Title: Gamble On

Rating: Five bucks if you guess correctly.

Summary: It's like a high-stakes poker tournament—you take down one opponent and another one's already waiting to play next round.

Disclaimer: *gnashes teeth*

Dedication: This entire story is dedicated to my roommates, who have to put up with my Supernatural fangirl rants, to lastknownwriter, for more reasons than I can say, and to anyone who shares my frustrations with seasons eight onwards.

Author's Note: This is an alternate version of seasons eight through ten. Extremely long story short, I was upset with a good half of the writing in season eight, and starting season nine hated pretty much everything. (If you're curious as to why, feel free to send me a private message.) I decided to rewrite things, because what else is fan fiction for, and this epic story was born.

Chapter Title: Limbo

Chapter Summary: Dean and Castiel are stuck in Purgatory (literally and emotionally) while Sam tries to move on with his life.

They warned him about it.

The rumors had been swirling for weeks, growing worse as time had gone on.

He has no mercy, they said.

Stay away, they said.

You see him you run, they said.

He should have listened.

He didn't believe the rumors. He'd thought that they'd been exaggerated—for what could be worse than the monsters that already roam this land?

But now as he writhes against the touch of steel, he knows. The rumors weren't exaggerated; if anything, they underestimated the full scope of the madness they're stuck with. He can feel whatever life is left in him slipping away, drained from him with the warm, slippery blood and torn sinews of flesh.

And still that voice echoes in his head, raw with pain and anger:

"Where's the angel?"

"Where's the angel?"

"Where.

"Is.

"The.

"Angel!"

After a few days in Purgatory, the landscape began to blur. The thin trees with their rough gray-brown bark all started to look the same. Each bend in the shallow, muddy river that snaked through the land looked the same as the other. The sky, when it could be seen, was the same monotone gray no matter where you looked.

After a few weeks in Purgatory, everything was blurred; a shapeless world with the color and soul sucked out of it. There were no trees, no rivers, and no sky. Everything was just another obstacle, something to be overcome in the relentless quest. Sleep and waking were the same, filled with shadows and dark, formless things that dotted the monotone landscape. Only one thought drove him on and kept him fighting.

He had to find his angel.

Dean Winchester had been separated from Castiel upon entering Purgatory, and when Dean Winchester was forcibly separated from someone he lo– cared about, then not even Hell stood in his way.

He'd figured out pretty quickly that just running around shouting for Cas was going to get him jack shit, so he'd turned to asking the local inhabitants for advice.

By 'asking', he meant driving hard steel into tender flesh until they screamed out answers.

Days upon days of interrogations, each of them more numbing than the last. He'd become a monster just like them, pulling out all of those little tricks Alistair had so lovingly taught him. He'd become what he'd always hated, what he'd loathed, so that he could get to Cas again. So that he could save him.

Weeks into it, he'd managed to get the information he'd wanted from a rugaru. It had taken hours but finally…

"There's a stream… in a clearing not far from here… you'll find your angel there…"

He actually believed the mutt, which was saying something; the second he'd finished shoving his blade through the thing's chin, he took off running.

"Dean!" Benny drawled after him. "Aw, hell…"

His feet pounded against the earth, finally feeling like he was actually touching solid ground. Concrete information at last, a location, something he could latch onto.

There's a stream in a clearing not far from here.

You'll find your angel there.

You'll find Cas there.

Cas is there.

Cas.

Cas.

Cas.

The Leviathan fallout was hectic, to say the least.

If the collapse of a major conglomerate wasn't enough, there was the sudden shift in everyone's psyche as they stopped eating the 'enhanced' food, the death and disappearance of several celebrities (sorry, Gwyneth Paltrow), and the fact that the person believed responsible for blowing up the headquarters was a wanted criminal who had supposedly died three times already.

Of course, Sam Winchester's return from the dead didn't faze the FBI, who needed someone to blame and found him the perfect patsy. Kevin was safely tucked away with Garth, Meg and Crowley had both vanished, and Dean and Cas… Sam had no idea what had happened to them.

So he went on the run.

He ate up road in the Impala until the horizon blurred. He didn't hunt, and he didn't stay in any place for long. He moved through the back roads and the forgotten highways. Hell, he was so off the grid he found Frank.

He didn't look for Dean.

He didn't know what he was doing or where he was going. Since Stanford and Jess, his life had been defined by whatever bad guy they had to gank. Azazel, Lilith, Lucifer, Dick… now, there was nothing and no one. The passenger seat was empty. What was he supposed to do now? The road held no answers, but he didn't want to stop, either.

And then he ran over a dog just outside of Kermit, Texas.

Of all the things Sam Winchester had done over the years, hitting that poor mutt had to be one of his top ten worst moments. He tore up asphalt like the ground was disappearing underneath his tires, half certain that Dean would come back from the grave (or wherever the hell he was) to yell at him for mistreating his baby.

The vet, Amelia Richardson, wasn't exactly the most accommodating of women, but she had a way with animals. She stitched up the dog, commenting that based on his general state of care, he probably didn't have any owners. He'd also sustained some serious internal bleeding and at least two leg fractures.

She wasn't all that subtle, but Sam could take a hint. He took the dog to the nearest motel, bought a room (single bed for the first time in years), and settled in. The place needed a repairman and the dog wasn't cheap, so he figured he might as well hang around a little.

He still didn't hunt, and he still didn't look for Dean.

It was like living in a kind of limbo. He wasn't hunting, but he wasn't building a new life, either. It wasn't the family business and it wasn't Stanford. It was something in between, something between dreaming and waking, and he didn't know which way he was supposed to go or even what his options were.

He didn't even know what to call the damn dog.

Benny was helpful.

He'd propositioned Dean, offering him a way out in exchange for giving Benny a piggyback ride back to the surface. Dean knew it was probably stupid to take a chance, but he was all on his own in the trenches and he needed all the help that he could get.

Cas still wasn't answering his prayers.

"How'd you find me?" Dean asked, yanking the machete out from a dead vamp. Actually finding that weapon had been an adventure in itself. He'd had to get it off of an attacking rakshasa while being weaponless, which hadn't been fun, to put it lightly.

Benny surveyed the carnage around him with a kind of laid-back air that Dean found equally admirable and disturbing. "You're not all that hard to track, brother. You're the only human in this place. If the stench of your blood weren't enough, the bodies you leave in your wake are kind of a giveaway."

A few days ago he might not have been able to tell, but after fighting by the vampire's side enough times, Dean recognized that statement as a joke—albeit an on-the-nose one.

"All right, wise guy," He replied, cleaning off the blade.

"We really have to find this angel?"

Dean leveled his gaze at the vampire. "I'm not leaving here without him."

Benny rolled his eyes. "You got it bad, brother."

Dean flipped him off as he stalked away.

"What the hell?"

Sam banged his head on the sink as he tried to stand, the pain making stars dance briefly in front of his eyes. He rubbed the sore spot as he stood up, holding in a curse. He blinked, both in confusion and dread, when he saw who had startled him.

Dr. Amelia Richardson, clad in a shirt and jeans, was standing with her arms folded and one hip cocked. She didn't look pleased, to say the least.

"What are you doing in my room? Are you stalking me?"

Sam felt himself frown before he could stop himself, and gestured at the sink. "I'm fixing your sink—the manager said it was clogged with," He turned and held up one of the culprits, "These."

In his hand he held a mutilated lime.

Amelia huffed. "What? A girl can't have a drink sometimes?"

There was a difference between having a drink sometimes and having so many drinks that you clogged your sink up with limes, but Sam kept quiet. Dean had always had a bit of a liquor problem but his intake had definitely increased to the point of alcoholism when they'd lost Cas. Dean had started to deal with it during the shojo business, and definitely once Cas was back, but he hadn't ever liked it when Sam had tried to bring it up. If his own brother had gotten snippy with him, he doubted that the woman in front of him would appreciate a stranger passing judgment on her actions.

"Of course not," Sam said, setting the lime down.

"So, what, you fix sinks for charity?"

"I'm the maintenance guy," Sam explained.

"Right," Amelia replied. He was pretty sure he was sensing sarcasm in that tone.

The pause that followed was painfully awkward, even by his standards. And Sam Winchester had experienced some pretty awkward moments in his life. Like when Dean had explained the birds and the bees when Sam was twelve, for example. Or any time Dean and Cas had a conversation.

"Well?"

Sam frowned. "Well, what?"

"Are you going to head out, or just keep standing here in my room like a creep?"

Okay, then.

"Let me know if it backs up again," He said as he grabbed his toolkit.

Amelia didn't reply. She just closed the door behind him on his way out.

Theoretically that meeting could have gone a lot worse, but he didn't exactly see how.

At first Dean didn't see him. The trench coat was worn and covered in dirt, as was the person wearing it, and he was crouched into such a tight ball that at first he looked like another monochromatic stone. But the second he realized what—or who—it was he felt something light and weightless flood his chest.

"Cas!"

The angel stood just in time for Dean to wrap him up in a hug. He didn't even know how he got from where he was to Cas's side. It didn't even matter. Cas felt warm and solid and real, the first and only tangible thing in this entire godforsaken mud pit. He hugged him as tightly as he dared—not the one arm high one arm low bro-hug, either, but the kind where if Cas was going to hug back, he'd have no choice but to put his arms around Dean's waist.

"Missed you," He admitted, pulling away, trying to ignore the fact that Cas hadn't hugged him back. He reached up and ran his finger over the scraggly beard Cas had going on. "Nice scruff."

Cas just kept standing there. The guy had always done an unnervingly good job of imitating a statue but this was different. It was like he was uncomfortable. Like he didn't want Dean there.

"You got some nerve."

Benny was striding over, looking none-too-pleased with Cas. Dean had honestly forgotten that Benny was even there and, judging by Cas's expression, the angel hadn't even noticed the vampire.

"This boy's been looking for you this whole time after you ran away from him," Benn went on. "What kinda coward—"

"Benny." The word came out a little more harshly than Dean had intended, but the guy needed to know his place. Nobody called Cas names and got away with it, not even someone who'd had Dean's back the past few weeks. "I'm sure there's an explanation for this. Some guys probably jumped Cas, he fought back, and we got separated. Things happen, right?"

He looked over at Cas, feeling a grin overtake him. It was just so fucking good to see him again.

"Actually," Cas's voice was just as he remembered, low and scratchy and right out of a sex phone line. "Your friend here is right."

Wait, what?

"Excuse me?"

"When we landed in Purgatory, I ran," Cas said, seemingly oblivious to how his words stabbed at Dean's insides.

"What in the hell for?"

"They were after me." Cas looked exasperated, which hold the phone was just not fucking fair. "I'm an angel, Dean. Every single monster out here wants a piece of me and if that weren't enough the Leviathan are here, too. I couldn't let them get you, too, so I stayed away. I stayed away so that you would be safe."

The lightness in his chest was gone, replaced with bubbling anger. "I prayed to you, Cas! Every night! I begged you to find me, that we could work things out!"

Benny's eyes shifted off to the side, and Dean knew that the vampire must have heard some of those prayers. They'd been pretty damn private, but Dean was a little busy at the moment. He'd deal with any embarrassment later.

"It's not safe, Dean!" Cas replied. He didn't raise his voice but he might as well have been doing the shattering-windows thing for all of the power behind the words. "They could be coming even now—"

"I don't give a damn, Cas—"

"You have to get out before—"

"No!"

Benny's eyebrows rose. Dean realized, belatedly, that he was shouting.

"It's not you or me, Cas. It's you and me. I'm not doing this without you, you stupid son of a bitch, and you'd better just get used to it."

Cas opened his mouth, but snapped it shut. "They're coming."

Dean and Benny both drew their weapons, senses on high alert.

"We're finishing this conversation," Dean informed Cas.

If looks could smite, the one Cas was giving him would have reduced Dean to a pile of ash.

The dog (who still didn't have a name) was getting a lot better at walking. At first it had only been a few painful little steps before he wobbled and went down like a drunk on a Friday night. Sam had crouched, arms outstretched, ready to catch the guy whenever he went tumbling. He had briefly wondered if this was similar to raising a kid, but had quickly shoved such thoughts back into the dusty dark corner of his mind, back where things like Jess and a law degree and missing Dean were.

About a week after those first few tenuous movements, the dog had been able to make it from one side of the motel room to the other. His walk was slow and laborious, but he could do it. From there it was simply a matter of pacing. By the time a month was up, the dog could scamper from one side to the other, tongue sticking out the side of his mouth and making happy little yippy noises. He was even able to paw at Sam's pant leg while looking up at him with those soft, dark eyes.

Sam wasn't fully confident that the dog was ready to take on the outside world, however, and decided that he'd best take the guy back to the vet to have him checked out. Hopefully someone other than Dr. Richardson would be there. But when Sam opened the door…

"No!"

The dog took off like one of those mentos dropped into a soda bottle, tearing across the grassy area. Sam was fast—he still jogged every morning, dammit—but two legs, no matter how long, couldn't compete with four plus mischievous tenacity.

"Dog!" Sam shouted. "Come back!"

Maybe he should have given more thought to naming the mutt. At least then he wouldn't sound like such a massive idiot.

"Dog!"

The dog curbed to the right and at first Sam thought hey, maybe the guy was listening after all. No such luck. The dog bounded up the steps and ran right into…

Shit.

"No! No, dog, don't bother the… mean lady…"

Shit shit shit shit shit.

Sam jumped up the steps just in time to see the dog crawl happily up onto the sofa and plop his head down on Amelia Richardson's lap with a contended doggy sigh. To Sam's surprise, the vet didn't even bat an eyelash, merely stroking the dog's long fur and scratching behind his ears.

Okay, so maybe she didn't get along all that well with people, but she definitely had a way with animals.

"Sorry about that," Sam apologized. "He got away from me."

"He's healed very quickly," Amelia replied, still looking at the dog. "Did you give your owner a scare, huh? Cause a big ol' ruckus?"

It took Sam a beat to realize she was talking to the dog.

"He's got a lot of energy," He explained. "He's been kind of cooped up while his legs were healing."

"He should get lots of exercise now," Amelia said, finally looking up at him. "Working those legs will help them continue to heal."

"Sure thing." Sam nodded.

Amelia kept staring at him. Quick—what to say before the moment turned awkward?

"Great stitches, by the way. You really patched him up."

"Oh?" Amelia scratched the dog behind the ears again and the dog stretched out, a rumbling sound working its way through his chest.

"It's just I've seen a lot of stitches and the ones you did were, I mean—they were the best I've ever seen."

Now, Sam was pretty damn proud of his own stitching abilities and Dean was—or had been—one of the fastest he knew, with Ellen taking the cake for neatness. If the vet could beat out three seasoned hunters then, well, that was saying something.

"You've seen a lot of stitches in your time?" Amelia said. It was only then that Sam realized just how his sentence had sounded. "You know, you're not doing much to help the creep factor."

"Sorry?"

Amelia—wait, was that a smile? "It doesn't help that you dress like a white supremacist or a drifting serial killer."

Sam looked down at his outfit. "What's wrong with layers?"

Amelia pointed at him. "Do you own anything that's not some form of plaid?"

Sam shrugged.

"The hair isn't exactly helping, either. Heard of scissors?"

Sam felt his mouth twist up and knew he was pulling what Dean had called a 'bitchface'. To his surprise, Amelia chuckled.

"You know, you scream 'loner' too," Sam pointed out.

Amelia went back to scratching the dog's ears. "Was it the drinking or the crankiness that gave it away?"

Her frankness surprised him, but he went with it. "Both, I guess."

"What's his name?"

Sam glanced down at the dog. "He doesn't have one yet."

Amelia snorted. "You've had him for over a month."

Sam shrugged, feeling sheepish.

Amelia looked down at the dog, her fingers combing gently through his fur. "How about Riot?"

"Riot?" It didn't sound too bad. In fact, it fit the little mongrel pretty well. "Works for me."

Amelia grinned down at the dog—at Riot. "You hear that, boy? You've got a name!"

Riot made a happy snuffling noise.

To say that watching Benny save Cas was a surprise would be the understatement of the century.

At first Dean thought Benny had done it because, well, it wasn't like Dean had done a very good job of hiding how important Cas was. Benny had heard his prayers, after all. He knew how he'd begged Cas to come back to him. But then Cas and Benny had done that hand-grasping thing and Dean knew—Benny agreed with Cas. Both of them thought that Cas wouldn't be able to get through the portal.

Okay, so Dean would be lying if he said he wasn't glad the two of them were getting along. They were similar in some ways—hell it was probably part of what had drawn him towards Benny in the first place. But that did not mean he appreciated his friend and—whatever Cas was—ganging up on him. They were shoving Cas's ass through that needle if it killed all through of them, and he told Benny so.

"Whatever you say, brother," Benny drawled.

So yeah, it was nice to not have the two of them holding their passive-aggressive posturing contests anymore. But neither Cas nor Benny nor both of them together were changing his mind on this.

They were getting Cas out. He didn't even care how.

"I should probably apologize."

They were halfway through their fifth campy '70s horror flick, two empty bowls of popcorn on the floor and Riot curled up happily at their feet. Sam had pointed out inaccuracies based on what he knew from hunting, and Amelia had made general derisive comments based on her knowledge of anatomy. He still wasn't entirely sure how they'd started this, but it had turned into a surprisingly fun evening.

He turned and looked over at her. Amelia's face, usually all angles and lines, seemed softened by the glow from the television. "What are you apologizing for?"

Amelia shrugged. "Being rude, and generally just… I mean, it's not easy. Talking to people. Y'know?"

Sam snorted. "Yeah."

"I just—I wanted to shut the world out and have everyone leave me alone." Amelia raised and lowered her shoulder in a kind of slow-motion shrug. "I still stand by that, but I could've been a little bit nicer. You were just fixing the sink."

Sam felt the chuckle rumble up in his chest before it burst out of him. "I was being kind of creepy, even if it was accidental."

Amelia's smile split her face. Sam found that he liked it. "Apology accepted."

Dean stirred, the last tendrils of sleep ripped away as he raised his head. It was night—or whatever passed for night in Purgatory—and he'd been catching forty winks when he'd felt it again.

There was something out there.

"Cas?" He whispered.

"I'm right here, Dean."

The angel was lying on his back, staring up at the blank, featureless sky. Dean sat up, blade in hand. "Did you hear that?"

Cas nodded. "It's not Leviathan."

"Sons of bitches would have jumped us by now." Dean scanned the surrounding area but saw nothing other than trees. "Whatever it is, it's been following us ever since we joined with you."

"Yet another reason for you not to be here," Cas argued. "It's not getting close enough to let me sense what it is, but it can't possibly be safe."

"For the last time, Cas, I ain't leaving you behind. Not again. Not ever."

"Dean…"

He knew that Cas was millennia old—had used that fact to stop himself from thinking, well—but Cas had never looked it. He fit into his vessel so perfectly in a way that no other angel did, like he truly belonged in that form, wearing that skin. And those blue eyes of his had always shone with such life, such pure grace and beauty, that they'd seemed endlessly young.

But now…

Now he truly showed his age. The light in his eyes seemed dim and flickering, like the dying embers of a strange blue fire. His skin was worn and haggard, and his clothes hung off of his frame like sackcloth.

"If you die here," Cas said, his voice worn thin, "You can't go to Heaven. You'll be trapped here."

"Cas…"

"Who knows how long until your humanity is stripped away?" Cas wondered. "You'll become a monster eventually, Dean, it's the way of this place. The monsters must die, again and again, until their penance has been paid and they have suffered for what they have done to humanity. My Father created this place to be pure, where monsters could become human and eventually make it to Heaven. But humans aren't the same. You're still alive. The things you have to do to survive here…"

Dean ached to reach out and touch him, but he didn't know how that would be received. Cas's refusal to return the hug still stung, and he wasn't sure he could take more disappointment.

"We're gonna get out of here, Cas. All three of us." Cas was more of a priority than Benny, but Dean Winchester never backed down from a promise.

"I hope that you're right, Dean," Cas said, turning to look at him. Dean swallowed hard, caught up in that laser stare. "For a man who never put much stock in God, you certainly have a lot of faith."

"I have faith in things I can trust, like people." Dean tried to grin, but it didn't feel right on his face, like a shirt that was too small. "People who've proven themselves. Friends. Family. Like you."

"Family." The word seemed bitter when it came from Cas's mouth.

"You're my family, Cas."

That wasn't it, not quite… right, but it was all Dean knew how to say. Cas seemed disappointed, and lay back down again without saying anything.

"We'll have to find out who's tracking us," He said.

"Yeah." Dean looked down at his hands, wishing he knew how they could stop running in circles around each other. "We'll take care of it, Cas, just like we always do."

The first time it was mentioned, all that Amelia had said was that she'd lost someone. He'd told her that he'd lost someone too, and they'd left it at that. The companionship of understanding had been enough.

The second time had been when he'd asked her why she was still living in the motel. She told him that she could ask him the same thing, and he'd admitted that he wasn't sure what he wanted to do with himself. She'd told him that she was staying there while she tried to figure herself out. She'd moved there, she said, from her old town because she'd hated everyone's pity.

The third time, she told him it was her husband she'd lost. He'd said it was his brother.

The fourth time, they exchanged names. Her husband's name had been Don. He shared Dean's name.

By that time their nightly movie marathons-slash-late-night-confessions had become less of an impromptu thing and more of a routine. It took him about another week to realize that these could be considered dates.

Which meant he had to tell her the truth.

The last time he'd tried to live a life outside of hunting it had come back to bite him in the ass. He couldn't count the times he'd imagined things being different if he'd just told Jess the truth. If she'd known about that, maybe he could have told her about his dreams of her death—maybe she could have defended herself somehow. She could have gone with them on the hunt for the woman in white, even. At the very least, she would have had a fighting chance. Sam still wasn't quite sure what he and Amelia were. They were tentatively friends and definitely each other's grief counselors, but he couldn't tell her about Dean without telling her everything else. And even if they never did move past friendship (ignoring the stirring in his gut that he got when he looked at her), he didn't want one more person's blood on his hands.

His stomach was in a Gordian knot before he'd even sat down. They were having dinner together. It was Friday, which meant it was Chinese takeout night. Amelia refused to cook, but he was going to have to make good on his promise to make her a proper meal at some point.

"You okay?"

Sam nodded, feeling his head jerk like a puppet on a string. Amelia said down next to him, the edges of her mouth curled downwards in a frown. Her forehead was puckered adorably.

"There's just something I want to talk to you about," He began, "And I'm not sure how to approach it."

Amelia just sat there, waiting. She could still be extremely cranky but he'd found her to be the best listener he'd ever had.

"Do you remember the whole Roman Enterprises deal a few months back?"

Amelia snorted. "Do I? That was all over the news for weeks. SucroCorp was blown sky-high. They said some psycho did it—six foot four white male, gave a description but never a picture—wait."

Sam held up his hands, feeling sheepish again. Amelia tended to make him feel that way a lot.

"You?" Her mouth was open, her eyes white and almost starting out of her head. "You blew up SucroCorp?"

"I had good reason."

"The reason being you really are some crazy white supremacist?"

"Just hear me out, okay?"

Amelia fell silent. Riot padded over to see what was up, putting his head in her lap. Traitor.

"What if I told you that those bogeymen under your bed, the vampires you read about, the ghosts you saw on film—that they were all real?"

"I'd say I'd need some proof."

He told her about the Leviathan, and then gestured at the television. "Wasn't there anything odd about what happened? Celebrities suddenly dropping dead, an entire billionaire enterprise just going belly-up for no reason, the additives in the food?"

Amelia looked down at Riot, scratching behind his ears. It was a sign that she was thinking deeply. "There were some weird things about it on the news. Stuff that didn't quite fit."

"It was because of the Leviathan."

Amelia arched her eyebrows. "And you're telling me that you and your brother would hunt these kinds of things?"

"It was our lives."

Amelia cocked her head, her gaze unexpectedly piercing. "What happened?" She asked softly.

"What do you mean?"

"Nobody just wakes up and decides to hunt monsters. You got into it somehow."

Sam looked down at his hands. He remembered the feeling of power, of the blood rushing to them as he exorcised demons. These hands had held a knife before bike handles, and the pages of the books they'd turned had held Latin, not hobbits or boy wizards.

"My mom," He began, "Was killed by a demon."

It took hours—in fact it was light out by the time he finished—but he told her about the fire and Mary's death, Azazel and the "special children", Ruby and the Apocalypse, Hell—everything.

And when he was finished, drained and raw and laid out to dry like a ratty old shirt, Amelia took his hands in hers and kissed him on the cheek.

Dean had lost track of time but it felt like it was a couple of weeks after they'd found Cas that he finally snapped. Or maybe Cas snapped. He wasn't quite sure who started it and it sure didn't matter all that much when they were in the middle of screaming at each other.

Now, Dean had been in plenty of fights over the years—way more than he could count even if he tried—and he'd had more than his fair share of arguments. But he'd never been in an all-out screaming match.

Well, it looked like now was the time.

They had just dispatched some more Chompers and Cas had needlessly put himself in danger again to the point where Dean was wondering if the guy had some kind of death wish, to which Cas had replied that maybe he deserved it for all that he'd done—started a civil war in Heaven, unleashed the Leviathan, brought Sam back soulless and then knocked down his mental wall, and so on. Dean had said that was fucking bullshit, Cas, and you know it, and before he knew it they were screaming in the middle of a patch of forest surrounded by dead bodies.

Benny was no fucking help at all and just leaned against a tree, hat tipped downwards to hide his face. Dean couldn't tell if the guy was listening in or taking a fucking nap.

"I'm nothing but a liability, Dean!" Cas shouted. "It's better for the both of you—better for everyone—if I just—"

"Don't you fucking dare. I am not letting you make yourself into a fucking martyr, not again. I have watched you die over and over again, Cas, and I refuse to let it happen again. I refuse to go through that, Cas, do you hear me? I am not losing you!"

"Why?" Cas demanded. "Why do you even care? Because I'm a weapon, some angelic 'mojo'," this was done with finger quotes "that you can call down to help you whenever you'd like? I am not at your beck and call, Dean Winchester."

"Oh, so we're doing this again? We're going the high-and-mighty route? I thought we were past that Cas, I thought we were friends!"

"I don't deserve—"

"Don't tell me what you do and don't deserve." Dean's voice was growing hoarse from all of the strain. "I didn't carry that damn trenchcoat around for months because you're a weapon. I didn't dream about you wading into that goddamn reservoir every night because I felt that you failed me. You messed up, Cas. So have I. I'm willing to let go of that if you are. Can't you just…"

Be there for me? Let me be there for you? Hold you? Kiss you like I've wanted to for a couple of years now?

"Can't you just trust me? Huh? Let me in?"

They stood there, breathing heavily, the tension slowly bleeding out of their shoulders. Dean felt like his chest was deflating, and he was a little lightheaded.

That was the biggest issue—the only issue—that he had with Cas. The lying. Going behind his back to deal with Crowley. The abandonment.

Cas looked at him, and for the first time since the fight had started Dean could actually see the soft, worn-denim jean blue at the edges of those eyes, the softness that he tried so damn hard to get to come out but rarely made an appearance. The angel opened his mouth to speak—

"Boys. We got company."

Motherfuckingsonofabitch!

Sam got a hold of Charlie, who had come out of hiding after the Leviathan fallout, and had her send some research to him. She took the opportunity to inform him that Garth and other hunters had made short work of the remaining Leviathan.

"They're like chickens with their heads cut off now that they've lost Dick," Charlie explained.

He used the research she sent him to further his case with Amelia, who poured over the accounts with a fine-tooth comb and a lot more eagerness than he would have expected.

"This is a vampire?" She asked, holding up the picture.

"Yup."

"Awesome."

All right, then.

It was so odd, seeing Cas sleep.

Here in Purgatory a lot of the angel's powers had been drained. He couldn't zap anywhere he wanted, couldn't heal as well or as quickly. He felt hunger and pain and exhaustion. He could still smite, but in a lot of ways he was more human than Dean was. Dean didn't get hungry or tired. He slept because he felt like it (and because moving through Purgatory when it was dark was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard) but he didn't have to. Cas, however, did.

Usually Dean dropped off before Cas did, the angel finding it hard to get used to this closing eyes and resting thing, but sometimes Cas fell asleep first. During those times, Dean liked to watch him. All of the lines of his face smoothed out and his chapped lips parted slightly, making him seem so peaceful and serene. He looked fragile. Young, almost. Vulnerable.

Dean barely resisted the urge to touch.

They'd come to a kind of tenuous truce while they fought their way through the monsters but they hadn't resolved anything, either. Dean was tired of fighting, anyway. He just wanted Cas back. If he was being honest with himself—a rare occurrence but one he'd had more practice in since Cas waded into the water last year—he wanted more than having things back to the way they were. He wanted Cas in every sense of the word. He wanted to touch and worship and love. He wanted to satisfy his damn craving. He wanted to know that Cas was there, and would always be there, no matter what.

Had it really only been four years since they'd first met? It felt like ages. The depleted angel lying a few feet away wasn't the same heavenly being that had yanked him out of Hell, or the rebel leader in a battle for control of Heaven, or the lost man believing himself human. Each of those things felt like an aspect of Castiel, something he was trying on that didn't quite fit. But through all of those were threads of the real Castiel—the rebellious angel, the reluctant leader, the man wanting to heal and do good. Cas had always wanted to do good, to help others. He'd always wanted freedom and joy for humanity. He'd always been willing to sacrifice for others.

He was beautiful, Dean realized. Physically, sure, and smoking hot to boot but inside as well. He was like a nebula, a cluster of stars swirling in the unending deepness of space, a pinprick of hope and light.

"I'm so gone on you," He whispered, safe in the knowledge that Cas couldn't hear him. "Do you have any idea?"

"He might not, but I will if you don't stop mooning over him," Benny drawled from his spot about ten feet from Dean's other side.

"Fuck off," Dean said wearily.

Benny muttered something in French but turned on his side obligingly.

Dean continued to watch Cas sleep, wondering how the hell he was supposed to fix things between them.

It was a couple of weeks later that they made love for the first time.

They had known each other for four months by then. Four months of slowly building their relationship, of movie marathons complete with drinking games and lunches at the park and poker tournaments between the two of them while Riot napped at their feet. Four months since Dean and Cas had vanished, most likely died.

Sam hoped that, wherever they were, they were together. They might have been idiots about it but no two people deserved each other—or needed each other—more than Dean and his angel.

Being with Amelia was different than before. Of course every girl he'd been with—and there weren't too many—was different. Jess was sweet and eager and sometimes a little giggly, drunk of joy and love and always willing to try new things. Madison was slow and sensuous and deep. Ruby was dominant and outright sexy and just on this side of wrong. Cara was… okay, he still felt bad about that, but she was wild and daring and took what she wanted. But Amelia was like eating bittersweet chocolate. It was tinged with loss and sadness but good, so good, and what was more he trusted her. He hadn't trusted someone like that since Ruby and that one was a rollercoaster he didn't dare compare to anything else. He and Amelia were friends first, lovers second, and it deepened things.

It helped that she was surprisingly athletic. Hot damn.

Afterwards when they were lying there with her curled up in his arms, she told him about Don.

"I thought I knew what I wanted," She admitted. "He was so commanding and in control. I thought it was attractive. And it helped me get away from my dad."

Sam stayed silent, trailing his fingers through her damp hair.

"After a couple of years, though, I knew… people couldn't tell. They thought we were the perfect couple. But I couldn't go to the fucking grocery store without his say-so. We never had real conversations anymore. You can bet he never told me anything.

"When he went and signed up for Iraq without telling me—I felt terrible but also so relieved. At least then he'd be far away. What kind of man goes off to war without discussing it with his wife first, anyway?"

She drew her lip between her teeth, and her grip on his shoulder tightened infinitesimally.

"I was glad when I got the call."

MIA, presumed dead. He hadn't realized just how many soldiers went missing, their bodies never found.

"I didn't want sympathy. Nobody knew, nobody understood, and even if I'd cared their empty words and—just seeing their faces made me nauseous. And I didn't have any real friends. They were all Don's friends from work and their wives or his drinking buddies or—nobody was there for me. It was about him, always about him. I just had to get out."

Sam knew all about that. What else had Stanford been?

"I didn't plan on making friends, least of all—but you just stumbled in. You had Dean and I had Don and we were both cranky and scarred and you didn't flinch when I cursed you out and… you snuck in." She grinned up at him, her teeth glowing a little in the moonlight. "It's fucking annoying."

He laughed, hugging her a little tighter.

"But you're a little happier now, right?" He asked.

Amelia snuggled up to him. "I'm a lot happier."

They lay there, content, two broken souls finding a way to mend together.

"Don't think this has gotten you out of a haircut, though. Tomorrow morning we are cutting that mop."

Three days. Or whatever counts for days here. Three cycles of tracking down the portal and sleeping through the periodic periods of darkness. And Dean still hadn't found a way to apologize to Cas.

Lucky bastard that he was (or maybe Cas is just the braver one), Cas decided to apologize first.

The fact that they're fighting Chompers at the time—well, that's Cas's sense of timing for you.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" Jesus his arm was getting sore. He was way too old for this shit.

"I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I'm sorry. For lying to you. For not trusting you, and unleashing the Levithan although I assure you that was an accident. For dying. For Sam. For—"

"Mon Dieu, you two have bad timing."

"Shut it, Benny," Dean growled. He was not about to let this moment slip by, not when Cas was opening up to him.

"For what it's worth, Cas, I'm sorry too. I shouldn't've… well, I'm not going down the list but you know. All of it."

Finally. Last chomper ganked.

They stood there, staring at each other in a way very reminiscent of the end of their argument a few days ago.

"Anyone want to help a brother with this?"

God damn it Benny!

They might have apologized to each other but it wasn't until later that night that things really—well, picked up wasn't the right word, but—hell with it.

Cas was lying down, staring up at the black void that served as the sky, his face blank. Dean wondered what he was thinking.

"You're gonna let me drag your ass through that portal, right?"

Cas nodded.

"And will you," Please, voice, don't break now, "Stay once I've had my turn to raise you from perdition?"

Cas actually got the joke for once and snorted. "Yes, Dean. I'll stay with you."

"Good."

He felt like he could actually breathe again, for the first time since entering this place.

"But, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Cas sat up, his head cocked and face adorably puzzled. "Why do you need me, if not as a weapon?"

Oh, shit.

"Well, we're family, Cas. We look after each other because we care, not because we're—that is, we need you for you."

"We?"

"Sam and me."

Cas frowned. "What about just you, Dean?" He asked. "Why do you need me?"

Because you just might be the fucking love of my life, you idiot.

"You're… you."

Smooth, Winchester. Real smooth.

"I'm me?"

Okay, wait, when had Cas sat up?

"What exactly do you mean when you say you need me, Dean Winchester?"

And for that matter when had they gotten so close?

"How else do you want me to say it, Cas?"

Cas's lips were warm and surprisingly soft against his, and for a split second he froze in shock. This—this was actually happening.

Never let it be said that Dean Winchester looked a gift horse in the mouth. There were so many times they'd almost lost each other, so many missed opportunities and wasted chances and fuck, they were in Purgatory. It's not like he cared who saw them.

He kissed back, moving his lips against the angel's and running his tongue along the seam of his lips. Cas opened his mouth with a tiny little moan, like he'd been waiting for this, and Dean wasted no time in deepening the kiss. Neither of them smelled all that good, coated in dirt and blood—and Cas was getting a shave the second they got topside—but it was still unbelievably good. Cas kissed like it was the last chance they'd ever get, like if he didn't do it now he never would, and Dean whipped out just about every trick in the book to show Cas how good a kiss could be.

When they broke apart to breathe—or, rather, so that Dean could breathe—he realized that they'd shift so that Dean while kneeling while Cas straddled his legs, practically in his lap. Cas brushed their noses together and Dean found himself smiling.

Riot ended up picking the house for them.

They'd been looking at a few different places—nothing too big or expensive, but something they could grow into. They needed a big yard and neighborhood for Riot, of course. Amelia wanted a nice bedroom and lots of windows to let the light in, and Sam wanted space for a library and an up-to-date kitchen for cooking. Neither of them really new anyone yet besides the motel owners and Amelia's coworkers at the veterinary clinic, so they didn't feel the need for a large entertaining space or spare bedrooms. Despite the small list of necessary elements, however, they were having trouble picking a place.

They were out on a walk with Riot, hand in hand—something Sam had come to love just for the simple contact and affection—when Riot suddenly broke away. The leash slipped through Sam's fingers and the dog bounded down the street, barking madly. They both took after him, sprinting down the street until they caught up with him at an open house. Riot was sitting there, soaking up the attention from several women who were petting him and cooing over his "gorgeous coat" and "adorable eyes".

Amelia, the traitor, had left Sam to fend for himself while the ladies swarmed around him. He'd finally gotten his hair cut and sideburns shaved, and apparently a handsome guy with a dog was just too irresistible a combination. By the time he extracted himself from the flirtatious crowd, Amelia had spoken to the realtor and gotten the information they needed.

The look on the women's faces when Amelia swooped in and planted one on him was priceless. Sam had grinned like an idiot for the rest of the walk back.

But the best part was that they were moved in within a week.

Four years of refusing to define their relationship, ignoring the spark of heat in their guts, and keeping the other in the dark 'for their own good' did not just go away in one kiss, no matter how damn good that kiss was. Dean spent the better part of the next week or so saying 'I'm sorry for…' more than anything else.

If Benny had been difficult before, he was practically insufferable now, cracking jokes and sending Dean sly looks. The fucker was just too damn cheerful about the whole situation.

Besides the slow, methodical stripping of armor and past wounds, there were the Leviathan to contend with. They were close to the portal—at least according to Benny—but it seemed like the closer they got, the more Chompers they had to fight.

And then there was that continual tug at the back of his skull. He never saw or heard them, but by now all three of them could sense it. Something was following them. It wasn't a monster—that much Benny could tell them. It certainly wasn't human. It never got close enough for Cas to sense what it was, but somehow he could always tell when it (or they) was there before he or Benny so it might have been an angel or demon. It was definitely unsettling.

"I think they're driving us towards something," Cas noted. Dean was lying with his back against a tree, Cas between his splayed legs with his back to Dean's chest. Benny was on the opposite side of the dying fire—Cas could feel temperatures here as well, unlike Dean and Benny. Apparently everything, even the weather, was designed to kill an angel.

Dean buried his nose into the crook of Cas's neck. He couldn't wait to get back topside and shove them both into a nice hot shower. He bet Cas would smell even better when he was properly clean.

"We're headed for the portal," He objected, keeping his voice low. The question of Benny's sleeping habits was still up for debate, but they had all been dead on their feet that day. Couldn't hurt to let the guy get some sleep.

"Yes," Cas said, doing that thing were he savored each word and turned it over on his tongue like a pebble before sending it out into the air, "But the closer we get to it the more Leviathan there are. And they're coming from strategic directions, driving us just a little bit this way or that way."

"Say they are driving us somewhere. What? We killed the big Dick, who's left?"

"I don't know. But I'm a soldier, Dean. This is guerilla warfare strategy. Draw the enemy into smaller fights, lead them to where you want them to go, let them think they're in control."

Dean considered that. Cas had fought countless battles in Heaven, both when Lucifer fell and during the Apocalypse-that-wasn't and the fallout from that. It wasn't like Dean forgot, exactly. It was just that it was easy to forget exactly what the implications of all of that were.

"We'll be on our toes, Cas," He promised. "We're getting close."

"Yes, but to what?"

Dean pressed his mouth to Cas's temple, wishing that he knew.

But hey, at least he could hold Cas now. At least he could bestow feather-light kisses to his angel's face as they fell asleep, his last conscious sensation the feel of Cas's fingers intertwining with his.

For Cas, anything was worth it.

Meeting Stan Thompson was something Sam could have very happily done without. He should have been suspicious when Amelia was uncharacteristically nervous, giving him last-minute instructions and running around fluffing pillows. Sam saw no reason to be worried. Their house was nice, not to mention clean, and they'd picked out every piece of furniture themselves. Riot had been exercised until he could barely move before being carted off to the groomer's, so he was good to go. And maybe Sam wasn't a hotshot lawyer the way he wanted to be, but he had a solid job in construction and Amelia was happy at the clinic. There was literally nothing to be concerned about.

And then Stan had actually arrived.

It was clear from the get-go that the guy didn't like him. Dinner was awkward, to say the least. Nothing Sam said or did seemed to make things better.

The worst part was Amelia. She had the most expressive face of anyone Sam had ever seen (with Dean holding second place), but now she was pale and still, her mouth a thin line. She kept her eyes on her plate, only raising them in quick, darting glances when she had to look at them. Sam shifted his feet, running one of them up her leg to try and sooth her. Amelia pressed back into his foot, but he saw her fingers—those steady surgeon fingers, the ones that had managed to sew up Riot even when she was half drunk—trembling as she gripped the fork.

Sam stood, interrupting Stan's lecture on why Amelia needed to move back home. "I'll clear the plates," He announced, scooping up the dishes and hurrying into the kitchen. He needed to think on how to save this situation.

He sifted through previous conversations with Amelia, trying to glean what information she could. She'd rarely, if ever, talked about her life growing up. He knew her mother had died when she was three and she was an only child, but most of his knowledge of her came from her time in veterinary school and after Don. But although he didn't know much of her history, he knew her. And something was very, very wrong.

Sam had a sudden image of Dean. Dean growing up, hiding bruises. Dean going hungry so Sam didn't have to. Dean vanishing for hours only to show up at four in the morning, wads of cash held tight in his white-knuckled hand. Dean trying so desperately to earn John's approval, standing up for John even when he was the one getting the abuse. John hadn't hit his boys often—he could count the times he'd hit Dean on one hand and he'd certainly never hit Sam—but he'd been abusive in other ways. He'd raised Dean to be a soldier first, a parent to Sam second, and a man third, with no room for just being Dean.

And now Sam was seeing those same symptoms in Amelia.

He'd stood by for years, knowing that his father and brother had an unhealthy relationship and never saying anything. He'd been too busy fighting his own battles with John and Dean always refused help, so he'd shoved it into the back of his mind. But now…

Well, he'd be damned (again) if he'd just sit by and let the woman he loved take treatment like that.

Just as he reached the doorway to the dining room, he heard Amelia speak.

"I know he's a little messed up. So am I. We've both been through things. But you know what? He makes me happy. We make each other happy, which is more than I can say for Don or you. I can be myself, scars and all, and so can he. We help make each other better. I'm an adult and you can't control me anymore, so if you can't accept that I'm happy—"

Sam crossed the room to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. She was horribly tense, but he felt her relax a little once he touched her. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. Amelia was being amazing all on her own, and his stance behind her—supporting her—said everything without uttering a single word.

Stan was looking at his daughter as if he'd never seen her before. He raised his eyes up to look at Sam, who steadily met his gaze.

"All right then," Stan said, quietly.

He left soon after that.

Sam held her for a long time that night, his brave and beautifully broken woman, and told her so in every way he could think of.

"This is it."

Dean stood there, looking around. "This is what?"

Benny rolled his eyes. "The portal, brother. It's here."

"You sure about that?" Dean didn't see anything.

"I was told this was where it was."

Benny had gone through too much with them for Dean to doubt him. He'd stuck with Dean even when Dean was closer to Roger Rabbit levels of loopy than actual sanity, he'd defended and protected Cas, and he had kept his lovebird jokes to a minimum. Dean trusted him, and he didn't think Benny would betray them. Not now.

"Maybe the guy who told you about it lied to you?"

Benny chuckled at that. "People don't lie to me. I lie to them."

"Perhaps there is an incantation or spell that we must use to activate it?" Cas asked, gazing around him.

Dean stepped out from the shelter of the trees and into the watery light. "Well I don't—"

The sky opened up before them and Dean saw what looked like an upside-down whirlpool of gray and blue. It was almost as blue as Cas's eyes, and there was something like looked almost like lightning flashing in its depths.

"I think it sensed you, brother," Benny said.

Now that the portal was open, that meant they didn't have a lot of time. "You ready?" He asked.

Benny cocked an eyebrow. "You're putting a lot of trust in me, brother."

"You deserve it."

Dean carefully ran the blade through his skin, years of practice helping him to make a cut that was deep without being life threatening. He muttered the words Cas had taught him, wincing as he watched—and felt—Benny's soul be sucked into the cut, sealing itself after him.

"How do you feel?" Cas asked.

Dean looked down at his arm. He'd expected to feel something—wooziness, or the sensation of being weighed down, or even Benny's thoughts or emotions. But instead he felt…

"Nothing."

Cas nodded. "Good. We should get going."

They turned to head up the hillside to the portal when two black lumps of goo careened down from nowhere, landing in front of them and taking on the form of humans. Leviathan.

Dean drew his blade, ready to rumble, when he felt Cas's hand on his arm. He turned to ask Cas what was going on, but when he rotated his head he saw what the angel was stopping him for.

They were absolutely surrounded by Leviathan.

"Do you ever want kids?"

Sam blinked and wiped the sleep from his eyes. They were lying on the grass after his surprise birthday picnic, and he'd been napping for at least half an hour, his head on Amelia's lap while she ran her fingers through his hair.

He thought about it. He'd always wanted to be a father—had even discussed it with Jess—but it had been a far-off thing, something to come after his law career had taken off and he'd been married for a couple of years. And then Jess had died and the Apocalypse had come along and all thoughts of an apple-pie life had been swept away.

But now…

He pictured a child, one with big brown eyes and his nose, but with dark curly hair and Amelia's wide, face-splitting smile.

"Yes." He grinned up at her. "Yes, I want kids."

"How many?"

"Let's say we start with two."

The thing about Amelia was that she never cried when she was sad or angry. She cried only when she was happy, the ferocity of the tears fluctuating depending on the intensity of the joy.

That moment, Amelia burst into the biggest torrent of tears that Sam had ever seen, but she was laughing the entire time. He sat up and hugged her tightly, and shed a few happy tears of his own.

"Any way we can fight them?" Dean muttered.

He felt Cas shake his head ever so slightly.

There were dozens of Leviathan on every side of them, standing in black suits and sunglasses. That was the really odd thing about this. None of them were moving. Usually the Chompers just went right for the kill, but these were just standing around. It was almost as if they were standing guard.

But what for?

"No matter what happens Cas," He said, "No matter what, we're sticking together."

He felt Cas take a step forwards so that they were standing back to back, weapons at the ready.

"Come what may," Cas replied.

And then they heard a voice that sent chills running down to his very bones.

"Dean Winchester."

The call came in at two a.m., of all godforsaken hours of the early morning. At first Sam fumbled for his regular cell, only to find himself perplexed that it wasn't ringing Next he had to search for his burner phone, which woke Amelia up and made Riot bark.

"'Ello?" He asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Sam?"

He sat up straight. That was Kevin. "Hey, buddy. How'd you get this number?"

"Charlie gave it to me. We've been chatting online—she and Garth set up a correspondence once the whole Leviathan thing started going whacko."

"Who is it?" Amelia asked, her voice drowsy.

"I'll tell you later. Go back to sleep."

Sam stood up and padded downstairs so that he could finish the conversation without disturbing her. Whatever it was, he was sure it could wait until she'd gotten a few more hours of sleep.

"So what's up?"

"Okay, so you know how there was a Leviathan tablet?"

"Yeah…"

"Well that got me thinking—if God created a tablet for one species he created, why wouldn't he do it for all of them?"

Sam froze, his mind racing with the implications. The Leviathan tablet had told them exactly how to destroy the Leviathans. If such a tablet existed for others…

"I did some research, and it looks like there's a tablet for each species, including angels and demons. Charlie's done some research and she thinks she knows where the Demon Tablet is, but—"

"But you don't have any hunters that can handle it."

"Garth wanted to, but Becky's in her second trimester and—"

"What?"

"Charlie didn't tell you? They got married about five months back."

Garth and Becky. Now that was a pair.

"So you want me to hunt for it?" Sam gripped the top of a dining room chair, trying to keep his breathing steady. "How did Charlie find all of this out, anyway?"

"Have you heard of the Men of Letters?"

Sam shook his head before remembering that Kevin couldn't see him. "Doesn't ring any bells."

"They're kind of like the opposite of hunters. They're all about collecting lore on monsters and magic. I mean, they're good guys, but they operate different from the hunters. They were kind of like a secret society before they all got wiped out."

"Wiped out?"

"Yeah, in 1958 by some kind of demon—Charlie's been studying up and said it was like nothing she'd ever heard of before."

Dean would have been salivating over this. "What does the tablet supposedly say?"

"Not only how to destroy demons, but how to seal up the very Gates of Hell. There's a prophecy about it supposedly written on the tablet."

Shut down Hell? Prevent demons from influencing and torturing humans again? Yeah, Dean would be all over this. Sam wasn't so sure. He didn't want to risk either Amelia's lives or his own, and he definitely didn't want to ruin his relationship with her. If Charlie had found out about the demon tablet then others must know about it as well. In Sam's experience, there was always someone out there after the same quarry you were. And if this tablet was somehow connected to this 'Men of Letters' society and the vicious demon attack they'd suffered…

"I'm sorry Kevin, but I don't think I—"

Amelia snatched the phone from him. "Kevin! It's so good to finally hear your voice! Sam's told me all about you. We'd love to help out—where can we meet you?"

Sam stood there, dumbfounded, as Amelia listened to Kevin's instructions. "Uh-huh. Yup. Great. See you then!"

Amelia hung up the phone. "He sounds like a lovely boy. I can't wait to meet him in person."

"But—Amelia—do you have any idea—"

"Yes," She replied. "Trust me, Sam, you've informed me and I've done my research and I know what we're in for. Demons and fights and danger to our lives at every turn. But it's a part of your life, Sam. It's something I want to experience. And besides, I can finally meet those friends you've been telling me about."

She grinned at him. "Who knows? It might even be fun!"

Yeah, Sam really knew how to pick 'em.

And we're off! Thoughtful reviews are greatly appreciated, as I want to make this the best it can possibly be.