathy for the Devil

The feeling in the motel room was familiar, comfortable. Dean was sitting in a chair beside George, a beer in his hand, while George and Sam sat at the small table that always appeared in motel rooms, searching for anything related to their hunt on laptops.

The familiar sight brought a warmth and comfort to George’s chest that she hadn’t felt in a while. The world was literally ending, the devil was rising, and angels were hunting them, but in that moment, George didn’t care. She was back with the Winchester brothers, back with Dean. Even if it was for just a moment, everything felt right.

George scrolled down, reading the umpteenth paragraph on the apocalypse and what was headed their way according to prophecy. She’d read it all before, but having come up with bupkiss when it came to hunting Lucifer, she’d decided to give her mind a rest and go over familiar reading.

She’d just finished reading the shortened story version of the Michael and Lucifer battle when something in her mind clicked. She blinked at the screen and shook her head slightly, wondering how she hadn’t made the connection before.

“What’s up? You okay?” Dean asked in concern, having noticed her reaction.

“I’m a freaking idiot.” George let her head collapse against her palm, her head shaking at her own stupidity.

Dean chuckled, sharing an amused look with Sam who looked up at her words. “Why do you say that?”

George shook her head again but lifted it. “I’ve been reading over this stupid apocalyptic-end-of-world-angel-duel for weeks now. Cas kept telling me I had to keep researching, I needed to know what was going on. At one point, he told me to meet him so he could tell me something, but he never got the chance.” She looked at Dean. “I think I just figured out what he was trying to get me to see.”

“Which is what?”

She adjusted in her seat to better face Dean. “Remember how Zechariah mentioned that Lucifer was looking for his vessel?”

Sam and Dean both nodded, waiting to see where her words took them. “Well, if Lucifer needs a vessel, as well as every other angel that’s popped up here on earth, it stands to reason that Michael needs a vessel as well. Right?”

“Right,” Dean dragged out slowly, still uncertain where she was going with everything.

George turned to face Dean fully. “Zachariah said that heaven needed you to help defeat the devil.”

When she wasn’t more forthcoming with her revelation, Dean swirled his head in a circle. “And?”

A small amused smile lifted her lips at Dean’s actions before she explained. “And wouldn’t it make sense that all of this combined would mean that heaven has chosen you, Dean Winchester, to be Michael’s vessel?”

A heavy silence fell over the room at that. Dean looked over at Sam, his mind whirring.

“It actually makes a lot of sense,” Sam said with a small concerned nod. The thought of his brother being singled out to be an archangel’s play thing was disconcerting to say the least.

George hated that such a burden had just been planted on Dean’s shoulders. She felt even worse having been the one to place it there. But it all made too much sense and Dean deserved to know he potentially had an archangel waiting to ride around in his skin.

Dean stood up and paced the room a few times in heavy thought, Sam and George watching on in silence.

“Dean?” George called softly when the silence had dragged on for a concerning amount of time.

The older Winchester finally stopped, plopping down on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands as he worked to process this news. After another moment, he looked up between Sam and George. “Okay, but Zachariah said Lucifer needed permission from his vessel, right? Those are the rules. Angels have to get permission from the vessel before they can take over, right?”

“Right,” George and Sam both nodded.

Dean clapped his hands with gusto, his face sparking with light for a brief moment. “Well then, we got nothing to worry about. Because I ain’t saying yes to some douchebag of an angel riding my bones.” His words were spoken with a lightness, but the stress and anxiety in his eyes betrayed him. George and Sam’s eyes met briefly in silent conversation before turning back to Dean. They knew the weight had just become devastating for the man they both cared deeply about.

Clearing his throat, Dean stood up, opting for a change of topic. “Any luck on finding Lucifer yet?”

George and Sam turned back to their computers, each of them sharing what they’d figured out. While Sam shared what he’d found—which wasn’t much to go on, George silently observed the brothers. Though he was strong and was good at hiding how he truly felt, George could see the fear and worry in Dean’s eyes. Part of her wished she had kept her mouth shut on it. Perhaps she should have.

Her eyes then trailed over to Sam as he showed his brother something on the screen in front of him. The sight of the two brothers, side by side, working together, tore at something in her chest. Life wasn’t fair. The final, end-all-battle, according to all the readings, was to be set between Michael and Lucifer. Two brothers. Heaven and hell was working to split Sam and Dean apart, to drive a wedge between them. And Dean was Michael’s vessel. If anyone added them all up, they’d more than likely come to the same conclusion that George had. It was highly likely that if Dean was Michael’s chosen vessel, then Lucifer’s chosen vessel was Sam. The thought twisted in her gut, pulling at her heart.

George decided she would keep those thoughts to herself, tucking them away with a silent prayer that she was wrong. Telling Dean that Michael, the supposed good guy in the battle, God’s warrior, was going to ask to use him as a suit was one thing. Telling Sam that his date to the end of the world fight was supposed to be Lucifer? It just wasn’t going to happen. She convinced herself that it was just musing anyways. There was no definite evidence that Sam was the devil’s vessel, therefore it would be stupid to bring it up and cause problems when there might not even be anything to worry about.

Yet, in the pit of her twisted stomach, George was almost positive she wasn’t wrong. Which made it all that much worse.

***

It was late into the night when George finally fell asleep, her head resting in the crook of her arm against the table beside her computer. Dean had fallen asleep hours ago on the bed, his arm resting across George’s thigh. He had pulled her chair—and in the process the table—closer to the bed before passing out on his stomach, the feeling of her beside him reassuring him that she was still there, that she was safe and back home with him.

Sam sat at his laptop, still awake. He looked up from the armchair he sat in across the room, and took in the sight of the couple. A small smile lifted his lips at the sight. It had been too long since he’d seen the light in his brother’s eyes. George’s return had brought it back. In truth, her return had been good for more than just Dean. It had been good—needed, for both of the brothers.

The memory of her death still haunted Sam on the nights he stayed up too late, or the nights that his brother had been too quiet, lost in his own thoughts and memories. The thought brought a heaviness to his heart each and every time. Sam hadn’t had a chance to thank her for saving his life, though he doubted she’d want him to anyways. Still…

Breathing out a quiet laugh at the sight of the pair, Sam set his laptop aside and was about to push himself up from his seat when a sound made him pause. His brows creased slightly as he listened for a moment. When it came again, Sam’s brows furrowed. He pushed himself up and quietly walked over to where George lay asleep, head on the table.

His frame froze when he saw George flinched slightly in her sleep, a deep crease running between her brows as if she were in pain. Sam’s own furrowed brows deepened in concern. A soft almost whimper escaped George’s lips as her body seemed to flinch once more, this time more noticeably.

The warmth in Sam’s blood cooled slightly at the familiar sight. He had witnessed something very much like it before when Dean had been brought back from hell. Nightmares. Sam shook off the thought almost immediately. George had been in heaven, not hell. Her reactions must be caused by something else.

Gently, he reached out and nudged her shoulder, calling her name softly. Almost instantly, George popped up with a start. Her eyes were wild and full of pain before she quickly wiped at her face, clearing it away. “What time is it?” The words were barely a graveled whisper as she took a deep breath to clear her head.

Sam shifted on his feet, something in his chest pulling taught at the sight of her. “A little past two. You okay?”

“Yeah,” George quietly cleared her throat as she scrubbed a hand down her face and tried to blink the images away. “Just…yeah, I’m good.”

“You sure?” Sam asked in concern.

Still swamped with the images and sounds that haunted her nightly, George snapped slightly at his prodding. “I said I’m fine, Sam.” Realizing what she had done, George took a deep breath and immediately apologized, her voice quieter yet full of sincerity. “Sorry, Sam.” She offered up a small smile, though it didn’t reach the pain still lingering in her eyes. “I’m okay. Promise.”

Though unsure of her words, Sam nodded and motioned to the bed. “Okay. Why don’t you get a little more sleep? In a bed,” he said with a small smile.

George only nodded, closing her laptop and cleaning up her notes. Sam returned to his own set up, closing everything down for the night. He still watched from the corner of his eyes, noticing George’s tired movements. Something whispered against his mind, but the words were gone before he could fully grasp onto the thought.

George crawled across the mattress, snuggling up beside Dean. Sensing her beside him, Dean turned over, wrapping an arm around her waist, and pulled George close to him. George obliged, content to be back in his arms, her head finding its place on his chest.

George closed her eyes and let her breaths even out as Sam turned out the last of the lights and climbed into his own bed. After a few silent moments passed, George’s eyes opened. Adjusting her head, she studied Dean’s face in the dim moonlight that traced through the parted curtains. His freckles, the lashes that laid gently on his cheeks, the soft brown hair shooting up in spikes; She had missed him so damn bad.

Carefully, George reached out with her hand, grasping his own with it. As if knowing, even in his sleep, that she needed him, Dean squeezed her hand lightly, his arm around her waist holding her closer. The motion was reassuring and safe. Something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Laying her head back down on his chest, George lay there in the silence, listening to the heartbeat of the man she loved. After a long while, her lids finally drifted closed, sleep pulling her down into a dark and dreamless state.

*****

The boys woke the next morning to George already typing away at her computer. Sam ran and got them coffee and breakfast, getting to work on his own computer when he came back.

The room was quiet as they each worked in an effort to find anything that might tell them where to find Lucifer. George wasn’t sure what they would do once they did, but for now, it gave them something to do, something to tackle, instead of just sitting around waiting for the world to end.

The coffee was hot and welcoming as George took a sip. Feeling eyes on her, the woman glanced up over the top of her computer, pausing when she found Sam looking at her, a smile lifting his features.

“What?” George asked, her own smile unable to stay away. Never in a million years did she think she’d ever see her friend’s smiling eyes again. It was a balm on a small part of her soul.

Sam shook his head slightly, partially in answer to her question, partially to clear the thoughts from his head. “It’s just good to have you back.”

“It’s really good to be back,” George answered honestly.

Sam’s smile turned to amused disbelief as he leaned forward slightly against the table. “Really?” He waved a hand in gesture of the old motel room. “This is better than heaven?”

Dean, sitting on the bed beside George on his own computer, looked up at this, worry settling in his chest. He watched as George’s smile faltered only slightly at the question before she forced it back up, her words light. “Well, yeah. Sitting here in an old motel room on a case with you two? Beats heaven any day.”

Though his smile lit with the truth and appreciation of her words, Sam’s brows began to furrow slightly in curiosity, catching the slip of her smile. He was about to ask George if she was okay, only to be stopped when a knock sounded at the door. All three of the hunters were immediately on alert, no one expecting any company.

Quietly, and with a practiced smoothness, all three armed themselves before positioning themselves strategically throughout the room. Sam, checking to make sure the other two were ready, calmly opened the door, his weapon hidden in his right hand behind the door.

He blinked at what he saw. Standing before him was a shorter woman with wide awe filled eyes, braces glinting across her broad smile. She gasped in amazement as she took in the sight of Sam, as if he were some celebrity she’d been dying to meet.

Sam glanced briefly at the others over his shoulder—both of them mirroring his own confusion— before turning back to the strange woman who still hadn’t managed to say a word. “You okay, lady?”

At the sound of his voice, the woman gasped again, the sound a mix between excitement and disbelief. “Sam. Is it really you?” Her voice was breathy. Without waiting for an invitation, the strange woman stepped forward placing her hand against Sam’s chest as she looked up at the man with obsessive eyes.

Noticing Sam’s instant discomfort, a feeling she felt herself, George stepped up, tucking her gun at her back. Only partially carefully, she pulled the woman’s hands away from Sam, placing herself slightly in between the two. “Do we know you?” She asked.

The woman continued to stare at Sam over George’s shoulder with a dreamy expression. “No, but I know you.” Her face dropped suddenly as she registered who had asked the question. “Well, not you,” she corrected. Her attitude seemed to change to something almost angry as she looked suspiciously between George and Sam.

Sam eyed the woman uncomfortably as he shifted on his feet. “Uh, how exactly do you know us? Uh, me?” He corrected.

The mesmerized shine returned to the woman’s eyes as she grinned up at Sam again. “You’re Sam Winchester.” She looked past Sam to where Dean stood a few feet away. “And you’re Dean.” Her face fell into something more disappointed as she looked the older Winchester up and down. “Not what I expected.”

The entire situation put George on alert. Her dislike for the strange woman was growing by the second, though she was fairly confident this woman—whoever she was—was no serious threat. That didn’t mean she wasn’t trouble though.

The woman turned back to Sam, finally introducing herself. “I’m Becky.” With those simple words, she pushed her way into the room as if it were the most natural thing in the world and she wasn’t completely invading their personal space. Or risking getting shot by George.

“I read all about you guys,” Becky continued. “I’ve even written a few—” she cut herself off, her cheeks blushing as she giggled at her words.

With a slight roll of her eyes, George stepped towards the woman, snapping to pull her attention away from drooling over Sam. “Yeah, that’s great, Becky. Why are you here?” She motioned at the imaginary drool on Becky’s chin. “Other than to fangirl attack the boys?”

Becky’s dislike of George became obvious almost immediately. Her dreaming grin turned into more of a condescending sneer as she looked at George, her eyes inspecting the hunter with fire. “Who are you? You’re not part of the story.” It seemed the woman was under the impression that she belonged there and George didn’t. The thought was amusing if not rather annoying to George.

George mumbled to herself, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “So I’ve been told.”

Becky’s eyes lit up suddenly as she gasped at whatever idea had just floated into her brain. “Unless, you’re in the unpublished works!” Her excitement returned, her dislike of George suddenly forgotten. “I have so many questions! Do you—”

“Becky!” George snapped, trying to get to the point of why the woman was suddenly at their motel room and how exactly she had managed to find them.

Becky focused herself, drawing in a calming breath, though her body remained tense, her eyes dreamy whenever she looked at Sam. “Right.” She turned back towards Sam. “Mr. Edlund told me you were here.”

“Chuck?” Dean asked, stepping closer.

“He has a message,” Becky explained. “But he’s being watched. Angels.” Becky paused, squinting in suspicion at George. “Are you an angel?” She leaned closer to Sam, her voice a loud whisper. “Are you being held against your will? Blink twice for yes and I’ll cause a distraction.”

George did roll her eyes at that. Sam, seeming to be just as annoyed with the woman, spoke up. “Uh, no, this is George, my best friend. And my brother’s girlfriend. Now what’s the message?”

Becky blinked twice as she looked between Dean and George as if trying to process Sam’s words.

“Message?” Dean asked again, his own lack of patience coming through.

Becky shook her head, redirecting her focus. “Right. He had a vision. The Michael sword is on earth. The angels lost it.”

The three hunters exchanged worried glances. “The Michael sword?” He looked over at George for an answer.

George nodded. “The sword God made specifically for Michael to defeat Lucifer.”

“Does he know where it is?” Sam asked.

“In a castle on a hill of forty-two dogs,” Becky answered confidently, despite her answer making no sense to the hunters.

“What?” George and Sam answered in tandem.

“Forty-two dogs?” Dean asked.

Sam shifted as he tried to work out the riddle. “Are you sure you got that right?”

Becky nodded forcefully. “It doesn’t make sense, but that’s what he said.” Her voice turned dreamy again as she placed a hand against Sam’s chest once more. “I memorized every word.”

Dean choked on a laugh at the woman’s actions. George stepped up again, grabbing Becky’s wrist lightly but forcefully and pulled her away from Sam. “Okay then,” she said, leading the woman to the door. “Well, thank you very much for that. But if that's it, you should really be going. Wouldn’t want to put your life in danger or anything.” She pushed Becky through the door with a forced smile. The door swung closed, cutting off whatever Becky had turned around to say.

With that taken care of, George turned to face the boys. “So. Castle with forty-two dogs. Any ideas?”

Chapter Text

Understanding that help was needed in solving Chuck’s riddle, a call had been made to Bobby. The old hunter left soon after, heading in their direction. He wouldn’t be able to show up until the next day, so George and the boys continued on the work of finding omens and signs that might tell them where Lucifer was, while also working to solve the riddle themselves.

It was late the next morning with George sitting at her computer. She rubbed at her eyes, drinking down the last of the coffee in her to-go cup. For staying in the same room, the boys hadn’t been observant of the condition George was falling into. Their thoughts and concerns were occupied with world-ending events, and so it was understandable that they had missed the signs. They didn’t see the bags forming under her eyes, the addition of concealer added to her routine more often. They missed the increased number of coffee to-go cups piling up in the garbage can, and the fact that she was awake when they fell asleep and awake when they got up in the mornings.

Or so it was thought. Dean had caught each sign, his own worry growing by the hour. If there was something he could do, anything to ease her fears, her memories, her pain, he would do it in an instant. But, unfortunately, Dean knew from experience there wasn’t a damn thing he could do.

A short time later, Bobby finally arrived. “Good to see you boys in one piece,” he said, offering each of the boys a hug in greeting. He turned to George next, offering her a nod. “George,” he said, hugging her as well.

As George pulled away, she paused for a moment. Something seemed different about Bobby’s hug, but she supposed it was a stressful and hectic time for everyone.

The four of them got down to business, going over the thick books Bobby had brought with him, as well as continuing their search online for whatever it was that Chuck had been referring to. The conversation had been quiet for the most part, but eventually drifted towards the topic nobody wanted to discuss right then: the starting of the apocalypse, the releasing of Lucifer from his cage. Bobby’s comments thus far had been snappy and borderline insulting, but again, George wrote them off as it being a stressful time for everyone.

With the new topic, Sam, once again, offered up his humbled and honest apology to Bobby, confessing to the old hunter and claiming the blame for it all. Explaining how he had been the one to break the final seal.

George was ready to come to her friend’s defense again, Dean trying to get his brother to shut up, but Bobby’s response had George snapping her mouth shut, her face full of shocked surprise.

The old hunter stood from where he was sitting at the table and walked over to Sam, his face full of angry disbelief. “You were reckless, and selfish, and arrogant,” Bobby accused with a low breathy voice. “You’re sorry you started Armageddon?” Bobby stepped up to a broken down Sam. “This kinda thing don’t get forgiven, boy. When this is all over, if we’re still alive…” he looked Sam in the eyes. “I want you to lose my number.”

George pushed back her chair, quickly moving to Sam’s side, the pain in his eyes heartbreaking. “Bobby!” George hissed, unsure what the hell had gotten into him. She couldn’t believe that Bobby Singer was actually pushing Sam away. The boy had been like his own son.

Bobby turned his eyes to her, his voice gruff as he snapped at her. “No, George. I’m entitled to my own opinion and allowed to make my own decisions. You don’t get to make up my mind for me. Especially not on this.”

Sam swallowed against the lump forming in his throat, nodding against the ache in his chest. “Maybe it’s best if I head over to the church, see what I can find out there.”

George gave Bobby a hard look. “I’ll come with you, Sam.”

Dean reached out and grasped George’s hand as she passed to grab her coat. “George,” he whispered, unsure if it was such a great idea for her to leave.

George squeezed his hand once, offering him a tender smile. “It’s okay, Dean.” She glanced over her shoulder at Bobby, anger for the man surfacing in her chest for the first time. The hunter seemed to refuse to meet her gaze. George looked up at Sam who was waiting by the door, staring at the floor with sad eyes. She turned back towards Dean. “We’ll be okay.”

With reluctance, but understanding, Dean nodded. Giving her a kiss on the cheek, he squeezed her hand once more before letting go. “Be careful.” He looked over at Sam, his brother nodding in agreement.

Sam and George made their way silently outside and down the stairs and onto the busy street below. Seconds ticked by in silence, their steps slow and heavy.

“He didn’t mean it, Sam,” George offered, finally breaking the silence. “You know he didn’t.”

Struggling to lift a smile, Sam simply nodded. “I’m not so sure about that, George. Not this time.” The large man nodded in reassurance, both to George and to himself. “But it’s okay.”

George grasped onto Sam’s arm, pulling him to a stop and getting him to look at her. “No it’s not, Sam. Look, mistakes were made, and I’m not gonna try and pretend they weren’t. But hindsight is twenty-twenty. You never could’ve known what was going to happen going forward.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that I’m the one that raised—” he paused, looking around at the passersby before lowering his voice. “That I raised Lucifer from the cage and started Armageddon. That I betrayed you and Dean.”

“No, it doesn’t,” George agreed solemnly before offering a slight encouraging smile. “But beating yourself up over it constantly won’t change it either.” She reached out, squeezing his arm in comfort. “So how about we figure this thing out, figure out where to go from here, and see if we can’t fix things, huh? As a family.” Her heart broke for them all. It wasn’t easy to keep trusting someone who had thrown your advice and trust out the window to chase after a demon. But George had dealt with enough demons and knew how easy it was to slip down that road. And she knew Sam Winchester, the boy who was all heart and only wanted to do the right thing. Her heart and mind couldn’t let Sam go. She couldn’t not trust him.

Sam released a soft unamused and almost self-deprecating chuckle at that. “I don’t know how much family I’ve got left to be honest.”

George let out a gasp with feigned offense, an attempt to lighten the mood. “What the hell am I? Chopped liver?” She nudged him with her elbow with a wink as they started walking again. “You’ve got me, Sam. And Dean. No matter what.”

The sound of brokenness in Sam’s voice tore at her heart. “And Bobby?”

George rubbed at her neck. “Yeah, I don’t know what the hell kinda stick got shoved up his ass all of a sudden. I’d almost say he was possessed to say the crap he did.”

At the thought, George pulled to a stop, grabbing Sam’s arm. Sam looked down at her in question. “What? You think maybe…?”

Nodding frantically, George looked up at Sam with wide eyes. “Yeah. I really think.”

Coming to the same quick decision, the two of them broke into a quick jog, running back in the direction of their motel room.

Sam reached the door first, opening it just to be slammed in the face by a rotary phone. George pulled to a stop just inside the door, taking in the scene they’d just walked in on.

A woman with longer dark curled hair stood near the center of the room observing Sam. Another man stood behind her, seeming ready for a fight. Behind them, Dean fought from the floor against another man while Bobby laid behind him unmoving.

“Heya, Sammy,” a female demon cooed. Her dark hair fell against her shoulders, her stature short. “You miss me? ‘Cause I sure missed you.”

“Meg?” Sam asked in disbelief.

“Meg?” George asked, shocked at the demon’s return and change of vessel. Disdain and hatred filled her voice as her heart pounded. Apparently she had been right. Demons were back and on the hunt. This time taking over Bobby.

Meg turned on George, a sinister smile lifting her lips. “Heya, Georgie. Long time no see.” She stuck out her lip in a pout. “Shame you ran out on our last game. I was winning.”

Sam looked between the two women confused for a moment. Not waiting for another attack, he swung, slamming his fist into Meg’s face.

George joined the fray, attacking the bald demon that was attacking Dean who was pinned down on the floor. George charged the demon, shoving him with a punch, and knocked him down onto the floor where he landed beside Dean.

Dean, taking advantage of the position, grabbed the demon knife and stabbed it into the demon’s chest, an orange light flickering before fading away.

George’s eyes moved to Bobby, catching on the blood seeping from his stomach. “Bobby?” George breathed out, crawling over to the man. Leaving Dean and Sam to take on Meg and the final demon, George carefully rolled Bobby over to his back in order to better inspect the wound.

Wasting no time, she scrambled out of her flannel, leaving her in a tank top. Balling the fabric up, she packed it into the deep wound, applying pressure to help stop the bleeding.

“Come on, Bobby,” she called out to the unconscious hunter, “stay with me.”

A scream coming from behind her stole her focus. She snapped her eyes over her shoulder just in time to see Meg smoking from her vessel. George’s teeth ground each other as she turned back to Bobby. The bitch was going to pay for what she’d done.

Dean and Sam rushed over to George. “Come on,” Dean said, “we need to get him to a hospital.”

George nodded, doing her best to hold back her tears. She beat down the anger she felt for herself at not having realized sooner that Bobby was possessed. She should have known, she’d dealt with demons enough. Once again, she’d failed in saving someone.

Allowing the boys to work together, George ran ahead of them, opening the doors for them to haul Bobby’s unconscious body down to the cars. In reflex to everything, her mind switched to tool mode, processing everything in a fury. She had to, otherwise she was going to fall apart. The blame was creeping up closer and closer in her mind, knowing it was the truth. She should’ve done better.

Knowing she couldn’t focus on that right then, she allowed herself to fall into the tool mask she knew so well. When the boys started heading for the Impala, she pushed them in a different direction towards Bobby’s car. They would need to split up.

As soon as Sam and Dean finished loading Bobby into the front passenger seat, Dean closed the door and looked at George through the window as she scrambled into the driver seat.

“I’ll get him there,” she explained, turning the key. “You boys need to find out what Chuck meant. You have to find that sword before the demons and angels do.”

“We already figured it out. It’s our dad’s old storage unit,” Dean quickly explained.

“Okay. Go then. Beat the bastards.” George put the car in gear but kept her foot on the break as both boys started to protest at them splitting up. “I’ll be fine, boys,” George reassured as she reached over and pressed against Bobby’s wound. “You need to get that done and I need to do this. We all know the hospital will start asking too many questions if you two giants show up dragging in a stab victim. Go. I’ve got this.”

“Keep us posted,” Dean called out a moment before George pulled away, the engine roaring.

The drive to the local hospital was short but still too long. Worry weighed heavily on George’s shoulders. Over Bobby, over the boys. Over everything.

Doing her best to keep pressure on Bobby’s bleeding wound, George floored the car, blowing through stop lights. “Come on, Bobby,” she spoke to the unconscious man repeatedly. “Stay with me. Don’t you dare leave me here. You’re not allowed to die. You hear me old man?”

As far as they knew, Castiel hadn’t survived the fight with the archangel back at Chuck’s house. The author had explained that the angel had been blown to smithereens right before his eyes. But that didn’t stop George from praying anyways. She prayed to the angel and to whoever it was that wanted her back. Please Save, Bobby. Let him live. I can’t lose him.

Finally pulling into the Emergency ambulance bay at the hospital, George jumped from the car, rushing around to Bobby’s side. Calling out for help to some of the nurses nearby, she began to pull Bobby from the car. “I need your help! Please! My father's been stabbed!”

Several nurses and doctors ran forward, pulling a gurney with them. Allowing them to load him onto the bed and rush him inside, George followed as far as she was allowed.

Left standing in a hall, with reassurances that the nurses and doctors would do all that they could to save him, George finally broke down.

As she watched Bobby disappear around a corner through a small window in the swinging doors, George let her tears fall, the stress of everything flowing out at the horrid thought that she might lose Bobby. Her chest heaved once with a sob as she stared through the window in the doors he had disappeared through. He had to be okay. Bobby couldn’t die. Not now. Not yet.

Chapter Text

Monitors beeped quietly in the dimly lit room. George sat in a chair pulled up beside Bobby's sleeping form. His calloused and worn hand rested in hers as she waited for him to wake up. Thankfully, he was breathing on his own, and the doctor said he was out of the woods, but would need to wait until Bobby woke up before they could confirm the extent of his injuries.

George stretched out her spine, rotating her shoulders in an effort to ease the tension from the past few days. Adjusting her position in her chair, her frame froze at the familiar sound of fluttering wings.

Uncertain of which angel was making an appearance, in a flash, George was standing, her weapon drawn. She let out a breath of relief filled shock at the sight of Castiel. "Cas," she whispered out. Tucking her weapon away at her back, she stepped over to the angel, pulling him into a hug. "You're alive."

Castiel, unsure of how to respond to such a situation gently patted George on the back with an awkwardness.

"Sorry," George offered as she pulled away, understanding that the angel wasn't used to human interaction.

"No, it—its fine," Castiel replied with a small smile. "I'm glad I'm back."

"How are you back?" George was grateful, there was no doubt about that, but it brought forth so many questions. Namely, who the hell was playing and what was their endgame goal?

"I have my suspicions," Castiel answered vaguely. It seemed the angel wasn't ready to share anything more. He looked over at Bobby. "How is he?"

George cleared her throat as she shrugged, hugging herself. "Doc says he's out of the woods, but they still won't know for a while the extent of the damage to his mobility."

"I'm sorry, George," Castiel said softly.

George nodded her head. "Is there anything you can do?" She asked, hopeful.

Castiel studied Bobby for a moment before stepping over and holding a hand out over the hunter's body. He frowned, opening his eyes. "Something else is happening here."

"Oh, yeah. He was possessed by a demon recently," George supplied in explanation.

Castiel shook his head as he looked over at George. "No. This is something else."

Worry changed George's features as she looked over at Bobby. "What do you mean?"

"Where are Sam and Dean?" Castiel asked with a sudden urgency.

George looked back at him with wide eyes. "They're searching for the Michael sword. Chuck sent a message that it was missing and told them where to find it. But it was some riddle about forty-two dogs and a castle on a hill." She shrugged. "Dean said he figured it out, something about it being his dad's old storage unit. But that's all I know. We split up before he told me anything more." She studied the silent angel. "Why? What's going on, Cas?"

Castiel looked back over at Bobby, a fire lighting in his eyes. "Zachariah." It was the only word spoken but it told George more than enough.

"What did he do?" She asked, her own anger rising.

Castiel looked at her again. "Dean is the Michael sword, George." With that simple and vague explanation, Castiel disappeared.

George was left in silence. She knew Dean was the vessel, but didn't realize that meant he was the sword. All of it just made too much sense to ignore, reinforcing her thought that Sam was Lucifer's vessel. The thought made her stomach curdle.

A welcome distraction came in the form of Bobby gently calling out to her, his voice foggy.

George rushed back to his side, sitting in the chair and taking his hand in hers once more. "Hey, you," she smiled back at him. "Welcome back."

"Hey, darlin'." Bobby tried to adjust his position but winced at the pain.

George smiled teasingly at him as she stood up and leaned over, helping to adjust his pillows for him. "In all the times you've worried about us, you've never thought to ward yourself with something a little more permanent than a charm, you stubborn old man?" Her voice was soft and teasing, though her words held a seriousness.

"Hey," Bobby teased, content with the position of his pillows, "watch how you talk to your dad." A small smirk lifted the corner of his beard.

George resumed her seat, holding onto his hand again. "The least you could've done was have better aim." Though a smile lifted her lips, tears began to well up in her eyes. "We've already lost enough, I don't need to lose you too."

Bobby turned his hand over in hers, squeezing it comfortingly. "I'm sorry, kiddo."

"You better be," she laughed out quietly against the tears.

Bobby sighed. "You forgive me?" They both knew his words referred to more than just his wound.

George nodded, wiping at her eyes with her free hand. "Always. And just to prove it, I'll go hunt you down some of those famous jell-o cups." She stood, still holding on to his hand. "What flavor would you like?"

Bobby smiled up at his little girl. "Strawberry."

*****

Dean wasn't happy.

He and Sam had managed to find the address to their father's storage unit, thankful that it was close by. As soon as they had arrived, however, they'd discovered the bodies of several demons, caught like a wild animal in a devil's trap where they had been killed by something else. It had put the boys on high alert.

But of course, after a few more steps of exploration of the answer to what had killed the demons had been revealed. Dean was less than enthused by the answer.

Angels. Of course it had been angels. What else had brought misery and problems down on the Winchesters like that?

Confronted by Zachariah, Dean had once again been forced to endure the long and tedious speech by the angel in trying to convince him of his role to play in the final showdown for the end of the world. And then Zach had dropped what he thought was a mind blowing bomb on the boys.

"It's you, chucklehead. You're Michael's vessel. The vessel."

"Jokes on you, chucklehead," Dean retorted. "We already knew that."

This revelation made Zachariah pause in thought.

Dean paced a few steps, thrilled to finally have something he could throw back in the angel's face. "Yeah, ya see, George? She's pretty good at digging up old prophecies, and knowledge, and secrets. And she's already a step ahead of you. I know about me being Michael's vessel." He paused and sent Zach a smug look. Personally, he was beyond grateful for what George had shared with him. While, at first, the news of being chosen by God to be Michael's personal vessel for the end of the world had been terrifying, in the end—or at least in that moment—it had been satisfying to know ahead of the angel's reveal.

"I also know that Michael needs my permission to use it," Dean continued. "Well, guess what I'm not about to give you bastards?" He smiled with a satisfied smugness at the three angels gathered. "You can let Michael know, the answer is, and always will be, no."

Dean's response had clearly been unexpected and threw the lead angel for a loop for a moment. But his feeling of rejection and irritation was short lived, quickly turning into something more sinister, more threatening.

"Fine," Zach said with a forced casualness. "You want to say, no? How about if Bobby never walks again?"

Sam and Dean shared a look of concern, their look holding a conversation of encouragement and unity. Dean looked back at Zach, his voice firm. "No."

Zach sneered, his voice almost venomous. "How do you think your little irritant of a girlfriend will feel knowing you could've saved her—" he made a look of disgust, "---dad?"

Again, Dean gave a firm, "no."

Zachariah stepped forward, determined to force the answer he wanted out of Dean. "Fine. What if you had, let's say, stage four stomach cancer?"

Dean, feeling fine one moment, was clutching at his stomach the next, pain tearing through his abdomen. Yet, still, he stood against the angel, his voice remaining firm as he pushed through the pain with a resounding, "no."

Zach looked over his shoulder in amusement, sending the other angels an amused look as if to say, 'can you believe this guy?' He turned back to Dean, his face once more turning hard. "Okay. How about Sam without lungs?"

Dean turned his head around to watch as Sam went from breathing and seeming fine to trying to gasp for air as he slowly fell to the concrete floor.

"Are we having fun yet?" Zach sneered out with contempt. "How about a big fat giant 'HELLO' bat signal letting every angel and demon in creation know where George is?" The angel leaned over slightly to speak to Dean on a more intimate level as he continued to fight against the pain ravaging his body and the fear he felt over his brother slowly suffocating.

"I gotta tell ya," Zach said in a stage whisper, his hand mimicking a biting dog, "those demons are like yapping dogs. They'll be biting at her heels, desperate to get her back."

Dean dropped down to his knee, unable to hold himself up any longer against the pain eating away at his insides—both from the cancer and from the knowledge of what was happening to the ones he loved. Yet his determination and steadfastness never wavered. Despite the angel's threats and actions, he wouldn't say yes to Michael. He wouldn't be the reason the world ended; the reason billions of people died just because two asshats wanted to duke it out on earth.

"How about now, Dean? Are you going to say yes?"

Dean strained against the pain, trying to ignore the sound of his brother slowly dying behind him. With a resolute voice, he ground out a simple, "no," once more. "Just kill us."

Zachariah stood, sighing out in annoyance at the Winchester's annoying stubbornness. He never got the chance to do something about it, however, as a bright light suddenly lit up behind him. Spinning around, Zachariah witnessed the deaths of the two angels that had accompanied him at the hands of Castiel.

Fear, an emotion the angel was not accustomed to, crept into his chest. "How are you..."

"Alive?" Castiel finished for him as he stepped closer to Zach. "Good question. How did these two end up on that airplane?" Castiel offered up. "How has George managed to survive your story?" He took a half step closer in challenge. "Because the angels didn't do it." He let Zach think on his queries for only a second before he continued. "We both know the answer."

"No." Zachariah shook his head, as if refusing to believe that what Castiel said could be true.

"It scares you," Cas pointed out before his voice turned hard. "Well, it should. Now put the boys back together and go. I won't ask twice."

In the next second, both of the boys were climbing back to their feet, as if the past ten minutes had never happened, and Zachariah was gone. Dean held out a hand, helping his brother up from the ground. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Sam breathed out, glad to have functioning lungs again.

"You two should be more careful," Castiel warned, stepping over to the pair.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. But Castiel shook his head.

"I don't mean the angels." He looked between the brothers, the look on his face serious and holding a warning. "Lucifer is circling his vessel."

Without warning, Castiel stepped forward, placing a hand against both Dean and Sam's ribs, branding them. The pair reacted to the branding much the same that George did, gasping at the sudden influx of pain, only for it to dissipate and disappear in the next second.

"You now match, George," Castiel said.

Dean rubbed at his tender ribs as he looked at the angel. "Were you really dead?"

"Yes," was the succinct answer.

"Then how are you back?" It was a question expounding from the comment Castiel had made to Zach. That they both knew who had brought him back.

Rather than giving an answer, no matter how vague, Castiel instead disappeared. In truth, the angel didn't have an answer. He was, however, growing more certain in his assumptions the more events occurred. The more that happened, the more he believed he knew who it was that had brought George back and that had saved him. What was more, he was almost certain it wasn't the same being that was fighting for the boys. No, he believed it was something more; something bigger. Something much more dangerous than the angels knew.

And that terrified Castiel.

*****

"Unlikely to walk again?" Why, you snot-nosed son of a bitch!" The sound of things crashing against the linoleum floor echoed down the hall of the hospital. "I'll use my game leg to kick your friggin' ass!"

George sat in the chair still beside Bobby's bed as the old man yelled after the doctor that had just left. Dean and Sam leaned against the window sill behind her. She knew Bobby was scared and that was why he was yelling. She was scared too. They had said, based on the results of the tests, Bobby Singer would never walk again. He would have to spend the rest of his life confined to a wheel chair. For someone whose entire life was hunting, George knew it was the worst news he could get.

As the room settled down, so did Bobby. "You believe that yahoo?" He asked, looking over at the others.

Dean was the one to respond. "Screw him, we'll be fine."

George dipped her head slightly at that. If only it were that easy. The next few months would be hard on Bobby. If he even made it that long. George could only imagine what that kind of news could be like, but she knew Bobby. He wasn't one to take things lying down, but he was also human. His entire life had just been ripped away. Again.

"So what now?" Sam asked, unsure himself.

Dean's answer was immediate and simple. "We fight."

Bobby turned to the logistical side of hunting in an effort to ignore the glaring, life-altering topic at hand. "Well, save as many as we can as fast as we can, I guess. Heaven or hell—whichever wins, we're boned."

"What if we win?" Dean piped up.

When the others simply looked over at him, he continued. "I'm serious. What if we win?" He pushed himself off the sill, walking over to George's side. "Screw heaven, screw hell, and all that it holds. If they wanna fight a war, fine. But get the hell off our planet."

"You wanna fight off an army of demons and a league of angels?" Bobby asked.

Dean simply shrugged. "Why not?"

"You think we can win?" Sam asked, coming around to the idea.

"I mean, we're doing okay so far. Hell, George has already rewritten the story herself. Why can't we work to change the rest of it in our favor?" Dean looked between Sam and Bobby, his hand resting on George's shoulder.

George placed her hand over Dean's, letting him know that she stood with him. Come what may, she would be right there with him.

"We kill the devil," Dean listed off, as if it were as easy as taking a trip to the grocery store. "Michael too, if we have too. But," he squeezed George's shoulder in comfort. "We do it together and by our damn selves."

Bobby, ever the logical one, piped up with a question. "And how do you suppose we do all that, genius?"

Dean gave a quick shrug. "I don't know," he answered honestly before looking each of them in the eye, determination and stubbornness burning through them. "What I do have is a G.E.D., a give 'em hell attitude, a ridiculously smart and strong woman, a kick-ass uncle, and a crazy little brother. We'll figure it out."

They all looked amongst each other for a moment. Bobby was the first to crack a smile. "Sounds good to me."

Dean returned his smile, patting his leg lightly. "You rest up, old man. We'll be back."

George stood, squeezing Bobby's hand and kissing his forehead before following Dean out of the room. As she was leaving, she caught Bobby calling Sam back. A smile spread across her face, knowing that the old hunter was going to apologize for what the demon had said. She and Bobby had talked about it, the entire thing eating Bobby up inside. George was just glad that the conversation was happening. It would be a balm for both of them.

***

Once Sam joined Dean and George at the exit doors to the hospital, the trio made their way over to where the Impala was parked.

"So what now?" George asked as they traversed the large parking lot.

Sam was the one to offer up a suggestion first. "I was thinking, what if we could find that colt? We know it can kill almost everything. Maybe we can use it on Lucifer."

George nodded, liking the idea. Dean paused to look at his brother over the top of the car. "Where was the last place we know it was?"

When nobody could really give an answer, Dean nodded, climbing into the car. "How about we start with some light research—" he held up his finger, stressing the word 'light' again as he stared at George, "light research and then get some food and beer. We'll head back here in the morning."

"Sounds good to me," George answered, Sam agreeing with a nod.

Dean started up the engine, Baby's roar sounding nice and clear, and headed towards the main road in search of the closest motel.

Silence reigned for a bit, all three of them exhausted from the past few days. Hell, exhausted from the past few years. After a while though, as they each kept an eye peeled for a motel sign, Dean looked at George in the mirror, making a decision. She always insisted they talk things out, that they stick together. Taking her advice, Dean pushed forward.

"You know, if this is gonna work," he looked over at Sam, letting him know it was him he was talking to, "if we're gonna take on heaven and hell..." he nodded, forcing himself to say the words that were burning in his mind. "Even if we don't stand a snowball's chance, we've gotta be able to trust each other, Sammy."

"I know," Sam said softly, understanding what his brother was saying.

"No," Dean held up a finger for a moment as his eyes darted to George before returning to the road, "let me finish. We have to be able to trust each other." He fought for a moment as he considered his next words. "That means, I gotta say what I'm about to say." He looked over at his brother. "We both know things got screwed. Big time. You chose a demon over your own brother. You ignored George's warnings."

Sam adjusted in his seat, fighting against the self-hatred that was pushing towards the surface; against the desire to lash out in anger against the words. But he held back, giving Dean the chance to get whatever was on his chest out, because in the end, Dean was right.

George sat in the back, silently observing. She knew this conversation was long overdue. No matter how hard, or how miserable it was, she knew it needed to be had in order for the brothers to fix the fracture that had formed between them.

Dean looked in the mirror at George, recalling one of the late night conversations they'd had, where Dean had poured out all his frustrations and worries and George had helped him set them right. With her help, Dean had seen the whole picture for a moment, had helped him understand things from both sides of the story. George hadn't told Dean he was wrong in the way he felt betrayed and distrusting of his brother. No, she had agreed with him and understood him. And then she had helped him work on getting through it. Not past it, but through. Dean took a breath and continued on. "I know you're sorry, Sam. I know that. So let's make this the last conversation about it all, okay?"

Sam looked up at his brother's unexpected words, his shock evident on his face. He hadn't been expecting his brother to say those words. While he had hoped for them, he'd half expected to be kicked out of the car, demanding to never see him again. Yet he hadn't.

Dean looked over at his brother. "It's not going to be easy, and you did some stupid shit. But, you were doing what you thought was right. Just..." Dean shook his head. "If I'm gonna trust you, Sam, you're gonna have to trust me, all right?"

Sam shook his head like a child accepting his scolding. "Yeah. I promise, Dean."

"Okay. And we gotta make sure we keep it that way, man. Things are gonna get worse. We gotta make sure we keep each other in the loop and have each other's backs. No more secrets, no more lies. Got it?"

"Got it," Sam answered almost immediately. With his brother's words, it felt as if two tons of weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

George leaned forward in her seat, her arms crossed over the back of the boys' seat as she leaned between them with a smile. "Us three against the world, right?"

"Right," both brothers answered in unison with a smile.

*****

Zachariah paced angrily in his heavenly office. The pristine white walls reflected the heavenly light, everything clean and neatly arranged.

A vase shattered against the wall.

"She's changing the story!" Zach yelled at the lowly angel unfortunate enough to endure his tirade. "How the hell does she keep doing that?" Zach paced around to his desk, leaning against his knuckles on the pristine white top. "Is she some kind of god?" He shook his head, not waiting or wanting an answer from the angel standing before him. "She's nobody! She's not even supposed to be alive!" He turned a fiery finger on the angel, his voice frantic with anger. "I want answers. No, no, wait," his eyes went wide with a thought. "I want her. I want her dead. Permanently." He paced around his desk, his face full of crazy. "I want you to find her and bring her to me." The vein in his temple bulged and pulsed with his vengeful excitement. "Bring her to me so I can squeeze the life out of her myself." His action mirrored his words, his hands tightening around the air in front of him as he imagined her neck in his grip.

"Sir?" The assistance hesitantly whispered with worry.

Flustered, Zachariah turned his back on the angel, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared at the wall as if he were some business tycoon standing at his high rise window, inspecting the world.

"Castiel coming back is one thing. I refuse to believe God would stoop so low for some pathetic creature such as George Finley."

Chapter Text

5.2: Good God, Y’all

The following morning brought the group back to the hospital where Bobby was still resting. George had brought along some hot breakfast and coffee from the local diner for him to eat. It wasn’t the greatest, but it was better than whatever slop the hospital served.

George was sitting in the chair beside Bobby who sat in a wheelchair staring out the window when Dean returned from finding some answers.

“What’s that?” Sam asked, motioning to the large manila envelope his brother held.

“Oh, uh, figured I’d stop by and get some pictures while we were here.” Sliding out x-ray film of his ribs, Dean held the images up against the light for Sam and George to see, George joining the boys in the doorway.

“That’s insane,” George commented with awe. “No wonder it hurt light a bitch.”

Sam took one of the images and held it up before looking over at George. “Got any idea what any of it means?”

George studied the warding symbols for a moment before shaking her head. “No. Haven’t the slightest. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s Enochian, but I couldn’t tell you what it means.” She took the film from Sam’s hands and examined it closer, amazed by what was now, essentially, engraved onto their ribs. “It’s fascinating though.”

Dean smiled at her awe over some Enochian warding imprinted on bones, his love for her growing.

George handed it back to Dean to put away. “Whatever it says, I’m guessing it’s some serious stuff.”

“How can you tell?” Sam asked curiously.

“It’d have to be to shield us completely from angels and demons. Hex bags can only go so far.”

Before any further conversation on the topic could be had, Castiel appeared, stepping up beside the trio. All three of them felt relief and gladness at the angel’s arrival.

“Can you give it one more try, Cas?” George asked, hopeful.

Bobby’s voice reached them, summoning the angel to him. “Get in here and lay some healing hands on me!”

Castiel sent the trio an apologetic look before stepping farther into the room to better address Bobby. “I can’t.”

His words were unwelcome and unexpected by everyone.

“What do you mean?” George asked as she followed the angel into the room.

“I’ve been cut off from most of heaven’s power.”

Fear and desperation flared in Bobby’s chest, coming out as anger directed at the angel. “What good is it to have an angel around if you can’t help?”

George, feeling sympathetic for the man she called dad, stepped closer to him, trying to soothe the situation. Though, she knew that whatever she said, it wouldn’t mean much. This situation was something Bobby was going to have to come to terms with himself. But from the look in his eyes, Bobby was already seeming to give up. George wouldn’t stand by and let that happen.

“Hey, we will get through this. Don’t give up yet, Bobby.”

Bobby’s anger flared, this time at her. “What’s this ‘we’ crap? I’m the one stuck here in this chair like a wet sack of potatoes, not you. So why don’t you take your ‘we’ bullcrap and positive thoughts and shove them up your ass.”

Dean stepped up to Bobby’s side, both the brothers yelling at him for his outburst. “Bobby!”

George stayed quiet as she sent the old hunter a small nod, turning on her heels and silently leaving the room.

Bobby sighed out with her departure, instantly ashamed of what he had said to her. “I didn’t…” he started but couldn’t finish.

Sam nodded solemnly. “We know, Bobby. George knows it too.”

Bobby simply nodded, though guilt ate away at him. He could murder himself for talking to her that way. He hadn’t meant to snap, but his last hope had just been ripped away.

George leaned against the wall just outside Bobby’s room, her head tilted back as she rested her eyes. She knew Bobby wasn’t angry with her; that he hadn’t meant what he said. And she would never hold it against him. George would give him his space.

But it didn’t mean that his words hadn’t hurt just the same.

The room door creaked open. George opened her eyes and pushed herself away from the wall as Sam, Dean, and Cas joined her in the hall. Dean immediately went to her side, reaching out to grasp her hand. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” George nodded reassuringly and honestly. “Yeah, he’s just angry at the world. I’ll give him some time.”

Castiel turned the topic of conversation on its head as he turned sharply, pinning a hard look on Dean. “You are responsible for this. You and your brother failed.” His teeth ground in frustrated anger. “And I lost everything. For nothing.”

George’s own ire rose at the condemning words. She stepped around Dean, throwing her own accusing words with her own irritation. “They lost because your uptight asshole brothers lied to you, to us. Don’t you dare go turning the blame on Dean or Sam, Cas. I care about you. I’d like to think you’re my friend. But you better be careful what you say to my family. Angel or not, I will kick your ass.” She met Castiel’s hard gaze with one of her own, feeling Dean’s presence at her side.

“Okay, let’s maybe not do this in the middle of a hospital hallway?” Sam stepped slightly between the two, angling his back towards George, as if he were making it known exactly whose side he was on. He offered an awkward smile to some of the nurses casting them strange looks from a nearby desk. “Let’s instead focus on what we’re going to do next.”

Castiel held George’s hard look for a second longer before he turned his attention to Dean. “I have a plan.”

“Great. What is it?” Dean asked.

“I’m going to find God.” The angel ignored everyone’s dubious and shocked looks, continuing on. “But I need a special amulet in order to do so.” The piercing look he sent Dean told the hunter that there was something Cas needed from him.

“What amulet?” Dean looked at George in confusion, but it was cleared as soon as the angel’s eyes lowered to the amulet hanging around Dean’s neck. “What? This?”

“Yes. It’s an ancient amulet that glows when in the presence of God. If I’m going to find God, I’m going to need it.”

After a few more encouraging words, Dean finally relented, reluctantly taking the necklace off and handing it over to Cas. “Don’t lose it. It was a gift from Sammy.”

The sound of Bobby’s voice calling them back into the room shifted the group into a different gear. The tone of his voice was full of evident concern.

“What’s up?” Dean asked, leading the group back into the room.

“Rufus just called,” Bobby explained as he tossed his cell phone back onto the table. “I couldn’t make out exactly what was happening, but from the sounds of it, he needs help. Like yesterday.”

“What’s he got?” George asked.

“Demons.” It was a simple answer but was all they needed to know. He looked at George, knowing she was their leading expert in dealing with demons.

“Did you manage to find out where he is?” George asked, grabbing her jacket and throwing it on.

“River Pass, Colorado.”

“All right. Let’s load up,” Dean said. He caught Bobby’s eye, nodding his chin subtly towards George before heading towards the door. The old man sent Dean and knowing look.

“George,” Bobby called gently as the woman headed for the door.

“Yeah?” George stopped and turned, her brows furrowing as she looked at the man. “Everything okay?”

Bobby rubbed at his forehead, a heavy sigh escaping before he forced his gaze up to his little girl. “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean—”

George walked over and grabbed Bobby’s hand in hers, squeezing it gently. “I know. It’s okay. Don’t carry it around. Just work on getting out of here, okay? I need my dad.”

Bobby smiled softly at her words, a new sense of hope blooming in his chest. “I’ll see what I can do.”

George smiled as she leaned over and kissed Bobby on the head. “I’ll be back. Try not to kill the doctor before then, okay?”

“No promises," Bobby huffed with amusement.

******

While Cas went off chasing after God, the three hunters made their way to where Rufus was last heard from. George hated that she hadn’t had time to find WiFi somewhere to do some research and get a lead on what they were walking into. Instead, they were going in blind. She didn’t like it. None of them did.

When they finally made it to the small town, each of them grew wary. The bridge into town had been blown to smithereens, forcing Sam, Dean, and George to hike the remaining miles in. It was a hell of a trek, but when they finally reached the main road on the edge of the town, things grew more strange.

Cars were deserted, store windows were blown out, and not a single soul was to be found. The sound of a car’s radio drifted up the street as they slowly walked the road, keeping an eye out for anyone or anything.

Eventually they reached the old brown Cadillac that was playing the radio, adding to the eeriness of the abandoned streets.

“So you know that when you die—” the music cut off with Sam’s turning of the key, but the line continued as George finished softly singing out the words, her eyes scanning their surroundings. “He’s gonna recommend ya, to the spirit in the sky.”

Sam looked over at her, a smile pulling at his lips while Dean sent her a scolding scowl that tried to hide the amusement he found in her singing.

The trio continued on their way through town, careful to stay quiet. Evidence of a bloodbath littered the streets, shapes of spilled blood staining the asphalt. Yet, no bodies were to be found.

They made their way over to check out another car that had a large blood trail leading from it. The doors were opened, the front wheel crushing a baby’s stroller. George looked away from that, praying that no child had been in it when it’d been hit by the car.

She desperately wanted to ask what the hell had happened, but stealth was on their side, and she knew neither of the boys would have an answer.

As they began to, once again, continue their way down the road, the sound of a gun cocking behind them made them all spin around, weapons raised and ready to fire. None of them had expected to find Ellen Harvelle standing before them.

***

Ellen led them into the church and down to the basement. The freshly painted devil’s trap and salt line at the door didn’t go unnoticed. Nor did the skepticism and fear flooding the room as Ellen led the three hunters in. Several townsfolk sat gathered around a long table. Candles lit the darkened room, electricity having been cut off throughout the entire town.

“This is Sam, Dean, and George,” Ellen pointed out to each of them as she addressed the towns-people. “They’re hunters. Here to help.”

“You guys hip to this whole demon thing?” One of the men asked. He seemed scared, almost nervous, but he hid it well. It was clear he’d seen some shit in his lifetime, though George doubted it was the same shit the three hunters had seen. His appeared more like military.

“Something like that,” George answered honestly.

“You?” Dean asked him.

“My wife’s eyes turned black. She came at me with a brick. Kinda makes you embrace the paranormal.” It was another man, an older man with glasses, that answered Dean’s question.

The four hunters turned back to each other, taking a moment to figure out the game plan. With four experienced hunters, it didn’t take long before a plan was given: Sam and Dean would go hit up the local sporting goods store and grocery mart for guns and salt. Ellen and George would stay with the locals and get them ready for trying to get out of town and to safety.

As Sam handed the bag of their limited supplies over to Ellen, Dean turned to George.

“I don’t understand. Why can’t I go, Dean? Who knows what you’re gonna run into out there.” George wasn’t thrilled with sitting in a basement with strangers when she was the one who had dealt the most with demons.

Dean pulled her carefully away from the group by the elbow, his voice lowering slightly to keep their conversation private. “I need you to stay safe, George. Just for right now, okay? And while you’re here, you can help Ellen get these people ready for the fight that’s about to come. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?” The nickname was warming, kind, not patronizing.

“Yeah, okay,” George relented. She didn’t like the idea of being backseated, but she understood that they all had their jobs to do. And right then, George needed to help these people.

“Thank you,” Dean said with soft honesty.

“You be careful,” George said before turning to look at Sam. “Both of you.”

The boys nodded, Dean offering a, “yes, ma’am,” and a small smirk before they slipped out the door and upstairs onto the road.

Tearing her thoughts away from worry, and trusting Dean to do his job, George turned to take in the sight of the people. They were scared but seemed to be stronger than they appeared. Ellen stepped over to them, getting their attention in order to fill them in on the plan and begin the basics of handling a weapon.

George joined her, offering her own tips on occasion, but for the most part allowed the woman to take the lead. Ellen was the lead hunter right then. George was always careful to not step on another hunter’s case.

It wasn’t long before Ellen got the group started on passing around and holding the few weapons they did have in their possession in order to get them used to the weight they’d be carrying, George helping in showing them how to load and reload each one. When that was done, and as the people practiced the movements a few more times, the older woman moved over to a set of chairs at the farthest end of the table, motioning for George to follow.

The two women weren’t close. Not like Ellen was with Dean or Sam. While George had been to Harvelle’s bar enough times, she’d never been allowed to grow close to the woman and her daughter. Al had allowed George to hang out with Ash because he had been able to teach her something useful: computers. Ellen and Jo, though they’d tried to be warm and even protect her as best they could, hadn’t gotten more than a hello from George. Al hadn’t allowed it. He hadn’t needed his daughter ‘learning kindness and the rest of that bullshit.” So George had been kept quiet and far away from Ellen and Jo’s company.

The two women sat in silence for a bit, each getting to work, checking their own personal weapons that sat on the table before them. Ellen was the first of them to speak, her comment unexpected and blunt.

“I thought you’d died.”

George breathed out a small laugh. “I did.”

Ellen looked up at George. “Really?” She wasn’t surprised by the fact that she’d come back to life; hell, Dean and Sam had done it. But it was still an interesting and curious thing to learn. It seemed Dean wasn’t the only special one in the world.

“Yeah,” George answered honestly as she checked the ammo count in her magazine. “But apparently there’s something out there that decided my story was over yet.”

The corner of Ellen’s mouth quirked up in a small smile. “Well, let’s hope they can get us out of this mess.” A few seconds of silence passed before Ellen spoke up again. “You’ve come a long way from that scared girl Al always brought around, you know.” Ellen smiled kindly when George looked up at her. “It’s a good look on you.”

George returned to the weapons, setting down her handgun and picking up a shotgun to go over. “Death changes a person, I guess.” She wasn’t sure if she meant her own death or Al’s. She guessed it didn’t really matter. Both deaths had changed her.

“Well, I’d offer my condolences for your father, but to tell you the truth he was a bastard and I’m glad he’s gone.”

George laughed quietly at the comment, her shoulders easing just a bit. “Me too.” Glancing at Ellen, George found herself opening up to the woman. There was something about her that told George she could trust her—besides the fact that Sam and Dean did. “Bobby gets the title of dad nowadays.”

Ellen looked at George for a moment before giving a nod of approval. “I can see it. I’m glad for you.”

“Thanks,” George answered honestly.

“Seems Dean is happy for you too,” Ellen commented with a knowing look.

George’s nose squinched up in slight embarrassment; why, she wasn’t sure. “That obvious?”

Ellen chuckled. “Honey, he looks at you like you hung the moon. The same way you look at him.”

George set the shotgun down and leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed. She’d never had a woman to talk ‘girl talk’ to before. It was a welcome feeling, having someone like that. Her eyes landed on the doors to the basement, the worry for the brothers coming back to the surface. As much as she enjoyed having a conversation with Ellen—even if it was about death and demons— George wished she could be out there at Dean’s side. Sam was with him, they’d cover each other’s backs, but it didn’t change how George felt.

“You okay, hun?” Ellen asked.

George tore her eyes away from the doors, forcing her face to soften into something more comforting. “Yeah. Just thinking.” She looked around the room. “Any chance you guys have a working computer with internet or something?” The electricity was out in the entire town, George knew this, but she still needed to ask. George needed something to do besides sitting at a table checking over weapons she already knew were in working order.

“Sorry, kiddo,” Ellen shook her head. “Everythings out.”

George nodded, leaning forward against the table on her forearms. “What can you tell me about what’s been going on?”

Ellen shrugged as she leaned next to George. “It’s probably not much more than you. “Town’s overrun with demons. More than I’ve ever seen in my lifetime. Dozens of them. Turned half the town against the other.”

“And Rufus?” George inquired.

“Jo and I were nearby when he called.” She let out a sigh as she looked around the room. “We hadn’t realized we’d be walking straight into a bloodbath.”

“Where did you last see Jo?” George asked. Ellen had mentioned to the boys that her and Jo had been separated, Jo disappearing with the demons.

“Out on main street, near where I found you guys.” Ellen turned in her seat slightly to face George better. The woman was soft, but strong, George could see it. “Bobby says you know demons better than anyone. What are the chances Jo will make it out of this alive?” Ellen’s face turned sharp as she pinned George with a look. “And don’t lie to me, George.”

George took a breath before answering. “There’s a chance,” she offered, “but it’s a small one. But if demons attacked the town with the goal of killing, there’s a chance they’re wreaking havoc on the people they’re possessing too.”

The amount of pain in Ellen’s eyes broke George’s heart. She wished she could give the woman better news, but there was only so much she could do. Reaching out, George put a hand over Ellen’s on the table, her voice strong and encouraging. “But don’t give up hope, Ellen. There’s still that chance. And as long as there’s a chance, I’ll do whatever I can to get her back. We all will.”

Ellen forced a smile to her lips. “Thanks, George.”

A bit later, the boys returned with the newly acquired weapons and salt. It didn’t take long to set everyone with a task of loading and preparing them.

George sat on the small step of the stage, watching as the innocent people were taught how to kill. It was all so messed up. It must truly be the end of the world for a small town in Colorado to come to this.

As she watched the people, Dean made his way over, sitting next to her. The pair silently watched the people’s movements for a moment.

“I’m proud of you,” George said softly, nudging Dean with her shoulder. She sent him a smile when he looked over at her.

“What for?”

“Sam,” George said. The pair looked over at the taller brother as he worked on showing the man with glasses how to load shells into a shotgun. “I know it wasn’t easy to trust him again; to bring him back into your little world and not push him away in anger.”

Dean watched his brother patiently encourage the man who continually dropped the shotgun shells with fumbling fingers. “It wasn’t easy,” Dean finally answered quietly. “It still isn’t sometimes.” He looked over at George. “But you were right. We’ve been through too much. We can’t turn on each other. Not now.”

Dean turned back to his brother before he shared with George what had happened on their run and his thoughts on it all. “We came across some demons when we went out.”

George looked up at him, almost reading what was worrying Dean in his eyes.

“I went to get the guns while Sam went to get the salt. When I went to find Sam he wasn’t alone in the store. He had killed two demons and….their blood was pooling at his feet.” He looked at George, worry filling his eyes. “I’m putting my trust in him, I am, George, but what if he gets that craving again? What if he starts back up on the demon blood?”

George reached a hand out, clasping Dean’s in hers and giving it a squeeze. “Then we’ll take it on together.” She looked over at Sam and watched him for a second. “I know it’s a worry and a fear, Dean. It is for me too. But Sam has said he isn’t craving it. And like you said, he was practically standing in a pool of the stuff but wasn’t affected. I say we trust in that for now.”

Dean nodded, though George could still see the struggle inside of him. He wanted to trust his brother, to go back to the way things had been. But the truth wouldn’t change: they could never go back to the way things had been. Not truly. The only thing the brothers could do now was move forward and rebuild the trust they could between them.

“Just don’t walk away from him. And don’t let him walk away either. But most important?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Talk to him, Dean. Let him know that you’re scared. I can almost guarantee, he’s just as scared as you are.”

Ellen walking up to them caught their attention, both Dean and George standing, effectively ending their conversation.

“I’ll be back,” Ellen said quickly before turning away, seeming to hope to make a quick exit.

“Where you going?” Dean asked, holding out a hand to stall Ellen’s movements.

“I can’t sit here on my ass. My daughter’s out there somewhere.” She looked at George with a knowing look shining in her eyes. “I’m not giving up on her. Not yet.”

“I’ll go with you,” George offered.

“Woah, hold on. Can we talk for a second?” Dean asked, holding a hand up towards George.

“I’ll be fine, Dean, you know I will.” George wasn’t going to get sidelined again. She felt the same way Ellen did: she wasn’t one to just sit on her ass and do nothing.

“I know you will be. But that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want you going out there. Not until we can figure out what the hell is going on.”

George resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “You can’t keep me locked in this basement forever, Dean.”

“No. Just ‘til we can figure out what’s going on.”

“So let me go out there and figure out what’s going on.” George’s eyes squinted at Dean slightly as an idea worked its way into her mind. The words fell from her lips with her realization. “You don’t trust me.”

“What?” Dean was honestly confused at where she would get the idea. “Of course I trust you. I just won’t wanna lose you. You’ve got a bounty on your head remember? And there’s nothing but demons out there.”

“We’re facing the end of the world, Dean. The freaking Apocalypse."

“You think I don’t know that?” Dean’s voice held a rising irritation.

“Which means you can’t shove me into a corner. Shit is going to hit the fan whether we want it to or not. You can’t keep me locked away in an ivory tower because like it or not, that ivory tower is crumbling, Dean, and it’s only going to get someone killed.”

Ellen, not wanting to wait on a lover’s quarrel of who got to protect who more, called over to Sam. “Sam! You’re with me,” she ordered simply before turning back to Dean and George. “You two stay here and get these people ready. Problem solved.”

Without waiting for either to answer, Ellen and Sam left, the basement door closing behind them.

George looked over at Dean in shock. “What the hell was that?”

Dean collapsed back onto the stage step. “That’s what happens when you argue in front of mom.”

Chapter Text

Ellen came back less than twenty minutes later. Without Sam.

The lack of the taller Winchester’s return caused Dean and George to shoot their feet, their guards raised, adrenaline and worry flooding their veins. Fear spread through the people gathered, the thought of an experienced hunter falling into the hands of demons a terrifying and hope-shattering thought.

“Can the demons get in here?” The priest asked.

“No,” Dean said, not offering anything else in reassurance as he focused on Ellen.

“Where’d you lose him?” George asked, making sure her gun was securely tucked away at her waistline. She wouldn’t leave Sam out there. Not after all they’d survived. She wouldn’t give up on Sam so easily; she wouldn’t let Dean lose his little brother. Not again.

Dean grabbed her arm, stopping her from storming out the door. “Hold on, let’s just take a minute.”

George looked over at Dean, suddenly worried that he was giving up on his brother. But Dean’s reassuring look swept the worry away. “Let’s do this the right way,” Dean said as he released her arm and began to pace in thought. “Tell me everything,” he said, spinning to look at Ellen.

Ellen, Dean, and George sat at a table away from the others. Dean and George listened as Ellen explained how they’d found the demon hideout—a house at the end of main street where the demons were burning something—and how they’d been jumped from behind. Sam had saved Ellen’s life but been dragged away in the process.

“One of them is in Jo,” Ellen explained with a look at George. “We gotta get it out of her without hurting her.” The woman paused in thought, chuckling evenly as she recalled a memory. “It called me a bitch.”

Dean looked at Ellen. “Bruise a little, don’t you think?”

“No,” Ellen said, shaking her head. “That’s not what I meant. It called me a black-eyed bitch.”

Dean and George shared a look at this. It was definitely something new. Possessed Jo called Ellen a demon?

Ellen looked between the two other hunters. “What kind of demons are these? Holy water and salt roll right off? My daughter may be an idiot but she’s not stupid. She wears an anti-possession charm.”

George lowered her head in thought with all of this news. She knew from experience with Bobby that a charm—while still hard to remove—could still be removed. But the holy water and salt was what nudged at George’s brain. It wasn’t making sense.

“What’s your instinct telling you?” Ellen asked Dean.

Dean thought for a moment, his head tilting in thought. “This whole thing is off. My instinct right now though?” He looked over at George.

The woman laughed at his look. “What am I? Your walking, talking, encyclopedia?” She joked.

Dean’s face fell slightly, knowing that was exactly how Al had treated her her entire life. He didn’t want to be anything like Al; didn’t want George to think that’s all he thought of her. “I’m sorry,” he started.

George smiled at him. “I was joking, Dean. We both know I’m the one with the demon hunting license.” Her face sobered slightly as she turned her head towards Ellen, going over everything aloud. “So far as I know, only the really high ranking demons can take on holy water and salt without flinching. But there aren’t that many higher ups. At least not enough to warrant spending their time topside taking over a small town in Colorado.”

The man who had let them in originally—millitary man, as George had silently dubbed him—was standing nearby but stepped up to their table with her words. “As far as you know?” He asked, not bothering to hide his eavesdropping. “How does someone become an expert in demonology?”

“It’s a long story, but believe me. It’s possible.” George answered the man almost absentmindedly, not bothering to look up at him. Her mind was busy working over the information.

“How can we know you aren’t a demon yourself?” The man with glasses spoke up from where he sat farther down the table, having heard the other man’s question. “Maybe you’re one of these higher-ups so holy water and salt don’t work.”

A murmur of panic began to rise amongst the few people gathered. A pregnant woman let her fear be known, her cries of fear and dismay rising.

Dean held his hands up, standing from the chair he was sitting in so he could get everyone’s attention. “Hey, let’s just settle down a minute, okay? Nobody here is a demon. For starters, let’s trust that. If it’ll help ease your fears, George and I are warded against possession. We aren’t demons.”

One of the other men spoke up. “Why can’t you ward us against demons then?”

George answered this, standing from her chair. “Well, unless you’ve got a few hours and a tattoo gun, that’s not gonna happen.” In explanation of her words, she pulled back the collar of her button up flannel slightly to reveal part of her anti-possession tattoo.

“Secondly,” Dean continued, “if we turn on each other now, they win.”

Their reassurances seemed to work for the time being, the people settling back down, though a tension remained.

George sat back down beside Ellen. “I know demons. And maybe on the surface this whole thing looks like demons but…” she trailed off as her brows furrowed with everything.

“But what?” Ellen prodded.

George shook her head. “I don’t know. This just doesn’t seem like demons to me. There’s no benefit for them. There’s nothing they can get out of this whole thing.”

Ellen looked between Dean and George. “Sadistic gratification isn’t enough?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” George said with a gesture of her hand, “demons love the idea of torturing people for the fun of it. I mean, they’re demons after all. But they’re also very selfish creatures. There’s gotta be a benefit for them beyond that. Especially if they’ve made it topside. Something beyond just turning people against each other. I mean, if that’s all it took, why haven’t they been doing that all along?” She shook her head again. “No, it feels like there’s something else at play here. Something we’re missing.”

Dean asked Ellen, “What brought Rufus here in the first place?”

“Uh, it was the water.”

“What about it?”

“It was polluted,” the priest answered for Ellen, stepping up to the table.

“Any other signs?” George asked.

“There was a shooting star right before everything happened.”

“A star?”

“Yeah,” the priest answered. “Real big.”

Ellen looked between the two hunters beside her, noticing the looks on their faces. “What? What’ve you got?”

George ran both hands through her hair, thinking, her eyes slightly squinted as if she was trying to read or recall something. Mumbled words fell from her lips as she sped through her thoughts. “End of times. Demons rising. Water Pollution. Arrival of something or someone.”

“Someone?” Ellen asked, catching the word. “Not a star?”

Dean snapped his head up at Ellen’s words. “Not a star.” He looked over at George before he began looking around the room.

George seemed to read Dean’s mind, her own dropping the pieces into place. “You got a bible around here?” She asked the priest.

The priest scurried over to a nearby shelf and pulled a bible from under a stack of books, handing it over to Dean. “Revelations,” Dean said, flipping through the pages.

“8:10,” George finished for him.

Dean read out the verse. “and a great star, blazing like a torch, fell from the sky on a third of the rivers. The name of the star is Wormwood. And many people died.”

“Are you saying that this is about the Apocalypse?” The priest asked, fear in his voice.

“You could say,” Dean answered. “These specific omens are?” He looked at George.

“A prelude to the Four Horseman,” she explained as she listed them off on her fingers. “Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death.”

“Which one are we dealing with now?” Ellen asked.

“My guess?” George answered, “War. It makes the most sense. Maybe Death, but I figure he’d be on a bigger scale.”

“Is War the one that rides the red horse?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, why?”

Dean looked between Ellen and George. “That cherry Mustang parked on Main?”

“You think?” George asked, considering it.

“Like you said, it all makes sense. War is messing with everyone’s heads.” He looked down at Ellen. “You said Jo called you a black-eyed bitch. They think we’re demons. We think they’re demons.”

“But why here? What’s so special about here?” George directed her question at Dean. He was the ‘war hardened soldier’ so to speak; the one who could read battlefield logistics in their world.

“My guess? Probably nothing. It just happened to be where the bastard landed. And it worked in his favor. Start small, test the waters, keep things quiet before moving onto bigger and better things.”

“Then we need to get to Jo and Rufus, and then find War,” George responded. “More people are gonna die for no reason.”

“How?” The soldier asked.

Before a plan could be formed, a pounding sounded on the door. “Open up! It’s Roger!”

Dean opened the door, letting the man with the glasses in. George stood to her feet, wary of the sudden appearance of the man.

“I saw them,” Roger panted out. “The demons. They know we’re trying to leave.”

George eyed the man. “What were you doing out there?”

“I thought you said there were no demons,” the soldier accused, turning towards Dean.

“There’s not,” Dean answered. “Where did you go?” Dean asked Roger, his suspicion matching George’s.

“I thought someone should go out there and see what was going on!” Roger defended loudly.

“Where did you see the demons, and what did they say exactly?” Dean demanded of the man.

George moved to stand closer to Dean, her muscles relaxed and ready. It was obvious things were about to be dumped on end. Chaos was about to ensue. It was all too obvious. Wherever War was, he was aware of Dean and George’s revelations about the situation. She knew he wouldn’t stand by and let them save the remaining civilians.

As if her thoughts were coming true, Roger turned a finger towards the three hunters, his face turning into one of fear. “Look at their eyes! They’re demons!”

George watched as the civilians all turned to look at them, fear and realization spreading across their faces. This wasn’t good.

“Go! Go!” Dean yelled, pulling Ellen and George and shoving them out the door.

***

Under Ellen’s direction, the three hunters quickly and silently made their way to the house the other townspeople were hiding in. They had to get to them and try to convince Rufus and Jo that nobody was a demon, it was all simply the work of War. And without getting themselves killed in the process.

The three hunkered down just outside the house behind a small shed next door.

“Okay, what’s the plan?” Ellen asked, keeping an eye on the house while George kept an eye on the rear.

Dean stole a look at the house before giving orders. “Ellen, you go around the side and try to get in. See if you can get to Jo. If anyone can get through to her, it’s you. George, you go in the front, see if you can’t find Sam.”

“Any ideas where he might be?”

Dean glanced at the house again, taking in as much as he could of the inside as quickly as he could before answering George. “Could be anywhere, but I’m guessing upstairs. They’re too exposed on the first floor with all the curtains open. If he’s still alive, they’ve got him tucked away somewhere trying to exorcise a demon. Find a closed door.”

George nodded, adjusting the grip on her gun.

“What about you?” Ellen asked.

Dean smiled at her. “I get the fun job.” He pointed at the tall windows. “I’m gonna get Rufus’ attention.” He made sure he had each of the women’s attention. “Remember. They’re not demons. Try not to hurt them too bad.”

With a nod from each of them, Dean readied himself. “Okay, let’s do this.”

The three split up, each going their own way in order to save everyone.

George softly stepped up onto the front porch, making her way through the front door and slipped up the stairs inside. While she didn’t encounter anyone in the entry or on the stairs, there was an armed man standing by a closed door. Awesome.

With quick thinking, George tucked the gun at her back once more, and straightened her posture into something more confident. Acting normal, she began to walk down the hall towards the man, looking over her shoulder as if checking for someone. She knew she couldn’t risk showing him her eyes, not yet. If War was at work, the moment she did, he would mistake her for a demon. George had to get close enough to disarm him, otherwise she’d be forced to shoot him. She really didn’t want it to end that way.

“Hey, you hear from that Rufus guy? He said the demons were getting closer.” She made sure to keep glancing over her shoulder and in the doors of the empty rooms as if searching for a demon intruder.

The man, while slightly alerted to her sudden presence, clearly didn’t have any training in anything that might’ve helped him in fending off an intruder. He was just an average Joe from the town. “What?” He asked, his voice shaky.

George reached the man and finally looked up at him. His eyes widened almost immediately at what she assumed was her sudden black eyes. Knowing she had to act quickly, she grabbed his gun, yanking it out of his hands before spinning it and slamming the butt against the side of his head. His body fell to the floor with a thump, but his chest continued to move. “Sorry, pal, didn’t have much choice,” George whispered before opening the closed door and stepping inside. With a quick glance behind, she closed the door behind her before turning to find Sam tied to a chair.

“Howdy, Sam. How’s it going?” She asked sarcastically. With ease, she slid a pocket knife from her jeans and quickly cut the ropes binding Sam’s wrists. Once that was done, she worked on his ankles. “You know, you really should lay off the salt, Sam,” George joked, noticing the thick trail of salt covering his face. It was obvious they’d tried to exorcise a demon that wasn’t there.

“Thanks,” he answered sarcastically, rubbing at his wrists and standing once he was freed.

A second later, the door pushed open, George spinning around with her gun drawn at the noise. Dean immediately held his hands up. “Just me.”

George lowered her weapon with relief, facing the brothers together.

“Nice of you to join the party,” Dean joked to his brother.

“How do we stop this son of a bitch?” George asked, ready to move on.

“The ring,” Sam began vaguely.

“The ring?” George asked. “Like evil Lord Sauron ring?”

Dean sent her a chastising look. “Not the time, sweetheart.”

Sam quickly explained that War was actually Roger. “Everytime he spins his ring, more people turn on each other.”

“So we don’t need to kill him? We just need to steal his ring?” George looked between the brothers who just shrugged.

“One way to find out,” Dean answered.

George nodded. “Okay, you two go. I’ll help the others.”

With the three in immediate agreement, Sam and Dean ran to find War while George made her way back outside to where she heard fighting.

Finding Ellen pinned on the ground by the man who was once a soldier, she ran full speed, tackling him away from Ellen. Not expecting the sudden surprise attack, George was able to get the upper hand, if only for a moment. But the soldier was well trained. Using the momentum, he grabbed George by the shoulders and rolled them both, pinning George against the ground. He lifted his gun, aiming the barrel directly at George’s face.

George froze, staring at the round metal hole directed at her face. The sound of a shotgun racking caught the man’s attention, Ellen standing beside him with the twin barrels pushing up against his temple. “Drop it. We’re not what you think we are.” Ellen’s voice was hard but level. “It’s just a hallucination. Nobody else needs to die today.”

The soldier’s finger played against the trigger as he contemplated his next move. A second later, he began blinking his eyes repeatedly, as if clearing something from his vision. To George and Ellen’s relief, he loosened his grip on the weapon, slowly standing up and stepping away.

George let out a sigh of relief. The boys had managed to get to War and get his ring, severing the hallucinations he had spread throughout town.

Ellen stepped forward, offering a hand to George, which George gratefully accepted. “You okay?” George asked.

Ellen nodded. “Yeah, you?”

“Couldn’t be better,” George grinned out. “What about Jo?”

Ellen looked over George’s shoulder, George following her gaze. Jo was up on the porch, helping a pregnant woman take a seat on the steps. The young blonde looked up, seeing George and Ellen watching her. She sent a smile to her mom.

“Yeah. She’s okay,” Ellen answered.

*****

Sam, Dean, and George sat at a picnic table at a lookout point on the side of the quiet highway. The mountains climbed against the sky as the three hunters took a moment to figure out their next step. Dean played with the Horseman’s ring, holding it up in curiosity.

“So,” Dean said. “Stop at Mount Doom?”

George laughed at his comment.

“What?” Dean defended. “You started it.”

A peaceful quiet settled over the table for a few moments before Sam hesitantly spoke up. “I wanted to say thanks, Dean. For not giving up on me. For trusting me. I know it wasn’t easy for you.”

Dean considered his brother’s words and his own response before responding. “I’ll admit, no, it wasn’t. But today?” He looked his brother in the eye. “Today, you earned it.”

Silence held for a second before Dean continued, looking between Sam and George. “I can’t say we aren’t gonna make more mistakes, any of us, but it’s like my girl here keeps saying,” he reached under the table, taking George’s hand in his. “We’re family. We’re all we got. And if the world ends, well, then it can end with us three going down swinging together.”

Sam smiled gratefully at his brother’s words.

Dean’s voice became more serious. “Just promise me, promise you’ll tell us if you’re struggling with this crap again. Because I gotta know you’ll be there, Sam. All the way, that you have my back.”

Sam nodded, opening his mouth to respond, but Dean held up a hand. “Don’t make a promise you’re not willing to keep, okay?”

Sam held his brother’s gaze. “I will, Dean. I promise.”

“You’re not alone, Sam. Neither of you are. Don’t ever forget that,” George added.

Dean looked down at George with a soft smile. Meeting her eyes, he felt as if he could see the pain and horror behind her eyes, memories of his own hell flashing through his mind. “Same goes for you, sweetheart,” he said softly, squeezing her hand lovingly. “You aren’t alone either.”

George’s face lit up with a small smile as she joked. “Nah, my life is a walk in the park compared to your guys’.”

Sam laughed with her. “I guess a six month vacation in heaven would seem like a walk in the park compared to the end of the world.”

George’s smile faltered, but she quickly adjusted her position in an effort to hide it, forcing it back up again.

Despite her efforts, Dean caught the fall. He could see the sadness in her forced smile, the pain. He looked over at Sam, seeing his brother’s face furrow slightly as George looked away and at the mountains. Dean wondered if Sam knew yet. He didn't think his brother did yet, but he knew Sam was smart. And based on the look on his little brother’s face, he was already on his way to figuring it out. Dean would have to find a moment to talk to Sam.

George patted the table, pulling Dean from his thoughts. “Come on. I could use a drink and about a week’s worth of sleep.”

The three piled into the Impala, the engine roaring as they pulled back onto the long curving highway. The music played, another classic rock song filling the car. Dean looked in the rear view mirror at the woman sitting behind him. She looked almost content, sat leaning against the light colored leather, the wind gently ruffling her long dark hair. For a moment, Dean could pretend that everything was okay, that George was doing just fine.

But the slight twitch in her body at a sudden loud sound, or the dark cloud that threatened to block out her spark, it all worried Dean. He wondered how long he should let her go before bringing up the dark topic himself.

George’s head turned, her eyes meeting his in the mirror for a moment. A smile spread across her face. Dean readily returned it before forcing his focus back to the road ahead. They had time. For now.

Chapter Text

5.3: Free to Be You and Me

The motel room was quiet, the hum of the air conditioning unit filling the space. Dean was laid out across one of the beds, his head settled in George’s lap as she flipped through the book on the bed beside her, talking quietly with Sam who sat on the other bed, his own eyes scanning the laptop on his lap. Dean hummed in quiet satisfaction as George ran her fingers through his hair absentmindedly.

“What about this one?” Sam asked, spinning the laptop around to show George the article he had come across.

George’s eyes scanned the article, her nose scrunching towards the end. “I’m not convinced that’s one of ours.” Her eyes turned sympathetic at the sight of Sam’s shoulders slumping slightly. They’d been traveling for a couple days now, leaving Sam anxious to find a case.

“Why do we even need to find a case right now? Why can’t we just take a few days vacation? I think we’ve earned it.” Dean didn’t bother opening his eyes, his voice drowsy.

Before Sam could offer up an answer for his brother, a knock sounded on the room door. The three hunters looked at each other warily, Dean sitting up and twisting his body to see the door better.

“Housekeeping!” A woman’s voice came from the other side of the door.

The single word put the three hunters on high alert, each of them grabbing their guns with quiet and smooth movements.

“I know we didn’t pay that much for this room,” George whispered as Dean moved towards the door. He simply shook his head in answer.

Gently, Dean placed the muzzle of his weapon against the door, using his left hand to cautiously turn the knob and pull the door open just enough to look through.

The moment the latch left the frame, Dean was shoved back into the room, the ‘housekeeper’ pushing her way into the room, a man following directly behind her.

Wasting no time, Dean was steady on his feet, his weapon raised to join Sam and George’s. “Who the hell are you?” His voice was low and aggressive.

The pair of strangers stood there stoically for a second, their eyes scanning the three hunters. The limited time of silence sent a shiver down each of their spines, their hunter radars telling them that—besides the unwelcome intrusion—these two weren’t human.

The woman’s gaze landed on George, a sinister smile stretching her features. “There you are, buttercup. Wasn’t sure if Zach’s dispatch was legit or not. But when he blasted out that our little George was hiding out here, we figured it was too good an opportunity to brush off. Guess the angel was right for once.”

The words gave the Winchester brothers pause, if only for a second. Back at John’s storage unit, Zach had taken his anger out on each of them in his own way in order to convince Dean to say yes. While it hadn’t worked and both brothers had been healed in the end, Bobby was still paralyzed. Apparently his bounty on George stuck as well.

The lead demon’s smile turned to something more menacing, her voice less sweet. “Time to go.” She took a step forward, only to immediately retreat when Sam and Dean stepped forward in challenge, their large frames hiding George slightly.

“The only ones going anywhere are you two,” Sam ordered.

The woman looked at Sam, her eyes flashing pure black. “Relax, Sam. We aren’t here for you.” Her eyes moved back to George. “We’re just here for the pretty little princess.”

Dean’s grip tightened on his gun. Bullets wouldn’t do much against demons, he knew that, but it would give them a second’s worth of time to get to the demon blade tucked away in the duffel. “Over my dead body.”

The woman smiled, shooting a look over her shoulder to the man. She looked back at Dean before shrugging on shoulder. “Okay.”

In an instant, the two demons advanced, their firsts swinging at the boys in unison. The man advanced on Sam while the woman took on Dean.

With the others busy, George dove across the bed in a flash, reaching into the duffel beside it and grabbing onto the demon blade. With it in her grip, she spun around in time to see Sam thrown against the wall with a harsh crack. The man responsible turned on George, his eyes filling with a black abyss as he advanced towards his prey.

George scrambled to her feet and, with all her might, threw herself directly at the man, slamming the blade into his chest. His body flashed orange with sparks before he collapsed.

The sound of his dead body collapsing against the floor forced his partner to freeze, her hands gripped tightly around Dean’s throat. Her eyes darted over to her partner’s body before snapping to George, full of fiery anger. “Don’t think this is over,” she snarled. With a blink, her head snapped back, a black smoke forcing its way from the person’s throat, leaving the body to collapse lifeless to the ground.

Dean massaged his throat for a second as he clambered to his feet. Sam, gaining his wits back, pushed himself up to his feet with the help of the wall. George checked on each of them, assuring herself that they would be okay.

“So anyone wanna tell me what the hell that was?” George asked, as they got to work packing their things up. If the demons had found them at the motel, news would spread fast of their whereabouts. It was imperative they move on, and quickly.

Sam was the one to offer an answer. “Zachariah.”

George nodded, slinging her duffel strap over her shoulder. “I got that much. What was this dispatch or whatever the hell that demon was talking about?”

Dean rubbed at his forehead for a second before turning to her. “Zach pulled a few nasty tricks to try and get me to say yes to Michael. When I refused, he’d blast someone close to me with something bad. Sam lost his lungs—”

George’s eyes widened as she looked over at Sam who only nodded.

“Yeah. That wasn’t fun, I can tell you,” Sam mumbled.

“---Bobby was paralyzed, and you, well, you got a pile of demons and angels after you.”

This wasn’t anything new to George—Castiel had told her as much would happen when she first came back. It didn’t chase away the weight of fear in her chest though. It was hard to not be wary when hordes of demons and angels were literally hunting you. In an attempt to lighten the mood, George stepped over to Dean, nudging his shoulder with hers in a comforting manner. “It’s fine, Dean. They can hunt all they want. But between you two and Cas’ rib tattoos, I think I’ll be okay.”

Worry soaked through Dean’s bones as he held George’s gaze for a moment. He could see the fear in her eyes—despite her attempt to hide it. Heaven and hell were hunting her now. It seemed like it was only a matter of time before something finally caught up to her and sent her back to hell. Dean reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing it. He pulled her close to him, his lips resting against her temple for a moment before he pulled away and looked down at her. “You’re right,” he reassured—both himself and George. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Sam led the way to the Impala, none of them bothering to check out. The room had been paid for. If anyone came looking for them, they’d be delayed at least a little bit thinking the hunters were still there.

Until then, they would keep moving.

*****

George clicked through another article on the computer, browsing news sites across the country for any cases. They had made it to another state without any further bounty hunter encounters. Now she was sitting on one of the beds of their latest motel, her back leaning against the wooden headboard. Sam sat at the table by the window, his own laptop open to news sites. Dean was just finishing washing up from the long car ride in the bathroom sink.

The sudden sound of Dean letting out a sound of surprise had both George and Sam scrambling from their seats. Their haste was slowed in the next moment when they both heard Dean sigh out with aggravation. “Don’t do that,” he said.

George and Sam both shared a look of confusion before they peeked their heads into the bathroom area. A shared smile of amusement lifted both of their faces as they realized what had happened.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said, having appeared directly behind the older Winchester.

“Cas,” Dean criticized. “We’ve talked about this. Personal space.”

The angel took a step back. “My apologies.”

Dean grabbed his travel bag of toiletries and made his way back into the room, George and Sam resuming their seats with fading amusement. “How’d you find us? I thought we were flying below the angel radar?”

Castiel followed Dean. “You are. Bobby told me where you were.”

The angel noticed Sam and George watching silently, each of them offering their own silent hello to the angel.

“Sam,” Castiel glanced at George for a moment, a telling look on his face. “I’m glad to see you’re still here.”

All three hunters frowned at those words, though for different reasons.

“Of course he’s still here. Where else would he be?” Dean asked with his own confusion as he shoved his travel bag back into his duffel.

Castiel looked at George, his face answering her unspoken question. She had somehow changed the story. Was Sam not supposed to be there with them? If not, then where had it been written that he would be? Had heaven and hell been successful in driving them apart in the other story line? George supposed she might never know. Either way, she was grateful that the three of them were still together.

“So did you find God yet?” Dean asked as he tossed his duffel onto the floor from the bed. “More importantly, can I have my damn necklace back, please?”

“No, I haven’t found him. That’s why I’m here. I need your help.” With that, he looked at George who frowned in return.

“Why are you looking at me? I doubt I know more about God and finding him than you do.”

“It’s not God that I’m looking for this time. It’s someone else.”

“Who?” Sam asked.

“It’s an archangel.”

“Wait, why are we trying to find an archangel? I thought those guys are all trying to get Dean to say yes to being a vessel?” Sam asked, sitting at the edge of his seat. None of the three hunters were thrilled with the idea of trying to hunt down an archangel.

“Yes, well, I’m hoping this one will be different. He’s the one that killed me.” Castiel’s words brought a shock down on the room.

“Excuse me?” George asked, scooting down the bed to sit on the edge. “And we want to find him, why?”

“His name is Raphael,” Cas answered, as if that explained everything.

“You were wasted by a teenage mutant ninja angel?” Dean asked, making George snort out a small laugh.

“He’s the archangel of travelers and healing, Dean,” George explained.

“Wait, since when does exploding another angel count as healing? And if he’s the patron saint of travelers, then why hasn’t he been, you know, helping us?”

George shook her head at Dean’s mix-up. “Patron saint of travelers is Christopher. Raphael is an archangel. Not the same thing.”

Castiel let out an exasperated sigh at the derailment of his conversation. “I’ve heard whispers that he’s walking the earth. It’s a rare opportunity for information.”

“How do you plan on finding him?” George asked.

Cas turned to George. “I was hoping you could help with that. There would be signs of his presence. Something large and unexplainable.”

George nodded, reaching over to grab her computer. Both her and Sam turned towards their screens, searching the news tabs they had open. As the pair searched, Dean spoke up. “So what happens if we find him? You think he’s just gonna spill God’s address?”

“Yes,” Castiel answered confidently. “Because we’re gonna trap him and interrogate him.”

George’s attention snapped up from her computer screen. “Say what now?”

***

Castiel had been right. All they would need to do was find something big and unexplainable. And they had, in a small town in Maine. According to reports, a deputy sheriff had laid eyes on the archangel.

“And he still has eyes?” Dean asked as the four of them barreled down a Maine back road in the Impala. For some reason, George found it weird and slightly awkward having to share the bench seat with an angel. But she supposed it could be worse.

“What’s the plan when we get there?” George asked as Dean directed the car into town and through the streets.

“We’ll tell the officer he witnessed an angel of the Lord. Then he’ll tell us where the angel is.” Castiel’s answer caused all three hunters to chuckle in amusement.

“We can’t do that, Cas,” George offered politely.

“Why not?”

“Well,” George took a second to figure out how to phrase her answer without completely insulting the angel. “It just wouldn’t really work. And they’d try to lock you up in a psych ward.”

Dean pulled up to the curb outside the Sheriff’s office. Turning the engine off, Dean turned around in his seat to face the other three occupants. “How about Sam and I go in and see what we can figure out and you wait out here with George, Cas?”

Castiel was stoic and level in his reply. “That won’t work.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m the one that will be able to determine if this man is telling the truth. And I will know if what he describes as the archangel is actually correct or not.”

George shrugged a shoulder at Dean. “He’s got a point.”

In response, Dean sent her an unhappy look. “Fine. You and I will go in, Sam and George can wait out here.”

“Fine,” Castiel instantly agreed, opening the door and climbing out of the car before following a slightly annoyed Dean into the building.

Needing to stretch their legs, Sam and George climbed out of the car, leaning against the side as they waited for the other two to return.

“How are you holding up?” George asked Sam as she watched the people passing by.

“Uh, I’m okay,” he answered readily.

“You’ve been quiet lately.” George had noticed Sam’s solitude and quietness ever since they’d left Colorado. In general, she knew him to be a quiet guy, but this was pushing the limits.

Sam shrugged as he looked around the area. “It’s just been a lot ya know,” he confided quietly. “Knowing that I’m the one responsible for kick starting—” His words were cut off with George slapping him in the arm. “Hey, what the hell was that for?”

“Uh, uh,” George chastised. “We’re not starting that again. You didn’t do it, Sam. If anything, the freaking angels did. They could’ve stopped hell from breaking all the seals. They could’ve warned us about it all. But they didn’t. They are responsible, you hear? So no more blaming yourself for all of this. If you wanna blame someone, blame heaven and the angels.” George offered him a comforting smile. “Like Dean said. They’re dicks.”

Sam huffed out a quiet laugh from his nose, a small smile pulling at his lips as he rubbed at his arm. “Thanks. For the pep-talk. Not for the sore arm,” he joked, lifting his arm towards her.

“Oh, grow up, you baby,” George laughed out. After a second of quiet ease, George nudged Sam gently with her elbow. “And no thanks necessary. I’m just telling the truth.”

Sam smiled again at her. He was beyond grateful that someone had brought George back to them. He couldn’t be sure where things would be between him and Dean if it weren’t for her making sure they stuck together and worked through things. And it was nice to have his friend back. Someone that he could talk to that wasn’t his brother and had experienced some of the things he had.

The sight of Dean and Castiel returning brought Sam and George to push themselves off the car. “So?” Sam asked as the two approached.

“It’s definitely our ninja turtle,” Dean said, walking around the car and climbing in, the other following suit. “Disturbance call came in at a local gas station. The deputy says it was a full scale riot. All out kill or be killed type thing.”

“It was angels and demons,” Castiel clarified.

“It was something. Deputy says that after he arrived, an explosion happened. Said it was an underground gas tank,” Dean continued with his explanation. “Except he described it as a pure white light. After it disappeared, the gas station was leveled, everyone dead.”

“So no leads?” George asked.

Castiel looked over at her. “A local mechanic apparently survived.”

“Great,” George said, looking between Dean and Cas. “Where is he?”

“St. Pete’s Hospital,” Dean answered.

***

The trip to St. Pete’s was a bust. They’d found the sole survivor of the blast: a man named Donnie, but the poor man had been left with a scrambled brain and a wheelchair in the psych ward. It was a dead end.

Finding an old abandoned house to work out of, the team got to work setting up for trapping Raphael, the archangel.

“I feel like we’re setting a trap to try and catch a freaking leprechaun,” Dean complained as they waited for Castiel to return from wherever he’d flown off to.

Castiel appeared a second later, a large clay jug in his hand.

“What’s that?” George asked, pointing at the jug.

“Holy oil. From Jerusalem,” was the succinct reply.

“You went to Jerusalem?” Sam said in shock.

“Yes.”

Dean got to work, helping Castiel to set the archangel trap. In order to trap an archangel, you apparently had to get him to stand in a perfect circle of holy oil long enough to light it on fire. The trick would be getting the angel to step in the right spot without catching on to what the hunters were planning.

“You keep sayin’ we’re gonna trap this guy,” Dean said, “but isn’t it kinda like trapping a hurricane with a butterfly net?”

Castiel’s face remained motionless as he turned to answer Dean. “No. It’s harder.”

“Do we have any chance of surviving this?” Sam asked with worry.

The angels were level and straight to the point. “Dean does.”

George rolled her eyes. “Way to sugar coat it for us, Cas.”

Dean apparently found less humor in the angel’s reply than the others. “Wait, what? What about Sam and George?” Worry grew tenfold at this sudden news.

Castiel took in each of the hunters with a look before turning back to Dean. “Given Sam’s history, he will more than likely die an instantaneous death in a blinding white light. As for George? I can’t be certain. She seems to have something rather powerful on her side. For now at least.”

The angel really had a way of delivering news. Nobody was grateful for his bluntness in that moment.

“What do you mean by that?” Dean asked in regards to Castiel’s ‘for now’ comment.

“I mean,” Castiel explained, seeming annoyed that Dean wasn’t understanding his original answer. “It wasn’t heaven or the angels that brought her back to earth. It was something bigger. Something even I don’t know. Something that terrified Zachariah and most of heaven enough to want her dead.”

Both Dean and Sam stood silent at this news. It was clear that nobody knew who or what had brought George back to them, but they hadn’t realized it was something that terrified Zach.

Dean cleared his throat, suddenly purposefully avoiding George’s gaze. He knew she wasn’t going to like what he said next. “Well, then, if that’s the case, George and Sam need to go.”

Instant protests came from both George and Sam.

“I’m not going anywhere, Dean.”

“No. We agreed! It’d be the three of us going down swinging. Not you alone!”

“Yeah, well, this is different,” Dean snapped at George’s protest.

“How?” Sam asked, stepping up beside George.

Fear in the form of anger flooded through Dean as he raised his voice to the two seemingly begging to die beside him. “I’ve got a chance! I’ve basically got a bullet proof vest.” He looked at George, his eyes sad. “I’m not gonna lose you again.” His eyes raised to his brother. “Either of you. Once was more than enough. I won’t let it happen again. Especially if I can prevent it.”

George and Sam both started to protest again, George stepping forwards slightly in anger.

Dean looked over at Castiel, seeming to have a conversation with him. Before Sam or George could do anything to prevent it, the angel reached out, placing a hand on each of their arms, and sent them across the country to a small town in New Mexico.

George spun at the sudden and new surroundings. “You son of a bitch!” She screamed at the sky. “Bring us back, you bastard!”

Sam stood beside her, reigning in his own anger as he looked around.

George’s shoulders deflated. “So what now?” She asked Sam.

“Now, we find a car and get back to Maine as soon as possible,” Sam offered.

George nodded in approval of the plan. “And then I kill Dean.”

Chapter Text

Sam and George made it to Oklahoma before they made the decision to stop for a bite to eat at a small bar before switching drivers. Sam had driven so far while George tried to rest. It hadn’t been easy, knowing that Dean had basically zapped them across the country, leaving him to face an archangel alone.

She had tried dozens of times to call him, but the idiot had sent her to voicemail each time. Worry grew by the minute in her stomach, but there was nothing she could do. And that was what ate at her the most.

The blonde waitress, whose nametag read Lindsey, had smiled at Sam as she refilled their glasses of water. George pretended to be busy focused on the food in front of her. The kind smile that Sam returned hadn’t escaped George’s notice either.

Sam and George had a quiet conversation over a variety of topics as they ate together. Taking an opportunity, George flagged down Lindsey as she passed by.

“Can I get a couple more beers for my brother and me?” George asked with a kind smile as she pointed between her and Sam.

Lindsey’s eyes darted to Sam before she smiled brightly. “Of course, coming right up.”

As she walked away, Sam looked over at George with an amused but curious look on his face. “What was that?”

“What was that?” George asked innocently.

Sam laughed bashfully. “Don’t do that, George.”

“What?” George asked honestly. “I’ve never had a chance to play wingman. It’s kind of fun.”

Sam smiled softly. “Not even with Levi?”

George leaned back in her booth, and sighed, her hand resting on the table as her fingers tapped lightly. “Al didn’t really leave much time for dilly-dallying or side quests.”

“Right, sorry,” Sam nodded apologetically.

George waved him off, shrugging a shoulder. “Don’t be. I still got my chance to play wingman,” she winked at Sam, quickly finishing off her current beer as she spotted Lindsey making her way over.

The waitress placed the bottles on the table and stepped to the side, leaning against the wide end of Sam’s side of the booth. “Just a heads up, we’re closing in about twenty minutes.”

George and Sam both looked around the empty bar, not having noticed the time. The place was empty save for the two hunters. “Oh, I’m sorry. We didn’t realize what time it was,” Sam pleaded.

Lindsey waved him off with a genuine smile. “Not a problem. Don’t worry about it. You two have been my easiest customers all week. Anything else I can get you?”

“No, but thanks,” Sam smiled up at her.

Lindsey returned his smile. “Just holler if you do. I’ll be over at the bar.”

Reluctantly, Sam and George both silently agreed that it was time for them to leave. They needed to get back on the road and back to Dean. The short intermission had been nice, but the world was unfortunately still ending and Dean was still an idiot.

As Sam and George stood and gathered their things, the door to the bar opened, showing the thundering rain storm that raged outside.

“Sorry, bud, we’re closing up,” Lindsey called out to the man that entered as she worked on wiping down the bar.

Sam took in the sight of the man, his brows creasing suddenly in recognition. “Tim?”

George looked between Sam and the stranger. “Who’s Tim?”

Sam answered quietly, though his gaze stayed on the man who had just come in from the rain. “He’s a hunter.”

With this new knowledge, George reassessed the man named Tim, taking in his appearance. It was evident he’d just been in a fight, his clothes covered in dirt and himself looking bruised up. He held a hand against his chest, nursing it.

As the man stepped farther into the bar, his attention latched onto the tall frame of Sam Winchester. With a single look, his entire demeanor changed into something more dangerous.

George caught it, her senses heightening. Something was most definitely off with this man. Tim didn’t seem like he was there to shelter from a storm. Instead, it seemed more like he was looking for a fight. And it seemed, based on the angry glare he now held on Sam, he had his target picked.

“Everything okay, Tim?” Sam called across the bar to the man.

“Fancy finding you here, Sam,” Tim responded, though his head had lowered as he continued to slowly make his way over to the pair.

Uncertain of what would be said or done, George looked over at Lindsey, catching her attention. With a subtle movement at her side, George waved the woman away. Understanding, Lindsey nodded slightly before dropping her rag on the bar top and slowly moving towards the back room.

“Something you wanna share, Sam?” Tim called out, garnering George’s attention once more.

“What are you talking about?” Sam asked.

When Tim didn’t answer, George spoke, her voice coming out soft and sympathetic, a stark contrast to how she truly felt. “Are you okay, Tim?”

Tim scoffed at the question, finally looking over at George with a hard look. “Oh yeah. I’m great. My pal, Steve,” Tim rubbed at his chin as if in thought, “he’s uh, his guts are laying roadside outside the Hawley Five-and-Dime.”

George’s frame stiffened at this, her body becoming much more alert. She glanced with her eyes at Sam, confirming he’d gone on alert as well, before turning back to the hunter before her. George didn’t know Tim, she’d never heard of him before. But she knew hunters. And if they blamed someone for a loved one’s death, well, then, there was no changing their mind. They’d be out for blood and wouldn’t stop until they got it. She didn’t know for certain who he was blaming, but it wasn’t boding well that he’d recognized and called out Sam.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” George offered with sympathy. “But we all know hunting isn’t a very safe occupation.”

“Ya know, there’s a truth to that, sweetheart,” Tim nodded, his voice too calm for George’s liking. “We all know the risks we put ourselves in when we go after the monster.” George didn’t miss the man’s eyes flicking to Sam when he said the word ‘monster’.

“But what we don’t bargain for is being betrayed by one of our own,” Tim continued, this time not hiding his look of disdain pinned on Sam.

Sam furrowed his brows in confusion for the hunter’s words as George stepped a bit closer to his side, a half step forward.

“You see,” Tim said, finally stopping in his steps, still a distance away, “we went on this hunt. Demon omens. We managed to capture one, only to get jumped by ten more.” His glare hardened. “Steve bought it.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam offered sincerely.

Tim’s voice filled with aggravation for a moment. “Saying it doesn’t change what happened, Sam.” He took a few more steps forward, still only half way across the bar from where Sam and George stood. “But see, this demon, he told us things. Crazy things. Things about you, Sam.”

“Demons lie,” George said tightly.

Tim looked at her, his eyes studying her as if he were seeing her for the first time that night.

“I’ve dealt with enough of them in my lifetime to vouch for that,” George continued, hoping to diffuse the situation and get out of there.

The hunter made a noise of recognition. “That’s right,” he said. “You’re George Finley. You and your old man were renowned for hunting demons. It’s a shame the old man bit it.”

George clenched her jaw with the words. “Well, then you know I’m right when I say demons lie.”

Tim nodded but with disbelief. “Maybe. But then again, you’re standing next to him.” He turned an accusing glare back on Sam. “I’m gonna give you one chance, Sam. Tell me the truth.”

The door to the bar shoved open, the raging storm outside spraying the floor of the bar as another hunter dragged Lindsey in. George resisted the urge to take out Tim and then move on to whoever this new hunter was. It would only put Lindsey’s life at more risk, and George wasn’t willing to do that to an innocent woman. Something these men clearly had no problem doing.

George looked over at Tim with a hard glare of her own. “What the hell is this? We don’t hurt innocents.”

The other hunter, in response, pulled a large hunting knife, light glinting off the blade, and held it against Lindsey’s neck. The poor woman whimpered slightly, her body tensing as the metal pressed against her skin.

“What’s going on?” Lindsey asked with a panicked fear.

Sam’s entire body tensed, his jaw working as he looked from Lindsey to Tim. “Let’s just take it easy, okay? Put the knife down."

Thankfully, Tim obliged, nodding to his friend. “Okay, Reggie.”

With that, Reggie lowered the knife, setting it on the bar, but kept a tight hold on Lindsey.

“It’s true,” Sam said, stepping forward.

“Sam,” George hissed out, but Sam held up a hand to silence her.

“It’s okay, George.” He turned back to the hunters. “What the demon said. It’s all true.”

George clenched her jaw and fists, resisting the urge to sucker punch Sam. The man was an idiot.

“Keep going,” Tim prodded.

“Why?” Sam asked. “You gonna hate me any less? What do you want?”

“I wanna hear you say it.”

“Say what?” George asked. “Say that he started the apocalypse?”

This time, when Sam tried to shut George up the woman wasn’t having it. A sharp look from her cut off Sam’s protest.

“No, Sam. I’m not letting heaven and hell win.” She turned her attention back to Tim. “That’s what the demon said, right? Sam Winchester broke the last seal and started the apocalypse? That he freed Lucifer? Right?” George looked between the two hunters before clapping her hands together, her voice frighteningly light as she pushed her lips into a smile. “Well, boys, it’s like I said. Demons lie. And that demon was twisting the story so hard for you two, you should’ve heard the damn thing snap.” Her voice became hard, the smile slipping away in an instant, her eyes lit with a growing fire. “The only thing Sam Winchester is guilty of is killing hell’s first demon and her hired bitch. If you’re looking for someone to blame in all of this, you blame heaven and their dickless angels. They’re the ones that manipulated everyone involved in order to get the end times kickstarted. They are the ones that want a big showdown where they win and earth and hell and everything in them loses.”

Tim shared a look with Reggie before turning back to George. “Well then I guess we’re gonna have to do whatever it takes to survive.” He held up a small vial in his hand and looked at Sam.

Sam swallowed nervously as his eyes darted to the vial filled with dark red liquid. “What’s that?”

Tim's eyes lit with something foul. “What do you think it is? It’s go-juice, Sammy boy.”

George stared at the vial in Tim’s hand. The vial of blood. Demon blood.

“Get that away from me,” Sam said, a hint of fear in his voice.

“Away from you? Wrong. This is for you.” Tim looked at George knowingly. “Hell, if that demon wasn’t right as rain.” He grinned over at Sam. “Down the hatch, son.”

“You’re insane,” George snapped.

“Look. It’s simple. You’re gonna drink this, hulk out.” George caught Reggie handcuffing Lindsey to the bar as Tim continued, “and you're gonna waste every one of those demon scum that killed my best friend.” He pointed over his shoulder at Lindsey. “Or she dies,” he turned his eyes to George. “They both die.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Sam said with less confidence.

“It’s funny how watching your best friend die changes things.”

“Only if you let it.” George attempted to get the two hunters to back off, to ease down. “I watched my best friend, my brother die right in front of me at the hands of a demon.” She shook her head. “I didn’t let it change me. Not into the monster you’re turning into, Tim. Don’t do that to Steve.”

“Steve!” Tim yelled out before settling back down, “would avenge my death.” He looked back at Sam. “Same as I’m doing right now.” He stepped closer to Sam, lifting the vial and gently shaking it back and forth in a taunting motion. “You know you want it. Just reach out and take it.”

George worried for only a moment that Sam might give in, but the worry was gone in an instant the moment she saw Sam’s face. It was clear he was terrified and didn’t trust himself, but she trusted him. It was something she just knew. George could trust Sam.

Reggie and Tim began to move forward, closing in on the other two. George stood her ground, remaining where she was at Sam’s side. She only had a pocket knife on her, but she was still hopelessly hoping that she wouldn’t have to use it. Not against another hunter; another human being.

Sam took a strengthening deep breath, but in the next moment, Reggie rushed him. Reflexively, Sam grabbed the man by the jacket and threw him around, slamming the man onto the pool table behind. Tim attacked a second later, rushing and attempting to grab Sam from behind.

George sprinted into action, kicking Tim in the side, forcing him to fall sideways, preventing him from reaching Sam. George spun to check on Sam, only to be rushed by Reggie who had climbed from the pool table.

Sam turned his attention to Tim who once again rushed him, while George dealt with Reggie.

The two hunters exchanged a couple of blows before Reggie grabbed George by her jacket and threw her in the direction of the bar. George’s side slammed against the edge of the wooden top, her hand barely stopping her body from slamming any harder. Despite her efforts of lessening the blow, the impact didn’t stop the flash of pain that spread through her side, her ribs screaming in pain with the contact. George pushed herself away from the bar to see Reggie already holding a struggling Sam, prying his mouth open, while Tim began to pour the vial of blood into it.

“No!” George screamed out, rushing the two hunters. She yanked Reggie away, punching him hard enough in the nose to make him stagger in dizziness. The hunter was forced to catch himself against a table before he could fall to the ground.

Released from Reggie’s grip, Sam shoved Tim away, spitting the mouth full of blood back into the hunter’s face. As Tim moved to attack again, Sam slammed a fist into the side of Tim’s face, knocking the man back against the ground.

Seeing Reggie pull himself up and move towards Sam again, George grabbed a barstool, tossing it up to grab it by the legs, and slammed the wooden seat across the back of his head, knocking him out completely. Dropping the stool, she looked up in time to see Sam slam Tim against the bar top, grabbing the knife Reggie had put there, and holding it against the hunter’s neck.

“Sam,” George called to her friend. Not in warning, not in distraction, but in reminder. Sam was better than that; better than the monsters Tim and Reggie had become. He and George both knew he was.

Sam panted out in effort to restore his breath, his jaw clenching as he looked down at Tim. After a moment, he released the man, throwing him stumbling into a table, the blade clattering onto the wooden bar top.

“Go,” he said harshly, pointing at the door.

With Tim’s help, Reggie struggled to his feet, falling into his friend as they made their way to the door. “Don’t think we won't come back for you,” Tim called out in warning before disappearing through the door and out into the storm.

Sam and George stood there for a bit, breathing heavily. Poor Lindsey was stunned into silence at what had just happened. Sam looked over at George, nodding in thanks for her help. George simply smiled before making her way to the bar. Once she freed Lindsey from the cuffs, she looked around the empty bar, unsure of what to say. Turning back to the waitress, she pulled a small wad of cash from her pocket and tossed it onto the bar. “Sorry for the trouble,” she offered before nodding towards the door. “You don’t have to worry about them. They won’t be back.”

Lindsey remained standing, silently watching George and Sam.

With one final nod, George made her way to where Sam waited by the door, her coat in hand. Silently, she put it on and followed Sam out into the storm and to the car.

The drive was quiet for a while, George taking her turn driving. Neither one of them were entirely certain what to say. After a short period, Sam was the first to finally speak up.

“Thanks for that back there, by the way.”

George wiped a tissue at her swollen lip, the edge of it coming back red. “I’ve always got your back, Sam,” she smiled carefully, her bottom lip smarting from being punched by Reggie. “I fully blame Dean for that entire fiasco, though,” she half-joked out, making Sam smile.

*****

It was mid morning the next day when Sam and George finally caught up with Dean at a local motel. As soon as they walked in the door, Dean was on his feet, noticing the bruises on George and Sam’s faces.

“What the hell happened to you two?”

“Bar fight,” George answered coldly before pushing her way past Dean and towards the bathroom sink.

Dean’s gaze followed George’s angry form to the bathroom before he turned to his brother, only for Sam to push past him and drop his bag on the bed.

“Okay, I get it,” Dean huffed out. “You’re both upset with me.”

“No,” George growled out as she spun away from the sink. “I’m pissed. Furious. We agreed, Dean. We’d do this together.”

Dean’s anger rose, matching George’s. “That doesn’t mean we risk your lives unnecessarily!”

“That also doesn’t mean that you beam us to the other side of the fucking country without a word whenever you think it’s too dangerous!” She yelled back.

Sam stepped between the two, raising hands to each of them, his own anger rising. “Okay, cut it out. That's enough.”

Dean and George turned away, their tempers cooling slightly.

“You’re both right,” Sam said. “Dean, you should’ve trusted us to take a step back, to let you and Cas take the lead. Not send us half way across the country without a choice.” He turned his attention to George. “But Dean is right too. Sometimes facing the fight means some of us get in the ring alone.”

George clenched her jaw, disliking the idea of one of the boys fighting alone completely. She understood, but it didn’t mean she had to like it.

George pointed a finger at Dean. “Next time you zap me across the country, Winchester, I’ll key your car,” she warned. It might not’ve seemed like very much of a threat, but George knew what Baby meant to Dean. Keying the Impala would be like kicking John Wick’s dog.

Dean went wide eyed, but Sam held up a hand to silence him, shaking his head to let it go.

Silence fell across the room, Sam collapsing across one of the beds in exhaustion while George crawled onto the other, her back against the headboard. Dean played it smart, taking the seat at the small table.

Dean was the first to break the silence. “So you two gonna tell me what really happened? Because I’m not buying bar fight.”

Sam let out a sigh, hoisting himself up into a sitting position. He rubbed at his neck as he worked up the courage to tell the story. George knew she could speak up and tell it for him, but she knew it would be good for Sam to tell it. That and she was being slightly petty and holding her grudge against Dean a little longer.

“Some hunters were working a demon hunt near the bar we stopped at,” Sam explained. “Turns out, a demon they captured spilled the beans about my demon blood thing and starting the Apocalypse.”

Aggravation filled Dean; the feeling directed at the hunters and demons. “You’re telling me hunters believed demons and turned on you?”

George let her head fall back against the headboard, her voice tired. “Your idiot brother here told them it was all true before verifying what they had even learned first.”

Sam looked at his hands in shame as he explained what happened next. “They had a vial of demon blood.”

Worry marred Dean’s face as he looked between Sam and George.

“They managed to shove it in my mouth, hoping to get me to hulk out and kill the demons that killed their friend.”

And?” Dean asked impatiently when his brother didn’t continue.

George answered for Sam, lifting her head, a proud look on her face. “And Sam spit it back out and let them go.”

“You what?” Dean asked, relieved to hear he’d spit it out, but furious that he’d let them go.

“I’m with you,” George said with a shrug. “I think they should’ve had their heads handed to them on a platter.” Her words were mostly honest, despite her stopping Sam back at the bar from doing just that.

Sam chuffed out a breath. “That would just be making us the monsters they believe us to be, George. No, it was better to kick their ass and let them go alive.” He laughed, shaking his head. “When did you get so dark?”

“So…” Dean looked at Sam hesitantly, cutting off George needing to respond to Sam’s jesting question. “Are you…?” He knew what he needed to ask, but he couldn’t get the words out.

Sam half smiled, half shook his head. “No. I’m not jonesing for a hit, Dean.” He took a second to think and looked back at his brother. “Truthfully, it didn’t affect me at all.”

Dean nodded in relief. “That’s good news.”

“Yeah,” Sam breathed out.

George turned the topic of conversation back on Dean. “What about you? What about the archangel?”

Dean rubbed his neck at the question, his face becoming somber. It was clear he was hesitant to answer.

“What is it?” George asked, her nerves suddenly tingling as she leaned forward with anxiety.

Dean let out a sigh as he looked up at George. She’d have to find out eventually, he just hated planting the idea in her head. The same idea that Raphael had planted in his and Castiel’s.

“Well, he didn’t have an address for God, if that’s what you’re wondering. He said God is dead.”

George eyed Dean carefully, her eyes squinting as if she were reading him like a book. “What else did Raphael say, Dean?” Her words were quiet, careful. Sam’s brows furrowed, wondering what George was talking about.

Dean released a heavy and relenting sigh. “Raphael says it was Lucifer who brought Castiel back. That he needs all the rebellious angels he can find, and so that’s why he did it.”

George tilted her head in confusion. If that was all the archangel had said, why had Dean seemed so hesitant to tell her? Sure, the thought of Lucifer bringing back the angel wasn’t exactly great news, but Castiel wasn’t a bad angel. Her mind suddenly tripped on the first part of the news. Raphael believed it was Lucifer who—

Dean looked up at George, the look on his face seeming to spell everything out for her. Terror flooded through her as she breathed out a quiet, “no.”

“No, what?” Sam asked in confusion as he looked between Dean and George.

Dean was the one to answer Sam’s question, putting words to George’s newly formed fear. “Raphael claims it was Lucifer that brought Castiel back,” he reiterated before adding, “but he said Lucifer was the one who brought George back too. He said that she’s changing the story and the angels are suffering for it. She’s weakening heaven and that’s allowing Lucifer to become stronger and gain an advantage.”

George’s heart pounded in her chest as dread and alarm swamped her, her body falling back against the headboard. Lucifer was the one that had brought her back? Castiel had said it was something bigger than the angels, something outside of heaven. She guessed Lucifer would count as that considering he was an archangel and the devil. The idea that she was brought back by the devil himself, simply to be used as a tool, a weapon in the war against heaven, rapidly brought George to a dark low.

A dangerous thought planted itself into her mind, spreading its roots deep as her entire focus latched onto it. Terror poured from it. Lucifer had brought her back, and the devil himself now walked the earth. Reason stood that it was only a matter of time before he came for his tool. Could it be true? Was Lucifer coming for her?

The spiral continued as that one word clung to her mind: a tool. Was that all George would ever be? A tool meant to be wielded by the worst of them? Had that been her fate all along? Was that why Al had been what he had been? A carver for Lucifer? Crafting the perfect tool the devil would one day need?

Dean dragged George’s focus out of her mind, crawling onto the bed beside her and grabbing her hand. He could practically see the dark clouds forming and swirling inside of her, a storm already beginning to drown her. “Hey, look at me,” he called to her, drawing her eyes up to his and away from her own thoughts. “You listen to me, okay? I don’t believe for a second that it’s Lucifer pulling the strings.”

George looked at Dean, her voice quiet and sinking. “But you can’t know that for sure, can you?”

Dean held her hand tightly as he gave her an honest answer. “No, I can’t.” He continued quickly, his words encouraging as he lifted a hand and cradled her cheek. “But look at everything, George. There’s nothing in your life or anywhere else that even hints at it being Lucifer that’s controlling things.”

George wasn’t so sure, her previous thoughts returning to the surface, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

Sam spoke up from his spot on the other bed. “He’s right, George. Besides that, we all know that angels lie just as much as demons do. There’s no way even Raphael could know if it was Lucifer or not. He’s just guessing.”

George forced a laugh out, though any humor was wiped away with a tremor of fear. “Well, that’s one hell of a guess.”

*

The three hunters were quiet the rest of the day, their conversations stunted as they each processed the news they’d received over the past few days. Dean worried over George, knowing her mind was going to be working overtime as it tried to find any evidence against or in support of Raphael’s claims.

When they went to sleep that night, George slept short and fitfully, her nightmares consisting of the same recurring dream that had haunted her before her death. Only this time, the demon’s eyes were fiery red rather than pale white. But just as before, he asked the same horrifying question over and over.

“Won’t you come play with me, George?”

Chapter Text

5.4: The End

Sam twitched in his sleep, a small yet sharp noise escaping his mouth. 

George’s fingers paused, hovering over the mousepad on her laptop as she looked over at her friend. She waited a minute, studying his sleeping form. She’d been up for several hours now, having been startled awake from two hours worth of nightmares. 

Sam had fidgeted a few times already, but it was nothing new to George. This most recent twitch and noise, however, was new. Her brows furrowed as she watched Sam twitch again, his own brows creasing. George carefully pushed her chair away from the table, getting to her feet. Before she could take a step closer, Sam gasped awake, the tall man quickly pushing himself up from the bed, his eyes wide as he inspected the emptiness of the bed beside him. 

“Sam?” George called softly, not wanting to startle the man. 

Sam spun around for a second before his shoulders slumped, his hands rubbing down his face. 

George studied him with concern. “You okay?”

Sam looked at the empty bed once more as he began to nod, only to stop himself. He turned his eyes towards George, the distress he was feeling evident. “No, I don’t think I am.”

Moving quietly in order to not disturb Dean or the quiet of the room, George sat beside Sam, her knee pulled up onto the bed as she angled to face him. “You wanna talk about it?”

She watched silently as Sam leaned forward, elbows against his knees, as he ran his hands up and down his face several times. After a moment he straightened back up, his eyes focusing on the nothingness before him as he ran through his thoughts. 

“It was Jessica,” Sam finally answered quietly. George remained silent, letting her friend talk at his own pace. “She was here with me, comforting me.” He shook his head, his eyes once more landing on the space beside him. “I turned away for a second and when I turned back to her, she was gone. Instead, sitting next to me was Lucifer.”

George did her best to keep her breath even, her heart rate steady. It seemed Lucifer was haunting them both now. “Did he say anything?” She asked past a swallow. The sound of a voice asking over and over if she wanted to play a game ran through her head. 

Sam looked down at his hands. “He said there was no reason for hope. Wanted to know where I was. Said he wanted to give me a gift, give me everything.” He paused as he recalled the dream turned nightmare. “Then he apologized.”

“What for?” George asked quietly.

“He said…” Sam cleared his throat, the words getting caught, “he said I was the one. I was his vessel.” He looked down at George, his eyes glistening with terror and fear.

George took a deep breath, one of her worst fears coming true. “Sam, I’m…” The quiet words died away. There wasn’t anything to say in response to that. Her hands ran up and down her thighs nervously as her heart broke all over again for her friend. 

Sam studied her for a second, his brows softening in realization. “You already knew, didn’t you?” It wasn’t an accusing question, more confiding.

George looked ahead, nodding for a bit before she finally met Sam’s gaze, her own apologetic. “I’m sorry, Sam. I thought about telling you what I’d figured out, but I didn’t want it to be true. And I had no proof that it was, it was just a hunch. I’m sorry.”

Sam shook his head at her, his words soft but broken in their own way. “No, no you don’t need to apologize. I understand. Really.”

Silence fell on the pair, each one fighting with their own thoughts. George pulled her knees up to her chest where she sat next to Sam, looping her arm through his as she leaned her head against his shoulder. “Guess we can bond over being Lucifer’s fuck buddies, huh?”

Sam and George both let out a burst of soft laughter at the words, though little humor filled it. 

Dean stirred from his sleep with the sound, rolling over to see Sam and George. “Hey, you two throwing a party without me or something?” He rubbed at his eyes, the day being way too early for him to be awake, as he rose up onto an elbow to see the pair better.

George smiled fondly at him, leaning back slightly to reach out and push gently against his shoulder, making Dean fall back onto the mattress. “Go back to bed, sleepy head.”

At this, Dean reached out an arm towards her, his eyes fighting to remain open. “Come with me,” he asked, his voice rough from sleep. 

George looked back up at Sam. “You gonna be okay?” She knew he wouldn’t be. She wasn’t sure either one of them would be, but she didn’t want to leave him if he needed her right then. 

“Yeah,” Sam answered, looking down at his watch. “I think I’m gonna make a breakfast run.”

Dean’s muffled voice carried over to Sam, his face crammed into a pillow. “Bring back coffee!”

Sam laughed at his brother. “Got it.” He looked down at George, seeing how tired she looked. He hadn’t missed that she wasn’t in her pajamas like him and his brother. He marked how she was always awake when he woke up and always awake when he went to sleep. Sam started to wonder what was going on. It was something he’d have to talk to Dean about. “Why don’t you try and get some more sleep. I’ll be back,” he said, rising to his feet. 

George shrugged. “I’m already up for the day. Got some research I wanna keep working on.”

Sam nodded, choosing not to argue. “Okay. I’ll be back.”

As Sam left, Dean reached out for her again. “Come back to bed.”

George crawled across the bed and over to the other one, sitting beside where Dean lay. Leaning down, she gently kissed his temple, running her fingers through his hair. “You go back to sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Dean groaned out as he adjusted his face against the pillow, barely nodding before sleep overtook him. George left him there, carefully lifting from the bed and returning to her seat at her computer. 

Her eyes stayed marked on the door for a bit, biting at her lip in worry. Lucifer apparently brought her back for something; now Sam confirmed he was the vessel. As much as George wanted to deny what Raphael said, it made sense somehow. The pieces fit together nicely. And it all terrified her. What did Lucifer have planned for her?

*

It was almost an hour later when Sam returned. George was still sitting at her computer and Dean was walking out of the bathroom having finished his shower. A smile split his face as Sam held out a coffee to-go cup to him. “Thanks,” he said, taking George’s as well. “So what was so important you two ditched sleep?” He walked behind George, setting her coffee on the table, and sat beside her. 

George remained silent, leaving Sam to respond. It wasn’t her place to tell Dean what his brother had discovered. George looked up at Sam, Dean following her gaze with a frown. 

“Something going on here?” Dean asked with uncertainty. His gaze followed his brother as he sat down on the edge of the bed near them, his hands carefully spinning the cup he held. 

“Dean, do you remember how Cas came to you when you were asleep? Invaded your dream in order to talk to you?”

“Yeah,” Dean answered hesitantly.

“Well, that’s what happened to me last night.” He paused. “Except it wasn’t Cas.”

“Okay,” Dean dragged out the answer. “Then who was it?”

Sam looked over at George, the fear in his eyes from earlier returning. He looked over at his brother, forcing the single word from his mouth. “Lucifer.”

Dean stayed quiet. “Lucifer? As in the devil himself?”

Sam nodded.

“What did he want?” The idea that Lucifer was dream-walking into his brother’s head was a terrifying thought for Dean. He knew that whatever answer Sam gave, it wouldn’t be a good one. However, even he couldn’t prepare himself for the answer to his question. 

Seeing Sam struggling to get the answer out, George swallowed and answered for him, turning to Dean. “He said Sam was the true vessel. Lucifer’s true vessel,” she clarified.

Dread and anxiety swamped Dean’s entire being. “Oh.”

Clearing his throat, Sam pushed past the lump in his throat, his voice coming out stronger than he felt. “All this means is that we don’t have to worry so much about the big angelic showdown. Because you’re not going to say yes to Michael, and I’m never going to say yes to Lucifer.”

Dean leaned forward slightly as he looked at his brother. “You sure?” He asked hesitantly. He wasn’t accusing Sam of giving into the devil, it was more of worrying how long could his little brother hold out against the devil? How could anyone?

“Yeah, I’m sure, Dean,” Sam answered, slightly offended.

Dean immediately tried to explain his question. “I didn’t mean it like that, Sam. You know I didn’t. It’s just, this is the devil we’re talking about. How long can anyone last against him?”

Sam nodded, sighing out. It was a damn good question. One that terrified each of them.

*****

The three hunters sat around the motel room, taking a moment of quiet and rest. George sat in her usual seat on the bed, her back leaned up against the headboard. Dean and Sam each leaned back in the small chairs at the table. A beer bottle sat in each of their hands. 

George picked at the label, lost in her own thoughts. There hadn’t been any more discussion of the vessel topic, nor of Raphael’s accusation that it had been Lucifer that brought George back. That didn’t mean the words hadn’t raced back and forth through her mind; through all their minds. 

Dean broke the quiet silence of the room, leaning forward in his chair as he shared a thought. “With everything going on, maybe it would be better if we split up.” He’d spent the past hour trying to figure out a way to protect Sam and George. The thought of locking them away had crossed his mind, but he knew it wouldn’t last. Splitting up seemed like it might be the best idea. Lucifer would have a harder time finding Sam and George and the angels would have a hard time finding any of them if they were all in different parts of the country.

George immediately protested, throwing her legs over the side of the bed to better face the boys. “What the hell kind of suggestion is that? No, we stay together. Where is this even coming from?” Things were tense right then, sure. They’d gotten some not so great news, yeah, but it was crazy that Dean’s solution to it right then would be for them to split up.

Dean lifted a hand of calming towards her as he explained his thought process. “I just don’t know if we’re stronger together right now. I think we’re making each other weaker. It’s too easy for the enemy to use each of us against the other.”

George laughed without amusement. Everything felt like it was suddenly spiraling out of control; like everything was piling up, weighing them down. It left them each with shortened fuses, and a room thick with tension you could feel a mile away. “Ya know,” she clicked her tongue against her cheek as she tilted her head. “I’ve heard that before. Yeah, you said the same thing to your dad.”

“Yeah, and look how that ended up,” Dean defended.

George shook her head. “Yeah, look at how it ended, Dean. You and Sam stayed away from your dad and he ended up dying. Do you know how many times I’ve made the decision that everyone was better off going their separate ways? That it would be better if I just went off on my own and did my own thing?”

Dean scoffed, aggravation evident. “Oh, trust me, I know, sweetheart.” He hadn’t meant the words, but they’d slipped out anyway, a weight pushing down on his shoulders as he struggled to find a way to save his brother and his girl.

George ignored the comment and the hurt that came with it. It was deserved and probably long overdue, but that wasn’t something to be discussed right then. Pushing forward, she continued to make her point. “And how many of those times did someone die because of my decision, Dean? How many times did I lose someone I cared about?” She didn’t wait for his response, answering herself instead. “Every single damn time. So you want my opinion on us splitting up? It’s a stupid freaking idea and I won’t do it.” 

“Whatever it is that’s between the three of us—love, family, everything that it is, they’re all gonna use it against us. You know that,” Dean argued back. He didn’t like the idea any better, but it made sense that it might be better if they were apart, if they took away the chance for the enemy to use them against each other.

Sam leaned forward, offering his own input on Dean’s suggestion. “Then we use it to push back, Dean. Let that be the reason that scares them. I’m with George on this one. We need each other. And you have to admit, things work better—are better when we’re together.”

Dean looked between George and Sam. He knew his suggestion had been weak from the start, but he had to try. It could be a way to keep George and Sam safe. He didn’t want either of them to get hurt because of him. Frustrated, he ran a hand down his face before relenting. “Fine. But we be careful. We watch out. We—” he pinned George with a look— “don’t make stupid decisions.” His thoughts had run back to Chuck’s words: “it seemed like she was gonna be the savior of the world type thing. You know, the big final sacrifice or whatever.”

“Look who’s talking, Mr. Demon Deal,” George said with a small smirk.

“Okay,” Dean reiterated, “none of us make stupid decisions without discussing them first. Deal?”

“Deal,” Sam and George both agreed.

*****

Later that day, Castiel had messaged Dean, making him aware that he believed the demons had the colt. If they wanted to take down Lucifer, the colt might be their best bet. And so, it led to Sam, George, and Dean hanging out in the local library for the past three hours in an effort to find anything they could on where the colt might be.

The research was never ending, omens popping up everywhere. It was hard tracking the whereabouts of the colt through hearsay and hunter reports. George’s knowledge of demons and how they worked helped them to narrow some of the leads down, but it was still a lot of information to sift through and explore. Finding the colt wasn’t going to be easy, nor was it going to be quick. 

By the time the sun had set, the three were tired. Dean had started to doze off a few times, catching himself before his head hit the table. 

After seeing his head nod and snap back up again, Sam chuckled at his brother. “Dean, why don’t you head back to the motel and get some sleep?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Dean insisted, rubbing at his eyes. 

George stood up, grabbing Dean’s hand and pulling him up from the pile of books he was combing through. “Come on, Dean. You’re tired. Go get some sleep.”

“What about you guys?” Exhaustion was beating at Dean’s head, but he didn’t feel right leaving to sleep while George and Sam stayed there and worked.

Sam shrugged at his brother. “We aren’t really tired.”

Dean could read the answer behind his brother's words. Both Sam and George were afraid to sleep. And if they did manage to fall asleep, it would be plagued with nightmares they didn’t want to face. Nodding in understanding, Dean relented. “Okay, fine. But you call me if you run into anything.” He pinned his brother with a look. “Take care of her, Sammy.”

Sam chuckled in amusement. “I will, Dean.”

Dean turned to George, grabbing her hand to pull her closer. A blush spread up George’s neck when he kissed her temple. The motion never failed to send flutters through her stomach. 

“You sure you don’t wanna come back with me?” He looked between the two. “Maybe I should just stay.”

George laughed lightly at his conflicted uncertainty. “It’ll be okay, Dean. Promise.” She wrapped her arms around his waist in a hug. “Sam will be with me the whole time, and we’re just going to be sitting here reading. We will be fine.” She looked up into his eyes. “You’re exhausted. Go get some sleep.”

Though still hesitant, Dean finally agreed. “Okay. Just—”

George nodded. “We know. We’ll be careful.” 

Dean leaned down and gently kissed her, eventually releasing her. He pointed at his brother with a serious look. “I’m serious, man. The tiniest thing.”

Sam held his hands up in amusement. “I promise. I’ll call you. I will guard her with my life.” Sam and George exchanged amused looks. Just hours before the man had been suggesting they split up, and now he was having a hard time separating himself from them. 

“I won’t even let her out of my sight,” Sam added.

“Okay,” Dean finally agreed, satisfied.

Leaving them to their books and computers, Dean headed back to the motel, taking the Impala. Exhaustion clung at his bones for some reason. He’d managed to sleep some the night before, but lately, their nights had been long and their days even longer. His body wouldn’t last much longer. 

Collapsing onto the bed, Dean let sleep overtake him. Before he could fully slip into her darkness, however, his phone rang. He jumped up, afraid something had already happened with Sam and George. Seeing the ID on the screen, he breathed out a sigh of relief before answering with annoyance. “This better be good, Cas.”

“I’m checking in to see if you or the others have found any leads on the colt.”

Dean rubbed at his eyes. “No, Cas. We haven’t. I promise we will call you the second that we do.”

“Where are you now?” Cas asked.

“Kansas City,” Dean leaned across the bed to check the tag on the motel room key. “Century Hotel, room 113.”

“I’ll be there immediately,” Cas informed.

Dean stopped the angel before he could hang up. “Woah, woah, woah. No, Come on, man. We’ve been at it all day. I need my sleep. So you can just—pop in tomorrow morning.” Without waiting for a response, Dean snapped his phone shut, tossing it on the nightstand beside him before collapsing onto the pillow, sleep taking him readily. 

*

It was several hours later when Dean had stirred from his sleep. Almost instantly, the hunter had known something was wrong. The mattress beneath him was gone, only a spring bed frame holding him up in a deserted and apocalyptic looking world. It was later revealed that the change was thanks to the work of Zachariah. Somehow the angel had found him. Not only found him, but threw him five years into the future as well, with the intention of teaching him some sort of lesson. The world was completely different, the population having been infected with the Croatoan virus the Winchester brothers had encountered at an earlier point in their hunts. 

After being forced to endure the ‘preview’ by Zach, Dean had managed to find something unexpected: himself. After a rather strange introduction and proving he was in fact the Dean from the year 2009, Dean asked future-Dean, “What about Sam?”

Future-Dean’s movements slowed at the question, his mind working as he thought about the answer. “Heavyweight showdown in Detroit,” he finally answered. “From what I understand, Sam didn’t make it.”

So much about that sentence hit Dean like a blow to the chest. Not only had Sam supposedly died, but it was something Future Dean had heard second hand? 

“You weren’t with him?” Dean asked. 

“No,” Future-Dean answered. “No, we haven’t talked since the day he walked out.”

This left Dean even more confused than he already was with everything. “Wait, Sam walked out?”

Future Dean nodded solemnly as he worked on stuffing a duffel full of supplies. “Just after the demon fight in River Pass.”

Dean shook his head in disbelief, his eyes studying the space before him for a second as memories sorted in his mind. “No, no, Sam is still around. I left him and George at the library to do research on the colt.” The words brought a scoff from Future-Dean’s mouth, though he didn’t remark on it. 

Dean shook his head again, confusion the word of the day apparently. “Wait, if Sam didn’t make it,” he lifted his arms to gesture at the surrounding area, “then where’s George?”

Future-Dean turned away from Dean then, his voice quiet as his hands worked to find something to do. “She’s with Sam,” was his simple explanation. 

Dean felt like his chest was being crushed, his heart shattering. George was dead? Sam had walked out and was dead? His mind struggled to cope with the news. He forced himself to remember and focus on the fact that Sam was still around; that he and George were safe at the library. Sam hadn’t walked away and neither one of them was dead. 

But if Future-Dean was telling the truth, did that mean that Sam was still going to walk away? That George was going to die? That couldn’t be right, could it?

Chapter Text

Sam and George continued their research at the library. Some hours later, when the pair began to discuss demons and hell, and reasons why they hadn’t melted down one of the things that could kill them, Sam had noticed George had reached a point where she began to get more and more quiet. He watched her carefully from the corner of his eye as they worked on their digging.

When she seemed to be fully pulling into herself, as if doing all she could to hide away from something that was haunting her, Sam worked up the courage to ask the question that had been growing in his mind.

“Hey, George?”

“Hmm?” She hummed out as she tore her eyes away from something she was reading for only a second before returning to the words.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” George said, pulling her attention away from the book in her hands and focusing on Sam. She immediately marked the hesitation in Sam’s eyes, her brows furrowing in concern. She wasn’t ready for the question Sam wanted to ask.

Carefully, Sam broached the subject. “It’s just that I’ve noticed some things lately, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, I’m not trying to push or anything,” he spoke calmly, wanting to make the question less blunt sounding but failing.

“What’s the question, Sam?” George asked in amusement.

Sam took a shoulder heaving breath before he finally asked, “Were you actually in heaven for six months?”

The clock on the wall ticked away loudly as silence settled between them. George’s gaze stayed stuck on Sam, her voice suddenly lost. It hadn’t been a question she’d been expecting. Nor had she thought she’d done such a bad job at hiding her secret.

Choosing to play dumb for whatever reason, be it embarrassment, shame, fear, or whatever, George forced her gaze away, now focusing on her fingers playing with the pages of the book in front of her. “What do you mean?” The words came out weak.

Sam’s voice was calm and soft as he spoke, not wanting to push her but still hoping for an honest answer. “I’ve noticed things, is all. Things that are pretty similar to what Dean went through when he got back.” When George still wasn’t answering, Sam offered her the out once more. “Like I said, you don’t have to answer. But I am worried about you and wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

George nodded, turning the page in the book before her, though her eyes didn’t move to read the words. After a few more seconds, Sam nodded, understanding she didn’t want to talk about it and returned to his own book.

He had gotten a few paragraphs through the page when George’s small voice reached his ears.

“Please don’t tell Dean.”

Sam looked over at George who stared at her book a moment longer before looking up at Sam with glistening eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Sam offered, scooting his chair closer and reaching out to hold her hand.

With a quiet and hesitant voice, George slowly opened up to Sam. It was painful, and she felt guilt rise as she shared, but it also relieved something in her to finally tell someone. To finally have someone willing to share the pain of the burden she carried.

George had been in hell for six months. She had endured Lilith’s torture before her death, but even that hadn’t even begun to come close to preparing her for what she would endure in hell. Though she avoided giving Sam any details of what she’d been forced to suffer through, the memory and feelings remained.

Memories of being peeled slowly apart; screams being ripped from her throat long after she’d lost her voice, only to be put back together again and start all over. The feeling of every bone in her body being broken again and again, until they were reduced to nothing but dust, unable to hold the shape of her body any longer.

She confided in Sam that she was haunted day and night, haunted by the things that she had endured, but she didn’t tell him of the horrors she saw whenever she looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t share the memory of the student-made mask from their hunt for Samhain and how she had personally lived that, over and over, watching as the flames licked at every last inch of her skin until she watched it boil and bubble away, melting as it slid down her limbs to reveal what was beneath. Her screams and cries of pain seemed to echo for miles, the final Death nearing but never fully reaching her, never putting an end to her suffering and pain, only teasing that final release.

She didn’t describe the pain—every unimaginable pain that she had felt, endured: searing, dull, aching, stabbing, bruising, burning, throbbing, shooting, sickening… every kind flooding through her body and nerves down to her very soul, day and night, without end, leaving scars that no being-–supernatural or otherwise—could ever heal away.

George wiped away a tear that fell down her cheek. “Dean was the only thing that kept me sane down there. I held onto the image of his face. Somehow, it was the only thing they couldn’t take away from me, no matter how hard they tried.”

Sam not only heard, but felt the pain in those words. ‘No matter how hard they tried.’ What little Dean had shared of his own experience told Sam that they had most definitely tried. His own eyes glistened as his heart broke for the woman he considered a sister. No words he said would ever erase or ease the things she had endured, but he wished more than anything they could.

“Why don’t you want Dean to know?” Sam asked quietly once George had finished sharing what she was willing to. He knew her short explanation would never amount to the pain, misery, and torture she endured in hell, but he also knew she’d never truly be able to convey with words what she’d suffered.

George shook her head as she took a deep breath, wiping away another tear. “Dean was down there once. He knows what it was like. And if he finds out that I was down there, that I wasn’t given the chance to get off the rack like he was… I’m afraid it’s going to break him. Your brother is under enough stress and carries enough weight for all of us. I don’t want to add to it.”

Her accidental reveal struck at Sam’s chest. He had learned how Dean had been offered the chance to get off the rack and become one of the torturers rather than be tortured. It was hell’s way of ‘breaking a righteous man’. By Dean agreeing to get off the rack, he had unintentionally broken the first seal, giving the snowball its first push down the hill. It made sense to give Dean the option. And it made just as much sense to refuse George the option. She had made a name for herself in the demon community while her father was still alive. They wouldn’t have forgotten.

Though it broke his heart, Sam understood her desire to keep it from Dean. His brother worked so hard and carried so much for everyone else. “I won’t tell him,” Sam promised.

******

Things had happened. Future Dean and a small group of survivors had decided it was time to take on the devil. They knew where he was going to be, and they finally had the colt. And despite the protestations of some of the others, it was determined that Dean would be accompanying them.

When everyone had been dismissed from the meeting, Dean decided he deserved some answers as to what was going on; why Future Dean was insistent that Dean come along on this mission.

“You’re coming because I want you to see something,” Future Dean explained. “I want you to see our brother.”

This caught Dean off guard. He was under the impression that Sam had died. He expressed as much to Future Dean.

“Sam didn’t die in Detroit,” Future Dean finally explained. “He said ‘yes’.”

“Yes?” Dean’s mind raced. Sam said yes to Lucifer?

“That’s right,” Future Dean said, grabbing his duffel that sat on the table. “Lucifer’s wearing him to the prom.”

Dean shook his head, so many questions, worries, and thoughts running through it, but landing on one. “Wait, you gave the impression that Sam was dead. Then you said George was with him. If he’s not dead, then where is George?”

Future Dean’s jaw worked, an angry sorrow covering his face as he looked down at the table in front of him. “She left us,” he finally answered, looking up to meet Dean’s gaze. “Just like she always does, that bitch left us to be with Sam and is now playing Lucifer’s right hand man in Detroit.”

Dean refused to believe it. It couldn’t be. He knew George and there wasn’t a snowball’s chance that she would leave him. Not now, not ever. Not of her own free will. As if in argument to his steadfastness, memories filtered through his mind. Memories of her leaving time and time again: when Al summoned her, when he was dying in the hospital, when he buried his father, when she had to figure out who she was…all the times she had walked away from him. Other memories followed, memories of watching Sam and George light up as they shared their research, of their time sharing information on Samhain; the memory of waking up just that morning to see them huddled together on the other bed. All of it worked together to stir doubt and uncertainty in his mind. Dean shook his head. No. He refused to believe future-Dean’s words.

“No,” he argued aloud as he glared at Future Dean. “It doesn’t happen. I’m not buying it. Not from George. Not from Sam.”

Future-Dean just grabbed his duffel, sending Dean a silent look before they headed out, the designated group piling into vehicles and making the journey to Detroit.

*****

Dean came to lying on his stomach in the woods, gunfire sounding in the distance. The group from the future had followed Future-Dean to Detroit to take out the devil. What they hadn’t realized was that it had been a trap, set up by Future-Dean who was using their deaths as a distraction. Dean hadn’t agreed with it and so Future-Dean had knocked him flat on his ass.

Shaking the blurriness away, Dean clambered to his feet. He had to save the others. This wasn’t who he was, future or not. As he ran around the back of the building filled with gunfire, a strobing flash of light echoed through the air. Dean came to a steady stop, the sight before him something terrifying.

Sam, dressed neatly in a white suit, calmly stood over Future-Dean’s lifeless body, his foot resting against his now broken neck.

Hearing Dean, Sam turned away from the body, the look on his face one that told Dean it wasn’t his brother. No, this wasn’t Sam. This was Lucifer.

“Oh,” Lucifer said. “Hello, Dean.”

Thunder and lightning cracked through the air, making Dean flinch at the closeness.

The pair stood across from each other, facing each other down.

“I’m sorry,” Lucifer offered so sincerely that Dean might’ve bought it if he hadn’t been the devil. “It must be painful, speaking to me in this shape. But it had to be your brother, Dean. It’s how the story was written.”

Lucifer took his time, his voice calm and steady as he explained why he fell from grace, how he refused to bow before humans, the evil things they were. His smooth voice explained how humans were the ones who had destroyed the world themselves, and then blamed Lucifer for it.

Dean fought against the hurt at seeing those words coming from his baby brother’s mouth. He had to remind himself again and again that this wasn’t Sam. This wasn’t his brother. And most importantly: this wasn’t their story.

With that reminder, he found the courage to speak, defiant of the story Lucifer was spinning. “You’re not fooling me, you know that? With this sympathy-for-the-devil crap. I know what you are.” Dean’s voice grew tight with anger.

Lucifer tilted his head slightly, his face a soft confusion. “What am I?” he asked with curiosity.

“You’re the same thing, only bigger. The same brand of cockroach I’ve been squashing my whole life.”

Lucifer smiled gently at Dean’s words, his face amused. “I like you, Dean.” It was a simple response. “But it’s not our time.” He looked around where they stood before looking back at Dean. “Not yet. Goodbye, Dean. We’ll meet again soon.”

As Lucifer turned to go, Dean called to him, his voice full of warning. “You better kill me now! Or I swear I will find a way to kill you. And I won’t stop.”

“I know you won’t,” Lucifer said, turning back to face the man, taking a step closer. “I know you won’t say yes to Michael, either. And you won’t kill Sam. Whatever you do, you will always end up here. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up here, Dean. Right here in this moment.” He leaned forward slightly. “Because this is what has been written. And no matter how hard you—or anyone else you love—tries, you can’t escape the story.”

The fearful tears that had formed in Dean’s eyes receded with the words, a small smirk daring to peek through the pain in his face, going unnoticed by Lucifer.

“I win,” the devil said, standing back up straight, “so, I win.”

Dean shook his head, a new strength of defiance being woven in his chest. “You’re wrong.” Images of George flashed in his mind. “You lose.”

Still unbelieving, Lucifer answered softly. “See you in five years, Dean.”

With a flash of lightning, Lucifer was gone, silence and death filling the space. Dean looked around, one word, one name coming to the front of his mind. George. Future-Dean had said she was here, playing right hand man to Lucifer. If that was so, then where was she? Why wasn’t she here? If Lucifer was so convinced nothing could be changed, why hadn’t he shut down the fact that George was changing the story?

Raphael’s words filtered through everything, replaying his ears. “George is turning the story against heaven. She’s giving Lucifer the advantage. He will wield his tool, Dean. Just as you will say yes to Michael.”

Despite the warning filled words the archangel had given, a golden warmth seemed to flow through him, sweeping the condemning words from his thoughts. In its wake, one core thought was left, its focus sharp and clear: George Finley was changing their story.

Sam wasn’t going to say yes. Neither was Dean. Because George wouldn’t let them.

Hearing a sudden sound behind him, Dean spun to find Zachariah reaching out and pressing a finger to his forehead.

******

Sam and George returned the books they had borrowed to the cart of pulled books, and gathered their things.

“Wanna stop and grab a coffee on the way back?” Sam offered as George slung her backpack over her shoulder.

George nodded as she clutched at her chest, her face twisting into something more dramatic, desperation pouring from her. “Yes, please. I need caffeine before I collapse.”

Sam smiled at her dramatics, a small laugh escaping as he nudged her shoulder with his. “Come on, let’s go, you drama queen.”

“No, I’m serious,” George responded, her smile peeking through his almost serious words. “I will drop right here on the ground from complete exhaustion if I don’t get caffeine in me in like, five minutes.” She let her smile free as she looked up at Sam. The man only shook his head, his own smile staying in place as she followed him from the library, both of them waving a goodnight to the librarian working the front desk.

As the pair made their way down the sidewalk and to the coffee shop that was on the way to the motel room, a comfortable silence settled between them. A cool breeze drifted through, allowing the pair a moment of peace.

After getting coffees, they continued on the way to the motel a few blocks away. “I know it wasn’t easy,” Sam offered, breaking the quiet between them. “But I wanted to say thank you for confiding in me.”

George smiled sadly, taking a moment to respond. “I’m sorry that I put that burden on you, but,” she looked up at him as they continued to walk, “I’m also glad that I could share the truth with you.” She focused her eyes back on the path ahead of them.

Sam nudged her slightly with a smile. “I think you’ve helped carry enough of our burdens and listened to enough of our problems, that it was about time someone did it for you.”

George only nodded at the statement, still not fully happy with herself for putting her pain on someone else.

“But I do think you should talk to Dean about it at some point.” Sam held up his hands for a second in surrender when George turned to protest. “I understand why you don’t want to tell him, but, I think that if anyone can help you through this, it would be him. For more reasons other than going through it himself.” Sam smiled down at her. “He loves you, George. I’ve seen Dean flirt and go out with and…” he stopped himself from going too far into what he’d witnessed between his brother and the women he’d met, “and, well, I’ve seen him with other women. He’s never been to them what he is with you. Knowing that, I think he would much rather you told him than try to keep it a secret from him.”

George huffed. “I’m not trying to keep it a secret, Sam, I’m trying to protect him.”

“I understand,” Sam argued. “But he wants to protect you just as much. And if I know Dean at all, I’d guess that he’s already figured it out and is just waiting for you to be ready.”

George panicked for a split second at the thought that Dean might’ve already figured out that she hadn’t made it to heaven. But the panic slipped away as she thought about Dean. Of course he would’ve already figured it out. Besides the fact that he’d been to hell himself and knew what it was like to come back, he cared about and loved George. For every flaw, for every mistake, for every thing that George counted as a negative, Dean loved her completely. And he knew her, better than anyone ever had. It shouldn’t be a surprise at all that Dean had already read her and knew her secret.

She sighed out a heavy breath. “I’ll work on telling him. Promise. It’s just going to take some time.”

*****

Dean suddenly found himself back in his motel room in 2009. Zachariah stood smugly on the other side of the room. He had been standing in a garden in Detroit, Lucifer-Sam standing before him with Future-Dean dead at his feet. It had been a surreal and terrifying experience. George, though he’d expected to come across her, hadn’t been there. She hadn’t even been mentioned after Future-Dean had claimed she’d left him for Sam and taken off with Lucifer.

Dean looked at Zachariah with pure irritation. “Well if it isn’t the ghost of Christmas Screw You.” He didn’t bother to hide the aggravation and annoyance in his voice. “How did you find me?”

Zach sent him a knowing smile, causing Dean to think back through his actions just before he had been wrapped up in the future. One memory caught in his mind. Dean nodded once. “The street preacher outside the motel? Really?”

Zach nodded almost reverently. “We have very faithful servants.”

“Yeah, well, screw them too,” Dean spit out in annoyance.

“Enough, Dean. Enough.” Zachariah was filled with anger and frustration as well. “You saw it right? You saw what happens? You’re the one that can beat the devil.” He stepped closer, desperation dripping from his tone. “Just say yes. Say yes and give yourself to Michael. Then we can strike. Before Lucifer gets to Sam. Before billions die.”

Dean studied Zach for a moment before he cracked an amused smile, confusing the angel.

“What?” Zachariah asked.

Dean let his smile turn into a smirk as he answered. “It didn’t work the way you wanted it to.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m not gonna do it,” Dean said with a shake of his head.

“What do you mean?” Zach asked, his face falling.

“I’m not giving up on my brother. And George is never giving up on us. No matter what lies you try to sell me, I know George won’t let me or my brother lose. That means neither one of us is going to say yes to your little puppet show.”

Zach’s face slowly turned red at that, his anger growing into fury. “That blot!” He blurted out as he began to pace, the veins in his neck and forehead beginning to bulge. “That stain! That bitch!”

“Hey!” Dean yelled, ready to face down the angel.

“No,” Zach snapped, his fury increasing tenfold as he spun on Dean. “No, see, she’s not supposed to be in the story. She’s not in God's word!” His raging demeanor suddenly calmed as he suddenly reigned himself in. His hands held a terrifying calm as he straightened his posture and suit jacket, taking a breath. His steely eyes cut to Dean with a calm rage. “I’ll just have to make certain the story is put back on track. It’s time to wash the pages of their stains. And as for you,” Zach held a finger up towards Dean, taking a step closer. “I’ve got you now, and I’m gonna—“

Dean braced himself for a fight but in the blink of an eye, the angel was gone, along with the motel room he had been in. Instead, he found himself standing on the side of a road somewhere rural. Anger and relief flooded his system simultaneously. Anger for Zach, relief that he was out of that nightmare.

Now, standing beside him was Castiel.

“George,” Dean breathed out as he spun. “I gotta get to George. Zach threatened her,” Dean warned.

Castiel nodded with his own nervous energy. “I know.”

Dean paused at that. “You know what?”

“I think it’s best if we get to Sam and George first.”

His warning caused Dean’s concern to swell. He nodded, scrambling to pull out his phone and call his brother. As soon as Sam answered, Dean cut off the greeting, his voice struggling to pull back the panic. “Where are you?”

“Uh, we’re almost back to the motel, why?” Sam chuckled out.

“You need to get out of there now,” Dean scrambled to get out, his words full of anxiety. “Get George out of there, Sam. Now.”

Sam looked over at George with concern, but didn’t waste a moment to question his brother’s demands. He grabbed onto George’s arm, stopping her from stepping any closer to the motel that was now in their view. “Dean says run,” he explained to her, before speaking into the phone as they both turned the opposite way, their steps quick. “What’s going on?”

Sam followed George back up the block, rounding the corner and darting into a small back alley parking lot. With precision, George’s eyes quickly scanned the parking lot, spotting a car that would be easy enough to hotwire. With an approving nod from Sam, she made her way to the car, trying the door and finding it unlocked.

“I’m gonna text you a location. Meet me there. And, Sam?” Dean’s voice paused as he waited to make sure he had his brother’s full attention.

“Yeah?”

“Keep George safe. She’s…” he restarted as he explained simply. “Zach is coming after her.”

Sam paused at this news, his eyes darting over to George as she leaned down under the steering wheel of a car, working the wires to start the ignition. “I will, Dean. Promise.”

He snapped the phone closed, climbing into the driver seat as George slid over to the passenger. Zachariah was somehow coming after George. Not through bounty hunters, not for Dean to get him to say yes, but George, himself, specifically. It wasn’t good news. In fact, it was very, very bad news. While Zach chased Dean and fought to get him to say yes to being Michael’s vessel, he would only chase George for one reason: to see her dead.

The pair made their way to the location that Dean had text, following a short dirt road off of a back road that led them to an overgrown patch of grass beside a river.

George climbed from the car, Sam right behind, and made her way over to where Castiel and Dean were waiting.

As soon as she had climbed from the car, Dean quickly made his way over to her, pulling her into a tight embrace. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he whispered into her hair. His heartbeat finally settled, knowing that she was safe and Zach hadn’t gotten to her first.

“Me too, but what’s going on, Dean? What happened?” George asked, pulling back slightly to look him in the eyes.

Releasing her, Dean turned to his brother, pulling him into an unexpected embrace as well. Sam smiled in confusion over Dean’s shoulder at the angel behind. “Uh, everything okay, Dean?”

Dean pulled back, running a hand through his hair. “Well, yes and no.” Without delay, Dean explained to the other three the events of his ‘dream’ courtesy of Zachariah. He made sure to explain the differences in where they were now—together and not having split at all— to what Future-Dean had experienced—Sam having walked away five years prior and said yes to Lucifer.

George and Sam blinked as they processed what they learned. Sam was the first to respond. “If our lives are so different from Future-You’s life, then what was the point of the dream? What did Zach hope was going to happen?”

Castiel answered this, stepping forward. “He was showing Dean what has been written. He’s still following the story that heaven has.” He looked over at George, a meaningful look sent her way.

George frowned in curiosity at the look. It was the same one the angel had given when he’d shown up at the motel and said he had been glad Sam was there. Had that been when Future-Dean’s Sam had walked away? Had she changed the story so much?

“So why the rush to get out of there so quick?” George asked, still confused on why a quick exit was necessary.

Again, Castiel answered, his voice full of warning. “Zachariah has placed a bounty on your head.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, his face reflecting the sudden apprehension Dean and George had. They knew demons and angels wanted her, but not to the extent of a bounty.

George blinked, looking between the three boys. “A bounty?” A small amused smile turned up the corner of her mouth as she looked over at Cas. “How much am I worth?”

Sam chuckled at her question and attempt to lighten the mood.

“Don’t,” Dean scolded, holding a finger up at her, unamused at the thought of her being hunted.

Cas looked between the three hunters, his words serious, his face disturbed, his blue eyes sharp. “He’s promised great riches to the people of earth, but he’s also promised revenge for hell if they find you first. Zachariah has managed to put you on human, demon, and angel radar all at once. He’s squeezing you out of the story until you end up erased. Permanently.”

With that disturbing update, it didn’t take much for everyone to agree on the decision to move on and quickly. Angels were no doubt trying to sniff out their trail under the orders of Zach, the psychopathic angel.

As they headed towards the Impala, Dean caught George’s arm, pulling her to a stop. He let Sam go ahead of them. “Give us a sec, will you?” He asked his brother.

With a nod from Sam, Dean turned towards George. Though Dean had told Zach his little dream play hadn’t worked, there were certain parts that had planted a seed in his brain and now left him struggling. Dean knew it was nothing, that it was all lies, but he had to make sure, he had to ease his mind. Dean needed to know that George was his and wasn’t going to leave him.

“What’s wrong?” George asked, seeing the dark clouds in his eyes.

Dean cleared his throat. “You weren’t there.”

“What? Where, in the future?”

Dean nodded.

George’s brows only pinched more in confusion. “What does that mean?”

Dean glanced over her shoulder to where Sam sat in the front seat. He looked back at George, forcing the words that worried him out. “You were with Sam.”

The words only seemed to confuse George more. Sighing, Dean worked to better explain what he was feeling. “Sam had walked out. After River Pass. Apparently in that storyline, Sam walked away and future me hadn’t talked to him since. In the future, Sam was in Detroit. He had said ‘yes’.”

The news scared George, but Dean’s next words eased the worry.

“You were with him. You had left me for Sam. You joined Lucifer.”

The idea that she would go along with Sam saying yes to Lucifer, and then walk away from Dean to be with him and follow the devil was a poor joke to George. She laughed out lightly at it only to catch herself when she saw the real worry in Dean’s eyes.

Understanding that Dean was struggling with the lie, George stepped forward, cradling his face in her hands. “Sam is not going to say yes. And me? As much as I love Sam—like a brother—I’m not going to walk away from you for him. I love you and am in love with you. Nothing is going to change that. The rest is just Zachariah’s lies.” George smiled adoringly at Dean before pecking her lips against his.

Releasing his face, she wrapped her arms around his neck as he rested his hands on her hips. “Levi once told me that love isn’t a noun, it’s a verb. We show it through our actions. Well, I choose you, Dean Winchester. Every damn day. Good, bad, ugly or beautiful, broken or whole. I choose you. And I will never stop choosing you.” She raised an eyebrow with her smirk as she poked at Dean’s chest. “And don’t let any pissant of an angel tell you otherwise, you hear?”

Dean smiled down at her, thankful beyond any words possible, that he was lucky enough to have the love of the woman named George Finley. He leaned down, capturing her lips with his own for a moment before pulling back. “Yes, ma’am.”

Chapter Text

5.5: Fallen Idols

George was being held hostage. There was no other word for it.

Currently, she was sitting at the desk in the safe room, under strict orders from the boys and Bobby to stay hidden until...well, nobody knew when. It had been a few days since Dean’s time-walk to the future, and it hadn’t taken them long to decide to crash at Bobby’s for a bit until they could regroup and figure out what came next.

Bobby’s house was the safest place. It was secluded and in the middle of nowhere; specifically far away from bible thumping believers, the same people that had spotted Dean at the motel and told the angels where he was.

It was the third night of being at Bobby’s. The group had finished supper, George sarcastically thanking them for allowing her to come up for air before she headed back to the safe room. She could understand their concern, and even why it was a good idea for her to stay in the safe room. But it didn’t mean she had to like it.

George slept alone on the small cot pushed against the curved wall of the safe room. Dean had offered to stay with her, but George had shaken her head no. There was only the small cot and neither one of them would’ve been comfortable. She had reassured him that she would be fine.

The first night was quiet, peaceful. The boys slept soundly, nothing dangerous or worrying to disturb their slumber. The second night was much the same. Something had woken Dean from his sleep, but after waiting to hear the sound again, only to be met with silence, he had drifted back to sleep.

The third night was when things changed. George was tucked securely away in the safe room while Dean, Sam, and Bobby stayed up late to research. They’d left George to herself, allowing her to get some sleep.

It was around one in the morning when the sounds came. Dean had passed out on the couch a little less than an hour before, but Sam and Bobby were still awake, quietly shuffling through pages and books. The sound of torturous screaming shot up the stairs, raising the hair on their arms. Bobby and Sam’s eyes met for only a second before they shot into action, running to the basement.

Bobby was the first to reach the large metal door, pulling it open. Inside, they found George thrashing around on the cot. Her body was arched in strict tension, the veins in her neck standing out as her blood pulsed through her veins at rapid speed. Her hair was soaked with sweat, clinging to her face as she fought against whatever evil was plaguing her mind.

Bobby rushed forward, grabbing at her trashing arms, tucking them beside her as he shook her awake.

George’s eyes flew open, the sight of them causing Bobby to flinch back slightly in shock. They held a pain and fear he’d never seen before. Even after all the nightmares following Al’s death or beatings, he’d never seen such fear and pain running so deep or showing so strongly in George’s eyes. Whatever this was, was something new, something big, something much much worse than an abusive father.

Bobby pulled her close, rocking her in his arms as he had before. He spoke reassuring words, running a hand down the back of her head. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, darlin’.” His eyes met with Sam’s knowing and concerned one’s. It was clear the man knew what this was.

A minute passed as George allowed herself to be brought out of the screams and back to the present; allowing Bobby to comfort her. Taking a deep breath, she pulled herself away, hands holding a slight tremor as she pushed the hair from her face. Her eyes stayed darting around the floor; anywhere but at Bobby and Sam. She didn’t want to see the pity in their eyes. Or the questions she knew Bobby would have.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered out with a hoarse voice. “I’m okay. I didn’t— I’m sorry. It’s just been a hectic week, I guess.” Shaking her eyes clear and rubbing away the images that still haunted her, she finally looked up at Bobby and Sam. She didn’t have the energy to force a smile for their benefit this time. “I’m fine. You two should go to bed.” She looked at the time on her watch and pushed herself from the cot, willing her legs to hold her up and stop shaking. She cleared her throat as she made her way over to the desk. “I’m gonna see if I can’t find something else on the colt.”

Ignoring the staring looks the two men were giving her, George kept her eyes on the books opened before her, though they couldn’t focus on any of the words.

Understanding that she had basically dismissed them and they wouldn’t be able to get anything else from her, Bobby and Sam made their way back up the stairs, the older hunter casting one last glance over his shoulder as his little girl who was slowly falling apart.

As they reached the top of the stairs, Bobby caught Sam’s arm, glancing briefly at the form of a still sleeping Dean. His voice was barely above a whisper. “What the hell is going on, Sam? I’ve seen her nightmares before. That was something else entirely.”

Sam looked over at Dean before he motioned for Bobby to follow quietly. He led the old hunter outside where he leaned against a rusted out car, his hands tucking into his crossed arms as he worked through his next words.

Sam was hesitant to share, uncertain if he even should. It wasn’t his story to tell. But he knew Bobby was just as worried as he was, if not more. Especially after what he’d just witnessed. Additionally, everyone now considered Bobby George’s dad. The man deserved to know.

“Sam?” Bobby questioned softly, a small fear bleeding into his words. When Sam hesitated again, Bobby stepped forward, desperate for the answers he knew Sam held. “She wasn’t like this before when she was here, Sam. So what the hell happened?” The words brooked no excuses, holding a demanding tone.

Sam sighed out. “I don’t think she was sleeping before, Bobby.” He huffed out. “I don’t think she’s really sleeping even now.”

Bobby swallowed past a sudden lump of emotion in his throat. “Then what the hell happened to my little girl?”

Sam looked at Bobby, his eyes sad as he finally shared the secret, his voice quiet. “She wasn’t in heaven like we thought.”

Bobby’s eyes widened. “What?”

Sam nodded, telling him what George had said. “Hell was waiting for her soul and heaven didn’t care if they took it.”

Bobby’s face turned hard to hide the fear and pain he felt as he took a step closer to Sam. Though he tried to stop it, his voice still cracked. “You mean to tell me that my little girl was in hell this entire time? For six damn months, she was downstairs?” He fought against the pain and heartbreak that was swamping him at the thought.

“I started noticing things,” Sam confessed. “She’d jump at small noises, she’d flinch against someone touching her unexpectedly. I mentioned the smell of sulfur and she seemed to crumble in on herself. She doesn’t sleep, she barely eats.” It all ate away at Sam.

Bobby took a moment, not knowing how to process the new information. The thought of it all was killing him inside. Dean had gotten drunk once and shared some of the things the monsters downstairs had done to him, a small fraction of what he’d endured. But it had been enough to fill Bobby’s chest with dread and sorrow. And now he was finding out that George had gone through it too, suffered through similar if not the same things. It was killing him.

“She asked me not to tell Dean, but I don’t agree with that.”

Bobby huffed out as he shot a glance at Sam. “If I know that boy, he’s already figured it out.”

Sam frowned. “Then why hasn’t he said anything?”

Bobby shrugged. “He knows better than anyone how to handle this. If he hasn’t brought it up, I don’t think we should either.”

Sam simply nodded his silent agreement. Bobby was right. Dean knew George best, and he knew hell best. They’d follow his lead.

*******

“So what’s up with this job?” George asked from the back seat of the Impala. She’d finally convinced the boys and Bobby that it was pointless to keep her locked away in Bobby’s safe room. She was going insane and Bobby was tired of listening to her yelling at him. So he had called Sam and Dean and told them to take her on a hunt. George knew it wouldn’t take long to wear the old hunter down, and she felt slightly guilty at having done it, but she couldn’t stay in that damned metal room one more day.

So Dean and Sam had shown up and taken her on a hunt. Only to keep her locked away in the car or motel room instead. George was getting annoyed.

“Dude suffers a head on collision, in a parked car? I’d say that’s worth checking out,” Dean argued.

“Yeah, definitely,” Sam agreed, “but we got bigger problems, don’t you think?”

Dean turned the Impala down another road. “I’m sure the Apocalypse will still be there when we get back.”

George leaned forward, her arms crossing over the back of their seat. “And what about me? Am I just supposed to keep hiding away til this bounty is taken care of?”

Rather than answering her, Sam looked over at Dean, talking as if she weren’t sitting right there. “You sure bringing George along on this is a good idea?”

George huffed out in annoyance as she rolled her eyes and fell back against her own seat, her arms crossed. It seemed it only took one little bounty and everybody was losing their damn minds.

Dean avoided looking at George in the mirror as he answered. “No, but, Bobby’s right. We can’t keep her locked up til the world falls apart.”

Despite his words, however, once they reached their destination, Dean had made sure he and Sam went in, posing as FBI, while George remained sequestered away in the back seat of the Impala, in the back of the parking lot, away from prying eyes. George wanted to slap him.

But truth be told, George couldn’t complain too much. At least they’d left the window cracked and Sam had left his computer. And so, she’d spent her time working on figuring out where the colt was and checking up on some of the details of their current case.

The car in question was the infamous Little Bastard; James Dean’s famous roadster. As soon as George had read the words in the article, she’d known Dean would want to check out the case, supernatural or not. It just worked out that the case was supernatural, the car supposedly having been cursed. According to rumors, legends, and some reports, after James Dean died, his mechanic had bought the car and shortly after ended up dead. Another man bought it, once again ending up dead shortly after. After that, the car had disappeared. It was now the sought after holy grail for many car collectors and the more serious James Dean fans.

After a short while, the boys were headed back. “We need to find out who owned it,” Dean commented as he rolled his sleeves back down and threw his suit jacket back on. “All the way back to 1965.”

Sam smirked in amusement. “George is gonna love you.”

Dean shrugged. “It’ll give her something to do.”

George looked up at the boys as they climbed in the car. “What am I supposed to be doing?”

Sam looked over his shoulder at her, noticing she had commandeered his laptop. “Dean wants you to search the VIN of the car and find out the owners all the way back to 1965.”

George looked at Dean. “And I got volunteered for this, because?”

Dean shrugged as he sent her a smug smile in the mirror. “You were complaining you were bored. This will give you something to do.”

***

George leaned back away from the computer in front of her and looked over at Dean.

“What’ve you got?” Dean asked as he took a sip from his beer, leaning against the headboard of one of the motel beds.

“Vehicle history for the car that killed a man at a standstill. In its entirety, there was only a single owner. A cardiologist who drove it until his death in 1972.” She sent Dean a sympathetic look. “It’s a fake Little Bastard. Sorry, Dean.”

Dean let his head fall back against the headboard in disappointment before moving on. “So what killed the guy?”

George threw a pencil at him, the object lightly bouncing off his chest and dropping to the floor. “Hey, I’m not doing all the work. It’s your turn.”

Sam chuckled as he pulled out his ringing phone. Identifying the number calling, he flipped it open and answered. George and Dean waited patiently.

Ending the call, Sam looked between the two. “Looks like we’ve got another weird death.”

“Weird how?” Dean asked, climbing off the bed.

“A house maid saw her boss, a Mr. Hill, get murdered by a ghost.”

“That’ll do it,” George said as she stood from her chair, closing her laptop.

Dean stopped her hand as she reached for her jacket. “Why don’t you stay here and see if there’s any previous hinky sounding deaths. Sam and I have this.”

George huffed out in annoyance. “Seriously? You’re locking me up again?”

Dean shook his head, keeping his voice tender and calming. “I’m not locking you up. I’m just saying, Sammy and I’ve got this, why don’t you work on the part you do best?” Even Dean heard the backhanded insult his words held, though it wasn’t what he meant. He resisted the urge to cringe at his own words, offering George a half smile before following Sam out the door. “We’ll fill you in when we get back,” he called over his shoulder before shutting the door. It might’ve been pushing things, but Dean wanted to keep George safe. And if that meant leaving her to research at the motel while Sam and he did the legwork, well then that’s what he would do.

George crossed her arms in annoyance at the closed door. She was tempted to just follow after the boys in pure spite, but relented. She knew Dean was only trying to keep her safe. Huffing out, she plopped back into her chair, opening the laptop back up. She could at least search for other weird deaths in town.

***

The boys returned a little over an hour later, bringing food with them.

Happy to finally have something to bite down on, George listened as Sam and Dean shared what they discovered. According to the housemaid, Mr. Hill had been shot in the back of the head by Former President Abraham Lincoln.

“Seriously?” George asked as she wiped her hands on a napkin. “Sure she saw that right?”

Sam shrugged as he speared some lettuce from his salad. “She seemed pretty positive. Was pretty shaken up from it too.”

“Well, yeah. I would be too if I saw the sixteenth president murder someone.”

“So what’ve we got?” Dean asked, taking a sip of his beer. “We’ve got a James Dean death, and now an Abraham Lincoln death. Did you find any other strange deaths while we were out?”

George shook her head. “Nothing that screams death by a famous person.”

“Are we really saying we’ve got ghost celebrities out there killing people?” Dean asked, leaning forward.

“I’m actually surprised we haven’t come across one before,” Sam replied.

George shrugged as she took a small bite of her burger. “I have.”

Both boys turned to look at her. “Who?” Dean asked curiously.

“Joan Crawford. She kept setting the walls of her old home on fire.”

Dean looked at her with a look of surprise and admiration. There was still so much about this woman that he didn’t know. And he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life learning it all.

“So we’ve got super-ghosts killing off fans,” Sam reiterated.

“But what are they doing here, in Canton, Ohio?” Dean asked.

George raised a finger as she finished the drink of her beer. She grabbed her laptop, closing up her barely touched burger and sliding it aside. “This might have something to do with it.” Once she brought up the website she’d found earlier, she turned the computer around to show the boys. “They’ve got a wax museum of historical artifacts. The first victim was a regular. If I had to guess, I’d say that Mr. Hill was too.”

Dean nodded with a shrug. “Okay, so we torch a wax museum.”

George shook her head in amusement. “We can’t torch an entire wax museum, Dean.”

“We wouldn’t need to,” Sam figured. “Just the items they have related to the ghosts. What do they have for James Dean and Abe Lincoln?”

George turned the computer back around and quickly searched up the items. “Looks like Abraham Lincoln’s hat and….” she paused as she looked up the other item, “a key chain that belonged to James Dean.”

Dean gave a face. “Sounds easy enough. Let’s go, Sam,” Dean said, crumpling up his empty wrapper and tossing it into the trash before grabbing his coat.

“I’m coming this time,” George insisted.

Dean shook his head as he adjusted the jacket on his shoulders. He walked over and moved George’s computer off the table, sliding her burger back in front of her. He hadn’t missed her lack of eating, though it was easy enough to guess at the reason. “Nope. You’re staying here and eating. We’ll be back.” He kissed the top of her hair and left with Sam.

*****

It seemed like one of the easiest cases they’d had yet. Maybe a little too easy. Sam wasn’t sure it was really over. “I don’t like how things went down back there,” Sam said to Dean as they worked on packing up their things the next morning.

The boys had gotten caught in a fight with Gandhi, but they’d managed to burn all three celebrity items—including a pair of Gandhi’s glasses— and called it a night.

“It was ghosts,” Dean argued as he packed. “We burned the objects, it’s over.”

George sat down on the bed beside her duffel. “Yeah, but I think I’m with Sam on this one,” she said, her brows furrowing. “What are the odds that Lincoln, James Dean, and Gandhi’s ghosts all show up here at the same time? I mean, there’s plenty of other pieces of their memorabilia and big fans around the country. Hell, around the world. So why here? All at once and all of a sudden? It doesn’t make sense.”

Dean still wasn’t sure it was anything more than a ghost. That much was evident for George to see. She wasn’t stupid. It was clear that things weren’t puppy dogs and rainbows between Sam and Dean, there was a tension there that was subtle, but still noticeable.

And George was right. Dean still found himself struggling to fully trust Sam like he once had. But Sam was struggling to maintain his patience in waiting for his brother to fully trust him again.

“How about this?” George offered. “How about we stay one more night? There’s a burger joint around the corner that looks good, and you boys can take me to see the wax museum.”

Dean didn’t seem swayed. “You’re supposed to be laying low remember?

“Come on,” George pushed. “You said no one was there at their busiest time. And seriously, you can’t get much more ‘low’ than a wax museum.” When Dean still wasn’t budging, George pushed one more time. “You can’t keep me locked up in my tower forever, Dean.”

Dean scoffed at her words, zipping up his bag. “Oh, come on, now you’re just being dramatic,” he said. “We haven’t locked you up in a tower.”

“No,” George conceded nonchalantly. “Just the Impala and whatever flea infested motel room we get.”

Dean held her gaze, his face somber. “I don’t want to lose you. Not again.”

George stepped over to Dean, laying a hand on his chest. “I know. And I promise to be careful. But, Dean,” she pleaded, “if you don’t give back the key, I’m gonna call Bobby on you.”

Sam chuckled at that. “I think Bobby might be on our side for this.”

George made a scrunched nose face at Sam for his lack of support. “Et tu, Brute?”

Sam held up his hands with a smile. “Hey, if it keeps you safe this time around, I’m not arguing.”

George rolled her eyes. She was grateful for the love and protection the boys gave her, but she also wasn’t a kid or some damsel in distress. She’d been hunting her entire life. Sure, angels and demons were a bit bigger than what she used to hunt, but she still deserved a chance to do something other than hide in a hole in the ground.

The conversation was put on hold when Dean got a call from the lead officer on the case. There had been another strange case- though thankfully no death. Yet. George could hear enough of the call and could see the look in Dean’s eyes when he looked at his brother.

As soon as Dean ended the call, George spoke up, not giving either of the boys time to shut her down again. “I’m coming with you. Period.” She grabbed her jacket and left the room, climbing into the backseat of the Impala, the boys following in her steps.

***

Frustration ate at George’s chest. “Dean!” She yelled through the closed windows of the car with a scowl.

He had literally locked her in the car like a dog. To make it worse, he pointed a finger at her with a hard look as he walked around the front of the car to join Sam, as if she really were a dog and had just been told to stay.

It would be easy enough for her to ‘escape’ from the backseat, but it was the principle of the matter. Apparently she was supposed to spend the rest of her life going from one locked cage to another.

Reluctantly, she stayed. Unhappily. Without her journal or books, George looked over the floorboards of the Impala, hopeful to find anything to entertain her while she waited for the boys. Luck seemed to be on her side, as she reached under Sam’s side of the seat and blindly searched for a moment before her hand brushed up against a book. Grasping onto it, she pulled it out and found it to be one of Chuck’s Supernatural books.

This specific one, “Time Is On My Side,” was the case the boys had handled just before Sam had found George and she’d found out about Dean’s deal. She’d never finished reading it, and so, with nothing better to do, flipped to the last page she recalled reading.

As she made her way through the pages, she sat up in shock, her eyes widening. The colt. Chuck was talking about the colt. A woman named Bela who was apparently a dealer in rare items, had gotten her hands on the colt. From there, it was given to a demon named Crowley. George shook her head, rereading the few paragraphs again to make sure she wasn’t misreading. Pulling her phone out, she called Cas.

“Hello?” Came the angel’s deep voice.

“Cas, I think I know where the colt is,” George answered, skipping pleasantries. She looked up at the building the boys had disappeared into. “The boys locked me in the car again. Bored, I found one of Chuck’s books. There just happens to be a scene at the end of the book where some woman named Bela gives it to a demon named Crowley.”

“Crowley?” Castiel repeated.

“Yeah. Apparently he was Lilith’s right hand man or something along those lines.” George looked over the paragraphs again.

“So if we can find this demon, we have a chance of finding the colt.”

“Exactly,” George answered, a thrill of excitement of finally having a lead rushing through her.

“You sure it says Crowley?” Castiel asked.

George read the name again. “Yeah. Why? You know him?”

Castiel’s voice was tight. “I know of him. Vaguely. Let me see what I can find and I’ll get back to you.”

“Thanks, Cas,” George said gratefully before ending the call.

A short time later, Dean came walking out of the station alone. Rather than climbing into the car, he opened the back door where George sat and leaned forward to talk to her, his arm propped across the top of the door.

“So what’s up?” George asked, stretching her legs out the door.

“Apparently a local teen girl was kidnapped by Paris Hilton.”

George frowned. “Paris Hilton? But she’s still alive.”

“Hence the ‘weird’.”

George raised an eyebrow. “I’m guessing it wasn’t the real Paris that did the kidnapping?”

“Nope,” Dean shook his head.

“So our monster is appearing as not-dead people now.”

“Seems like it.” Dean nodded. “Sam is going over the victim’s autopsies. See if he can find anything they missed.”

George gave Dean a knowing look. “So not a ghost.”

He ignored the look. “Apparently not.”

“See what happens when you don’t listen to your little brother?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean answered, standing up.

George pointed at him. “You owe him an apology.” Reaching over the seat, she grabbed Sam’s laptop. “I told you. He has experience too.”

Dean remained quiet as he watched her fingers fly across the keys, her fingers clicking the mouse-pad as her eyes scanned the words on the screen before her. It was amazing how incredible she was, and even more so that she loved him.

“Scoot over,” Dean said, sliding into the seat beside her and closing the door. “What are you looking for now?”

George kept her eyes on the screen as she answered. “A monster that can mimic a ghost but attacks fans.”

Dean only hummed in response, his attention more focused on the beautiful woman beside him than the case. He reached up and played with a few strands of her dark hair as he watched her. When she ignored him, he tugged at the strands. The action brought a small smile to George’s face which in turn made Dean smile in victory. He pulled at her hair one more time, eliciting a laugh from George.

“Will you knock it off?” George laughed as she forced her gaze to remain on the screen. “I’m trying to work here.”

In response, Dean smiled widely and poked a finger into her side.

George finally relented and looked up at Dean who sat intimately close to her. “What, are we in grade school? You wanna pull my pigtails and dip them in an ink well?”

“Nooo,” Dean dragged out with a smile. “You already know I like you, sweetheart.” He winked at her with his next words. “But I’ll admit there are other things I wouldn’t mind doing with you.”

The look on Dean's face combined with his low spoken words sent flutters through George’s belly. A soft pink spread across her cheeks, warming her neck as she tried to turn her focus back to the computer. It was futile, as her eyes remained fixed on Dean’s. “Oh, yeah?” George asked. Her voice was more breathy than she’d wanted it, but it didn’t matter. Dean already knew he was affecting her in so many ways.

“Yeah,” he answered simply with a smirk. Reaching up, he slowly closed the laptop. He slid the computer away and onto the seat beside her.

“Dean,” she protested weakly as she stared into his eyes. “I’m trying to work and we’re in public.”

Dean grinned at her observation. “Makes it more exciting doesn’t it?” In the next breath, he captured her lips with his, George freely falling. The way their lips felt together, the way they danced, felt like perfection. She hummed in satisfaction as Dean leaned over her, deepening the kiss. His hands had just begun to roam when a loud tap sounded against the window.

The pair instantly pulled away, a quiet embarrassment filling George as she looked over to see Sam looking at something farther down the sidewalk.

Dean let his full annoyance show as he opened the door and climbed out, adjusting his suit jacket and crooked tie. George scooted across the seat to follow, only to have Dean send her a serious look.

“Seriously?” She huffed out. With annoyance, she scooted back a little, closed the door, and rolled down the window so she could hear the conversation. “Better?”

“Yes. Thank you,” Dean said. He turned to his brother. “So what did you find?”

Sam held up a bag of something. “Seeds,” he explained. “Each of the victims had seeds in their stomachs.”

George’s brows creased in stumped curiosity as Sam handed her the bag to have a closer look.

“Any ideas?” Sam asked the other two.

George shook her head as she examined the objects. “None.”

As the boys climbed into the car, George leaned against the front seat. “By the way, I thought you boys might like to know that Cas and I have had a break through on the colt.”

This grabbed their attention, both of them turning in their seats. “What’d you find out?” Sam asked anxiously.

George grabbed the book from beside her and held it up. “Turns out, Chuck is good for something. There’s a scene at the end of this one with a woman named Bela—” Dean groaned in annoyance at her name—”She gave the colt to a demon.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, she said she gave it to Lilith.”

George shook her head. “She lied. Apparently she gave it to a demon named Crowley.”

Dean and Sam looked at each other with frowns. “Of course the bitch lied. She wouldn’t be Bela if she hadn’t,” Dean said with annoyance as he started up the Impala. “So how do we find this Crowley?”

“Castiel said he’d work on it and get back to me,” George answered.

“Well, it’s a lead. Let’s just hope it gets us somewhere,” Dean shrugged as he pulled away from the curb.

*****

After they’d returned to the motel, Sam had figured out what they were up against. He had been right. It wasn’t a ghost—or collection of ghosts—it was the ancient god Leshi.

As soon as darkness fell and they knew the museum would be closed, Sam and Dean headed out, once again leaving George behind.

Rather than stay locked away in a room, George made the decision to visit the burger place she’d mentioned earlier by herself. She made sure to keep out of sight, sitting in the back of the small restaurant, her back leaning against the booth to the wall. Though she was tucked into the corner, away from the view of the few patrons that were dining in, she had a decent view of the front entrance, front counter, and most of the dining area.

Despite her ability to hide away, however, she was surprised to look up and find Sue walking up to her table.

“Sue!” George greeted, her eyes dancing past the older woman to the area beyond. How had she managed to spot George? “What brings you to this neck of the woods?” George asked, knowing that they were hundreds of miles from the small town Sue worked in.

Sue greeted George with a wide grin, as she stepped up to the table. “Fancy seeing you here!” She commented with her usual lightness. “I just finished up a lecture at a pharmacist conference. The presenter droned on forever about the most monotonous things, so I decided to get some fresh air and some food.”

George smiled at the woman. “Do you wanna join me?”

Sue waved George off, but slid into the seat across from George, her hands folding on top of the table. “I ordered my food to go, but I’ll gladly join you until it’s ready.” She looked George up and down, inspecting the usual outfit of jeans and a flannel with approval. “How have you been? Staying out of trouble, I hope.” Sue sounded like a mother hen that was trusting, but still ensuring her little chick was behaving.

“Trying to,” George smiled lightly.

“What brings you here?” Sue asked with a cheerfulness that only an older bubbly woman could manage.

“Uh, just traveling with some friends.” George made sure to keep her answer vague, playing with the straw in her drink.

Sue smiled widely at this, leaning forward slightly as if she were about to gossip. “Are they cute?”

George laughed out at the woman’s words, but Sue continued on, not expecting an answer. She reached out and patted George’s hand.

“Just make sure you’re staying safe. Doc wouldn’t be happy to know one of his favorites is getting into more trouble.”

A fond smile lit George’s face at the mention of Dr. Perkins. “You can assure the doc that I am. My friends are making sure I’m extra safe.” She stressed the word extra with slight annoyance.

Sue nodded approvingly before smiling again. “Good. Those boys are good people. I’m glad you’ve got them in your life.”

George’s smile stuttered slightly as she tilted her head. Those boys. Had she mentioned who she had been traveling with?

Sue’s smile brightened with sweetness as the waitress brought over a bag of to-go boxes. “Oh, thank you so much,” Sue grinned out as she took the bag. The woman slid from her seat, turning back towards George with another pat on her hand. “It was so good to see you, George. I’ll be sure to let Dr. Perkins know you’re safe and doing well.” She looked out the window for a moment before turning back. “And make sure you get out and enjoy the fresh air. You can smell autumn coming. It’d be a shame to stay shut up and miss out on the beauty of it all.” With a final small wave and another pat on the hand, Sue turned and walked away, leaving before George could say more than a hurried ‘goodbye’.

George stared at the door the woman had left through, confused but curious about what had just happened. Her attention was pulled away at the sound of her phone ringing.

Pulling it out, she smiled to herself, aware of the tongue-lashing she was about to get. “Hello, Dean,” she answered calmly as she dipped a fry in ketchup.

“Where the hell are you?” Came Dean’s worried voice. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Dean,” she reassured calmly. “I’m at the corner burger place I told you about.”

“Don’t move,” Dean said, the sound of keys jangling and doors closing following his command.

“I’ll be waiting,” George answered casually before hanging up.

It was less than five minutes when the two giant brothers walked through the front door, bee-lining their way to her table.

“Are you insane?” Dean hissed out as he slid into the booth beside her. “You can’t just disappear like that.”

Sam slid into the other side of the booth, his own brows furrowed slightly in concern as well. Though he worried, he wasn’t sure he agreed with his brother’s level of anger.

George leaned back against the booth. “I’m fine, Dean. I’ve been hunting my entire life. I think I know how to stay hidden.”

“It’s not that we don’t trust you or think you can’t handle yourself, George,” Sam spoke up before Dean could snap at her. “We just don’t want you taking unnecessary risks.”

George nodded. “I can understand and even agree with that.” She turned and pinned Dean with a hard look. “But locking me away and not letting me be part of this team isn’t helping anybody.”

Dean fought against the idea of locking George away in the safe room at Bobby’s until he could be certain no one was going to come for her. But in reality, he knew that would never work, and it wasn’t the right way to go about it all. Finally, with a reluctant sigh, Dean nodded. “Okay, I’ll try to be less Mother Gothel and more Rapunzel.”

Sam and George both laughed at Dean’s offer, their smiles causing Dean to smile with them.

George leaned against his side, Dean wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll take it,” she said. Dean kissed the top of her head and reached over to steal one of her fries only for George to lightly smack his hand away.

“Hey, wait for your own,” she scolded with amusement.

As if on cue, the waitress came over, setting a burger meal and a large grilled chicken salad on the table with a smile before leaving.

Sam smiled over at George. “Thanks.”

George shrugged. “I figured you boys would be hungry.”

Sam chuckled as he pulled his food in front of him. “Yeah, I’m sure Dean could use the comfort. Getting your ass kicked by Paris Hilton can be embarrassing."

“What?!” George gasped out, pulling away from Dean who was now sulking as he picked up his burger.

“Can we please let it go and enjoy our food in peace?” Dean grumbled, biting into his burger.

Sam chuckled as he speared his fork into a bite of lettuce and chicken. “I don’t think that one will ever go away.”

Chapter Text

5.6 I Believe Children Are Our Future
5.7 The Curious Case Of Dean Winchester

The engine of the Impala rumbled as Dean made his way through the small town of South Dakota. They’d been at Bobby’s when Bobby had sent the boys on a case. It wasn’t too far away, and so Dean had agreed with leaving George behind at Bobby’s insistence.

Currently, he and Sam were making their way to the coroner’s office while Dean talked to Bobby on the phone, getting an update from the old hunter on what to expect for this case.

“Make sure you check the house for hex bags,” Bobby ordered.

“Yeah, Sam’s already mentioned it. We’ll make sure to check when we interview the wife,” Dean agreed. A woman’s husband had been found on the bathroom floor, the life figuratively and literally sucked from him, leaving him dead and looking more like he was eighty rather than thirty-six.

“Hey, how’s George?” Dean asked as he parked the Impala.

Bobby huffed out in annoyance. “She’s fine, Dean. Let the poor girl breathe.”

“I’m just worried, Bobby. She’s got angels and demons hunting her.”

“I know,” Bobby spoke with compassion. “But she’s fine. You boys keep me posted on that case.”

“Will do,” Dean agreed before the line went dead.

Bobby sat in his wheelchair at his bay window and looked around the empty house. With a deep sigh, he wheeled himself back over to his desk returning to the work that waited for him.

*****

George pulled out her phone as she walked back to her Chevelle. Now that it was known she was alive, she was finally able to drive her own car. It had been like coming home, hearing the engine purr while her Fleetwood Mac tape played through the speakers. It was the same tape Dean had gifted her so long ago.

As soon as the boys had left, Bobby had turned to her, handing her a paper holding the details of another case. When she’d mentioned the boys not being happy that she was getting out of the house, Bobby had gruffly told her the boys could take their dumb opinions and shove it up their asses. While Bobby loved her and wanted her safe, he also knew that she wasn’t any more safe hiding away than working a nearby case. And it was dumb to bench one of their strongest players. And so, George had taken on the case. She had hesitated at first, uncertain in leaving Bobby alone at a time when he was clearly still adjusting to being limited to a wheelchair. But she also knew Bobby. He would find her more underfoot than helpful, and he needed some time to himself to better adjust.

Sliding behind the wheel, she dialed a number, looking back at the nursing home she’d just left. A patient, Mr. Stanley, had been instantly fried to a crisp after being pranked with a hand buzzer. It had been the second case of mysterious deaths in the area, the first being the death of a babysitter who had literally scratched her brains out from itching powder.

The phone rang as George adjusted her dark blue suit jacket. As much as she hated impersonating an FBI agent, it was becoming more natural. She was just thankful she’d switched to boots rather than heels.

“Hey, George, how’s the case?” Bobby greeted through the phone.

“Uh, honestly, this might be more the boys’ speed.”

“Well, they’re busy. What’ve you got?”

George chuckled. “Practical jokes turned deadly.”

“What?” Bobby asked in confusion.

“That’s what I said. Itching powder made a baby sitter scratch her brains out and a hand buzzer fried another poor guy’s friend.”

Bobby grunted in agreement. “Definitly sounds like the boys would enjoy this one.”

“Yeah,” George agreed. “I was thinking maybe a cursed object, but no two of the same objects were involved. This seems more Looney Tunes than mythological.”

Quiet settled over the phone as Bobby took a moment to think. “The boys are knee deep in their own case, but let me make a call and get back to you.”

“Okay, thanks, dad,” George smiled into the phone.

*****

Sam and Dean left the coroner’s office, Dean once again on the phone with Bobby. “You were right about this one. It’s definitely our kind of job. The victim was thirty-six but his body looks like he was eighty. Coroner said C.O.D. was old age.”

“Thought it’d be our kind,” Bobby agreed. “Any other stiffs in town?”

“No, just the one body so far.”

“Anything else?” Bobby asked shortly.

Sam and Dean continued to walk down the sidewalk towards the car. “Couple of missing persons, but that’s usual for a town this size.”

“Well, check ‘em out,” Bobby ordered.

“How’s George doing?” Dean asked, ignoring Sam’s eye roll this time.

“She’s fine.” Bobby wouldn’t add anything else, letting the silence settle.

Dean looked over at Sam, his voice hesitant. “How about you? How are you? Like, in general.” Sam almost rolled his eyes again at his brother’s less-than-subtleness.

“Oh, you mean my legs?” Bobby grumpily responded, his voice showing the bitterness he felt over his situation. “Well, I’m just weepin’ in my Haagen-Dazs,” he snarked back. “Idjit.”

The phone beeped in Dean’s ear, letting him know Bobby had hung up.

“Very smooth,” Sam commented.

“Shut up,” Dean defended.

The boys continued on their way. Despite everything, neither one would deny they were worried for Bobby. The man was clearly struggling with the fact that he was now wheelchair bound, burying himself under snarky and sarcastic comments. Neither brother was sure what they could do. At least they could find comfort in knowing George was with him.

******

A knock came on the door to George’s motel room. She hadn’t heard from Bobby about what he could do to help, but she knew she could count on him.

With her weapon in hand, she checked the peephole, a small smile spreading across her face at the man stood on the other side. Tucking the gun away at her waistband, she opened the door.

The tall lanky man grinned down at her. “Heya, cuz!” Garth stepped forward, pulling her into an embrace. George had learned quickly that Garth was a hugger. She didn’t mind in the least. They were family after all.

“How’s the side?” Garth asked as he stepped back.

George stepped to the side allowing Garth to enter the room before closing the door. “Like it never happened.”

Garth eyed her carefully at that, his own mind was as curious as hers about how she had healed so quickly and so well. Shrugging it off, he moved on to the reason for his appearance. “Bobby said you could use some help? I’m more than happy to help family out.”

George grinned at his continued referral of her being family. “Yeah, it’s a weird one.”

“How so?”

The pair took a seat at the window as George explained the case of practical jokes turning deadly. She carefully slid the buzzer she’d managed to sneak away from the police from the second victim across the table.

Garth picked it up, examining it with an excited awe. “Have you tested it out to see if it was actually the culprit?” Garth asked, his eyes darting to George then back to the buzzer in his hand.

She shook her head. “No. I haven’t found something to test it on yet.”

Garth thought a moment before he nodded his head in reassurance, a smile lighting up his face. “I’ve got an idea on what might work.”

*

Garth had left and returned about an hour later with a giant hunk of ham. George helped him settle the tray of it on the motel table.

“That’ll work,” George laughed at the sight.

After preparing the ham and making sure they were being safe, George allowed Garth the honors of testing the hand buzzer out. The tall man stepped forward and pressed the buzzer against the meat. Within seconds the entire thing was cooked through, steam rising off the hunk of meat.

Garth’s eyes went wide with amazement as a giant excited grin spread across his face at the experiment. “That is amazing!” He said, turning back towards George.

George couldn’t help but return Garth’s contagious smile. The little kid in him was coming out and she found herself liking the man more for it. She did, however, regret having to rain on his parade. “Amazingly deadly, unfortunately.”

Garth straightened his features and cleared his throat. “Right. Sorry.” Looking down at the ham, he asked, “Think it’d be in poor taste to try it?”

George smiled as she grabbed her journal. “Knock yourself out.”

Garth ripped a juicy piece off, chewing on it thoughtfully for a moment. “Huh. Not Bad.” He held the slice out to George. “Care for a slice?”

George shook her head. “No, thanks.”

“So,” Garth began, moving to sit next to George as he continued to munch on the ham. “Have you found any connections between the victims yet?”

George leaned back in her chair. “Not really. They bought their joke items from the same shop but both items were manufactured with different components in different countries. I was thinking we’d go pay the shop owner a visit. See if we can find anything there.”

Garth smiled as he took another bite of ham. “Field trip!”

***

The field trip to the joke shop was a bust. The owner didn’t have any clue that his toys were killing people. While he did have some anger towards the world and the fact that practical jokes were fading into history, he wasn’t angry enough to try and kill people over it.

A new lead was presented, however, in the shape of a phone call from the hospital. A new strange case had popped up. A man had come in having had every last tooth pulled out by who the man claimed was the tooth fairy. Or rather a bearded man with a tutu and wings.

George wished the poor man a speedy recovery before leaving him with his family. She hated dentists and anything in regards to her teeth. The thought of having them all ripped out without so much as a pain killer made her cringe in sympathy. Stepping into the hall, she spotted Garth a little ways down, flirting with one of the nurses. A smile spread across George’s face. Garth was an interesting person, to say the least. But he was honest and he was kind. And it was very easy to find a friend in him.

She leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, patiently waiting for Garth to finish his questioning of the nurse. When the man was finished, he left her with his charming smile and wave and made his way over to George.

“How’s the vic?” Garth asked, looking to the door she’d just left.

“In pain. Apparently the suspect has been identified as the toothfairy.”

“Really?” Garth asked. George could see the gears in his mind working.

“What’d you find out?”

“Well, according to Nurse Jen over there,” he looked over his shoulder and sent a smile and a wave to the nurse still watching him. “Nice lady,” Garth added before continuing. “Turns out, there are some kids upstairs in pediatrics with ulcers.”

George frowned at this news.

“According to the kids, all they did was drink cola with pop rocks candy. And another guy had his face frozen,” he pulled at his cheeks, going crossed eyed for a second before dropping it, “like that.”

“So, what,” George questioned as they began the trek back to the car. “We’ve got a bunch of childhood warnings coming true?”

“But the tooth fairy isn't a warning. It’s a classic childhood memory.”

They continued down the hall a little farther in thought. As they were reaching the doors, Garth suddenly stopped, holding out a hand to stop George. “Not a memory,” he corrected, “a lie.”

“What do you mean?”

Garth got slightly excited as he began to rattle off a line of childhood sayings. “If you drink coke and pop rocks, it’ll give you ulcers. Itching powder will make you scratch your brains out. Don’t go swimming right after eating or you’ll drown. Swallow a watermelon seed and it’ll grow in your stomach. If you swallow your gum, it stays in your system for seven years. If you’re not careful, your face will freeze like that. Behave or you’ll only get coal in your stocking. And if you put a tooth under your pillow, the tooth fairy will leave you a quarter.”

George looked at Garth with a strange look. “Those all seem ridiculously stupid.”

Garth shrugged with a smile. “Maybe a little. But they’re all classic lies every parent tells their kid. Didn’t your mom ever tell you any of them?”

A slight grimace crossed George’s face. “My mom died when I was born and my—well, let’s just say I was fully raised in the hunting life. There wasn’t exactly anything normal about my childhood.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Garth answered honestly.

“It’s fine. You didn’t know. It’s not a big deal.” And it wasn’t. George knew her childhood wasn’t normal—far from it. But it was what made her who she was today, what set her on her current path. And as much as she hated most of her past and what had happened, she was thankful for who she knew and counted as family today.

Returning to the case, Garth continued with his thoughts as they made their way into the parking lot. “So all these lies are coming true. Reshaping reality,” he summed up.

“Right,” George agreed.

“So what, we’re looking at a god, maybe?”

George hummed in thought. “I’m not sure. If it is, it’s not one that I’ve ever read about.” The memories of all their unusual cases since the start of the Apocalypse crossed her mind. She shrugged as she pulled the driver side door to her car open. “But there’s a first time for everything.”

*

The two hunters gathered around a small local map spread out across a diner table. They were working on marking out where the victims had fallen prey to a practical joke.

“How’s Bobby doing?” Garth asked.

George marked the home of one of the children from the hospital. “As good as someone in his situation can be, I guess. But it’s Bobby, so…” she trailed off, knowing she didn’t need to finish the sentence.

Garth nodded in understanding. He looked up when the waitress stopped at their table, ready to take their orders.

“Hey there, I’m Carla, what can I get you two? We’ve got a great ham and cheese melt special today.”

Garth laid a hand over his stomach at the mention of ham, grimacing slightly. “Oh, I think I’m done with ham for a while, thanks though.”

George let out a quiet laugh at his words. Admittedly, she was impressed that he had managed to eat so much of the ham they’d bought. Especially for someone his size.

After ordering some simple cheeseburgers, the pair returned to the map. After George marked the final victim's house, they each looked at the map. “Looks like everything is limited to this small area.”

Garth grabbed his pencil and drew a rough circle around the marked area. Examining the circle, he pointed at the center, marked by a large green plot of land. “Point of origin?” He raised an eyebrow at George in question.

“One way to find out,” George answered.

*****

Sam and Dean left the motel they’d tracked one of the victims of aging to. This time however, the man had managed to gain years rather than lose them. He was a man in his sixties according to his birth certificate, but looked like he was thirty-five.

Caught, he had spilled, explaining to the boys that he’d been approached by a man in a bar, the mystery man inviting him to a poker game. However, instead of dealing in money, the man dealt in years. You win fifty years, you’re fifty years younger and living the high life again. Lose fifty years and you’re suddenly laying out on a cold slab in the morgue.

Dean pulled his phone out, dialing Bobby, explaining what they’d learned. “It sounds crazy right?”

“No, there’s lore on it,” Bobby answered. “Goes back centuries. Traveling card player pops up in town, you beat him, you get your best years back. You lose, and well, you get the picture.”

Dean looked down at the sidewalk before him, trying to keep his voice casual. “Does George have anything on this?”

Bobby huffed in annoyance. “What, am I not good enough for you now?”

Dean immediately backtracked, his words coming out quickly. “No, no. It’s not that Bobby, I just—”

Bobby cut him off with a gruff voice. “Yeah, yeah, you just wanna check on George. Well, she’s fine, Dean.” He worked quickly to change the subject back to the case. “You idjits use your own brains for once and find the bar he’s working out of yet?”

“There’s a lot of dives in this town, Bobby. We’re gonna have to split up.”

“Well then why are you still talking to me?” Without waiting for a response, he hung up. Bobby looked around the empty house with a sigh. It was quiet. Too quiet. He almost wished he hadn’t sent George on that case. But he knew it would be good for her, and though she meant well and only wanted to help, he hadn’t wanted her around to witness his inability to do things he once had.

As he looked around the den he sat in, his eyes caught on the set of keys sitting on a stack of folders. A thought crossed his mind for only a second before he was moving, grabbing the keys and heading out the door.

*****

George and Garth arrived at the location on the map. It was a farmhouse set a ways back from the road, surrounded by fields.

The two hunters climbed the stairs to the porch, knocking on the front door and looking around.

The door opening pulled their attention forward to the young boy that stood before them. He looked to be older than six, but younger than ten.

“Hi, is your mom or dad home?” Garth asked kindly.

The young boy looked between them before answering. “They work.”

George nodded, sharing a look with Garth as she introduced themselves. “My name is Kerry, and this is my friend Ronnie.” She held up her fake FBI badge, while Garth dug his out and held it out as well. “Would it be okay if we talk to you? See if you might be able to answer some questions we have?”

The boy looked between them for a moment, his face revealing nothing that he might be thinking. After a moment, he opened the door and stepped back. “I guess.”

George and Garth stepped in, following the boy to the kitchen. The house was simple. It was clearly a farmhouse that belonged to a working family and not some city chic rich family trying out a lifestyle.

“Something smells good,” Garth said with an exaggerated inhale of breath. “What are you making?”

“Soup.” Just like his first responses, the boy’s answer was simple.

George looked at the kid with a smile. He noticed and paused in his movements. “What?”

“Nothing,” George shook her head, her smile remaining. “Just, uh, I remember my big brother making me soup when I was a kid. It was easy enough. But then he almost burned down our motel room.” Her smile widened at the memory. "We stuck to PB and J after that.”

Garth watched as the kid smiled faintly before returning his attention to his soup. “Can I ask your name?”

“Jesse.”

He let the silence linger as he looked around the kitchen, his eyes catching on drawings that hung on the fridge. “These are awesome, my dude.” He pulled one specific picture from the fridge and looked it over. “Did you do these?”

“Yeah.”

Garth turned the drawing around with a proud smile for Jesse, but allowed George to see what he held. It was a crayon drawing of a tooth fairy. One with a beard, a pink tutu, and wings. “You know, I always knew the tooth fairy had a beard. You said he didn’t,” Garth teased George.

“Well,” George played along, “I was a good kid and was asleep when they came.”

Garth looked at Jesse. “Girls,” he joked with a roll of his eyes. “Always the goody two shoes.” He stepped forward and took a seat in the chair beside Jesse. He leaned over conspiratorily. “When I was little, my sister tattled on me when I put itching powder on her hairbrush. You ever do something like that?”

“No,” Jesse answered right away with wide eyes. “That stuff’ll make you scratch your brains out.”

“What about pop rocks and coke, Jesse?” George asked, stepping closer to the table.

The kid shook his head. “Mix those together and you’ll end up in the hospital. Everyone knows that.”

Garth and George shared a knowing look. Jesse was the culprit, the one causing the deaths. George was convinced, however, that the poor kid didn’t even realize he was doing it. Hell, even George wasn’t sure how he was doing it.

“What about this?” Garth asked, pulling out the buzzer he’d had in his pocket.

“That will electrocute you,” Jesse answered with big eyes.

“Nah, it’s just a toy.” He held the buzzer up and pointed at the small parts. “See, the mechanics of it are simple. When you shake someone’s hand, it presses this small button down. When the button is pressed, a tiny little spring inside gets released, unwinding really fast. The movement makes the toy buzz. Simple.”

A moment passed as Jesse stared at the object in thought. “It can’t hurt you?”

Garth shook his head. “Nope. I swear.”

“Oh. Okay.” Jesse looked between Garth and George, seemingly relieved at this news.

“Yeah, it just vibrates,” Garth said again, “See?” He clasped his hand over the buzzer, setting it off. The sound of a faint vibration came from between his hands before he pulled them apart and showed his hands and the buzzer to Jesse. “No harm. Just a fun little toy.”

George had flinched when Garth had pressed his hands together, but breathed out in realization. He had managed to change the kid’s perception of reality by showing him the lie.

“Well, Jesse, it was very nice meeting you. How about we let you get to your lunch? Do you know when your parents will be home?”

Jesse looked at her with his usual blank expression. “I’m not supposed to tell strangers that.”

“Good,” George smiled down at the kid. “You make sure you stick to that.”

Garth set a business card on the table beside Jesse. “We’ll stop by again later today, but will you have your parents call if they get home before we come back?”

Jesse picked up the card, reading it, before turning worried eyes on the hunters. “Are they in trouble?”

“Absoultely not,” George reassured him. “We just need to ask them a few questions about someone we think they know.”

With that understanding, Jesse promised he’d give the card to his parents. George and Garth offered a final goodbye before heading out to the car.

“What are your thoughts?” Garth asked.

George climbed behind the steering wheel of the Chevelle, starting the engine up. “It’s definitely the kid.”

Garth nodded heartily. “Oh, yeah. He believes it, it comes true.”

“Convince him it’s not and it’s no longer deadly,” George finished.

“Exactamundo. Think he’s doing it on purpose?”

George shook her head as they pulled out of the driveway and drove down the road. “No. He’s just a kid. From the looks of it, he’s home alone all day and bored. My question is, how is he doing it? Maybe a wishing coin? Maybe he’s a witch that doesn’t know he is?”

Garth shrugged. “I don’t know, but it’s really interesting.”

***

George met up with Garth back at the diner an hour later. She slid into the booth while Garth drank his milkshake with a straw. “So what’d you find?”

“Kid’s name is Jesse B. Turner. He’s a straight B student at the local grade school. His parents are Sarah and Kevin Turner. She works at the local bank and he works as a mechanic at one of the garages in town. Jesse,” she said, sliding a folder over to Garth, “was adopted.”

Garth set down his milkshake and opened the file folder, scanning through the pages. “Wow. Bobby said you were good, but I’m still impressed.”

“Well, like I said,” George said with a one shoulder shrug. “I was raised differently.”

“Did you find anything on his birth parents?”

George shook her head. “All his adoption records were sealed. His birth certificate however, listed a woman named Julia Wright as the mother. From what I could find on her, she was living in Ohio, where she was killed in a car accident. Drunk driver.”

“Father?” Garth asked.

“Wasn’t listed.”

Garth nodded as he processed the information. “Think Jesse’s parents know there’s something up with their kid?”

“Only one way to find out.”

***

Garth and George headed back to the house later that evening. Knocking on the door, George let Garth take the lead.

Introducing them and showing their badges, Garth continued. “If it’s okay, my partner and I just have some questions regarding your son Jesse.”

The father’s demeanor changed to something more defensive with this. “There’s nothing wrong with our son,” he began, slowly shutting the door, but Garth quickly worked to calm him.

“We’re not here to cause any problems, Mr. Turner. We just want to help.”

This made Kevin pause, looking between the two hunters. Taking advantage of the father’s pause, Garth continued on. “You’ve noticed things, right? Things that shouldn’t be possible?”

With a little more encouragement and reassurance that they meant no harm to them or their son, Mr. Turner led the pair into the living room where his wife was sitting.

Sarah Turner, after introductions, was the first to open up, answering George’s questioning of Jesse’s birth mother. “We were told it was a one night stand, an accident. As far as we know the pregnancy was normal. But,” Sarah hesitated as she looked at her husband.

Kevin continued for her. “After Jesse was born, when he was a little older, we started to notice things. It was silly things at first. But then, the things started to get a little more serious, more noticeable.”

“We had to pull him out of school,” Sarah explained. “One of the kids that had been bullying him had turned blue. Like a blueberry!” Sarah explained with worry.

George leaned forward in thought. “Blue?” She asked.

“Had the bully been eating blueberries by any chance?” Garth asked, garnering confused looks from everyone.

He looked over at George. “You are what you eat,” he said by way of explanation.

George understood. Jesse had reshaped reality, believing the popular saying, turning his bully into a blueberry. The idea was amusing to George, but it also gave her a brain spark.

“You said you were here to help. How can anyone help with this?” Mr. Turner said in disbelief.

“I might actually know of someone like Jesse. Let me make a call really quick.” With that, she excused herself to the other room, pulling out her cell phone.

*****

Sam followed Dean and Bobby out the doors to the hospital and out to the parking lot. Bobby had shown up, taking on the card dealing he-witch himself. It had cost him twenty-five years. Dean had stepped up, giving it a shot himself. He’d managed to earn back Bobby’s years, but it had cost him 50, leaving Dean looking like an octogenarian.

In a dumb move on everyone’s parts, Sam and Dean had tried to steal the chips from the he-witch, believing they held the magic. They’d, of course, been caught in the act, and it had been carefully explained to them that it was the witch that held the power. The chips were useless. As a parting gift, the man had given Sam the clap. Hence their visit to the hospital.

Now, the three of them were arguing over what the next best step would be.

“I still say we call George,” old Dean suggested.

“And tell her what?” Bobby snapped. “That you’re old enough to be her grandfather now? Besides, George is busy with her own—“ he caught himself, looking up at Dean with just his eyes. “—stuff.” He finished.

Dean looked down at Bobby like a parent looking at a child in disappointment. Which was amusing considering that Dean looked eighty and Bobby fifty.

“What?” Bobby asked innocently but gruffly. He turned his wheelchair around, heading towards the van he’d driven.

“Not so fast, old man,” Dean called as he reached out to grab the handle of Bobby’s chair. His action was cut short however as his body twerked with pain, something in his back spazzing with pain.

Bobby wheeled farther away, escaping Dean’s hold before turning back with a chuckle. “Who you calling old?” He teased.

Sam stepped forward, parting Dean and Bobby. “What if I played this guy?”

Bobby shook his head in protest. No. I know this guy. I’ve played him. I can take him.”

“No, Bobby,” Dean decided. “You don’t have enough years in the bank.”

“I got enough,” Bobby grumbled.

“No. You’ll die if you lose, Bobby,” Sam argued softly.

Fed up with everyone telling him no, Bobby snapped, his face turning red with anger. “So what if I do?” His voice rose with each word he argued back. “What exactly am I living for, huh?”

“Bobby,” Dean tried, only to be cut off.

“No, it’s the facts.” He looked between the boys, his voice almost broken as he confessed his thoughts. “I’m old, I’m broke down. I ain’t a hunter no more. I’m useless. What the hell have I got left?”

As if on cue, the phone in his pocket began ringing. Bobby angrily dug for his phone, only for his face to fall slightly, the fire in his body draining away as he looked at the caller ID.

“I’d say she’s a pretty damn good reason to wake up every morning,” Dean said, nudging his chin in the direction of George’s name lighting up the screen. “And I’m willing to bet she might have something to say about you being useless.” The hurt he felt over Bobby’s words was evident in his soft voice.

Ignoring Dean’s comment, Bobby answered the phone, avoiding eye contact with the boys.

“Hey, George,” he answered, his voice softer than it had been a moment ago. “What’s up?”

Bobby listened as she explained the case with the little boy and his powers.

“If I’m remembering correctly, didn’t you or someone you know come across something similar years ago?” she asked.

Bobby took a moment to think about the details and events of her case before he recalled what she was referring to. “Yeah, I remember. There was a guy who could reshape reality. John Winchester came across him.” He ignored the looks the boys sent him at the mention of their father. “I’ve got his name written down somewhere, but it’s back at the house on my desk.” He paused, glancing sideways at the boys, realizing they couldn’t know she was on a hunt. “Uh, but ya know, Rufus was there the other day and the bastard moved some of my stuff around looking for something. Maybe give him a call and see if he can recall where he put it.”

George understood what Bobby was saying, a small smile pulling at her lips. “Let me guess, the boys are right there.”

“Uh huh,” Bobby mumbled out.

George’s smile grew. “You shouldn’t have to lie to them for me, Bobby. But I do appreciate it. How are things there?”

Bobby chuckled at her question. “Just peachy.”

“Nobody is doing anything stupid are they?” She warned out.

“Don’t you go wasting your time worrying about us,” Bobby avoided the question. “We’re fine.”

George clicked her tongue against her cheek. “Yeah, you say that, but I’d be willing to bet at least one of you has done something incredibly stupid in the last ten hours.”

Her guess was met with silence, reinforcing her being right. “I’m right, aren’t I?” George asked, half amused, half worried.

“Well, Sam went and got himself the clap from a he-witch. Does that count?”

Sam shot Bobby an embarrassed and exasperated look, while George laughed on the other end of the phone call.

“What?” George laughed out. “How did—” she cut off her own question. “You know what? Never mind. I don’t wanna know. I’ll give Rufus a call. Thanks, dad,” she said with a soft smile. “You be careful, okay? I’ll see you when I get back.”

“Yeah, you too.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too, kiddo.” Bobby hung up the phone, not missing the knowing look old Dean was giving him.

“Oh, shut up, ya idjit.”

*****

George made the phone call to Rufus, getting the information she needed, before returning to the Turner’s living room. There, she was happy to be able to give them the name and information to a man named Fred Jones. He held the power of telekinesis, a power that was more extreme than usual and allowed him to reshape reality.

“He has experience with this and will be able to help Jesse.”

At the mention of him, the little boy stepped around the corner of one of the doorways, joining the adults in the living room.

“What does that mean?” Jesse asked simply. His mother called him over, the woman hugging him as he settled on the couch between his parents.

“Well, Jesse,” Garth explained. “You’re a very special kid with some really cool abilities. Our friend just so happens to have very similar abilities. Your parents are gonna take you to visit him.”

“Mr. Jones is gonna help you understand what’s going on. He’ll help you learn to control your abilities,” George added.

Jesse looked between all the adults in the room before settling on George and Garth. “I hurt those people in the news, the ones my mom and dad were talking about, didn’t I?”

Mrs. Turner’s breath caught, looking to her husband with tear filled eyes before she hugged Jesse. “Oh, honey,” she began, but George cut off the words she knew the mother would say next.

George could see the maturity in Jesse. She knew that lying to him wouldn’t be the right path to take. It wouldn’t help anyone, especially him. And so, she made sure he knew the truth. “Yes, you did.” Her voice was soft as she ignored the shocked looks from Jesse’s parents. “But,” she continued, “it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know. You couldn’t have known.”

“But now that you do,” Garth added gently, “it’ll make things easier for you.”

“What if I hurt someone again?” Jesse asked.

George leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. “You’re a good kid, Jesse. With a good heart and good parents who love you. As long as you remember that, I think you're gonna be okay.”

After a little bit more short conversation, George and Garth offered their goodbyes and headed outside, climbing into the car. The pair sat for a quiet moment, watching the farmhouse.

“Thanks for the help,” George said, looking over at Garth.

Garth smiled at her. “Not a problem. I’m happy to help anytime. Working hunts with you has been fun and interesting.” His smile turned into a grin. “Besides, that’s what family is for. Right, cuz?”

George couldn’t help but return Garth’s contagious grin. “Right,” she agreed.

****

The drive home to Sioux Falls took a little more than three hours. George enjoyed the freedom the quiet roads gave her, the wind blowing past as classic rock played on the radio. She wished Dean were with her, even Sam. But things had shifted lately. Dean was becoming over protective and it wasn’t helping anyone.

As she drove down the dirt driveway to Bobby’s house, her eyes landed on the Impala. Bobby had given her a heads up that they had been headed home, but she had been hopeful that she’d beat them there.

As she parked the Chevelle, she caught the sight of Dean leaning against the hood of one of the junk cars, a beer in one hand and his legs crossed at the ankles. He looked up only briefly at her as she pulled up, but looked away as she put the car in park.

Taking a deep breath, George climbed from the car and slowly made her way over to Dean. “Hey. I didn’t expect you boys to be back so soon.” She forced a light smile to her lips. “I heard you got to find out what growing old will be like.”

Though he nodded once, Dean kept his gaze turned away, remaining silent.

George let her smile fade. “Dean?” She asked quietly.

Finally, he turned his head to look at her, the look on his face calm but clearly unhappy. When he spoke, his voice was low and even. “You gonna try and feed me a lie about where you’ve been?”

George kept her emotions in check, understanding. “I won’t lie to you, Dean.”

Dean nodded, taking a sip from his beer. “Okay. So where were you, George?”

Letting out a tired sigh, George turned, letting her body fall against the hood next to Dean. “Nebraska.”

“What was in Nebraska?”

“A case.”

Dean shook his head and pushed himself off the car, pacing away a few steps. His voice remained level, but George could hear the strain in it. “I thought we agreed you’d stay here at Bobby’s, out of sight.”

George stood up. “No, you agreed, Dean.”

Dean’s temper and frustration began to seep into his words. “You’ve got angels and demons trying to take you out, George.”

“Yeah, and how is that any different than you?”

“It—it just is!” Dean argued back, his calmness almost completely gone.

George didn’t stop the unamused laughter from escaping her lips. “You can’t keep locking me away, Dean. I was brought back for a reason. What the hell that is, I have no idea, but I know it’s not hiding away in Bobby’s basement until I die of old age.”

Dean fought against his emotion. “Is that really such a bad thing?” His words were said with forced lightness, but were drowning with contemplation and worry. When it was clear George didn’t find anything funny, he stepped forward, closer to her. “I can’t lose you, George,” he breathed out in confession. “Not again. I won’t survive a second time.”

“I know, Dean,” George answered. “But you can’t lock me away either, okay? Listen,” she stepped closer, taking his face in both her hands and meeting his eyes. “I’m scared too, okay? The thought of—” she couldn’t finish the sentence. More than anything she wanted to share her burden, her fear of returning to hell, but she couldn’t do that to Dean. She wouldn’t. She’d already been the cause of so much pain and worry in his life, she refused to add to it. Clearing her throat, she moved on. “But I can’t keep running away from everything and hiding, hoping it will all blow over. Because we both know it won’t. Not now. Not this time.”

Dean leaned forward, his forehead resting against hers as he closed his eyes. He knew she was right. He couldn’t keep her safe forever; couldn’t keep her locked away. If he did, he knew he would just end up pushing her away. But he so desperately didn’t want to lose her again. Losing George was one of his biggest fears—if not the biggest.

“Okay,” he finally breathed out in agreement. He pulled back slightly to nod and look down at her. “But you can’t go sneaking off like that, okay? You gotta work with me, sweetheart. Try to be careful. Try not to die.”

George smiled lightly. “I promise, I will do everything in my power to not die again.”

Dean smiled adoringly at her, lifting his hand and running his fingers gently over her cheek. “I love you, sweetheart. So damn much.”

“I love you too, Dean,” she breathed out before capturing his lips with her own.

Chapter Text

George walked out of the motel bathroom, her eyes catching again on the large brightly colored flower outlines on the wallpaper that, for once, wasn’t peeling from the walls.

The sound of the TV caught her attention. A small amused smile lifted her lips as she took in the sight of Dean sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning forward as if on the edge of his seat. Her smile lifted more as she realized what had Dean so enthralled.

A small laugh escaped her lips as she made her way over to her duffel on the other side of the bed Dean sat on. “You actually watch that garbage?” She looked over at the scene of the soap drama Dr. Sexy M.D. playing out.

“What?” Dean jumped slightly, trying to play it cool. “It was just on. It’s some,” he shrugged, “some hospital show. I was just flipping through the channels.”

George paused in rummaging through her duffel to watch the scene play out. A doctor, Dr. Sexy she assumed, got onto an elevator with a nurse. As soon as the doors closed, the pair were on each other like animals.

George chuckled as she stepped over to stand beside Dean. “Really? TV smut?”

Dean looked up at her, his attention catching. A smirk played across his face as he reached out and grabbed her hand, turning the TV off and tossing the remote onto the other bed. He pulled her closer, falling back onto the bed, pulling George with him. George let out a huff of laughter as she fell on top of Dean’s chest.

“I don’t know,” Dean smirked, lifting his hand to tuck a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “I’d be willing to try out some of that smut with you.”

“Oh yeah?” George asked with a smile.

Dean nodded with a smile as his hand slid to the back of her head, pulling her closer to him, his lips capturing hers.

The door to the motel room opened, Sam walking in. The younger brother quickly took a step back, his eyes darting to the ceiling as he registered the position his brother and George were in. “Come on, guys,” he complained, his hands on his hips as he looked at the ceiling. “We all share a room.”

George pulled out of Dean’s arms, an amused smile on her face as she readjusted her shirt. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly.

Dean huffed out in annoyance, his hands falling onto the bed beside him in frustration. “You couldn’t have taken ten minutes longer, Sam?”

George raised an eyebrow at Dean as she stood up from the mattress. “Ten minutes? Really?”

Dean lifted his head and winked at her. He opened his mouth to respond but Sam cut him off, raising a hand towards his brother.

“Please, don’t answer that while I’m here.”

George returned to rummaging through her duffel as Dean pushed himself back up to sit on the bed.

“Are you two ready to go?” Sam asked, grabbing his laptop from the table. The trio had followed the possibility of a case after a man had apparently died from a bear attack; more specifically, after he had been followed home and up the stairs to his bedroom where his head had been ripped off. According to his wife, who had witnessed the attack, her husband had been killed by the Hulk. Lou Ferrigno’s Hulk to be precise.

“Yeah, uh, random thought. Why don’t you go talk to the wife and check out the crime scene? George and I can see if we can find anything on the Hulk being in town, or any other suspicious deaths in the area.”

Sam scoffed as he grabbed the keys off the small table. “Sure,” he said, pausing at the door. “Just—put a sock on the door this time, please.”

George blushed in embarrassment at his comment, but Dean simply grinned at his brother. “Take your time, Sammy!” He called after Sam as the younger Winchester closed the door behind him.

***

Dean’s eyes bounced from the screen in front of him to George sitting across the table from him, a grin spreading across his face.

A small knowing smile spread across George’s lips, but she kept her gaze focused on the article in front of her. When Dean kept watching her, she shook her head but still refused to look up. “Will you stop staring and try to get some work done?”

Dean’s grin widened. “But it’s so much more fun picturing the way you looked under those sheets.”

“Dean,” George scolded, lightly kicking him under the table. Her reaction made Dean laugh lightly, his love for her written across his face.

George finally looked up at him, her own smile growing despite her attempts to appear serious. She pointed at Dean’s laptop. “Dead guy? The Hulk? Remember any of that?”

Dean’s smile dropped, though it didn't disappear entirely. “You’re no fun,” he grumbled, leaving George to chuckle softly.

“That’s not what you said a little bit ago,” she teased.

Before Dean could comment, his own grin growing back, a knock sounded on the door before opening slowly a few seconds later.

Sam poked his head in before stepping into the room. “Just making sure,” he teased his brother.

Dean ignored his brother’s jab, instead sobering up and returning to the case. “So what did you find out?”

“Well,” Sam began, leaning against the TV stand near where George and Dean sat at the shared table. “There was definitely a hulk sized hole in their door, both front and bedroom. And,” he paused as he dug something from his jacket pocket, “these were at the scene.”

George looked down at the pile of empty and crumpled candy wrappers Sam set on the table. “Wait, what do candy wrappers have to do with anything?” She looked between the boys.

“Oh, right,” Sam answered, turning towards George. “We worked a case just after you left the hunting life. It was a bunch of random crazy things happening. A football player was abducted by aliens, a guy lost his hand to an alligator in the sewer, and so on. Turns out it was Loki. The Trickster.” Sam pointed at the candy wrappers. “Who just so happens to really like sweets.”

“So you think this Trickster is back?” George asked, her brows furrowed.

Dean looked at the wrappers, grabbing some and examining them as if they’d give him the answers he looked for. A huff of an unamused laugh escaped his lips. “Just desserts. Sweet tooth. Screwing with people before you kill ‘em. Yeah, that sounds like him.”

Sam worked on taking off his coat, draping it over his bed. “Yeah, it looks like it.”

“Good,” Dean said, standing from his chair and walking over to their small kitchenette to grab a drink. “Been wanting to gank that mother since Mystery Spot.”

“Mystery Spot?” George questioned.

“Uh,” Dean began, looking over at Sam who appeared slightly pained at the mention of the case. He clapped Sam on the shoulder, a tense smile on his face. “Another Trickster case. Sammy here got Groundhog Dayed and watched me die like a thousand times over.”

“That’s not funny.” The look on George’s face reflected her words.

Sam shook his head. “Yeah, no. No, it’s not.”

“But you guys never killed him?” George asked, moving on from the topic of Dean dying.

Dean took a drink from the bottle in his hand, tilting his head slightly. “The little bastard is tricky. We thought we had killed him that first case, but obviously not. I’m hoping third times a charm.”

Sam’s eyes darted between his friend and his brother before he hesitantly spoke up. “You sure you wanna kill him?”

“He didn’t think twice about icing me, so yeah. Why?”

Sam fidgeted slightly as he proposed the idea he’d been dwelling on the whole ride back. “Well, what if we, I don’t know, talk to him?”

“What?” Dean asked in confusion.

“Think about it,” Sam stepped forward, feeling bolder with his spoken idea. “He’s one of the most powerful creatures we’ve ever encountered. Maybe we can use him.”

A choked laugh escaped George’s mouth as she stood to join the boys in the kitchenette area. “Uh, if he’s one of the most powerful creatures, how exactly are you planning on using him? And for what exactly?”

Sam turned towards George, energized by his idea. “Okay, so the Trickster’s like a—like a Hugh Hefner type, right? He’s all about wine, women, and song. Maybe he doesn’t want the party to end.” He looked to his brother. “I mean, maybe he hates this angels and demons stuff as much as we do.”

“So, wait, wait. Let me get this straight,” George held up a hand to pause the conversation. “You wanna use the Trickster to, what? Smite angels and exorcise demons?”

Sam shrugged slightly, feeling less confident in his idea. “Something like that, yeah.”

“A Trickster?” George asked.

“Yeah,” Sam answered softly.

“A Trickster,” she asked again, stressing each syllable of the word. “Against angels and demons?”

Sam shifted to his other foot. “Yeah,” he said again, this time less confident.

“I think I’m missing something here,” George said, looking at Dean who was scowling at his brother’s suggestion.

“The Trickster is a violent, bloody, monster,” he clarified for George’s sake. “And Sam wants to be facebook friends with him.”

Sam took offense at his brother’s accusation, his voice growing in strength and confidence. “The world is gonna end, Dean. We don’t have the luxury of a moral stand. It’s just a shot, that’s all. If it doesn’t work, then fine. We kill him.”

George looked between the brothers. “Weren’t you supposed to have done that the first time?”

Sam gave her a tight lipped look in response.

“How we gonna find the guy anyway?” Dean asked with a relenting sigh.

“Wait, you’re going along with this?” George found herself slightly shocked at Dean’s sudden caving to his brother. She wouldn’t deny that it would be nice to have something stronger on their side, but trusting someone called the Trickster was flat out a terrible, and maybe even deadly, idea.

“Like he said,” Dean answered, motioning to Sam. “It’s a shot.”

George held her hands up in surrender. “Okay,” she offered. She didn’t trust this Trickster an ounce, but she trusted the boys and would follow their lead on this. They had the experience with the man. “So how do we find him?” She reiterated Dean’s question.

“Well, he never takes just one victim. He’ll show,” Sam answered.

***

The trio got to work on fashioning the only thing that would kill the Trickster. Wooden stakes. They were sitting in various places around the motel room, working on sharpening the tips of the wooden shafts while the police scanner crackled with various calls. An hour or so into their work, the scanner crackled, the voice of a local officer filling the room with a nervousness that caught their attention. He was reporting a ‘187’ at an old paper mill on the outskirts of the town. The code referenced indicated a murder and the officer was asking dispatch to ‘just send everybody,’ when asked what was wrong. That seemed weird enough for the boys.

The trio climbed into the Impala, their wooden stakes tucked neatly in the trunk. When they arrived at the address the officer over the radio had referenced, a chord in George’s chest struck. The place was deserted, not a person—or more specifically—not a cop car in sight.

The three climbed from the Impala, looking around.

“There was a murder here,” Dean commented, pointing out the obvious. “But there’s no police cars. Nobody. How does that look to you?”

George sighed as she leaned against the side of the car, passively inspecting the large abandoned building. “Like the Trickster tricked you. Again, apparently.”

A light drizzle began to fall as Dean made his way to the back of the car, opening the trunk and grabbing the wooden stakes.

“Be careful,” Dean said, passing out the stakes before heading towards the building. He turned to George as he pushed on the handle to the door. “Let’s see what the wicked witch of the east has planned for us, huh?”

He turned to follow Sam inside, leaving George to take up the rear. As she stepped to follow in Dean’s footsteps, however, the door slammed shut, cutting her off from the brothers and effectively locking her outside.

George shoved against the door, but it refused to budge. “Dean!” She screamed, slamming the side of her fist against the metal panel. She listened for a moment, hopeful for any response, but the only sound to be heard was the rain lightly pattering on the metal and gravel around her. “Son of a bitch!” She screamed out in frustration as she beat on the door one more time. She looked around the parking lot, uncertain of what to do next. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

***

Dean and Sam had found themselves on the set of a TV show. More specifically, on the set of Dr. Sexy M.D. Neither were certain what was going on until Dr. Sexy himself appeared and tipped off Dean. He had shoved the character against the wall, demanding to know who he really was because Dr. Sexy didn’t wear tennis shoes. He only ever wore cowboy boots.

Sam chuckled behind him. “Yeah, you’re not a fan,” he snarked sarcastically.

Dean looked over his shoulder as the two stood in front of the Trickster. “It's a guilty pleasure,” Dean admitted quietly. “Don’t tell George.”

Sam laughed. “I think she already knows, dude.”

The pair turned to the person in front of him, watching as he morphed from Dr. Sexy into the true form of the Trickster.

“That was you on the police scanner,” Dean accused.

The Trickster held his hands out. “Hello-o-o,” he dragged out in obviousness as he circled his face. “Trickster!” He let his hands drop. “Your girl George seemed to figure it out pretty quick. I’m impressed.” He looked at Dean dubiously. “Still not sure how you managed to bag her though.”

When neither of them appeared amused, he tilted his head, his own amused defense coming out. “Come on! I heard you two yahoos were in town! I couldn’t resist having a bit of fun.”

“Where are we?” Sam asked, looking at the frozen set around them.

“You like it?” The Trickster paced a few steps, looking around the hospital set. “It’s all homemade.” He faced the brothers. “Call it my own little idiot box.”

“How do we get out?” Dean asked.

“That my friend, is the $64 question.”

“Whatever—we just, we need to talk to you,” Sam offered. “We need your help.”

The Trickster tapped his chin in faux thought. “Hmmm, let me guess. You two mutton heads broke the world and you want me to sweep up your mess?”

“Please?” Sam pleaded. “Just five minutes. Hear us out.”

“Sure,” The Trickster responded with a devious smile. “Tell you what, survive the next twenty-four hours. We’ll talk.”

“Wait!” Dean called out, catching the man before he could do anything like disappear. “What about George?”

“Ah,” The Trickster folded his hands in front of him, his fingers interlacing as he gave them a small smile. “Georgie Poo. Don’t worry about her. She’s staying out of all of this. Just like she’s supposed to.” His smile turned into something more devious. “Good luck.” And with that, he was gone.

***

George returned to the door, pushing on it again, only for it to come freely open. Without hesitation, she ran inside only to find the space completely empty. “Dean? Sam?” She called the boys with a lower tone, not wanting to disturb whatever had potentially taken the boys. The only answer, however, was the echo of her own voice.

“Crap,” she mumbled to herself as she looked around the empty space once more. With an annoyed huff, she returned to the car, climbing into the driver seat. It was clear there was nothing she could do here, and so she made the decision to return to the motel.

She spent the night searching up anything she could on the supposed Trickster, even checking John’s journal. By the next morning she hadn’t made any progress. It frustrated her more than she could say that there was nothing on this guy. Nothing was making sense. And so, she made a call.

“George?” Cas asked as soon as he answered her call. “Is everything okay?”

George ran a hand through her hair. She hadn’t wanted to resort to calling the angel, knowing he was busy with other end-of-the-world things, but she didn’t know what else to do. “Uh, no. Not really. Listen, you ever hear anything about a case the boys worked involving The Trickster?”

“No. Why?” Castiel’s answers were simple, for that George was thankful.

“Well, because we came across him again and it seems he’s got them somewhere.”

“What do you mean?”

“We showed up to a warehouse and they went in, but something shut me out. Next thing I know, I’m let in, but both Sam and Dean were gone.” A nervousness creeped into her voice, her thoughts threatening to spiral at what had happened to her boys.

The angel’s voice turned much more serious. “Where are you?”

George gave Cas the address of the motel and the room number. In the next moment, she gasped, a hand covering her heart at the sudden sight of the angel stood next to her.

“My apologies,” Cas offered as he looked around the room. “Have you heard anything from them?”

George shook her head. “No. Like I said, we went to the warehouse yesterday evening, but as soon as they stepped in, I was shut out,” she reiterated. “Less than a minute later I was let in, but the boys were gone.”

“Where is this warehouse?”

Again, George gave the address, grabbing onto his arm before he could disappear. “Wait. I’m coming with you.”

Castiel shook his head at this. “I think it would be best if you stay put for now. I’ll be back soon.” And with that, the angel was gone, once again leaving George to stew in her own spiraling thoughts.

George huffed out as she looked around the empty room, running an anxious hand through her hair. Her stress levels were steadily rising. Stress over not having answers, stress in not knowing where the boys were or how to help them, and stress over not being able to find anything out on the Trickster. There was nothing about him and George found it beyond frustrating. Sam had mentioned his name was Loki, but the lore didn’t match up quite so well with what she’d learned of the boys’ cases involving him. Especially with the sweets and all of the puns and play of words that went with it.

Before George could move to try again at her research, Castiel reappeared.

“There’s no sign of any of them.”

That didn’t make George feel better. Castiel, seeing the worries and ideas beginning to swirl in her mind, stepped forward and helped her focus on what she knew best: her research.

“What do you know of this Trickster?”

George’s cheeks puffed out with an exhale as she thought on what she knew. “Not much more than you.” Her head tilted slightly with a thought. “Except, I don’t think it’s what the boys think it is.” The idea had latched onto her mind in the early hours and had been hanging on loosely ever since.

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked, his eyes squinting.

George sat at the table, her leg tucked up under her as she flipped through her limited notes. “Sam mentioned that Loki–whose nickname, or rather one of them, is The Trickster—is who this thing claims to be. And it could make sense on the surface, but nothing about all the cases involving this guy actually work for Loki’s lore. I mean, yeah, the name The Trickster fits perfectly, except for the fact that I can’t find anything anywhere that would even begin to explain what this supposed Trickster really is.”

“What are you saying?” Castiel asked, glancing at her notes.

“I’m saying,” George began, looking at Castiel, “The monster that took the boys? I’m almost positive it’s not Loki. But I have no idea what kind of monster it is. And what’s worse is it’s nothing like any monster I’ve ever come across.”

**

The next twenty-four hours were spent digging and combing through anything they could think of in regards to what took the boys. George felt as if she were losing her mind, reading the same details over and over, reinterviewing the witnesses from the Hulk crime that had brought them to town in the first place. She became so wrapped up in finding the boys, her anxiety growing higher with every hour that passed with no progress, that she went without eating and showering, instead staying glued to the computer and books that Castiel brought.

The more she came up with empty answers, the more frustrated and scared she became. It went against every fiber of her being, coming up empty. It grated at her, wore her down, knowing that she was failing at the one thing she was supposed to be good at; the one thing that she was supposed to do. It killed her that she couldn’t find Dean and Sam. And what was worse, she had no idea if they were even alive.

Like every other time that thought surfaced in her mind, she swept it away, refusing to believe their deaths were a possibility. George had every faith that Dean and Sam Winchester could get out of whatever the hell this was.

With the dawn of the next morning, George grabbed her jacket and the keys to the Impala.

“Where are you going?” Castiel asked.

George paused at the door, her hand gripping the handle. “There has to be something we’re missing. If nothing else, I’ve gotta get out of this damn room.”

Cas nodded. “I’ll come with you.”

And so, the pair made their way back to the warehouse in silence. As the Impala rolled to a stop on the gravel lot, Castiel leaned forward to look over the warehouse again.

“George,” Castiel said, opening his door, but pausing George from opening hers. “Do me a favor. Wait here.”

“Why?” George asked curiously.

Cas looked over at her before warily looking back up at the warehouse. “Just stay here. Stay in the car.” His words were firm, more pressing.

“Okay,” George answered, removing her hand from the handle. She watched as Castiel slowly made his way into the warehouse, his steps careful. George frowned, looking up to examine the building as a whole. Her curiosity piqued at the angel’s actions.

*****

Castiel burst through the door of a studio type set that looked like a kitchen, the wallpaper similar to the flowered wallpaper that decorated the motel room he and George just left.

Cas?” Dean asked, confused at the sudden appearance of the angel. He and Sam had been working their way through set after set, sitcoms, commercials, game shows—all sorts of different scenarios, trying to find their way out of the crazy maze that the Trickster had put them in.

“We don’t have much time,” Cas spoke, his eyes darting to the apparent ‘studio audience’.

“What happened?” Sam asked, his own confusion on display.

Castiel’s voice was tight as he looked towards the brothers, urgency evident in his tone. “We don’t have time for that. We need to go. This thing is much more powerful than it should be.”

“What thing? The Trickster?” Dean’s confusion continued.

Castiel shook his head. “George discovered that it’s not what you thought it was. It’s—”

The angel’s words were cut off, his body suddenly being slammed against the wall by an invisible force before collapsing to the ground. A second later, the front door burst open once more to reveal the Trickster. He strolled in, lifting his hands in presentation to the applauding studio audience. “Heyo!” He cheered with a smile. “Thank you!” He waved as the imaginary crowd erupted in loud cheers.

Castiel picked himself up from the ground, turning to finally glimpse the supposed Trickster. As he did so, however, he realized his mouth had been taped shut with duct tape. His eyes turned wide with recognition as he faced the Trickster.

“Hi, Castiel,” The Trickster grinned. With a flick of his hand, Castiel was gone.

***

After several minutes of waiting, George’s eyes snapped to the door of the warehouse as it slammed open, Castiel stumbling out. She scrambled from the front seat of the car, immediately noting the blood that dripped from the bridge of the angel’s nose.

“Cas!” She called as she ran to him. “What the hell happened? Are you okay?”

Castiel grabbed her arm, his breath panting, and directed them immediately back to the car with urgent steps. “You need to leave. Now. I know what this is and you can’t be here.”

“What’s going on? What is it, Cas?” George would do as the angel asked but she still wanted answers.

“An archangel,” Cas answered gravely.

George froze beside the opened driver side door, her eyes snapping to Castiel. “Like, big brother archangel?”

“Yes. Which is why you need to leave. Now.”

George wasted no time climbing into the driver seat. She knew she was no match for an archangel. And if he was anything like his fellow archangels, she was in danger. “What about you?” she asked, looking up.

Castiel glanced over his shoulder at the building. “I’m going to see if I can get Sam and Dean out.”

The words eased something in her chest. At least they were alive. For now. George nodded. “Okay. Be careful.”

“Stay at the motel and don’t leave until we come get you.” Castiel closed the door for her, and with that, he was gone.

George turned the key in the ignition, only to be met with silence. With two more attempts, it was obvious she wasn’t going anywhere, despite Castiel’s warnings. “Well, shit,” she breathed out, looking up at the warehouse.

Time was ticking away. She knew she needed to get out of there and get back to the motel. Yet, something was keeping her there. And George had a pretty good guess as to what it was. Dean took too much care of Baby for the Impala to suddenly not start now. Keeping her eyes peeled, she climbed from the front seat of the Impala and quickly made her way to the trunk. There, she grabbed the angel blade that was tucked away behind the false trunk bottom with all the other hunting weapons and gear. The trunk closed softly, but the dull thud still echoed in the silence.

The hairs on George’s arm prickled. Aware that she suddenly wasn’t alone, she slowly turned, noting the presence of a man standing a few feet from her. Her grip on the blade tightened as she forced herself to remain calm. Maybe this was just a random guy who had gotten lost…in the middle of nowhere…just outside an abandoned warehouse where Dean and Sam had disappeared. Sure.

“Ooooh,” the shorter blonde whistled out. “Fancy little stick you got there.” His smile widened slightly in amusement. “Too bad that one won’t work on me, sugar plum.”

George forced her breathing to remain steady, now knowing full well what stood before her: an archangel. Her mind raced through what to do next.

Forcing her body to relax, she screwed a tight smile onto her face, holding up the silver blade for him to see. Without taking her eyes from the archangel, she opened the trunk back up, tossing the blade in before slamming it closed.

“Now what?” She asked as she leaned casually against the trunk, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Now, I think it’s time for you to leave.”

George let out a chuckle. “I tried,” she pointed a thumb over her shoulder at Baby. “But you wouldn’t let me.”

The archangel laughed, taking a step closer. “No, see, I know you’re smarter than that, George.” His words were full of warning despite their humored nature. “When I say leave, I mean leave. Vamoos.” He waved his hand across the horizon as if painting a picture for her to see. “Take your John Wayne moment by the horns and ride off into that big beautiful sunset. Let the movie end for you.”

George nodded twice, her lips pursed as if in thought. The words played through her mind before she spoke them. Speaking them aloud would be dangerous, and yet, George didn’t care. She wouldn’t abandon her friends, her family. No matter who threatened her. She met the angel’s gaze. “See, while I liked John Wayne, and could appreciate some of his films, I wasn’t really a fan of the ‘ride off into the sunset’ moment.”

Amusement and a slow burning fire lit the archangel’s eyes. “No?”

Her smile dropped into something more serious. “No, because see, even as a five year old kid, I could tell it was fake.”

The archangel’s smile stretched as he waved a finger at her. “I can see why Dean is such a fan. Unfortunately, right now,” his smile dropped. “I’m not. So why don’t you skedaddle along and stay out of a story that wasn’t meant for you. Let the boys play their parts and give this movie the big finale it’s supposed to get? Okay?”

She clicked her tongue against cheek, tilting her head once in defiance, her tone and words matching the archangel’s. “I can’t do that, skippy.” George knew she was playing with fire, with her life. She knew what the man was capable of with just a thought. But she wasn’t willing to leave the boys without a fight; to let them fall apart and be forced to face each other on opposing sides, more than likely dying in the process. All just to satisfy some weird morbid desire the angels had to see the world end.

“Oh?” The angel studied her for a moment. “You realize, with a snap of my fingers—”

George nodded, pushing herself off from leaning against the trunk. “You can scatter my atoms across the universe? Yeah. And yet, I’m still not gonna change my mind.” She shrugged, raising her arms for a moment before tucking them into her jacket pockets. “Seems we’re at an impasse, bucko.”

The archangel tilted his head slightly as he studied her once more. A smile spread across his face. “I like you. You’re ballsy. Stupid, but ballsy.”

“Thanks,” George said evenly. “Can I have my boys back now? All three of them,” she clarified.

The archangel sucked air through his teeth before blowing it back out with puffed cheeks. “Ya know, I’m kinda fond of them. In fact, I was thinking I’d keep them around until they start to see things my way.”

George’s muscles tensed. “And what exactly is your way?”

He held up a finger, lifting his chin as if hearing something. “Oh, hold that thought. It seems they’re ready to try things my way.” He sent George a devious smile. “This oughta be interesting.” And in the next second, he was gone.

George took a deep breath, exhaling it out all the way. “Son of a bitch,” she whispered to herself before climbing back into the car. She was so done with angels.

*****

Gabriel. An archangel. Not a trickster. Gabriel.

Dean and Sam managed to trick him into a ring of holy oil, a confession pouring out of him. They hadn’t known he was an archangel. Not until Dean had figured it out during one of their ‘flipping the channels’ Night Rider episodes. He’d been too worked up over the Apocalypse, and even more so when Dean had mentioned his brothers.

Gabriel eventually spilled, comparing Dean to Michael, the big brother who was loyal to an absent father, and Sam to Lucifer, the little brother who was rebellious of Daddy’s plan. That was why they’d been chosen as the vessels. Two brothers who loved each other and betrayed each other.

But Dean and Sam knew better. They believed in something else; a different story that had been written. Because Dean was more than just the loyal soldier, and Sam was more than just a rebellious son. George had shown them that.

“We always knew it would end with you,” Gabriel finished his grand explanation.

Dean and Sam looked at each other, the fire from the holy oil crackling around Gabriel. In that short frame of time, their eyes meeting, a conversation was held, an understanding acknowledged.

Both boys turned back to Gabriel, their faces resolute.

“No.” Dean’s voice was firm. Unwavering. An answer for both brothers.

Gabriel looked over at him, the fire dancing in his eyes.

“Your story’s not gonna happen,” Dean added.

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel shook his head, his voice seeming almost honest. The archangel could better see how Dean and George had found each other. “But it is.”

Sam swallowed as he dug for his courage to stand against an archangel. Even trapped in a ring of holy fire he was still dangerous. “No, it’s not.”

Gabriel’s attention snapped to him, his brows furrowing. He could read it all in the brothers’ faces. The archangel laughed a humorless laugh as his gaze darted between the two. “What? You think George Finley is your phoenix, rising from the ashes, come to save the day?” His head swiveled between the brothers. “I hate to tell you boys, she ain’t that strong. She might’ve tweaked a side story, maybe even nudged the main one a little, but there’s no changing the plot of my father’s story. Atoms are about to be spread across the universe, freezing and burning up to the point that not even daddy himself will be able to put them back together.”

Dean’s anger grew as he took a half step forward. The fire in his eyes seemed less a reflection of the holy oil flames and more a reflection of the fire burning inside him. “What are you saying?”

Gabriel held up his hands with an innocent smile. “Hey, don’t get mad at me. It's your girl that’s messing with daddy’s timeline. And present or not, the kids ain’t gonna stand aside and let her keep doing it.” He held Dean’s hard gaze before he let out a defeated sigh, his shoulders dropping slightly. “Guys, I wish this were a TV show. Easy answers, John Wayne endings, riding off into the sunset and a happily ever after. But this is real. And it’s gonna end bloody for all of us. That’s just how it’s gotta be.” He looks at Dean, his voice catching an edge. “How it’s going to be.”

Quiet settled between the boys for a moment as they processed the angel’s words.

Gabriel looked between them, lifting his hands in question. “So what now? We stare at each other for all eternity?”

Dean was the one to answer, his voice sharp. “Well, first of all, you’re gonna bring Cas back from wherever you stashed him.”

Amusement danced in Gabriel’s eyes at the demand. “Oh am I?”

Dean didn’t back down. “Yeah. Or we’re going to dunk you in some holy oil and deep-fry ourselves an archangel.”

Gabriel hesitated at the threat, contemplating how serious the boys were. When neither brother budged under his stare, he lifted a hand and snapped.

Castiel appeared behind Dean, slightly unsteady but seemingly okay. Dean rushed to his side, concern filling his eyes. “Cas, you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Castiel’s voice was stoic as he turned his eyes to the archangel. “Hello, Gabriel.”

Gabriel smiled as if the world wasn’t ending and he wasn’t standing in a ring of holy oil being threatened by the Winchesters. “Hey bro! How’s the search for daddy going? Let me guess. Awful.”

Castiel’s anger rose, splaying across his features as he glared at his brother.

“Okay, we’re out of here,” Dean said, turning away, prompting Sam and Cas to follow.

“Oh, come on,” Gabriel complained lightly. “You can’t just leave me hanging like that. You said first off. You never told me what was second on your little list of demands.”

Dean turned back to him, Sam and Cas pausing in their steps to watch Dean whose face had turned deadly.

“Oh, I figured that would be obvious enough even for a douchebag of an angel such as yourself. Second of all, you’re not gonna come near me, Sam, or George ever again. You got it? I don’t care how much you get your kicks off messing with us. You stay away.”

The Winchester didn’t wait for an answer as he turned and walked away. Gabriel didn’t have one to offer.

***

The three men exited the warehouse, finally escaping the hell that Gabriel had cooked up for them.

“All that stuff he was spouting in there,” Sam asked hesitantly as he followed his brother out the door. “You think he was telling the truth?”

“I think he believes it,” Dean answered honestly before his eyes caught on George climbing out of the Impala. Relief flooded through him at the sight of the woman. He’d been worried over what had happened to her, worried that Gabriel had done something to her. He picked up his pace, meeting her halfway across the gravel yard before he pulled her into a tight embrace, kissing the top of her head.

George pulled back, looking between the three with an inspecting eye. “You guys okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam offered aloud while Castiel nodded.

“What happened?” She asked.

“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t wanna know,” Dean answered as the group made their way back towards the car.

George looked at Sam with a questioning look, but only received a grimace in response.

Dean opened the driver’s door, pausing to look at the other three over the hood of the car. “Regardless of what Gabriel believes, though, I know one thing.”

“What’s that?” Sam asked.

Dean looked at George, a smile pricking at his lips before he turned back to his brother with an answer. “The story can change.”

Chapter Text

5.10 Abandon All Hope

For the first time in what felt like months, George and the boys had a moment to relax. There hadn’t been any signs of cases nearby and they had just finished up one the day before. And so, they’d decided to take and enjoy a short break from everything. They deserved it after all.

But of course, in true end of the world fashion, nothing good ever lasts. The trio were lounging in a booth at a diner, enjoying a peaceful dinner when Dean’s phone rang. Castiel had news on their latest development in the search for the colt. They knew the demons had it—George had figured that much out thanks to Chuck’s Supernatural books. She had discovered that Bela had turned the colt over to a demon named Crowley.

Castiel had located the demon, following him to a residence where he then called Dean.

“The building is warded in Enochian magic. I can’t get it,” the angel explained.

“It’s okay, you did great,” Dean said, grabbing his coat from where it laid across the back of the booth and sliding out. “We’ll take it from here.”

*

It was decided—though not without argument—that George would remain at a motel with Ellen while Jo helped the boys out with getting into the demon compound. Leaving George behind made the most sense considering that the boys were going after a demon, and the demons wanted George dead.

George sat at the kitchen table across from Ellen, each of them sipping at their own coffee. Ellen had just finished expressing her displeasure in knowing her daughter was helping the Winchester boys on a case.

“I trust those boys,” Ellen shared, “but I still don’t like it.” She looked over at George, offering an explanation for her dislike over the whole case. “Jo’s dad was killed on a hunt helping John on a case. As much as I love and trust those boys, I don’t wanna lose my daughter to another Winchester.”

George could understand Ellen’s conundrum. “I know John doesn’t have the greatest reputation,” she began, making Ellen scoff in amusement in her coffee, “and I know he wasn’t the best father to Sam and Dean.” Bobby scoffed at that, covering it with a sip of his own coffee. George pushed forward. “But John cared.” She shrugged as she looked down at her own half empty cup. “At least enough to save me.”

Ellen and Bobby exchanged looks of sympathy for the girl.

“No matter what kind of man John Winchester was,” George said, looking up with encouragement for Ellen, “he left behind two amazing boys. And I know they won’t let any harm come to Jo.”

Ellen smiled warmly in understanding and hesitant agreement.

*****

The house was dark. Sam stepped up a short distance behind the man in a black suit as he made his way through one of the dark rooms. “It’s Crowley, right?”

The man stopped, turning around to find Sam and Dean Winchester watching him from across the room. Casually, he tucked a hand into his trouser pocket, his posture relaxed, his eyes inspecting the two intruders. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, the British accent noticeable. “So. The Hardy boys finally found me.” He glanced around. “What, no Nancy Drew?”

The man, or rather, demon, named Crowley moved to walk into the area the boys were standing in the shadows of but stopped, noticing the corner of the rug in front of him was kicked up. It was rather careless on the Winchester’s part; he knew them to be better than that. Reaching down, he carefully lifted the corner, finding a devil’s trap painted on the bottom side of the rug. Annoyance rather than fear flooded the demon.

“Do you have any idea how much this rug cost?’” Crowley’s voice showed how appalled he found it that they’d spray painted the bottom of his rug.

Before anything could go further, two demons appeared from the darkness behind the boys, grabbing their arms and pinning them against the demon’s chests.

Crowley lifted his hand, the colt seemingly appearing from nowhere. He examined the gun with interest before looking at the boys. “This is it, right? This is what it’s all about.” With a smooth movement, Crowley aimed the gun at Dean for a brief moment, his finger on the trigger, before angling it slightly away, killing the two demon henchmen instead, their bodies flashing orange before collapsing to the floor. The action left the boys shocked and uncertain in how to respond.

“We need to talk. Privately.” Crowley said, looking down at the dead men.

Warily, the boys followed Crowley into what appeared to be an office, the doors shutting behind them of their own accord.

“What the hell is this?” Dean demanded cautiously.

Crowley ignored the question, posing one of his own. “Do you know how deep I could’ve buried this thing?” He looked between the brothers. “There’s no reason you or anyone should know it exists at all. Except that I told you.”

“You told us?” Sam asked dubiously.

Crowley nodded slightly. “Rumors. Innuendo. Sent out on the grapevine.”

“Why?” Sam asked in confusion. “Why tell us anything?”

The demon rolled his eyes at the seeming ignorance of the giant. “Nancy Drew would’ve figured it out already.” Crowley lifted the gun, pointing it at the boys once more, his face turning serious. “I want you to take this thing to Lucifer, and empty it into his face.”

Dean blinked at the answer. “Wow. Okay. And why exactly would you want the devil dead?

“It’s called,” Crowley answered, placing the gun back on his desk. “Survival. But I forgot, you two, at best, are functioning morons. It’s a wonder you’ve managed to keep George around so long.” The demon looked Dean up and down, humming to himself for a moment in response to his own comment.

“Lucifer isn’t a demon, remember?” Crowley continued. “He’s an angel. An angel famous for his hatred of humankind. To him you’re just filthy bags of puss. If that’s the way he feels about you, what could he think of us?” He sighed out, annoyed the boys hadn’t caught on to where he was leading them. “If Lucifer manages to exterminate humankind, we’re next. So…” he paused, looking between the two, “help me. Huh? Let’s all go back to simpler, better times. A time when things were easier.” Crowley pointed at Dean. “You can get married, settle down, have a bunch of little Georges running around.” He paused in thought before continuing. “Although, I’d prefer little yous. She does have a history with us, after all.” He ignored the hard look Dean gave him. “So what do you say? What if I give you this thing and you go kill the devil?”

The boys continued to hesitate, glancing at each other. With a simple look they seemed to have a silent conversation Crowley wasn’t privy to.

Aggravatedly annoyed that they weren’t jumping at his offer, Crowley continued on, his tone turning more sarcastic. “Okay, you need a better reason? Of course, saving the lives of demons and the entire freaking world isn’t a good enough reason. Not for you two. Fair enough. How about this? How about you take this thing and go kill the devil before he gets his hands on George and carries out the plans he has for her? Hmm? Before he wears Samantha here as a dress? That enough reason for you two blithering idiots?”

“What do you know about Lucifer’s plans for George?” Dean asked.

“Uh uh,” Crowley held up a waving finger. “Mine first.” He held the gun out to Sam who hesitantly and slowly took it.

“Good. Wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

“What about George?” Dean asked, taking a half step forward.

Crowley tucked his hands in his trouser pockets as he considered what to share with the Winchesters. “Rumor has it, he’s got plans for his little puppet. Plans to make her his right hand man—or woman as the case may be.”

Memories of the future Zachariah had shown Dean ran through his mind. George had left Dean to become Sam’s right hand man; to become Lucifer’s.

“Personally,” Crowley said casually, bringing back Dean’s attention with a light shrug, “I wouldn’t put much stock in it. He won’t have an easy time with it.”

“Why not?” Sam asked, hopeful while Dean watched the demon warily, his mind still rummaging through the memories of the supposed future.

Crowley looked at Sam, the look on his face showing how obvious it should be. “In case you two haven’t noticed, George Finley has a habit of, well, never playing well with demons. In fact, she has a reputation of doing the exact opposite.” He looked between the boys once more, rolling his eyes at the fact that they weren’t seeing what he saw as blatantly clear. “Lucifer might be an archangel, but he’s also the devil.” He looked at Dean. “Are you really worried she’ll turn on you? George Finley? That woman? Turn on someone she wouldn’t hesitate to give her life for to help the devil himself?” Crowley shook his head as if he were a disappointed father, a tsk filling the room. “She could do so much better,” he mumbled to himself as he massaged his forehead with the tips of his fingers. “Why she lowers herself to stick with you two moronic lumberjacks in the mud is something I will never understand.”

“You act like you know her,” Dean said accusingly.

Crowley dropped his hand, lifting his head to look at Dean with a smug smile. “Oh, we’ve had a few meetings topside. After a while, I was the only one that would show up when she tried to make a deal to save you. Save John. We’ve had a few encounters since then, but well, that’s not my story to tell.” He sighed out, tired of the side topic. “So?” He prompted with impatience. “You have the colt. Why are you still here?”

“You wouldn’t happen to know where the devil is, by chance, would you?” Sam asked, looking at the gun in his hands.

Crowley took a moment to think. “Thursday,” he murmured aloud. “Birdies tell me he has an appointment in Carthage, Missouri.”

“Great,” Sam said with a forced smile. “Thanks.” He held the gun up, pointing it directly at Crowley’s forehead and pulled the trigger. Only to be met with an empty click.

The demon didn’t even flinch, having expected such an action. “Oh, right, yeah,” he said, shaking his head at his forgetfulness. “You’re gonna need some ammunition.”

“Uh, excuse me for asking,” Dean asked as Crowley made his way over to his desk. “But aren’t you kinda signing your own death warrant? I mean, what happens to you if we go up against the devil and lose?”

“Well, one, he’s gonna wipe us out anyway. Two, after you leave here, I go on an extended vacation to all points nowhere, and three,” Crowley’s voice rose into a shout, his face turning red. “How about you don’t miss?! Okay? Morons!”

The demon placed a box of ammo on the desk and disappeared.

****

The Winchesters had the colt. They knew where the devil was going to be. They finally had their chance. It was a momentous occasion, something that required all hands on deck, and careful planning.

And so, the group found themselves gathered at Bobby Singer’s, each of them enjoying what might be their last night on earth.

Ellen and Castiel sat at the kitchen table, a drinking contest happening between them. George refused to even touch that, instead settling in the den where Dean and Sam were gathered, looking over the map of Carthage.

“Crowley might just be right,” Dean said, “Demon omens are lighting up the place like a Christmas tree. I think the devil’s there.”

“Okay,” Sam agreed.

Dean studied Sam for a moment in thought before opening his mouth. “Look, when you think about it…” he glanced at George who sat up straighter in her chair. She knew that look, could read his thoughts on his face.

“No way,” George said, cutting Dean’s words off. “No way you’re about to say I’m staying behind again."

Dean shook his head. “No, I’m not.” He waved his finger between Sam and George, clarifying his words. “Neither one of you can come.”

“Dean,” Sam began to argue, upset at the dumb suggestion.

“Look,” Dean said, cutting off the protests. “I go against Satan and screw the pooch, okay. We’ve lost a game piece. That we can take. But you two?” He looked at George. “Until we know definitively it’s not Lucifer that brought you back, that it’s not him changing the story, I think it’s best if you keep the hell away from him.”

George’s brows creased with wary thoughts. Since when had Dean started believing that it was truly Lucifer that had brought her back? He’d been the one that had tried to convince her it wasn’t. So what had caused the switch to flip? “If he changed the story? What are you talking about, Dean? I thought you said it wasn’t him?”

Before he could even answer, a revelation dawned on George, things suddenly falling into place on their own. She hoped she was wrong, but that hope couldn’t stop the hurt from flooding her chest. Her shoulders slumped with the realization of what had changed. “That’s why you’ve been keeping me away,” George breathed out, her eyes locked on Dean’s. “You’re afraid Raphael is right. That Lucifer is the one that brought me back.” She leaned back in her chair as the pain in her chest grew. Pain in knowing what Dean thought, but even more so, pain in knowing that he might be right. “You’re afraid to let me out in case I change the story for him.”

Dean held up a hand in defense. “I don’t think that at all, but you’ve gotta admit, it’s better safe than sorry.” He could see the hurt and fire rising in her eyes at his insistence. “And Crowley himself said that you were lined up to be Lucifer’s puppet.”

Dean’s final words made something in George snap, her body leaning forward in her seat as a scoff escaped her lips. “Oh, yeah, so you’re trusting demons now?” Dry sarcasm dripped from the words, George throwing her arm up in aggravation. “Okay, sure. Why the hell not?” Not waiting for a reply, she grabbed her beer and left the room.

A defeated sigh escaped Dean’s lips. He knew he’d upset her, but he couldn’t back down. Not if it meant protecting George.

“You really think Lucifer is trying to change things using George?” Sam asked quietly. The younger brother wasn’t sure if he knew what to believe anymore. There were so many lies coming through from all sides, it was hard to tell what was truth anymore.

Dean shook his head as he took a swallow of beer, ignoring the concerned looks he got from those gathered in the kitchen after George stormed out. “I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Dean answered honestly. “But we gotta play this smart. And bringing you two? That’s not the smart thing to do.”

Sam huffed out at those words. “Since when have we ever done anything smart?”

“I’m serious,” Dean insisted.

“So am I,” Sam said seriously, his face showing his irritation. “Haven’t we learned a damned thing? Hasn’t George told us time and time again? If we’re gonna do this, any of this, we’re gonna do it together. George included.”

Dean looked up from his beer to look at his little brother. Uncertainty ran through his bones. But Sam won out. Dean sighed, taking another drink. “Okay,” he relented. “That’s a friggin’ stupid idea, but okay.” His eyes trailed over Sam’s shoulder, landing on the back door that George had disappeared behind.

Sam followed his brother’s gaze before turning back. “You wanna talk about stupid ideas?” He looked over his shoulder again before looking back at Dean. “Not fixing that before all this goes down is a stupid idea.”

Dean nodded knowingly but didn’t move. What was he even supposed to say to her? He couldn’t lie, but he couldn’t ignore the evidence that was starting to stack up either. The angels and demons were both providing evidence that George was brought back by Lucifer. For Lucifer. He didn’t want to risk dropping her off right into the devil’s hold. He couldn’t do it. Because then it would mean that they would lose. Because Dean would never be able to fight against George. None of them would.

“Dean,” Sam encouraged again. “Go talk to her.”

Dean let out a sigh. “Yeah, alright,” he finally mumbled, grabbing his beer as he stood and headed outside.

**

Dean found George sitting on the hood of her car, staring up at the sky. Her beer was held in one hand while the other was wrapped around the leg that was tucked up against her chest, her chin resting on it.

“Hey,” Dean said as he stopped beside her.

“Hey,” George answered quietly, her eyes dropping down to the bottle in her hand.

A few minutes of silence passed before Dean spoke. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, honestly. “I just…” His words trailed off, uncertain of which ones, if any, would suffice.

George nodded, her chin rubbing against her knee. “I can understand,” she answered. She lifted her head, finally looking at Dean, her eyes full of sorrow. “But you’ve gotta trust me, Dean. Trust me to know right from wrong. To hell with whatever the angels or demons are saying. Trust me. Please.”

“I do,” Dean offered, stepping up so he stood directly in front of her. “I trust you, George.” He opened his mouth to add onto his words, but George held a finger up to his lips, her eyes meeting his in complete openness.

She shook her head subtly. “That’s it. Nothing else. Just trust.”

Dean held her gaze for a moment, allowing himself to get lost in the chocolate of her eyes. He nodded against her finger, remaining silent.

George dropped her finger from his lips, her thanks given with just a nod.

The sound of the screen door squeaking open pulled their attention to Bobby who had just opened it. “Hey, you two,” he called. “Get in here.” With that, the screen door slapped shut.

The pair made their way in, a silence settling between them. Inside, Bobby was working on setting up his camera.

“Oh, come on, Bobby,” Ellen protested lightly. “Nobody wants their picture taken.”

Bobby huffed. “I’m gonna need something to remember your sorry asses by.” With that, he turned in his wheelchair, moving over to where the others were gathering.

George stood between Sam and Dean, behind Ellen. Each of the brothers wrapped an arm around her, Dean’s around her waist, Sam’s over her shoulders, each of them pulling her close as she wrapped her own arms around them. Despite everything, George had never felt more at home, safer, than she did right then, surrounded by those she loved and held close.

It broke her heart, knowing that it might be the last night any of them would be together, that any of them would be alive.

Because tomorrow? Tomorrow, they hunted the devil.

Chapter Text

Rain drizzled, the drops racing down the windshield of the Impala as it slowly pulled into town. The streets were empty, reminiscent of their case in River Pass. The lack of cell service combined with everything else cast a dreary and almost haunting feeling across the entire place.

“Nice and spooky,” Dean commented as he pulled to a slow stop, Ellen, Jo, and Castiel pulling up beside them in Ellen’s car.

“You guys check out the square? We’ll check out the local PD?” Dean proposed. Ellen nodded in agreement, the two groups splitting off.

Dean, George, and Sam entered the police station, their guns at the ready. The trio split to check the small building, calling out for anyone that might be around.

“Anyone else getting the super creeps over all this?” George asked as they met back in the main lobby, none of them having found a living soul.

Dean shook his head. “Well, if the devil really is in town, guess we shouldn’t be expecting anything else.”

The three headed back outside to the Impala, pausing in the drizzling rain when Ellen and Jo pulled up.

“Stations empty,” Dean called.

“So is everything else,” Jo answered.

“Have you seen Cas?” Ellen asked.

Sam furrowed his brows. “What? He was with you.”

Ellen shook her head. “Nope. He went after the reapers.”

Uneasiness settled over everyone. “Reapers?” Dean questioned.

“Where’d he see them?” George asked.

Jo was the one to answer, her own voice showing her uneasiness. “Well, kind of, everywhere.”

“Well, that’s not good,” George mumbled, looking around the empty town as she tried to ignore the prickles forming across her skin. The entire situation was giving her a massive case of the heebie jeebies.

With the decision to leave the cars, the group banded together, searching storefronts and the empty streets on foot. “Well, this is great,” Dean said sarcastically. “We’ve been in town for thirty minutes and already lost the angel up our sleeve.”

“You think Lucifer got him?” Sam asked, giving voice to the worry they all had as he adjusted the shotgun in his hands.

“I don’t know what else to think.”

The group continued on their journey, scanning the streets for any signs of anything. They had just entered a deserted intersection when a voice called out to them from behind. Everyone spun, guns at the ready to address the new threat.

“There you are,” the smug voice called. Meg stood a distance down the block, alone.

“Meg!” Sam called out.

The demon shook her head with amusement. “You shouldn’t have come here, boys.”

“Yeah?” Dean challenged. “Well, I could say the same thing for you.” With a quick movement, he pulled the colt out, directing the barrel at Meg.

The demon didn’t flinch, instead only smiling. “Didn’t come here alone, Dean-o.”

George looked around the empty streets for the demon’s side-kick. In the next second, she almost wished she hadn’t.

The group watched as the puddle beside Meg splashed with an invisible force.

“Son of a bitch,” George mumbled in dread. The sound of a snarling growl carried on the cold breeze that blew past the hunters. Hellhounds.

Dean knew from experience what they could do to a human body. While George and Sam didn’t have personal experience with them, they’d heard enough—heard the screams of the victims— to know that they should be terrified of them.

“Hellhounds!” Dean yelled in explanation to the others as the growls and barks were returned to them from seemingly all around.

“Yeah, Dean,” Meg called over the noises. “Your favorite. Come on, boys. My father wants to see you.” Her eyes turned to George. Even from a distance, they could see her smug gaze settle. “He’s rather excited to finally meet you, Georgie. Been waitin’ a long time for you.”

“I think we’ll pass. Thanks,” Sam snapped back.

Meg only shrugged a shoulder. “Your call. You can make this easy, or you can make it really, really hard.”

Dean looked between everyone in the group, each of them offering him their silent agreement. They choose the hard way.

Dean turned back to Meg. “When have you known us to ever make anything easy?” In the blink of an eye, he raised the colt, shooting one of the hellhounds before spinning around. “Run!”

Nobody needed to be told twice. Each of them ran, unanimously aiming for a nearby store, the only place they might stand a chance of hiding. Somewhere they could take cover from the invisible monsters that were now biting at their heels.

As they ran, a hellhound managed to catch Dean, knocking him down to the ground. Jo and George, both catching sight of him, turned, making a quick dash back for him.

Jo shot at the dog while George ran to Dean’s side, grabbing his hand and helping to hoist him back to his feet. Dean headed toward the store while George made a run for Jo who stayed to fend off a hellhound.

Just as George made it to Jo, shoving the woman forward to keep running, a hellhound attacked from behind. Both women fell to the ground together, shallow wounds opening up across George’s back. Experience told George what was coming next. Hellhounds were fearless, evil, and target fixated. Once you were caught in their hunt, there was no stopping them. George rolled her body until she was on top of Jo, her back facing the hellhound as it slashed its clawed paw at the two women.

Blood mixed on the wet pavement beneath them, as Jo and George both took the impact of the hellhound’s attack. Jo screamed out against the new level of pain where the claws had caught her side. Sam and Ellen both frantically fired shots at the hounds as Dean ran back to help the women up.

Before he was forced to make the decision of who to help, George rolled away from Jo, shoving the woman up into Dean’s arms. The gashes across her lower back trailing around to her right side made George grit her teeth, the pain immense. It reminded her of the werewolf scars that lined her chest. Now, it seemed she would have scars to match on her back and side.

Despite the amount of pain and feeling of the wound, she was hopeful that the gashes weren't deep enough to be fatal.

Pain sliced through George as she rolled her back across the asphalt in order to get to her feet, her teeth clenching against the burning injury as a groan escaped her lips. Shots rang out as Ellen and Sam continued to fire at the hellhounds, keeping them at bay for a moment.

Pushing through the pain, George staggered to her feet, Sam taking another shot at the hellhound before grabbing George’s arm and helping her run. Quickly, they followed the others into a hardware store, Sam and George slamming the doors shut behind them just as the hounds slammed into them, the glass rippling beneath the force.

“It’s okay, honey. It’s all right.” Ellen’s comforting voice had George turning around to see what damage had been done to Jo. “We’re gonna get you out of here, baby. Okay? You hang on. You hear me?”

George made her way over to the mother and daughter, while Sam and Dean worked to chain the door shut with hardware they grabbed from the shelves. Her eyes scanned the wound at Jo’s side. It wasn’t as bad as it could be, but it was still bad enough. Blood seeped up Jo’s shirt, surrounding the thick gashes that split open the side of her abdomen. Jo breathed deeply against the pain, her eyes clenching shut as she worked to remain calm. From what George could make of the wound, though serious, Jo had a good chance of survival. That brought relief of some kind to George. Her own wound, however, brought no relief as the pain burned through her torso. There was no mirror to inspect it and she didn’t dare to show it to one of the others. There was enough at present to focus on. George could suffer through the pain for now. It wasn’t anything new to her.

Carefully, she crouched down on her toes, nodding at Jo when the woman opened her eyes and looked up at George. “You’re gonna be okay, Jo,” she encouraged with her own heaving breaths. She held Jo’s gaze, making her understand. “Okay? I know it hurts, and I know it looks bad, but I promise. As long as you keep fighting, you’re gonna get through this.”

It pained George, perhaps more than the lacerations at her back to see a friend go through such pain and torment. Jo was bright and eager, but still young. Young at heart, young in age, and young at hunting. Her body didn’t hold the scars and experience that George’s did. But it was obvious the young woman was strong and could hold her own. She had the chance of a good and long life ahead of her. As long as she could get out of there. George decided then, as Jo breathed through the pain, fighting back tears, that she would make sure she would have a chance at that life.

Seeing a shelf of rags, George reached over, quietly hissing out, her muscles tensing against the pain, as she grabbed a few bags of clean rags for sale. Ripping the plastic open, she piled the cloth into Jo’s side. Jo grimaced, biting back a scream with the action, but she held on, breathing through the pain.

“Good job, Jo,” George coached as Ellen took her daughter’s hand, “You’re gonna be okay.” And George meant it to her core.

With the door secure for now, the boys made their way over to the women to check on them. George looked up at them, making sure her back stayed angled away from where they might see. She was confident she would survive; she knew she’d experienced worse. She also knew that everyone had enough to worry about with Cas M.I.A. and now Jo bleeding out on the linoleum floor. She didn’t need to add to those worries. “She’ll be okay as long as we can get her out of here,” she reassured the boys before pressing more rags to the Jo’s wound.

Dean felt his chest tighten over the thought of being responsible for Jo getting hurt as he knelt down beside her. Ellen looked over at George, knowing she had taken part of the attack as well. She had seen the woman try to shove her daughter to safety and in the process take the blunt of the hellhound's claws. “What about you?”

George didn’t return Ellen’s gaze. “I’m fine. Somebody needs to keep pressure on Jo’s side.” She grabbed Dean’s hand and placed it on the wound in place of her own bloodied hands. She knew Dean cared about Jo. Everyone there did, George included. The young woman deserved a chance to live. The action would help Dean to rest easier knowing that he was helping her somehow. And bonus for George, he would be too distracted to notice the red stain slowly spreading across the back of George’s now torn jacket.

Beyond the burning pain, she could feel the blood dripping in steady streams down her back, soaking into the fabric of her shirt and the waist of her jeans. George breathed against the pain as she forced herself to stand. She looked over at Sam. It was clear he could see her pain.

“George, you’re—” Sam’s concern was cut off with George’s snapping response.

“I’m fine, Sam.” George breathed calmly, her eyes firm but pleading for the man that was like a brother to her. She could see his properly placed doubt for her words, but she would be okay. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to be distracted by her own wound. Besides, she would make sure to tend to it in a moment. Slowly bleeding out wouldn’t help anyone. She sent Sam a reassuring smile, her voice lowering. “I promise. I’m fine.” George pulled her gaze away from Sam as she continued to breathe against the pain.

“We gotta get Jo out of here.”

***

Dean was working on a CB radio he’d managed to find on one of the shelves while Sam delivered a bucket of water and more rags to Ellen for Jo. Ellen thanked the man, glancing over her shoulder at George who sat on the check out counter, shotgun in hand, as she vigilantly watched out the window between the broken blinds. “How’s she doing?” Ellen asked, turning back to Sam.

Sam huffed out. “If I knew, I’d tell you.” He looked over at George. It worried him that she was hiding more than they knew. Sam had known George long enough to know she had a habit of putting herself and her problems on the back burner. He looked down at Jo. Especially if someone else was injured or hurt.

“You know, back in River Pass,” Ellen said, pulling Sam’s attention back. “She was different from the woman we knew at the Roadhouse when Al was around. She was more relaxed, confident…just different. Like she wasn’t a prisoner anymore.”

Sam nodded, looking down as he thought about how much George had changed since they first met. “Yeah,” he quietly agreed.

Ellen looked over at George before turning back to Sam, her brows pinched in worry. “So why does it feel like she’s snapped back to the machine Al raised?”

Sam looked back at George, watching as her eyes scanned the empty streets and storefronts. He knew why; knew what was happening. George was hurt. She wouldn’t admit, but Sam had seen the red spots soaking through the rips and tears in the green canvas jacket. The hellhound had gotten her good, and now she was resorting to what she knew in order to hide it. In order to make sure that they got out safe, that Jo would be okay. George was putting everyone else’s safety ahead of her own like she always did. And that worried Sam. For a moment he considered checking on her, making sure she was okay, but he decided against it knowing she would downplay her wounds and reassure him there was nothing to worry about.

He made his way back to where Dean was still working on getting the CB radio to work so they could get ahold of Bobby back at his house.

“How’s she doing?” Dean asked, glancing back at where Jo was laying against one of the shelves on the ground.

“I don’t know,” Sam sighed out. “But George seems confident she’ll be okay.”

Dean paused at the mention of his girl, looking over at where she was keeping watch. Worry coursed through him, but he pushed it down. George was strong. She could handle herself. She would be okay. He hadn’t seen the blood tarnishing her jacket like his brother had.

And it was unfortunate that neither of them noticed the blood beginning to drip from George’s back, settling in a small puddle on the counter behind her despite her efforts to stem the bleeding with rags and tape. It was even more unfortunate that they missed the thoughts that crossed her face whenever she looked back at Jo.

“The salt lines are holding up,” Sam said, bringing back his brother's attention.

“We’re safe for now,” Dean agreed.

“Safe,” Sam said as if it were a joke. “Like trapped rats.” He didn’t hold the same hope and plum his big brother seemed to. In fact, Sam thought their situation looked pretty hopeless.

“Hey,” Dean argued gently. “You heard Meg. Her father is here. This is our one shot, Sammy. We gotta take it no matter what.”

Sam’s hazel eyes settled on George for a moment before turning and watching his brother as he worked on the CB radio with determined focus. That was one reason he and George matched so perfectly together. They both held out hope when things looked the darkest. Maybe not hope for themselves, but unquestionably hope for those they loved and cared about.

George pulled her attention away from the empty streets for a moment to check on Jo. It seemed the young woman was holding up fairly well, but it was obvious she needed medical attention. And soon.

It didn’t take a genius to come to the conclusion that in order to save her, Jo needed to get out of there and to a hospital. And they couldn’t do that when they were pinned down by a group of invisible hellhounds. Silently, George came to a decision. It was the best way to get everyone to safety. She would go find Meg and let the demon take her to Lucifer. She was the only one who wasn’t needed to help take down Lucifer. And so, George would be the distraction. It was what Al had raised her to be after all; only this time, she was happy and willing to do it.

Her eyes darted to where the boys stood farther away, lost in their own hushed conversation. If she could save Dean and Sam, if she could give them a window, an opportunity, then they had a chance to take on Lucifer later. Once they got a hold of Bobby, she had no doubt he’d find the perfect spot for the confrontation to take place.

But none of that would work, could happen, as long as they were locked up in a hardware store, hellhounds hunting them, Meg out there somewhere playing guard dog. Knowing she would need to somehow keep everyone’s attention away from the doors for a moment, George moved her gaze to Ellen who was passing nearby, gathering more supplies that might help her daughter be more comfortable.

“Ellen,” George called softly, her voice remaining low in order to not catch the boys’ attention.

Ellen turned and, casting a quick reassuring glance at Jo, stepped over to George.

Swallowing any remaining fears, George let her mask fall into place as she whispered, “I need your help. I’m going out there.”

“What?” Ellen shook her head with her whispered protests. “Are you insane?”

“Maybe,” George shrugged nonchalantly, an attempt to ease Ellen’s own fears. “But it’s the only way any of us are going to get out of here alive.”

Ellen began to quietly protest again, but George grabbed both the woman’s hands in her own, pulling her full attention to her. “You know it’s the only way.” Her voice was strong, but quiet, convincing. “Someone needs to be the distraction. Jo needs you, and we both know it’s gotta be the boys that take down Lucifer. That leaves me.”

Tears formed at the back of Ellen’s eyes, knowing George was right. It wasn’t right, any of it, but George was right.

“Now you listen to me,” George said, her voice firm. “As soon as I’m gone, you start working on getting Jo out of here. You get her to the nearest hospital, you get her patched up enough to travel. Then you get yourselves to Dr. Perkins. Dean will know where to find him. When you get there, you tell the doc that I sent you. He’ll take care of you.”

Ellen started shaking her head. “This is insane, George. I won’t let you do that. I’m not gonna let you get yourself killed.” The woman’s heart was breaking. She didn’t know George that well, but from the little time they’d spent together, and from what she'd heard from Bobby and the brothers, she knew George was a good woman; someone who deserved more than what life had dealt her.

George’s voice turned deadly serious, almost stone razor sharp. It was imperative that Ellen understand what needed to happen. That this needed to happen, and it had to be this way. “You wanna save Jo? You wanna see your daughter tomorrow? This is how.” Her face softened slightly for the mother knowing the hard position George was putting her in. “It’s okay, Ellen.” She forced the corner of her mouth to slip up into a smile. “Cas said I was brought back to change the story. Maybe this is where the story changes. Maybe you’re the ones that help bring Lucifer down.”

As she spoke, she fought against the swelling feeling in her chest. George knew that if she walked out that door, she was going to have to face Lucifer. It was likely she would be walking through those doors and straight back to hell. And this time would be much worse. But if it saved Jo, if it gave Dean and Sam a fighting chance, if it let Ellen have at least one more day with her daughter, then it was worth it to George. All of it was worth it.

“I just need you to keep the boys distracted until you can get them out of here. Okay? You can’t let them know. If they do, they will stop me. Then Jo, you, Sam, Dean…all of us will die. Do you understand? It’s me or all of you.”

Ellen studied the woman in front of her. Earlier, she told Sam it felt like Al’s machine was back, but she had been wrong. This wasn’t the machine Al Finley had carved out. This was George, the woman willing to sacrifice everything just to give the ones she cared about a fighting chance. She had become so much more than Al could have ever imagined or created.

George gently released Ellen’s arms, offering an encouraging smile with her whispered words. “It’s okay. I promise.” She nodded her chin towards where Jo was laying on the floor, blood slowly pooling around her. “Go save your daughter, Ellen.”

Tears pooled in Ellen’s eyes as she finally nodded in agreement. She swiped at her face before turning away, only to pause and look back when George called her name again.

“You make sure Dean goes with you. Sam too. You hear? Just do that for me. Promise?”

A tear slipped from Ellen’s lashes as she nodded once more. “Okay, George. I promise.”

“Thank you,” George whispered, letting Ellen go back to Jo’s side.

Crouched beside her daughter, Ellen called Sam over, glancing over at George who only nodded. Dean was distracted with the radio, and now Sam was busy helping with Jo.

Dean finally managed to get the radio going, finally getting through to Bobby.

“We got problems.”

“It’s okay, boy. That’s why I’m here,” Bobby’s voice crackled over the speaker. “Is everyone all right?”

Dean answered, taking a shaky breath. “No. It’s Jo. Bobby, it’s pretty bad.”

“Okay. Copy that. So now we figure out what we do next.”

George listened carefully as Dean explained their situation to Bobby. As soon as she heard him tell Bobby about the reapers, it clicked. She knew what was happening. Death was coming. Lucifer was summoning the fourth horseman. Here and now. George looked back out through the blinds. There was no movement and it appeared silent, but that didn’t mean the hellhounds weren’t out there.

They had run out of options. Jo needed to get out of there and George wouldn’t be very much help with her back in the condition it was. She could feel the blood dripping beyond the rag she’d tied against the gashes. Without much doubt, she was certain that were she to stand up, there would be a small puddle of red on the counter she was leaning against.

George looked over at Ellen sitting on the floor beside her daughter, telling her everything would be okay. She watched as Sam packed the wound with new, cleaner cloths. She watched as Dean talked to Bobby on the radio, concern radiating off of him as he listened closely, head bowed as he processed the information coming through.

They were all good people. People who didn’t deserve the shit storm that had come for them. George looked at Jo who seemed to meet her eyes as she continued to fight against the blood loss and pain. George could see the color slowly draining from her face. The woman needed a hospital. Sooner rather than later. Or the world was going to lose another good soul. A mother was going to lose her daughter. Sam and Dean would lose another friend.

Jo held George’s gaze a little longer before she turned her eyes towards her mom. Ellen, seeing the look in Jo’s eyes, looked at George. Ellen’s eyes turned red with tears while George’s filled with determination. Each of them silently nodded. A subtle agreement. They were out of time.

Ellen turned back to her daughter, running a hand over her head. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Jo, seeming to understand what George had decided, began to shake her head no, her breathing starting to become more frantic while Ellen worked to hold her daughter down. It ate at Ellen inside. She fought with herself, knowing George was preparing to sacrifice herself to save them all. But she couldn’t find the courage to stop her.

George took advantage of Jo’s sudden distraction and noise to carefully remove the chains from the doors, keeping them in her hand. Quickly and quietly, she slipped through the doors, not daring to cast her eyes in the direction of the boys. She knew if she did, she would want to turn back, to stay with them. But that couldn’t happen. They needed to escape their trap, to get Jo help. And they couldn’t do that unless Meg and Lucifer were distracted. Turning back towards the closed doors, she wrapped the chain on the outside of the handles, ensuring nobody could do something as dumb as follow her.

With a deep breath and a quietly whispered goodbye, George straightened her shoulders, embracing the mask and tool that she had spent the past few years shaking away, and began slowly walking down the main road towards where they had last seen Meg.

“I’m here,” she said evenly, her voice neither quiet nor raised. “Lucifer is looking for me. Well, here I am, Meg.” She held her hands out at her sides, presenting herself. Her muscles tensed, wanting to force her back into hiding as the sound of growls and splashing puddles began to surround her. Resisting, she held her ground.

“Hello, Georgie. Howya been?"

Chapter Text

Dean listened as Bobby explained what he was reading up on; that it most likely meant Lucifer was planning on summoning Death himself.

The sound of Jo causing a commotion caught his attention, but Ellen worked on calming her down, her soothing reassurances drowning out Jo's confused mumbles.

"I've been researching Carthage since you've been gone," Bobby continued, unaware of the commotion and pulling Dean's attention back. "Trying to suss out what the devil might want there. What you just said drops the last puzzle piece into place.The angel of death must be brought into this world at midnight through a place of awful carnage." He quoted from one of the prophecies.

Bobby continued to explain, but Jo started fighting with her mom again.

"Hold on a second, Bobby," Dean said, putting the radio down and turning to look down the aisle where Jo was. Jo was wide eyed and trying to squeak out something through the pain to her mom. "No, mom, no," she breathed out. But Ellen tried to calm her down, tears streaming down her own face.

"You gotta relax, Jo. Stay still. I need you to stay still, baby," Ellen pleaded, her voice cracking as her hand brushed through Jo's hair.

Confused at the sudden events, Sam looked up at Dean. As if something snapped the thought into their minds at the same time, both of the boys' attention snapped to the door where George no longer sat.

Dean darted to the door as panic began to buzz through his body. A small puddle of blood spread across the counter, dropping a path across the linoleum towards the door. Noticing the chain was no longer there, he shoved against the doors, only to find them locked in from the outside. Dean pounded a fist against the glass doors, screaming George's name, begging for her to come back.

He turned with a heaving chest towards Ellen who failed to hold back her tears as she sat beside Jo, holding her daughter tightly, her head shaking subtly. Dean looked at Sam, his brother just as upset and worried where he stood beside the women. Bobby's voice was calling him from across the radio, concern marring the man's voice at the sudden interruption.

"What the hell just happened?"

*****

Meg led George down to the basement of a building. Flames licked the ground in a circle at the end of one of the concrete halls. As they drew closer, George realized that the flames held Castiel prisoner. She was assuaged with the knowledge that he was alive. He seemed okay, until he realized George was trailing behind Meg. The moment his eyes landed on George, the angel's entire demeanor changed into something much more fear filled.

Meg stopped by the fire in front of a man, her smile smug and proud, like a puppy having brought her master something special.

Lucifer.

The freaking devil.

He stood there, the skin of his vessel slowly blistering and peeling away, clearly not strong enough to hold the archangel.

Meg smiled up at the devil. "I've got the Winchesters pinned down," she stated proudly. "And I brought you a present." She stepped aside to reveal George with a gesture.

Lucifer was pleasantly surprised to see the woman there, his face softening as a smile split it open. He stepped closer, looking her over. When he spoke, his voice was soft, calming almost. Patient. It wasn't what George would've expected from the devil. But then again, it was exactly what she would've expected from the devil.

"I have to admit, I'm thoroughly shocked to see you here, my dear. I was sure your loyalty to the Winchesters would keep you by their side until their dying days."

George remained silent, keeping her eyes on the devil before her.

Lucifer tapped a finger against his nose, pointing it at her. "But then again, they're pinned down, aren't they? You wouldn't be the George we all know and love if you didn't do something rash to try and save them, now would you?"

Again, George kept silent.

"What about the Winchesters?" Meg asked, taking his attention away from George.

Lucifer thought for a moment, tapping at his lip as he looked between Castiel and George. "Leave them alone."

"Are you sure?" Meg hesitantly questioned. "Shouldn't we..."

Lucifer stepped up to her, placing his hands gently on either side of her face, cutting off her words. "Trust me, child. Everything happens for a reason." He looked over at George. "Isn't that right, George?" A casual smile crept across his face. "I mean, that's why you're here with me after all."

Every muscle in George's body went tense. Her thoughts raced back to Raphael's words. Lucifer had been the one to raise George from the dead. She was changing the story in favor of the devil.

Had this been his plan all along? Had he known she'd leave the Winchesters and would follow Meg down here to him? She didn't know what about it all she found more terrifying: the fact that she stood face to face with the devil himself or that he had in fact been the one to raise her from the dead.

Her eyes lifted back to Lucifer at the sound of a low chuckle rising from his chest and escaping his lips. A glimmer of red flashed across his eyes as he held her gaze. "You're exactly where you were always going to be. You're where you're supposed to be. Here with me. At my side."

As if someone flipped the switch to a movie reel, memories flickered through George's mind. Memories of Dean's trip to the future; how the Dean of that time had said she'd left them all to be at Lucifer's side. Everything continued to flow, all of it crashing down inside her mind, her past assaulting her mind. George fought against all of the sudden flooding memories of all the beatings, the words, the curses, the orders, the insults... all of it that Al had thrown at her her entire life. It all flooded in as if someone had opened up the door to her mind and poured them in.

Al's words swept through her mind like a hurricane, ravaging and destroying everything in its path leaving behind one single memory, one single accusation he always had ready: George Finley was going to make the biggest mistake one day. Over and over, he had reminded her, accusing her of being selfish. Al had pointed out that her and her selfishness would be what would get everyone she loved killed one day.

It was her fault everyone she cared about died. It would always be her fault that everyone she cared about died.

George Finley was a tool and always would be.

George struggled to keep her breathing even, tears pounding at the back of her eyes as the words clawed against her skull. It took everything in her to tear her eyes away from the devil's as it all poured out. Every last memory.

Since Al's death, she had worked hard to prove his words wrong. She'd worked to trust and believe that it had all been lies. But as George stood there, facing the literal devil, his seemingly all-knowing eyes studying her as if she were a work of his own creation—it seemed as if she had been the one lying all along.

Perhaps Al had been right. Perhaps she was selfish. Perhaps she hadn't just saved Dean, or Sam, or Jo, or Ellen. Perhaps, out of her own foolish selfishness, she had just sealed their deaths.

George's breath hitched. Had she just killed them all? Did their blood now stain her hands? All because she had been selfish in thinking she could be the one to save them?

Her head swam. Maybe Al was right. Maybe his lies weren't lies. Maybe they had always been the truth. Every last one.

George was useless.

George was nothing more than a tool.

George was the reason everyone she cared about died.

"Well, George," Lucifer's voice gently coaxed George from her runaway thoughts like a rain falling lightly on a tin roof. He stood with his hands patiently clasped before himself as he took a small step closer to her. "You have a decision to make now."

George fought the desire to waver, to give in to the voice of Al Finley screaming inside her head. She desperately fought against the desperation and defeat that now clawed at the inside of her skull, wreaking havoc and leaving shreds in its wake. She ground her jaw, her teeth clenching together as she forced herself to focus on one thing:

Regardless of who had pulled her out, despite the plans Lucifer had for her, in spite of all of Al's words flooding through her head, one thing remained solid, set in stone:

George Finley would never say yes to Lucifer. Despite everything, she still believed she knew right from wrong. And she wouldn't stand at Lucifer's side. She couldn't. The world would end before she agreed to that.

"If any of the choices involve joining you," she grit out, ignoring the slight waver in her voice, "I'm gonna have to pass."

The devil's tone was light as he held his hands out in front of him, palms up, as if he were some college boy trying to encourage and convince a frat buddy to do something they both knew was wrong. "Oh come on, you tried to summon a Prince of Hell." His voice changed to something more accusingly kind, his finger held up towards her as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to something that only held between the two of them, imparted as if a secret. "We both know you almost succeeded. How can you really say no to me? Think about it. Everything that has happened so far? Even poor little self-conscious George can see the truth. You're destined for this." Lucifer paused, allowing his words to sink in. "Admit it, George, you can feel it in your bones. We would both change the world. We could prove how wrong both of our dear old dads were. Show them both that we're stronger and better than they could ever imagine. Show my dad—the one who tried to kill you off years ago— that his story isn't the right one."

The words caused something in George's chest to twist at the mention of Al Finley.

Lucifer straightened again, his secret finished. He held her gaze, silently and patiently awaiting an answer.

A tense silence passed between the pair, George's eyes remaining defiant despite the despair she felt growing inside while Lucifer's own turned into something almost more sympathetic and relatable.

"You can see the truth in my words, can't you?" Lucifer edged. "Michael is a glorified pompous ass just looking out for other angels." His voice turned more accusing, disdain bleeding through. "He doesn't care about humans. He only wants to play daddy's perfect little creation. With me, you have a better chance at saving them. Not only humanity but dear old Dean and Sam."

George resisted the urge to scoff at Lucifer's words. The devil himself was standing before her, trying to convince her that the archangel was a pompous selfish ass. While George wouldn't argue with the sentiment, she also knew Lucifer wasn't a saint. And no matter which angel won, the entire world would suffer. Despite his weak promises, George knew Dean and Sam would suffer. She couldn't let that happen. Not when there was still a hopeless chance to save them. George found that her best answer was to keep it simple.

As if reading her thoughts, Lucifer sighed out in sympathy. "Dean and Sam. It's always going to come back to them isn't it, George?" He held up his hands in surrender as he slowly circled her, his voice calm. "Sam and Dean. Dean and Sam." He paused beside her, his brows furrowing as if in thought. "Amazing isn't it? Again and again you make the sacrifice, you take the brunt of the pain, all of the insult and injury, do all the hard work. And yet, they always seem to land on top while you're patching yourself up or already working on the next hunt. I mean, I couldn't imagine doing that to someone I claim to love and care so much about." He finally turned to face her, his voice calm. "Could you?"

Something in George's chest twisted with the words. A dark and twisted seed planted itself in her heart and chest, her mind working to deprive it of the nutrients required to grow. They loved and cared about her. Dean loved her. He had said it repeatedly. Both of the Winchesters cared about her. They were family.

A memory flickered to the front of her mind, pushed to the forefront by an invisible hand.

Dean was afraid Raphael was right. He was scared that Lucifer had been the one to bring George back. "Crowley himself said that you were lined up to be Lucifer's puppet."

The memory faded into another.

"Seriously? You're locking me up again?"

Dean shook his head. "I'm not locking you up. I'm just saying, Sammy and I've got this. Why don't you work on the part you do best? We'll fill you in when we get back."

Lucifer remained calm, unfazed by her silence as if he could see what was happening inside her mind. "Take some time before you decide anything," he reassured her with an eeriness that left bumps across her skin. "I know your mind is a little overwhelmed at the moment."

George's jaw ticked as she shoved the twisted thoughts away. Dean and Sam were her family. They cared about her. She might've just condemned them to their deaths, but she knew they loved her. "The answer is still no."

The devil paused in his movements, taking a moment to study her, his face revealing nothing in the way of emotions or what might be going through his mind. When he finally spoke again, his voice was calm, pleasant almost. "Perhaps I could offer a little persuasiveness? Maybe a little reminder of what might happen to the world if you were to stubbornly say no?"

Without warning, fire-like pain erupted across George's back a second later, the heat and pain so intense—as if the fire of hell once again licked at her skin and wounds. Unable to bear the immense amount of pain, her knees betrayed her, giving out as a scream escaped her lips.

*****

Dean and Sam stood a short distance away from Jo and Ellen, in discussion of what came next. Dean had gotten back on the radio with Bobby, listening as the hunter told him the rest of what he knew. The devil would be somewhere called Jasper's Farm at midnight in order to raise Death. Dean listened carefully, making note of everything important. He hadn't told Bobby what George had done. He couldn't do that to him. Not now.

"Now we know where the devil's gonna be. We know when, and we have the colt," Dean explained quietly to Sam a short distance away from where Ellen continued to comfort Jo. Bobby had given him all of the information he could before signing off with a wish of luck. Little did Bobby know just how much they would need that luck. "We can finally gank this bastard."

"Yeah," Sam sighed as he looked at the door. "That's only if they didn't leave any hellhounds behind."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, ignoring the angry hurt in his chest. George had broken their deal. She'd made a dumbass decision that would more than likely get her killed, just to save their sorry asses. He wished she would stop doing that. His mind refused to think that perhaps this was the last time she would be able to do something like that. "And that's after we get Jo and Ellen to a hospital," he added, glancing over at the pair of women leaning huddled against the shelving on the floor. While Dean held onto his anger, he couldn't deny that maybe George had had the right idea. Jo needed help or she wasn't gonna make it to see next week.

"Boys," Jo called out to them with gasps, garnering their attention.

The brothers turned towards Jo, concern marring their faces. Immediately, their feet drew them closer, Dean kneeling beside her and offering a comforting hand on her arm while Sam remained standing.

Jo looked at her mom, nodding. "Tell them, mom. You have to tell them what George said."

Ellen squeezed Jo's hand before she stood up and faced the pair, Dean hesitantly rising to his feet. She cleared her throat, knowing it was time. George was gone, she'd given them a way out, a way to survive. Ellen wouldn't let it be in vain. "George said she had a plan. But she said we were all supposed to get out of here. She told me to get Jo to a hospital, get her patched up enough to travel, and then get her to a Dr. Perkins. She made me promise you two boys would stay with us."

Ellen looked down at Jo then back up at the boys, her features tender. "She is risking her life to save my little girl. And I couldn't be more grateful. But," her voice became firm as she met each of the boys' gazes with her own. "I won't keep my promise to take you boys with us." She took a strengthening breath, knowing what needed to be done. "George was going to Lucifer. She was going to buy you boys time to escape. She knew you two were the only ones who could take the bastard down."

Dean's heart pounded against his chest. They had figured as much. George went to face Lucifer. Alone. She had willingly given herself up to the devil in order to be a distraction. In order to save them. Everything in him filled with hatred. Hatred for Lucifer, hatred for God, and hatred for himself. He wasn't worth saving. His life wasn't worth more than George's.

But Jo's was worth saving. And so was Ellen's and Sam's.

Ellen, seeming to understand what was going on in Dean's head, reached a hand out and grabbed onto his arm. "You have to do this, Dean." Her voice was strong as she held Dean's gaze. "You take that bastard down." She swallowed against the lump in her throat, her tears filling up again. "That girl loves you." Her eyes danced between the two brothers. She loves you both. Now you go make her sacrifice worth something."

***

The boys and Ellen quickly got to work forming a plan. With accuracy and speed, they worked together to set up makeshift bombs. Once they were set and in place, Dean cut the salt lines, running his boot through them briefly, before running to the back door where the others anxiously waited.

Carefully he lifted Jo into his arms, carrying her bridal style while Ellen and Sam followed behind. Using the jerry-rigged system Sam had put together, they pulled the chain that caused hammers to fall down and smash against the glass front doors. It wasn't more than a few seconds before the sound of footsteps on glass reached their ears, the remaining hellhounds still hunting them entering the building. George hadn't been able to pull them all away, but at least she'd gathered some. And more importantly, she had gained the attention of Meg and Lucifer, enough to distract, and give the four hunters time to get away; to get Jo to a hospital and to give the boys a fighting chance of taking down the devil.

While Dean carried Jo, Ellen following quickly behind towards escape, Sam pulled the pin that would set the bombs off. The delay gave Sam no more than five seconds to follow quickly behind his brother and friends.

All four of them ran, making it onto the roof of the building next door before the explosion rocked the neighboring buildings, razing the hardware store to the ground. The blast left nothing but piles of rubble and flames. No hellhound sounds came from what was left.

The group continued on foot until they were certain no hellhounds were following. Carefully, Dean placed Jo in the front seat of a car while Ellen got to work hotwiring it. Once he knew she was safe, he placed a gentle kiss on Jo's forehead, his teary eyes closing for a moment in a reverent prayer with the action. He had lost so much family already, he didn't want to lose another. "You get better, you hear?"

Jo nodded, holding the pile of rags against her side, her breath shallow, her color pallid. Dean closed the door, making his way over to where Ellen had climbed in the driver's seat. He held out a slip of paper through the open window. "You'll find the doc here," he explained. "He's good and you can trust him. George trusted—" he caught himself, "---trusts him."

Ellen reached for the slip of paper gratefully, her shoulders heavy with grief for the woman that had thrown herself at the mercy of the devil for her own daughter.

"Do me a favor?" Dean asked as he swallowed his emotions. "You call Bobby when you get there, okay? Let him know what's going on." His grip on the paper tightened before he released it, his eyes glistening as he nodded once. "You tell him what George did."

Ellen nodded with sincerity. Casting one last look between the two boys, she offered one last order for the two boys that had made an impact on hers and Jo's lives. "You be careful."

Both boys nodded, each taking a step away to allow the car to pull away.

Ellen cast one last heartbreaking look at the boys, sending them a final encouraging nod before she pulled away, heading for the next town and a hospital.

As the car faded into the distance, Dean and Sam faced each other, pushing aside the emotion that was bubbling and embracing the anger and fear they held for George's position. They both knew what came next.

Sam took a deep breath, his eyes a mixture of determination and strength as he spoke first. "You ready?"

With the simple question the image of George's beautiful and smiling face pushed to the front of his mind. Knowing it might be all he had left to hold onto in this world, Dean allowed his face to turn hard, his eyes murderous.

"Let's finish this."

Chapter Text

The boys made their way through the woods to the farm Bobby had said the ritual would be happening. As they quietly approached the treeline, their steps slowed, the sight of people gathered catching their attention. The crowd stood motionless, facing one person at the head of it all.

“I guess we know what happened to some of the townspeople,” Dean commented quietly. His eyes scanned the group, finding no sign of George. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“Last words?” Sam asked quietly. Both of the boys knew what was about to come. They were about to confront the devil and, more than likely, die in the process. The plan was simple. They were pulling a George. Giving Dean a chance while Sam distracted.

Dean thought for only a moment, looking at his brother, before he answered. “I think I’m good.”

“Yeah, me too,” Sam agreed. There was nothing either of them could say in that moment that would make a difference or change anything.

“Here goes nothing.”

No longer attempting to hide, Sam strolled out from behind the trees, walking to where Lucifer was busy digging a hole, leaving Dean hidden and in possession of the colt.

“Hey!” Sam called out, his own gun held tightly in his hand. “You wanted to see me?”

Lucifer turned to take in the newcomer. “Well, Sam,” Lucifer smiled. “You don’t need that gun here. You know I’d never hurt you. Not really.”

Dean stepped up next to Lucifer, the colt aimed at his head. “Yeah? Well I’d hurt you.” Dean pulled back the hammer on the gun. “So suck it.” And pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out, echoing off the trees as Lucifer fell to the ground, the hole in his forehead steaming. Sam and Dean shared a look, relief and disbelief flooding through them. Their victory was short lived however as the sound of Lucifer suddenly gasping snapped their attention back to him.

“Ooooowww,” he groaned as he pushed himself back to his feet. “Where did you get that?” He rubbed at his forehead before suddenly backhanding Dean, sending the man flying into a tree, effectively knocking him out.

Lucifer turned back to face Sam, the hole in his head gone. “Now. Where were we?”

*****

George sat against the concrete wall of the basement, the fire surrounding Castiel causing her to sweat. The gouges at her back burned, the dirt and debris from the wall digging into them while something else, something unseen seemed to increase the pain tenfold, leaving her unable to stand on her own. Drops of sweat began to bead along her forehead as her body struggled to keep functioning. All of her energy was spent focusing on breathing through the pain while her eyes trailed a pacing and smug Meg.

Castiel hadn’t spoken to her since Lucifer had left, but Meg had been happy to keep her company, retelling some of the demon’s favorite stories from George’s torture.

“Oh, what about that time you were strung up by those giant rusty fishhooks?” Meg gave George a satisfied look, her nose scrunching as her words were smooth and spread out, relishing in the story. “Now, I wasn’t there but I heard it was a sight to behold. The way they curved in and out of your body.” She let out a breath, her eyes unfocused as if she could picture it in her head. “I bet it was a work of art. All that steel breaking through all that pretty skin? And some of the places they carved into?” She whistled out a long low sound, turning to Castiel with a feigned shocked look. “I bet it would make even angel-boy here blush.” The demon took a few steps. “Ya know,” her eyes sparkled as she looked down at George with a smug smile and a sing-song voice. “I'm pretty sure I heard your screams all the way up here.” She smiled evilly at George as she continued to pace around the fire. “Nothing quite like what they did with those knives and hammers though, am I right? I mean, all that blood.”

Castiel’s face was hard as his eyes trailed the demon. “You seem pleased with the current situation,” Cas said, catching the smile spread across Meg's face. His words were an attempt—any attempt—to get Meg off the topic of George’s months spent in hell. He knew what demons were capable of, but having it shared in detail, what had been done to the woman he’d come to care about? It left a darkness in his stomach he wasn’t familiar with. Beyond that, Castiel didn’t want George to endure her pain anymore. She deserved peace.

Meg chuckled. “Why wouldn’t I be? The Winchesters are pinned down, their friends about to die. George Finley is here, ready to do whatever it takes to save them.” She looked over at George who refused to return her look. “Even if it means following Lucifer himself.” Meg looked back at Cas with glee. “We’re gonna win, angel boy. You cloud-hopping pansies lost the whole damn universe. All because of one little woman who thought she could be something better than daddy’s little tool.”

George refused to look at the demon, but she couldn’t stop her eyes from flooding with the tears she’d been fighting to hold back. Despair and guilt swamped her. Raphael had been right. Al Finley had been right. There was no higher power to save her. There never had been. All her life she’d been a tool, wielded by an evil man, her selfishness getting the ones she cared about killed. And now? Now, she was still just a damn tool, wielded this time by the devil himself. George didn’t think she could hate herself anymore than she did right then.

She wanted to scream. Against the pain of her injuries, against the pain of knowing she’d been lied to again, used again. Against all of it. She’d been told she needed to keep the brothers together, change their story. But the only thing it seemed she had done was be the devil’s puppet.

“Lucifer's gonna take over heaven,” Meg continued with gleeful smugness. “We’re going to heaven, Clarence,” she laughed.

“Strange,” Cas said confidently. “Because I heard a different theory from a demon named Crowley.”

Meg’s glee fell from her face like a brick falling from a roof. “You don’t know Crowley.”

“He believes Lucifer is just using demons to achieve an end.” Cas stepped closer to the edge of the fire, his eyes challenging. “And that once he does, he’ll destroy you all.”

“You’re wrong.” Meg stepped up to Castiel, meeting his gaze through the fire, the smugness returning. “Lucifer is the father of our race. Our creator. Your god may be a dead beat, but mine walks the earth.”

His eyes grew cold but honest with his next words. “He also believes that George will never side with Lucifer.”

Meg let a smug smile slowly spread across her face as she stepped closer to the angel caught in the ring of holy fire. “Then explain how she’s here now, Clarence.”

Castiel’s hand moved subtly, something he had been doing the entire time. His final action caused a bolt from a large pipe behind Meg to finally break free. Released, it slammed into the demon, throwing her through the fire and into Castiel's arms. Locked in a ring of holy fire and cut off from heaven’s power, he found himself unable to cast the demon out, making Meg laugh.

“So what can you do, you impotent sap?” Meg asked, amused.

“I can do this,” Castiel growled. He threw Meg’s body backwards from his arms onto the floor, her torso landing across the flames. Using her screaming body as a bridge, he escaped the prison of holy oil that had held him captive.

Wasting no time, Castiel ran to George, grabbing her hand and yanking her to her feet. A scream escaped her mouth as she worked to clamp her lips shut against the pain. Cas knew she was suffering from injuries, knew the thoughts that were running rampant through her head, leaving destruction and despair in their wake, but they needed to get out of there.

Pushing through the pain, and with some help from the angel, George followed Castiel obediently. Anything to get away from Lucifer’s strings. The slices across her back screamed at her to stop moving but she had to get out first. She forced the thoughts that clawed at her, focusing on her footsteps as a fever seemed to rapidly take over her body. One step at a time. Lucifer couldn’t win. She wouldn’t allow it. Nor would she let Al win.

The mantra began to push away the thoughts the devil seemed to have planted. She wasn’t a tool. She wasn’t the devil’s puppet. And Dean and Sam loved and cared about her.

As soon as they reached the streets above, Castiel turned back to George. “I need to find the Winchesters.” He looked at George with a hard look. “I won’t leave you here, but you can’t come with me.”

“Why?” George frowned as she fought against the blurry vision and swaying world, the light sweat forming at her hairline turning into something more evident as pain seemed to swallow her whole.

The word had barely escaped her lips before Cas reached out and touched her forehead, sending her crashing down, falling to her knees in the middle of a parking lot. The angel didn’t possess the power of heaven to heal her or kill demons, but he thankfully, at least, could still send George away.

George felt the asphalt slam into her hands and knees as she collapsed in pain, a screaming cry forcing its way from her lips as the last bit of her energy drained from her limbs. The sudden sound alerted nearby nurses who came running to her aid. It seemed Castiel had sent her to the nearest hospital.

Quickly, the nurses helped her into the ER where she was laid on her side on a gurney, a doctor fighting to cut through her clothes at the back. George wanted to fight, but something kept her pinned to the bed. Adrenaline swamped her body at the sudden touch of so many, the sounds of so many talking over each other. She wanted to fight the hands that tried to help, wanted to get back to the boys, back to Dean, but something she couldn’t see kept her held in place. George fought against it harder, now convinced she knew the source of what was holding her down. Lucifer.

The thought brought terror to her as she worked to fight against Lucifer’s restraints. Yet even as the thought swelled, something in her mind warred against it just as strongly. Rather than feeling dread and anguish holding her down, George suddenly felt something else. Something familiar.

Whatever held her there, her struggles were futile and useless. The only thing it seemed she could do was scream with the pain that seemed to increase tenfold as they exposed her back to the chilled atmosphere of the hospital.

As they rolled her down the hall, her eyes caught sight of Ellen, stepping from one of the rooms.

“George?”

In the next moment, that familiar feeling that held her down swelled into something much larger, something almost cosmic. Something warm and comforting. A kind of soothing peace seemed to wash over her, down to her soul, before everything in George’s world gently faded to black.

*****

Light slowly filtered through George’s lids as she gradually woke from whatever deep slumber she had been placed in. Blinking a few times, she allowed her eyes to adjust to her surroundings, the light of the sun filtering through the windows indicating it was early evening.

George blinked a few more times, processing where she was. Rather than the sights and sounds of a hospital room, she found herself laid out on her side in the back seat of an old car. The trees and posts along the road whipped past, an early morning sun lighting up the blue sky. Looking at the front, she discovered Ellen was driving, Jo leaning against the window in the front seat beside her.

As if sensing her awakeness, Ellen cast a quick look over her shoulder. A motherly smile lit her features as she met George’s eyes over her shoulder. “Glad to see you’re awake.”

George gingerly pulled her arm beneath her in an attempt to sit up more, but was stopped by Ellen reaching back between the two front seats, carefully pushing her back down. “I wouldn’t try that if I were you, honey.”

George understood Ellen’s warning. With the small movement, she could feel stitches and skin pulling against the gauze that wrapped around her torso, sending sparks of fire and pain through her body.

“Where are we?” George croaked out, swallowing against a dry throat.

Ellen’s eyes danced at the passing buildings. “About ten minutes away from your friend’s place.”

Ignoring Ellen’s suggestion and the pain, George pushed herself up enough to look out the window at her head. Familiar buildings passed by. Buildings of a town she had spent a year living in. Carefully, she let her body slide back down onto the seat, her head resting against a pillow someone had shoved under her head. Looking forward, she watched Jo, the woman’s head resting easily against the passenger door window.

“How’s Jo?” She asked, grateful that Jo was at least here and not in some morgue.

“Alive,” came Jo’s soft voice in response. She shifted in her seat as if to demonstrate she was still with the living.

Ellen looked over at her daughter, a fond smile lifting her lips. “She’s gonna be okay. Thanks to you.”

The news comfortably warmed George inside. Jo had survived. Her second question fell from her lips, her voice heavy with worry and an empty hope, Lucifer’s taunts eating away at her. “What about the boys?”

Ellen looked in the mirror again before focusing back on the road. “Last I heard, Sam and Dean were headed to take on Lucifer at a farm near the town he was holed up in.” Her eyes met with George’s over her shoulder for a second before she turned back, her head shaking subtly. George knew the words before Ellen even spoke. “It’s been quiet ever since.”

George looked down at the floorboard, sorrow and emptiness flooding her chest. She had been selfish. That in turn had gotten the people she cared about most in this world killed. Before her mind could spiral any further, however, her attention was distracted when her eyes landed on her duffel bag resting on the floorboard beside her. Her eyes snapped up to Ellen in confusion. “You have my bag?” Last she knew, it had been left in the trunk of the Impala back in Missouri.

“Yeah. Someone at the hospital said you came in with it.”

George frowned at the words. She knew for a fact she hadn’t had her bag with her. Had Castiel somehow gotten it to her? A rock settled in her chest. Had Lucifer somehow had a hand in it?

Careful of her injury, she slowly unzipped the duffel and peered in. It was definitely her bag. Her folded clothes filled the majority of the space, her journal resting almost perfectly on top. To the side, half buried, her gun peaked out from beneath a flannel George had stolen from Dean before her death. And sitting perfectly beside her journal sat the orange bottle of meds the doc had given her from the pontianak hunt with Garth. Doc had winked and called them ‘miracle pills’. He’d given her six and instructed her to take four. Whatever they were, he hadn’t been joking. They’d worked miracles.

George grabbed the bottle and held it up. The remaining two pills rattled around gently with the movement. She leaned forward as best she could and tapped the bottle against Jo's shoulder gently.

“Take these.”

“What are they?” Jo asked softly as she took the bottle and examined it.

“Miracle pills,” was all George said.

The car hit a bump in the road, sending a new wave of pain through George's torso, the fire spreading from her back into her chest. It mixed with the pain of not knowing what had happened to her boys.

George clutched her eyes shut for a moment as she took everything in. She had been so stupid. She’d played right into Lucifer's hands. The self-hatred that had formed in her chest grew steadily, its roots spreading and digging painfully deep.

After another few minutes of silent driving, George’s body rocked gently as Ellen brought the car to a stop and looked through the passenger window up at the large Victorian house. Seasonal flowers bloomed gracefully in the window boxes that sat beneath each of the first floor windows. The grass covered only the ground surrounding the paths from the road and driveway to the front steps of the porch. The rest of the yard was covered in bushes, flowers, an assortment of trees, and various other plants. It seemed like the doc had grown his own personal Botanical Gardens.

Ellen looked back at George with hesitant eyes. “Sure your friend will be okay with this?” Her face softened as she saw the look of pain and anguish on George's clenched face. It was clear there was something else at work for George’s injury. The doctor had warned Ellen when she was checking George out against doctor’s orders that she would need serious treatment a small town doctor probably couldn’t provide. Ellen had considered listening to the doctor, but Dean and George had both insisted on getting Jo to Dr. Perkins. She just hoped he could do something to help George.

George barely nodded, forcing the pain from her face as she took a deep breath. “Yeah. He'll be okay.” She tried to push herself up, but winced, her muscles contracting in defense of the flash of pain it caused.

Ellen leaned through the gap in the front seats and laid a gentle hand on George’s shoulder to keep her from moving any further. “Hey, just hold on a second okay? Let me help you. The doctors weren’t too happy I checked you out when I did.” She quickly undid her seat belt, checking on Jo. “But if anyone asks, I’m your mother and your name is Katie.”

George couldn’t stop the small smile that formed from the made up story. Despite her desire to get out and up to the house herself, her body wouldn’t cooperate, forcing George to take a moment to breathe through the pain. Ellen jogged around the car, opening the front door where Jo sat and worked on helping her exit the car onto the sidewalk. George would need more help than just Ellen could offer. She hoped whoever this doctor was, he would be able to help get George up the long walk.

With another deep breath, and ignoring Ellen’s scolding looks and motherly protests, George pushed herself up, gritting against the fiery pain shooting across her back. Her limbs shook, threatening to give up all together, as she fought to sit up fully.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed, you know that?” Ellen scolded as she reached out and opened George's door. Jo stood beside her, one arm wrapped around Ellen's shoulders, the other gently pressed against her side.

The sound of a familiar voice rushing to them reached George's ears.

“Oh dear heaven! George! What happened?” Sue ran down Dr. Perkins’ open path from the house, hurrying up to them. Finding Ellen and Jo standing, she passed them and moved to George’s open door.

Slowly but carefully, Sue helped a determined George crawl from the car, her hands gentle and supportive. “You shouldn’t be walking!” she scolded with concern. “Dr. Perkins!” Her voice carried back to the house as she wrapped an arm around George’s shoulders, careful of the wounds across her lower back and side. George swayed slightly, her head forcing her to take a moment to allow the world to stop spinning.

The doctor appeared in his front doorway a moment later. Seeing the newly arrived guests, he hurried down the front steps of the house as quickly as his old legs could carry him.

“Dear me,” he whispered out as he reached the women now slowly making their way up his front walk. “Here, let me help.” He reached out towards George, only for her to gently swat his hand away and limply point at Jo.

“Jo needs you. Help her. I’m fine, doc.” Her words contradicted her appearance. Her body shook, her breathing becoming strained and ragged as her feet shifted up the path rather than stepped. More color seemed to drain from her face with every passing second. George knew this was more than just a hellhound wound keeping her down. Lucifer had done something, though what, George could only guess.

Ellen shook her head when the doc turned a raised brow to them. “Don’t listen to her. I’ve got Jo.”

Dr. Perkins nodded in satisfaction at the answer. “Into the living room. First door on the right,” he instructed with a motion to the house before turning to George. Steadily, he and Sue helped her up the path and a few stairs, trailing behind the other two as they made their way into the living room as directed. The doc led George to one of the couches, instructing and helping her to lay on her stomach across the soft cushions. Once he was certain she was settled, he left the room, offering a simple explanation of being right back.

“What happened to you two poor souls?” Sue cooed softly as she looked between the two injured women. Her hand hovered over Jo before pulling back, as if she were desperate to ease their pain and wounds in some way but unable to.

Ellen wasn’t sure what answer to give, looking at George for guidance. She couldn’t be sure if these friends of George’s knew about the dark side of the world and she wasn’t about to open that can of worms if they didn’t.

George pulled her hands beneath her, trying to sit up again, her voice quiet and strained. “It’s a long story, Sue.”

Dr. Perkins walked back in with a mason jar of white paste in his hands, moving over to Jo as he scolded George, eyeing her over the top of his glasses. “You try to pull yourself up again and I’ll strap you down to that couch, young lady. Now stay there until I can get a better look at you.”

George silently obeyed.

The doctor turned back to his companion. “Sue, could I get you to grab my medical bag from my office down the hall? I’d like to take a look at these ladies’ injuries.” He looked between Ellen and Jo. “If that is all right with you, of course.”

Jo looked at George who nodded. “He’s good. I’m sure the doctors at the ER did an okay job, but doc’s got miracle hands.” She smiled in amusement at her chosen words as Sue returned, bringing the doctor’s bag with her.

Offering a silent nod in permission, Jo leaned back against the couch, allowing Dr. Perkins to carefully pull away the hospital bandage on her stomach in order to inspect her wounds with freshly gloved hands.

“I’d say the doctor at the ER did a fine job.” He gently prodded the skin around the stitched area causing Jo to wince. He offered her a sympathetic smile before looking over the wound again. “No infection, that’s good. It will take a while to heal, I’m afraid. These aren’t shallow slices. I have a salve I’d like to put over it if that’s all right. It’ll help with the healing process.”

Jo nodded her permission again. As the cooling salve spread across her skin and wound, Jo felt her body relax with the soothing sensation it spread through her wounds.

Finished, Dr. Perkins looked at Ellen over his glasses. “Make sure she rests for the next week.” He replaced the bandage, securing fresh medical tape, before standing up and looking over at Sue.

Without having to say anything, the woman nodded in understanding. “Antibiotics and pain,” she nodded. “Got it.” Sue looked over at George with compassion before nodding to herself. “I’ll head over now. Let me know if you require something else for George, please.” She looked at Ellen. “Does your daughter have any allergies, or is she on any other medications?”

Ellen looked between the doc and Sue. “Jo took some pills George gave her.” She knew the importance of mixing potentially potent medications and didn’t want to cause more problems for her daughter.

Dr. Perkins looked at George over his frames. “George?”

George’s head refused to raise, her eyes blinking in pain despite the lightness of her words. “They were two of your miracle pills, doc. She needed them.”

The doctor nodded in understanding. He gave Sue a quick nod with a look that seemed to hold an entire conversation. Sue simply nodded in understanding before she darted from the room and out the front door.

Dr. Perkins turned to Ellen next, his face comforting and reassuring. “Nothing to worry about. What Jo took will only make her recovery easier.” He looked at Jo, a warm grandfatherly smile lifting his cheeks. “You’re a strong young lady. You’re going to pull through just fine.”

Jo smiled, a warmth filling her with his words. “Thanks to George.”

The doctor looked over at the other woman, his face turning into a frown as he took in her form. “Yes. George. Let’s see what sort of trouble she has decided to get herself into this time, shall we?” He stepped over to the woman in question, taking a seat on the coffee table beside the couch.

Ellen chuckled at his words. “Why am I not surprised this isn’t the first time she’s gotten herself into trouble?”

“I’m fine, doc,” George defended despite the wince she couldn’t hold back. “No point in worrying over me.”

Dr. Perkins sent her another scolding look. “You just let me be the judge of that, hmm? I’m the one with the medical degree after all.”

George tried to hold back a hiss as the doctor carefully lifted her shirt and pulled back the large bandages laid across her back.

Doc shook his head, the crease between his brows deepening. He looked from the wound, red and angry, to Ellen. “Did they give her anything at the hospital for infection?”

Ellen shook her head, her eyes unable to tear away from the wound at George’s back. It hadn’t looked anywhere near that severe when they’d left the hospital. “I don’t know. It took me forever just to convince them to let me take her.”

George didn’t hear the question nor the following answer. The breeze of air seemed to fuel the fire spreading through her, the intensity growing. In the blink of an eye the gashes felt as if they were growing, her skin splitting open. The fire spread through her body as if someone were dragging a dull blade through her skin and muscles. George clutched her eyes shut, her jaw clenching, her fists clamping around the cushion beneath her as the room began to spin and sweat began to form at her temple.

Lucifer’s words echoed in her ears with each throb of pain. Maybe what you need is a little motivation. A little reminder of what would happen if you say no.

Delirium began to set in. Nausea roiled in her stomach as the pain increased with every tick of the clock, the fire growing in intensity. Her teeth clenched, her lips fighting to keep the scream that crawled up her throat at bay.

“George!” She heard the doctor’s words break through the pain for a moment, his voice an icy balm, the flames seeming to shy away from his deep and soothing timbre. “You’re going to be okay, George. You can fight this. Just hold on, my dear.”

The last thing she felt was a calming coolness spread through her body, the pain vanishing and her muscles easing, before her mind fell and she slipped into a peaceful and dreamless sleep.

****

Lucifer had succeeded in raising Death. Sam and Dean had witnessed it themselves, Castiel beside them.

As soon as it had happened, they ran. The boys and Cas had run away from Lucifer, away from the town. Out of the entire freaking state. And they’d immediately headed east towards Dr. Perkins’ house.

Sam had called Bobby, letting him know what had happened. Everything that had happened. Including George. Ellen hadn’t called yet, which didn’t bode well on its own, but the boys convinced themselves she just hadn’t had time.

Thankfully, Castiel had informed them of George’s escape, having been sent to the hospital. The boys understood. Cas had done his best to get her to safety before he came to help them.

Death was now on the loose and Lucifer was the one responsible. It wasn’t safe for anyone to stick around, especially knowing George was injured.

The boys had checked the hospital first only to be told that George’s mother had checked her out against the hospital’s wishes, insisting that she was taking her to their personal doctor. The boys knew it could only be Ellen and the personal doctor could only mean Dr. Perkins.

And so, the boys were racing to the Doc’s house. Dean and Sam had both tried to call George, Ellen’s, and Jo’s numbers, only to get no answer. The phones wouldn’t even ring, the voicemail picking up immediately each time. Worry was starting to gnaw through Dean’s gut by the time they hit the doc’s state.

“She’ll be okay, Dean.” Sam tried to reassure his brother, but even he couldn’t be so sure this time. There was no telling what the hell had happened with Lucifer. Castiel hadn’t shared much, only that he could confirm that Lucifer wanted George. And when she had refused to have anything to do with him, she’d been struck down with pain that he couldn’t see. He hadn’t expounded on any of his words despite Dean and Sam’s pleading. In truth, the angel wasn’t sure what had happened to George. Whatever it was, he worried that it would leave scars deeper than anything had before. Those were thoughts he wouldn’t share with the Winchesters. It would only devastate them and right then they needed hope rather than more pain and despair.

He’d only wished them luck before going his separate way, his search for God more imperative than ever.

It was late in the evening, the last rays of sun fading, when they arrived at Dr. Perkins’ house. Soft warm lights lit a few of the downstairs windows, letting them know someone was home. Knocking on the door, the brothers stood shifting as they waited impatiently for an answer.

The good doctor was the one to answer. “Ah, agents,” he said with an approving nod. “I was wondering when I’d see you again. What can I do for you?”

Dean and Sam didn’t bother with the agent pretense. They just needed to know everyone was okay.

“Uh, listen doc,” Sam began, but Dean cut him off, his patience already past spent.

“We’re looking for our friends. George, Ellen, and Jo. Are they here?”

Doctor Perkins didn’t even flinch at the question or the abrupt and hasteful delivery. He simply nodded. “Yes, they’re here. Please, come in.” He stepped to the side, holding the door open as the boys stepped through into the entry. Dr. Perkins closed the door behind them, noting their anxious energy on full display. “You may rest easy, boys. All three of them will be all right.”

With those reassuring words, Dean felt some of his anxiety and worry drain away, though not completely. He wouldn’t be okay until he saw them with his own eyes; until he held George safely in his arms.

“George, I’m afraid,” the doctor continued, focusing on Dean as if he knew he needed to hear the words most, “will take a bit more time though.” He walked down the hall beside the entry stairs and through an open door on the left. It was a small sitting room with several couches, the room dim with the curtains drawn almost closed. Several lamps were lit, creating a comfortable and homey atmosphere.

It was there that the boys found Ellen and Jo. Upon their entry, Ellen stood from her seat, happy to see them alive. She wasted no time pulling each of them into a hug.

“How you feeling?” Dean asked, moving over to sit beside Jo who was leaning comfortably back against the couch. He marked the color that had returned to her skin and the easiness of her breathing.

Jo smiled slightly, sitting up more with the company. “Surprisingly, I feel pretty good. George was right. Doc here has miracle pills.” She smiled at the doctor who stepped over to Dean, as if waiting for the man’s next question.

“Where’s George?” Dean asked, having noticed immediately that she wasn’t there. The painful and sorrowful looks that crossed Ellen’s and Jo’s faces cracked something in his chest. He stood abruptly, turning to the doctor for answers.

Doc nodded, his voice calm but heavy. “She’s upstairs in the guestroom, resting. I’m afraid her injuries were more severe and beyond what the hospital could properly treat. She’s still asleep, but I can take you up to see her if you’d like.”

Dean nodded without hesitation, following the doctor out and up the stairs, leaving Sam behind with their friends.

Sam turned back to Ellen and Jo, his shoulders sinking visibly with relief at the sight of his friends recovering. “I’m glad you guys are okay.”

Ellen smiled lovingly at her daughter. “Me too.” Sitting back down next to Jo, she looked up at Sam, her tender face turning into something a little more wary. “You know anything about the good doctor here?” She asked quietly, her eyes flicking to the empty doorway for a brief second.

Sam shrugged, taking a seat on the edge of the couch beside theirs. “George worked with him for about a year when she left the hunting life. They became pretty good friends during that time. He was there for her when we couldn’t be. Why?”

Ellen shook her head slightly, looking at the door the doctor and Dean had left through. “I’m not sure. But there’s something about him.”

“Something bad?” Sam asked, following her gaze, worry rising up in his chest.

Ellen thought for a moment, biting on her lower lip before shaking her head. “No, no I don’t think so.” She looked back over at Sam. “What I do know, though, is that George seems to have some friends in some high places.”

“What do you mean?” Jo asked, her own curiosity piqued.

Ellen leaned back beside her daughter, angling herself to see both of them better. “Well, for starters, something brought her back from the dead. Then there’s what Bobby has said; that she’s found herself inexplicably saved from some pretty deadly situations. And then now? These past few days? She stood face to face with Lucifer. That girl should be dead. Trapped at the very least. But she’s not.” Ellen paused, letting her words sink in. “And then there’s her good friend doc.” She pointed at Jo’s side. “Jo was bleeding out, Sam. She was barely holding it together. Sure, the hospital did a decent job in patching her up, but a few hours with the good doctor and she’s miraculously on the mend. As if she’s had a few days of healing time, not just a few hours.” Ellen shrugged, uncertain in how to process any of the information. “Like I said. Friends in high places.”

Sam took in the information along with all of the miraculous situations George seemed to be saved from. Dean had claimed that Raphael believed it had been Lucifer that brought her back, but Sam didn’t buy it. He agreed with Ellen’s train of thought. Despite the angels and all of heaven wanting her gone, it seemed someone high up on the chain of life was looking out for George.

*****

Dr. Perkins opened one of the closed doors at the top of the stairs and stepped aside, allowing Dean free entry. “Try to keep it low, not too loud. And no more than a few minutes. It’s imperative she gets her sleep.”

Dean took a few steps into the room, pausing to look over George who was fast asleep on her stomach. He looked back at the doctor who waited patiently in the doorway. He swallowed, almost afraid of the answer to his question. “Give it to me straight, doc. How bad is it?”

Dr. Perkins looked at George for a moment in thought before looking up at Dean. There was a familiar look in his eyes that Dean had seen before. Months ago now, when he’d looked up at Dean from the park bench the same way. It was a knowing look. Knowing what, Dean wasn’t sure.

“There was something different about her wounds,” Doc said, his voice quiet. “Something I haven’t seen in—” he waved a hand at his side, “well, let’s just say it was something different and leave it at that for now. But I managed to clean it out.” He held Dean’s gaze, his eyes almost sad. “But she’s taken quite a hit this time around, son. It’s much more than just what you see on the surface.” He looked over at George, his face softening like a grandfather looking over his injured grandchild. Dean watched the doctor, the man’s eyes sorrowful, as if he could see something Dean couldn’t.

“She’s going to need all of you now more than ever.” Dr. Perkins looked back at Dean. “But she’s going to try and push you away now more than ever. Do me a favor, would you? Don’t let her this time.”

With a final look at George and a silent nod for Dean, the doctor left, closing the door softly behind him.

Dean moved farther into the room, taking a seat in the chair that had been placed beside the bed. He sat there, letting the minutes tick by in silence, as he simply watched George, her back slowly rising and lowering with each breath. Bare shoulders peeked out from beneath a light sheet that had been pulled up over her body. Dean could make out the edges of the bandages stretching across her back beneath.

Her dark hair fell slightly across her face, a face that finally held a look of peace as she slept. Dean reached out slowly, gently pushing the hair back. His eyes stayed trained on her face.

The events of the past two days played through his mind. Words that Castiel had told him; about what had occurred between George and Lucifer. About a choice that had to be made. He thought about George’s decision to confront Lucifer by herself, leaving them to escape to safety. He thought about Raphael’s words, about Crowley’s words. Desperately, Dean wanted to believe—to trust—that everything that George had done up until that point had been the right thing.

But something held him back. Maybe it was fear, maybe it was his own failings, maybe it was the deceptive words of an angel or the honest words of a demon; he didn’t know. Whatever it was, it was distorting his trust of George. Or rather, of what her choices had led them to. Would his and Sam’s lives be much different if she wasn’t there? Would they have had a better chance of taking down Lucifer if ‘the devil’s tool’ wasn’t riding in their back seat? Would it be better if she stayed with Bobby for a while and left them to go ahead alone?

Dean leaned forward, his palms scrubbing over his eyes. His mind felt as if it had been thrown into a blender and set on high. But someone had forgotten to put the lid on and it was not only scrambled, but thrown across the entire room, leaving him unable to sort anything out. His mind couldn’t seem to find a coherent or honest thought as he sat there watching George. Dean couldn’t seem to find up from down.

The minutes on the clock on the nightstand flipped past.

One minute.

Two minutes.

Five minutes.

Dean sat there, just watching George breathe, not saying a word. There wasn’t one to say.

When another minute slowly ticked by, he silently rose from the chair and left the room.

Chapter Text

Dean’s boots echoed off the hardwood floors as he stepped into the small sitting room the others were gathered in. The doctor hadn’t returned yet, leaving the four friends a moment to themselves.

Three sets of worried eyes settled on Dean as he entered.

“How is she?” Sam asked, anxious for good news.

Dean cleared his throat quietly as he still tried to work through his thoughts, his head nodding in reassurance of his words. “Doc says she’ll be okay.” He stood near the couches, looking over his family sitting around. Jo looked good, healthy even, for someone who had gone toe to toe with a hellhound in the dirt only the day before. It eased something in his chest to know that she would recover fully.

As if summoned by the sound of his name, the doctor walked into the small sitting room with Sue trailing quietly just behind. Each of them carried a small tray containing various small snacks, as well as a small pot of coffee and accompanying mugs.

“I thought perhaps you folks might like something to tide you over til supper. I know it’s been a long day or two for you all.” He set his tray on the coffee table, Sue following suit. He looked up to see Dean standing across from him. Though disappointment filled the doctor’s features for a moment as if reading something that hadn’t gone the way he preferred, the older man settled into a wingback chair, remaining quiet and keeping his thoughts to himself.

Sue pulled Dean’s attention away from the Doctor, her voice light and almost giddy. “Oh, I was right. You two are cute.” She smiled brightly at the brothers before taking a seat in the matching wingback chair beside the doctor’s, a simple yet elegant table separating them.

Sam adjusted his position in his seat, finding her comment awkward, while Ellen and Jo found amusement in it, teasing smiles appearing on their faces. “Uh, thanks?” Sam offered with uncertainty.

Sue shrugged in half embarrassment. “Oh, I apologize. I was referring to my conversation with George back when our paths crossed at a diner in Ohio.”

Sam frowned. “You saw her in Ohio?”

Sue nodded in half amusement. “Oh yes. She was eating when I stopped in.” Her words rushed out as she added to her explanation. “I stopped in for a bite. I was there for a conference.” She smoothed her hands over her skirt, her eyes darting to the doctor before she moved on, her words more natural. “It was good to see her. She assured me you two were keeping her extra safe.”

Jo and Ellen found amusement in the woman’s demeanour, a small smile pulling at their lips as they shared a look.

Dean couldn’t find the amusement the others found. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling at that moment, but he knew he didn’t find anything funny right then.

The doc smiled at Sam and the ladies, his voice light. “You’ll have to excuse my friend here. Sue tends to get a little over-excited about things.” His eyes brightened as he looked between the boys. “I don’t believe you’ve met Sue, have you? Yes,” he nodded, gesturing to each of them, “this is my friend, Sue. Sue, this is…” he paused, looking between the boys. “I apologize, my memory doesn’t seem to be what it once was. What were your names again?”

Dean eyed the doctor carefully. The man had that knowing look again. Dean held the doctor’s knowing gaze for a moment, almost in challenge. A funny feeling crept through him, accompanying the idea that the good doctor already knew who they were. Something told him the doctor knew more than he was letting on. Maybe a lot more. Well, Dean was tired of people playing with him. With him, with Sam, with George. He was sick of it all. With a spark of anger, he kept his gaze locked on the doctor’s as he answered, his voice taught and clipped. “I’m Dean, this is my brother Sam.” He tore his gaze away to acknowledge Sue with nothing more than a look before stepping over to stand beside where Jo sat on the couch.

Sam frowned at his brother as he awkwardly smiled in half apology to the doctor and his companion. He knew his brother well enough to know something was wrong, though he couldn’t figure out what. Ellen and Jo carefully watched Dean, unsure of what was going on.

The doctor nodded, as if in approval of Dean’s answer. “It’s good to finally meet you, Sam and Dean.”

“Oh, same here,” Sue gushed lightly as she scooted to the edge of her seat. “I’m so glad George has you two in her life. All of you,” she said, including Ellen and Jo. “She had lost so much when she moved here. It was nice to finally see that spark back in her eye.”

The doctor hummed in agreement, wiping a cloth across his glasses before replacing them to rest on the lower end of his nose. “Yes, well, I just hope they’ll continue to be in her life.” The words were light, but they scraped at Dean’s ears.

Sam looked at the doctor, his brows creasing in confusion. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

Sue suddenly went quiet, her hands carefully folding in her lap as she looked at the doctor and seemed to wait for something.

“That’s a good question, my boy,” Doctor Perkins said as he leaned forward and poured himself his own cup of coffee before leaning back in his chair. “Why wouldn’t you be?”

Something in Dean snapped. Pain, anger, betrayal, loss, defeat, a culmination of anything and everything that had happened—whatever it was, it had reached a breaking point, and Dean had had enough. It felt as if something had been nudging at him for a while, and now, whatever it was, it gave up on nudging and seemed to shove him forward, the words snapping from his lips. “You know, I’m growing tired of your riddles, old man. If you’ve got something to say, then why not just say it?”

“Dean!” Sam hissed, not understanding what was going on with his brother. Since they’d left the hospital, Dean had been on edge, something eating away at him. Sam had seen it but left it be. He wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have.

“No,” Dean argued from where he still stood, his focus on the doctor, “I get the feeling the doc here knows a lot more than he’s letting on. But whenever anyone tries to get any information from him, he’s just full of riddles and misdirects.” Dean looked over at Sam. “I’m tired of people giving us half the information. For once—especially concerning George—I’d like to know what the hell is going on. Why the hell does he think we wouldn’t be there for George”

The room fell silent and tense, all eyes glued to the pair. Dr. Perkins leaned back in his chair, relaxed as though he didn’t have a care in the world. He studied Dean for a long moment, as if he could read his very soul.

Though Dean felt like fidgeting under the doctor’s knowing gaze, he held his ground, refusing to look away. They had been fighting everyone else’s war with dozens of unanswered questions and half-truths. At least here, he stood a chance of getting one answer.

The doctor calmly leaned forward, setting his coffee cup down before settling back into his chair, his hands resting leisurely on the arms. “Very well, I will give you answers, Dean.” He looked at Sam before turning his attention back to the older brother. “You are correct. There is a lot that I know. To begin with, I know you’re not some ISB agent. You are the Winchester brothers, sons of John and Mary Winchester. Secondly, I know that the four of you, and George and Bobby Singer included, are hunters.”

This took all of them—with the exception of Sue—by surprise. While Dean had suspected he held back some things, he hadn’t thought the doctor to know so much. Additionally, they hadn’t realized the doctor had known about hunters and monsters. How did he know these things? How long had he known? Had George told him?

As if hearing their unspoken questions, the doctor spoke up. “I’ve known since George first came to town.” He hesitated a moment before answering a little more truthfully, a subtle smile pulling at his lips. “Well, perhaps a bit before that.” The doctor smiled softly at the brothers’ wide-eyed looks. “Don’t think you boys are the only ones who know things. There’s a great deal that I know. More than you could ever hope to forget.”

The doctor leaned forward slightly, pinning Dean with a gaze, his voice tightening. The room seemed to hold its breath, darkening as if a cloud was passing over the sun. “And while I understand your overwhelming frustration with the state of things currently, Dean Winchester, it does not give you the right to come into my home and demand answers you have not earned.”

A tense silence fell over the room.

Sam was the first to break the silence, his voice quiet. “What did you mean when you asked why we wouldn’t be in George’s life?”

Doctor Perkins studied Sam for a moment before he answered. “I believe that would be a question more suited for your brother. It’s time you boys had a serious conversation about where you stand with things. Especially concerning George Finley.” With his cryptic answer, the doctor pushed himself up out of his chair, taking a moment to steady himself before he looked at the four guests, his voice returning to something more pleasant, the mood of the room seeming to lighten with his standing, the light coming back up.

“Now, supper should be ready in about an hour. I suggest you all take that time to rest. Ellen, Jo, you are more than welcome to continue your stay here for as long as you need. The rooms have been made up and readied for your comfort.” The tone of his voice turned a little more cool, though remained cordial, as he addressed the brothers. “Boys, I’m sure George would find no problem in you staying at her apartment. I can get you the key if you’d like. Otherwise, the nearest hotel is three blocks down and four blocks over.”

And with that, he left the room, Sue silently trailing behind.

*****

Dean threw his bag onto the motel room bed, collapsing onto his stomach next to it. He was completely and utterly exhausted. There was no other way to put it. His mind had stopped working a while back, unable to process anything properly.

Sam collapsed onto the other bed on his back, his own bag beside him. His own thoughts of the past two days swirled in his mind. After a few minutes, he turned his head looking over at Dean.

“How was George?” He asked quietly. “Really,” he clarified. He had already asked the question, and it had already been answered by his brother, but the answer hadn’t sufficed. Sam wanted to know how George really was, beyond the generic ‘she’ll be okay.’

Dean remained quiet for a minute before finally answering, his head adjusting slightly to better see his brother. “I don’t know, man. Good, I guess.”

Sam frowned at the answer, sitting up. “Didn’t you see her?”

Dean groaned as he rolled himself over to his side and sat up, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palms. He knew Sam wouldn’t let this go. Dean wished he would. He just wanted to crawl into bed and not be forced to think about everything for a while.

“Yeah, I did,” he answered tiredly, letting his head hang as he looked over at his brother. “But there’s not much to say. She was asleep. Whatever happened to her back was covered. That’s it.”

“Come on, man, you’re telling me—” Sam began.

“Yes,” Dean snapped. “I’m telling you, Sam. There’s nothing to say. Doc, or whoever the hell he is, said she’ll be fine. So she’ll be fine.”

Sam knew something else was eating at Dean. He knew his brother well enough to see the signs. And what was more, he was pretty sure he knew what it was. He’d be a liar if he said the same things hadn’t crossed his own mind. The doctor’s seemingly needling and knowing comments hadn’t made things better.

Everything was a jumbled mess inside of Dean. He had once more almost lost the woman he loved; once more after she had gone and done something stupid. They’d promised each other they wouldn’t keep secrets; they’d keep each other in the loop. And then George had gone and tried to sacrifice herself to save the others. Without saying a damn word. Without at least giving him a chance to fight it. And what was more: she’d done it all to throw herself into Lucifer’s hands. Just like Raphael had predicted. Just like future-Dean had said. George would take her spot at Lucifer’s side. They hadn’t said what her reasoning had been, only that she would and had. Now, the idea didn’t seem so implausible.

Dean rubbed at his eyes once more, his frustration continuing to mount. Frustrated energy began to buzz through his body, leaving him unable to sit. He stood abruptly and began pacing the room, the flood of everything in his mind deepening.

“Dean,” Sam tried. “Talk to me, man. What’s going on?”

Dean stopped his pacing, running his hand through his hair. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“It’s clearly not nothing. What is going on?”

Dean felt like he wanted to run out of his skin. It was all mounding up inside of him, filling him up until he felt like he could burst.

“Dean,” Sam tried again, this time with more push.

Dean spun around with a burst of energy before it all suddenly drained away. Feeling defeated, Dean collapsed into the chair at the window, his eyes staring out the film covered glass.

“We almost lost her again, Sam.”

Sam let out his own defeated sigh. “Yeah. We almost did.”

Dean nodded, everything beating at him. Begging him to get the words out and off his chest. “But it’s more than that.”

“What do you mean?”

Dean looked over at his brother. “Castiel told me what happened between George and Lucifer in that basement.”

This was news to Sam. He had wondered what had happened, but hadn’t gotten a chance to ask Cas. “What? When?” Sam asked. “What happened?”

Dean leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he ran a hand over his head. “When you were talking to that nurse, trying to figure out who had checked George out. Cas filled me in some.” He paused, processing the conversation over and over again. “Lucifer gave her a choice.”

“What choice?”

Dean shook his head. “Cas doesn’t know. But he said she never gave the devil a chance to offer up whatever it was before she refused. Told him straight to his face that she wouldn’t side with him.”

Sam’s confusion only grew at his brother’s recent actions. “I’m confused. How is that a problem?”

Dean ran his hand through his hair again, his frustration returning before he leaned back, looking at Sam. “Castiel said that Lucifer basically confirmed it was him that brought her back. Everything that has happened recently, it all seems to point to George having been brought back to serve Lucifer, to change the story in his favor. He said she was exactly where she was meant to be. It had always been how things would work out.” Dean paused for a moment to find the strength to say the words swimming inside his head aloud, his throat tightening with the traitorous thoughts. “And if they were right about that, then what’s to say she won’t become Lucifer’s right hand man? I mean, she practically threw herself at the devil less than twenty-four hours ago just to save us.”

With this bit of information, Sam suddenly understood his brother’s pain and frustration. And he couldn’t help but agree. George had gone to Lucifer willingly. For the right reasons he knew, but she’d still gone to Lucifer. Beyond all of that, if George had been brought back by Lucifer, if everything she did, everything she had done, everything she had changed, was for his benefit, then how could they be sure they could trust her. It wasn’t that they couldn’t trust George Finley, it was that they couldn’t trust who was pulling her strings and nudging her actions.

Sam’s voice was quiet, his own thoughts stirring. “You really think it was Lucifer that had Cas bring her back?”

Dean shrugged, at a loss for anything. “I don’t know man. I don’t know what the hell to think about anything anymore.”

A few seconds passed before Sam asked his next question. “Is that what the doctor meant about asking why we wouldn’t be there for George? That we need to talk about where we stand in regard to her?” A dark thought crossed his mind, the embers of anger igniting in his chest over what his brother might be considering. “Wait, are you seriously planning on leaving George behind because of this Lucifer stuff?”

Dean was pulled from his deepening thoughts with those words. Admittedly and shamefully, the thought had crossed his mind when he sat in that chair beside George’s bed watching her breathing. Hearing the question aloud seemed to be what was needed to help him come to the only definite and obvious answer. He shook his head. “No.” Receiving a questioning look from his brother, Dean strengthened his answer. “No! No, man. I’m not leaving George. We are not leaving her.”

Satisfied with the answer, Sam moved on. “Then what was the doctor talking about? Why did he say you needed to answer the question?”

Dean leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as his hands slowly dragged down his face. He took a breath, his hands clasping in front of him, his confession quiet. “I’ll admit that it was a thought. Sitting next to her and knowing what had happened; wondering what came next, what Lucifer had said. It was a thought.” He ignored the condemning look Sam sent him as he continued, swallowing past the emotion in his throat. “The doc said George was going to need us now more than ever. All of us. That her wounds run deeper this time, and that she was going to try and push us away.”

Sam huffed out a breath. “Well, I’m not going anywhere. She can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Dean’s eyes stared at the nothingness before him. “Yeah,” he said softly, almost distracted. “Not that easily.”

With the words shared between them and determination and refusing to give up settling in Dean’s gut, he didn’t doubt how hard they would fight to stay with George and help her. The question now was how easy it would be for her to walk away? She’d done it before. With everything that had happened, had been said, was George going to leave them again?

Chapter Text

Dean didn’t know what to think anymore. Neither did Sam. Not really. They’d both agreed that neither one would give up on George, but that didn’t mean everything was okay again.

Knowing Castiel might be able to help shed some further light on the situation, Sam had called Castiel, carefully explaining their thoughts and uncertainty. He had stressed that they still loved and cared and trusted George, but it hadn’t waylaid Castiel’s upset.

As soon as Sam had mentioned that they were worried about what George was doing for Lucifer and if they could truly trust her actions going forward, Castiel had lost it, his anger flashing in his eyes. He’d demanded to know where the boys were staying, showing up a second later, his irritation and disbelief on full display.

“You three have been through so much together,” Castiel was yelling at Sam and Dean like two school boys sat before the principal. “Are you really going to stop trusting her now? After everything?”

“It’s not her we don’t trust, Cas,” Dean defended as he paced the room. “It’s the one pulling her strings.”

Castiel’s face turned to stone, his voice firm. “Do you trust me, Dean?”

Dean shot the angel a confused look. “Yeah, Cas, of course I do.”

Castiel stepped closer to the brothers, pointedly looking at each of them in turn. “Then trust me when I say, I am certain, now more than ever, that it was not Lucifer who brought George back.” He focused his glare on Dean, his voice lowering slightly. “I once told you, Dean, that I couldn’t tell right from wrong anymore. Well, right now? More than anything, I know that bringing George back was the right thing to do. And I am convinced that Lucifer had nothing to do with it.”

Dean threw his arms up in defeat, wishing he could be as confident as the angel was. “You said it yourself, Cas, he practically confessed to being the one who brought her back.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed as he stepped closer to Dean, his voice condemning. “And isn’t George the one that has told you and your brother, over and over again, to never trust a demon? She said it’s never what you think it is. I trust George, Dean. More importantly, I trust whoever or whatever it was that brought her back. And so should you.”

The angel took a breath, a sudden sorrow flashing across his face. “What he did to her when she refused…” he shook his head as he looked at the boys. “If Lucifer wanted to bring someone back, wanted someone to change the story for him? He’d be a fool to choose George. We all know she’d fight to her last breath to save you and your brother, to save the people she cares about. Even if it somehow ends up being Lucifer that brought her back, I can guarantee that he isn’t the one pulling the strings. We all unfortunately know that George would cut them herself before she did anything to change anything in the devil’s favor.” He pinned the boys with another look, his voice turning hard once more.

“And anyone who doubts her or what she is capable of should be ashamed of themselves.”

*****

The next morning, Sam and Dean returned to Dr. Perkins’ house following a quick coffee at the local diner. They had both agreed that they would stick with George and anything would be done to make sure she didn’t walk away this time.

Ellen answered the door this time, the smile lighting up her face contagious.

“Looks like things are doing better here,” Sam said, returning her smile.

“Yeah. The doc makes for some interesting company.”

Dean soured slightly at the mention of the good doctor.

Ellen caught his mood shift, closing the front door behind them. “Hey, look. I don’t know what it is that’s going on between you and the doc, but it’s clear he cares about George. He saved my baby girl, Dean. He saved George. That’s all I need to know. You might consider thanking him instead of biting his head off this time around.”

Turning on her heel, she led the boys into the sun filled living room where Jo was seated, smiling as she conversed with Dr. Perkins.

Dean followed Sam into the living room, the younger brother taking a seat beside Jo at the doctor’s prodding. Dean, taking a seat on the other couch beside Ellen, nodded to the doctor, clearing his throat slightly as he worked up the courage to say what needed to be said. “I uh,” his hands fidgeted for a moment before he looked up at the doctor. “I guess I owe you an apology for last night. It’s been a long week and a lot has been happening. I’m just… I’m sorry.”

Dr. Perkins nodded in acceptance, a small smile gracing his face. “I just stopped by from work to check on my patients.” He looked at Jo with a warm smile. “I’m glad to find they’re recovering well.”

“George too?” Sam asked anxiously.

Dr. Perkins nodded. “Yes, George too. I was concerned for a bit there yesterday,” his eyes bounced to Dean for only a moment, “but I believe the worst is over.”

“I can’t thank you enough, doc. I don’t know how to repay you,” Ellen offered.

Doc waved her off. “Take care of each other. That’s all I can ask for.”

“How is George, doc? Really?” Dean asked quietly but anxiously.

Perkins looked at Dean with an understanding smile. “I think she’ll recover nicely. Seeing as you folks are hunters, I’m sure you’ll understand when I explain that there was something more to her wounds than just what the monster did.” His gaze turned introspective, his brows furrowing slightly as he thought over the wounds. “There was something darker.”

Silence held the room in a tense knot for a moment before the doctor shook his thoughts free, looking back up at the others. “I’ve cleaned out her wounds, but it will take some time for George to heal from it.” He looked over at Dean, his face softening, yet remaining full of warning. “She’s going to need her family when she wakes up.”

Again, he held that knowing look, but Dean didn’t demand more of an answer this time. This time, somehow, he knew. He knew what the doctor meant. George would need Dean. She would need Sam. She would need Bobby. And for more than just recovering physically. Something had happened to George when she’d faced Lucifer and she would need them to help pull her out of whatever pit she’d fallen into.

“When do you think she’ll be awake?” Jo asked.

The doctor looked down at his wrist watch. “Oh, she should be awake anytime now.” He looked over at Ellen. “There’s some broth in the fridge. If you wouldn’t mind getting her some when she wakes?”

Ellen nodded in agreement. “Of course.”

“Try to keep her on light foods until this evening. I’m cautiously optimistic she’ll have her appetite back by then.” He smiled kindly. “As long as you keep the visits quiet, you’re more than welcome to go see her when she wakes up. Knowing George, I’m sure she’ll want to get up and out of bed, but don’t let her until supper time. She needs the rest.”

Following a few more exchanged words and a goodbye, the doctor rose and headed towards the door, intent on returning to his work at the morgue. He paused at Dean’s side, resting a gentle hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I’m glad you were able to get some answers to your concerns,” Doc said quietly. “I’d hate to see you give up on George after everything.” His face softened into something more sorrowful. “George is going to need you, Dean. She’s going to need your reassurances. But they’re only going to work if you believe them yourself.” He opened his mouth as if to say something else, but instead closed it with a simple nod and a gentle pat on Dean’s shoulder. Without another word, he slipped from the room and back to work.

Dean sat unmoving for a moment before Ellen’s voice pulled him from his worried thoughts.

“You boys go on up, Jo and I can wait for our turn to see George.” Ellen nodded towards the stairs, her eyes holding something deeper when she looked at Dean. She knew what the two meant to each other; knew what it meant to find someone like that in this lifetime. Ellen had had that once. She didn’t want Dean to lose it like she had.

*

Just as Dr. Perkins had predicted George was just waking up when they two walked into the room, carefully pushing the door just to behind them in order to keep the sunlight in the hall from brightening her room too much.

“Hey,” Sam said softly, moving to sit down in the chair beside her. Dean remained standing by the door for a moment, simply watching her.

George lifted her head carefully, looking between the two boys with uncertainty. Fog still clouded her mind regarding recent events, but she at least was aware enough to know that the boys would consider what she had done stupid.

As if anxious to stamp out any hope she had, Al’s words mixed with Lucifer’s eyes in the center of her mind, causing her to close her eyes for a moment in a pain that wasn’t physical. Recentering her thoughts on the present, she reopened her eyes, observing the boys once more. George knew Dean and Sam were no doubt both mad at her for what she’d done. She’d broken their deal, making a decision and not including them. She didn’t dare to dwell on the taunting words Lucifer had spoken.

“How much trouble am I in?” She asked in an attempt to keep things light despite the thoughts swirling in her head. A forced smile made an appearance as George struggled to push away the voices screaming in her mind, hiding it all from the boys.

Dean watched her, catching that flash of look in her eyes. He knew her too well to miss it. Deciding to leave what he saw to the side for now, he was the first one to answer. “Oh, a hell of a lot. And then there’s Bobby. He ain’t too happy with you either.” He wanted to be mad at her, to yell at her and berate her for what she’d done. But he couldn’t. It was George. Dean knew George. He loved her.

And Cas was right. They shouldn’t distrust George because of something Lucifer said. And standing there now, looking into her eyes, he found that he trusted her wholeheartedly. This was George. If there was anyone in this world he could trust, it was George. There was also the fact that he sure as hell couldn’t find the strength to hold back from her; not that he wanted to.

Finally, he stepped farther into the room, stepping around Sam and resting on the edge of her bed beside her, careful not to jostle her. As she worked to push herself up a little more, a slip of dark grey fabric from beneath the sheet caught his eyes. George now wore an oversized t-shirt to cover her wounds. It was one of Dean’s.

“Let’s not talk about what happened or who was being an idiot,” Sam offered with a teasing smile. “Doc says to keep things quiet for now. We can worry about all that later.”

George scoffed lightly, adjusting the pillow beneath her head so she was more propped up and angled better towards the boys but still comfortable lying on her stomach. “Doc worries too much. I’m fine.” She looked at Dean, her voice growing quiet. “I’d rather talk about it now than let it get swept under the rug and fester.”

Dean reached out, holding her hand in his. “George,” he shook his head, almost afraid to hear what had gone through her head back at the hardware store and down with Lucifer. “Let’s just—”

George squeezed Dean’s hand, adjusting her body once more as she cut off Dean’s suggestions, plowing straight ahead anyways. “I had every confidence you two could take on the devil. But you couldn’t do that if you guys were stuck in that store. I had a way to give you guys an out, and I took it.”

Relenting, Dean huffed out. “Yeah, well, it was all for nothing.” His fingers played with hers in his hand, her touch soft and familiar. “You know those five things the colt can’t kill? Turns out Lucifer is one of them.”

George let her head fall farther into the pillow, her bottom lip jutting out in despondence for a moment. “So what now?”

“Now?” Dean said, squeezing her hand. “Now you rest and get better.”

George lifted her head to argue but Dean held up a finger, silencing her. “Nope. Doc’s orders. And while you do that, we can work on figuring things out. See where we go next.”

George nodded reluctantly.

“And wherever that is,” Dean continued in earnest, “Sweetheart, you gotta promise me. Promise Sam. No more doing dumb shit like sacrificing yourself. Especially without checking with us first, got it?”

George opened her mouth, another protest on her lips, but Sam cut her off this time. “We’re serious, George.”

“We’ve had this conversation too many damn times,” Dean added. “We stick together. Period.”

“I’ll try,” George sighed out.

Dean held up his small finger, a smile teasing his lips. “Pinky promise?”

George chuckled, her own lips turning up with a smile. She reached out, linking her pinky with Dean’s. “Pinky Promise.”

The boys smiled, both of them standing to leave George to rest. As Dean reached the door, Sam ahead of him, he looked over his shoulder at George as she sent him one last smile before she closed her eyes, resting farther into her pillow.

Dean returned her smile despite what he saw in her eyes. He could see her falling apart. He could see there was something tearing her down. Something she was trying to hide from them.

The doctor’s words echoed in his ears. George is going to need you, Dean. She’s going to need your reassurances. But they’re only going to work if you believe them yourself.

Standing there looking at her, he confirmed that he had every faith in George. Despite the devil’s attempts to dissuade them, Dean trusted George. How could he not? It was just as Castiel had pointed out: the three of them had been through so much already.

Closing the door softly behind him, he followed Sam down the stairs. Something about the look he’d seen in her eyes just before she’d closed them seemed all too familiar. It took only a moment before Dean placed it in his memories. It was a look her eyes had held every time she’d been stuck under Al’s thumb. A shock of dread flashed through his bones before his muscles tightened in almost anger. It didn’t take much of a connection to guess what Lucifer’s tactics had been when attacking George.

The doctor’s warnings made more sense now. She's taken quite a hit this time around, son. It’s much more than just what you see on the surface.

Dean fell in step behind his brother, his mind already working out a plan. “We’re going to Bobby’s next,” he said, almost out of the blue, a quick decision and plan taking shape in his mind.

Sam stopped on the stairs, looking up at his brother. “Fine by me.” Sam could see his brother’s determined face. He knew that look. Dean had a plan. “What’s up?” He asked quietly.

Dean looked over his shoulder, up the stairs before turning back to Sam and motioning for him to walk farther down into the entry. Once they reached the center of the room, Dean’s voice lowered, making sure it didn’t carry back to George or out to Ellen and Jo.

“Something happened.”

Sam frowned at the words. “What do you mean?”

“Doc said her injuries were something more than just what we could see. But just now? I could see it in her eyes. Something happened. Something is going on in her mind.”

“What are you thinking it might be?” Sam trusted Dean, especially when it came to George. For a moment, he wondered if Dean had figured out she was in hell. Could that be what he had seen?

Dean looked at Sam, almost reading his brother like a book. It was clear Sam knew about George being in hell. But it wasn’t that. “It’s something other than her going to hell, Sam.”

Sam nodded in understanding. He wasn’t surprised Dean already knew. “When did you figure it out?”

Dean shrugged casually. “Cas let it slip a while back.”

“If it’s not hell, then what do you think it is?”

Dean looked back up the stairs to where George’s room was. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Al was back from the dead.”

Sam shared a look with his brother. If that was the case, it wasn’t good. “You think Lucifer might be messing with her mind?”

Dean ran a hand across his neck. “Maybe. I don’t know. What I do know is that we’re gonna let her heal up, let her get her rest. Once the doc gives her the all clear, we head back to Bobby’s. And then we’re all sitting down and making her talk. No more tiptoeing around and waiting for her to come to us. We’re gonna be waiting forever if we do that.” Dean wasn’t going to give George the chance to run this time.

Sam nodded readily. “Okay. That’s the plan.”

*****

Per Dr. Perkins’ orders George was cleared to join the others for supper. To make things easier for those recovering, Dr. Perkins made the decision to enjoy supper casually in the living room rather than in the wooden chairs at the dining table.

“I’m telling you, it’s those miracle pills,” George joked with half seriousness as she leaned forward, curled around a large pillow, careful of her injuries. Though she was well on her way to being good as new, her wounds were taking a little longer to heal. “What do you put in those things, Doc?”

Perkins chuckled in amusement. “Sue is the one that makes them. You’ll have to ask her.”

“So what are your guys’ plans going forward?” Sam asked, looking over at Ellen and Jo.

The pair exchanged looks before Ellen answered. “I think we’re gonna take it easy for a bit.”

“Good plan,” George responded with approval.

“What about you guys?” Jo asked.

Sam and Dean shared a look, before Sam answered. “We were thinking of taking a bit too. Maybe heading back to Bobby’s for a few days.”

Nods were shared in agreement of the plan. Dr. Perkins studied Dean silently over his glasses for a moment before sharing an approving and proud grandfatherly look with the hunter.

*

The next day, Ellen and Jo headed out with the all clear from the doctor.

Two days following that, George was finally given the all clear to travel as well.

Dr. Perkins walked them out to the Impala, making sure she was taking it slow. As they reached the car, Dean tossed George’s bag in the trunk, giving George a moment to say goodbye to her friend.

Dr. Perkins hugged George gently, wishing her well. “Make sure you take it easy, young lady. Keep getting rest.”

George smiled as she pulled back. “Yes, sir.”

Sam helped George into the back seat of the Impala. Dr. Perkins generously gave her the large pillow she’d been curling around to keep, something that would come in handy for the long drive home.

With the patient securely resting in her seat, the boys turned to offer their own goodbyes and thanks to the doctor.

He readily shook each of their hands. “Thank you, boys, for sticking around.” Both of the Winchesters understood the deeper meaning of his words now. When he shook Dean’s hand, he held it a little longer. “You’re a good man, Dean Winchester. Don’t ever doubt that. And don’t forget that you’re not alone. When those doubts come, lean on Sam and George. They’ll carry you, just as you’ve carried them.”

He stepped back to face the trio, the boys moving over to climb into the car.

“You boys take care. And you, George, I hope you’ll come visit again. But maybe leave being on death's door alone. Twice is enough.”

Sam looked back at the doctor, pausing in his movement to climb into the car. “Twice?”

Dean turned around to look at her in the backseat.

“Oops,” the doctor said, though no guilt or remorse showed in his voice.

George rolled her eyes before letting her head fall into the pillow. “Thanks, doc.”

“George?” Dean called, his voice lightly demanding an explanation.

“It was nothing,” George sighed. “And I wasn’t at death’s door. It was a few scratches from a hunt down in the Carolinas and it was a while back. Now let’s go before he spills any more of my secrets.” She sent Dr. Perkins a teasing look.

With a final wave, the Impala roared to life, pulling away and heading in the direction of Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

*

The drive was long, the trip requiring a few more pitstops than usual in order to allow George a chance to relax in a position other than curled up like a roly-poly.

Despite the stops, though, the drive was peaceful and uneventful. A gifted change from the usual. It was late the next night that they arrived at Bobby’s, the stars shining brightly against the metal hoods of cars and car parts.

Relieved happiness filled George at seeing Bobby again. No other feeling matched coming home to the welcoming and warm arms of a father who loved her. Feeling similarly, Bobby welcomed her home with a meaningful hug, careful of her healing wounds.

“I’m so glad I’m home,” she confessed quietly into his shoulder. A soft laugh escaped her as she pulled back. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer to just grow old in the basement.”

As they all turned to follow her into the house, Bobby sent the boys a look, each of them having caught the underlying tone of her comment.

“Come on,” Bobby said, directing them into the living room. “I’ve already got the drinks poured.” Dean had called ahead, giving Bobby a heads up and that they’d be there soon. The old hunter understood and was ready for them.

George smiled with confused brows, but followed him in. She took her usual seat on the couch, careful of her back, as Bobby handed out the drinks. Dean sat beside her, Sam in the overstuffed chair and Bobby at his desk.

George watched them as they sipped their drinks too casually in almost unison. Something was off between them. Concern and worry spread as she took a tentative sip of her liquor. “All right,” she finally spoke up. “What’s going on? Am I missing something?”

Dean looked at Bobby while Sam looked down at the amber liquid in his glass. Bobby leaned forward on his desk. “It’s time we all had a chat.”

“Okay? What about?” George asked hesitantly, her eyes darting between the three men.

A quiet settled for a moment before Bobby answered, looking at George. “About all the things you’re keeping bottled up inside.”

George looked between the boys again, her previous amusement fading. Her smile stuttered. “What? What are you talking about?” She played with the glass in her hand, not thrilled with the topic of conversation.

Bobby eyed her carefully. “How about we start with the secret you’ve been keeping the longest?”

George scoffed in defense, her nerves tightening. “What am I on trial or something? I’m not the only one that keeps things bottled up, you know. You all have your own ways of dealing with things. Ways, I might add, that aren’t healthy or okay. But I don’t see any of you being forced to discuss your secrets like you’re on trial.”

“This is different,” Dean argued softly. “This is about you spiraling again, George. About you taking risks you shouldn’t be. About you thinking of walking away.”

The last thought hit her harder than expected. It was true. George had thought about leaving again. How could she not? Lucifer had said she would be the one to get them killed. He’d all but admitted that she was playing right into his hands. The risk of losing the boys was too great if she stuck around.

George huffed out, ready to fight against them again when Sam spoke up, his voice soft but still heard as he moved ahead with Bobby’s suggested topic. “They know about hell, George.”

George looked almost fearful as she met Sam’s eyes. “What?” Her voice was a whisper.

“Cas spilled the beans when Zach was holding us hostage,” Dean offered in a quiet explanation.

Remorse and guilt flooded through George. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t want you to know. Any of you.”

“Why not?” Bobby asked.

“You guys have enough to deal with. You didn’t need to add worrying about me to the list.”

“Darlin’,” Bobby said, his voice comforting. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this or not, but hell or no hell, we already worry about you.”

A few seconds of silence passed before Dean spoke, shifting in his seat. “Why didn’t you tell me?” George could hear the hurt in his voice. “If anyone could’ve helped, it was me.”

George leaned forward, running her hands over her face as she struggled with the sudden seriousness of everything. “Because you’ve been through it, Dean.” She looked over at him with sorrow filled eyes. “I know you. If you found out that I’d been in hell, it would’ve weighed down on you. More than it should. You would’ve found some way to blame yourself. And I didn’t want to do that to you.”

Dean knew she was right. Because that was exactly what had happened. He had worried more, carried more, since Cas had let it slip.

“We’re family, George,” Bobby piped up. “That means we talk to each other. We help carry each other’s burdens. Especially when they get too heavy to carry alone.”

George wanted to laugh, but couldn’t. “What is this an intervention or something? I’m fine.”

Bobby’s voice was casual but still firm. “Call it what you want, George, but we’re talking about this. We need to talk about this. You need to talk about this.”

“We’re talking about this?” George’s voice held disbelief while fear rose inside her chest; that fear coming out as frustration. “I don’t think there’s anything else to talk about.”

Bobby continued to push. “You can’t keep everything bottled up, George. Everyone is entitled to their secrets, but not when it’s affecting everything between us.”

This made George freeze, her eyes darting between the boys while hurt surged. Had she caused more problems than she realized for everyone?

“Just talk to us, George,” Sam pleaded softly.

Frustration grew in her chest, swirling with the hurt until something finally popped. “Talk about what, Sam?” Her heart pounded as everything she’d been feeling suddenly rushed to the surface despite her efforts to calm it. “You want me to spill all the details of my experience in hell? Is that what you want me to talk to you about?” She ignored the attempted words from the boys as she pushed forward, her eyes swelling with tears as she looked between them. “You want me to tell you about how they ripped me apart over and over and over again just to put me back together and start all over? That I wish I could—“ her voice cracked with emotion. “That I would rather die than relive those memories, but I’m terrified of dying because of what they did to me down there?” She swiped at her eyes, her lids falling tightly shut as she tried to erase the recurring whispers from her mind. “Or how about the fact that I can’t sleep because every time I close my eyes, I hear his damn voice over and over inside my head?”

The room was quiet for a moment before Sam’s soft and broken voice broke it. “Who’s voice, George?” He asked, but somehow he already knew. They all did.

George rubbed at her forehead, suddenly feeling exhausted and empty. Her jaw worked, opening to say the word, but snapped shut, too terrified to say his name aloud. “I just…”

“What did he say to you, George?” Bobby's voice was quiet, gentle, as he asked his little girl the dreaded question. “What lies did Lucifer tell you?”

Rather than answer, George stood from where she had sat on the couch, making her way over to the small table where the bottle of amber liquor sat. She took her time refilling her glass as Lucifer’s words replayed in her mind. The bandages on her back pulled at her skin, the pain subtle. Her back remained to the boys when she answered, her head hung low as she stared into her glass. Her voice was quiet, broken. “I’m not so sure it was a lie, Bobby.”

“What did he say?” Bobby asked again.

George took a sip from her glass before turning to face Bobby. “He said he’s the one that brought me back. He said he’d been waiting for me to show up at his side.”

“What else?” The question came from Dean still sitting on the couch, pulling everyone’s attention to him.

“What?”

Dean shook his head, scooting to the edge of his seat. “There’s something else that happened down there, George. I know you, sweetheart. There was something else. Something he didn’t say; something from your past coming back.”

“From her past? You mean Al?” Bobby asked in confusion, his head swiveling between George and Dean. “That bastard is back?”

Dean shook his head. “Not walking the earth back, no.” He looked at George. “But I think Lucifer brought him back in other ways.”

All the talk of Al forced the lurking frustration in George’s chest to resurface. “Maybe it was Lucifer, maybe it wasn’t. Regardless, maybe Al was right.” She lifted her hands in a shrug before they fell back down at her sides with a soft slap. “I’m selfish and keep getting people killed. Maybe we should go with Dean’s original idea and just lock me away.” Tears filled her eyes and her voice. “Maybe it’d be better if I just left. Then nobody else would get hurt.” George ran a hand through her dark hair, her fingers curling around the strands in growing frustration and anger. She didn’t know what to think anymore. Everything was just bullshit. All of it was rapidly becoming too much: being Lucifer’s tool, Al’s repeating condemning words refreshed and scratching against her skull, the inability to actually do anything right. The pain, the anger, the hatred, the defeat. The lies. All of it.

Bobby came around his desk, his voice firm and commanding as he wheeled around and towards her. “You listen to me, George Finley. And you listen good. Demons lie. And Lucifer? That bastard is the father of lies. If you start believing everything that comes out of that monster’s mouth, you’re dumber than you look. And I know you, girl. You ain’t dumb.” He came closer to sit directly in front of her, his eyes catching hers. “You are not selfish, you are not a tool, you’re not useless. You are nothing that Al ever said you were. Now you stop letting that asshole win!” He raised a finger at her. “And don’t you dare let Lucifer win! You start believing those lies, that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

George’s own voice rose, her words cracking slightly as she put to voice the worries eating at her. “But how do we know they’re lies?! Especially when everything supports that Lucifer did bring me back?” She looked between the boys, her eyes welling with tears. “Hell, even Cas said that whatever or whoever it was that brought me back was outside heaven and above the angels. Well,” she forced a humorless chuckle out. “Guess who checks those boxes?”

Dean set down his glass, standing to meet her gaze at eye level. Bobby moved to the side, next to his desk in order to allow Dean a chance to get through George’s thick skull and past the ghost of a shark. “Cas told me he has no doubt that it wasn’t Lucifer that brought you back. He’s pretty confident it was something else. Someone–or thing—that he trusts. But more than that, he trusts you.”

Sam looked up at George, his voice quiet but reassuring. “We all do, George.”

George stared at the floor at her feet, her mind stuck in another war.

“So from now on,” Bobby said, pulling George from her thoughts. “We all agree. Lucifer ain’t the one controlling things. Nobody here is working for him, willingly or not. He might want us to think it, but he ain’t. Agreed?” He looked at each of the others standing there, meeting their eyes.

George struggled with the words, the mental battle happening in her head raging. The lies kept crawling through her mind and she wasn’t sure what to think or believe anymore. Refusing to meet Bobby’s eyes, she nodded, if only to satisfy him.

The boys could all see her hesitation, could sense the battle being fought in her mind, but for right then, they’d take what they could get. It was a start, a first step; something they could work on. Together.

With a concluding nod, Bobby took a chest lifting breath. “Okay. Now, I say we all get some sleep. Take a day or two to relax. Reset. Then we can come back and see what we’ve got.”

Everyone agreed, each of them heading up at their own pace. George sat on the edge of her bed, her face buried in her hands as she leaned over, her elbows resting on her knees. Her back was healing well now, but still caused pain if pressure was put on it.

Sensing someone watching her, she lifted her head, glancing over her shoulder at the door. Dean stood there, a concerned but loving look in his eyes as he leaned against the door frame.

“When’s the last time you slept?” Dean asked quietly. “Other than at Doc’s.”

George shrugged, looking down at her hands.

Dean nodded to himself, pushing off the door frame. Stepping farther into the room, he carefully closed the door behind him before crawling under the covers. Reaching out, he gently grasped George’s arm, pulling her back and next to him, helping her to adjust to a position that wouldn’t harm her back. “Let’s go to sleep, sweetheart.” His voice was tender and coaxing.

As George settled against his side, her arm draped across Dean’s stomach, a quiet settled between them. Dean’s fingers traced gentle patterns across her arm as he held her close. He turned his head slightly, taking in the scent of her hair as his lips placed a tender kiss on her forehead.

As they lay there, the calming strokes of Dean’s fingers across her skin, combined with the familiar scent that was Dean Winchester, slowly and gently lead George into a comfortable and safe sleep.

Dean’s fingers traced across her skin, his lips occasionally brushing against her hair and head as he held the woman he loved. In that moment, he swore to his core that he wouldn’t let George walk away. Not this time. They would get through this, all of them, together.

As Dean’s eyes slowly drifted shut, a reassuring voice seemed to whisper in his ears, offering a reminder that they weren’t alone. A soft and warm feeling encompassed the pair as they fell into a deep and shared slumber wrapped in each other’s arms, offering a shield against the world, at least for the night.

Chapter Text

5.13: The Song Remains The Same

The next few days were calm. They all agreed with Bobby’s plan: take it easy, relax, rekindle the bonds between them. The group had been through a lot over the past few days. Hell, they’d been through a lot from the start.

But the days were a welcomed vacation. No cases were looked for, no serious research was done, no thoughts dwelled on Lucifer and how they were going to take him down since the colt had failed. Dean worked on some cars in the garage, Bobby or George occasionally joining him.

The four worked to get back to where they had been; or at least as close as they could. Classic rock played on the radio while George and Bobby made meals. Dean and George spent nights together, working as one to help George regain her sleep and peace. Sam and George shared the obscure more fun or randomly interesting research they’d come across. Dean and Sam relaxed in lawn chairs in the yard, sipping on beers as they watched George and Bobby work together on the engine of her car. It was reminiscent of another lifetime ago; an easier time.

They had four days together, spent just living almost normal lives—as normal as four hunters living together could.

Bobby hadn’t been the biggest fan of Dean and George sharing a room, his protective dad instincts kicking in, but they were adults and he wasn’t a prude. It still didn’t stop his occasional glare towards Dean when they met in the hall in the early mornings just outside George’s bedroom door. Bobby just wanted to protect his little girl. But he knew and trusted Dean. Besides that, it was obvious they were good for each other.

While Bobby and Sam did their fair share of helping George recover–physically as well as mentally–each helping to sweep away the lies Lucifer had planted using Al’s voice and proving to her how much better off they all were with her sticking around, it was Dean that made the biggest difference. Just as in the past, it seemed Dean was the only one who could fully save George when she started to fall apart.

By the fifth day, things had become normal once again, the bonds and trust almost completely reformed, George returning to the strong woman they knew and loved. It couldn’t have happened at a better time. Later that night, Anna, the runaway angel the boys had met when George had taken her year-long break, showed up in Dean’s dream, asking him to meet her, adamant that it was important. Dean reluctantly let her wake him up, annoyed that she had interrupted a rather risqué dream involving George.

As soon as he had woken up, Dean had called Castiel, filling him in on what Anna wanted. The angel trusted the Winchesters and George, but he found that he didn’t trust Anna. Not at all. Something was off with her request; it didn't seem right. And so, he had decided to be the one—and the only one—to meet with her, the brothers and George remaining at Bobby’s far away. It had been the right call.

Anna, it seemed, had declared that in order for the angels to have a fighting chance, Sam Winchester had to die.

*****

They were all gathered around Bobby’s desk, Cas drawing out a sigil on the cleared top.

“By all means,” Bobby grunted out in annoyance. “Use my desk as your easel.” The hunter sent the angel a hard glare that wasn’t seen.

Castiel had just finished explaining to the others what Anna had said during the meet up. She intended to scatter Sam’s atoms across the universe, leaving it impossible for Lucifer to bring him back.

“Over my dead body,” George responded. She sent Sam a tight look, knowing he would be dumb enough to consider the out Anna was essentially offering. She didn’t say it aloud, but if anyone was allowed to be the sacrifice, it would be George. And only George. She wouldn’t allow the others the opportunity.

The war inside her head had dimmed and quieted significantly, but it was still there, lurking in the darkness. George knew she had been brought back for a purpose. That purpose, she now believed—despite Lucifer’s words— had been to ensure that the Winchester brothers survived. Their stories were meant to continue. George’s story? That had been meant to end years ago. So if anyone was going to die, it would only be George.

Dean’s face displayed the disheartened disappointment he felt at Anna’s betrayal. The angel had been an ally once, helping the brothers when George was gone.

“The plan to kill me,” Sam started.

George rolled her eyes. There it was. His stupidity coming out to play.

Sam continued, ignoring Dean’s protest and George’s hard look. “Cas, what do you think? Does Anna have a point?”

Dean, George, and Bobby all sent a withering look towards the angel. Dean’s held a heartbreak while George’s held a deadly warning.

Castiel hesitated a moment, taking in the looks of the three hunters before answering Sam. “No.”

With that settled, Dean turned the topic, not letting his little brother dwell on the idea of dying to stop the devil. “I don’t get it.” He motioned to the sigil Castiel was drawing. “We’re looking for the chick that wants to gank Sam? Why poke the bear?”

“Anna will keep trying,” Castiel explained. “She won’t give up until Sam is dead.” He continued working on the spell he was putting together, pulling dried herbs from a bag and letting them fall into a bowl that he placed on the sigil. “So we kill her first.”

George was slightly taken aback in shock at the seriousness of Cas' tone, as well as the readiness of it. She, however, wouldn’t argue with it.

The hunters watched on as Castiel spoke words in a foreign language, casting the spell. The angel fell back slightly, catching himself on the chair in front of him, as the spell took its toll.

George stepped forward slightly, her arms lifted slightly in case someone needed to catch the angel. She kept her distance, allowing Cas to focus.

“I found her.” Castiel’s voice was rough, worn from the spell.

“Where is she?” Dean asked.

Cas shook his head as he looked at them. “Not where. When. It’s 1978.”

“What?” Sam asked, stepping closer to the group. “Why 1978? I wasn’t even born yet.”

Castiel’s eyes held a solemn look as he explained. “You won’t be…if she kills your parents.”

Dean’s and Sam’s faces dropped, the color draining slightly. “What?” Sam’s voice wasn’t more than a whisper.

“Anna can’t get to you because of me. So she’s going after them.”

Dean’s muscles tightened, his voice turning sharp with his demand. “Take us back right now.”

“And deliver you right to Anna? No, I should go alone.” Castiel turned to prepare but protests had him stopping.

“No,” George argued. “You can’t go alone, Cas.”

“They’re our parents, Cas,” Sam spoke up, “We’re going.”

Castiel let out a heavy sigh. “It’s not that easy.”

“Why not?” Dean asked.

“Time travel was difficult, even with the powers of heaven at my disposal.”

“But you’re cut off,” Sam finished, hope leaving him.

“So what?” Dean asked in clarification. “You’re like a Delorean without enough plutonium?”

Castiel tilted his head in confusion. “I don’t understand that reference.” He took a breath. “Taking this trip, with passengers no less—it’ll weaken me.”

“That’s all the more reason to take the boys with you, Cas,” George said in argument. “They’ll be strong enough to take on Anna, who will already have had time to recover from her trip. If she even needed to. I’m guessing she’s got heaven on her side a little more than you do right now.”

Bobby nodded, his arms crossed over his chest as he observed the conversation. “Girl’s got a point.”

Though Castiel didn’t respond with words, the sudden decisive look that crossed his face told them all they needed to know about his decision.

After quickly gathering holy oil and angel blades into the weapons duffel, Castiel turned towards the boys. “Ready?”

Dean looked over at George. “We’ll be back. Hold down the fort for us while you’re gone.” He turned his gaze to Bobby. “Don’t let her do anything stupid.”

Castiel answered before Bobby could. “She won’t. George is coming with us.”

“Say what now?” George’s eyes snapped to Castiel, wide in confusion.

“Bringing you ensures that you’re safe. Beyond that, I have a feeling Anna didn’t time jump alone. I’m going to need your help while the boys deal with Anna.”

George looked over at Bobby for input but the hunter just shook his head with a shrug. “Don’t look at me. The angel’s the one with the plan.”

Dean grabbed George’s hand, holding it tightly in comfort. Nobody knew what they were heading into, but at least they’d be heading into it together.

George placed her free hand on Castiel’s shoulder with his instruction. With a touch to Dean and Sam’s foreheads, the four were thrown into the year 1978.

Dean and Sam landed in the middle of a street, a car blaring its horn at their blocking traffic. The brothers stumbled slightly at the sudden arrival. George and Cas landed at the curb, away from the dangers of traffic, but not safe. A second after arriving in the past, Castiel fell, collapsing against a parked car as blood started to drip from his nose.

“Cas!” George breathed out, rushing over to help him sit up as her eyes darted around, searching for the boys. The brothers stepped up onto the curb, escaping the flow of traffic, only to be called over by George.

“Cas!” Dean hissed out, noticing the condition of the angel. Cas fell over more, his chest heaving as he coughed, blood falling from his lips with the action. He had been right. The trip had taken a massive toll on his vessel.

“What do we do?” Sam asked with concern.

“Help me get him somewhere,” George said, reaching to help the angel to his feet.

After a few seconds of thought, the group found a motel along the mainstreet and worked together to get the angel checked in. It was agreed that George and Cas would stay put while Dean and Sam searched out John and Mary Winchester.

While Sam remained on the street outside, searching for his parents in a phonebook connected to a phone booth, Dean and George helped Castiel onto the bed of the honeymoon suite. It had been the only room available, and Dean had found it amusing.

Ensuring Cas was comfortable, Dean pulled extra cash from his pocket and handed it to George. “You’ve got the room for five days, but just in case…” He looked over at Cas, lying unconscious on the large bed, but turned back to George, worry marring his face. “You gonna be okay?”

George nodded with an encouraging smile. “Yeah. I’ll take care of Cas. You boys go save your parents.”

“If anything should happen…” Dean started but trailed off.

George waved him off. “You won’t know until it’s over. Don’t worry about us, Dean. Cas is going to be fine and you know I can take care of myself. We both have angel blades and nobody is going to come looking for us in the honeymoon suite of some random motel in 1978.” She chuckled at her words. “Now go save your parents.”

Dean nodded, catching her lips with his own for a moment. “Love you,” he whispered before leaving to go find Sam.

Once the door was securely locked, George turned back to Cas, worry eating at her. With a huff of a breath that blew the thin strands of hair from her face, George looked around. She wasn’t sure what she could do to help Castiel recover. She just wasn’t sure what to do in general. Computers—or at least the kind she was used to—didn’t exist in this time, and she didn’t exactly have access to a library. Even if she did, she didn’t want to leave Castiel alone. At least she had brought her journal, tucked away in her jacket pocket. Pulling it out, she sat beside Cas on the bed, her back leaned against the headboard, and began to mark down the recent events, her eyes scanning to the angel every so often to ensure he was at least breathing.

It was almost an hour later when Castiel finally stirred, the angel’s eyes fluttering open in pain.

George looked over at him with a smile as she shifted slightly to see him better. “How you feeling, big guy?”

Castiel remained laying back on the pillow and looked around the room. “I’ve been better,” he said with a slight groan. “What happened?”

The corner of George’s mouth ticked up slightly. “You almost missed the stop.” She set her journal aside and scooted forward so Castiel didn’t have to turn his body so much to see her. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, I just,” he tried to push himself up into a sitting position but paused, hissing out in pain. A cough racked his chest for a moment.

George scooted closer, gently laying her hands on his shoulders to ease him back down. “Hey, take it easy. You’re safe for now. Just rest.”

“The Winchesters,” Cas tried again, trying to sit up once more.

George’s hands were more firm this time, ensuring Cas stayed laying down to rest. “They’re okay. They’re taking care of their parents. Try not to worry about them for now.”

A sigh left Castiel’s lips as he nodded, finally relenting and relaxing into the pillow beneath his head. After a few moments, he turned to look at the woman beside him. “Thank you, George.”

George smiled down at him. “Hey, you said you were gonna need my help. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Not just for this,” Cas said softly. “For everything. For not giving up, for protecting Sam and Dean.” He met George’s gaze. “For protecting me.”

George smiled softly at the angel. “I’m always happy to help my friends.”

“You’ve come a long way from who you were. You’re stronger than you realize, George. Much stronger.” His brows furrowed slightly in a pain that wasn’t physical but heavy with sympathy. It was the same look he gave Dean sitting on that bench just after George’s death so long ago. He had told the Winchester that he hadn’t envied the burden of decisions the man would carry.

And now, in a random motel room in the year 1878, the angel found himself expressing much the same thoughts to Dean’s other half. The world seemed so cruel right then. More so than it usually did. “I’m afraid you carry a heavy burden. Your future decisions will determine the future of those you care about.”

George’s jaw fell slightly as she worked to find the words in response to Castiel’s, but there were none. How could anyone respond to such prophetic heavy words? Questions seeped into her mind, but she wasn’t given the chance to dwell on them.

A resounding knock at the door snapped both their attention to the other side of the room. Dean had made sure the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign had been hung on the handle. Nobody should be knocking. Not without serious reason. And since George and Castiel weren’t known in this town—or even in this time—a knock on the door didn’t bode well.

Silently, George held a hand up towards Castiel, motioning for him to stay where he was. Cas nodded in response knowing he wouldn’t be much help in his current condition. The angel kept his eyes steady on the door.

With practiced stealth, George silently slid off the bed, retrieving the angel blade from her bag before making her way to the door. Her steps were silent, the thick shag carpet concealing any noise from her boots.

Castiel watched carefully, trying to build up his strength in preparation for any potential threat. The door to the room lacked any peephole, forcing George to open the door in order to see who stood on the other side.

As soon as the door had been opened no more than an inch, the wooden panel was forced violently open the rest of the way with a powerful kick from whoever stood on the other side.

The force pushed George back a few feet, landing on her back on the floor. She looked up, her jaw tightening as she scrambled to her feet with ease and haste at the sight of the familiar man standing smiling at her.

“Hello, George.”

Anger radiated off of George at the sight of the angel Gideon.

The angel strolled in a few steps, his eyes scanning over Castiel. “Oh my,” Gideon said with feigned concern. “Looks like time travel wasn’t so nice to you, Castiel.”

Castiel tried to sit up, his face turning hard at the sight of his brother, but his strength failed him. He couldn’t be sure whether or not Gideon would try to kill him, but Cas knew he would kill George.

“Gideon,” he pushed out. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what?” Gideon asked with distaste. “Kill the human that has been causing heaven so many problems? That has been changing a story she has no business even being in?” Gideon shook his head, his tone solemn and righteous sounding. “No, brother. This ends now. No more changes, no more alteration. No more George.” The angel turned towards George, his voice turning sharp with hatred and almost amusement. “You said Gideon was heaven’s assassin. Well, here I am.” A smile that felt wrong on an angel spread across his face. “And I’m going to enjoy it.”

George knew she had to make the first move. The only chance she held against the angel was the element of surprise. With a forced grunt, she swept her leg out with a flash, knocking Gideon down to the ground.

The effect was short lived. In a flash, Gideon was back on his feet, quickly closing the short distance between him and George. His fist raised, striking the woman across the jaw, sending her spinning in the complete opposite direction with the force. Thankfully, George had had the forethought to lead and follow through the punch, preventing her jaw from at least being shattered. It didn’t stop the painful sting of the angel’s fist from coming through though.

George continued to follow through the punch, spinning on her toes in a complete circle. As she came back around, she raised her own fist, swinging against the angel’s face with all of her might. The angel was quick, dodging the attack with ease. Gideon smiled at George’s attempt. They both knew she was no match for the angel.

Despite her lack of ability to land anything on the angel, George didn’t give up in her attacks as the fight went on. Her face was bleeding from various places now—her lip and nose, a cut on her cheek— but she held her own. Barely. And only by the amusement of the angel taunting his prey.

Seemingly having grown tired or bored of the fists, Gideon dropped an angel blade from his sleeve, moving quickly to slice the edge across her side. George moved quickly, the edge only managing to catch on her shirt, only a small nick cutting into her skin.

Her dodging the blade had left her unprepared for the sharp blow that slammed into the side of her head, causing her body to spin, her feet losing balance beneath her. George slammed to the ground, her head swimming.

Gideon stepped forward, towering over her. A smug smile lit up his face. “This is where George Finley ends. Permanently”

The angel blade in his hand raised above his head, only to freeze at the apex, his eyes widening in shock and sudden pain. Both his and George’s eyes traveled to the angel blade now protruding from his chest.

Castiel’s face appeared beside Gideon’s from behind. “I told you not to do it, brother.”

With a twist of the blade, Gideon’s entire body flashed with a white essence before flaring brightly, his head snapping up as light flooded from his entire being.

Gideon’s now dead body collapsed sideways to the floor, revealing an unsteady Castiel slumping over before he too collapsed sideways onto the bed.

Pushing through the pain, George scrambled to her feet, trying to shove back the nausea from her swimming head. “Cas!” She cried out, her voice tired. With an effort, she helped hold the angel up, his eyes working to focus through the pain.

“We need to get out of here,” he said quietly. “Before others come.” He reached out, grasping onto George’s arm. “Hold on.”

In a flash, the pair were falling together onto the couch back at Bobby’s house. Dean and Sam had already arrived, Michael having killed Anna and sent them back. At George and Cas’ sudden appearance, the boys and Bobby rushed over, helping them both to find their footing and sit down.

“What the hell happened?” Dean asked, taking in the sight of blood dripping from George’s face.

Castiel lay unconscious on the couch, leaving George to answer. “Gideon showed up,” she explained as Dean helped her to a chair while Bobby rushed over with a first aid kit.

George took a few minutes to explain what had happened while Bobby worked on cleaning her up, placing a butterfly bandage across the split in her cheek.

Once her story was finished, she listened carefully as Sam and Dean explained what they had dealt with. Anna had almost succeeded in killing John and Mary, relying on the help of Uriel in a different vessel. George’s lips curled in disgust at the mention of Uriel. She hated the angel. In truth, she hated all angels, except Castiel. Her eyes darted to Sam when Dean told her that Anna had succeeded in killing Sam.

She didn’t seem so surprised when the boys told her about Michael showing up, using John as a vessel, and brought Sam back, killed Anna, and reassured Dean that he would one day say yes.; that the battle between Michael and Lucifer would happen. It had, according to the archangel, already been decided. Neither of the boys had a say in it. It wasn’t a choice anymore. It was something that was set in stone; unchangeable.

George looked over at Castiel who still lay unconscious on the couch, a blanket spread across him. His words pulled forward in her mind. The decisions George would make would determine the future of the ones she loved. Time and time again, George had been accused of changing the Winchester story. Michael had told the boys it was set in stone. But if George was changing it… Her eyes darted to the boys. Something whispered gently in the back of her mind, a familiar voice holding a familiar warmth. Was that the reason she’d been brought back? Because despite what the archangel claimed, nothing was set in stone. The story was going to change—it already had.

Bobby pulled her from her thoughts, handing her a drink. “It’s been one hell of a day.”

George could only muster a half of a smile for a second before it fell away.

Dean sat on a stool beside George while Sam took a seat in one of the kitchen chairs moved into the room. Bobby sat at his desk while Castiel remained unconscious on the couch. A quietness fell over the room as they all took a moment to breathe and process. Each of their shoulders weighed down with the recent events and the dark future that supposedly awaited them. As far as Sam and Dean knew, they were destined to be used by archangels in a battle for the end of the world.

But none of them would cave to the angel’s demands. They couldn’t. It wasn’t fair that any choice had been stripped from them. And so, with a silent understanding and agreement, it was decided that they would fight.

“Well, this is it,” Dean said, drawing everyone’s attention.

“This is what?” Bobby asked.

Dean lifted his glass to his lips, taking a sip before answering. “Team Free Will.” He gestured to each of them as he continued. “One ex-blood junkie, one dropout with six bucks to his name, a grumpy old dude, a rescued encyclopedia, and Mr. Comatose over there.”

“It’s not funny,” Sam commented.

Dean stared at the floor at his feet before taking another drink. “I’m not laughing.”

“They all say we’ll say yes,” Sam said quietly with a sigh.

“I know,” Dean responded. “It’s getting annoying.”

George forced a smile to her face, trying to lighten the heaviness of the room despite the uncertainty weighing down on her chest. “Well, it’s a good thing you’ve got me then, huh? As long as I’m around, neither one of you will be saying yes.”

“How do you know?” Sam asked.

George shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly as she took a drink. “Easy. I won’t let you.”

Bobby watched her carefully in thought before speaking up. “Maybe that’s why you were brought back.” He looked at the boys, a smile ticking at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe whoever higher up decided you two idjits couldn’t be trusted to not sacrifice yourself to save the other.”

Dean and Sam both huffed out a laugh, but there wasn’t much in the way of amusement.

Chapter Text

5.16: Dark Side of the Moon

George’s lips brushed Dean’s temple causing the man to mumble, pulled slightly from his sleep. Dean groaned out quietly, unhappy to be awake before the sun was even fully awake.

“What’re you doing?” Dean mumbled out, his voice low and gravelly with sleep.

George smiled down at him, running her hands across his hairline, his short brown hair moving beneath her fingers. “I’m going to grab some coffee,” she whispered, careful not to disturb his sleep any more than she already had, and to not disturb Sam’s deep sleep in the other bed. “I’ll be back.” She gently kissed Dean’s cheek.

Dean hummed in happiness, settling back into the pillow. George’s smile remained as she watched him for a moment before slipping silently from the room.

It was just after seven in the morning, the late winter sun still on its ascent above the horizon. The trio had been out late on a hunt, finally stopping for the night around three in the morning. George had fallen asleep almost instantly after her shower, Dean crawling in beside her shortly after.

George had slept well, no nightmares haunting her sleep for a change. But her mind still hadn’t let her sleep for more than a few hours, as if it were terrified the nightmares would come should it remain asleep any longer.

The group had needed to take different routes to the last hunt, and so it was a rare moment that George had driven her own Chevelle, rather than riding with the boys. It worked in her favor now, allowing her to drive her own car to the diner a short ways away rather than trying to borrow the Impala.

The bell above the door rang out as she entered the diner, the smell of breakfast meat and coffee filling her senses. The place was neither empty nor full, what appeared to be the usual morning crowd taking up several tables and a few stools at the counter. George sat on one of the empty stools, offering the waitress a friendly smile when she approached.

The woman wore a half-apron over her jeans and t-shirt, her smile warm and welcoming. If George had to guess, the woman had worked there most of her life. A decent amount of time if the greying streaks in her blonde hair were anything to go by.

When she spoke, her voice held a melodic and motherly southern accent that made George feel comfortable. “What can I getcha, honey?”

With a quick glance at the handwritten boards above the window that fed into the kitchen, George ordered three breakfasts and three coffees to go. Handing the written order through the window to the cook’s line up, the waitress turned back to her, offering George a mug of coffee while she waited.

“That’s a nice car you’ve got out there. Chevelle right?” the older woman asked as she filled the worn white mug with black coffee.

George smiled fondly, glancing over her shoulder for a second at the car parked just outside the window. “Yeah. You know your cars?”

The waitress–whose nametag read Birdie– shook her head with a smile. “My ex-husband had a Chevelle. It’s the only car I can name.” Birdie shook her head once more. “Man was a bastard, but at least he had good taste in cars.”

George smiled at the woman’s words. “My dad and I actually worked to fix this one up.”

Birdie smiled fondly. “That’s so sweet. I love that idea.” She chuckled. “Only thing my ol’ man ever did was give me twenty bucks to pick him up a pack of Marlboros.” She smiled as if it was a fond memory. “Miss him every day.” She looked at George, tapping the counter between them. “Let me know if you need anything else while you wait.”

George nodded in thanks, taking a sip of her coffee. As Birdie stepped away to help another customer, George noticed the empty pie display plates a little ways down the counter. Once Birdie was done taking the other person’s order, George caught her attention.

“I know it’s early, but any chance you guys have any pies made yet?”

Birdie checked through the window to the kitchen before turning a smile to George. “Looks like an apple just came out of the oven. Want a piece?”

George grinned. “I’ll take the whole thing if you’re willing.”

Birdie smiled with a nod. “I’ll get it boxed up for ya, sugar.”

George sipped at her coffee with a satisfied smile. Despite the lack of sleep, it had so far been a good morning. None of them had forgotten about the apocalypse or the prize fight between Michael and Lucifer, but they’d put it all on the back burner for the past week or so, focusing instead on normal hunts. It had been refreshing. Something they all needed.

Birdie set a large bag full of to-go containers on the counter as well as a cardboard carrier of three large coffees and the bill. “Take it easy out there,” Birdie said with a smile.

“You too, thanks,” George replied with a smile. Gathering up the food and drinks, she paid the bill, leaving a generous tip for Birdie before heading back out to the car.

The drive back was quick, only a few minutes' time. Putting the car into park, George glanced up at their motel door only to freeze. The worn door with peeling blue paint was slightly ajar. Perhaps one of the boys had woken just after she left, grabbing something from the car. She looked over at the Impala, noting it didn’t look like it had been touched since it had been parked a few hours earlier.

George knew that if something were wrong, the boys could handle themselves, but it didn’t ease the rock settling in her stomach. Leaving the food and coffees in the front seat, George grabbed her gun and climbed out of the car, carefully guiding the driver’s door back to its frame in silence.

With quick but quiet steps, she moved to the side of the room’s door, her back touching the stucco wall between the door and the window. She cast a quick scan across the parking lot, the place quiet and deserted in the still early hour. No new cars had arrived, nor had any from the previous night left. Carefully, she nudged the door open with her foot, her head just barely peeking around the corner, her weapon raised slightly, ready for any fight that might come.

But no fight came. There was no one in the room except for the boys. But nothing was okay. Both brothers were spread out across their beds, blood splattering across the sheets and pillows, reaching up onto the headboards.

George raced to clear the room of any intruders before rushing to Dean’s side. Tucking the gun at her back waist, she reached for Dean’s neck, checking for a pulse. Nothing. The same result came from Sam.

Tears began to pool in her eyes as she tried to figure out what the hell had happened. How had someone managed to get the jump on Sam and Dean Winchester? Enough to kill them both? And in such a short time frame? She had only been gone for fifteen, twenty minutes.

Frantically, George pulled out her phone, dialing Castiel’s number. Her voice worked to be heard around the lump forming in her throat, the tightness in her chest. She tried to tear her eyes away from the holes littering Dean’s chest, the blood splattering his pale face, but she couldn’t.

“Cas,” George choked out before the angel could properly answer. Her hand lifted, the back of it covering her mouth to stop a sob from escaping. “Cas, I need you here now.” She worked to fight back the tears, fear tearing through her chest. This couldn’t be happening. There was no way the boys were dead. Not like this. She lifted her hand to wipe at her eyes only to stop when she saw the red smeared across her fingers.

“Where are you?” Castiel asked. He could tell something was wrong, but he’d hold his questions until he could reach her.

George sniffled, giving the angel the name of the motel and room number. “I need you here now, Cas,” she almost cried out.

With the blink of an eye, Castiel was standing beside her. His eyes darted to the bodies of the boys, laying there, lifeless. “What happened?”

George shook her head as she tucked her phone away, doing her best to keep the grief and panic at bay. “I don’t know. I went to grab coffee and food and came back to this.”

She watched impatiently as Castiel held out a hand over each of the brothers. “Can you help them? Is there any chance?” She asked, hopeful, her voice almost pleading.

Castiel turned to her, his face sympathetic but concerned. “No. I can’t. They’re already gone.”

George fought against the sob that threatened to rack her chest.

Castiel stepped up to her, offering a comforting touch on her arm. His eyes narrowed as he went deep in thought. “There might be something we can still do.”

George’s eyes snapped to the angel’s. “How? What? What can I do?” She didn’t bother to hide the desperation from her voice.

“I need…I need to find a spell. There’s a spell that might help us. Will you help me gather the items required?”

George nodded frantically, anxious to do anything that might bring her boys back. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.” She sniffed, clearing her throat, thankful for something to do. “Tell me what you need.”

***

It didn’t take long at all to gather the items Castiel required for the spell. They sat at the small motel table, a sigil drawn, a large bowl sat to the side, random herbs and ingredients floating around the edge of the water that filled it.

It didn’t take long for Castiel’s spell to be cast, successfully reaching Dean—or rather his soul, George guessed.

George leaned forward in her seat, anxious to know what the hell was happening, but she was only privy to Castiel’s side of the conversation, the angel the only one able to hear Dean.

“Listen to me very closely,” Castiel was instructing. “This isn’t a dream. Deep down, you already know.”

Castiel looked up at George as he answered Dean. “Condolences.” It was apparent that Dean had figured out he was dead. At least it was a start.

The conversation continued, George half lost with only hearing one side of it.

“Heaven.”

George’s eyes snapped from the bowl to Castiel. The boys were in heaven? George didn’t know if this was good or bad news. The angels would have an easier time finding the boys and forcing them to do their bidding if they were in heaven.

“Please, listen, this spell, this connection, it’s difficult to maintain,” Castiel said, his voice beginning to strain in evidence of his words, the spell already demanding payment. “What do you see?”

George pushed away from the table, standing up to pace as the conversation continued. She listened as Castiel instructed Dean to find ‘the road’ and follow it to Sam. After a few more words, the connection was lost, Castiel sighing out as he looked over at George.

“I’ve lost the connection.”

“Can you get it back?” Her voice was calm but hopeful.

Castiel looked down at the bowl of ingredients. “I’m not certain, but I will try.” He reached out, working to reset the spell.

As if something were pulling her attention, George looked over at the blood soaked sheets, the brothers’ bodies hidden beneath them. She hadn’t been able to keep looking at them, and so Castiel had helped her cover them.

Anger swelled in her chest at the sight of their lifeless forms. Beyond that, something else stirred in her. Her boys had been shot, that much had been obvious. It appeared to have been a shotgun blast to each of their chests. George’s jaw twitched as her mind worked. This hadn’t been the work of angels or demons. This was someone else. Her mind worked over the situation as a whole. It hadn’t been a robbery or anything of that sort.

A memory brushed against her mind. Tim. He had made threats; he had learned what Sam had done, thrown accusations at him. George’s eyes scanned the blood splatter on the headboards, an answer settling in her gut. This had been hunters.

George turned to look at Castiel, the tremor in her voice replaced with something else, something harder. “Can you handle this?”

Cas paused in his movements, looking up at her. “What?”

George stepped over, motioning to the items on the table. “Do you need my help for any of this?”

The angel’s answer was honest, but hesitant. “I can manage if I need to, yes.” His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why?”

George looked back at the boys. “Because I have some hunting to do.”

“George,” Cas began sympathetically. “I don’t know if—”

George shook her head. “I’m not gonna sit here and do nothing, Cas. If you have this, if you can get the boys back, then do that. I’ve got this. Call me if you need anything.”

With that, George grabbed her jacket and duffel, casting one last mournful look at the boys before leaving. Quickly washing the blood from her hands with some dampened napkins, she tossed the coffees and food in the trash but kept the pie. As she drove through the streets of town, searching for any sign of hunters, she pulled out her phone again, dialing Bobby.

“What’s up, kiddo?” Bobby’s voice was light.

“Bobby, I need a favor.”

“Name it.”

George scanned the parking lot and doors of the motel she was driving past. “I need the name or names of any hunters that are in my area. Anyone that might be bragging about taking out the Winchesters.”

Bobby’s response was instant and full of worry. “What? What do you mean taking out the Winchesters?”

George sighed, pressing on the gas, having found nothing worth her time at the passing motel. “Just, I need names, Bobby. Can you get those for me?

“George, what the hell is happening? Are the boys okay?”

George glanced in the rear view mirror in the direction she’d left Cas. “They’re gonna be okay. Cas is with them. Can you get me the names?”

It was quiet as Bobby processed her words. “Yeah,” he finally breathed out. “Give me an hour or so. I’ll see what I can find. I doubt anyone will tell me anything seeing as how everyone knows we’re close. But I’ll ask some friends to ask around. Keep your phone on you. Where are you?”

George gave him the name of the motel and town they were staying in.

“What are you gonna do when you find them?” Bobby asked hesitantly.

A dark side of George she had shoved far, far down, a part of her Al had turned into something nightmarish and black, began to climb up from the abyss she’d thrown it in. Something cold flowed through her veins, her answer coming out sharp. “I’m a hunter, Bobby. I’m going hunting.”

The call ended, George snapping the phone closed and tossing it onto the dash.

*****

It was forty minutes later when Bobby called her back. He had gotten two names. Walt and Roy. They hadn’t exactly gone bragging about killing the Winchesters, but they hadn’t kept their mouths shut either.

George recognized the names, though she’d never met them. Al had done business with them on a few hunts over the years. Besides the names, Bobby had gotten an address. The hunters had made a pitstop in another town, shacking up in a motel about an hour away.

Thanking Bobby for the information, she’d hung up before he tried to talk her out of what she planned to do next. George’s foot pressed on the accelerator, the dial on the speedometer climbing as she headed in Walt and Roy’s direction.

***

People came and went, each one watched by George. She had arrived a little over half an hour after Bobby had given her the address, parking across the street at a local laundromat. She sipped at her coffee, her eyes scanning the motel and the area around for any signs of the two men she currently hunted.

About an hour later, her eyes caught on two men, exiting one of the rooms at the end and climbing into an old beat up pick up truck. George had never met Roy or Walt, but if she had to guess, she’d guess she had just found them. They certainly looked like hunters. She opened up her cell, pulling up the half blurry photo Bobby had sent her of the hunters in question. Despite the blurriness of the photo, she knew these were the men she was looking for.

Keeping her distance, George pulled out behind the truck, following them to a diner. She made sure to park a few spaces away, waiting a few extra minutes before climbing out of the car. Standing at her opened driver’s door, she quickly stripped off her flannel button up, leaving her in a dark grey tank top and hip hugging jeans. Pulling the tie from her braid, George let her dark brown hair fall freely down her back. Leaving her gun secured beneath the driver’s seat, she tucked her knife securely into her boot, hidden beneath her flared jeans. She’d spent years acting as the lure for Al. Most monsters, just like men, were predictable. Young naive hunters who didn’t have a girl to come home to? Not only were they predictable, they were easy to manipulate. Especially if you were a woman.

Ready, George closed the door and made her way into the diner, casually leaning against the counter with a smile for the young woman that stood behind it. After ordering a cup of coffee, she asked, “Do you guys have a bathroom?”

The waitress pointed down the way, George’s gaze following in that direction. It was exactly what George had hoped for. She’d already marked the bathroom when she entered, but using the guise of asking the waitress, it allowed her to scan the booths quickly without being too conspicuous. And it had paid off. Sat in the back corner were the two bastards that she was looking for.

Thanking the waitress with a light smile, George made her way down the aisle towards the bathroom, making sure to sway her hips just a little bit, her hand gently raking through her hair in one simple pass. Subtle, yet eye catching. She offered a small smile to one of the older men at the booth just before the hunters. From her peripheral it was easy to tell she’d caught their attention.

After taking a little bit in the bathroom, washing her hands and checking her reflection in the mirror, she made her way back out to the counter, sitting on one of the stools. The waitress placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of her. George thanked her with a kind smile. And there she waited, acting almost bored as she tapped the counter with her fingers.

It took less than five minutes for one of the men to approach her.

*

The hunter that had approached her introduced himself as Walt. He had been flirty and forward. And after just a few minutes worth of conversation, he had willingly followed George out to her car.

George kept her smile in place, her demeanour flirtatious. Allowing Walt to lead her to her own car that she’d pointed out, it was easy for George to gain an advantage. Her smile dropped as he walked ahead, reaching the driver side door of the car. He turned his head to say something only to be met with a surprise action. In a flash, George reached up, gripping Walt by the hair, and slammed his head into the doorframe of the Chevelle. Walt dropped like a rock, leaving a small dent in the body panel of her car. George sighed out, adjusting her shoulders. Bobby would have to help her fix that.

Knowing Walt would be out for a bit, she grabbed her gun from beneath the seat, tucking it away and made her way back into the diner, her face contorting into something more like panic. It was easy for her to play the innocent and scared woman. The bells above the door jingled frantically as George shoved the door open, rushing in with tear filled eyes. She fell against the counter, her commotion drawing the attention of the diner patrons—including Roy.

George’s head frantically darted around as she pretended to search for someone. Having ‘just spotted’ the man’s friend, she scrambled over to his table, grabbing his hand like a scared woman who was on the verge of a freak out.

“Please, you have to help me. Your friend, he—he just, I don’t know what happened. Please,” she begged, tugging on his arm as her chest heaved in panic. It was enough for a glimpse of fear to flash through Roy’s eyes before he jumped from his seat, following her back out to the parking lot.

She led him over to her car where Walt still sat unconscious, leaning against her wheel. “What the?” Roy stated in shock, running over and crouching down in front of his friend. “What happened?” He turned to question George, but instead found himself looking up at the barrel of a gun.

“Do as I say, and maybe you’ll live to see tomorrow.” The panicking and teary eyed woman was gone, replaced with the strong and deadly hunter.

“What?” Roy gasped out, his hands coming up in surrender. “Who the hell are you?”

“George Finley,” she answered, her head tilting slightly as she sent him a knowing and dark smirk. “I’m a friend of the Winchesters.”

***

When Walt finally came to, he found himself and Roy tied to old metal office chairs in a run down room. George had forced Roy to drive to an old abandoned house a few miles out of town, dragging his friend inside.

“What do you want?” Roy demanded, noting that his friend was coming to.

George sat on an abandoned large metal desk, her feet swaying back and forth. She’d called Cas to let him know she was good and to check on how things were going with her boys. The angel had managed to get a hold of Dean again. He’d found Sam. That had eased something in George’s chest. Castiel had then instructed the boys to find an angel named Joshua. If anyone had answers about God, it would be him.

When Castiel had asked George what she was up to, George had simply told him to keep her posted and hung up.

Now, she sat studying the two hunters, her posture relaxed and calm to a frightening degree. The deaths of Dean and Sam at the hands of humans had opened up a part of George that had been long dormant. A protectiveness that hadn’t surfaced since Levi.

She wanted to give in to the darkness clawing to release, trying to swamp her heart at that moment. To return to the ways Al had taught her, had instructed her. The way of showing no mercy. She had wanted to hold onto the mask Al had forced on, to become the monster he had made her. She had wanted revenge on the hunters sitting in front of her for their audacity to take away two of the only good things George had in her life. The only things that saved her over and over again, that pulled her up and out of that dark pit she now wanted to freely dive into.

When Bobby had called with their names, she had almost let herself fall.

But thinking of her boys, George held back. For Dean. For Sam. Because they believed her to be better than the thing Al had made her out to be. Because she knew she was better than that.

Regardless, however, George swore an oath to herself: today would be the only warning, the only chance offered. If someone touched the Winchesters again, George wouldn’t hold back her skills; she wouldn’t hold back her vengeance. Because George Finley loved her boys more than anything in the world. And if the world took them from her, she wouldn’t hesitate to light it on fire and watch it burn.

Roy and Walt would be the world’s only warning. She would make sure they carried it with them, telling everyone who was wise enough to listen. For those who wouldn’t? Well, hell hadn’t held back in teaching her how to bring the most pain to the human body.

George looked over at Roy with his question. What did she want? “Haven’t decided yet.” She shrugged as if her answer were nothing important. “I’m considering your heart in my hand, but I’m not entirely certain Dean and Sam would appreciate that.”

The color drained from the hunter’s faces with her words. Roy was the first to summon his anger and disgust, spitting out words. “We only did what any hunter would do. We got rid of the monster.”

George’s legs froze, her face turning into something deadly. Tim had been the last one to call Sam that, and he had been lucky to walk away alive. Something in George didn’t want to extend that courtesy to the two men sitting before her.

“Sam Winchester is not a monster,” she snarled out. Climbing off the desk, she slowly paced over to the men, bending over at the waist to look them in the eye. “You have no idea what has happened; what those boys have had to do, to sacrifice and lose in order to save your dumb asses from being completely obliterated by angels and demons. To stop this world from ending.”

“That’s not what we’ve heard,” Walt argued.

George reached down to her boot, slowly drawing the long knife tucked away from its sheath. Standing up, she played with the tip of the knife, resting it against the pad of her thumb as she watched the blade spin around. “It’s clear you’ve heard wrong.” The blade paused, her eyes darting up to the men. “Maybe I need to make sure you hear correctly.” She motioned the tip of the blade between their ears. “Maybe if you lose an ear, it’ll help correct your hearing? What do you think?”

Roy’s voice came out shaky, his courage beginning to fail at George’s display of impenitence. “We ain’t the only hunters after them.”

George’s dangerous eyes snapped to Roy, making the hunter swallow. She tapped the tip of the blade against her palm in thought. “You knew my father, didn’t you? Al Finley?”

With the name, realization dawned. The hunters each nodded, Roy’s almost cowardly while Walt’s was more defiant.

George’s voice lowered, her voice dripping with dangerous threat. “Then you know who I am. You know what I’m capable of, what I’ve been taught to do my entire life.” She stepped closer to Walt.

Leaning over, she rested the point of the blade against his chest. Her hard eyes glared into his, a dark look slowly flowing through hers. “You spread word in the community. If anyone, and I mean anyone even so much as thinks about coming after my boys?” She looked between the two men. “And trust me, I have a way of finding out,” she turned her attention back to Walt, the tip of her blade pressing through his flannel and digging into his skin. “I won’t just come for them. No, I’ll come after you boys first. I’ll slowly slice you apart, piece by piece. And then I’ll come for them and anyone else that dares to lift a finger against the Winchester brothers.” Her eyes were full of a frighteningly calm rage and murder. “And don’t think I will be the only one.”

After a moment of silence, Walt and Roy’s heavy breaths the only sound, George stood up, releasing Walt from her blade and strolled back to the desk where her jacket was laid.

“So what?” Walt asked loudly, though his voice still trembled. “You’re just going to become the monster? You’re gonna murder us?”

George turned to face the men, a small chilling smile on her lips. “I thought you said you knew Al Finley?” She shook her head slightly in amusement. “If you did, you’d know: I’m already a monster.” She looked between the boys, her smile remaining. “But don’t worry. I’m not gonna kill you. No, I’ll save that for Sam and Dean when they come back.” Her voice changed from chilling to something sharper. “Because make no mistake. They’re coming back, boys. Even if I have to crawl through Death myself, they’re coming back.”

She let a small part of that darkness climb out, her smile turning into something haunting. “Until then, I’m going to make sure my warning and threat won't be forgotten for the rest of your disgusting and miserable lives.”

*****

The engine hummed as the Chevelle headed down the road, back in the direction of her motel. George’s phone on the dash rang, Dean’s name appearing on the screen. Scrambling, George answered it, hopeful. “Dean?”

“Hey, sweetheart. Where are you?”

Relief flooded through her system at the beautiful sound of Dean’s voice, the emotion causing a sheen in her eyes. “I’m about ten minutes out. Oh, thank god. It feels so good to hear your voice,” she breathed out. Happiness and joy flooded her chest as she pressed harder on the accelerator, anxious to get back to Dean.

Dean scoffed over the phone. “Yeah, I wouldn’t thank him for anything anytime soon. Or ever.”

George frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Just get back here, I’ll explain everything.”

***

Six minutes later, George was pushing the motel room door open, her eyes alighting on the alive and walking forms of Sam and Dean. A smile spread across her face as she rushed to Dean, his arms opened wide for her.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she mumbled into his shirt. Dean’s chest rumbled with his low laughter.

“Wasn’t my intention to begin with.”

George pulled back, reaching out to pull Sam into a welcoming hug as well. Releasing him, she looked over at Cas. “Thanks for getting them back.”

The angel inspected her person for a moment. “Bobby called.” It was a simple two words, but it told George what the angel was saying.

Sam and Dean looked between George and Cas, their brows furrowing. “What’s that mean?” Sam asked.

Castiel kept his gaze focused on George, his eyes squinting in curious suspicion. “George went after the hunters that killed you.”

Both the brothers’ gazes snapped to George. “What happened?”

George shrugged, looking at Dean. “Nothing. We had a little chat. That’s it.”

Sam huffed in amusement at her words. “Yeah, and how many broken bones do they have?”

Dean looked at her, a flicker of fear appearing in his chest. He knew what Al had trained her to be. He had witnessed first hand what could happen when she pushed away herself and became something else when forced to interrogate a demon. On top of it all, he knew what hell could do to a person, twisting a part of them into something dark and disturbing. Dean hadn’t seen any of that in George, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. He worried for a moment that— in the wake of their murders—she had allowed that darkness, that tool of Al’s, to come back. He knew if the roles were reversed, Dean wouldn’t hesitate to hunt down and destroy the person responsible for her murder. But George was different. George Finley was the goodness he lacked. His strength when he was weak. He didn’t want her to carry that scar on her soul that doing that would surely leave.

The fear in his chest eased, a relief flowing with her defense.

George gasped out in feigned offense, her hands resting on her hips. “I left them in one piece,” she argued. Her demeanour changed to something more coy as her voice softened some. “They might have a few more bruises. Maybe a few more small scars. Walt might have a nasty headache…”

Sam laughed at her words, while Dean let a small smile of relief pull at his lips. She had made her threat and ensured it was heard, but she hadn’t let Al regain control.

“But they’re still in one healthy piece,” George finished. “Unfortunately.”

Dean smiled as he pulled her back into his arms. “Glad I can count on you to avenge our asses.”

George smiled, hugging Dean again, thankful he was back. The moment she’d heard his voice, the darkness she had let out had been banished away, his deep timbre pulling her back to the light. Once again, he had saved her. She pulled away, looking between the three men. “What about you boys? You said you’d explain when I got here. What’s going on?”

The atmosphere in the room thickened, a heaviness settling over them, their smiles dissipating. Dean ran a hand through his hair. “We found Joshua, God's supposed gardener and confidant.”

“And?” George asked with a frown, noting Dean’s hopelessness and almost anger rising.

“And, he has informed us that God had a message.”

George looked between the boys, waiting for an answer. It came from Sam.

“God told us to back off. To stop looking for him.”

“What?” George asked in confusion.

Dean shrugged with his arms. “He doesn’t want to have anything to do with our story. He said he’s done enough, he’s not intervening anymore.”

George could understand the heaviness that had enveloped the boys. She now felt it too. Castiel had spent months searching for his father, hopeful that he might be able to help them in stopping the end of the world. Instead, God had effectively ripped away their last shred of hope. Ripped away any faith they might’ve had.

As the conversation continued, George realized that even Castiel had given up, feeling betrayed and angry for the father he had believed so strongly in.

The four cleaned up the motel room as best they could before heading out. There was no discussion of what to do next, where to go. There were no new ideas. A heavy silence filled the air as Dean, Sam, and George headed in no particular direction.

Chapter Text

Christmas wasn't something George had done before. Her father didn't find any use in celebrating such a frivolous and dumb holiday, and since George and Levi never really attended school, they weren't exposed to others who celebrated it.

That didn't mean, however, that George didn't know about it. Of course, she'd done plenty of research into the holiday. Al and her had come across a case resembling a version of Krampus several years back. She was pretty aware of the different origins and versions, as well as how it was celebrated in the modern day.

This year, however, was different. This was George's first real celebrated Christmas.

Dean, Sam, and she had driven up north to Sioux Falls to spend the holiday with Bobby. It was a rare occasion where there were no current cases to follow, and so Bobby had invited the trio up for a long weekend of well deserved rest.

George had just finished helping Bobby clean up from a filling dinner when Dean and Sam entered the kitchen, the two brothers quietly but lightly bickering over something in hushed whispers.

"What are you two up to?" Bobby asked gruffly with a raised brow.

The boys quieted, Dean hesitantly stepping forward towards George. He cleared his throat before revealing a small gift he'd been hiding behind his back. Lacking any real Christmas wrapping paper, the brothers had stolen a bit of Bobby's aluminum foil to wrap the gift.

"What's this?" George's eyes darted between Sam and Dean's, uncertainty evident in her face.

"What's it look like? It's a Christmas present." The tone of Bobby's words held his typical sarcasm but a hint of laughter peeked through.

George tentatively reached out a hand, accepting the gift with an almost shyness. "Really?" She asked softly, looking up at the boys. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Sam said softly with a small shrug to cover the pain he felt over her emotion. They all knew George had never experienced something like this before. "It's Christmas. We wanted to get you something."

A smile slowly spread across George's face as she held the gift close, careful of the aluminum wrapping. Her eyes met each of the boys', full of gratefulness and sincerity. "Thank you."

Smiles spread across all three of the boys' faces. Dean nodded in encouragement at the gift. "Well, go on. Open it."

"Now?" George asked.

Dean and Sam both laughed gently. "Yeah, now."

With nervous movements, George carefully peeled away the aluminum foil, a feeling she'd never experienced before filling her chest: Christmas Joy. Dean had gifted her a cassette a little while back, but she'd never experienced the excitement and rush of opening a Christmas gift specifically picked just for her. It was a happy and warm sensation that George welcomed.

As the aluminum foil fell away, two DVD movies were revealed.

"I'll Be Home For Christmas?" George asked, looking up from the movie to the boys. She'd never had a chance to see any movies, so no matter the title, it was a new experience for her.

A small shade of pink spread across Dean's cheeks as he smiled fondly at the woman. "Yeah. Because you need a good reminder that even after everything going wrong, some stories can still have a happy ending."

George's face tilted down, an almost embarrassed but happy warmth spreading across her cheeks. Her eyes glistened slightly at the thoughtfulness of the gift and the meaning behind choosing it. Quietly clearing her throat of emotion, she slid the movie to the side and read the title of the second one.

A small laugh burst from her lips at the title. "Die Hard?" During her thorough research of the holiday, George had repeatedly come across the debate on whether the movie was a Christmas movie or not.

Dean's face turned serious, his finger held up towards her in determination. "Yes. Because that is a classic Christmas movie."

Sam scoffed at his brother. "Die Hard is not a Christmas movie, dude," he argued.

Bobby huffed with annoyance, waving them towards the living room. "How about you go set things up, ya idjits. I'll get the popcorn."

Sam and Dean's argument continued as they obeyed Bobby's order, George following behind in quiet amusement.

"It's just set at Christmas time," Sam debated.

"Exactly," Dean argued, taking a seat on one end of the couch. "It's Christmas time! And John McClane even writes 'ho ho ho' on the dude's sweatshirt. It's a Christmas movie."

Sam shook his head, taking the seat on the other end of the couch, leaving the center seat for George.

"If setting is all it takes, then—" he paused as his mind searched for another movie set around Christmas time— "Gremlins would be a Christmas movie too."

Dean shook his head. "Not the same."

George sat in silence watching the boys as they argued in good humor, a peace and soft happiness filling her. Nothing in her life compared to this. Sitting there, as the boys worked to get other things ready for watching a movie, her mind wandered to her brother, Levi. As she studied the boys, she wondered how Levi would've gotten along with them, how he would've enjoyed moments like this. A pain in her heart throbbed at the fact that those were questions that would never be answered.

Dean nudging her gently and handing her a steaming cup of hot chocolate pulled her from her sadder thoughts, bringing her back to the warmth and cheer of the moment.

In no time at all, spiked hot chocolate and glasses of whiskey lined the coffee table, surrounded by candy canes and other snack foods. A grin lit up George's face as she took in the room. Snuggled contentedly between the Winchester brothers, she took it all in. A small tree sat in the corner, a single string of lights lighting it up festively. The boys continued to debate the validity of Die Hard being classified as a Christmas movie.

It was the best Christmas ever.

Dean's body pressed closer to George's as he leaned to continue the argument with Sam on her other side. George tucked her arm closer to herself, a joyous laugh floating from her lips at the absurdity of the situation.

Bobby came in, two large bowls of popcorn in his hands. "Will you two shut your traps and start the movie already?" He handed George one of the bowls with a smile and a wink before settling into his chair, his own bowl of popcorn settled on his lap.

Sam obediently hit play, giving up on the argument with his brother.

Dean leaned closer to George's ear, his voice begrudging of possibly losing the argument. "It's a Christmas movie."

George looked over at him, her cheeks smarting from smiling more than she had in her lifetime. Dean was quick to return her smile, adding a flirtatious wink along with it.

The opening song and credits pulled their attention to the small TV before them, the pair settling in for the evening. Dean settled back against the couch, his body pressing gently against hers.

George smiled as she took a few pieces of popcorn and tossed them in her mouth.

Best Christmas ever.