Supernatural 1. Chapter 17: Stay With Me

**A/N: **Hold it right there! If you're reading this, you better be agreeing that you're of age per your country's laws to read adult content.

Is that you nodding your head in agreement?

Then carry on.

And enjoy!

This is the first chapter of uncensored material in this collection, but I do have plans for others further down the line.

* * *

**Chapter 17: Stay With Me (Uncensored Version)**

"God, Dean. Could you at least take a few breaths between bites?" Tabitha asked her brother as he wolfed down his bacon cheeseburger.

"What? I'm hungry," he told her around a mouthful of food.

Tabitha cringed as she turned back to her own sandwich, absently dipping it in the au jus dip as she turned back to her laptop on the table next to her plate. "I can really see what attracts a woman to you," she muttered as she scrolled down the page on her screen.

"Damn right," he agreed, washing his food down with the last of his beer.

"Your table manners do leave a little something to be desired," Sam agreed, still picking at his salad.

Dean shrugged unconcerned, flagging down their waitress for another beer and proceeding to flirt unashamedly with the ditzy girl.

Tabitha didn't look up from her screen as she commented, "At least you know to flirt with dumb bimbos like that who don't know to set their standards any higher."

She could almost hear the grin in his smug reply. "Exactly. Just my type."

"You gonna eat that thing or just marinate it, Tab?"

Hearing Sam say her name, she finally looked up from her computer screen with an ineloquent, "Huh?"

With a pointed look at her plate, Sam said, "Your sandwich. You going to eat that or just keep holding it in your au jus until it falls apart?"

Finally, following his look, Tabitha saw that her French dip was indeed beginning to fall apart in the cup of juice, the bread soaking up the dip and turning soggy as it fell apart.

"Oops," she mumbled as she set her sandwich back on her plate, no longer finding it all that appetizing or that she had much of an appetite.

"What is going on with you?" Dean demanded as he pushed back from their table, leaning his chair back on its hind legs.

But Tabitha wasn't fooled by the relaxed pose. Dean was coiled and ready to strike on whatever she might let slip. And she was damn well determined not to. At least not to let slip what had been on her mind the past two days. She'd been doing her damnedest to think of _anything_ but _that_.

Instead, she told them what was currently on her mind. Though her current problem wasn't much more pleasing to spend her time dwelling on.

"I think I need to split off from you guys for a couple of days."

"What?" Dean demanded in a harder voice, his chair falling forward with a resounding and final thud. "We just got to town to check out this vengeful spirit. And you want to take off for somewhere else? Not until we're done here."

She'd known it wouldn't be easy, but she still fought not to roll her eyes at her brother. "We just got done handling a vengeful spirit—one you insisted the two of you could have handled just fine on your own and didn't need me—so I guess you don't really need me on this one either. And it's just for a few days. I need to head to California to take care of something."

"What's in California, Tab?" Sam asked, trying to be calm and levelheaded.

"Something I need to take care of."

"Oh, no!" Dean argued, glancing around when his voice carried across the marginally filled restaurant and lowering his voice. "You're not getting by with that. You wanna take off, you better tell us what's going on."

Tabitha pushed her laptop until she'd spun it around to face her brothers, pointing at the screen. "I finally caught an article pertaining to a kid I've been looking for. Mikey—son of the one security guard I had to shoot at the FBI building back in Virginia," she told them in a low voice, carefully scanning around the room. "He took time off work after his father's funeral, and nobody had seen him since the funeral. But he finally showed back up out in California."

Sam and Dean leaned forward to scan the article.

Looking up, Sam commented, "Says here that he bypassed a security alarm to rob a jewelry store, and was caught when a silent alarm inside the store was tripped."

Dean looked grim as he told her, "Also says here that this wasn't his first crime. Did some shoplifting as a juvenile offender, and even was suspected of some other crimes and thefts. Doesn't sound like this is anything that we handle, Tab."

"No," she agreed. "It might not be, but I still need to go check on him. Mikey had some…sticky hands let's say, but after he stole a neighbor's car for a joyride, I helped his dad straighten him out. Told him that if the neighbor chose to report it, that it would be his third strike and he'd be sent to jail for a long time. Especially since GTA was a federal crime—"

Sam cut her off. "I thought the kid was a minor. The third strike mandate doesn't apply to minors like that."

Tabitha shrugged. "I may have embellished things a bit. I was trying to scare the kid into straightening up his life. And he did. He went to college and got a job out in California I guess. But I'm worried that the death of his father is what sent him back onto this kind of path."

"Tab, what happened with his father isn't your fault," Sam kindly told her, reaching across the corner of the table to affectionately squeeze her shoulder. "And it's not your fault if this kid decided to make stupid decisions in the wake of his grief. You can't keep taking in troubled kids like this."

She knew he was referring to the similarities between Shawn and Mikey, and couldn't argue there. "Kids dealt a rough hand in life whose fathers are dead. I guess I can relate to them," she commented with a sad smile.

"Look, I can understand feeling some responsibility for this kid," Dean told her, a look of real understanding in his eyes. "But how 'bout we finish this case, and then the three of us will blow over to the west coast and you can check on this kid."

But she shook her head. "I don't want to wait. They're pushing to start his trial already by next week, and I want to go see him before then. See if there's anything I can do to help him out."

"How's it going to be of any help to him? One, the kid thinks you're dead. And two, the kid knows…" but Dean trailed off, seeming to realize how cold it was going to come out.

Tabitha finished for him. "Knows I killed his dad. Apparently for no reason. I know. But maybe there's something I can do, even if it isn't safe to go talk to him. I just feel like I can't abandon the kid after what I did."

Sam folded his arms over the table and pushed his salad plate away. "I hate to point it out, Tabby, but the last time you split off on your own is when the kid's dad got killed. Maybe you leaving on your own isn't the best idea. This _could_ be demons again. We still don't know why they were after you, but it might be they _know_ what you can do. You know," he commented pointing discreetly to his head and glancing around the room to make sure no one could overhear them. "Maybe it would be safer to take Dean's advice and wait until we can all go together. Just in case this is the demons setting another trap for you."

"I don't want to wait," she insisted.

"Fine," Dean told her, shocking her with his sudden agreement. But then, he crossed his arms over his chest. His surefire sign of stubbornness that meant she wasn't going to like or agree with whatever came next. "I'll stay here and take care of the vengeful spirit, and Sammy can go with you to California."

Tabitha stared in shock between her brothers. Sam looked reluctant, but wasn't arguing with Dean's command.

"No," she told them in a hard voice. "You're not staying here alone to deal with a vengeful spirit. That last one nearly kicked _both_ of your asses. You're not taking one on alone. I can drive to California by myself and back just fine."

"I'm sure you can," Dean agreed. "But it's not happening. Sam's right. What if this is another trap? I'm not letting you walk into _another_ one all alone."

Slowly, Tabitha reached forward and shut her laptop, clearing it off the table as she thoughtfully told them, "I might have a decent alternative for us. If you don't want me to go alone, I might know of another hunter that will say yes if I ask him to go with me."

* * *

_Tabitha? Tabitha? Can you hear me? Where are you?_

Tabitha had been feeling the tightness and pressure in her mind for a few minutes, and had started to suspect that Castiel was trying to reach her, so she wasn't surprised when his words finally reached her mind—or however it was that she heard him.

She let out a tired sigh and considered ignoring the angel's calls—after all, it had been several days since he'd sent out his warning for her to go save her brothers, and then hadn't bothered to contact her once since—but she knew it would be petty to ignore him. And though she felt too exhausted to consider launching into the conversation they needed to have, she concentrated and told him, _Headed north on I29 in South Dakota, just past exit 62._

"Where are you going?" Castiel suddenly asked from beside her in the passenger seat.

She huffed. "I'm headed north. Thought I'd go over into Minnesota and watch the Vikings play. Jeez, where do you think I'm going, Cas?"

"I didn't think there were any more Vikings," the angel murmured almost to himself.

"You're thinking of the North Stars. Lost them to Texas years ago."

The angel just stared at her, not understanding her references and teases. "Forget it," she mumbled, "I'm too tired to get into an explanation of the history of area sports teams tonight."

She continued driving for several miles, waiting for the angel to speak. But a heavy silence filled the car she had acquired earlier in the evening. True it had been silent before—the stereo didn't work in the car she'd stolen for this trip—but somehow, the more crowded the old Pontiac had become, the heavier the silence had also become.

"Sooo," she drew out, pointedly clearing her throat. "You tracked _me_ down, Cas. What did you want?" she asked. Somehow, she knew he wasn't there just for company or to sit in the silence that reigned over the vehicle.

"I needed to talk to you," he almost nervously explained, his voice soft and unsteady.

"Okaayy," she slowly drew out. "Sooo…talk. Say whatever you needed to say."

"It was a mistake," he told her in a soft voice.

Tabitha's eyes cut away from the empty interstate, straining to see him in the darkened interior of the old car. The angel was sitting stiffly in the passenger seat, his hands clapped against his knees as he stared straight ahead into the dark night.

"'Mistake,'" she slowly repeated. "What? Coming here just now? Or something else?" she carefully asked, though a part of her had more than an inkling as she looked back at the lonely interstate.

"What happened," he lowly admitted, but didn't say more.

She shifted in the uncomfortable driver's seat, the hard springs of the seat digging into her as she moved to find a more comfortable position. Glancing across at the angel again, she lifted her left foot to rest against the pocket in the recess of the door, resting her left arm against her drawn up knee as she drove, able to turn better now and regard the angel just across the seat from her.

"You mean that kiss," she finally said when he remained silent. Castiel might not want to be blunt about the matter, but that didn't mean that _she_ was going to dance around it.

He finally glanced across at her, his whole body remaining stiff and his movements slightly jerky. "I should not have acted that way," he told her. "It was wrong."

"Why?"

His brow furrowed a bit at her whispered question. "We are…different," he finally told her.

She felt her own body stiffen in response. "You mean that I'm _human_."

But he shook his head. "No. I mean that I'm an _angel_."

Her eyes left the road again as her confusion built. "What's the difference?"

Castiel stayed quiet though, not seeming to know how to answer. "It is," he finally whispered.

Tabitha stared at the road for several more tense minutes, half expecting the angel to disappear at any moment, but he merely sat rigidly across from her, seeming as though a stiff wind would break him or blow him over.

"Why did you kiss me?"

Castiel had turned to look back at the interstate, but jerked at the sound of her voice, turning to look at her with guarded eyes. "What?" he finally whispered.

She raised her voice a bit more, repeating the same question. "_Why _did you kiss me?" When he continued to stare, she huffed and elaborated. "Were you just curious about what it would be like? Or did you want to kiss me like that for some reason? Or was there some emotion driving it? _What_?"

He turned to stare down at the dashboard in front of him. "I don't know," he whispered.

Tabitha let out a growl of frustration as her other hand slapped the top of the steering wheel. "Dammit, Cas! I _get_ being confused. I'm confused as hell myself, but I don't know what to think about any of this when you can't even tell me _why _you would do something like that. And then you sit there and tell me it was a mistake. Well…maybe it was, but how am I supposed to go along with that when you can't even tell me why you did it in the first place? Am I so inconsequential in your mind that you can just sate your curiosity about something like that with me, and then just shove me aside without any explanation whatsoever? I thought we were at least friends!"

Though she had told herself not to be petty, she couldn't help the frustration and emotions creeping in, causing her to raise her voice and yell at the infuriatingly silent angel.

"Say _something_," she finally growled.

"I don't think angels are meant to have friends any more than they are meant to have feelings," he suddenly admitted in another soft whisper, still staring down at the dashboard, his frame coiled and rigid.

He suddenly heaved a sigh and finally turned to meet her eyes again. "Even hoping to maintain a friendship with you is something Heaven would be displeased with. More could be catastrophic. The charms on your bracelet hide you from Heaven's gaze, but if our…friendship was discovered…you…we…could be in great danger. More than friendship…is not possible."

For several weighty and silent minutes, Tabitha tried to absorb what Castiel had told her. Struggling to process all of his words.

"You still haven't said _why_ you kissed me," she whispered, staring ahead into the darkness.

She turned when she saw the angel open his mouth out of the corner of her eye, but it held open for a moment, and then shut, no words passing his lips.

Both of her hands wrapped around the steering wheel as her frustrations built.

"Get out of this car."

Castiel's head tilted just slightly at her whispered words.

She raised her voice and added, "I mean it."

"Perhaps it is selfish of me to even want your friendship," the angel suddenly told her. "I don't feel so…lonely…when I am in your company. But it puts you in danger. Your charms do hide you from their eyes…and I can hide my movements…but I fear what might happen if our friendship is discovered. And yet…I yearn for the kindness and concern only you have ever shown me. But as I said…perhaps it's foolish to put you in that kind of potential danger. I don't want anything to happen to you. I am after all, charged with keeping you safe."

Tabitha drew in a deep breath to try to calm herself, angry that suddenly the angel couldn't seem to stop talking. And yet, in everything he had said, he still wouldn't answer her simple question.

"So it comes back to poor, simple, human, me. You're doing whatever you're doing to protect me, and I get no more explanations from you, and no say in anything because I'm just a dumb human," she hissed.

From the corner of her eye, she saw his knuckles whiten as his hands tightened on his knees. "That's not what I'm saying," he growled, struggling to contain the anger in his own voice.

"Just get out of this car!" she yelled in return, struggling to hold her eyes straight ahead on the interstate. "Get out! If you can't treat me like a friend and equal and be honest, just _get out_! Get out before I saw something I'll regret!"

Silence filled the car, and Tabitha didn't need to look across the way to know that it was empty. There was an almost tangible feeling of loneliness and…sadness left in the angel's wake.

Looking down, Tabitha saw she was pushing the old beater car to nearly 100 mph on the deserted interstate in her anger, and as her foot let up on the gas pedal, some of her frustrations and anger began to slip away.

* * *

Tabitha honked her horn several times as she sat outside Bobby's house next to his Chevelle, waiting for him to come out so they could get back on the road.

He had a few duffle bags slung on his shoulder as he stepped out the door, waiting on the top step with his arms crossed and an unimpressed look on his face as he stared at her from in front of the closed door. She finally huffed and got out the car, bounding quickly up the steps and taking a few of his bags from him.

But Bobby held onto the straps when she tried to pull away, jerking her back around to face him as he remained planted on the step.

"What bug crawled up your behind and died?" he lazily drawled. "Something's got you in a right foul mood."

She let out a long sigh and pushed her frustrations further away, immediately apologizing to the older hunter. "I'm sorry, Bobby. I guess I _am_ in a foul mood tonight, and I have no right to take it out on you."

"Better," he simply said, pulling his bags back from her and slinging them onto his shoulder again as he walked down to her stolen car, examining it with a coldly critical eye.

"Where'd you swipe this heap?" he asked.

She shrugged. "A little slum area of Detroit that was heavily frequented by drug dealers, users, gangbangers, pimps, and prostitutes. You can have it when we're done. I doubt it'll be reported as stolen."

Bobby circled it as he looked it over with eyes that had assessed thousands of cars in his lifetime. "Doubt it'll even make it to California," he muttered.

"You got a better idea?"

"Sure," he replied, straightening up from where he'd bent down to check the tires. "A bicycle."

She rolled her eyes at the heavy sarcasm. "Well, I don't want to take the Chevelle. Unless you've finally replaced the shocks on it, it's rougher than sin, Bobby."

He chuckled. "Wouldn't know about that, Tab. I'm unaccustomed to sin myself." He moved away from her, heading in the direction of one of his old barns, throwing over his shoulder, "I had something else in mind actually. Leave that pile of junk there."

Giving another careless shrug, Tabitha quickly grabbed her gear and headed after Bobby, finding him waiting just outside one of his old barns, his hand on the door, waiting to push it open.

When she reached the door, he threw his shoulder into it, and slid the wood door open.

Tabitha's eyes strained to peer into the darkness, stepping a little ways into the dusty barn as her eyes took in the detail of the charcoal gray car waiting just inside the door.

"Is that—" but she trailed off, hardly believing it was even possible.

"They were selling it at auction, so I took a trip and bought it," Bobby explained, stepping past her and running a hand along the trunk. "I knew you wouldn't be able to get it yourself, and I figured you'd appreciate having at least something of yours back. I know you weren't able to take much when the FBI was looking for you." He turned and looked up at her with a half-smile as he continued explaining, "I had to change it from the original blue we'd restored it to, so I figured I'd go with this dark, smoky gray you'd always wanted it to be. And 'course, I changed the VIN numbers. You've got a clear title and registration for it now in one of those aliases of yours, too."

Tabitha finally tore her eyes away from the '69 Mustang Boss 302 that she had Bobby had started restoring when she'd turned 16. The straps of her bags fell from her shoulders as she wrapped Bobby in a fierce hug, ignoring his half-hearted protests. The two of them had spent years working on it together, anytime she'd stayed with Bobby for more than a day or two, but they hadn't yet finished it when she had left to go to college with Sam, and after that, she hadn't left college very often to go see Bobby.

But the day she'd finished her training at Quantico and gotten her badge, she'd driven back to the tiny house she'd been renting to find the finished Mustang with a note from Bobby in her driveway. He'd finished it to mint condition and left it in her driveway as a present, though she hadn't even known he'd come that day for the ceremony were she'd been given her badge. She hadn't realized anyone had come to the ceremony that day, but according to Dean, both he and their father had been there as well as Bobby. But none of them had let her know of their presence during the ceremony.

And now, Bobby had surprised her again just as thoroughly as all those year ago.

"Thanks," she finally squeaked out, releasing Bobby as she turned back to the car, knowing he didn't like to be gushed over. "It looks great," she told him.

Bobby shrugged, trying to retain his gruff demeanor as he too looked back at the car. "It's not bad," he casually agreed. "I'll admit, even though this isn't one of the original colors like it should be, it doesn't look half bad."

She grinned as she stared at it, "Dean's gonna be so jealous," she told him, remembering the fights they'd gotten into growing up because Bobby had given her the old car and had helped her rebuild it.

Bobby chuckled. "Boy got the Impala from your dad, so he's got no cause to complain. Just never could understand why Sam never wanted a car though. I'd have found him one if he wanted."

Tabitha shrugged as she opened the driver's door, smiling at the familiar dark interior and black leather bucket seats. "Sam never did care much about cars. He'd probably drive something newer if it was up to him."

Bobby joined her in the car, and soon she had thrown the white round gearshift into first gear, her feet dancing against the pedals as she easily slid through the gears, grinning at the familiar whine of the engine as she tore down the gravel roads, knowing that no other drivers would be out on the roads with her at two in the morning.

Bracing himself against the door at her speed, Bobby finally asked her, "So what is this situation all about that demanded your immediate attention in California? You were a little vague on the details as to why this Mikey Sanderson was such an important matter to you."

Tabitha quickly outlined the important details, explaining that he'd been the son of one of the possessed men she'd had to kill that night at the FBI offices in Virginia, and so, therefore, one of the men she'd been wanted for murdering.

"So you think this kid just stole some jewelry because he was grieving over his lost daddy?" Bobby slowly asked.

"He's had some trouble in the past with shoplifting and such," she admitted. "I think his grief just made him get in over his head. He's a good kid. I just want to see if there's anything I can do for him."

Bobby shifted uncomfortably beside her.

"What?" she asked him.

"They're not just trying to charge him with robbery, Tab," he finally explained.

"I'm sure they've tacked on B&E and several other charges," she agreed.

He shook his head. "That's not what I'm saying. After you called, I looked into the case, and the ADA is trying to get assault charges and a few others added to the docket. Seems this Mikey kid got into the jewelry store as the last employee was closing up. And beat her up pretty good, but she's fighting the ADA on pressing charges since Mikey was her boyfriend. He doesn't sound quite like the good kid you remember, Tab."

Tabitha's hands tightened on the steering wheel as she tried to process the new information. It hadn't been in the article she'd read, but then, it wouldn't have been if the Assistant District Attorney was still trying to get the girlfriend to press charges.

"That just doesn't sound like the Mikey I know," she whispered.

"People change," Bobby replied. "Grief's hard on some."

She glanced across the way, knowing that Bobby knew more about it than most.

Seeming to sense her stare, Bobby quickly changed the subject. "What had you in such a foul mood when you pulled up?"

And instantly, she could feel that mood starting to return as she remembered the less than successful and less than pleasant conversation she'd had with Castiel. She wasn't even sure why she had gotten so mad at the angel when he wouldn't explain why he'd kissed her. Part of her _did_ want to know why, but another part of her was terrified at finding out. And everything together was just putting her into a foul mood.

With a suspicious look, she told Bobby, "We're not having a heart-to-heart, Bobby. Just because you gave me a car, doesn't make you Oprah."

He laughed, but finally relented. "Fine. Be that way. I'm gonna get some shut-eye though. Too old to be up all night all the time."

* * *

"So, how should we play this? What cover should we use?" Tabitha asked Bobby after she'd showered, walking back into the main part of their room in a t-shirt and shorts as she looked through her clothes.

"'We?'" he repeated, straightening the tie of his gray suit. "There's no 'we' anywhere in the equation. Not like he won't remember the woman who killed his father."

Tabitha bristled at the blunt reminder, but knew Bobby was just trying to bluntly point out the truth of the situation.

"_I'm _going to go offer the kid some new legal counsel. He's still in lockup, so law and order, or law enforcement are the only ways to get to him. The kid didn't have enough money for a real defense attorney, so he's got a public defender. I figure he might be more inclined to tell me everything he knows if I offer to take his case pro bono rather than me going in there and pretending to be a Fed or something."

Tabitha paced at the foot of her bed as she thought. "Good. That's a good idea. I think I'll play Fed though and go take a look at the crime scene, see if there's anything helpful there."

Bobby crossed his arms as he looked at her. "You really think there's more going on than just this kid robbing a place he thought might be easy pickin's because his girlfriend worked there?"

"I do," she insisted, digging out one of her skirt suits. "Mikey was never a violent kid. Liked to take risks, sure, but never violent. It just doesn't seem right to me, Bobby. I think there's got to be more going on here."

"All right," Bobby finally agreed. "But if we're gonna split up, you damn well better promise to be careful."

* * *

Tabitha had easily managed to wave her FBI badge and get past the patrolmen stationed at the back entrance of the jewelry store. They were always so intimidated by federal agents anyway, so they didn't have the guts to stop her—though she didn't fool herself into believing that they hadn't called in her presence as soon as she was out of sight.

Actually, since a week had passed, she was slightly surprised that the crime scene hadn't been released to the owners for clean-up yet, but she supposed the ambitious ADA hadn't allowed it yet since he was still trying to add on charges and was pushing for trial so quickly as well.

She was surprised by the sight of the actual crime scene. Since she knew Mikey, she had assumed that the kid had figured a way to bypass security completely, or now knowing his girlfriend had been working at the store, had assumed he'd used her to gain entry. And while the outer doors with security alarms _had_ somehow been cleanly bypassed, the inner glass door had merely been smashed, no attempt even made to unlock it.

Tabitha stepped carefully over the shattered glass strewn on the tile floor, trying not to slip in her heels as she tried to imagine the gentle Mikey she'd known shattering the glass door with such vehemence, that glass was scattered for a dozen feet or more.

The main showroom and beyond was just as confounding to her. The glass display cases were smashed from the top rather than any attempts made at unlocking the sliding doors to them, but in the room beyond the showroom, Tabitha could see the vault door hanging open. The vault door didn't have a scratch on it, and from what Tabitha had read in the reports, had somehow been bypassed just as the security system had. In fact, it had been the act of smashing the display cases after the vault had already been opened that had triggered a silent alarm.

The finesse and careful planning on one hand, just didn't add up with the absolute destruction on the other hand. It was almost like looking at a case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

"Quite the mess, isn't it?"

Tabitha turned at the man's voice behind her, watching as a trim looking man with short brown hair carefully stepped through the same broken door she'd come through only minutes before.

"And you are?" she asked, staring at his familiar Latino face and trying to place that self-assured smile.

"Detective Shane Ramos," he told her, stepping forward and offering her his hand. "I was on my way down when the patrolmen let me know that a Fed was sniffing around. They didn't say it was such a pretty Fed on my territory though."

She smiled automatically at the flirtation, still trying to place the man, almost positive she'd seen him somewhere before.

Finally, she had to ask, "Have we met before?"

He held onto her hand after he'd shaken it, staring curiously into her eyes. "I had the same feeling," he told her. "You _do_ look very familiar, Agent…"

She gave a little smile. "Of course. Special Agent Margarita Cansino. But everyone calls me Rita."

"Huh," he muttered, still not relinquishing her hand. "You do look familiar. I was thinking something more like Tracey or Tiffany though. You ever work in Seattle? I was a detective there before. And I know I've seen you before somewhere."

_Seattle? _she groaned to herself. _That's why he looks familiar._ But she didn't let her internal panic show. She'd only briefly dealt with the local police in Seattle, and had only had a brief conversation with Detective Ramos that she could remember. Since he might remember her visit, she knew she had to stick to the truth. Thankfully, most people easily confused names, so changing her name shouldn't prove too problematic.

"There you go," she told him. "I worked a series of deaths in Seattle. Women raped, strangled, and left in parks throughout the city. The FBI was called in to help with the case after the fourth woman was found."

"Right," he said, satisfaction laced in his voice at placing her. "I remember now. The Belvedere Park Rapist." He finally seemed to realize he was still holding her hand and released it.

Like all monikers that killers and rapists were dubbed with, it wasn't exactly accurate. The name had been coined early on, when the first two bodies had been dumped in Belvedere Park, but the next five bodies had been dumped in different parks throughout the city before the FBI had identified the suspect and arrested him.

"So," he began, "what brings you here, Special Agent Cansino? This is a robbery, not exactly rape and homicide. I thought that was what your little team handled, the gruesome stuff."

Tabitha hid a grin at his assessment of her former team, moving around the showroom to continue looking at the scene. "We handle violent crimes," she said, stepping behind the register to look at the blood drops and pools mingled on the ground with the shattered glass. "Robbery and assault fall under our umbrella," she continued.

"But why are you interested in _this_ particular robbery and assault?"

She shrugged, not looking up at the detective behind her. "Thought it might have the earmarks of a string of other robberies. So I came to take a look."

Seeing she wasn't going to give any more information, Ramos followed her behind the counter, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he crouched beside her, pointing at the small blood pools. "That's where we found the assault vic. She was closing up the store when her boyfriend bypassed the security system. She tried to stop him once he made his way into the store, and got beaten for her trouble. Broken cheekbone, two fractured ribs, and a sprained wrist. The guy probably broke in when she was closing up thinking that she would go along with it."

Tabitha stood and looked around the store. "This is a jewelry store. Lot of expensive merchandise in here. So why was there only one employee closing up the shop all by herself?"

Giving a reluctantly impressed smile at her accurate assessment, Ramos explained, "Yeah, there was supposed to be two employees closing up, but the vic said her friend wanted to cut out early to go pick up his girlfriend for an anniversary dinner, so she decided to cover by herself. Look what her troubles got her."

"And the boyfriend just happened to know that she'd be closing up by herself that night and that it would be the best time to hit the store?"

Ramos heard the disbelief in her voice and bristled as he defended, "Maybe he just got lucky. Or hell, maybe she told him she was gonna close up by herself."

Something caught Tabitha's eyes as she passed one of the shattered display cases. As she bent over it to get a closer look, she told the detective, "I don't exactly believe in luck. Good or bad."

"Everything in those cases has been cataloged," he warned her with a smirk as she leaned closer and reached into the jewelry case filled with diamond rings of various sizes, cuts, and colors.

She let her finger trail across the glass at the bottom of the case, picking up some of the substance she'd spotted as she glanced across the shattered display at Ramos. "I'd rather a man gave me a diamond ring than steal one," she told him.

He coughed and looked away uncomfortably. She chuckled at the predictability, but took the opportunity to smell the yellowish dust on her finger. Her nose wrinkled at the acrid sulfur smell. _Demon_, she glumly thought to herself. But at least she had an explanation for the strange behavior of the gentle kid she'd known.

Now several questions remained: Why had a demon jumped into Mikey? Chance? Or something else?

* * *

"You're sure it was sulfur?" Bobby asked her as they sat at a small diner eating and drinking coffee as they shared their day's findings.

"I know sulfur when I see it and smell it, Bobby. It's hard to mistake," she grumbled, taking another bite of her burger.

"I tested the kid," Bobby told her. "He had no reaction to the mention of God. I also flashed a rosary when I was pulling stuff out of my briefcase, and I even managed to sneak a bottle of holy water in that the kid drank. Nothing affected the kid."

"So the demon jumped out of him," she shrugged. "What did he have to say about the robbery?"

Bobby leaned back in his side of the booth, cup of coffee in hand as he admitted, "That he really didn't remember much about it and wasn't sure why he'd do something like rob his girlfriend's store and beat her up."

"See," Tabitha pointed out, struggling to quickly chew and swallow her mouthful of burger. "The sulfur, the violence, his memory loss—all hallmarks of possession. We just need to figure out how to get Mikey out of there now. He doesn't deserve to be in jail for something he didn't do. Maybe we can arrange bail for him or something for now. Then help him disappear."

Finger's tightening around his cup, Bobby dourly explained, "We're kinda beyond that now, Tab. ADA convinced the girl to press charges against him now, and with the added charges, they've taken bail off the table. In fact, they're moving him from county lock-up to a federal maximum security prison."

Slumping back against her seat in shock, Tabitha wildly tried to grip at other and new ideas for how to get Mikey out of his jam.

"I'm sorry, Tab," Bobby kindly told her.

"_Damn_ sorry," she whispered in return, her eyes slowly drifting back up to the man across from her. "Some demon jumped Mikey. I can't help but think that it has to be my fault. Why else would a demon just randomly jump him? I _need_ to get him out of this mess. It's my responsibility."

"Whoa now, girl," Bobby told her, setting his cup down hard on the table as he leaned over it and sternly told her, "Look, if you're right about demons getting this kid because of you, then that's all the more reason to get out of town as quick as we can. I know you feel bad about the kid, but you getting captured or killed by demons ain't gonna make it right for him. If you really want to see the kid out of this mess, I'll pass the information along to someone else and see if I can't get another hunter or two to try and get the kid out."

"When are they moving him to the maximum security?" she asked instead.

With the reluctance of having teeth pulled, Bobby finally admitted, "Later tonight. They're planning to move him after the last shift change at the county jail so there are fresh guards on duty for taking him to the federal prison. Sometime after 9 this evening."

Tabitha looked briefly towards the ceiling in frustration. "Tonight," she muttered. "Then we have to do something when they're moving him or just before. Another hunter won't be able to get him out of a maximum security prison after he's been moved there, even if you _could_ get another hunter to try something so crazy."

"Maybe you should call your brothers," Bobby suggested as if the word "crazy" heralded their names, his arms crossing stubbornly over his chest again.

"Why?" she demanded. "To have them agree with you even though you and I both know I'm right. If we don't get Mikey out tonight, our chances go down to next to nil. Mikey's best shot for getting out of this is for us to get him tonight. I can't just walk away from him, Bobby. He's probably in this mess because of me. And besides, I owe him. I did kill his father after all."

Bobby frowned as he met her gaze. "You killed a demon that just happened to be possessing that boy's father. The man dying too was just an unfortunate side-effect of a lot of exorcisms."

Tabitha grimaced bitterly. "I didn't actually exorcise that demon, Bobby. I shot Jerry—the guy he was possessing—and he fell back against a pane of glass that was already riddled with bullet holes, and by the time he hit the ground outside, he was dead and the demon had disappeared."

Understanding filled Bobby's eyes. "So that's how a demon would know to go after the kid and where he would be."

"Yeah," Tabitha agreed. "I should have figured out a way to exorcise that demon at the very least instead of letting it go. So it's my fault every way you look at it."

"I'm really not even sure how we would go about getting this kid out of police custody, Tabitha."

The wheels had already been turning in Tabitha's mind. "We could go in there as Marshals, say we're taking him into custody on Federal charges somewhere else. I could forge paperwork easily enough. If we do it just before they're going to move him, they might not have time to make any calls to check on the validity of the papers."

Bobby shook his head. "Or, they'd decide to just keep him where he is overnight until they can check on the paperwork and then our covers are blown. Besides, I've already been in there as his lawyer, and you said you told that detective at the crime scene that you were with the FBI. But regardless, you couldn't go in there alone demanding they hand over a prisoner to you."

Absently spearing the food left on her plate with her fork, Tabitha thought some more. "How about a simple 'smash and grab' then when they try to move him?"

Bobby picked up his coffee again as he looked at her in disbelief. "'Smash and grab?'" he repeated.

"Well," she defended, "you don't think finesse will work. Then we're kinda only left with brunt force."

"There's only two of us," he pointed out.

"But I've got the law enforcement experience here, Bobby," she reminded him, pushing her plate aside as the plan started forming in her mind. "If they're going to wait until so late to move him, then I can just about bet they're only moving just him. They wait until middle of the morning to move large groups of prisoners to different facilities. And if they're moving just him, it'll probably be in a small transport van or even in a car. At most, there might be three or four men, probably only two if they take a car." She leaned eagerly forward, hoping Bobby would accept her plan. "This is our best shot."

"'Smash and grab,'" he slowly repeated. When she nodded, he told her, "We're gonna need to find a pretty hefty pickup."

* * *

Tabitha glanced at her watch. It was only 8:30. They still had another half-hour to wait before they really had to start watching for the transport from county lock-up to the federal lock-up. They'd already been waiting for an hour to make sure they were in place plenty ahead of time and could make sure there was nothing out of the ordinary going on.

An hour had already been far too long for the silence in the old pickup to stretch on. She looked across at Bobby behind the wheel of the 50s Ford pickup they'd found to use, but Bobby seemed unconcerned with the silence or the wait. He was slumped down in his seat, his eyes half-closed. But Tabitha knew from experience that his posture was deceptive. Even when he'd been slouched in his recliner in his living room like that, she and her brothers had never been able to sneak by him. He'd always known where they were and exactly what they were trying to sneak into or out of.

Her heavy boots tapped anxiously against the floorboards as she sighed and looked away, wishing there was some kind of action going on to keep her mind occupied. Without something happening, her mind kept drifting. And kept drifting right back to where she didn't want it to go.

She caught her hand creeping up to her lips, and balled it into a fist as she huffed in frustration at its traitorous action. For days, she'd been telling herself not to think about it. But for days, she found herself coming back to it again and again. She wasn't even sure why she wanted to know the reason behind the angel kissing her. Because truthfully, she wasn't sure what she wanted his answer to be.

And wasn't even sure if knowing the answer would settle the knot that had grown in her stomach, or just add to it.

Did she _want_ Castiel to have kissed her like that?

Or did she just want things to go back to the way they'd been before?

One thing she knew for certain, she did miss the angel. Even if she'd been angry with him and had told him to leave. Things had been simpler before the angel had kissed her that way. But no one had ever accused her of wanting something simple.

And she felt guilty now about getting so upset with the angel and kicking him out of the car. She'd never really fought with the angel before, and wasn't sure what course she should take next.

It wasn't that she wasn't used to arguing. Hell, people who had known her knew that she'd argue for the sheer pleasure of it, but she didn't know what to do about arguing with the angel.

Everyone else in her life was easy to argue with. She argued with her brothers constantly. Lately, she argued especially with Dean—and strangely enough, it was mostly _about_ the angel. But with her brothers, they argued, and then ignored each other until they'd cooled down, and then usually didn't even bring the matter up again.

With the other men that had been in her life—and they were usually in her life for the same reason—arguments usually led to and were resolved in rounds of make-up sex.

She blushed at the last thought and turned away from Bobby.

"What's occupying your mind that's got you all squirrley?" Bobby asked her, still slumped over in the driver's seat.

She frowned. It was the same thing Dean was always accusing her of, and she wondered if Dean had gotten the term from Bobby, or if Bobby had gotten it from Dean. She couldn't remember who had started accusing her of it first.

"Nothing," she said shortly, still looking out her window at the side mirrors showing the closed gates of the county jail behind them. She was slightly cool in the pickup, almost wishing now for a sweatshirt to pull over her long-sleeve t-shirt, but she knew she wouldn't want the bulk in the way when the action started happening.

"Right," he snorted. "You're back in the same foul mood you were in the other night. Something's going on."

"This still isn't a talk show and this _so_ isn't a psychiatrist's couch," she dryly reminded him, glancing back at him to prove she wasn't afraid to meet his discerning eyes.

The old hunter snorted again, but didn't have any more comments and didn't press her any further.

The pair waited in silence for several more minutes. Both were tense, and Tabitha knew that Bobby wasn't overly enthused about their plan, but he hadn't been able to come up with anything better, either.

And truth was, Tabitha was just as concerned and nervous about the plan as Bobby was. But it didn't lessen her determination. She knew saving Mikey wouldn't absolve her of her guilt, but she couldn't help but hope that it was a step towards making some kind of amends for all the destruction and death she'd somehow brought with her.

Finally, Tabitha saw the heavy chain-link and barbwire fence to the county jail rolling open. Pulling her gaze from the side mirror of the old pickup, she glanced across at Bobby. But the older hunter had seen the movement as well, watching the progress in the review mirror as he absently pulled his seatbelt a bit tighter.

They shared and look, and Tabitha copied his motion, snugging her own seatbelt as she turned back to watching out the side mirror. She could hear Bobby slid the manual gearshift of the pickup from neutral into reverse, his foot still on the clutch as he waited.

A nondescript blue sedan slowly rolled through the open gate, pausing as the gate rolled shut behind it.

"Now!" Tabitha commanded as the gate was nearly closed, feeling herself lurch forward against her seatbelt as Bobby stomped on the gas, sending the pickup flying backwards amidst squealing tires.

Tabitha's body was coiled and tensed in anticipation, but in her mind, she suddenly remembered from her training in Quantico that tensing your body during a car collision—even an intentional one—was behind many of the injuries people suffered. Their tightened muscles being more prone to tears and injuries than if a person was relaxed.

So at the last second, Tabitha closed her eyes to block out the sight of the stopped sedan growing larger in the mirror as she let out a sigh and willed her body to relax as much as she could.

The pickup suddenly lurched to a stop; the sounds of metal, fiberglass, and glass shattering and exploding in her ears as her body was jerked back and forth between the back of her seat and the tightened seatbelt. Even forcing her body to relax somewhat, it still hurt more than she expected, but there was no time to consider the pain.

"Go!" Bobby yelled beside her as they both fumbled for their seatbelts.

But Tabitha was already partway out of the pickup, her shotgun snug against her shoulder as she cautiously jogged back to the blue sedan. The side of the car was caved in, and the sedan was rolled over onto its passenger side from the force of the hit. The pickup had suffered as well, though not nearly as badly. The heavy metal of the old pickup better able to withstand the hit than the lightweight more modern car had been.

The unmarked police car wouldn't be going anywhere, whereas the old pickup would still suit them just fine for a getaway as only the bed had been crumpled a bit.

But the sights of the damage were only fleeting in her mind as Tabitha carefully rounded the front of the overturned car, peeking around the hood of the car to make sure the officers inside were still dazed.

Seeing the driver out cold and the passenger dazed and barely moving, Tabitha quickly advanced, using the butt of her sawed-off shotgun and throwing her weight into it as she smashed away at the windshield. It was already cracked in spider webs and with a few more hits, she was able to grab the edge with her gloved hands and peel it away from the car. She was glad now that Bobby had suggested the gloves, telling her that she'd want them with all the shattered glass. But she wasn't altogether surprised by his knowledge. Even if he hadn't purposefully hit a car before—though a nagging feeling told her that he seemed to have experience with it—he'd also dealt with plenty of busted up vehicles at his salvage yard.

The officer in the passenger seat was just starting to regain his senses as Tabitha and Bobby together peeled the windshield away. The uniformed officer was trying to reach for his gun, even in his awkward, sideways state and through his disorientation. But Tabitha moved quickly, slamming the butt of the shotgun against his temple to knock the man out. Luckily, there were only the two officers inside the overturned car.

"Grab the keys," Bobby commanded, hunched near the car as he threw glances back at the still closed gates of the jail. It wouldn't be long though until other cops came running out to investigate the loud crash just outside their gate.

They had known it would be risky trying to grab Mikey so close to the county jail, but it was the only place where they could for sure know where the transport vehicle would be. It would have been impossible to know for sure what route they might have taken to the Federal lockup.

Tabitha carefully crouched amidst the scattered shards of glass and vehicle parts until she had snagged the keys from the now knocked out officer as well as taking the keys from the ignition. From her position, she'd looked through the metal cage to Mikey in the backseat, but he wore the same dazed look as the officers, so she didn't waste her time trying to talk to him.

"Got them," she finally told Bobby as she stood up.

He gestured up at the side of the vehicle in the air. "Get on up there," he directed. "We need to get that boy and get the hell outta here."

She nodded in agreement as she handed her shotgun to Bobby, carefully hoisting herself up onto the side of the vehicle. She wasted no time in kneeling on the driver's door as she unlocked the back door and then scooted around to lower herself inside the vehicle.

Nudging at Mikey's shoulder, she tried to rouse him. "Come on, Mikey," she told him, continuing to shake him with one hand as she tried to release his seatbelt with the other. But the buckle wouldn't budge, so she settled for cutting him out with her switchblade instead.

Mikey was shaking his head now, trying to clear the cobwebs from his mind as he fell away from his seat, caught by Tabitha who was busy reaching behind him to uncuff his hands and then the chains at his feet.

He was still disoriented in her arms, looking around the sideways interior of the car as she began pushing him up towards the open door above them. Luckily, he seemed to take the hint and began scrambling up as she pushed him out, stumbling out of the car towards Bobby.

He glanced down at himself several times, taking in the sight of his orange jumpsuit and then glancing back at the overturned car. Glass and car parts crunched under his feet as he turned in a slow circle, looking around at the scene.

"Let's go," Bobby gruffly advised them both, tossing the second shotgun back to Tabitha as she jumped down from the car.

"What are you doing here?" Mikey suddenly demanded as he stared at Bobby. "I thought you were my new lawyer."

"No time now, kid," Bobby quickly told him, trying to propel the boy back towards their waiting pickup. "Get him inside," Bobby ordered to Tabitha as he made for the driver's side.

Mikey turned to look at her, stopping cold when he saw her face. "You're dead," he whispered, yanking his arm from her grasp as he fell back a step. His face contorted in rage. "You killed my father!"

Tabitha tried to step closer again to grab his arm. "We don't have time for this, Mikey. We need to get you out of here now."

Even as she spoke, she could hear the commotion and shouts of police officers running towards them and the heavy creaking of the gate rolling open once more.

She lunged and tried to grab him, but Mikey swung away from her, avoiding her grip.

"Dammit, Mikey," she growled. "We don't have _time_ for this! Unless you want to end up in a federal prison for the next ten to fifteen years."

With another lunge, she managed to grab him and started dragging him, despite his reluctance, towards the pickup.

"Tabitha! Watch out!"

Tabitha heard Bobby's warning shout just as she was pivoting back towards the front of the pickup, but couldn't stop the motion before she found herself looking down the short barrel of a compact .40 caliber Smith & Wesson.

She froze with one hand still on Mikey's elbow and her shotgun lowered to her side, her eyes flicking up and past the barrel of the pistol at the man holding it. Directly into his black eyes.

Her body remained carefully frozen, but she glanced across the crumpled bed of the pickup to see Bobby just as carefully frozen and facing another demon.

"You ain't going anywhere," the demon facing her said with a grin. She quickly took in the appearance of the man the demon had taken over, but didn't notice much noteworthy about him. Just an average looking working class man, his pale hands habitually stained with dirt and grease, and dressed in jeans and a dirty flannel shirt. The one facing Bobby wasn't much different, though a bit older and with a beer-belly to match Bobby's.

Tabitha slowly pushed a silent and stunned Mikey further behind her, between the bed of the pickup and her back before releasing her grip on him as she tried to gauge how quickly she could lift her shotgun and get a shot off, and wondering to herself if the salt rounds would even do any good. They'd sting a demon, but she wasn't even sure it would be enough to help.

The demon seemed to sense her intent, shaking the forefinger of his free hand at her as if she was a naughty child. "Tsk tsk. I wouldn't try anything if I were you. You're pretty well surrounded."

She glanced over her shoulder to confirm it, and grimaced when she saw the lifeless black eyes of the uniformed officers jogging through the gate from the police station.

"A trap," she whispered, more to herself than to anyone else.

"Yep," the demon in front of her replied, a smug satisfaction in his grin. "Although I had figured you might have tried something a bit sooner."

"Sorry we kept you waitin'," Bobby dryly retorted.

The demon waved his free hand in an almost imperious manner. "On the contrary. You're an added bonus. We knew the girl would come," he looked away from Bobby and focused on Tabitha, "but we hadn't counted on being able to bring the old hunter to Lilith along with you."

Tabitha felt her heart clench and her breath catch even as Bobby cursed lowly under his breath.

Lilith.

Tabitha now knew who wanted her, and knowing did nothing to comfort her. She almost wished now that she had her ignorance back. _That_ somehow seemed a lot more comforting now.

"What does Lilith want with me?" she asked the demon surprised at the calmness she suffused her question with. She'd asked before of course, just why Lilith wanted her, but the demon then either hadn't known or hadn't been forthcoming with the information.

The demon in front of her made another flourish with his hand. "I don't know," he said in a careless fashion. "I just follow orders. She says to get you. I get you."

Mikey had been silent behind her, but seemed unable to hold his tongue any longer.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded.

He'd stepped slightly to the side of Tabitha, and she reached behind her trying to blindly grab him to shove him safely behind her again, but he had stepped just out of her reach.

The demon's eyes cut over to Mikey with an annoyed look. "You're asking questions about things you can't even comprehend, human. And besides, it really doesn't matter." The demon's hand deftly moved as he changed his aim. "You were just the bait."

At the short range, the sound rang painfully in Tabitha's ears before her mind truly registered that the demon had fired a shot. For the barest of moments, she looked down at herself thinking that the demon must have shot her. But there was no pain save for the deafening roar filling her ears. In the next instant, Tabitha glanced over her shoulder, her eyes filled with the sight of Mikey's lifeless body sliding bonelessly down the side of the pickup bed, a trickle of red racing down from the red dot in the center of his forehead.

Her next movements were instinctive and memorized from many years of training and practice. She hardly had time to register her own movement, but her actions replayed in her mind in slow motion. Hand-to-hand combat and self-defense had been drilled into her in the academy. And her moves had flowed with a practiced ease as her free hand came down hard on the demon's gun hand, pushing the barrel towards the ground as she stepped into him and drove her knee up into his groin.

The hit would have been enough to bring down a normal man, but it only slowed the demon. So Tabitha released his arm as she stepped back, swinging her sawed-off shotgun up with both hands and firing at the demon center mass.

The demon hit the ground snarling in pain, and Tabitha whirled to face the demons closing in behind her. She could hear Bobby struggling against the other demon on his side of the pickup as she gauged the rushing demons. There were six demons—counting the one Bobby still fought.

Too many. Too many for just the two of them to take on.

Her eyes drifted down to Mikey's lifeless eyes staring accusingly up at her. She could do nothing more for him. She'd failed him. And she knew his sightless accusing eyes would haunt her dreams.

But there was nothing more she could do, and there were too many demons to fight.

She spun on her heel and raced around the front of the pickup. The other demons from the county jail were nearly on them and she needed to get herself and Bobby out of the minefield.

Bobby was grappling with the demon when she rounded the front of the pickup. She couldn't risk firing a salt round at the demon and possibly hitting Bobby. But she hadn't brought anything else with her to use against it. They hadn't expected a trap of this magnitude, and had hoped to grab Mikey and be out quickly, so she hadn't weighed herself down with weapons against demons.

But she did have one thing that would help. Her left hand palmed one of the charms dangling from her bracelet as she started reaching for the demon.

The demon suddenly jerked forward towards Bobby and she heard the older hunter gasp and cry out in pain, his face contorting as his body curled forward towards the demon.

Tabitha gasped as though she herself had been stabbed, the sight of the man who had been as much a father to her as anyone could have been being stabbed searing through her heart. But she couldn't pause, couldn't dwell on the sickening sight. She swung her shotgun at the demon's head with all her might, seeing him stumble sideways to one knee, a bloody knife in his hand. Before the demon could scramble back to his feet, Tabitha rushed forward, pressing the black jeweled cross on her bracelet to the demon's forehead.

As it screamed in pain, she knew she didn't have time to exorcise it, so she impulsively recited, "The Lord is my shepherd: I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake, and though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for thou art with me."

She didn't finish the psalm, but she'd recited enough to keep the demon writhing in pain for a while.

Tabitha turned away and dropped to her knees beside Bobby, her hands quickly covering the bleeding wound at his midsection, a fearful whimper slipping past her lips at the sight of the dark viscous blood welling through her clenched fingers.

"Go," he ordered, his voice low and pained.

"I won't leave you," she argued, shaking her head and fighting tears. _It's too late_, she thought to herself as she glanced up at the demons nearly upon them. _It's too late to run now, and I can't just leave Bobby behind_. Her mind quickly drifted back on her regrets. She didn't have many; she'd always tried to live her life without regrets. But not being there for her brothers was one. And fighting with Castiel and not getting to tell him she was sorry was another. _I wish I could see you one last time, Cas_.

Suddenly, the angel appeared between her and the demons, standing in profile to her as he glanced down at her and then at the demons skidding to a halt.

Tabitha rocked back on her heels in shock, somehow not believing that the angel had actually shown up after the fight they'd had and her ordering him away. Yet, there he stood, looking down at her with a strange expression in all his usual trench-coat-wearing-glory.

"Go," he ordered her. And unlike Bobby's command, she instantly nodded in agreement, wrapping Bobby's arm over her shoulder and helping him struggle to his feet. Bobby staggered to the pickup with her help, and she eased him inside, as gently as she was able trying to shove him across the bench as she climbed in after him.

But she paused in closing the door, glancing back at the angel twisting and dodging in the middle of the demons. Throwing punches to knock them back and then grabbing at one as he pressed his palm to its forehead. He met her gaze as a blinding light emitted from his hand, the demon falling lifeless at his feet, and he gave her one last nod before he turned back to the other demons.

Tabitha slammed the driver's door, the tires of the pickup squealing as she punched it, throwing worried looks at Bobby beside her as she sped towards the nearest hospital.

Bobby had slumped over in his seat by the time Tabitha skidded to a stop in the bay of the emergency room entrance. She couldn't tell if he was conscious or even still breathing as she threw her door open, screaming for help as she drug Bobby back across the bench with her. He fell gracelessly across the seat on his back, his hands falling away from the wound in his stomach. And Tabitha screamed again as she pulled on him more, pressing her own hands at the wound to stem the flow.

Suddenly, it was a flurry of activity as nurses, doctors, and hospital staff began buzzing around her, helping to pull Bobby out of the truck and onto a gurney. She heard them telling her to move, trying to slip in to replace their own hands with hers, but she barked orders at them, afraid to move her hands and allow him to bleed anymore. So instead, her hands remained steadily pressed against the wound as she almost automatically called orders at the ER doctor that seemed to be in charge, telling him in a detached, clinical matter that Bobby had been stabbed in the abdominal cavity with a six-inch blade and then giving him an estimate of how much blood she thought Bobby had lost. Her FBI training made it easier to slip into a clinical, detached mode.

The doctor barked orders, allowing her to remain beside Bobby as they pushed the gurney through the outer rooms of the ER, headed further in for a trauma bay.

They began cutting away Bobby's shirt, and the doctor asked her more question, she thought perhaps to keep her distracted. But she remained eerily calm until a nurse tried to take over from her, trying to push her back from Bobby.

"Get your hands off me," she growled at the young nurse.

She brunette nurse barely even glanced up at her, still trying to wedge her way between Tabitha and the gurney. "You need to let us take over, dear," she calmly replied.

"You come between me and my father and I'll cut that hand off," Tabitha hissed as she lowered her head to the shorter nurse's level.

The woman looked up into her eyes, finally seeming to catch the wildness in them that she hadn't registered before in Tabitha's voice. She stared up in real fear as she fell back a step, but stopped when a hand descended on her shoulder.

"Leave."

Tabitha glanced up at the whispered order, her eyes locking with Castiel's concerned gaze. She stared at the angel as he looked around the trauma bay and repeated the order louder. Some kind of glaze seemed to fill the eyes of the doctors and nurses as they stopped their hurried work and calmly left the room, not saying a word to Tabitha as they passed her.

"They cannot help him," Castiel finally told her in answer to her questioning look.

She felt a pained gasp escape her lips at the angel's pronouncement. She didn't want to accept it, couldn't believe that she would lose another father and that this time it would be all her fault.

In many ways, Bobby had always been more of a father to her than John had ever been. It had been Bobby she'd always run to when she needed someone to talk to, or needed refuge. It had been Bobby that taught her all about cars and even how to drive. And it had even been Bobby who had uncomfortably pulled her aside when she was 14 and had first gotten her period, explaining it all to her and even giving her the birds and bees talk. Even promising her that he'd skin alive any man that didn't treat her like a princess.

In so many ways, Bobby had been her world. The one person she could fall back and rely on.

But she still didn't lift her hands away from his wound as she brokenly whispered to his prone form, "I'm so sorry, Bobby. It's all my fault." She felt her eyes squeeze shut, the tears she'd managed to hold at bay now spilling through her closed eyes, streaming silently down her cheeks as she felt her body tremble with the effort to keep herself from falling to pieces.

"I can help him," Castiel quietly told her. Her eyes popped open, staring at the angel and fearing to hope. He gestured down at Bobby's wound under her hands. "If you'll let me."

When the nurse had tried to get her to move her hands, she'd refused, fear and desperation not allowing her to turn Bobby over to anyone else. But she had no such hesitation at Castiel's offer. Even after their last argument, she implicitly trusted the angel, suddenly realizing that she felt she could rely on Castiel just as much as she'd always been able to rely on Bobby.

Pulling her blood-coated hands away, she nodded almost desperately, saying, "Yes. Please help him. Please."

Castiel held her eyes for a moment, and then stepped forward, gently placing his hand over Bobby's wound. As he gingerly pressed on it, Bobby unconsciously groaned, his back arching against the angel's touch. But then, Castiel's hand slowly pulled away, and Bobby gave a soft sigh as he relaxed against the gurney, the twist of pain no longer marring in his features. There was no longer even blood at his midsection to mark where the wound had been.

The angel glanced up at her and gestured to Bobby's forehead, his fingers pointing to a gash at his temple that Tabitha hadn't even noticed until now for the presence of the substantial abdominal wound. "The head injury is slight but will be enough cause to explain to the humans why he is here."

Tabitha nodded in a mute, stupefied manner as she stared down at Bobby's relaxed body on the gurney, a shuddering sigh escaping to know that he wasn't lost to her.

But then, the doctors and nurses silently filtered back into the room, swarming around Bobby and checking his head wound as if Tabitha and Castiel weren't even there.

"Come," Castiel quietly told her as he gently guided her out of the trauma room with a hand at her elbow. Tabitha felt a little reluctance, but the shock of thinking Bobby would die one moment and then seeing him healed the next moment was almost more than she could take. So she docilely let the angel lead her out into the hallway. He paused and let her stare back through the long narrow window in the door as people hovered around the older hunter.

The repercussions of nearly losing Bobby suddenly hit Tabitha like a ton of bricks. She doubled over, leaning back against the wall and bracing her hands on her knees as her entire body began to tremble. She wasn't sure if she felt the need to throw up, or if she was going to hyperventilate, or even break into tears. Somehow, her body seemed to settle on the latter as great heaves wracked her. All she could see in her mind was Bobby bleeding beneath her hands, and the sightless, accusing eyes of Mikey staring up at her.

"He'll be fine," Castiel hastened to assure her, his voice coming from nearby though she could only stare down at her own feet as she continued to tremble. "He'll have no lasting damage from the head wound, and I have insured that he will sleep soundly through the night."

Her fingers dug into her knees as she tried to focus on Castiel's reassurances, repeating it over and over to herself until her tears had finally stopped. She forced herself to straighten, leaning back to brace herself against the wall, afraid she couldn't completely hold herself up. But her tears had thankfully dried.

With an almost automatic nod, Tabitha finally turned and focused on the angel. "Thank you. For showing up when you did and for saving him." Her eyes fell from his, dropping to her hands in front of her as she stared at the now drying blood coating them, reminding her again of what could have happened. "I don't know what I would have done if anything had happened to him," she admitted in a whisper.

"He will sleep through the night," Castiel repeated, drawing her attention back to him as she lifted her eyes, feeling his hands grasp both of hers between them as he stepped closer to her, her back pressing harder against the wall as he closed the gap between them. "So you should rest for the night as well," he continued.

Tabitha glanced away from his piercing gaze, suddenly realizing that the busy hum of the hospital had vanished, replaced instead by the quiet hum of a motel heater. Somehow, the angel had instantly transported her from the hospital to the motel room she had been sharing with Bobby.

"You should sleep," the angel kindly reminded her as she stared around the room in an almost dazed, detached manner.

She shook her head, intending to tell the angel that there was no way she could sleep when she was covered in Bobby's blood, a blatant reminder that because of her insistences, she was responsible for yet another death, and nearly had been responsible for Bobby's as well.

But then, she glanced down at her hands, and saw that the blood was gone. Her hands and clothes returned to the state she'd started the night: clean. Yet she couldn't help but wonder if she would ever feel clean again.

"Mikey's dead because of me. They used him to lure me into a trap, and it got him killed. And Bobby nearly died, too, because I just _had _to come out here and try to help him. Maybe my father and Dean were right; maybe I had no right to try to live a normal life. Maybe it wasn't fair for me to put their lives in that kind of jeopardy just because I liked the idea of living a normal life and doing normal things. It's all my fault."

She felt her body tremble once more as she spoke aloud the guilt that was piercing through her. Her eyes squeezing shut at the images that flashed through her mind. The images of those that she'd worked with who were now dead because of her: Cheryl, Jerry, Agent Barrett, her own partner Casey, and now, Mikey. Even the sight of Bobby bleeding on the ground flashed in her mind. Reminding her again how close he had come to joining the ever-growing list. Not that she needed the reminder. His near death would haunt her dreams along with all the others.

A warm hand suddenly cupped her cheek, and without thought, Tabitha turned her face into it, knowing that it was Castiel and seeking the feeling of peace that his touch always seemed to bring her.

"It's not your fault," he whispered to her. "You can't take responsibility for those demons coming after you."

She finally opened her eyes to stare up at the earnest blue eyes of the angel. "Are those demons dead?" she asked him in a low whisper.

He nodded, his hand remaining pressed against her jaw as his thumb lightly brushed across her cheek.

"They won't be the only ones after me, will they?"

The angel shook his head, not voicing his answer, but Tabitha not really needing him to.

"It was Lilith," she suddenly said. Castiel stiffened in surprise, his hand starting to pull away from her. But Tabitha quickly reached up, pressing his fingers against her jaw again, not willing to lose his warmth yet.

When the angel continued to stare at her in shock, she explained in a bitter, desperate tone, "Those demons were sent by Lilith. I'm guessing they all were. It's Lilith that wants me. And she won't stop until she has me."

A fierce look suddenly filled the angel's face, his other arm lifting to cup her face between his hands as he fervently told her, "Nothing will happen to you. Lilith won't get you. I won't let her."

Tabitha's hands were anchored on the angel's wrists, gripping him tightly as he stared at her, his eyes burning with his promise. But her hands fell from his wrists, grabbing the lapels of his tan coat and pulling him closer, her lips crashing against his as his arms quickly slid around her, locking her in place against him and cradling her as closely as their bodies would allow.

She moaned at his ardent response, humming an appreciative sound in her throat as his hands slid against her body, one cupping the back of her head just below her ponytail and the other pressing against her lower back in an effort to bring her closer.

Tabitha shuffled her feet, pushing on Castiel's shoulders to force him backwards, and his feet shuffling with hers until his legs hit the bed behind him and he fell against it. She paused at the sight of him reclined back on his elbows, staring up at her with a look that was mingled longing and fear.

"You're always here for me," she whispered to the angel, marveling the fact to herself. Even after their fight and the discomfort that had grown between them because of it, he had still come for her. Still helped her without hesitation.

"Of course," he returned, seeming slightly confused by her distinction.

And Tabitha remembered that fighting with him had been one of her few real regrets. She sometimes lived her life impulsively, choosing to do whatever felt right in the moment—and while that sometimes led to choices she perhaps shouldn't have made, she tried to never let herself regret them, because in the moment, they'd felt right. And she didn't normally let herself dwell on choices that she had already made.

The recent deaths would haunt her, and the lingering guilt would take a long time to dissipate, but she knew that deep down she couldn't really regret the choice that had led her to the FBI, regardless of what she'd said earlier.

But she regretted fighting with Castiel. Castiel who had come to her aid and saved the life of the man who in her heart of hearts would always be her father. Castiel who always came for her, and made her feel better even when he was sitting and staring at her in silence. Castiel who could ebb the icy flow of guilt, grief, and sadness in her heart.

She stepped forward, toeing off her boots and socks before crossing her arms over her chest as she pulled her long-sleeve t-shirt over her head, discarding it behind her as she knelt over Castiel's thighs.

The angel's hands instantly reached up to cling at her sides, his fingers digging into her bare skin almost painfully as he held her away from him. She could feel every small tremor that passed through him while he stared up at her, visibly holding himself back just as he held her away from him.

"We can't do this," he whispered to her. "If Heaven found out, it could be your death and mine."

Her arms were braced on his shoulders, but she twisted her left wrist just a bit to jingle the charms there. "I thought you said they couldn't find me because of this." He nodded, but it was somewhat reluctantly. "Then they don't need to know," she assured him.

"Angels aren't supposed to have emotions," he tried again, but it sounded like a weak protest even to Tabitha's ears.

But she paused nevertheless as she considered it. "I don't know what emotions you have," she finally told him. "I'm not even sure what emotions _I_ have about this. But it doesn't have to matter right now. I don't want to be alone right now. Please don't leave me alone. I'm afraid that if you leave now, the guilt and grief will just rise up again and swallow me whole. I don't want to feel that. I don't want to feel _that_ or _anything_ tonight. I don't want to feel the fear that's scratching at my throat when I think of Lilith coming after me. I just want to stay in your arms and _not_ feel _anything_. Please. Don't leave me now and let that grief and that fear rise up. I don't want to be swallowed whole by it. I don't want to think about what happened in the past. I don't want to think about what might happen in the future. I just want to think about right now. This moment."

Castiel stared up at her, and she could see the emotions battling across his face. But as he opened his mouth to voice another objection, Tabitha curled her body and leaned down to capture his lips with hers once more, silencing whatever he might have said. And whatever the feeble objection had been fell away unspoken, Castiel's fingers releasing her waist as he wrapped his arms around her, his hands sliding up her back to anchor on her shoulders as he pulled her closer, suddenly seeming to need their bodies pressed closely together just as much as she needed it.

Tabitha hummed against his mouth, her hands bunching the coat and suit jacket together in her hands as she roughly shoved them back over his shoulders, smiling in triumph at the way an almost petulant moan escaped his lips when he was forced to release her and yank his arms out of the clothing. But his arms quickly attached to her waist again, his fingers once more digging in as she moved on to loosening the crooked blue tie, her fingers then fumbling with the white buttons of the shirt as she struggled to undo them all.

Castiel had released her lips, leaning backwards just a bit to stare up at her, an almost awed expression on his face as she finally undid the last button, yanking the loosened tie over his head and then pushing his shirt back down his arms as well. His chest lifted up and down as he breathed in almost shuddering bursts, but he remained still, just gripping her waist as Tabitha likewise leaned back to examine the angel.

In the back of her mind, she knew this wasn't what he truly looked like. She knew it was just the shell housing him. But she still took the time to admire the beauty of it. Smooth chest muscles led down to a flat, lightly muscled stomach, and trailed with a fine dusting of dark hair that disappeared into his waistband. He was more of a lean-build than well-muscled like men she had been attracted to in her past, but she knew the angel within the shell made him stronger and more powerful than his appearance let on.

And while a part of her vanity admired the pretty package he was wrapped in, she knew it was more than the packaging. There was a sense of peace and warmth his touch brought to her, and that was the angel alone that gave her such peace and warmth. He was her protector, her confidant, and more than anything else, her friend. The first being she'd ever felt this incredibly close to. The first she'd been able to speak candidly with without fear of having to censor her words about what she really was and what she did.

And she couldn't deny that the angel made her feel something that she'd never experienced before. Perhaps it was just companionship—she couldn't truthfully put any kind of name on it—but she was glad for it nonetheless.

She knew, too, that the angel's real face was no less beautiful than the shell he now wore. She'd seen it only briefly when Pamela had tried contacting him, but it had been lovely. Though, unlike any human face. Not handsome in the traditional sense of a man's face, but lovely in its softness and etherealness.

Castiel's fingers dug into her a bit tighter as his face tightened slightly. "I don't…I have never…" he trailed off his whispered words, not seeming to know what to say any more than what to do.

Tabitha gave him a gentle smile, trailing one hand down to her waist and prying his hand away from her, lifting it to the back of her neck, and splaying his fingers there.

"Touch me," she told him, amazed at the husky sound that left her lips. "Kiss me. Do whatever you want. There's no right or wrong, just do what feels natural and what feels good."

The angel massaged her neck with his hand, and Tabitha let her head fall back as a moan escaped. She blindly reached down and brought his other hand up to cup her breast through the blue satin bra, encouraging him with her moans when his fingers tentatively skimmed pleasurably across her chest.

Soon, she felt his lips experimentally brush across her chest as well, his lips lightly nibbling flesh pebbled by the cool air. And then she shivered when his tongue slid out to swipe across her skin, gasping when the cool air hit the wet trail he left behind.

Her hands couldn't hold still, reaching down to skim across his own chest, brushing across his nipples and lightly dragging her nails across them.

He gasped in surprise, his eyes darting up to hers at the unexpected pleasure her simple touch had brought.

"You've watched humans before. Just do what comes natural," she encouraged him again.

His hands unerringly found her waist once more, gripping her as he suddenly twisted on the bed, rolling with her until her back connected with the bed and she was positioned directly underneath him.

For a moment, he froze, seeming unsure of what to do next, so Tabitha let her legs rise up on either side of his hips, letting the soles of her feet graze across the backs of his thighs as she nudged him closer. She reached up with her hands, caressing his jaw with each hand before pulling him down to meet her waiting mouth, delighting in the way he eagerly responded to her kiss.

She felt her body getting hotter despite the cool air of the room, and her body trembled in response to the differing sensations of hot and cold. Soon, she had to break away to catch her breath, tipping her head back as Castiel's hands moved from bracing himself against the bed on either side of her shoulders, to lightly caressing up and down her sides. Her breaths began to come out in shallow pants as Castiel continued to kiss down her neck, across her chest, and finally down to her stomach, seeming to take great care in laving across the flat plane, even dipping down into her navel.

Her breath caught altogether when his hands suddenly and impatiently moved to her jeans, pulling on the button as he tried to release it. In another setting, Tabitha might have found his frustrated concentration on the button of her jeans and the zipper below it humorous, but she felt just as impatient as he was. Her hands brushed his away, quickly undoing the buckle of her belt before attacking the button and zipper.

Castiel's hands instantly gripped at her hips, grabbing handfuls of her jeans as he quickly jerked them downwards in one smooth motion, dropping them on the floor as he stared at her bared skin. Only her simple light blue panties and bra were left to cover her from his searching eyes.

Tabitha made a move to sit up, but Castiel suddenly leaned forward, placing one knee between her legs as his hands lightly skimmed up her outer thighs.

The light touch made her flesh pebble again, and she bit her lower lip in an effort to contain the moan at the strange pleasure so light a touch brought her. She continued to watch him through lidded eyes as his hands explored the expanse of her exposed skin. Alternating between feathery caresses down her legs, and then tightly gripping and massaging his way back up her legs, occasionally piercing his touches with light kisses across her thighs.

Unable to stand the exploratory touches that inexplicably drove heat rushing through her veins, Tabitha sat up, pushing at his chest until Castiel stood between her open legs.

She quickly reached out to undo the button and zipper of his pants, dragging them and his boxers past his hips before letting them go to fall at his feet. As she looked up into his face, she almost laughed at the surprised look he wore staring down at his own arousal. Instead, she scooted back on the bed, dragging him forward with one of his hands in hers.

Gingerly, he toed off his own shoes and socks before following her back onto the bed, allowing her to push him onto his back, his head resting on the pillows as she straddled his legs. She paused for a moment on her knees, looking for any sign that he wanted to stop, but saw only a very human look of hunger in his eyes.

Slowly, she reached behind her back, flicking the hooks of her bra and letting the straps fall down her arms and tossing it away. Then, she reached up and let her hair down, shaking her head to settle the loose waves always present in her honeyed locks. Castiel stared at her, tentatively lifting his hands to slide up her sides. When she didn't object, he let one hand slip around to cup a breast, brushing his thumb across the hardening nipple.

Tabitha felt her head fall back as she let out a gasp, the sound turning into a moan as Castiel boldly rolled the nipple between his fingers. As he continued to touch and caress her, Tabitha quickly pushed her panties down her hips, shifting from one knee to the other as she quickly discarded them as well.

Castiel paused again when she was finally bared to him, his eyes hungrily traveling up and down her body.

She lightly stroked his arousal in response, letting her hand wrap around him as she smoothly glided her grip up and down his length once. His head punched back into the pillow in response, his eyes clenching tightly as he moaned something guttural that she didn't understand. Emboldened by his response, Tabitha tightened her grip, stroking him more firmly as he lengthened in her hand, his hips jerking upwards slightly beneath her.

He groaned something else she didn't understand, his hands flailing against the covers of the bed before finding purchase against her knees. He gripped tightly, pulling on her knees until he had pulled her further up his body.

Tabitha knew that heated look in his eyes when he lifted his head to pin her in his stare. An almost hungry desperation that screamed one sentiment: Now.

So Tabitha lurched partway off the bed, snagging the edge of her bag as she dug into the zipper pocket. When she sat up straight, she found Castiel propped up on his elbows, curiosity mingled in his hungry gaze.

She expediently tore open the foil packet, and then expertly rolled the condom into place. "I don't know much about how things work with angels," she told him as she worked, noticing the way his body tensed at her touch. "But I figure it's better safe than sorry since you're in a human body."

For a moment, Tabitha paused again, looking into Castiel's intense blue eyes as he watched her in return. Leaning over his chest, she pressed a kiss to his lips, his arousal twitching against her belly as she gave him an almost chaste kiss. She pushed up just enough to look back down into his eyes, searching for any hesitancy or regret.

"You mean so much to me. You're always there for me, Cas," she whispered against his lips, dropping another gentle kiss against them.

She felt his hand slide up her nape, threading into her hair as he pulled her closer, his other hand sliding to her hip, massaging and kneading her flesh as he pulled her flush against his body. They moaned in unison as their heated flesh touched. Castiel's arousal twitching more against her lower stomach.

Tabitha tore her mouth away, her lips already feeling sensitized and swollen from his fevered kisses. Her head twisted as her nose burrowed against the side of his neck, her tongue darting out to lightly taste the musky scent of his skin. He hissed in response, dipping his own mouth to her neck, laving kisses there and then trailing them down to her shoulder. Her breath caught, and to stifle another moan, she lightly dug her teeth into his shoulder, causing him to shudder and arch into her, his hips jerking reflexively beneath her.

She suddenly pushed up and looked down into his eyes again. "Say 'stop' and we will. Tell me to stop and I'll walk away right now," she tried to assure him, feeling the need to give him the out if he wanted it. But she bit her lip nervously at the thought of him telling her to stop. Of him getting up and disappearing. "Or tell me not to stop," she suddenly pleaded, hating the begging tone in her voice but unable to stop. "Tell me not to stop and stay here with me. Stay."

"Why do you want me?"

Tabitha paused at his question. Staring at him in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Why do you want me? I am nothing special. I am nobody. Just an angel."

Tabitha held her stare on him, but finally saw that he was genuinely confused—that he truly couldn't understand why she could want him in particular.

She sat up straighter, placing his palm on her chest over her heart. "When my heart is so filled with pain and grief, you touch me, you talk to me, and it all fades away. You push away the void of pain and grief, make me forget it—even if only for a while—and sometimes, just your touch replaces it with warmth and peace. No one else can do that. No one else can wipe away that pain like you do. You're special _to me_. I don't know what this is, but with you, I can live in this moment. I can forget the past and the future. There's only here and now. Tell me not to stop."

Castiel finally leaned up towards her, his hand sliding around her back as he pulled her down closer again, staring intently into her eyes as his other hand cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin so familiarly. He leaned closer as her eyes shut, whispering a gentle plea into her ear, "Stay. Don't stop. Stay with me."

His lips gently kissed along her jaw as she relaxed, sliding her hand between them as she gripped him and slowly slid herself down onto his arousal. She paused when she'd taken him completely in, letting out a long exhale as she willed her body to relax and adjust to him. But as she shifted her weight, his hips gave an involuntary jerk, and she tensed against him. He pushed her back to stare into her eyes with concern.

She gave him a reassuring smile as she explained through shallow breaths, "Just give me a minute to adjust, I'm a bit out of practice."

"I have no practice," he told her, his brows scrunching in a worried manner.

Tabitha finally straightened over him, slowly rolling her hips as she drew his hands back to her waist. "Just do what comes naturally," she reminded him.

His hands clutched at her waist for several minutes as she slowly rocked her hips, her body quickly heating as her skin became more sensitized. Every nerve ending felt electrified, and soon, she couldn't hold back her slow teasing pace. She was soon twisting and rocking her hips in a frenzied pace.

Castiel had steadfastly watched her, his hands caressing and massaging at her waist as he studied her with rapt attention. But as her pace grew frantic, he suddenly sat up beneath her, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist as he held her hip with one hand, guiding her up and down as he rolled and twisted his own hips underneath her. She leaned back in his grip, her eyes closing at the sensations of the changed position, feeling him stroking her deeper and caressing her in just the right spot as her breaths left in shallow, unsteady pants.

She felt her body tense, and knew by the erratic rhythm of his thrusts that Castiel was nearly there as well. But as she let her head fall back, preparing for the wave to rush over her, she suddenly felt Castiel's hand slide into her hair, gripping a handful as he guided her head back up, his eyes boring into hers in a silent demand. He didn't voice it, but somehow she knew he needed to see her eyes, needed to look into them.

And as her body tightened and began to convulse around him, she fought to keep her eyes on his, even as her back arched at the waves of pleasure washing through her.

His arms tightened around her, his fingers digging almost painfully into her hip as he gave a few last erratic jerks beneath her calling out something guttural once more. Then his forehead fell against hers, his throat working as he swallowed thickly and fought to even his breathing.

He held her locked in a tight embrace against his chest as they melted into each other, neither saying a word or pulling away as they slowly regained their breath.

But as her breathing evened out, she felt the previous heat leaking from her body as the cool air licked across the sweat sheen on her skin, and she fought against the slight shivers causing the current tremor of her muscles.

Castiel pulled slightly away from her, looking curiously into her face as he asked, "Is something wrong?"

She shook her head. "Just cold." And then pulled at the covers to climb beneath them, tugging him to lie down beside her. "Aren't you cold?" she asked, her hands skimming under the covers across his chest, feeling the damp iciness of his skin and marveling that he wasn't shivering like her.

He shrugged as she carefully lowered her head onto his shoulder. "Angels don't feel such minor discomforts as humans do."

Castiel hadn't moved when she placed her head on his shoulder, so she moved closer, wrapping her arm over his waist and curling into him, hoping to build and share some heat between them. "Well I'm cold enough for both of us," she quietly joked.

He looked down at her curled against his side, and tentatively pulled her closer, wrapping an arm over her shoulders as she nuzzled closer, her nose pressing closer to his neck as she inhaled the sharper, salty tinged sweetness and musk of him. And feeling his arm wrap around her and bring her closer, she finally let her eyes close and fell asleep against him. Somehow knowing that when she woke, he would still be beside her, and the notion building on the feeling of warmth and peace that had driven away the pain and grief that had previously filled her heart.

* * *

**A/N: **Well, I'm always nervous about writing the first adult content (lemon/sex scene) in any story, because it's so daunting to set the tone for what two characters' chemistry is going to be like. Hopefully I haven't disappointed, I know a lot of people were waiting for this scene, and believe me, it was hard to write.

These two were hard to know how to write because we all know that Tabitha is no blushing virgin, and that (in my story) Castiel is a virgin. But I didn't want him to be completely clueless. Yes, he's a virgin, but I guess I imagine that after thousands of years watching humans, you at least understand the mechanics of sex, if not learn a trick or two. In my mind, Castiel understands the fundamentals of sex, he's just never been in a vessel and had the kinds of urges that humans get, so can't really understand the urges and desires until he feels them, but that doesn't mean he doesn't know what to do.

Hope that makes some sense, and that I've done our pair some justice.

And yes, they've finally made this huge step! But believe me, this is only the beginning.

Thanks so much for all your loyal reviews, and keep 'em coming! I'm so hopelessly addicted now!


	2. Chapter 4: Separate Ways

**A/N: **Eek! Sorry for the horribly long delay! Like I've warned before, summer kinda gets hectic for me. But to make up for the horribly long delay, I have a super long, lemony chapter for you. :)

And like before, this is the uncensored version. You must be tall enough to ride this ride. ;)

Also, I try to follow the timeline of the show, and there's a link to a great one I use in my profile. But at this point in the show, there's some discrepancy as to how long the boys are apart doing their own thing while Castiel looks for God. Either they're apart like a week, or three months. Huge spread, I know. And I fall on the side of the argument that it was three months. For one, it's not very long to be apart and for emotions to settle for the boys, and for another, it's not very long that Cas has been looking for God before he comes to Dean for help. But there are arguments for both. And since the longer time fits my plot better, that's what we're going with.

And on another note, the stuff I have written about New Orleans, and continue to write about New Orleans, is not canon from the show. Everything I'm writing about what hunting and voodoo are like in New Orleans, and Momma Cecile and Etienne is all me. That's all from my warped mind. :) So I'd appreciate nobody taking that for being real in the show, and also not stealing it from me, since that stuff is my original work.

* * *

**Chapter 4: Separate Ways (Uncensored)**

Tabitha pulled her helmet off and balanced Cort's motorcycle between her knees as she turned off the bike in his driveway. She wasn't surprised to see him almost immediately open the door to stride out and meet her partway. His Harley was loud. He'd probably heard the familiar roar and recognized it from a block away.

"You look damn fine on that thing," he drawled as he paused to lean against one of the white pillars of his covered porch, his arms crossed over his chest as he gave her a smoldering look.

She took her time admiring the sight of him as well. But shook her head at the way he always grinned and puffed up when she did give him more than a cursory glance. He was a good-looking specimen of a man, but he was unfortunately all too aware of it.

Some of the teasing left his tone as he told her in a more sedate voice, "Wasn't sure if I'd ever see you again."

After pushing the kickstand in place, she swung her leg over the back of the bike, stalking up the porch stairs and tossing the helmet to Cort. He caught it as she pulled down the zipper on her leather jacket. "I left all my stuff here. Of course I was coming back."

"Clothes are easily replaced," he pointed out.

With a chuckle at his uncharacteristic insecurity, she lightly hopped up to sit on the railing to his left as she reminded him, "But my mother's bible isn't. And I left that here with you." She glanced back at his motorcycle. "And I wasn't just going to steal your bike like that, even if it _was _tempting. That thing is a lot of fun. Almost as much fun as my Mustang. Now, if I could have figured out a way to bring both it and your bike back, I would have. But I figured you'd want to see me bring your baby back to you."

"I'd of let you keep the dang thing if you wanted it. I was more worried about _you_ not coming back than losing something that's far more easily replaced."

He uncomfortably cleared his throat and shifted from foot to foot.

"It's been more than a month," he confided in a subdued tone. When she frowned, he added, "I know. I know. Nothing serious here. I was merely worried as a _friend_."

Her frown didn't disappear at the way he stressed "friend," because she knew no matter what he told her and what they agreed to, deep down, he was still hoping for more.

"It took a lot longer to get Bobby settled in at his place than I thought it would," she admitted. She'd only been at Cort's place a week when she found out from the hospital where Bobby had been that the old hunter was ready to be discharged. And despite the crotchety man's protests, she'd been there to see him home and get him settled in.

"How's he handling things?"

She snorted at the question. "Back to his bossy self. He was there every bit of the way as I installed ramps and such at his place. Being a general pain in my butt."

Cort shot her a surprised look. "_You_, installed them? Why not just hire some carpenters to do it. Wouldn't have taken a month then."

"_Bobby_ let hired help into his place? You _must_ be joking," she shot back with an annoyed look. "Wouldn't have taken me a month either if I hadn't had him at my elbow trying to correct my every hammer swing." She held her hands up to display a few bruised and purple fingertips and nails. "I forgot how painful it can be working with that grumpy old man. But I eventually got it all done more or less to his satisfaction. I even managed to get him busy researching so I could finish working in peace."

"He find anything?"

"No," she replied with a frustrated huff. "Nothing on an angel named Pam—though I figured it wasn't her real name—but nothing much at all about a sister to Michael and Lucifer. Nothing for sure anyway. I mean, to angels, they're _all_ brothers and sisters." She darted a glance at Cort next to her. "You find anything useful here while I was gone?"

"No," he admitted, giving a matching sigh of frustration as he hopped onto the railing beside her, his long legs still touching the floorboards while hers dangled in the air. "I took that bible of yours to every university in the five state area looking for a professor that could translate that passage. No dice. Though I did have several offers on the book should I wish to sell it. They were very intrigued by the primitive Aramaic."

"Good thing you don't need the money, or I might _not_ have had any reason to come back," she teased, but sobered and continued, "No word yet from Momma Cecile either?"

"No word there either."

"It's been more than a month," she whispered with an edge of frustration, but beginning to fear that even the mysterious voodoo priestess couldn't help her.

Cort could only shrug and offer, "Maybe whatever spirits she's talking to are being difficult." He gave her a curious look. "Bobby was okay with you just taking off again?"

Tabitha shrugged and nervously tapped her fingers against her knees. "He kept pushing me to go find my brothers, but I told him we obviously needed the time apart. And then he wanted to know if I'd 'acquired' that motorcycle in New Orleans."

Cort winced as they both glanced at the Harley. The license plate read Vermont.

"So Bobby knows you're here with me. I didn't think he'd recognize my bike, but I guess he did. Not easily fooled by a fake license."

"Yeah," Tabitha sighed. "He didn't seem real convinced when I told him I stole it somewhere on the east coast. But it's not a big deal that Bobby suspects where I really am."

Cort let out a disbelieving laugh, seemingly changing the subject as he asked, "He in one of those motorized wheelchairs or one of those old-fashioned push types?"

"A manual push one. Why?" she wondered, turning towards Cort and crossing her arms over her chest as she waited for his answer to such a bizarre question.

"Just wondering which to be watching for. A motorized one makes some noise, gives a fella some warning, but it's also faster. Then again, the push one might be slower, but it's quieter. He can sneak up on me better when he comes to kill me." He dropped off the railing as he spoke, walking across the porch to peer at the siding of the house as he'd found something intriguing.

Tabitha laughed at his paranoia. "Why would he kill you? Wait…is that why you wouldn't come with me up to his place? Are you afraid of Bobby? What on earth for?"

"Not afraid…exactly," he hedged, his eyes darting away from Tabitha as he leaned sideways against the house, causally crossing his feet. "Just…cautious."

"Cautious about what?" Tabitha demanded, a grin tugging on her lips at the thought of Cort running scared from Bobby.

"Well…he may…or may not…have promised to kill me if he caught me 'round you again," Cort answered in a blasé tone, scratching at his chin as he avoided her eyes. She absently noted that the scruff beneath his fingertips was a bit longer and fuller than when she'd left, though it hadn't quite strayed into the territory of unkempt. It only added to his ruggedness.

Even though she found it a bit entertaining that Cort had been threatened by yet another member of her family of the male persuasion, she couldn't help the little sigh of disappointment that escaped. "He threatens you a decade ago…and you're still walking on eggshells over it," she ruefully noted.

"Decade?" he laughed. "Try a couple of years ago. He told me that if I didn't skin out of Virginia right away, he was going to do some very ungentlemanly things that I'd rather not repeat in front of a lady."

"Virginia?" she repeated, surprised by that news.

"Yeah. I came to watch your graduation from Quantico. But I ran into Bobby, and he _suggested_ that I leave before your daddy found out I was there or they would _both_ do some very creative things to me."

She stared at him, lost in a stupor for several moments. "You were at my academy graduation?" she repeated in surprise. Uncertain what to make of it, she shook it off and laughed a little to herself as she commented, "I can't believe how many people apparently showed up that day when I didn't think _anyone_ came to watch just me. You guys did realize that it wasn't some secret society thing, right? There was actually a pretty big party afterwards you all could have come to. Beer, drinking, the whole nine yards."

Cort gave her a pointed look. "Could you really have imagined any of us rubbing elbows with the Fed types that were at that thing? Besides, I figured Bobby was right and I should take off before your daddy or brother saw me. They weren't big fans of me anyway, and me being there wasn't going to score any points with 'em."

Looking down and fidgeting with her hands, Tabitha wryly commented, "Yeah, I guess it wasn't worth trying to pick a fight with Bobby, my dad, and my brother just to say hi to me or something."

Before she had time to look up, Cort's presence surrounded her, his arms circling her as he gripped the railing on either side of her, and his head dipping down to the crook of her neck as she gulped in a surprised gasp of air.

His breath was hot as it blew across her skin, making her shiver with emotions she didn't want to name, but his body didn't quite touch her. Goose bumps pimpled her skin at the warm caress of his gentle exhale, but his lips never touched her flesh as he fiercely whispered, "Don't you _ever_ think you weren't worth the trouble or fight it would have been, Chérie. You were just about to start your new career, so you didn't need me reappearing in your life just then. And if I hadn't agreed with Bobby and your father, I'd of gladly taken them on. Don't you _ever_ sell yourself short, Tabitha. You're worth a fight. A _hell_ of one."

Her eyes had shut when Cort's presence had surrounded her with his body, but they snapped open when she felt him step back from her just as suddenly. Disappearing so fast that the skin at the base of her neck and shoulder still felt hauntingly warm from his breath.

Although she felt like she'd just run a mile at a flat-out sprint, he hardly looked affected, only a smoldering look in his suddenly darkened gaze as he stared down at her from across the porch gave any indication of his emotions.

"You still wear my charm," he suddenly told her, a predatory grin lighting his face.

She glanced down at where she'd crossed her left arm over her right. Her charm bracket had turned enough so that they could both see the old-fashioned revolver charm he'd given her a decade ago to commemorate their first date. It had been one of the most memorable she'd ever been on.

At seventeen, she hadn't been interested in him taking her drinking or dancing when they'd met up again and it had become apparent that he was drawn to the woman hunting had matured her into. Rather than such frivolous things, she'd wanted him to take her to the shooting range so she could prove her prowess to him.

He'd taken her to a paintball range instead.

Despite her initial dismay, it turned into the best date. Even so many years later. The hunting, stalking, and shooting allowed her competitive edge to come through, but in a more enjoyable and playful way than she could have imagined a date that involved stalking and shooting each other could possibly be.

But then, Cort had never been like any other man. And that was what she had loved about him at seventeen.

"It has fond memories," she finally told him, folding her other hand over the bracelet.

"Me too," he throatily agreed, his eyes snapping to hers as she hid the charm from his eyes.

She glanced away. Part of what she'd always loved was Cort's self-assuredness. But it was also what she hated. Too often, it had left her feeling as if she was on weaker footing than he was. She didn't have his confidence. And when he looked at her with that cocky, teasing smile, she couldn't help reminding herself just how easily he could do better than her.

Her stomach twisted as an inner voice reminded her that she should have felt that way about Castiel. _He_ was angel. But his ineptness, his uncertainty, put her at ease. Made _her_ feel more confident. When he had stared at her with his intense blue gaze, she'd never felt the need to glance over her shoulder to see who he was really looking at as she often felt with Cort. With Castiel, she'd never doubted or questioned that he'd been staring at her and her alone.

Trying to lighten the intensity that his gaze still betrayed, he humorously reverted to the former topic, telling her, "Still…I'm glad to know that Bobby's in a wheel chair now. Long as I stay in my house, he can't get up the stairs into the place to make good on his promise. Now all I'll have to watch out for is if he puts out a hit and tries to get another hunter to take me out."

"He wouldn't do that," she replied, surprised by the sudden huskiness deepening her voice.

"You'd be surprised at the lengths a man would go to to protect a woman like you," he meaningfully answered, his own voice dropping an octave as he held her stare.

Tabitha broke their eye contact, looking away and refusing to let herself think about the implications of his statement as she replied, "No. I mean that he wouldn't let someone else do it. Bobby likes to do his own work."

The tension eased a bit as Cort laughed, taking a deep breath and stepping back a bit more to put more space between them. Though he did observe, "The men in your life definitely are a protective bunch."

It seemed an understatement to her. "Anyone in my family _not_ threaten you with bodily harm over us briefly dating when I was seventeen?" she joked.

He pretended to consider it. "Don't think Sam ever did. But I don't think he ever realized what was going on back then, either."

Almost to herself, Tabitha commented, "I wonder what it is about me that the men in my family think they have to go so overboard trying to protect me. I guess I seem particularly weak and needy to them."

Cort shrugged and started walking back down the porch towards his front door. He paused to turn towards her again, leaning sideways against the house as he replied, "I wouldn't take it as anything but a compliment, Tabby. Might not feel that way to you, but you've got to consider just how much they care about you that they try to protect you so well. It's more'n a lotta girls have. And any man that cared one whit for a girl like you an' was worth his salt would do what he could to protect you. Got nothin' to do with thinking you can't do it yourself. It's caring enough about you to want you to never have to be tested that way."

He turned and walked into the house. But Tabitha sat alone on the railing marveling to herself at the chemistry that still seemed to ignite between them, even when he hadn't so much as touched her. Just his nearness ignited something in her she hadn't known could still flare for him.

She sat for a long time contemplating not only Cort's words, but also the manner in which he'd delivered them to her.

Her first love may have agreed to her request that they remain only friends, but he seemed determined to keep reminding her that he was only biding his time for more. And reigniting the sensations and feelings in her body that she was surprised he managed to elicit even after a decade apart.

And while her body screamed for her to throw emotions to the wind and reclaim the passion her body instinctively remembered, her mind pulled her back, lingering not on the darkened brown eyes smoldering at her only moments before, but blue eyes that continued to haunt her dreams.

* * *

"How do you stand this heat and humidity?" Tabitha asked when she broke the surface of Cort's pool after swimming another set of laps.

He was hunched over several books spread out around him on one of the chaise lounges and didn't immediately answer her. Or even look up.

"Cort?" she prompted as she folded her arms on the edge of the pool, lazily churning her legs beneath her as she waited for him to acknowledge her.

He finally glanced up, spitting out the pencil he'd been worriedly gnawing on. "What?" he asked.

"You find anything useful?" she asked, forgoing her original question.

"No," he admitted, a pinched look darkening his face as he stared accusingly down at the old texts spread out around him. "I still can't find a darn thing that's useful. Nothing to help translate that passage of yours. And nothing about your angel either."

Tabitha felt her heart skip a beat as her mind conjured the memory of blue eyes, but she shoved it away, reminding herself again that Cort was talking about "Pam" or whatever the angel's real name was that had shown up in her dreams. Not Castiel. And not that he would ever be _her _angel.

She hadn't seen the unknown angel again either to try to press her for more information about who she really was. The sum total of what she knew about that angel was that she was obviously a close sister to both Lucifer and Michael, and that Tabitha was meant to be her vessel.

That information had all come from the angel herself. They hadn't been able to find _one piece_ of useful lore or even mythology that might give them more answers.

Something niggled at Tabitha's senses, telling her that the passage in her mother's bible held some answers, but after nearly two months of trying to translate it—even with Cort's help—they still hadn't gotten anywhere. The language was so archaic, that at best, they were guessing at what certain words might actually be.

After spending yet another morning of staring at the passage and pouring over other old books written in Aramaic, Tabitha had finally thrown up her hands and taken herself and her headache for a swim in Cort's pool. Even though she had spent the last two months in New Orleans with Cort, she still hadn't quite gotten used to the heat and humidity that weighed the air so heavily in the late August days. So Cort's lavish pool was a welcome relief to the heat.

The weather did wonders for her tan though, she thought with a small smile as she glanced down at her arms braced on the edge of the pool. As much time as she'd spent in Cort's backyard split between sunbathing while researching, and then swimming in his pool, she'd managed to attain a deep golden tan that she hadn't had since she was a teenager and had the time to sunbathe. She'd been so busy at the FBI and then hunting with her brothers, that it had been many years since her skin had bronzed to such a deep hue.

She wryly thought that at least her worries of skin cancer were a thing of the past. With the impending Apocalypse, skin cancer was at the very bottom of her list of things that might kill her.

"Maybe we should ply other means of trying to translate this text," Cort thoughtfully spoke.

Tabitha looked back up from her musings about her tan to see him staring intently at her.

"Like what?"

He shrugged, looking reluctant to admit what he was thinking before he finally gave a withering sigh and answered, "There might be ways to contact the spirit world and see if we can't find a spirit that can translate this."

Holding back her instinctive response, Tabitha forced herself to give it due consideration. She knew what her brothers' responses to the idea would have been, an emphatic no. Probably even a _hell no_. And her response would likely have been the same when she'd still been with them. She could almost hear Dean lecturing her that they were hunters; they put spirits down, sent them back to the grave. They did _not_ use them as helpers.

But it had been three months since she last saw or heard from either of her brothers. And while she still wasn't comfortable with some of the hoodoo and voodoo stuff around New Orleans like Cort was, she'd learned to give it a little credit, too. She'd helped Cort with two cases where they'd put spirits to rest that had become angry and uncontrolled.

It was an unusual thing, Cort had assured her. The voodoo practitioners of the city apparently communed with spirits all the time, and in exchange for help from the spirits, they had the power to keep the spirits from becoming angry and vengeful.

One of the spirits they'd been called to put to rest had been in New Orleans for hundreds of years and serving several generations of one family. It had never been angry or vengeful. Had never lost its sense of self. Something that had seemed utterly fascinating to Tabitha who had only ever encountered angry and vengeful spirits trying to hurt others, or the pitiable spirits stuck in a death loop, experiencing their deaths over and over, never seeming to realize they had died a long time ago.

But something was happening in the city. The spirits that had lived there for decades and even hundreds of years were becoming restless, losing themselves. Cort told her that he'd heard from Etienne that the spirits were losing themselves in increasing numbers, too. The old man was apparently so busy with his own followers putting suddenly violent spirits to rest, that he'd actually asked Cort and two other hunters from the nearby area to enter his city to help a few times.

And though Cort never voiced it, she feared just as he did that the sudden, unexplained rash of previously sentient and peaceful spirits losing themselves had something to do with the coming Apocalypse.

"Are you sure that's a good idea right now?" she questioned in response to Cort's idea, worry creeping into her tone as she rested her chin on her folded hands.

Cort glanced away but then steadfastly held her eyes as he affirmed, "Maybe not, but we're running out of choices, Tab. We've made no progress on this, and we need to know what's going on. We need to know how to protect you from this angel, too."

She nodded, knowing he was right but worried about what might happen if he contacted a spirit for help and it suddenly lost itself and became vengeful. But knowing that it might be dangerous didn't stop it from being the only option they seemed to have left.

"What about Etienne?" she wondered, grasping for any other possibilities. She knew Cort knew some voodoo, even if he wasn't an active practitioner like others in the city. "Maybe there's something he could do? It might be safer."

A derisive breath blew out in a short puff through Cort's nose as he leaned back against the lounge chair, folding his hands behind his head as he responded, "One, Etienne's been a bit busy, Tabby cat. And two, he ain't been real pleased with me the last coupla times I talked to him."

She noticed that he tactfully left out that _she_ was the reason Etienne was angry with Cort, and that the old man blamed her and her brothers for everything that was happening.

"There has to be some other way we can get this thing translated," she lamented as she angrily kicked backwards in the water, splashing water up into the air behind her.

Cort opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when they both heard the low chiming of the doorbell echoing inside the house.

As Cort scrambled to his feet, Tabitha easily lifted herself out of the water, grabbing her wrap to tie around her waist as she followed Cort's apprehensive movements. In the two months since she'd been back from Bobby's place, she'd never once seen anybody else at Cort's house. They occasionally ran into people Cort knew from both the normal world and the supernatural one if they went out at night to drink or dance, but Cort was also very adamant about meeting those people at bars and such. He'd told her that his house was his sanctuary, and Tabitha had begun to think of it that way as well.

They were in the hallway to the front door when Cort snatched a handgun out of the drawer of a low table, throwing over his shoulder at her, "Stay there."

Having never been one to follow growled orders, Tabitha followed behind him as he opened the door.

He cracked the door open, and then slid the gun into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back, swinging the door open with a long sigh as he exasperatedly asked, "Tamera, what are you doing here? And how'd you even know where I live?"

Tabitha angled around Cort's massive form, stepping closer to his back, but enough around him so that she could still reach for where he'd tucked his gun, but also see whom it was he'd addressed.

She forgot all about her weariness at someone showing up at Cort's house when he had been so insistent that no one was welcomed there but her. The tall, gorgeous beauty standing on the porch had chased all thoughts from Tabitha's mind.

The woman's skin was a dark, warm colored mocha, with long legs lifting her to almost Amazonian heights. Her tall heels punched her up several more inches, letting her stare slightly down into Cort's eyes, but Tabitha figured she was still one of the few woman that could challenge Cort's tall frame even without those tall heels.

"I come to speak with'd you, Cort," she huskily drawled, her voice a low, couldn't-melt-butter-in-your-mouth resonance that matched her full, pouty lips. Tabitha put her French Creole accent as French Quarter, but the slinky designer dress molding to her curves put her into a more uppercut division than any of the people Cort had introduced her to when they'd gone dancing at Cajun bars in the Quarter.

"What about?" Cort asked her, his words brisk, but underlying warmth in his voice that made Tabitha give the other woman another look over.

She had more curves than Tabitha did, her full breasts almost seeming to spill over the low scoop of her bronze hued dress, but narrowing to a slim waist before swelling out to full curved hips. The tall heels made her long legs stretch even longer, and display firm sleek calves.

"You goin' to keep me waitin' on you porch, Cort? Where'd you manners be?" she asked him, pursing her full lips more as she questioned him in sultry, seductive tones, her long fingers reaching up to toy with a few strands of the tight cornrowed braids that fell over her shoulder and hung nearly to her waist.

"I didn't invite you over, Tamera," he reminded her. His tone was chiding, but almost teasing at the same time.

It shouldn't have surprised Tabitha, but his twinkling eyes and teasing tone confirmed what the sultry gaze of the dark-skinned beauty was already telling her: that these two knew each other. Intimately.

She told herself that it didn't matter and that she didn't care, but it still stung a little to stare up at the statuesque woman who looked like she'd just stepped off the runway and have both her and Cort virtually ignore her.

Telling herself that she was only annoyed at being ignored, Tabitha held her hand out towards the woman, offering, "Hi. We haven't met. I'm Tabitha."

The woman flicked her eyes over her before finally accepting the hand Tabitha held out, lightly touching her fingers before pulling away with one last withering look as her lip slightly curled.

Tabitha self-consciously looked down, suddenly wishing she were wearing something more than the simple white bikini she'd pulled on and not standing barefoot in the entryway of Cort's house. What she wouldn't have given to be wearing a tall stacked heel to combat her suddenly diminutive height, and a pushup bra that might make her B-cups appear more like a C. Anything that would give her some armor against the derisive and dismissive glance the other woman and flickered over her.

Never had she truly considered herself a vain woman—she knew and accepted her assets and her weaknesses—but that was when comparing herself to a normal woman. She knew now what most little girls must feel like when they tried to hold themselves up to models. Most models she'd seen had nothing on this Tamera and worse yet, Tamera knew it.

"Charmed of course," Tamera finally responded, her voice still that warm, husky tone, even if her eyes were cold as they skimmed over her one last time.

As her sultry gaze fixed on Cort again, Tabitha fought the urge to reach up and smooth her hair, knowing it was wild and wavy from her swim in the pool, but determined not to let this woman see her squirm again.

Cort glanced uncomfortably between the two women, either sensing the undercurrents suddenly swelling between them, or finally realizing himself the awkwardness of standing between two of his former lovers.

Clearing his throat, he addressed Tamera again, subtly stepping back enough so that his body was angled just slightly behind Tabitha's, not touching her, but making a statement nonetheless as he maneuvered himself closer to her and further from Tamera.

Tamera's nose wrinkled delicately in response, not missing the unspoken statement either, but she flipped the mass of delicate braids back over her shoulder as she loftily held her head high, meeting his gaze over Tabitha's shoulder as she shortly told him, "Grandfader has asked for you. Bot'd of you." Her tone had lost the husky quality to it, but was still deep and resonant as she relayed the message, though Tabitha gave a small inward huff of laughter at the sheer nerve Cort seemed to have, dating Etienne's granddaughter. Not that she hadn't always known that Cort didn't have much fear of anything.

The woman dropped her eyes one last time, glancing down to meet Tabitha's gaze again, imparting the last of her message. "Momma Cecil will see ya now. Doe'ent keep h'er waitin'."

Turing on her high stilettos, the woman began to stalk away, her gait more of a sway than a walk. But she paused at the top of the stairs to the porch, turning over her shoulder to tell Cort, "I's still be here when you'd be ready. But I grows tired of waitin', Cort."

Cort cleared his throat again as he stepped around Tabitha to shut the door, turning to lean his back against it as he stared down at the floor between them.

"I…ah…used to date Tamera. For a while," he almost stutteringly admitted, a blush, surprisingly, creeping over his cheeks.

Without the resplendence of the other woman's beauty staring her in the face, Tabitha was able to relax a bit and remind herself that it really wasn't any of her business.

"We're just friends, Cort," she pointed out for both their sakes. "Who you…_date_…is none of my business. Besides, I don't know how _any_ guy could help himself with her. She's…gorgeous doesn't even begin to cover what she is. Believe me, I get it."

She'd tried to keep the bitterness and envy out of her voice, but something of it must of slipped through, because Cort's eyes snapped up to hers, narrowing as he admonished her. "Don't you ever disparage yourself to me or yourself, chérie. Even in thought. Tamera is a beautiful woman, but she's got nothing on you."

He pushed away from the door as he spoke, stalking towards her with a sudden hunger that had Tabitha frozen under his predatory gaze, yearning to look over her shoulder to see who he was really looking at. He reached down to lightly brush a few wild strands of blond over her shoulder, his fingers barely grazing her flesh but making her shudder at the inexplicable heat left trailing the light touch.

"No other woman drives me to such longing and yearning," he whispered, his voice rough with a huskiness that rivaled anything Tamera had been able to lace in her words.

But as the words registered in her suddenly sluggish mind, Tabitha jerked her eyes from her shoulder where his fingers had brushed against her to stare up into the dark eyes that loomed over her. Promising more fire and passion.

A harsh laugh escaped as Cort loomed closer, his voice becoming rougher still as he told her, "And what's more, there's such innocence in you. Even after all these years an' everythin' you've seen. You don't even realize what you do to me."

Tabitha drew a shuddering breath, her mouth suddenly dry as she took a shaky step backwards. Followed by another as she tried to put distance between them again. "Cort—" she started to say.

But he cut her off, a laughter made harsh from something other than lust this time escaping as he interrupted her, looking away as he said, "I know. I know. You don't need to say it again. We're friends. Of course." His eyes found hers unerringly as he told her with a voice full of dark promise, "But it's not always going to be just friendship between us. I won't stop letting you know I want more."

Afraid to touch the subject with a ten-foot pole, she shrugged and told him, "We should get changed. We probably shouldn't keep Momma Cecil waiting. I'm guessing she'll be expecting us right away from what Tamera said."

He snorted as if she'd stated the obvious, which perhaps she had, but gave her one last warning before he left her in the entryway. "It won't always be just friendship between us."

That was what Tabitha feared most. No matter how many times she'd tried to talk herself into it over the past two months, she didn't think she could ever go back to the way things had once been with Cort. And he wasn't the kind of man that would settle for always being second place in her heart, but that was where he'd been relegated.

An angel had supplanted him, shoving himself to the forefront, even when he hurt her or disappeared for months at a time. He was always present there in her heart.

The harsh truth that she was beginning to fully realize was that even if Castiel would never be capable of _feeling_ something for her, _she_ had damnably started to feel…something, for _him_. Even if she could never really have him.

She knew she couldn't have him. He was an angel and she was human.

She also knew that whatever she felt for Castiel, it would cost her Cort. It would only be a matter of time until his words were proven right. But while he wanted _more_ than friendship, she knew that she would lose him completely when he finally accepted that she couldn't go back to loving him as she had when she was seventeen.

And then, even his friendship would be gone. Leaving her with nothing but that ever-encroaching loneliness that always seemed to stalk her. Waiting to swallow her whole once more.

* * *

Tabitha absently noted that she wasn't the only one silent and glum as they walked down the sidewalk in a residential area of the French Quarter. They'd taken a cab part of the way, but Cort always insisted they walk as well so that it was harder for anyone to track their movements to or from his house.

And even though the weather was still hot and humid, Tabitha was glad for the extra walking time to spend alone with her thoughts. Grim and glum though they were.

A young man dressed in black slacks and a pressed white shirt walked towards them on the sidewalk, bible in hand.

"The end is nigh!" he emphatically shouted. "And He said, 'I will show wonders in Heaven above, and signs in the earth beneath: Blood and fire and vapor of smoke. The sun shall be turned into darkness, and the moon into blood, before the coming of the great and awesome day of the LORD. And it shall come to pass – _That whoever calls on the name of The LORD shall be saved_.'" He stopped in front of Cort and Tabitha, reaching out, trying to grasp her hand. "Have you given yourself unto The Lord and his angels? Do so, and you shall be granted paradise."

Tabitha snorted as she pulled away from bible thumper. "Buddy, if I give myself over to the angels, _no one_ is getting paradise."

Cort pushed the young man away, raising the back of his hand warningly when the man tried to follow them. "You get now. Believe me, we've had plenty talk of scriptures. Don't need more o' yours."

He shook his head as they continued past the man, muttering to himself, "Times like this just bring out even more of the crazies."

A strange look passed over his face as they walked.

"Does your fella know anything about this world? What's really out there I mean. Or is he just some normal guy?" Cort asked unexpectedly.

She nearly stumbled at the sudden question, desperately wishing that Cort had left her alone to her thoughts. Grim though they were.

Still, she wouldn't insult him by pretending that she didn't understand who he'd meant.

With a darting glance at him, she shifted the bag on her shoulder and told him, "Uh…yeah…he ah…knows about what's really out there." He knew everything that was really out there. And _he_ was out there somewhere, too.

They continued in silence for a few minutes as Cort absorbed the information in thoughtful silence.

Finally, he asked, "So if this guy knows what's really out there, why isn't he here helping you out? He must know the kind of trouble you're in, right? So where is he? For that matter, why aren't your brothers here helping you?" His tone turned starker with his anger, until he'd reached out to grab her arm, hauling her to a stop and turning her to face him. "But _I've_ been here for you. _Me_. Just me." He huffed as he ran his hand through his tangled hair, pushing it back from his face as he continued a little more calmly. "Just tell me what it is about this guy that has you still hung up on him, even though he hasn't been here for you."

How did she answer something she wasn't even sure _she_ understood? She shoved her hands into her pockets and shrugged, not sure anything she could say would make Cort feel better anyway. "I wish I could give you some kind of satisfactory answer, Cort. I'm not even sure _I _know why I'm still hung up on him."

"He hurt you, didn't he?" he whispered, his head turning as he looked back down the sidewalk, but darting curious looks at her.

She gave another noncommittal shrug. Cort held enough of her respect that she didn't want to lie, but admitting it changed nothing about the way things were. He'd hurt her, and yet…he still filled her thoughts.

"You love him?"

"I don't know."

"He love you?"

His gaze was locked on some distant point as he asked the question, but she knew his attention was focused on her.

The memory of the last time she'd seen Castiel almost three months before surfaced in her mind. Him telling her that her "whims" were a distraction and that he could never give her the kinds of emotions she wanted. She didn't doubt the veracity of what he'd told her then—or at least didn't doubt that he believed it—so why didn't she simply accept it and move on with her life? Move on with someone like Cort who continued to make it plain as day that he was only waiting for her to give him an opening?

"He said he couldn't," she admitted in a soft whisper.

A derisive snort escaped from Cort though he still didn't look back at her. "He must be something to still have such a hold on you."

"Yeah," she darkly laughed. "He's something else."

"What 'bout your trouble-making, apocalypse-starting brothers? Why aren't _they_ helping you?" he dejectedly asked, still staring hard at the concrete under their feet.

Her eyes narrowed at his name-calling of her brothers, but she flatly answered, "I left messages for both of them right after '_Pam_' showed up in my dreams. Neither of them is answering though. Guess they're taking the whole time apart thing seriously."

He frowned in response, but wisely didn't disparage her brothers further. She was more than ticked with them herself for them not calling her back, but she was their sister. She was allowed to call them names by virtue of loving the stubborn fools so much.

Still, if another month passed without them calling her back, she _was_ going to track them down and knock some sense into them. In the fun, physical way.

Not wanting to dwell on any more touchy subjects with Cort, she jerked a nod down the street. "We should keep going. Don't want to keep Momma Cecil waiting, right?"

"Right," he sighed, resuming his pace as she fell in step beside him, a slight smile tugging at her lips at the way he automatically adjusted his large stride to accommodate her. So simple a thing. But it made a world of difference.

* * *

Tabitha's brows rose as they stood outside the wrought iron fence surrounding an immaculately manicured and landscaped, white-sided house. Unlike much of the area where houses were sandwiched between each other, the house they had stopped at had a modest yard spreading around it, encased by the ornate iron fence that she and Cort had stopped at.

Gesturing at the hand-carved sign outside the gate, Tabitha read, "_The House of the Rising Sun_? Don't tell me, this Momma Cecil is a fan of The Animals."

Cort laughed, but it didn't quite reach his eyes as he held open the iron gate and waited for her to pass through.

"This place has been called _The Rising Sun_ since the late seventeen-hundreds or early eighteen-hundreds, long before the song ever even became a folk ballad. And _that_ was long before The Animals ever came into being, too."

She stepped sideways as she looked back at Cort, asking him, "You're not saying the song is about this place, are you?"

"That's the story," he shrugged. "Some swear it is. This place been everything that they say the song is about. Been a whorehouse, been a gambling house, and been a hotel. Was even a prison once. Hell, it was even a speakeasy during prohibition. It's only been in recent years that the family changed the name to the song title."

Tabitha began walking forward beside Cort again as she glanced at the stark white siding of the house with new eyes. On the outside, it just looked like another house—albeit a very nice one—but there was nothing to indicate it was a business or ever had been anything of historical significance other than the one hand-carved sign by the gate. "So, what is it now?"

"Momma Cecil lives here. She used to tell fortunes and such here for rich, socialite type ladies of the city. Now that's mostly fallen to Tamera since she was the next one born with the gift. It's been a lot of years since Momma Cecil did a reading for anyone herself."

When they'd climbed the steps onto the covered porch, Cort wasted no time in raising his hand to knock on the door, but before his knuckles could connect, the wood and leaded glass door swung open, revealing Tamera in her devastatingly beautiful glory. Tabitha felt her teeth grind together, wishing she'd worn something other than loose cargo pants and spaghetti strap tank top.

But Tamera paid her no more mind than she had at Cort's place, instead reaching out to grasp Cort's still raised hand, lightly clutching it between them as she pressed her lips to Cort's cheek, as though staking her claim.

Tabitha stared at the pair for a moment, thinking to herself how beautiful a couple the pair actually made. Both tall and devastatingly beautiful. And Tamera's designer clothes bore testament to the fact that she was more than acquainted to the wealthy lifestyle Cort had come from. The pair could have stepped right off a magazine cover together. They certainly made more sense together than she and Cort did.

After letting Tamera brush her plump lips against his skin in a brief hello, Cort released her hand and stepped back, once more angling himself behind Tabitha in a silent but blazingly blatant statement.

Tamera's eyes flicked back to Tabitha with the same regard she might have given a buzzing fly: something that was merely an annoyance.

"She will see ya now," Tamera told her. Spinning on her tall heels, she left without another word, apparently expecting Tabitha to simply follow her.

Cort nudged her shoulder, telling her, "Go on."

She took a breath and stepped over the threshold, somehow knowing that she would get some answers here, for better or worse.

Tamera weaved through several hallways in her swaying gait, never looking back to see if Cort and Tabitha still followed her. When she finally stopped at the wide entrance to a spacious interior room, she theatrically held one arm out in a silent command for them to step into the room.

Cort stepped past Tabitha when she balked, silently taking her hand in his and tugging her with him as he made his way to the center of the room and dropped down to the floor, easing down on a large square cushion that had been laid out on the hardwood floor.

Chairs lined the outside of the room, but Cort's easy confidence told her it was standard for guests of Momma Cecil to sit in the middle on the floor.

Following his example, Tabitha lowered herself onto the flowered cushion beside him, grateful that he held her hand in support, even after the discussion they'd had on the way over. Without his hand holding hers, the heavy silence of the room might have eaten at her nerves until she fled back the way she'd come, damn any answers she might receive there.

She'd just begun to wonder if they would be made to wait forever with baited breath in the spacious room when two small girls began to lead a stooped over woman into the room. She was dressed in modern black skirt and a blouse, but her white hair was wrapped atop her head more in a more old-fashioned scarf.

The girl in pigtails Tabitha instantly recognized from the voodoo shop where she'd met Etienne several months before, but when the head of the other girl with her hair pulled back into a ponytail glanced up, Tabitha was startled to realize held the same face. The two girls were identical twins. And they both flashed her the same, familiar, but tentative smile.

When the young girls at last had the woman settled on another large cushion a few feet in front of them, Tabitha finally got a good look at Momma Cecile, surprised by not only the ancient look on her face and the hard lines of wrinkles etched into her skin—making her think she hadn't been far off her remark that Etienne's mother had to be a hundred and fifty—but also by the milky white gaze that blindly passed around the room. The two girls knelt behind the old woman, flanking her on either side as they waited with their gazes downcast.

Leaning closer to Cort, Tabitha whispered to him, "Just how is this old lady supposed to see anything that will be of use to us?"

Cort tensed like lightning might strike them down even as the old woman threw back her head and laughed.

Almost primly, but still chuckling, the old woman gently reprimanded her, "You best be careful of your words around a blind woman. Even one so old as me. We tend to hear better than we're given credit for. And I still see things others can't."

Wishing she could swallow her own tongue, Tabitha winced and apologized, "Sorry about that. I don't always think before I speak."

The woman gave a little chuckle that almost seemed to politely say she was in complete agreement.

For several minutes, the silence stretched on as the ancient looking woman stared blindly at Tabitha and Cort. She remembered that Cort had described his only meeting with the old woman being similar, but Tabitha didn't have the time or patience for whatever kind of power plays the old woman was aiming at.

The woman leaned back slightly. "So you're what all the fuss is about? You have stirred up a hornet's nest, girl. Things have never been more dangerous for you. If the demons do not get you, the angels will."

"Did you have something important to tell us?" Tabitha pressed, not wanting to think about the fact that War had already informed her about being wanted by both angels and demons. She felt Cort squeeze her hand warningly when she opened her mouth.

Momma Cecile closed her eyes as she listened to Tabitha speak, tilting her head as she responded in a reasonable tone, "Have you some pressing place to be? Must you young people always be in such hurries?"

Tabitha huffed, yanking her hand away when Cort gave an increasingly painful warning squeeze, leaning towards the old woman as she told her, "_You_ called _us_ here. After three _months_. I figured it meant you finally had something useful for me. Or are we just all gonna sit around staring at each other? 'Cause not all of us can do that, ya know."

Milky white eyes snapped open, pinning Tabitha in a blind stare that had Tabitha fighting the urge to shrink away from it.

A short, disbelieving laugh escaped as Momma Cecile said almost to herself, "Ya have no fear of me, do you?"

An eerie feeling seemed to crawl up Tabitha's spine, telling her that she really _should_ not only fear this woman but also run screaming from her, still, she bluntly responded, "I'm terrified. But I'm terrified of a lot of things. Demons, angels, and the Devil himself to name a few. Cowering like a scared rabbit at everything that scared me would mean I'd never even get out of bed."

Tamera came further into the room then, kneeling on another cushion to Momma Cecile's right, and though her movements were silent, the old woman's milky white eyes tracked over to the young woman as if she could see her.

"Many people fear me. Most as a matter of fact," Momma Cecile continued in an almost conversational tone as she looked away from Tamera. "Laveau woman are well used to it."

Tabitha frowned. She knew the shop Etienne worked out of had Laveau in the name, but she'd assumed it was a cachet thing in the voodoo world to use the name of the infamous Marie Laveau. Right along with his exaggerated accent, which she'd almost been surprised not to hear in Momma Cecile. Her accent was French Creole, but a more stilted, upper-crust accent. Her consonants tended to sound French influenced, harder, sometimes her S's even sounding like Z's.

"You're saying you're descended from Marie Laveau? The voodoo priestess everyone around here thinks walked on water?" she asked, her skepticism clear.

She heard Cort curse and mutter to himself as he warningly told her to stop talking, but Momma Cecile seemed to have the same humor for Tabitha's question that she'd had for everything Tabitha had said.

"Ya doubt me?" she chuckled. "I am an old woman…not quite a hundred and fifty…but it's been many long years since someone doubted me to my face."

Tabitha quit breathing. Surely it had been a coincidence that she'd thrown out the number one-hundred and fifty.

"Is it?"

The words were spoken softly, but the shutters to the windows suddenly slammed shut like claps of thunder, cutting off the natural sunlight as candles and oil lamps flared to life.

Tabitha had clamored ungainly to her feet before she even realized she'd moved, but went no further than to stare speechlessly at the old woman now bathed in warm candlelight.

Momma Cecile calmly reached her hands out towards Tamera as if nothing had occurred, accepting a white china cup with some kind of steaming liquid that Tabitha hadn't noticed the other woman had brought into the room.

"How'd you do that?" Tabitha whispered in shock.

"My family has our own unique talents. Same as your family has," Momma Cecile answered, pausing to blow across the surface of the steaming liquid.

"Sit," the old woman gestured impatiently at Tabitha before taking a sip. "If I meant you harm, I would have done it by now. As I said, not many people don't fear me, and despite what you said, you still don't fear me. Not even now. Not really. You're wary, but you won't let yourself be truly afraid of me. I respect that. Most people would have been running screaming out the door by now—" she nodded beside Tabitha, who turned to look down, seeing Cort crouched low to the ground, as though ready to flee himself if she did, "—but you want answers, so you won't let yourself leave until you get them. I respect that. And I've known very few women in my life that I respected. Even among my own family. I've often wished there was a woman of my line with your courage and…gumption, I suppose."

Tamera's nose wrinkled delicately beside the old woman, but she didn't seem particularly surprised by the woman's words, giving no other physical response to them. It didn't seem to be any kind of news to her.

Tabitha considered proving Momma Cecile wrong and letting her feet carry her out the door like they itched to do, but grudgingly admitted to herself that the old woman was actually right. She wanted answers, and if this crazy old woman had them for her, she wasn't leaving until she got them.

She cringed at the errant thought even as she placed an assuring hand on Cort's shoulder and sat beside him once more, pushing him down onto his own cushion.

Momma Cecile gave an elegant shrug in response. "I've been called and thought of as worse," she admitted.

"That's kinda creepy that you can hear my thoughts," she muttered. Then, another thought struck her on the heels of her words. "How can you even hear them?" With her left hand held up, she jangled the charms on her bracelet. "I thought this thing was supposed to protect me from such things." Castiel certainly hadn't been able to hear her thoughts like he could other humans. And neither he nor the other angels could use their powers on her. Although she _had_ wondered how Pam managed to find her in her dreams when Castiel had told her she was hidden so well that even _he_ had difficulty finding her in her dreams.

Momma Cecile waved carelessly at the bracelet. "Those charms protect against many kinds of magic. But not against everything. My…magic I suppose…is different. As for the other…she cannot find _you_, but why could she not find your dreams at the least? You were made for her."

Tabitha tensed at hearing that proclamation again, but nodded in the ensuing silence. It made sense why some things worked on her and some didn't, but her bracelet wasn't what she'd come to Momma Cecile about.

"No, it isn't," Momma Cecile agreed to Tabitha's thought. "You are quite correct; I did not ask you here to 'shoot the breeze.'"

Her thoughts spoken aloud back to her made Tabitha cringe. "I'm trying to control what I think," she softly apologized.

With a light wave, Momma Cecile dismissed the matter. Setting her now empty china cup aside, the old woman took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and without preamble, softly began chanting in French.

For the umpteenth time, Tabitha wished she knew more than the Miranda Rights in French, because she could only silently wait to see what Momma Cecile was doing.

When the ghost of a woman that appeared to be from the eighteenth century solidified beside Momma Cecile, Tabitha nearly jumped to her feet again, only Cort's hand on her elbow stopped her.

"_Oui, _Madame Laveau?" the ghost asked in a soft voice, kneeling deferentially next to the old woman, tucking her long skirts under her knees.

"Laveau?" Tabitha dazedly repeated as she stared at the ghost. The woman spoke with the typical French Creole accent of New Orleans, but her speech pattern felt a little more stilted and proper—a lot like Momma Cecile's.

"Yes," the old woman answered. "I am directly descended from Marie Laveau, my great-great-grandmother. I am Celine-Mary Laveau. The women of my line have always kept our family's name."

Tabitha swallowed hard as Momma Cecile disregarded her and turned back to the waiting ghost, continuing to speak in the French Tabitha couldn't follow.

Unable to understand their words, Tabitha was left to study the ghost. She'd been young still when she died, perhaps barely into her early twenties. Her clothes reminded Tabitha of many of the old paintings she'd seen of slaves and freed slaves in New Orleans at that time period. Her white blouse was off the shoulder, but covered by a thick shawl. And her black hair was piled on her head and covered by a thick scarf wrapped around it. Her creamy brown skin was flawless and unmarked by age or hardship, and Tabitha continued to wonder how this pretty girl had died.

And how she continued to serve Momma Cecile when younger ghosts in the city had begun to lose themselves and turn violent.

"Madame Laveau makes it so," the ghost suddenly told her, her French flavored accent making her consonants hard like Momma Cecile's, and meeting Tabitha's gaze meaningfully before she turned back to Momma Cecile.

The old woman gave a gap-toothed grin that still managed to seem slightly predatory. But she didn't resume speaking in French to the ghost.

"I have communed long hours with many of my loyal followers, and I have finally decided that you shall be allowed to remain in my city until you see your future ring."

Tabitha gaped wordlessly in the following silence, waiting for Momma Cecile to impart something else. Something more.

At the very least, something she could understand.

"That's it?" she incredulously bellowed in the stretching silence. "I thought you brought me here to tell me something. To give me some kind of answers."

"It is not my place to give the answers you most want."

"Then why the hell did I even come here?! You could have called me to tell me that I was allowed to stay in the city. Or hell, sent a text."

She jerked her arm away from Cort as he began tugging warningly on her again, but did remain sitting beside him as she shrunk back from the withering, milky white stare suddenly pinning her down when she would have stood.

"You are here because I wanted to take measure of you." The words were spoken in an angry hiss with more strength than Tabitha would have thought the old woman could muster. But then, her withered hands smoothed over the folds of her black skirt as she visibly calmed herself.

With an almost appreciative nod, the old woman calmly continued, "Truly, you have no fear of me. And in return, I will grant you a boon."

With gnarled fingers, she reached out and gestured impatiently at the messenger bag still slung across Tabitha's body.

"Let me see what you've brought."

Tabitha hesitated, loath to allow a woman she didn't really trust to lay her hands on her mother's bible. And uncharitably wondering how the blind woman could translate what dozens of scholars couldn't.

"It is prophecy," Momma Cecile warned her. "And prophecy is a language all its own. One I speak well. You'd do well to remember that."

Reluctantly, Tabitha pulled the old bible from her bag into view, noting how the old woman's breath caught slightly.

"Open it to the passage you need," Momma Cecile almost breathlessly commanded.

Tabitha did so, and then slid the book across the floor towards her when Momma Cecile impatiently gestured for it.

The old woman held a gnarled and aged hand over the text, her fingers dancing in the air in a manner that reminded Tabitha of a pianist, even as Momma Cecile almost lyrically muttered to herself.

Just as Tabitha was going to ask her what was going on, Momma Cecile looked up, for a moment, Tabitha swore color bled into the old woman's eyes, but then they cleared to their previously white state, and Momma Cecile began to speak.

"Is prophecy here for sure. Strong prophecy. Dark prophecy. Prophecy of the End." Her eyes bored into Tabitha's making her lean back away from the woman as she added in a whisper, "_Your prophecy_."

Her eyes dipped back to the page as she lyrically recited, "'As the bitter struggle surges evermore, Graceful Beauty shall be the final and everlasting undoing. For He so said that the End Times shall be abolished not by squabbling and hate, but for love for the Serpent and love for the Sword. And so the Roe Deer shall obliterate the Kingdom and the Otherworlds, and silence shall ever reign.'"

Before Tabitha could blink, Momma Cecile snapped her fingers at Tamera, who silently produced a heavy looking parchment and old-fashioned fountain pen without being asked. As the room silently watched, Momma Cecile scrawled something onto the parchment, and then blew across it before shutting it into the bible.

With a stronger shove than her bony fingers should have been capable of, Momma Cecile sent the heavy book sliding back across the floor to Tabitha, telling her, "You've got the answers you want and more. Now go. But remember, you'll only stay in my city until you see your future ring. Then you must leave."

She made a dismissive gesture and Cort snatched up the book from the hardwood floor, hauling Tabitha to her feet and herding her towards the door as if the old woman might change her mind and never let them leave.

"Tabitha?"

She and Cort halted reluctantly, and then slowly turned in the entrance of the spacious room at Momma Cecile's imperious call.

"The ability to stop this all, thereby _saving_ this world, lies in your brothers' hands. The ability to _end_ it all lies in _your hands_. They are the light and the fire…you are the darkness. But the ability to save your brothers and keep us all alive, also lies in _your_ hands. Only you can _stop_ this prophecy. You can save them, and save us all as well, or you can bring it all down. I see many possibilities in my mind—many choices to be made—but the end will be decided by your strength, and the strength of your brothers."

The withered woman sat silently for a moment, contemplating her words, but she gave one last final nod, one that seemed to say both goodbye and good luck as she added, "Remember: strength lies not in the power within you, but the love without you."

The ghost had been silent until this moment, but she too looked up from staring at her bent knees to darkly warn Tabitha, her words dipping into a more informal Creole accent. "We all depend on ya, _Tabitha…_child of grace." She stressed Tabitha's name with some unfathomable meaning. "_All_ of us. Even me an' my kind depend on ya an' yer brothairs. We all be doomed if ya fail."

And without another word, Cort tugged her outside The House of the Rising Sun.

* * *

"Did you understand any of that?" Tabitha dimly asked as she continued passively allowing Cort to tug her onwards, just as he'd done since they hailed a cab and had taken it into the Garden District. Had she been in the right frame of mind, she'd have objected to his leading her around by the hand like a child, but at the moment, she was still too dazed to voice any complaints.

"No," he tightly answered as they turned up the walk to his house. "I didn't understand that any more than you I expect. But we'll have time to sort it out."

"At least she translated the text. But she gave us nothing about that demon marking me or what it meant," she absently noted.

As they went through the door, he finally turned and handed her the bible he'd been carrying since they left Momma Cecile's house. She glanced down at the cover as she aimlessly trailed after Cort, following him as he led them into his kitchen. It had become one of the rooms they spent the most time in. Without her having to say it, he seemed to know that she preferred the informality of the kitchen to the other antique filled rooms of his house. At least when they weren't outside by the pool.

"What'd she put in there?" Cort asked her, nodding towards the bible in her hands.

She paused, but gingerly set the bible on the counter of the center island, opening the book and leafing through it to the page that had confounded so many.

The parchment stared up at her, words written in a beautiful and old-fashioned scrawl that Tabitha never would have guessed had been penned by a blind woman.

"It's just the same thing she recited to us," Tabitha explained, holding up the parchment for him to see.

He came around the center island until he could look across one corner to gaze at the parchment she held up.

"So it is," he agreed. "Now, we can work on translating just what the heck it all means. It may be English now, but it's still doesn't make a lick of sense to me."

"Yeah," she agreed. "About all I get out of this is that a 'roe deer'—whatever kinda deer that is—that loves a serpent and a sword will somehow be the key to stopping it all or something."

Cort shook his head. "Not a lot to go on, but that last sentence—" he moved around to read the parchment over her shoulder. "'Obliterate the Kingdom and the Otherworlds,'" he quoted. "I think that's talking about something worse than the Apocalypse."

"Worse?!" she repeated, cringing at the high pitch her voice had taken on. Clearing her throat, she continued, "How could it be _worse _than the Apocalypse. We're talking the end of the world here."

Cort stared at her for a moment, his eyes almost pitying as he seemed to weigh whether or not to tell her what was on his mind. At last, he sighed and explained in a stark voice, "The Apocalypse is just the end of _this_ world. From what all the scriptures and lore says, all humans will find Paradise in Heaven afterwards."

"So?"

"This here is talking about the end of the Kingdom _and_ the Otherworlds, Tabby. The Otherworlds being Heaven and Hell, at least in scripture. This prophecy's talking about the end of _all_ things."

Tabitha felt suddenly weak and fell back onto the stool behind her as the last part rang in her head. _Silence shall ever reign_. No wonder Momma Cecil said she had to stop it. This was _so _much worse than her wonky blood. She wished she could go back to that as her only worry.

"_That's_ what I have to stop?" she fairly screeched. Shaking her head, she continued more sedately to herself, "It's too much. I can't be expected to be responsible for keeping _everything_ from ending."

She stared at the old bible in front of her. "I don't get it," she whispered to herself. "The Apocalypse was bad enough, but now _this_? What does this even have to do with the Apocalypse? This is _way_ worse than anything my brothers were responsible for starting." She turned to stare up at Cort, desperately imploring him, "Is this my fault? Did _I_ do something to cause this? Or is this somehow all tied into Lucifer rising?"

Cort opened and closed his mouth several times, but no words came out to assure her of anything. When he moved to place a comforting arm around her shoulders, she lurched away, darting for the kitchen sink as she felt her stomach retch.

_My brothers might be responsible for starting to Apocalypse, but I might be responsible for ending everyone and everything,_ she dismally thought to herself as her stomach heaved.

Cort stood behind her, pulling her hair away from her face and rubbing her back as he crooned to her in French. She didn't understand him, but his deep voice was calming. When her stomach had quieted, she allowed him to pull her back into the shelter of his embrace, his long arms wrapping around her from behind and pulling her flush against the support of his chest.

"We haven't figured out what the rest of it means, Tabby," he reminded her as his lips lowered to brush against her ear. "There's likely more to the rest of it that helps explain it all. But mark my words, _none_ of this is your fault. So don't internalize that and start thinking that way. This is just a job, same as any other. We'll research it, and figure out what it all means."

"Unless I destroy the world, Heaven, and Hell first," she glibly reminded him.

"Enough of that," he warned in her ear, his grip tightening. "Matter of fact, that's enough doom and gloom altogether for one day. Let's head down to the Oyster Bar and get some food. And then we can head to the Blue Moon Bar afterwards. The Howlers are playing there tonight. We'll do some dancing and just forget it all for the night."

She slipped from his arms and turned to face him. "Now's _really_ not the time for drinking and dancing, Cort."

"Now's exactly the time, Chérie," he argued, stepping forward to cup her face with one large hand. "You can't keep pushing yourself so hard without taking some time for the good stuff."

With an indulgent smile, she briefly turned into the warmth of his large palm. She knew she should argue with him and stay to figure out what the passage that Momma Cecile had translated meant. Just as she should have argued with him the last several dozen times he'd cajoled her into going drinking and dancing.

But like every other time, she felt her resolve slipping away at his charming, almost boyishly infectious grin. It was one of the other things she still loved about Cort, that his smile and charm were enough to convince her to blow off her responsibilities and let loose. She'd had far too little of that in her life. Under the watchful eyes of her father and brother, she hadn't had many opportunities growing up to run wild. And then she'd gone to college with Sam where she'd watched over him, studying diligently and only rarely taking time for fun. Then she'd had even less time and inclination to have a good time once she'd finally become an FBI agent.

Despite the possibility of the world ending, she really did want to cut loose a little. If it all did end, she wanted some good, lighthearted memories before it was all over.

Sighing, she relented, just as Cort knew she would. "Fine. Oysters, a few drinks and a little dancing, but we're not staying out 'til dawn again," she warned him.

* * *

"Come on and dance with me, chére," Cort charmingly pleaded with her, tugging on her hand as he tried to entice her away from her comfy bar stool.

Tabitha groaned as he dipped low and kissed the back of her hand like a gallant prince at a ball. His gesture may have been gallant, but there was nothing courteous about the wicked gleam in his eyes.

She held her half-drank bottle of beer up. "I just want to sit and enjoy my beer," she fairly whined. Then she patted her stomach. "Plus, I'm _way_ too stuffed with oysters to dance."

Not giving in to her excuses, he leaned closer, bracing one hand on the bar as he dipped down to whisper in her ear, "I only know two good ways to burn off excess oysters. I'd be more than obliged to help you with either. Dancing is good, but so is the other. And you know oysters are great fuel for both."

He pulled back just enough so that she could see the devilish twinkle under his dark lashes, and then he let out a deep chuckle at the blush his words had incited.

"Fine," she grumbled, shaking her head at his predictable flirtatiousness after a few beers. "We'll dance my stuffed belly away. We're not doing the other thing." He laughed behind her as he dutifully followed.

She held his hand as she pushed through the crowded bar and out onto the nearly equally crowded dance floor. Any type of dancing when the floor was so crowded would have proven difficult most of the time, but Cort's commanding presence cleared some space around them. A lucky thing, too, because Cort liked to dance. And not just jump up and down bobbing his head. Cort _danced_.

Tabitha had danced some growing up. But it hadn't been until Cort had started taking her dancing in New Orleans that she _really_ learned to dance. He'd taught her how to two-step, jitterbug, Cajun zydeco, but his favorite, was to swing dance.

Swing dancing was never something she'd attempted, but between her natural athleticism and training, and his height and brawn, they were well matched.

There weren't many men that would have been tall enough or strong enough, but Cort was plenty of both to expertly swing Tabitha over his arms, across his back, and throw her through the air in about any direction. They'd had a few mishaps early on in his teaching her to dance, but they'd become a seasoned pair.

And Tabitha had to admit, the feeling of swinging through the air or being spun around _was_ pretty damn exhilarating. That was probably part of the reason she didn't fight Cort so hard when he wanted to go dancing all the time.

They'd barely begun twisting together on the dance floor in some zydeco moves when the house band changed tunes from an upbeat Cajun tune to a familiar sounding Rock ballad. Tabitha paused at the thrumming electric guitar and drums as she finally placed the old Journey song, allowing Cort to pull her close for a modified jitterbug.

At first, the words of the song flowed past her ears, but then, Cort pulled her closer, no longer spinning her away from his body, but holding her pressed close to him, gripping her hand to press against his chest as he stared down with eyes darkened by emotion and unrestrained longing.

The words of the song flowed over her then as she recognized the chorus of the Classic Rock song pounding away from the band.

_Someday love will find you_

_Break those chains that bind you_

_One night will remind you_

_How we touched_

_And went our separate ways_

_If he ever hurts you_

_True love won't desert you_

_You know I still love you_

_Though we touched_

_And went our separate ways *  
_

He bent low at the end of the chorus, his breath tickling her ear as he fiercely promised, "True love won't desert you. You know I still love you. Just give us a chance, chérie."

She leaned back away from him to stare up into his eyes. It wasn't surprise at his words that made her pull back—he hadn't been subtle in his goals to that point—but it was surprise at the sheer force and absoluteness in his voice that made her pull back.

"I can only be your friend, Cort," she whispered up to his looming face.

He blew out a disbelieving puff of air as he yanked her closer, melding their bodies together as they came to a complete standstill in the middle of the dance floor.

"Tell me we're not still good together. Tell me you don't still want me," he dared her, laying the challenge down in his own line in the sand.

She knew how easy it would have been to simply give in and relinquish to what he wanted. He was more than right. Physically, the chemistry still sizzled between them. And more than that, she had a good time with him.

Instead, she yanked away, disappearing through the crowded dancers as she ran onto the street, not looking back or answering the shouts of her name as she raced for the nearest taxi.

Her breathing was still labored as she gave the driver the address and leaned back against the seat of the taxicab. Again and again, she berated herself for letting a friendship with Cort continue when she knew he wanted more. It wasn't fair to him, and it wasn't fair to her that she continue trying to walk such a fine line so as to not give him any wrong ideas.

Not that it had seemed necessary. Cort had all his own ideas.

When the cab pulled up in front of Cort's house, she absently tossed the driver several bills from her pocket, her feet scuffing the pavement as she slowly walked up to his house.

She knew she should leave, but she didn't want to suddenly disappear with things so unsettle between them.

Truthfully, she didn't really want to leave him. Losing his friendship would hurt too much.

Standing inside his house, she didn't know what to do. Walk up the stairs and pack her things…or…stay?

The door swung open with a thud as Cort tore through it, seeming out of breath as he determinedly made his way toward her, his hand running through his hair in a nearly frantic manner as he approached her.

"Tab," he sighed. "I'm sorry. Alright? That was probably the beer talking. I know you just want to be friends. And I'm sorry for pushing it."

She stared up at him as he loomed over her, knowing she should turn away and leave, for both their sakes. But as she stared up into his dark, panicked eyes, she knew she would lose him completely if she walked away. Cort would never truly settle for just friendship. He'd always want more.

And she'd already lost _so_ much. He was the last friend she had left. Her brothers had been gone for months, and neither would so much as return her messages.

Then, there was the angel. Castiel… She didn't even know if she would ever see him again. He would certainly never…feel…whatever she felt for him. He was as good as lost to her as well.

She didn't want to lose Cort, too.

Throwing all thoughts to the wind, Tabitha stepped back into Cort's embrace, roughly jerking his head down to meet hers as her lips crashed against his.

For a moment, Cort seemed stunned by her actions, but then, a warm hand curled behind her head, holding her closer as he hungrily and eagerly met her assault.

Tabitha closed her eyes and savored the kiss. Savored the sensations of arms holding her so close and so desperately. Sighed as a hand settled on her hip, squeezing as his lips slid down to the exposed column of her throat.

Her arms slid up his back to fist in his shirt as she gasped at the sensations.

"Oh, Cas."

Strong arms suddenly thrust her away as Tabitha stared up in surprise at Cort's pained and startled eyes.

"'Cas?'" he repeated in a harsh whisper.

Her fist covered her mouth in shock as Tabitha realized what she'd said, tears filling her eyes at the utterly wounded and anguished look in Cort's eyes.

"I'm…" But she didn't know what to say. Sorry seemed too menial. Didn't know how to explain herself. She loved Cort as her first lover. And she loved Cort as a friend. But there was still one thing stopping her from actually being able to love him. One angel.

A sound like a wounded animal might make escaped as Cort turned towards the nearest wall, his fist striking out and slamming into the white paint and plaster, connecting with the wood supports beneath it.

She cringed at the sound and at him so suddenly striking out. But she didn't reprimand him and she didn't try to comfort him as he stared down at the bleeding knuckles of his right fist.

"He'll hurt you again," he savagely swore, not looking up from his bloody fist.

"I've become rather accustomed to the men in my life hurting me."

It slipped out before she could catch herself, and she wanted to bite her tongue at the painful noise that Cort released, his head dipping down until his chin fell to his chest.

"I would take away your pain if I could," she told him in a throaty whisper.

Still staring at the blood trickling from his fist onto the pristine white carpet, he starkly replied, "I don't think you can."

"I'm sorry. I never meant for you to get hurt, too."

He turned to look up at her, his eyes flat and dull now. "That's not up to you," he answered, sounding like there was something caught in his throat. He looked away. "I'm gonna go take a walk." He waved a hand back towards her, not looking back as he told her, "We'll talk more in the morning. When neither of us is under the influence."

She nodded at his retreating back, even if he couldn't see, and watched as he stepped out the door, the ornately carved thing shutting with a soft click that seemed to echo throughout his empty house.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again. Her arms wrapped protectively around herself as she trudged up the stairs to her bedroom. _Cort's_ spare bedroom. Loneliness settled over her heart once more, coiling around her as it reminded her that her brothers were gone, she'd just lost her last friend, and her angel…

Numbness had settled over her as she stepped into the bathroom suite attached to her bedroom. Like so much of Cort's house, the bathroom was elaborate, expansive, and beautiful. The large steam shower was no different. Five people could have easily lain down on the floor to sleep, and that didn't even count the bench across one wall.

But while she'd relished the multiple showerheads and oscillating jets that could massage her worries away, _this_ time, she knew nothing would chase her loneliness away.

She turned the water on and stood under the warm spray, bracing her palms against the slate wall in front of her as she hung her head, her hair falling forward in wheat colored sheets to block out her view as she attempted to lose herself in the beating spray at her back.

There was no sound to warn her—at least none she heard over the roaring water in her ears—but there was still the unmistakable sensation that crawled across her skin. And she knew exactly who elicited that particular shiver in her.

But she didn't move to acknowledge his presence. Didn't lift her head from under the spray that pounded at her back.

And he didn't move or speak to break the loaded silence first.

"How'd you even find me?" she finally asked, tasting the warm water as it trailed across her downturned face and dripped from her lips.

"Your brother didn't know where you might be, but Bobby said you'd likely be here," Castiel answered, his voice almost hard and tight.

She jumped slightly at the closeness of his voice, surprised that it sounded like he stood inside the shower not far behind her.

Eyes still closed, she let the silence around them fill her, tasting the weight of it. It was heavy with anger…and something else.

"You saw?"

When only silence answered, she stated, "You saw me kiss Cort."

From even closer behind her, Castiel hissed, "Yes."

Finally, she lifted her head, but only enough to hide her face and emotions by the spray of the water. Dipping her head down again, she replied, "Even when I wanted to prove that he might be enough…it was only you in my mind. I feel like there's nothing left of me. You've utterly consumed me and I'm just…empty."

Pressing closer to her ear, Castiel's voice softened as he asked, "Is that why you kissed the human? To fight this…emptiness?"

She nodded, her hands fisting against the slate wall of the shower in front of her. "Sometimes, I think there's nothing left of me…but then…you appear…and none of it matters because you're here."

She shook her head. "Until I remind myself that I mean nothing to you," she bitterly added, pressing her palms flat again as her arms flexed and she pushed harder at the slate wall, as if to punish it for her own foolishness.

"Why are you even here?" she whispered.

"Perhaps I don't wish to feel empty, either," he told her, his hands suddenly smoothing across her shoulder blades.

At one simple touch, she melted back into his arms, her head falling back against his shoulder as his arms ran down hers to twine strong fingers over hers, holding them in place against the slate.

She shuddered at the feel of the warm body pressed along hers from behind, nothing separating them as his head dipped down to her shoulder, his teeth biting almost painfully at her joint.

Unable to deny him anything, she tilted her head away from him, exposing the side of her throat as he trailed his lips up the curve of her neck, nibbling and laving kisses as he went.

Soon, his hands ran back along her arms, curling around her body to cup her breasts in his hands, twisting and teasing at her nipples until she gasped in time to the painful ecstasy. With her own hands finally free, she raised them over her head to twine into his hair behind her, tugging him closer to her neck as he kissed and nipped at her skin in time with his teasing hands at her breasts.

She felt him hard and ready against the small of her back, jerking slightly when she twisted her hips and rubbed her butt against his groin. His longing groan was beautiful music in her ear as she reached down behind her back with one hand to teasingly run the backs of her fingers up his length.

In response, one of Castiel's hands dipped between her legs, parting her folds as he thrust his fingers into her, moving them in concert with his hand at her breast, and his mouth at her neck.

In the past, Tabitha had mostly been the initiator and leader in her encounters with Castiel, but for once, the angel was staying at least one step ahead of her, not asking, but taking what he wanted. Any of his previous tentativeness was gone as he suddenly lifted and turned her in his arms, pressing her back against the wet slate of the shower and entering her with one strong thrust.

Her eyes met his for the first time in months as her legs wrapped comfortably around his waist, relishing the completeness she felt as he held her still against his chest, her weight supported by the shower at her back, and strong arms under her thighs and butt.

She was thankful for the warm spray washing away any evidence of tears as she pressed her forehead to his, watching the way he sighed at her touch, blue eyes darkened with passion slipping shut.

"I missed you."

His eyes snapped open to stare at her, something like surprise shinning in them. "And I've missed you," he answered thickly.

Before she could speak again or ask him any of the million questions in her mind, he tightened his grip against her thighs, squeezing as he began slowly thrusting his hips up and down.

The position meant he entered her as fully as he could, stretching her almost beyond what she could take after so many months, but their water slick-skin compensated and allowed her to take him fully without the pain she might have felt otherwise after so many months celibate.

"I can't believe you're here," she told him as her legs unwrapped from his waist, her feet sliding down to press against the firm mounds of his butt as his muscles clenched and his pace increased. She let one foot drop down until her heel found a foothold on a soap dish that jutted out, and she used the new ground to help support her weight and push back against him.

"This was where I most wanted to be tonight," he told her, his voice dipping into a lower octave while his fingers dug into her skin, as if afraid she might disappear.

There was no chance of her disappearing, and Tabitha always gave as good as she got. Leveraging her body against him, she leaned back against the wall, bracing her hands on his shoulders as she began twisting her hips in time with his thrusts, biting her lip as she felt him increase his pace to a fevered tempo, her muscles began to tighten, and her breathing became shallow pants.

"Don't stop," she begged him while running one hand over the smooth, water-slick muscles of his chest, massaging and twisting at the small nubs of his hardened nipples to bring him closer to the edge she could feel approaching. "Don't ever stop."

"I can't," he promised, his voice tight as he leaned forward to capture her lips, his tongue thrusting into her mouth as his body pumped into hers.

She gasped into his mouth, her cries swallowed by his kiss as her body tightened and convulsed in a shattering orgasm, her foot slipping to the ground as its hold shattered and gave way. With her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, she felt him shudder beneath her while her body convulsed and milked his climax from him, his head turned into the crook of her neck as he let out a long groan of satisfaction.

He inhaled deeply through his nose at her neck, his body relaxed against her embrace, only his weight against her still holding her up between him and the wet slate.

She ran her fingers up and down his back, drawing small patterns in his skin and occasionally stopping to lightly massage here and there. But when his teeth nipped lightly at the sensitized skin of her neck, she gasped and tightened her left leg still around his hip.

His length jerked inside her in response to her tightening muscles.

When he pulled back, his head fell under the beating spray, his brown hair falling forward to obscure his eyes, but his lips were thinned into a line of determination as he ran his hands under her thighs again, lifting her right leg from the floor until it had wrapped around his waist once more, her feet locking together at his back.

"Oh, Cas," she sighed as he turned and carried her through the shower. "The water," she reminded him when she realized it was still running, settling her lips against his neck to return the delicious abuse he'd lavished at hers.

She felt his body shiver beneath her touch, and felt one hand release her as he gestured behind his back with a twisting motion and the water cut off. But his movements became jerky as she continued nipping his skin, his hands kneading almost painfully at the flesh of her thighs and butt.

The glass shower door was suddenly hurled open away from her back, swinging with such force that it shattered against the outside of the shower wall. But as she paused to voice her concern, one of Castiel's hands slid up her back to thread through her hair, tilting her face to his as he kissed her words away. Broken glass was forgotten as he continued to carry her, his lips almost leisurely tasting hers now.

She was breathless when he suddenly dropped her on the bed. But he didn't immediately join her. Instead, he stood over her, water dripping from him as he stared at her with hooded eyes. She writhed on the bed, the cold air making her wet skin shiver as it blew across her, increasing the sensations of her most sensitive skin. Her left hand trailed over her head as she arched her back invitingly, smiling at the hungry growl it elicited. With her right hand, she reached out to beckon him closer. Silently begging him to rejoin her. He took a step and grasped her hand, but pulled it to the side out of his line of view while he continued his hungry stare, as though trying to memorize her.

It was that look that she loved, that made her shiver. That made her yearn for more. More than she feared he could give her anyway.

Part of her would always love Cort as her first lover, but every time he gave her a heated look, she had the urge to look over her shoulder for the woman that caused it. His flirtatious and teasing nature was a part of the charm that she loved, but it was also the part that never allowed her to really believe that he could settle for her.

But when Castiel stared at her, she never doubted where he was looking. His eyes told her with certainty that he was looking at her and her alone. That he wanted no one else. And neither did she.

In response to him holding her hand away, she opened her legs and hooked her heels behind his thighs, tugging him closer, guiding him where she wanted him to be.

He allowed her to pull him only so far, stopping when his legs hit the foot of the bed, all while still staring down at her as if she was a feast laid out for a starving man. She wished he'd let go of his restraint and devour her.

But his pause gave her time for questions to bubble up in her mind.

"Why are you here after so many months, Cas?"

Eyes flicking up to hers, he steadily answered, "Dean said I couldn't just sit quietly on my last night. He took me to a den of iniquity, but the woman became angry when I only tried to talk to her. Dean asked what I _did_ want to do on my last night, and I realized there was only one thing that I have ached to do."

"Den of iniquity?" she repeated, some of her passion cooling as she pushed up to her elbows. "What, he took you there to get laid?!" she demanded.

His head tilted at her words. "She tried to make me lay down, yes, but her touch was immoral." His voice dipped to a conspiratorial whisper. "I think she was what you call a prostitute."

Her anger suddenly fled at his absolute innocence, even in the midst of their own activities. With a light chuckle, she drew her arm down to cover her breasts, asking him, "And my touch isn't immoral?"

The words were meant to come out lightly, but she feared they came out with a sad edge to them.

The angel shocked her when he suddenly leaned down over her, bracing one knee between her thighs as he reached out to push her arm away from her chest, opening her body up to his view again.

He shook his head, drops of water flinging around, some landing coolly on her skin and causing her breath to catch as he insistently told her, "No. Your touch isn't immoral. Your touch…feels…right."

His hands gripped both of her wrists now, pressing them flat against the bed as his lips descended to her neck again.

Trying to ignore the delightful feel of his kiss, she instead latched onto something else he'd said. "What do you mean your 'last night,' Cas? Why would Dean ask you what you want to do on your last night and then take you to a whorehouse?"

He shook his head against her neck, releasing her wrists to run his hands across her arms, one hand stopping to cup her breasts as the other descended lower to spread her legs around his hips again.

Without a word, he thrust forward, entering her with one smooth motion, and driving away her last coherent thoughts. Coherency gone, she could only moan in delicious response to his fevered pace.

Their first time in the shower had been fast and hard, and if she thought the second time would be any different, she was wonderfully mistaken.

Mostly with Cas, it had been slow and sweet, with her leading the pace. The lead change wasn't bothering her though, not when it gifted her with such divine results. He touched her like a man on fire. Like a man denied his greatest wish for too long. And he stared at her as if he might never see her again.

But she didn't give pause to the thought. Didn't wonder about where he'd been for so many months, and how soon he might disappear again. For the moment, he was there with her. And that would have to be enough.

* * *

Hours later, she lay sprawled across Castiel's chest, feeling physically wrung out, but wonderfully sated.

An unusually cool breeze drifted through the room, licking across her skin and making her shiver, but it wasn't enough to rouse her into pulling up one of the sheets they'd pushed down the bed in their earlier activities.

Castiel lay quietly beneath her, not even out of breath or flushed to hint at their past several hours of activity, but his fingers drew little patterns on her back in lazy, contented motions. It was another reminder that he wasn't human like her. His body looked human, but within him…

She stiffened at the reminder of what else was within Castiel. Who else. It had never been far from her mind since she'd discovered Jimmy's presence, but when Castiel had shown up, she'd selfishly shoved it and everything else away.

Sitting up, she turned away from Castiel on the bed, his hand falling away from her back as she scooted to the edge, pulling her knees to her chest.

After her discovery of Jimmy being stuck inside his own body with Castiel in charge, she'd sworn to herself that she wouldn't infringe on what little freedoms the man still had while he was locked inside himself with the angel. She'd known how morally wrong it was that she'd been sleeping with Castiel for months even without _knowing_ Jimmy was stuck along for the ride, but having no choice in what she and Castiel did with his body.

For months, she'd convinced herself that the right thing was to abstain from touching Castiel that way when Jimmy had no choice in the matter.

But one touch from Castiel was all it took for her to shove those decisions away. To selfishly choose her own happiness instead.

She felt Castiel slide across the bed, his hand gliding gently up her back as his voice rumbled, "What's wrong?"

Her body shivered at the feelings even so chaste a touch evoked in her, knowing that even with Jimmy stuck somewhere inside that body, that if Castiel pulled her back onto the bed, she'd willingly go. Enthusiastically even.

With a saddened sigh, she stood from the bed, Castiel's hand falling away once more as she dragged one of the sheets from the bed to wrap around her body, moving to stand by the open balcony doors. New Orleans was quiet tonight, and the lights of the city blocked her view of the stars, but she closed her eyes and imagined them in the sky anyway.

Castiel didn't speak, yet she could feel his eyes on her back, watching her, and waiting for her to speak.

"Have you ever had a moment where you realized that you're not the person you once thought you were? After telling yourself all along that you're a certain kind of person and that there were certain lines you would never cross. Then a moment comes along, where you're staring at that line, and then without hesitation, you just blow right by it. Like there was never even any other choice or alternative. And then you realize you're not the person you thought you were, the person you once prided yourself as being. Who always made the right choice. The moral choice. In the end, instead, you make the selfish choice. Because, you've had so damn little happiness of your own, that you just want a little taste of it, even at the expense of someone else." She turned to look at Castiel lying sideways on the bed, his head propped up by his elbow. "Have you ever had that moment where you realize you're not the person you always thought you were?"

He held her eyes silently for a moment, giving her words due consideration before he stood and walked towards her, headless of his undressed state.

For once, the sight didn't cause a hitch in her breath; she felt almost desperate to know if he could even understand what she was saying.

Drawing even with her in the balcony doorway, he leaned against the other side of the entrance, looking out on Cort's back yard as he slowly explained, "I am an angel that has cast off the yoke of my superiors, denied their orders, and Fallen for the sake of the humans under my protection. And I have killed my brothers and sisters to do it. All to stop something _they_ say must happen. Because I've chosen to believe in three humans over all other angels." He turned to give her a wry look. "I very much understand the feeling of realizing that I am not what I once thought I was."

Instead of comforting her to know that Castiel at least understood her self-realization, it saddened her to think of how far they'd both fallen…and for the choices they'd made, both together, and _for_ each other.

"I don't think I could have made any other choices," she admitted in a fearful whisper.

"I don't think I could have, either."

She looked out across Cort's back yard. "I _really_ am not the person I thought I was," she continued, her fingers toying with the charm on her bracelet that Cort had given her. "We never should have done this in Cort's house."

Castiel shrugged dismissively, eyeing her actions. "The human heard nothing, he hasn't returned."

"That's not really the point, Cas," she tiredly explained, her hand dropping away from the charm. "It still wasn't right." But it was another choice she'd made. And one she wouldn't have made differently.

Silence filled the air between them, but it was a comfortable, companionable silence.

"All these months you've been gone looking for God, Cas," she finally spoke. "Did you ever find him?"

"No. He's proven more elusive than I anticipated."

A bitter laugh escaped. "Welcome to being human. We all find that God is elusive."

She shook her head. "Have you made _any_ progress on finding him, or have you given up? Is that why you're back?"

His tousled brown locks fell across his forehead as he shook his head. "I've not given up. There's one angel that might know God's current location. Dean's helping me to trap him and then hopefully he will be able to continue the search for God after we've questioned the angel."

Tabitha twisted a quarter of a turn to lean her back against the doorjamb as she stared at Castiel, her forehead wrinkling in confusion as she pulled the sheet tighter to her chest. "I don't understand. Why would Dean continue the search for God?" His words from earlier in the evening came back to her. "You don't think you'll survive this. That's why Dean took you to a…den of whatever…isn't it?"

"Raphael is a very powerful archangel. And perhaps one of the few that may know God's whereabouts. Trapping him isn't likely to make him happy. And he's not likely to be fond of me anyway…at least any fonder of me than the last time he killed me."

Stepping forward, Tabitha took one of Castiel's hands in hers, insistently telling him, "Then don't do this. It sounds foolish, Cas. Don't do something that's only going to get you killed."

He held her hand between them, raising his other to cup her cheek. "Only you have ever worried so about me, shown me such concern. But this is something I must do. My Father can stop this. He can make it right again. No humans will have to die. You…and your brothers will be safe this way. No vessels."

She suddenly remembered some of her discussions with Cort, and learning from him that he'd left her all those years ago under the notion of protecting her, even though it had hurt her in the process.

"Is that what you've been trying to do?" she asked Castiel, turning her head into the angel's hand at her cheek. "When you left months ago—every time you've pushed me away—you were actually trying to protect me? Even though it hurt me every time?"

When the hand fell away from her cheek, she opened her eyes to look up into Castiel's confused and pinched face.

"If you were hurt, at least you were still alive to hurt," he roughly told her, his hands falling to his sides.

"True," she agreed. "Not knowing didn't make it hurt any less though," she explained.

"Is that why you are here with this human?" he suddenly asked, something unnamed creeping into his voice. "Because I…_hurt…_you?" he carefully asked.

"No," she quickly denied, placing a soothing hand on the angel's chest. "Well, not exactly. I came here because I felt lonely. And I needed a friend. Someone I didn't think would turn me away. Not after my own brothers turned away anyway. I just needed a friend. There hasn't been anyone else for me since you showed up and whispered in my ear for me to go back for my badge and saved me from blowing up."

Castiel reached down to pick up one of the charms lying across his chest, holding up the revolver charm that Cort had given her. "The human feels more. He feels…lust for you. He…loves you. And you still keep his charm."

"What, are you _jealous_?!" she incredulously demanded. "Is that what you finally showing up was all about?!"

His chest puffed up defensively, but he didn't answer. He also didn't deny it.

She tugged her left hand away from him, replacing it with her right hand over his heart. "I keep it to recall good memories. Whatever love I once had for Cort was that of a girl who didn't yet really know herself. He wanted me to go my own way and grow up—and I did—but the woman I became doesn't have the same love for him anymore." _He was replaced in my heart by someone else. _But she didn't voice the thought. "It's just a silly gift given by a man to a girl. Nothing more."

"A gift?"

"Yeah, guys often give girls gifts and trinkets, you know, to win their favor and affections I suppose."

"I would give you a gift," Castiel suddenly told her, opening his hand between them, a silver charm laid on his palm.

She leaned closer to look at the small wing, long and curved, exactly like a single angel's wing.

"Do you freely, and willing, accept and bear this…amulet…this…trinket from me?"

"Of course," she readily answered, but surprised as she watched him turn his hand over her wrist, clamping down around her bracelet, and then pulling away to reveal the wing attached next to her other charms.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, pulling her wrist closer to admire the silver charm. When she ran a finger over the charm, her skin tingled with the familiar vibrations that licked across her skin at Castiel's touch.

"Thank you for thinking I was something special…even if only for a while," he whispered, leaning down to brush his lips across her forehead.

She forgot the bracelet and looked back up at him. "This is crazy, Cas," she insisted. "There's got to be another way. I don't want to lose you."

Fighting back tears, she took a moment to look away and gather herself. When she turned back towards Castiel, he was dressed again in his familiar rumpled suit and trench coat.

He reached up to brush feather light fingertips across her cheek. "I feel…regret that I've hurt you in the past. But I cannot lie and say that I wouldn't likely continue to hurt you in the future. We _are_ different. And there are a lot of things I know I don't understand about humans. In the end, you would only continue getting hurt." He stepped back and let his hand fall away. "It's better this way. I'm very grateful to have been allowed to share one last night with you. And I'll do everything in my power to protect you…and your brothers."

Before she could step forward to stop him, he'd disappeared.

Without looking down, she pulled the sheet tighter around her with one hand and grasped the angel wing charm in her other, feeling a slight thrum of familiar power as she clutched the charm tightly in her fist.

She was coming to understand that with Castiel, there might never be the wonderful bliss she felt with him, without the excruciatingly painful blows he also dealt her, but she was beginning to realize that it, too, was a line in the sand that she was more than willing to blow by. They came from worlds apart, and he would likely always behave in ways that would frustrate or hurt her, but she knew it cut both ways. She'd hurt him, too.

Still, going their separate ways was beginning to cut a hole in her heart.

Clutching the charm, she whispered, "You'll never walk alone. Take care…"

* * *

**A/N: **Again, I'm so sorry for the horribly tardy update. August just really got away from me. Since I last updated, I turned a year older, one of my female dogs had her litter (for those that don't know, I raise Pembroke Welsh Corgis) my other female also came into heat, I bought another female pup in the hopes of keeping up with my crazy demand for pups, and that's all on top of working my normal job and trying to get landscaping projects done when the weather's nice. So basically, my house has gone to the dogs and I'm crazy busy!

And I really needed to do this chapter justice. So I hope I at least came close.

Thanks for reading! And I have more good stuff planned for the future ;)

* Separate Ways lyrics © Journey - Weedhigh Nightmare Music


	3. Chapter 5: Don't Let It End

**A/N: **This chapter was getting super long, so I've split it into two chapters. This is the longer of the two. But at least I've got the next one ready now, too!

And on another note, this chapter (and the next) takes a departure in style from past chapters. I've been writing in strictly 3rd person past-tense, but I feel like my verbiage was becoming stilted (and frankly, I think I was getting bored with it) and since I'm writing this as a learning experience anyway, I've decided to change it up and try 3rd person present-tense. So let me know what you guys think and if you like this new style better, or prefer the old past-tense. Thanks!

Oh yeah, and apparently I'm in a porny frame of mind. :) Just call me Chuck! But I swear, it had been planned for this chapter for a long time. Pinky swear.

So, this chapter is like the other uncensored ones, you must be old enough to ride the ride, and so forth, proceed with caution, or go to the censored version if you'd prefer to read that one.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Don't Let It End (Uncensored)**

Tabitha turns back into the room after Castiel disappears, searching the bedside table for her cell phone.

"_Yeah, this is Dean; I'm probably out doing my thing. You know what to do."_

"Dammit, Dean," Tabitha growls in frustration. "This is the third message I've left for you. Pick up your damn phone!" She pauses and then tries to more sedately tell him, "Whatever it is you and Castiel are up to, _don't_. Don't let that dumb angel do it." She sighs, knowing the answering service will cut her off before she can really give him a piece of her mind like he deserves. "Just…call me back you asshole."

She tosses the phone back onto the rumpled bed. There is nothing she can do to stop or help Castiel for the time being. She doesn't even have a clue where he and her younger brother are at the moment. But she can try to make amends with Cort. If she can find where he's gone anyway.

But first, she needs to take another shower.

Her fist knots the sheet tightly to her chest as she peers into the bathroom, expecting to see shattered glass strewn across the tile floor. She nearly gasps when she sees the room in perfect order, as though the night before hadn't even happened.

The tightening in the still sensitized muscles of her body reminds her that it had been real, and as sated as she still feels, her body coyly brings to mind the erotic shower she'd taken with Castiel the night before.

Her bracelet jingles against her wrist, and she twists it until the angel wing charm is pressed into her palm. She almost swears it is still slightly warm, and the reminder of Castiel sends a shiver through her body. Followed by a loud growl from her stomach, reminding her of the many hours since she burned off her meal of oysters. She'd ended up using both of Cort's suggestions to burn off her meal, but she had to say, the dancing wasn't nearly the caloric workout as the other. And not nearly as bone-wrenchingly exhausting and satisfying either.

With another involuntary shiver, she deliberately drops the sheet on the floor and starts forward for what will be a decidedly cold shower. Perhaps the cold spray will help to refocus her mind on the apology she knows Cort is doubly owed…even if she has no intention of telling him about her late night visitor.

* * *

Cort truly is a magnificent specimen, she thinks to herself. Even covered in a layer of sweat. His brow seems perpetually furrowed as his tape wrapped hands pound an intense rhythm at the speed bag, punching a little harder every time the small bag swings back at him. His muscles are corded, striking out repeatedly with amazing speed and force at the bag. Each time his fist strikes out at the bag, it snaps back to a ready position framing his face.

He had to have been at it for hours by the sweat slicking his skin, but his form is still flawless.

"Picturing my head?" she asks him giving him a reserved smile.

With his eyes, he glances over at where she leans against the wall, but keeps his head facing his speed bag, his pounding fists never slowing their fierce beat.

"No, not you ma chére," he tightly replies.

"I'd probably have it coming."

He doesn't acknowledge her comment.

"I mean, I wouldn't hold it against you after…" she lamely tries again.

Cort finally stops his staccato beat, his hands grabbing at the speed bag to hold it still. "You trying to talk me into something, or trying to apologize again, Tabitha?"

"I guess apologize," she mumbles, looking down.

"Don't," he shortly returns, stepping away to grab a water bottle from a nearby stool. "I asked you to give us a chance. I knew the risks I was running. Not your fault."

"It kinda is," she continues muttering to the floor, wincing at the thought of how his tune would change if he knew everything that had happened after he'd stormed off last night.

"I'm a grown damn man," he growls, "I'm responsible for my own choices. Not you."

He finally turns back towards her, his angry scowl dissipating with a visible effort. "How'd you know where I was?"

Finally hearing some of the anger bleed from his voice, she looks up to reply, "I remembered you telling me years ago that you liked to box when you needed to take your mind off things. This was the nearest boxing gym I could find that was open all night."

Shaking his head, he wipes his face with a towel and murmurs to himself, "Only you would have known and remembered something like that."

Flipping the towel over his shoulder, his eyes skim over her, taking in the sight of her own workout clothes and wrapped fists.

"You come to get a workout in, too?"

Heat suffuses her cheeks a little as she grins but admits, "Wasn't sure how mad you'd be at me. Thought I should be ready for anything."

His brows nearly hit his hairline. "You think I'd ever hit a woman? Come, chérie, you know me better than that."

Though he laughs a little though to show he isn't offended, taking one of her hands in his to examine her tape job. "You know how to wrap a hand well," he compliments.

"Dean did teach me to box after you and I dated. He said he wanted me to be able to take care of myself. Not like I didn't already know how to fight from both Bobby and Dad though."

Cort tugs her over to a heavy bag, gesturing at some boxing gloves and telling her, "Let's see what you got."

She waves the gloves away. "Dad always said it was best to practice without the gloves. Not like you're gonna have them when you're hunting something anyway. And I did tape my hands for a little added protection and support."

"True enough," he agrees, positioning himself behind the bag. "Careful of your punches though, don't break nothing in your hand."

Bouncing lightly on her feet, she takes several hard jabs at the bag, shifting her weight as she changes it up with hooks and undercuts as well. By thirty or so punches, she's beginning to get back into the groove, but also beginning to feel the burn of muscles she hasn't utilized in a while.

An hour later, Cort steps away from the bag, calling for her to stop. "That's enough, Tab, your form's slipping."

"I know," she nods, wiping the sweat from her brow. "Been a long time since I really worked the heavy bag. I'm exhausted, but it feels good. Good reminder that I should be practicing that a bit more once I'm out on the road again, too."

Although he'd been walking away, Cort tenses and then turns back towards her. "You leaving?"

"It's time, Cort. I've worn out my welcome, I think," she replies as she begins unwinding the tape from her hands.

"I didn't say that."

"You wouldn't. Wouldn't even think it. But that doesn't make it any less true."

Cort blows an annoyed puff of air past his lips. "Momma Cecile said you'd know when it was time to leave the city. When you'd seen a ring or something. That ain't happened yet," he doggedly insists.

"Why do you want me to stay, Cort, when all I've done is hurt you?" she wants to know, puzzled by his almost frantic desperation to get her to stay.

Suddenly, Cort is in front of her again, not touching her, but the heat from his body licking across her skin. "Guess part of me thinks it due penance for hurtin' you those years ago. But part of me also knows that if you leave now, I'll lose any hope forever of winning you back."

"I'm not a prize to win," she tells him, stepping back from his overwhelming presence.

"No, you're not," he readily agrees. "But I still think if you stay and give us a chance, we could make it work. We were good together once."

"A long time ago," she reminds him.

"Not so long ago. I still see it in my dreams."

"I don't," she gently whispers, hoping to spare him some pain and gently placing her hand on his chest before taking another step back from him. Her eyes linger briefly on the angle wing charm at her wrist.

"I'm not that girl anymore. And I can't be again. That girl wanted a man she could idolize and worship. The woman I became isn't happy with hero-worship. She wants someone as flawed as she is who'd move Heaven and Hell for her. And who she'd move Heaven and Hell for in return."

"And you think this guy is it? This guy who's hurt you and doesn't even love you?" he spits, looking away to hide the pain in his eyes.

"I don't know," she concedes. "All I know is I've already crossed a lot of lines for him already."

"That doesn't sound like a good thing. Certainly not a healthy thing, Tab."

"Maybe not," she easily agrees. "But I can't change that I feel…something for him."

"You love him," he bitterly answers to himself, still avoiding her eyes.

"Didn't say that. But it's something."

Turning back to her with a piecing look, he entreats one last time, "Stay. It's not the time for you to leave yet. I'm not ready for this to be the end."

Picking up the bag she'd carried in and shouldering it, she starts for the door. "Regardless of how long Momma Cecile cryptically said I could stay, it's time for me to leave."

Cort jogs after her onto the street. "It's dangerous out there. You got demons hunting you still, right? Be safer here."

"For how long?"

"Probably not long," a voice casually throws out from an alleyway.

Cort and Tabitha both stop cold in their tracks, cautiously turning towards the alley and the suited figure intently watching them.

"Of course," he casually continues, slender hands straightening his red tie, "you won't ever have to worry about them again."

Cort maneuvers between her and the stranger, but Tabitha discreetly tugs at his elbow, warningly hissing, "He's an angel. We need to get out of here. _Now_."

Suddenly, the angel is before them, his hand reaching out to touch Cort's forehead before she can pull him back. The simple touch causes Cort to crumple at Tabitha's feet, just as she'd seen angels do to others before.

The angel quickly reaches out to touch her forehead, but heaves a resigned shrug when nothing happens.

A long, silver looking stake or blade falls down his sleeve into his hand.

With the weapon poised in the air, he tells her, "Guess we'll do it the messy way then. Zachariah sends his regards."

Tabitha throws her arms instinctively over her head, knowing it's pointless and that in mere moments she'll be dead.

But the blow never comes.

Tabitha opens her eyes to see another angel standing behind the first, his dark eyes squinting as he holds the handle of an identical blade imbedded through the back of the first angel's neck.

"And Azrael sends her regards as well," the deep graveled voice tells the first angel as an explosion of light rushes from the vessel's mouth.

The new angel's vessel is that of an old man, wrinkled and creased, but giving him a craggy sort of appearance that is still imposing and impressive in his impeccable black suit. The accent was a slow southern drawl, but she knows better than to associate a vessel's accent with the angel inside it.

Together, angel and human look down at the empty vessel that collapses to the ground at their feet, an eerie black outline of angel wings stretching the entire length of the alley around them.

Finding her voice, Tabitha asks in a stunned tone, "Who's Azrael?" All the while wondering if this angel will try to kill her, too. Perhaps he'd just wanted to be the one to do the actual deed.

"You were made for her," the imposing angel answers matter-of-factly, his head tilting in a way that reminds her of Castiel as the strange angel watches her.

"Pam," Tabitha whispers to herself, understanding dawning, even if she still doesn't know who exactly Azrael is.

"She wants me alive," she continues whispering. Scowling at the empty vessel at their feet, she goes on, "I still don't understand why Zachariah wants me dead though if I'm this chick's vessel."

"Because Zachariah and his faction would do anything to keep Azrael from her vessel. But the followers of Azrael…" the angel trails off in a weary sigh weighted by unfathomable millennium. "We have made peace. We are ready for the End our Father prophesied."

Tabitha begins slowly backing away from the angel. She throws a regretful look at where Cort lies unconscious, but neither of the angels had seemed even slightly interested in him.

"Yeah, well, I'm not interested in being her vessel, so you can send my regrets," Tabitha shoots back, her muscles bunching as she gathers herself to flee like the scared rabbit Momma Cecile had praised her for not being. Truth is, she's not unafraid of things like the old woman said. She simply knows when to hold her ground and when to run for the hills. Facing a powerful angel with unclear motives seems to be an excellent time for some hill running.

"Not even to stop the war that's coming? Not even to stop Lucifer and Michael from taking hold of your brothers? Not even to save the lives of the millions that would be killed if Lucifer and Michael join in battle again?"

She'd been half turned away, her muscles even beginning to push her weight off from her back foot. But she stops cold at his words. Frozen in place by them.

"You're saying that letting this Azrael chick nosedive into me will somehow accomplish all that? That she can really stop it all?"

Pam…or rather, Azrael had told her much the same, but she hadn't quite believed it then. She still isn't sure if it's really true. Somehow, she'd known that strange, old Aramaic passage written by Nahara had to do with her and Azrael. But Momma Cecile had expressly told her that she _couldn't_ let that prophecy come true. Whatever it was.

So did that mean she couldn't let Azrael take control of her, or that she _should_?

"She is the only angel granted the power by our Father to stop them," he rushes to assure her.

Ever so slowly, the angel steps towards her, his hand lifted in the direction of her forehead.

Her face wrinkles as she leans slightly back and watches him, explaining, "I don't know why you're even trying, you angels can't ever do anything to me when you touch me like that."

The nameless angel's face splits into a sardonic smile. "Perhaps Zachariah and his followers don't have the power, but Azrael's powers are far beyond his. Though he has devised a wonderful…educational trip for your brother. Azrael has been inspired to grant you the same. I may not have her power, but I am just delivering her gift to you. She wishes you to see what will happen if you do not acquiesce to her."

Certain that nothing will happen when the angel touches her—just like every other time—Tabitha holds her ground, watching as his fingers inch closer to lightly touch her forehead.

Light explodes behind her eyes as she crumples to the ground.

* * *

Moaning, Tabitha pushes her aching body from the dirty carpeted floor where she'd been laying.

With confused glances, she sees that she was sprawled out on the floor just inside the main entrance of Cort's house. But nothing looks like it should.

Everything was there. But so many things were askew in the house, and thick layers of dust coat everything, including the musty carpet she pushes herself up from.

"What the hell?" she mutters to herself, baffled not only by how she'd gone from that alleyway to Cort's house, but the utter shambles Cort's beautiful home is now in. She might have been inclined to believe that everything in the alleyway had been some freaky dream, save for the fact that she knew there was no way she would wake up to find Cort's house so filthy.

Yet, there she stood, surrounded by the squalor that had once been his gorgeous mansion.

Creeping further into the house, she softly calls out for Cort, unnerved by the sensation that she's in a bad horror movie and that at any second, an axe murderer is going to jump out to chop her into little bits and grind her bones to make his bread.

"You've watched too many cheesy horror movies, Winchester," she scolds herself, trying to shove the ominous feeling away. But she still half expects an eerie music score to start playing at any second.

Coming around the corner into the kitchen, she lets out a muffled scream.

"Christ," she mutters as she bites back the surprised yell.

Facing away from her in the kitchen is the familiar height and bulk of the man she'd been searching for.

"Damn, Cort. What the heck is going on here? What happened to this place?"

He doesn't move or acknowledge her as she creeps closer.

"Cort?"

As she reaches out to touch his shoulder, he suddenly twists to face her, swiping a hand out low towards her midsection.

Acting solely on instinct, she jerks away, but not before a searing pain bursts in her hip. Too late, she realizes he'd been holding a long carving knife from the kitchen.

"What the hell, Cort?!" she shouts, but he's still coming at her, knife slashing dangerously through the air.

Trying to keep out of range from the knife, she twists in a circle, her stronger right leg lifting in the air to deliver a roundhouse kick. His greater height meant the blow didn't land to his head like it was designed, but the kick to his shoulder does knock him off balance, sending him sideways into the center island as more pain radiates from her hip and thigh.

But he's far from down. Grabbing a large pot from the counter, she arcs the pot through the air towards his lowered head, bringing it down forcefully against the back of his skull.

As he sprawls on the floor, she takes a second to stare at his strange appearance. His clothes are dirty and tattered, and his hair is so tangled and knotted it looks as if a rat had tried to nest in it.

"Agh!" he inhumanly growls, the knife sweeping out low from his body at her.

She neatly jumps over the path of the blade, ignoring the throbbing pain in her hip, but is stunned to see him pushing to his feet again. The blow should have knocked him out.

"Dammit, Cort," she growls while backing away. "It's me. It's Tabitha."

He continues pulling himself to his feet, a strangely predatory and murderous look in so vacant a stare.

"Shit!" she swears again while turning to flee, with Cort hot on her heels.

Running through the hallway, she slows only enough to overturn tables and shelving in her wake, trying to slow his pursuit. But he's only slowed as much as she is by her efforts.

At the doorway on her left, she pushes the heavy door open into Cort's garage, slamming it shut again in Cort's face. As he screams and beats at the door, she pushes against it while reaching over to the metal shelving along the wall, pulling with all her strength to slide it and its contents in front of the door.

It helps, but Cort is still straining, trying to push open the door and move the shelf, too.

Frantically casting about, she sees his motorcycle sitting in the middle of the garage.

She pauses as she runs towards it, detouring to Cort's large metal weapons locker to grab what she can, stuffing an old backpack with as many supplies as it can hold. Something tells her she'll need it. Surprisingly, she hadn't been dressed in the workout clothes she last remembered wearing, but in cargo pants and her leather coat. She zips it as she slaps a hand against the garage door opener.

It doesn't open.

Indeed, she realizes that the only light in the garage is the sunlight spilling in through the narrow window high along the wall.

"What is going on?" she wonders to herself once more, jumping to grab the trip cord along the track of the door, unlocking the rolling garage door so she can push it up manually.

As she starts Cort's Harley, she realizes the sounds of Cort trying to break down the door from inside the house have ceased. Gunning it, she slips through the open door just as Cort starts around the corner from the front door, having to duck low over the motorcycle to avoid his knife once more.

A half hour later, she pulls up in front of The House of the Rising Sun.

Momma Cecile's house looks much like Cort's house had, and indeed, the rest of the city. She'd seen some people out on the streets, but like Cort, they'd all run after her, murderous screams in their throats, and dead looks in their eyes.

The answer to what they were came as she slowed down by the courthouse downtown. "Croatoan" was spray-painted on the brick wall in an alley.

She hadn't encountered the Croatoan virus with her brothers, but she'd heard about it from Bobby when he'd enlisted her initial help to clean up the town where the boys had encountered it. But by the time she'd sent CDC there with a story about a possible anthrax outbreak, everyone had vanished.

Still, she knows all the signs of the virus from Bobby and having read Chuck's book about it. Thankfully, she'd waded through Chuck's overly porn-esque filled writing since they met the man. Not that it explains how she'd awakened to a city nearly emptied of anything but Crotes.

Her attempts to call for Castiel have also proven fruitless. All that had been accomplished was screaming herself hoarse. Either he wasn't answering, or… She doesn't want to think of the alternative.

Her last ditch hope is that Momma Cecile might have some answers, but the now ramshackle house gives her pause.

Deciding to take a look since she is already at the house, she leaves the motorcycle and inches carefully towards the house. It is ominously silent.

As she climbs the steps to the covered porch, she holds her shotgun low, and then taps the 9 mm in her waistband to reassure herself that it is still there.

"Momma Cecile?" she softly calls, praying that the old woman is still alive to give her some answers, even if it is her usual vague bullshit.

Hand on the door to push it open, she calls out again a little louder, "Momma—"

Her call is cut off as she flies backwards through the air, landing hard on her back against the wood decking of the porch.

"This is your fault," a woman spits from above her.

Tabitha looks up to see Momma Cecile's not-so-friendly ghost bent over her, an angry glare in her eyes.

"You let her in only to get trapped. Now we're _all_ trapped here! You never should have said 'yes!'" the ghost screams, lunging for her throat.

Tabitha rolls, bringing the shotgun up between them to fire a rock salt round into the ghost. Continuing her roll, she drops off the porch and runs for the motorcycle, knowing that Momma Cecile had to be gone if her ghost has gone vengeful like that.

There's only one long shot prayer left now.

Her motorcycle isn't alone when she runs to it. The angel from the alleyway leans causally against it.

"What did you do?" she demands.

Somehow though, she already knows the answer. "This is some kind of future field trip, isn't it?" Somehow, she'd already known that she is somewhere in the future.

"You could say that."

"How'd you even find me?"

"I've been following some of Zachariah's followers in hopes of finding you."

"How'd Zach's guy find me then?" she wants to know.

He shrugs, completely unconcerned. "He's been tapping fringe Christian groups."

"The bible thumper," she speaks to herself remembering the man that had approached her and Cort near Momma Cecile's place. "So, who are you supposed to be? Doc Brown? You're old and gray like him."

His eyes narrow in confusion. "I am Israfil, one of Azrael's loyal followers."

"What is all this Back to the Future crap?" she asks him, waving an arm around the area.

"This is the year 2014. And this is what will happen if you wait too long and don't align yourself with Azrael before it's too late."

And with his portent of doom, he disappears again.

Climbing back on the motorcycle, she prays that her next stop won't also prove so useless. Or dangerous.

* * *

"Bobby?!" Tabitha yells as she climbs over the debris-field of Bobby's house.

She doesn't call out again as she surveys the wreckage. Her gut tells her that his house wouldn't look like this if Bobby were still alive and well.

At the bottom of the stairs, she spots his overturned wheelchair, bullet holes through the back.

"Oh, Bobby," she sighs as she crouches near it gingerly touching the holes through the vinyl back.

Wood creaking near the side door brings her attention back to the present. Backing away, she steps into the shadows and flattens herself against the wall.

As someone eases into the room, Tabitha reaches out to grab the lead arm holding the handgun, yanking forward on the arm to pull him off balance and turning into him as she drives her knee into the man's sternum.

He stumbles back as she strips the gun from his hand, sputtering and coughing as he stares at her in shock.

"Tabitha?"

"Dean?"

He steps towards her, but falls back gripping his nose when she delivers a mean left hook.

"What the hell was that for, Tabitha?!" he nasally demands as he holds his bleeding nose.

"What year are you from?" she demands in return.

His eyes widen in understanding as he wipes away some of the blood. "2009, same as you I'm guessing."

Her eyes narrow in anger. "Then I owe you more than one punch," she declares as Dean nervously takes a step back from her advancing form.

"What for?"

She points an accusing finger at her older brother. "How 'bout for starters, not calling me back after leaving you several messages." Suddenly remembering her last message in particular, she stops her forward progression and asks, "Speaking of, did you and Cas follow through on that dumb plan of his? Is he all right?"

Dean seems confused by her question, but wipes away the last trickles of blood from under his nose. "How'd you know about that? And why's it matter?"

"I saw him," she quickly answers. "Is he okay?"

His frown deepens as he stares at the blood on his sleeve. "I can't believe you just punched me."

Stepping forward threateningly, she warns him, "I could have broken your dang nose if I really wanted to, and you and I both know it. Stop being a baby, and tell me if Cas is okay!"

"He's fine," Dean answers, meeting her narrowed gaze. "Why do you care anyway? I swear, I can't keep track of whether or not the two of you are pissed at each other, or secret BFFs again."

"We're just friends," she hastens to tell him.

He gives his sister a suspicious look. "Don't get me wrong, I like Cas; he's a good guy…for an angel anyway. But the two of you are more on again off again as friends than a pair of twelve-year-old girls. If you're gonna be pissed at him, be pissed at him, but stop letting him yank you around and play you like he's been doing. You're expecting too much out of the dude for friendship. He's an angel, Tab."

"I know what he is," she snaps. "And I just wanted to know if he was all right."

She steps away and looks around at the wreckage again.

"How'd you end up here?" Dean finally asks. "Zach send you here, too? He didn't mention it."

"No. Some jackass named Israfil."

"Who?"

She continues looking down where she'd crouched to sort through a pile of discarded books. All from Bobby's extensive lore collection.

"Some follower of Azrael's I guess."

"Still means nothing to me."

Looking up, she shrugs self-consciously. "She's the chick that wants to wear my skin like a bad horror movie psycho. Says I'm her vessel. Did you listen to _any_ of my messages? I told you about this angel, _Pam_, that said I was her vessel."

Dean avoids her eyes, stepping over to the mantel to open one of Bobby's secret compartments above the fireplace. "Didn't see the point in listening to your messages," he shrugs. "But I'm not surprised, I guess. Those dick angels seem to have plans for all of us. Michael wants me—which, come on, who can blame him—Lucifer wants Sam, and now this chick wants you. Who is she to them anyway?"

Tabitha follows her brother in time to see him pull out their father's journal. "I guess Azrael is their sister. Least that's what she told me. And how do you know about Sam and Lucifer? Azrael was the one that told me."

Flipping through the journal and still avoiding her, Dean absently answers, "Sam called to tell me."

Pushing down on the journal in his hands, Tabitha angrily demands, "So you'll take _Sam's_ calls, but not _mine_?! What the hell?"

Finally looking up, Dean snaps, "You took off. Figured you were doing just fine on your own."

"So did Sam," she's quick to point out. "But you still took his call. I just needed time to get things together in my head, but there's been a lot going on that I could have used my big brother's input on."

"Figured that was why you went to Cort. To get his _input_," he condescendingly shoots back. "Bobby said you hightailed it straight for his arms. And I saw his bike out front when I got here."

Folding her arms over her chest, Tabitha demands, "So? What does it matter where I went? I needed a place to stay, and Cort was a good enough friend to offer me a room at his place."

With thumping steps, Dean angrily stomped around his sister, snidely telling her, "Yeah, _his_ room I bet."

Quickly reaching out, Tabitha yanks her brother to a stop by his elbow. "As a matter of fact, no. Not that it's _any_ of your business. And why have you got your panties in such a twist over this anyway?"

Her brother sidesteps until he's back in front of her. "Just strikes me that your lying traces back to _him_. Before he showed up again and you started sleeping with him, you used to tell me _everything_. You came to me about gettin' your darn period for crying out loud! We were a team. You and me looking after Sammy and protecting him. Helpin' take care of Dad when he'd had too much after a bad hunt. But you take up with Cort, and the lies start." His voice rises to a high, mocking pitch. "'_No, I'm not sleeping with Cort, Dean. Why would you think such a crazy thing like that_?'" Shaking a furious fist in her face, he continues, "But I saw you leaving his motel room back then. And I swear, you never stopped lying to me after that. You and I were never a team again like we had been. When you left with Sammy, you were supposed to watch over him, but you turned your back on him, too. Started doing your own thing, and left him alone. Let evil find him again."

Tabitha falls back at the infuriated onslaught from her brother. She realizes now that there had been a distance between them that had only grown since she was seventeen. She'd just never traced it back to the moment in time that she and Cort had briefly dated.

His bitterness towards her after she and Sam left, and then after she returned, seems to make sense now. They'd mostly gotten along since she started hunting with her brothers again, and she knows Dean still loves her, but there has always an underlying strain, a resentment towards her that she's never quite been able to put her finger on.

Worse yet, everything he'd said and accused her of was true. She can't defend herself.

"You're right," she carefully admits. "I did all that. I never realized I was the one that caused such a rift between us." He looks away from her, but not before she sees the pained glint of abandonment in his eyes. He'd forgiven Sam for leaving, but he couldn't forgive her because before Cort came along, it had always been Dean and Tabitha together as a team. They protected Sam and shielded him from their father as best they could. Sam choosing to leave had been hard for him, but she sees now how truly traitorous it had been in his eyes that _she_ had left him behind.

"I'm sorry, Dean," she tries again. "I was young and just wanted to have a chance at a normal life. I never meant to…leave you behind like that. And I know I didn't always tell you everything in my life, but I was seventeen. The days of me telling you everything in my life were passing. I grew up, Dean. And part of growing up was that I couldn't tell you everything in my life anymore. I'm your _sister_, Dean. Did you really want me telling you about the first guy I ever slept with, or how painful that first time was? And how wonderful the other times after that were."

Dean grimaces and looks a little green around the gills.

"Exactly," she quickly points out. "I couldn't tell you about Cort. Not after all the lectures you'd given me about never dating or sleeping with a hunter. You were my big brother, and even though I didn't regret my choices, I didn't want to disappoint you. And you have to take some of the responsibility here, too. I can't tell you how many times I lied to you because there was no other choice."

"Oh, now it's _my_ fault you been lying to me for so many years? Try again, Tab," he defensively demands.

"I made those choices, but I didn't always have many other options than to lie to you. You don't always make it easy to tell you the truth. For _me…_or for Sammy. Neither of us wants to disappoint you. And you make it impossible to tell you the truth when we know damn well you're just gonna fly off the handle if we do."

"I do not," he stubbornly maintains.

"Yeah, ya do," she answers, her lips curling in anger at his stubborn streak. She ticks the list off with her fingers. "One, the whole Cort thing…which goes back _way_ longer than I ever realized. Two, me sleeping with Collin. You totally freaked out about that when you found out. Three, you finding out I could hear and see angels. Four, the demon blood, marking or brand thingy—"

He interrupts. "And every one of those times you lied to me about it instead of telling me the truth!"

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. "If you really think you would have reacted _any_ differently, then you're delusional." Seeing he's about to argue again, she steps in front of him, saying, "Remember when I was twelve and kissed my first boy on the playground? You punched him so hard, you knocked out a tooth, Dean. And _I_ kissed _him_! Or remember when I was fifteen and I snuck out to go to the movies with that boy down in Greenback? You threatened him and yelled and screamed in the theatre so much I thought they were gonna call the cops on you. Or what about—"

"Fine, I get the picture," he snaps. "But those were all times you were with guys too old for you and doing things you weren't ready for yet. And you shouldn't have lied to me about what you were doing anyway."

"I can name a dozen other times you got mad at me for something that I _really_ wish I'd lied to you about instead. And are you saying you want me to give full disclosure about every guy I've slept with and disclose every time in the future what guys I _will_ sleep with? Maybe I should give you a call every time…just to run it by you," she flatly responds.

"Whatever," he growls. "Fine. You made your point. I don't need to know about the dudes in your life. But the rest of it, you need to stop lying about."

"I've been trying to call you to keep you informed about what's going on," she points out. "_You_ were the one not taking my calls. And you've _got_ to start being a little more understanding when Sam and I _do_ tell you things you don't like or wanna hear, otherwise we'll both stop telling you the truth again."

"We need to just all go our own ways," he sighs to her. "You ever stop to think about all the messes we get each other into because we're trying to _help_ each other? You'd still be with the FBI for one—if we had just stayed away from each other. We're each others' Achilles' heel—all three of us—and we need to start waking up and realizing that the bad guys are just gonna keep using us against each other every time."

Raising her chin, she responds, "I don't agree with that. We're stronger together. Being apart…just means we're getting into trouble on our own. Making stupid choices _without_ each other to back us up on our choices."

He ignores her comment, but finally glances at her hip, frowning a little at the dried blood staining her cargo pants.

"What happened?" he inquires, nodding to the dried blood.

"Cort," she answers in a clipped tone. Softening a little, she explains. "I woke up there in New Orleans and he and everyone else had turned into Crotes." With a negating hand gesture, she continues, "I'm fine though. What do you think is going on though?"

She'd had some gauze padding from the supplies she grabbed at Cort's that she'd stuffed in the side of her pants to stop the bleeding. The pain was only dull now anyway, but she hadn't had the time to really look at it. From the amount of blood, she fears it might need stitches, but doesn't want to take the time now to do it.

"Not sure," he mutters in reply, opening the journal again.

"You think Sammy is somewhere here, too?" Tabitha asks as he leafs through the yellowed pages of the journal. "And what are we supposed to be learning on this field trip? I mean, what even happened here?"

Dean pauses as he pulls out an old black and white photo. "This might have some answers," he says, handing the photo to her.

She sees Bobby in his wheel chair at the center of a group, Castiel standing behind and off to his left a little, and three other men she doesn't recognize. All of them are posing holding shotguns next to a wooden sign that reads: Camp Chitaqua.

"Camp Chitaqua," Dean declares. "Might get some answers there."

Nodding, she agrees. "It's our best and only real lead at the moment."

* * *

It's dark when Dean and Tabitha drive up to the outskirts of Camp Chitaqua in the car Dean had stolen. They'd left Cort's bike behind at Bobby's to travel together. Not only had it been more efficient, it also gave them the opportunity to fill each other in.

Dean explained Castiel's attempt to extract the location of God from Raphael, and their failure to get anything useful from him. And she gave him the lowdown on what the translated verse from the Campbell family bible read, as well as her encounters with the angel she now knows to be Azrael.

She continued to leave out Castiel's visit, deciding to adhere to Dean's decree that he didn't need to know about the guys in her life. She figures angels count, too.

"But you still don't know who this chick is or anything about her other than that she'd like to slip you on and wear you around?" Dean quietly asks as they edge closer to the camp and the sign they recognize from the photo.

"I only found out her name from that jackass just before sent me here. I haven't had time to see if there's any lore on her. And I still haven't figured out what that passage really means, other than that I'm apparently _not_ supposed to let whatever it is happen," she huffs in return.

"We'll figure it out, Tabby," Dean tells her over his shoulder, his tone softer with her than it has been in a long time. "But first, we've got to figure out how to get back to the past." He shakes his head as they continue, muttering to himself, "I can't believe I just said that."

Dean's hand suddenly swipes out to hold her back as they approach a fence and see guards walking by. He silently gestures her for silence. She nods in agreement.

"Oh, baby, no," he moans as he stares through the fence once the guards are gone.

She starts to ask what he's upset about, but then spots the Impala. Dented, rusty, and obviously abandoned. It almost seems as if more than five years have passed. Certainly five hard years.

They climb the fence easily without being spotted, but Dean mournfully detours to the car, stooping to look in through the missing driver's door.

"Ohhh. Baby, what did they do to you?" he bemoans.

"Get over it, Dean. Let's go," she warns as she looks watchfully towards the center of the camp for anyone that might spot them.

Hearing a grunt and a thud, she turns to look back at Dean.

But sees him standing over…himself.

The second Dean isn't dressed like the first even though their faces are identical, and there's a hard look in his eyes as he stares across the unconscious Dean at her.

They stand in a tableau for a minute, neither hardly daring to breathe as each waits for the other to move first. After a long minute has passed, Dean begins cautiously walking towards her, almost a fearful hesitation to his steps.

"You're the Dean from this future, aren't you?" she slowly asks him.

He frowns in confusion as he draws closer, and then before she can react, he raises his shotgun and swings it at the side of her head.

Dazed, she almost doesn't react at all to him swinging the shotgun at her, but barely manages to lean back from the blow.

Still, the butt of the shotgun catches her temple, and she drops to the ground, her eyes fluttering as she helplessly watches the future version of her brother pick up the one she came with, hoisting the slumped body over his shoulder.

Then, her eyes stop fluttering and close.

* * *

When she wakes, it's to that eerie feeling of being watched. But when she opens her eyes, all she sees is a dirty mattress pressed against her face. Only the flickering light of a burning lantern illuminates the room. Struggling for her equilibrium, she sits up, her movements hampered by her legs being tied together by thick rope and one of her hands is cuffed to a strong eyebolt driven into the wood floor next to the mattress.

"Owww!" she dramatically says as she struggles to sit up and face her brother.

One look at his hardened gaze is all it takes to tell her this one is the future version of him.

"Since when did you start hitting me?" she demands, rubbing her temple with her free hand and feeling the dried blood flaking off onto her fingertips. Even when they'd sparred together growing up when he'd been teaching her, he'd always been so careful never to actually hit her.

He doesn't answer, simply remains motionless where he stands, staring down at her without a shred of emotion on his face and a shotgun cradled in his arms.

"You gonna say something, or just mutely stare at me? 'Cause that's kinda creepy, Dean. Or Future-Dean. Whatever. Is that what you do in the future now? Just stand around and stare. Or did you get kicked in the head by a mule and can't talk now?"

"Why do you keep saying future?" he suddenly asks.

"Because to me, _this_ is the future. An asshole angel sent me here. And in the future, apparently you become kinda a dick. You wanna let me go now? I'm guessing you've already established that I'm not a shapeshifter, demon, or anything else."

"No. You ain't going anywhere."

She frowns at his uncompromising answer. "You know what, Future-Dean is really getting on my last nerve, and I've got a pounding headache, so why don't you _kiss off_ and send in Future-Me or something. And where is my brother, anyway? The one I came with. He's certainly not here," she says, looking around the cabin empty of any furniture save for the mattress she's sitting on.

Crouching low to put his eyes level with hers, Future-Dean harshly answers, "I don't know what the hell you're playing at, but it's not gonna work. Salt, iron, and silver may not work on you now, but they never did, have they, bitch? I don't know what you're doing off your leash or pretending to be weak, but if you really _are_ weakened for some reason, no way am I letting you go." Standing, he viciously adds, "And if I knew what was good for this camp, I'd gank your ass now and make sure you can't ever serve your master again."

Before she can even lean back from the blow this time, the shotgun butt again connects with her temple.

* * *

Sunlight streams through the closed windows the next time she opens her eyes. Thankfully, she doesn't feel the watchful burning eyes of her asshole future brother.

"I'm gonna bust your nose and more," she growls as she pushes up once more.

Just as before, her legs are bound and her hand is cuffed to the eyebolt in the floor.

But on the dusty floor near the mattress is a plate with what looks like Spam, only slightly moldy bread, and a glass of cloudy water.

"Yummy," she intones, but doesn't touch any of it, almost expecting it to be poisoned from the venom in her future brother's voice. Saying he had become an asshole was a complete understatement. He'd become certifiable.

She tugs on her handcuff, wondering how to slip out of them. As a Fed, she'd learned more than a few ways get out of cuffs—most she'd already known from her father and Dean. But the most expedient way out of handcuffs—without tools anyway—was to dislocate your thumb. Not a very tempting thought, but something she knows she'll do if she has to.

But there were other ways to find tools, even if there was nothing in sight. And luckily, even her future brother doesn't know as much about women as he always thought he did.

Shimmying around, she manages to pull her bra off and slide it down her cuffed arm past her hand. Then, it only takes a matter of minutes to work the underwire out from the cup of one bra.

Before five minutes have passed, she's gotten herself uncuffed, untied, and redressed.

At first, she wanders through the camp, carefully avoiding the people wandering about. But there are enough buildings that she isn't sure she'll be able to find wherever Future-Dean has locked up her brother.

Seeing a woman standing by herself alongside one cabin, Tabitha ambles over, hoping that the woman will simply think it's the future version of herself as she taps the woman's shoulder.

"Hey, have you seen my brother?" she kindly asks the woman.

The small brunette turns to face her, terror settling over her face when she sees her. With a deep inhale, a scream builds in the brunette's throat. Tabitha starts to step forward to silence the woman, but is left standing in shock when she faints and crumples to the ground in a heap at Tabitha's feet.

"Wow," she utters to herself in disbelief, totally baffled by the strange response.

Looking across the way at another row of cabins, she sees her brother approaching one of them.

She pauses, but realizes by his hesitant steps and familiar clothing, that he is indeed her brother and not the future asshole he becomes.

"Dean!" she softly calls, trying not to raise her voice. When he doesn't hear her, she darts across the dirt road to get his attention.

"Tabitha!" he exclaims, backing off the steps to the cabin he'd been approaching. "Damn I'm glad to see a familiar face that's not trying to hit me or something."

Letting him pull her into a hug, and wrapping her own arms gratefully him in return, she finally breathes a sigh of relief.

"Had a run-in with Future-You, huh?" she chuckles.

"Yeah, him and some chick he's apparently been ducking," he explains, pushing back from her.

"Somehow, I find that hilarious that you're finally getting the guff you deserve for your bed-hopping," she laughs.

Ignoring her jab, he tenderly touches her temple. "What the hell happened? I've been looking for you, but I wouldn't tell me where you were."

Shaking her head at the strange sentence, she comments, "I think that's too many pronouns to wrap my head around." But she waves it off. "Yeah, future you is kind of a dick. No offense. What the hell happened here in the future? I tried talking to you…er…Future-Dean, but he wouldn't hardly say anything to me, and what he did say I don't understand, and then he knocked me out. _Again_."

Gesturing around the camp, Dean tells her, "Apparently these are some survivors that I have brought here to fight the Croatoan epidemic. I guess that's the Devil's endgame. Sounds like the world really goes to hell in the next five years."

"Awesome," she mutters. "Have you seen Sam? Ours _or_ theirs?"

Dean shifts from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable and reluctant. "Apparently he didn't make it. Went down in Detroit. I was a little vague with me on the details. I don't think our Sam is here either. I doubt Lucifer would send him here like our angel pals did."

"What about me?" Tabitha whispers, almost hating herself for even asking. Between Future-Dean and Fainting Woman, something tells her that there's a bad story behind her as well.

"Told me you didn't make it, either," he utters, barely audible.

"Guess that explains why some chick fainted at the sight of me," she tells herself.

Wrapping her arms around her torso, she recounts the tally. "So, in this future—according to some jackass angels anyway—Bobby's dead, Sam's dead, I'm dead, and you're a total ass. Not to mention the whole world going to the Crotes thing."

"Yeah," he grimly agrees. "I think we should get the hell out of here. Chuck said this was Cas's cabin, so let's find that little angel and get him to send our asses back home. This place is creeping me out."

Tabitha smiles almost against her better judgment. "Chuck…as in _our_ Porny-Chuck, or Future-Porny-Chuck?"

"You've got to stop calling him Porny-Chuck."

"Hey, if the erotic novel fits," she mumbles. "I've read his stuff; he makes me sound like I'm Jenna Jameson or something."

Dean tactfully ignores her words. "Yeah, it was Future him or whatever, he didn't recognize me at all. Thought I was my future version." Gesturing up the steps he'd started up before she called, he tells her, "Let's go find Cas. Get him to send us home."

"Sure," she agrees, smiling a little at the thought of seeing their angel, even in this Apocalypse Now version of the world.

Dean starts up the steps but stops and looks over his shoulder to tell her, "Maybe you should sorta hang back. I mean, already had one chick fainting at seeing the dead girl walking."

She doesn't like it, but nods in agreement as they approach the cabin. It's probably not the most productive idea to have a repeat of the fainting girl.

As they enter through the beaded doorway of the log cabin, she can hear Castiel's familiar voice speaking to someone, but as Dean goes further into the room, Tabitha hangs back in the corner, watching the strange sight of Cas sitting Indian style on the ground, a group of pretty women gathered in a circle around him.

"So, in this way, we're each a fragment of total perception—just, uh, one compartment in that dragonfly eye of group mind."

Tabitha stares at Castiel as he speaks, shocked by not only his New Age themed talk to the scantily-clad girls hanging on his every word, but by the very sight of him. The perpetual scruff she was so used to had at some point grown into a light, disheveled beard. And gone is the familiar trench coat and rumpled suit she knows so well, replaced by a loose blue shirt and cotton pants, lending credence to his Hippie, New Age vibe.

"Now," he continues speaking to the girls still focused solely on him, "the key to this total, shared perception—it's, um…it's surprisingly physical."

Finally noticing Dean as he steps into the room, Cas looks up. "Oh." He briefly turns back to the women, "Excuse me, ladies. I think I need to confer with our fearless leader for a minute." He throws a surprisingly coy wink at Dean as he speaks to them. "Why not go get washed up for the orgy?''

From the corner of her eye, she sees Dean do a double take, and feels her own mouth drop and as small gasp of shock escape while the girls file out of the cabin.

The girls file past her and Dean, but none seem to recognize her, giving her only cursory glances as they almost jealously ask each other who the new girl is.

"What are you, a hippie?" Dean asks the angel in disbelief while Castiel stands and stretches the muscles of his back.

Still facing away from them, Castiel sighs and comments, "I thought you'd gotten over trying to label me.

He finally turns to face Dean as her brother tells the angel, "Cas, we got to talk."

Castiel gives him a startled look. "Whoa. Strange."

"What?"

"You…are not you—not 'now' you, anyway," he tells Dean, his eyes wide as he looks at him with just a shadow of that former head tilt she recognizes.

"No! Yeah. Yes, exactly," Dean tells him.

The angel suddenly looks over Dean's shoulder, for the first time noticing Tabitha still standing in shock in the corner of the room.

She expects a look of recognition from him, perhaps even surprise. The utter look of grief, pain, and…resignation…takes her by surprise.

Her feet follow an unerring path towards him and her brother without thought, and as she draws even with Dean, she whispers, "Hey, Cas," not knowing what else to say.

Even in _her_ present time, she doesn't know what she and Cas are, but here, she's even more at a loss for what he should mean to her, especially after finding him as they have. Seemingly conducting of all things…orgies.

With a shaky step, Castiel starts towards her, an intense look in his eyes that she can't place as he whispers in disbelief, "Tab."

At the intimate sensation that slithers through her with that one utterance, she takes a step back, darting a look at Dean, afraid of what he might see or realize. And no less confused by what they mean or had meant to each other in this time and place. It's shocking to think of the angel burying himself in orgies as it appears, but she knows in her heart that it's not something she would have been any part of. So does that mean they had broken off…whatever they were doing since Castiel is now conducting orgies?

Castiel freezes at her retreat, seeming startled from his daze, but he doesn't take his eyes off her as his face softens into some kind of understanding.

"What year are you from?" he whispers intensely, still staring at her as if afraid to look away.

"2009," Dean answers before she can form any words.

"Who did this to you? Is it Zachariah?"

"Yes," Dean agrees, seeming thankfully preoccupied with his own concern of getting back to their time and oblivious to Castiel's consumed gaze on his sister.

Clearing her throat at the unsettling feeling of Castiel's intense stare, she corrects her brother, "Zach sent Dean here. Some angel named Israfil sent me."

Castiel nods as if hearing what he expects, but then surprises her by telling her, "You need to stay as far away from Israfil and… Just stay away from all angels. It's not safe."

"Whatever," Dean says, clapping his hands and finally drawing the angel's attention back to himself as he continues, "why don't you strap on your angel wings and fly us back to our page on the calendar?"

Castiel turns and wanders away a bit while sardonically laughing to himself.

Still darkly chuckling, he tells them, "I wish I could just, uh, strap on my wings, but I'm sorry—no dice."

As Castiel continues laughing to himself in a manner so unlike the angel they know, Dean asks him, "What are you stoned?"

"Uh…generally, yeah," Castiel laughs, turning back towards them, allowing Tabitha to finally notice the unusual dilation of his pupils that she'd missed before. Meaning he's definitely on something, not that the strange laughing from him hadn't tipped her off. She's not certain she's ever really heard Castiel laugh before.

"What happened to you, Cas?" Tabitha can't stop from asking.

"Life," Castiel tells her. "And some death."

Tabitha and Dean stare in shock at the angel, but before either of them can respond, they hear vehicles outside and the commotion of the denizens of the camp gathering around it.

Not speaking, Dean turns to wander out of the cabin.

Tabitha starts to follow her brother after awkwardly staring at the angel when they're left alone in his cabin.

But when she's only a few feet from the beaded doorway, a tug on her arm spins her around, and before she can react, she feels the hard logs of the cabin connect with her back as the firm planes of Castiel's chest mold to her front.

She gasps in surprise, but has no more time than the surprised exhale that escapes before one of his hands fists into the hair at the nape of her neck, roughly tilting her head back as his mouth descends to desperately swallow her cry.

For just a moment, she's shocked by the sheer despair and anguish in his kiss, but as his other hand slides down her hip to yank her thigh to his waist; she lets the surprise slide away, gasping again as his hips roll and buck against her. Meeting his movements, she tightens the leg around his waist, one of her hands fisting in the curly waves of his brown hair while her other hand dips into the open V of his loose blue shirt, her fingers circling and then flicking one of his nipples.

He gasps in return at her ministrations, and releases her mouth to slide his lips to her neck, his teeth finding her pulse point and nipping in an erotically painful way at the sensitive skin there.

Her head falls back in ecstasy, but her eyes open and she sees the log rafters of the cabin, and her eyes land on a bra caught high in the rafters. Much larger than her own small cup size.

"Stop, Cas," she tells him, feeling as if a bucket of cold water has doused her flames.

"No," he moans, his hips continuing to grind against hers.

"Stop it!" she harshly commands, shoving at his shoulders until he gives her enough room to stand on her own again. "I'm not one of your orgy girls," she tells him, looking away as she pulls down the tank top he'd somehow managed to shove up past her bra.

Trying to hide her sudden hurt under righteous anger, she snaps, "What the hell do you think you're doing here? What, it's the end of the world so why not bang a few gongs? Get in your share of decadence and deprivation. You may be burying yourself in a tangle of slutty women, but I have a little more self-respect than to just wallow in this kind of meaningless sex. Or was that all I ever was to you?" She looks away before he can answer, afraid of what truth she might read in his eyes. Softly, she whispers, "I always knew I was blind when it came to you. You told me you'd never feel anything for me. Maybe you were right. So why not bury yourself in a mountain of willing chicks? I guess that's just how you roll. _I_ was certainly a willing fool."

"That's _not_ how I roll!" he immediately denies. "I mean, it wasn't. _You_ never were." The angel looks almost pained as his eyes track guiltily down. "No," he chokes out. "I never meant for you to know that. To see…that."

Running a hand through her hair to straighten it, Tabitha forces her expression to become neutral as she nods, telling him, "It's really none of my business. I don't know what went on here, but I guess I really have no cause to judge what you're doing now. Especially since I'm, uh…dead, in this time period. And it's not like we are an item…or I was anything special…even in _my_ time."

"We will be," she swears she can hear him whisper, but then he looks up and pins her with a confused stare. A little louder, he says, "You were always something special. The only one that ever was."

He opens his mouth to tell her something else, but then shakes his head before nodding once to himself, as though coming to some sort of decision.

"It was…hard…after I…lost you," he whispers by way of explanation. "For a long time, it's been easier to bury the pain in these…distractions. I guess, I don't do lonely any better than you once said you did." His head hangs in shame again as he repeats, "I'm sorry."

Softening at the pain and regret so obvious in his eyes, she steps forward to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, but she can't help curiously asking, "So, you and I…uh…get…_together_…in this future?"

She can feel her face heat at her stumbled question, but he looks up, his eyes filled with…adoration…or something close to it as he nods. "Yes. Until I…lost you."

Squeezing his shoulder once, she tells him, "Well, I guess I'm sorry for dying on you in this future."

They can hear more commotion from the people outside, and when a bullet resounds as well, Tabitha steps away from Castiel, intent on seeing what's going on and insuring that her brother is all right.

But once more, Castiel stops her, his hands tightly gripping hers as he suddenly pleads with her, "Leave this place as soon as you can. Call for Israfil; beg him to take you back to your time. And then leave. Disappear. Stay away from your brothers. Stay away from me. Stay away from all angels, demons, and everything supernatural. Hide somewhere safe and never look back. They can't find you if you don't want to be found."

"Cas, what—"

His hold on her hand tightens almost despairingly. "Promise me," he pleads in an anguished voice. "Promise me you'll stay away from everything. It's the only way you can stay safe."

Carefully extracting her hand, she turns away, stepping out of the cabin without answering Castiel's desperate plea, not even knowing how to answer the grief and desperation in his voice.

Wiping at her eyes to push her emotions away, she steps out onto the porch of Castiel's cabin, watching the sight of her brother staring down his future self, a dead body on the ground between them. From Dean's accusing glare, she can guess that his future self is responsible for the dead body.

She feels Castiel follow her onto the porch, but he only looks on with an indifferent expression at the sight, as if Future-Dean shooting people from their camp is a common enough occurrence.

The questioning look she gives him is only met with a dispassionate shrug, so she jogs down the steps to stand beside her brother.

Future-Dean gives her an annoyed look, turning to tell the suddenly terrified men behind him, "I know. Her, too. Look, there's no reason to be afraid of her. More than that…you don't need to know." He waves his arms impatiently at them. "Get back to work!"

As they fearfully flee the clearing around the dead body and the Jeep, Future-Dean stalks closer, grabbing Dean and Tabitha each by their elbows and propelling them forward. As he passes by Castiel he growls at the angel, "Can't you do _anything_ useful? Couldn't keep her safe, but I figured you'd at least have enough brains to keep her out of sight! You're all but useless anymore."

"Hey!" Tabitha objects as he pushes them towards a cabin, roughly shoving them both through the doorway and slamming it behind them.

"What the hell was that?" Future-Dean demands. "Are you both idiots?"

"What the hell was _that_?" Dean returns in disbelief. "You just shot a guy in cold blood."

"We were in an open quarantine zone—got ambushed by some Crotes on the way out," Future-Dean explains. "Crotes—Croatoans. One of them infected Yager."

"How do you even know?" Tabitha interjects.

"'Cause after a few years of this, I know. I started seeing symptoms about a half an hour ago. Wasn't going to be long before he flipped. I didn't see the point in troubling a good man with bad news."

"'Troubling a good man?'" Dean repeats. "You just blew him away in front of your own people. Don't you think that freaked them out a little bit?"

"It's 2014," Future-Dean reminds them, as if everything about this time doesn't remind them of that. "Plugging some Crote—it's called commonplace. Trading words with my friggin' clone—_that_ might have freaked them out a little."

He waves an accusing hand at Tabitha. "And don't even get me started on _you_!"

"All right, look—" Dean starts to say.

"No, _you_ look. Both of you. This isn't your time. Neither of you. It's _mine_. You don't make the decisions. _I_ do. So, when I say stay in, you stay in."

Tabitha starts angrily toward her future brother when he turns away, but Dean throws a hand in front of her to stop her advance, telling his future self, "All right, man. We're sorry. Look, we're not trying to mess you or…me—us up here."

"I know," Future-Dean agrees, pouring himself a drink.

"It's just been a really wacky weekend."

Tabitha thinks back on her heated encounter with Castiel only minutes before, as well as his…bevy of beauties, and steps beside her future brother to pour herself a tall drink as well, muttering to them both, "That's a gross understatement. This is some _Twilight Zone_ shit here."

"Tell me about it," Future-Dean agrees, eyeing Tabitha and then pouring another glass of whiskey for Dean as well.

The three…siblings…stand around the table in the center of the room and take long drinks from their glasses.

"What was the mission anyway?" Dean wonders.

Future-Dean looks hesitant, but reaches into the bag he'd set down, pulling a familiar revolver from within.

"The Colt?" Dean and Tabitha say together.

"The Colt," Future-Dean agrees, holding it up to examine it.

"Where was it?" Tabitha asks, almost instantly seeing her brother's plan, or rather, his future plans.

"Everywhere. They've been moving it around. Took me five years, but…I finally got it. And tonight…tonight, I'm gonna kill the Devil."

He finishes the last of his whiskey, looking at Dean.

"You can stay here…where you're outa sight." Turning towards Tabitha, he grimaces and looks away while pointing blindly at her. "But _you_ gotta stay somewhere else. In case someone stops by or something." Lowering his voice, he adds, "Besides, you're freakin' me out."

Hands on her hips, she demands, "Well, where should I go? And if you put your hands on my again to shove me around _anywhere_, you're gonna walk with a permanent limp."

Looking her over from the corner of his eye, her future brother seems to come to some kind of conclusion. "You can spend the day in your cabin. No one ever really goes there now anyway."

* * *

That no one ever really goes to her old cabin Tabitha thinks must be an understatement. She imagines it looks exactly like it had before she died, or will die, or died in the future.

Shaking away the headache such thinking will only bring, she examines the space of her cabin. Layers of dust and cobwebs coat the entire interior. Moving closer to the bed, she can see the rumpled sheets and blankets tossed back and untouched since she last got up from this bed.

Knickknacks and pictures line the shelves and dressers, and even a book lays open on the table beside her bed, as though patiently waiting for her to return to finish it. She'd obviously never known she wasn't going to be coming back the last time she left this cabin. And she wonders to herself again, how she died. So far, she's been hesitant to ask, not wanting to breach such a delicate and painful topic, but now, she wishes she had.

Curious, she picks up the open book on the nightstand, dusting off the paperback to see the cover.

"_Lucifer's Hammer_," she reads to herself, her lips twisting up a bit.

"You were reading that before…before I lost you."

Twisting around, Tabitha is surprised by the sudden appearance of Castiel. Looking to the front of the cabin, she finds the heavy wood door still shut and bolted from the inside.

When she glances back to Castiel, she sees his smirk as he gestures behind him. "Your cabin and mine share a wall, and we long ago created a hidden door to go back and forth unnoticed."

He pushes on the bookcase next to him, and slides it down the wall far enough to show her the opening cut into the logs.

"I guess that means we weren't openly…together," she notes.

"No. We hadn't yet gotten around to telling your brother. And he was your main…worry," he explains, looking down.

She frowns at the way he talks about what she _did_, as if she'd just woken with amnesia and doesn't remember her past instead of talking about things that are still the future to her.

Returning to his first statement, she sets the paperback back on the nightstand. "I'm surprised I would choose to read that again. But I guess it makes some sense."

"You'd read it before?"

"Yeah. In high school. I think." Glancing at the novel, she sums it up. "Apocalyptic type world, post-society, with survivors striving to rebuild and live. I guess those themes and themes about whether or not it's the 'good' man that survives and what new mores in post-civilization are is strikingly apropos."

Shrugging, Castiel says while still looking down, "I haven't read it. You were reading through it at night those last few weeks."

Glancing at their "secret passageway" Tabitha can't help asking, "So, I guess we spent a lot of time together?"

"Yes," he agrees, staring at his toes and shuffling his feet in a strangely human manner. "Mostly we slept in my cabin, since you were worried about Dean coming into yours unannounced. He stopped coming into mine without warning after he almost caught us and realized I'd been sleeping with someone." He gestures around her cabin. "You always kept most of your things here. And we slept here mostly those last few weeks, when you didn't feel up to leaving your cabin to come to mine."

When she sees the grief in his eyes and hears his anguish, she steps in front of him, but then stops and awkwardly shoves her hands into her pockets as she asks, "What happened, Cas? How'd I die?" Rather than speak of the future, she decides it's easier to speak as he does, as if it's a past event.

Such a pained sound escapes Castiel's chest. Something between an anguished cry and a pained moan.

"Please don't ask me to talk about that, Tabitha," he pleads, his voice a hoarse whisper. "It was hard enough to live through."

"I'm sorry," she quietly apologizes, reaching out to lay a comforting hand on his folded arms.

Moving swiftly, Castiel sweeps her into his arms, pressing her head against his shoulder as his hands run across her back as though to reacquaint himself with the feel of her body in his arms or perhaps to reassure himself that she's actually there.

Her own arms settle comfortably around his waist as she holds him tightly, trying to soothe him as he silently shakes in her arms.

When she feels the wetness of tears fall into her hair, she twists her face to press her nose into the crook of his neck, savoring the unaccustomed smell of what she recognizes as marijuana smoke, and underneath the pungent smoke, is the familiar tang of his musk that she knows so well.

"I missed you so much," she hears whispered throatily against the top of her head.

His hands descend to her waist, beginning to pull her tighter into the fold of his body, but before she can protest, he pushes her back again, frowning as he examines the dried blood still flaking away from her clothes at her hip.

"What happened here?"

Glancing down and self-consciously brushing away some of the dried flecks, she explains, "It's nothing. Happened down in New Orleans. But I should change the bandaging and clean it a bit if you've got supplies."

Castiel frowns as he takes a step back. "Why were you in New Orleans?" he whispers with a fierce intensity.

Her frown mimics his. "I guess I woke up there because that's where I was when Israfil found me."

"With Cort."

"Yeah, that's where I was," she agrees, baffled by the hard edge to his tone.

"What happened to him? Something had to happen for you to come here. You only showed up here asking to stay in Dean's camp four years ago. You said you'd stayed with Cort for a year before coming here. But you'd only say things didn't work out between you," he explains, his gaze fixed on the floor as he visibly braces himself.

"I don't know why I stayed with him for a year or why I left, Cas," she sighs. "I only know that when I woke up in New Orleans a few days ago…that Cort tried to kill me." Her voice drops as she explains, "He was a Crote."

Suddenly, Castiel's hands are framing her face, clinging to her almost desperately as he pleads, "Did he bleed on you? Are you okay?" He seems to shake himself, whispering a reminder to himself, "You must be okay if it was days ago."

"He didn't bleed on me," she confirms, her hands gently tugging his away from her face. "And I got out of there right after. I'm fine."

He nods more to himself and releases one of her hands, tugging on her other to lead her towards the passageway to his cabin.

"Come," he tells her. "We'll get it cleaned up. Can't risk infection."

She balks inside his cabin when he veers off towards the open doorway of what appears to be his bedroom.

He glances back and immediately reads the hesitation in her eyes and knows the reason.

Lowering both his voice and his eyes, he tells her, "I won't lie and say there haven't been other women in my cabin, but my room was always my sanctuary to remember you. No one else has ever been allowed in that room.

Unable to form any kind of answer to his admission, she only nods, allowing him to lead her forward once more.

"Lie down," he gently commands upon shutting the door and gesturing to the bed. The closed door helps. It further shuts out the reality of him with other women in the rest of the cabin.

She does as he commands, stretching on her side as she props her head up by her elbow, watching as he silently moves about the simply furnished room, gathering supplies and a basin of water.

Setting his burden down on the nightstand by her head, he gestures to her, saying, "Roll over so I can see your hip."

For a moment, she hesitates, but then rolls over to bring her left hip up, turning her back to him as he kneels on the side of the bed behind her.

With nearly shaking hands, she reaches for the button of her cargo pants to loosen them so he can see the wound. He has other ideas though. His strong hands glide over her hip, silently catching hers and pushing them away. Without uttering a word, he flicks the button open and tugs the zipper down.

As his hands careful push her pants past the makeshift bandaging she'd shoved against the wound, she raises her hips to ease the process.

He still doesn't speak as he pulls the gauze pad away, but hisses an inhale through his teeth when he sees the wound.

"This really needs to be cleaned and stitched, angel," he tells her as a wet cloth begins to gentle clean the wound.

She smiles a bit and comments, "It's sorta strange to hear an angel call _me_ one."

His hands falter slightly in their work before resuming. "I haven't been an angel in a long time, Tabitha. I fell. I'm almost utterly human now. _You_ were my angel," he whispers, his fingers moving from the rag to flutter caressingly along her waist, gently pushing up her shirt as his hand settles on the bare skin of her waist. He leans forward to press a soft kiss to her temple. "You were the only angel that mattered," he softly adds against her skin.

She doesn't know how to respond, but he doesn't seem to expect one as he sits up to resume cleaning her hip.

Once the wound is cleaned, he leaves the bed and returns with a needle and thread, as well as a glass of water and two pills in his hand.

Glancing over her shoulder, she asks, "What's this?"

"Oxy," he succinctly replies. "For the pain. It's hard to find now, but you should take some."

She shakes her head and closes his fist around the pills. "It's not that bad. Wasn't even when it happened. I've had worse."

Lips thinning into a hard line, he whispers, "I know."

But he pulls his hand back, offering her a rolled blunt instead. "At least take this. It'll take the edge off." She starts to object, but he softly pleads, "Please."

"Alright," she agrees, taking the proffered joint. "Guess I'm not a Fed anymore anyway and there probably aren't even laws against it anymore."

A laugh bubbles up in her throat as he lights it for her. Inhaling and then slowly exhaling, she tells him, "It's been a long time since I smoked marijuana, and I didn't exactly expect _you_ to be the one offering me a joint and getting me to light up a joint again."

"Things are…different now, I guess," he agrees, laughing a little as he takes the joint and draws a long inhale.

He hands it back and gives her a few moments to let the effects settle in, gently running his hand in circles at her waist while he waits for her to finish the joint.

"This wasn't exactly what I would have imagined for where you and I would be in five years," she giggles, feeling the drug start to take effect. "Lying half naked on a bed with a fallen angel at my back, smoking a joint."

Castiel drops his nose to her shoulder, laughing lightly as well as he corrects her. "You're not even half naked, yet. But I can push those pants down lower if you'd like to remedy the situation."

"Hey now," she giggles again. "Keep your mind on business, mister. You're supposed to be stitching me up, not trying to undress me." She glances back over her shoulder again. "Are you even sober enough to stitch straight? Don't want a crooked scar or anything."

He's serious as he leans down to kiss the skin of her hip above the wound. "I'll do my best to keep the stitches even. I have no desire to leave you with an unsightly scar."

For a moment, Tabitha fights the urge to tell him to forget stitching and keep kissing her skin. Her hand itches to press his lips back to her when he pulls away.

Clearing her throat she instead says, "Let's get this over with."

He nods. "Just lie back and don't think about it."

"I've been stitched up before. I'll be fine," she assures him, giggling again. "Just never by a fallen angel."

Though she doesn't watch, she can feel him working on her hip, and knows by his careful manner that his stitches are perfect and evenly spaced.

When he's done, he leans down to press another kiss to the line of stitches.

"You should be more careful," he warns her.

Something tells her he's not speaking just about her wounded hip.

"It's not always so easy."

"I know," he agrees.

Moving gingerly, Tabitha rolls over onto her back, her head supported by the pillows as she stares up at Castiel. The soft smile on his face almost surprises her; she thinks to herself that she's never seen _her_ Castiel smile so much. Then again, she's never seen him stoned like this one either.

Slowly, Castiel stretches out on the bed beside her, his head and shoulders still propped up so he can stare down at her, but as she watches, he leans down to press a kiss to her lips.

She responds, letting her hand settle on his hip as she feels his hand skim up her side, running the length from her thigh, up to the side of her breast, lingering there as he cups it.

Arching her back, she responds to the kiss, but then, pulls away, turning her head to the side as she whispers, "I'm not her."

His head retreats a little and then his hands still as he looks at her curiously.

"I'm not the woman that you know from this future," she says again, forcing herself to turn and face him to tell him why they have to stop, despite how much she wants him to continue. She just can't fight the feeling that's urging her to speak.

"She's a whole different woman," she continues. "Shaped by things I haven't experienced. And you're certainly not the same Castiel I'm familiar with. I'm not sure what's going on between him and I, but this still feels…I don't know…it feels…like a line I shouldn't cross."

His smile turns sweet as his hand leaves her breast, running down her arm until he has twinned his hand with hers, fingers interlaced as he pulls her hand up and presses a kiss to the back of it.

"I told you once that as an angel, I wasn't capable of human emotion. But I think that was a lie. I may not have been capable of the gamut of human emotions—I still may not be—but there is one I've found that I am capable of…one I've felt for a very long time."

His eyes are locked onto their hands as he speaks, but then, he glances up to stare into her eyes, his blue gaze shinning in the soft glow of the lanterns lighting his room. "Love. I've loved you for a very long time. Longer than I even knew what the emotion was or what it meant. I loved the woman you were, the woman you are, and the woman you will become. Time is fluid and changing, yes, but that wasn't. The complexity of the space/time continuum does not lessen the single human emotion I know I've gained. The one you taught me. Who you were, who you are, even who I was or will be…it is merely a change in scenery. You are not a different woman to that emotion. I love the entirety of you—who you were, who you are, and who you will be."

"Cas," she whispers, hearing the quiver in her voice.

He gives her no chance to say anything else, not that she knows what to say. She thinks that her heart has swelled in her chest to hear him say such things…to speak of loving her. But regardless of his absoluteness that he loves any version of her, she's not certain she's there herself. He's had five years of experiences that have changed and shaped him. Years of interactions with her that has brought him to that point. And though she feels something for Castiel—both her version of him, and this version of him—she's still not sure that it's love she feels for either of them. Still not even sure that she agrees that he's the same person when everything about this Castiel is so different.

Still holding her palm tightly in his, he leans down, gently kissing her lips. A part of her thinks that she should push him away, that he's not the same and that she shouldn't cross this line.

Then, she closes her eyes and falls into his kiss, flying past that line like she's crossed every other with Castiel.

He moans when he feels her respond to the kiss, rolling on top of her, his knees straddling her hips to keep part of his weight off her and freeing his other hand to run up her side, dragging her shirt up with it.

She arches her back and then lifts her head to allow him to free her of the garment, breaking their kiss for a moment as he makes quick work of her bra. Tugging on his shirt, she wordlessly commands him to get rid of the barrier to his skin.

"Now," she moans, startled by the huskiness in her hoarse demand.

Slowly grinning, he crosses his arms and then quickly yanks the shirt over his head.

He only stays still for a moment, barely letting her take in the sight of his body, the same one she knows so well, and yet one so intractably changed.

When he dips low again to rekindle their kiss, she braces her hands on his chest, running them over the familiar planes and noting the change in typography. His muscles are tighter now, hardened by equally hard years, and scarred by battles she hasn't yet seen.

Her fingers linger on some of the worst ones, running gently along them as a strange feeling of familiarity fills her, somehow telling her that these scars are ones she stitched for him just as he stitched her hip.

Groaning into her mouth, he sits up and frantically shoves at his cotton pants, raising his hips when her hands join his to push them away.

When they're gone, he pushes her back, but doesn't immediately rejoin her. Instead, he leans down to lightly run the tip of his tongue around her navel, and then blows air across the wet trail circling her skin.

Cool air tightens the muscles in her stomach, causing her to gasp and her hips to jerk instinctively up in the air.

With a knowing laugh, he uses the movement to pull her cargo pants further past her hips, tugging her underwear with them as he tosses them aside.

"You did that on purpose," she accuses.

"Yes," he agrees, his eyes nearly twinkling with his mirth.

His laughter disappears altogether as he settles back over her, his hips falling easily into the V of her thighs as she wraps her arm behind his neck and pulls him closer.

Leaning over her, he lowers his head to slowly kiss her shoulder. In response, she rolls her shoulders back and arches into him, welcoming his touch.

Then, his hands tug her thighs apart, slipping between them as he slowly parts her, his fingers cleverly sliding in and out.

She rides the indescribable feelings, gently rocking her hips in time to his movements until he curls his fingers and finds the delicate bundle of nerves, causing her to throw her head back as she stifles a scream, gripping his shoulders for support as her legs clench around his hips.

"Stop," she groans, intent on giving him the same pleasure he's giving her.

"No," he moans, his mouth trailing across her skin, lips nimbly pulling her nipple between his teeth.

Unable to think coherently or hold back after the double onslaught of his hands and mouth, she closes her eyes and screams, heart thumping in her chest as waves of ecstasy wash over her.

Yet, when she comes down from her high, it's not enough. She wants more.

"Now," she roughly tells him, still gripping his shoulders and tugging him up her body to kiss his lips. "Now, Cas."

He settles back into the V of her thighs, but hesitates as he struggles to speak. "Wait, angel…wait…we, uh, need—"

His words are bitten off in a deep moan as she wraps her hands around him, pumping slowly along his length.

But she knows what he's trying to say.

"I've been on the birth control patch since you and I first started sleeping together almost a year ago," she assures him, sliding one of his hands around her hip to feel the slightly raised patch on her upper buttock.

"Thank God," he sighs, his hands clenching against her butt where she'd placed it, his hips surging forward as she guides him.

Almost instantly, he sets a fast pace, his hips rocking back and forth in an increasingly jerky manner. It doesn't take long for her to feel the tightening in her muscles again, and she feels her eyes close and head begin tilting back as she waits for the orgasm to wash over her once more.

"No," Castiel moans, one hand sliding to the back of her head to fist in her hair, tugging her back up to face him. "Don't close your eyes," he begs. "I need to see you."

"I'm here," she sighs, her eyes focused on his again.

His breathing is hard and labored, a layer of sweat glistening on his skin to match hers. She's never seen him so out of breath…so flushed…so…human.

And she can tell he's struggling to hold out, trying to keep back from the edge for as long as he can, but teetering ever closer.

"Let go," she whispers, pulling his head down and whispering in his ear. "Let yourself go. I'm here. I've got you."

He groans at her words, but his hips continue their steady yet frantic pace as he fights to last a little longer.

Turning her head to seek his lips, she kisses him as she slides a hand between them, cupping him and gently squeezing until he gasps against her mouth, finally falling over the edge and taking her with him.

When his body finally stops moving, pleasure wrung from him entirely, he falls against her, his skin damp and overheated. She cradles him to her chest as they both struggle to regain their breath, and when his evens out a bit, he slides part of his body off of her until only his head and one arm and leg are thrown over her, gripping her tightly in the shelter of his arms.

She plays with his hair as she waits for her body to cool down a bit from their exertions, marveling to herself how different it had been to experience sex with a very human Castiel. It was every bit as good, but it was also slightly strange to see him gasping for air just like her, or to see his body slicked with sweat like hers was inside the warm cabin. And there had been a desperation in him that she'd never felt before in his touch.

A noise startles her, and Tabitha jumps a little when she looks down and realizes it's a soft snore coming from Castiel as he sleeps.

It's somehow terrifying and humbling to see his face slack in sleep against her chest. Terrifying to see how human he's become, but humbling to see his trust in her as he rests so easily against her skin.

Unlike the men Tabitha has been with in her life, she's not usually one to feel sleepy after sex, but it does appear that human Castiel is like other men, she thinks as she continues to twirl his shaggy hair around her fingers.

She passes nearly an hour just savoring the feeling of Castiel sleeping in her arms, not allowing herself to think about anything. But soon, she begins to look around his room, and finds herself curious about that man this Castiel has become.

Ever so gently, she slides out from under him, grinning to herself at the way his arms quickly commandeer her pillow, pressing his face into it as he inhales deeply, and then sighs with a satisfied smile on his face.

His room doesn't seem so different from her own cabin, she thinks to herself as she wanders about, dressed only in his castoff blue cotton shirt. Skimming through his bookshelves, she's surprised not only by the number of them, but also how many seem to be deeply philosophical texts. Though, she supposes for an angel that has fallen to humanity, it makes some sense that he's become introspective about that humanity and what it means.

Seeing a cluttered desk, she wanders over, carefully sitting in the wooden chair and drawing her legs up on the seat as she glances across the surface.

It's littered with loose pages, most of which seem to be written in Enochian symbols or sigils that she doesn't understand, but there are also a few open books lying on the top as well. But what really holds her attention, is the corner of a Polaroid sticking out beneath some papers, a smiling face that she recognizes well. As though afraid to touch it and have it disintegrate under her fingertips, she slowly slides it out using only one fingernail to catch the corner.

Feeling bolder when she sees the happy, laughing smile on her own face, she picks it up and holds it in her hands.

The photo was obviously taken in Castiel's room; she recognizes the faded mauve fabric of the barrel back chair still situated in the corner. In the photo, she appears to be straddling Castiel's lap facing him, reaching out to the camera even as his arms extend out of the frame, seemingly taking the picture and keeping the camera from her reach. Still, though she seems to be twisting and reaching for the camera, her shoulders are drawn up and turned a bit, her shrug and teasing smile making it obvious that whatever she and Castiel were doing was more of a game than her actually trying to take the camera away.

She studies the photo, but unfortunately, the picture is close and framed only on her face. She can tell that she's sitting in Castiel's lap facing him, her hands braced on his shoulders as she pushes back and coyly poses for the picture, but most of his body is out of the frame, only his torso and an arm are visible.

Glancing back at the littered desk, she sees that another Polaroid had been with the first, and she slides it out as well.

This one almost surprises her more. It was obviously taken at the same time, she can see she's still sitting in Castiel's lap, but she's not teasingly trying to grab the camera from him, this time, she's patiently posing for the picture, her mouth split open in a real, honest smile. It's never been a smile that she's fond of herself, she thinks. She usually smiles more closed mouth when posing for a camera, but when she's really happy, it's _this_ smile that comes out.

But it's the tears catching light in her eyes that truly grabs her focus. Something big happened in this moment. Something important, she knows. Whatever happened, brought tears to her eyes, and caused her to smile her slightly too big, honest-to-goodness happy smile.

"That was a good day. One of the best."

Tabitha jumps at Castiel's sudden voice, spinning and nearly dropping the photos from her hands as she twists to look at him. He's stretched out in the bed, his head propped up as he watches her.

"I always feel a strange satisfaction seeing you dressed in my clothes, even though they are so ill fitting on you," he tells her.

"I didn't mean to intrude," she apologizes, gesturing to the photos she can't seem to put down. "It's so strange to look at photos of myself and not remember them. To see familiar emotions on my face and know exactly what I must have been feeling, but have no clue what I was feeling them about."

"We were on a scouting mission when you came across a strange camera," he begins telling her. "I didn't understand your excitement at finding it, until we got back and you showed me how it made 'instant pictures' as you called them."

"Polaroid," she offers by way of explanation, laughing a little at his description. "I'm surprised that anyone would still have one of them even in _my_ present time. I can see why it would be exciting here where digital cameras are almost worthless and you can't exactly go to the photo-mat to get negatives developed."

Castiel frowns as he asks, "Why would you want to develop something that is negative?"

She throws back her head and laughs, wiping at her eyes as she tells him, "Well, I'm glad to see that you don't completely change in the future."

Before she can launch into an explanation, a loud rumbling from her stomach fills the room.

Hand uselessly trying to cover the noise, she sheepishly asks, "Don't suppose there's any food in this joint? I don't know why, but I've been hungry as a racehorse for days."

"I highly doubt you would be able to eat as much as a horse, let alone be able to have a sustainable diet of the roughage and grains that a horse consumes," he tells her, sliding from the bed and tugging his white cotton pants back on.

Rather than point out that her statement had been a simile and not a statement of fact, she smiles and retorts, "I've been hungry enough the past several days that I just might be able to."

As he nears the door, he tells her, "Most of our supplies are canned goods anymore, but I think I've got some soups I can heat up if you'd like?"

"Sure," she agrees, moving to follow him.

He stops her at the door, hesitantly glancing away as he tells her, "Perhaps you should stay here. Dean was right in that it might be best if you remain unseen. It would…unsettle the people here."

"Sure," she slowly agrees, finally nodding when he looks relieved. Reaching out, she pulls him close for a quick kiss, her hands lingering briefly on his bare chest. "Thanks again for stitching my hip. That was the most…physically intense stitch job I've ever had done." At his grin, she adds, "It's probably a miracle I didn't pop a stitch right away though."

In response to his smug laughter, she pushes lightly on his chest, reminding him, "I mean it, I'm starving."

His eyes drop to glance at the charm bracelet dangling from her wrist. The grin slipping from his lips and turning wistful as he reaches out to lightly caress the angel wing he'd given her.

"How long ago did I give this to you?"

Shrugging, she answers, "Night before my field trip to the future. So, only a couple of days now."

"That explains it," he says, more to himself.

"Explains what?"

Tearing his eyes away from the charm, he pulls back his hand and answers a little too quickly and nervously, "What time period you were removed from."

She nods, but doesn't press him on the strange conversation, pushing lightly on his shoulder when her stomach growls again. "Go. Food," she intones.

He grins and slips from the room, leaving her alone to continue her perusal of his domain.

After making a quick circuit of the space, she finds herself back at his desk again, staring down at the two pictures she'd found earlier.

Whatever had been the importance of that day, she'd been happy. Really happy. And the photos obviously held some importance to Castiel, even now. The white plastic framing around the pictures show clear signs of heavy handling, as though they'd spent many hours being held by his fingers.

Hearing the former angel reenter the room, she looks up to see him set a large bowl of soup in front of her. He sits on the bed to eat his own, and for several minutes, they do so in comfortable silence.

But the photo niggles at her curiosity, until she has to ask, "What was important about that day? I can _feel_ that it means something, even if I don't know what. Almost like a strange déjà vu."

With a resigned sigh, Castiel sets his bowl aside, sliding out the drawer of the nightstand next to him and reaching inside. He pulls something out, but it's too small for her to see what's in his hand.

"I gave this to you that day," he whispers, still staring down and his curled palm.

Setting her empty bowl aside as well, she moves to sit beside him on the bed again, looking into his hand.

The shock of the sight nearly causes her to fall backwards, but she regains her composure and asks through a suddenly dry throat, "A ring?"

An answer isn't necessary; she knows. A ring like that isn't just any ring. And the smile on her face in that photo hadn't been just any smile.

"I asked you to marry me," he needlessly supplies.

It's unnecessary to ask if she said "yes," she's seen the answer in the photo.

"It's beautiful," she whispers, staring at the ring in his palm. Truly, it's one of the most beautiful rings she's ever seen, and somehow seems so fitting as well.

She's never been one to gauge carats of stones, but a good-sized blood red ruby is nestled in the center of a circle of black diamonds, even the ring itself is made of black gold. Along the sides of the band are more black diamonds, too. It's unique and unequalled, she thinks to herself, but then, so is the former angel that holds it.

Yet, something doesn't seem right. She knows by the photo that she obviously said "yes" to him…so why does he have the ring? Taking the ring from her body doesn't seem like something he would do, even if he's a former angel, she thinks he would have left the ring with her when she died.

"How did I die, Cas?"

He springs to his feet, stepping away from her and refusing to look back as he commands, "Don't ask me about that. Just…don't talk about that."

Though it's picking at an obvious wound, she can't leave it alone now.

"I need to know, Cas. I have a right to know what happened," she tries to reasonably explain.

Whipping around, he faces her, his eyes lightened with the moisture of unshed tears. "It doesn't matter. What happened…it's too…unspeakable. If you want to keep it from happening, then do what I asked of you. When you get back to your time, you leave. Disappear. Have no further contact with anything or anyone of the supernatural. Stay away from your brothers. Stay away from me. And most importantly…_stay away from Azrael_." As he speaks, he stalks closer, until he's gripped her shoulders and shakes her with his every command.

Shrugging out of his grip, she pushes away and stands to face him, arms crossed over her chest. "Then you need to give me something. You need to explain it to me. Because I'm thinking back on things, and starting to piece some things together, while at the same time, asking myself a lot of questions about things that don't make sense."

She holds one finger out on her hand as she begins, ignoring his obvious frustration and discomfort with the topic. "One, that girl I ran into this morning never sat right with me. Dean said that his future self told him that I died in this future. But that just doesn't fit with that girl's reaction. Her fainting like that wasn't 'Oh my God, there's a dead girl walking around!' That's probably not so out of place with all the Crotes around here. She was _terrified_ when she saw me. Not, I-saw-a-dead-girl, terrified. She was, I'm-gonna-have-my-face-ripped-off, terrified."

She extends a second finger even as Castiel angrily turns away from her, moving to the desk and leaning down heavily on his braced hands. "And then there's you. You see, I've just taken for granted that you're the same terrible liar I've always known. But I'm thinking that you finally learned how to lie well. In that the best lie, isn't a lie at all. It's saying just the right things, to let the other person believe what they want, but never actually contradicting them or saying an outright lie. And _you_ never said I was dead. You kept saying you 'lost' me. I just assumed that meant I died. So what _really_ happened, Cas? Am I running around out there as a Crote or something?"

The silence as she waits for his answer is suddenly shattered as he slams his fist against the surface of the desk. "You said 'yes!'" he all but screams.

Confusion tightens her features as she stares at him, not understanding why he's circling back to his proposal. She'd already known by the photo what her answer had been.

"I know," she tells him. "It doesn't take a genius to put it together and see that I said 'yes' to you."

"Not _me_," he exclaims in a pained voice, falling into the chair, his head slumping down to fall into his hands. "You said 'yes' to _her_."

Her jaw falls slack as she comprehends. "Azrael."

"Yes," he hisses through his hands, "Azrael."

He shoves the shaggy hair back from his face, turning to look at her with bloodshot eyes. "You cannot say 'yes' to her. Stay away from me and your brothers if you must to hide from her, but _don't _say 'yes' to her. No matter what."

Pulled in by the pain in his voice and the anguish in his eyes, she moves closer and kneels in front of him, pulling his hands into hers as she pleads, "Tell me what happened, Cas. You're asking me to leave everything I love. My _family_. Give me a reason to just disappear and leave it all behind. Leave my brothers behind. I've _got_ to know what happened here, Cas."

Slipping one of his hands free, he reaches down to cup her jaw in his palm as he tells her, "That day. The day that I finally had the courage to ask you to marry me, was the same day you told me you were pregnant."

* * *

**A/N: **Shew! I knew that chapter would be long, but I had no idea! Before I split it up, it was over 30k words!

Anyway, be sure to leave some review love wherever you read this chapter. Your feedback is the only payment fanfiction writers get for our time, and the only way we can learn, so give any thoughts you may have. Thanks again!

And more surprises to come! :)


End file.
