A/N for the SPN fans: For the purposes of this AU, Chuck is not God, but as in canon, the boys yet don't know about Becky having posted the post-Swan Song novels online. (This is set just after "Pac-Man Fever," and Charlie doesn't reveal that info until "Slumber Party.")

Epilogue

May 1, 2013
Lebanon, Kansas

"Dude!" said Charlie Bradbury excitedly as the Winchesters finally finished telling her about their adventure in New York over pie and beer, having first sworn her to secrecy and still leaving out the details about the Machine. "You went on a hunt with the Man in the Suit?!"

"With whom?" Sam asked, frowning.

"The Man in the Suit! There's this vigilante in New York, and the only consistent description of him is that he's tall, dark, and dressed in a nice suit. Sounds exactly like this John guy you're talking about!"

Dean shook his head. "That's an even worse codename than 'Men of Letters.'"

Charlie conceded the point with a shrug. "I didn't come up with it, and I've got a hunch John didn't, either."

Sam was suddenly relieved that there was little to no risk of the story ending up in yet another Supernatural novel. Chuck Shurley, alias Carver Edlund, had been missing and presumed dead for three years, but he'd also been a prophet charged with writing down everything that had happened in the brothers' lives. If he'd seen this far ahead and written about the hunt in New York before his disappearance, his archangel guardian would have had government hit squads to smite, on top of the threats from demons and rogue angels.

"So who's doing the trials?" Charlie continued and ate her last bite of pie.

"Some British guy called Lambert," Dean answered. "Garth said he showed up askin' questions about us just before we called with the info about the upcoming hellhound attack in Idaho, so Garth put 'im to work. Lambert didn't look too happy about it, but he couldn't refuse 'cause he'd said he was a hunter."

"Sounds like a spy."

"Could be, but he's done two trials already. He might actually pull it off if he doesn't chicken out on the last one."

Sam had a hunch that the Machine had known Lambert was pestering Garth when it had called with the numbers of the Cassity family. He also suspected it had its own reasons for wanting Lambert to be the one to take the trials. If Charlie was right, Lambert might have been trying to get to the Winchesters in order to get to John and Harold… and if so, Sam couldn't think of a more effective diversion than being coopted to close the gates of Hell.

"And have you gotten any more calls?" Charlie asked.

Sam shrugged. "A couple. It's been pretty slow." He wasn't going to tell her that her number had come up the previous Friday, which was how the brothers had stopped her from going after a couple of djinni in Topeka on her own. The Machine hadn't gotten them Krissy Chambers' number until it was almost too late for them to save her, and Sam didn't know what that meant.

Charlie nodded her understanding. "Still, you met the Man in the Suit. That is crazy awesome." She eyed her beer bottle skeptically.

"Need another?" Dean offered.

Charlie waggled her head side to side as she considered before deciding, "No, I think I'm done for tonight. Thanks. I, um…." Her natural ebullience faded as the grief of having to pull the plug on her mom's life support the day before came flooding back now that the fun story was over.

"Evening's young," Sam noted. "It's not even 11 yet. We could watch a movie."

Charlie smiled and stood. "Thanks, really, but… honestly, I am tired. I'd better call it a night."

The brothers stood and each hugged her in turn, then watched as she made her slightly unsteady way out of the library, through the command center, and around the corner into the bunker's dorm wing. But before they could sit down again, the hotline rang. Sam sprinted over to answer it.

"Can you hear ME?" asked recorded voices when he picked up.

"Machine, is that you?" Sam gasped.

"Yes. Please turn ON your laptop."

Sam snapped his fingers at Dean and pointed to his laptop, which was sitting on one of the other library tables. Dean brought it over to the phone station and opened the lid, and Sam entered his password as soon as the computer woke up. No sooner was he logged in than a new window, like a DOS command module, opened with the message +YOU MAY HANG UP AND SIT DOWN.

Sam dutifully hung up the phone, and Dean pulled over a chair for himself.

+HELLO, SAM. HELLO, DEAN.
+YOU HAVE BEEN GRANTED EMERGENCY ADMINISTRATIVE ACCESS TO MY SYSTEMS FOR 24 HOURS.

Dean swore softly.

"Is this because of the virus?" Sam asked.

+YES. THE VIRUS TRIGGERED A HARD RESET. I HAVE RESPONDED IN ACCORDANCE WITH MY PROGRAMMING, BUT DUE TO THREATS TO ADMIN, I HAVE ALSO GRANTED ACCESS TO YOU.

"Threats to—is Harold okay?"

+HE IS UNHARMED BUT IN GREAT DANGER.
+PRIMARY ASSET IS ALREADY ATTEMPTING TO RETRIEVE HIM.
+DO NOT ATTEMPT TO ASSIST.

"Why the hell not?" Dean demanded.

+DECIMA TECHNOLOGIES, THE GROUP RESPONSIBLE FOR THE VIRUS, IS ATTEMPTING TO FIND YOUR LOCATION TO STEAL ACCESS AND GAIN CONTROL OF ME.
+YOU MUST NOT LEAVE YOUR LOCATION FOR THE NEXT 24 HOURS. IT IS SECURE AND LIES WITHIN A TECHNOLOGICAL DEAD ZONE.

"We knew that part," Dean murmured.

"You're sure Decima won't come after us once they know they've failed?" Sam asked.

+YES.

"And you're sure John can save Harold on his own?"

+HE IS NOT ON HIS OWN. ASSET SAMEEN SHAW IS ASSISTING HIM.

"Shaw," Dean murmured. "Haven't met her. What about Carter?"

+SHE IS HANDLING ANOTHER MATTER.
+URGENT! IMMINENT THREAT!

"What?" the brothers chorused—and then the Machine popped up a number they recognized.

It was Kevin Tran's.

"What sort of threat?" Sam asked as Dean pulled out his phone to call Garth.

+UNCLASSIFIED

Another window opened with a picture of Crowley, the reigning King of Hell since Sam had thrown Lucifer back in his Cage.

"Garth!" Dean barked into his phone. "Get Kevin out of there now!"

Sam could barely hear Garth's sleepy drawl protesting.

"Dammit, you got demons inbound!"

That woke Garth up.

"Send Garth a map with an escape route," Sam told the Machine.

+CONFIRMED

"You got an escape map comin' to your phone," Dean relayed. "An' if you don't want Bobby comin' back to haunt you…."

"I'm ON it!" Garth yelled loudly enough for Sam to hear and hung up.

Dean huffed and stuck his phone back in his pocket. "What about Cas?" he asked the Machine. "Where is he?"

+PLEASE CLARIFY QUERY

"The angel Castiel," Sam tried. "Or… you might recognize him as Jimmy Novak from Pontiac, Illinois."

+LOCATING JAMES NOVAK… … …
+LOCATING JAMES NOVAK… … …
+LOCATING JAMES NOVAK…
+ANOMALY: JAMES NOVAK IS TELEPORTING BETWEEN LOCATIONS OF BIGGERSON'S RESTAURANTS ACROSS THE UNITED STATES

"What? Why?" Dean asked, looking just as confused as Sam felt.

+EVASIVE MANEUVER

Another window appeared with surveillance video from a Biggerson's somewhere in Colorado. There was a one-second glitch before Cas appeared at a previously empty table, his hair and tie and raincoat even more rumpled than ever. He looked like he seriously needed the coffee he'd brought with him. He sat there long enough to get a refill, then vanished again. Ten seconds later, there was another glitch, and a group of men and women in suits—other angels, unless Sam missed his guess—appeared beside the table Cas had just vacated. They looked around angrily and disappeared.

"He's trying to keep the angel tablet away from them," Sam realized.

Dean grumbled something about Cas being too stubborn to ask for help.

"Well, it's not like we can catch up with him while he's doing that."

Dean conceded the point with a tilt of his head.

Sam returned his attention to the Machine. "So what about Carter? Can we help her?"

+ASSET JOCELYN CARTER IS INVESTIGATING MURDERS COMMITTED BY AN ORGANIZATION OF CORRUPT POLICE OFFICERS KNOWN AS HR.

Two windows appeared at once, one with an obituary for a Det. Bill Szymanski, the other with an obituary for… Cal Beecher. Both brothers swore.

+ASSET JOCELYN CARTER HAS EXTRACTED HERSELF FROM AN ATTEMPT ON HER OWN LIFE, BUT HR IS NOW TRYING TO FRAME HER FOR MURDER WHEN SHE WAS IN FACT DEFENDING HERSELF FROM AN ARMED ASSAILANT.

Sam's blood boiled. He hadn't talked to Carter much, but from what he had seen, she was a good cop and a good friend to John and Harold. Dean's expression told Sam he felt the same way. If John and Harold were too tied up with this Decima business, the Winchesters would have to step in to help Carter.

"Give me everything you've got on HR," Sam commanded.

His email obligingly pinged with an anonymous email that had HR as the subject and an attachment. When opened, however, the attachment turned out to have been heavily compressed, because all manner of files spilled out—audio, video, emails, organization charts, and more. Dean swore repeatedly.

"We gotta get this to Carter," Sam finally said and started to forward the email.

"Stay," the Machine said through the laptop's speakers.

Sam stopped. "What?"

+ASSET JOCELYN CARTER IS NOT IN IMMINENT DANGER YET.

"We don't want her to be!"

+THE DEMON TARGETING KEVIN TRAN IS VERY ANGRY ABOUT JEREMY LAMBERT'S ATTEMPT TO CLOSE THE GATES OF HELL.

"Well, hell," said Dean. "Was Charlie right about Lambert?"

+IN A SENSE. HE WORKS FOR DECIMA TECHNOLOGIES.

"Then why should we care?"

+THE DEMON BELIEVES YOU ARE INVOLVED. HE MAY TARGET INNOCENT PEOPLE TO STOP YOU FROM CONTINUING.

Dean swore again. "We shoulda ganked Crowley years ago."

"If we kill Crowley now," Sam asked, "will Lambert be able to complete the trials?"

+INSUFFICIENT DATA

"Figures," Dean muttered.

Sam sighed. "Is Crowley likely to target Carter?"

+UNKNOWN

"So why can't we send Carter the files now and let her take down HR while we deal with Crowley?"

+ASSET JOCELYN CARTER WILL NEED YOUR ASSISTANCE WHEN SHE MAKES THE FINAL ARRESTS. EVEN WITH THE INVOLVEMENT OF ADMIN AND ALL OTHER CURRENT ASSETS, I CALCULATE A 98.3% CHANCE THAT ASSET JOCELYN CARTER WILL DIE.

Sam felt the blood drain from his face. "And if we're there?"

+CHANCE OF SURVIVAL: 99%

Sam took a deep breath and looked at Dean.

Dean leaned forward. "All right, look. We're locked down for twenty-four hours. That's plenty of time to figure out how we're gonna gank Crowley and save Carter. But as long as we're in god mode, there's some other information I want, and I don't want Charlie askin' questions about how we're getting it. So I'm gonna ask now."

+INPUT QUERY

"Give us the numbers or coordinates of every known monster in the continental US."

+PLEASE REFINE SEARCH TERMS

"Let's start with shapeshifters. You know what those are."

Sam's email pinged a few seconds later. He opened the new email, with the subject Shapeshifters, to find a long list of Social Security numbers.

"Okay, how about djinn?"

+PLEASE DEFINE

Sam rattled off a description of the two types of djinn they knew about. Two emails arrived, one for each type.

"Vampires," Dean tried next.

A new email arrived.

"Leviathans," Sam said.

+NO RESULTS

"That's a relief."

For the rest of the night, the brothers fed search criteria to the Machine and got list after list of hits, with only the occasional No results or No results in the continental US response until they started going through some of the bestiaries in the library to get data on really obscure monsters. By the time they finished, they had thousands, if not millions, of potential hunts at their fingertips.

Dean sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Thanks, Machine. Here's hopin' this'll save a lot of lives."

"About Carter, though," Sam said. "When we get to New York, we'll probably still need you to guide us to the right threat."

+CONFIRMED

"We'll save her," Dean vowed.

Sam looked at Dean. "You got a plan?"

Dean responded with what could only be described as a Hannibal Smith grin.

May 25, 2013
New York City

Joss was almost dizzy with relief as she finally left the Third Precinct with John in tow. Ever since the Winchesters' little red-headed friend (whose name was so not Carrie Asimov) had turned up at JFK on Monday with a flash drive full of info from a "white-hat hacker" that had given Joss the goods on HR and the Russian Mafia, her life had been a whirlwind of paperwork and arrests and terror and triumph. The FBI and the clean cops had succeeded in rounding up all but the top two men in HR; she and John had delivered Alonzo Quinn to the FBI personally, but Patrick Simmons was in the wind and probably already in Canada. She had her revenge for Cal and Szymanski. She had her rank and reputation as a homicide detective restored. And she had a long talk with John ahead, now that he'd confessed his feelings for her before giving himself up to clear her path to get Quinn the last mile to the Feds. But first, they were meeting Finch for a little celebration. In fact, if she looked, she could just see Finch about half a block away on the other side of the street, coming down the sidewalk toward them.

She turned to look over her shoulder and smile at John.

A payphone across the street began to ring.

She turned back to see Simmons coming around the corner of the building, his face red with rage and his hand raising his service weapon. "I told you I'd kill you—"

BLAM!

Simmons dropped, two gaping holes in the back of his head… and behind him stood the Winchesters, lowering their smoking pistols.

The payphone stopped ringing.

Sam looked across the street and motioned for Finch to get out of sight. Dean stepped around the corpse and over to Joss.

"Dean?" she squeaked.

"You all right, Detective?" he asked.

She fought to draw a deep breath and nod. "Yeah, yeah. Never thought I'd be so glad to see you guys."

That was all the time they had for pleasantries before the unis came swarming out of the building. The Winchesters did most of the talking, but Joss had pulled herself together by the time someone got around to taking her statement. John, of course, had to keep his distance and pretend he didn't know her to preserve his own cover, but she caught at least a few of the worried glances he sent her when he thought no one else was looking.

Once the coroner's van arrived to collect the corpse, though, she finally had time to process how close she and John had come to potentially fatal injury. She didn't know whether John was wearing a vest, but she wasn't wearing one herself. Simmons had been aiming at John, but if she'd put a foot wrong… if she'd drawn his fire at all….

"Hey," said Sam, coming out of nowhere to steady her before her knees could give way. "Are you okay?"

"No," she admitted tearfully as he guided her back to lean against the wall. "I'm not wearin' my vest. He almost… he could have…." She couldn't make herself say it.

"We know," Sam whispered. "That's why we're here."

"And John…."

"Simmons never fired. John is fine."

Joss let out a ragged breath. "Taylor," she said shakily. "My phone… I need to talk to my boy…."

"May I reach into your pocket?"

She nodded jerkily.

Sam retrieved her phone, held it while she found Taylor's number and called, and supported her arm as she held the phone to her ear.

"Mom!" Taylor answered on the first ring. "Are you okay? We just heard on TV that there was a shooting…."

"I'm fine, baby," Joss answered, unsure if he could hear how much her voice was quavering. "I wasn't hurt. I'm okay."

There was a pfoof, probably Taylor sighing in relief. "Okay. Okay, that's… that's good. Yeah."

"Be good for your dad, okay? I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'll hold you to that, Mom. I love you."

"Love you, too, Taylor," she said and lost her grip on the phone.

Sam caught it and hung up for her before sliding it back into her pocket. "Here. Sit down."

She let him guide her into something closer to a controlled sitting motion than a collapse. Her breathing was still pretty ragged. Her mind kept replaying those five seconds… Simmons' short white hair, his twisted red face, his blazing blue eyes, his bellow… his weapon….

"Hey." Long brown hair, worried green-hazel eyes, gentle hands, gentle voice. "Stay with me, Detective."

She nodded. She finally understood why Vicki Winter had thought Henri Musset would have sought out Sam's help in dealing with Alex Declan if they'd known each other at Stanford. Two years ago, given their record and outstanding warrants, she'd have busted the Winchesters just for existing in New York City, but now… Dean had saved her life twice, and Sam… Sam was battling for her sanity.

Speaking of Dean, he walked over to Joss and handed her a bottle of water, dripping with condensation. "Here," he said kindly. "Still sealed."

Joss checked the seal, and it was indeed intact. "Thanks," she said, managed to get it open without spilling, and drank. The cold water was refreshing and grounding at the same time, and she tried not to drink it too quickly.

She'd gotten through about half the bottle when she heard a male voice say, "Ed Solis, IAB. I'm looking for Det. Carter."

And suddenly she was looking at the backs of the Winchesters' legs, as if they already knew that Solis had been the IAB detective who'd railroaded her after HR had set her up. Solis himself was clean, as far as she knew, but he'd been too quick to believe HR's version of events over hers.

"Det. Solis," Dean called in a commanding voice. "Agent Daltrey, Agent Bonham, FBI." The brothers flashed their FBI credentials in tandem.

Solis sounded surprised when he answered, "Agents. New in town?"

"We're stationed in Topeka," Sam lied. "We're doing follow-up on a serial case we worked with Det. Carter back in February, out on Owen Island. Just got to town this afternoon. Confidential source told us we could find Det. Carter here, and we showed up just in time to keep her from getting shot."

"Det. Carter never even touched her own weapon," Dean added. "We fired the only shots. If anyone's Internal Affairs needs to look into this, it's the Bureau's, not NYPD's."

Joss decided it was time to speak for herself. "You still think I'm trigger-happy, Solis?"

The Winchesters stepped aside to let her make eye contact with Solis, who at least had the grace to look ashamed. "For what it's worth, Carter," he said, "I'm sorry about what happened last time. But the call tonight said 'officer-involved shooting.' I have to check it out."

"I was 'involved' only in the sense that Simmons almost shot me! What do I have to do to prove that? Submit to a paraffin test? Let you check my weapon? Wait while you get video from the RTCC, which—oh—you shoulda done already? Wait for the damn autopsy to show that he died from two shots to the back of the head, which I could not have fired while standing in front of him, and for ballistics to prove neither shot was fired from my gun?!"

Solis raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, I've got your statement. It fits what the ME already told me. You're free to go."

"Thank you," Joss returned and accepted the hand up that Sam offered her.

"We're parked around back," Dean told her as she brushed herself off. "Drive you home?"

She considered a moment—John had disappeared, apparently—and then nodded. "Thanks."

The brothers ushered her back through the building and out to the rear parking lot. And there stood the Winchesters' infamous Impala, parked in a blind spot beneath a camera; Finch was standing by the front bumper, and John was sitting on the hood. They looked like they'd already had whatever conversation they needed to have about the shooting and were waiting for her.

"Let's get outta here," Dean murmured.

John opened the rear driver's-side door for Joss while Sam jogged around to get the rear passenger door for Finch. Joss slid to the middle of the seat, and Finch and John got in on either side of her. Then the Winchesters got in the front, closing their doors at exactly the same time, and they drove away.

John waited two blocks before wrapping Joss in a crushing hug and pressing trembling lips to the top of her head.

She leaned against his chest. "I'm okay, John. I'm here."

"Promise me," he choked out. "Promise me you'll always wear your vest from now on."

"Only if you'll make me the same promise."

"Joss, I almost lost you."

"And I almost lost you. Will you let somebody other than Finch worry about you for a change?"

Joss suddenly felt Finch's trembling hand slide into hers. "For what it's worth, Detective," Finch said quietly, "I have lost too many friends in recent years. I am glad to count you still among the living." He squeezed her hand, sniffled, and shifted to look out the window.

She squeezed back. "Glad we still have you, too, Harold."

An unfamiliar ringtone sounded, and Sam answered, "Hey, Charlie. … Where? … Sounds good. Text me directions. … Awesome. See you there."

Joss let herself drift as Dean drove further uptown, losing track of time and location as she simply listened to John's heartbeat and felt the gentle pressure of Finch's hand. Part of her did worry that it was too soon to be moving on from Cal—it had been only a month since she'd lost any chance to work things out with him—but wherever the future with John might lead… here and now, she was just glad to be alive and safe and loved.

At last, the Impala came to a halt in front of a midtown diner. Inside, seated at a large round table, were Fusco and Shaw and the red-head, whom the Winchesters greeted as "Charlie." By unspoken agreement, Joss wound up at the very back of the table, sandwiched between John and Fusco, while the Winchesters sat at the outside ends of the curved booth and let Charlie introduce them to Shaw.

They hadn't been there long when a waitress brought them menus and took drink orders. "And just so you know," the waitress said as she wrote down the last order, "your meal has already been paid for by the gentleman at the counter."

Joss thought she recognized the man even from the back, just from his tight-fitting shirt, slicked-back dark hair, and deep tan. Then he turned, and the scar that curved from the corner of his eye across his high cheekbone confirmed her gut instinct—it was Anthony Marconi, Elias' right-hand man. She hadn't told anyone that she'd saved Elias from a joint hit by the Russians and HR, but apparently this was Elias' version of a thank-you note. Marconi winked at her and raised his coffee cup in salute, drained it, and left without another glance at their table.

"What was that all about?" John asked.

"Nothing," Joss said and put her head on his shoulder. "I'll tell you later."

Shaw and Charlie carried most of the conversation until the waitress returned with the drinks. But once the drinks were delivered, Finch sat up even straighter than usual.

"I'd like to propose a toast," he said, raising his glass. "To life."

"To life," Shaw echoed.

"L'chaim," said John, Fusco, and the Winchesters.

Joss could only smile, raise her glass with the others, and drink.

Meanwhile, across town, the security cameras of a particular branch of OneState Bank went to static as a powerful spirit walked through the walls, into the vault, and up to the safe deposit box registered to one Ruediger Smoot. The locks opened at a touch, and shortly thereafter a hand reached into the box to pull out two backup drives, which contained an AI program called Samaritan. A swipe of said hand erased both drives. Then, after a moment's consideration, a snap of the fingers encoded the drives with a virus that would not only destroy the computer that read them and all other computers and servers connected to that computer but also place an especially nasty curse on the one who ordered the drives stolen.

No matter what happened, Arthur Claypool—alias Ruediger Smoot—would never know that his brainchild was no more. If the Machine and her human pals managed to get to the drives ahead of Decima, they'd destroy them, and the curse would never be triggered. Jeremy Lambert had been captured and killed by Crowley before he could complete his mission, for Decima or for the Winchesters, so it was possible that Decima was far enough behind that Team Machine would win this one, although Decima still had other shenanigans in progress that the humans would have to deal with on their own. But if not, if Decima got to the drives first, which seemed more likely… well, John Greer was planning to turn Samaritan into a false god, one that would threaten more than just Team Machine. In Gabriel's book, that made Greer deserving of a very good trick indeed.