Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Text

4.18: MONSTER AT THE END OF THIS BOOK

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The apocalypse.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How are you handling all of it?”

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

“I mean—” Chuck began to argue.

“No. You’re not.” Sam reiterated.

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

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

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

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

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

“And?” Dean demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Castiel shifted uncomfortably, but remained steady in his gaze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And with that, the angel was gone.

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That is not an option right now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What kind of sick joke is this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

George only nodded with a smile.

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

“I missed you, kiddo.”

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

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

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

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

George smiled at him. “Cas did it.”

Bobby frowned. “Cas? The angel?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

George nodded with a grin. “Got it.”

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Save the Winchesters.

Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe,” Bobby responded vaguely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Same thing,” Bobby replied with a look.

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, that’s correct.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Any ideas yet on what it might be?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, so how do we kill it?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re sure?”

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

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

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

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

“So why a banana farm?”

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

“Vampiric ghost? That’s a thing?”

“Unfortunately,” George nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yup.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure she's gonna come back?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Enjoying yourself?” George smiled in amusement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

“What’s next for you?” Sue asked.

“I’m not sure yet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not going anywhere without you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Be safe, kid.”

Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What crimes?” Castiel asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“At the warehouse?” Sam asked in clarification.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everything okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bobby nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Love you too, dad.”

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

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

Chapter Text

4.21: When The Levee Breaks

Bobby kept his promise and kept George updated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But she couldn’t have him.

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

The silence held. No response from the angel came.

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All right. If you’re sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Same for you, kid.”

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bobby,” Dean struggled out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

George nodded. She’d heard this story before. From Dean, from Bobby, from Sam. Even from John one drunken night.

“Sam might’ve wanted out of the hunting life, Dean, but he never wanted away from you.”

Dean was quiet as he looked down at his hands. “Don’t think he feels that way anymore.”

“Why?”

“The last thing I said to him in that hotel room earlier…” Dean’s voice strained as he struggled to repeat the words he’d yelled out in anger at his brother. George waited patiently, knowing Dean needed to do things in his own time.

“The last thing I told Sam was that if he walked out that door, he better not come back.”

George’s eyes closed softly with the words. They had been the same words John had yelled at Sam the night he’d left for Stanford. Her lips parted in a heavy sigh.

“And I meant it,” Dean continued with a sniffle, his voice returning to his sharp edge. “I’m done chasing him, George. I’m tired of it. He can do whatever he wants now.”

“He’s still your brother.”

Dean looked down at her before his gaze fell away in thought. “I’m not so sure anymore.” He looked back over at her with a sharp sadness, their eyes meeting. “I’m not so sure he ever was.”

A tightness formed in George’s chest with those words, a sudden irritation growing. “Bullshit,” she spit out with a humorless laugh.

Dean’s head snapped up from where he’d looked away at her sudden change in attitude. “What?”

“You heard me,” George pushed up onto her feet and stood in front of Dean, hands on hips like a mother about to scold a child. “It’s all bullshit and you know it. You’re not sure Sam was ever your brother? Are you serious? Are you freaking kidding me right now?”

“Look, you don’t know—” Dean began to argue, rising to his own feet only to be cut off by George.

“Oh, don’t tell me I don’t know everything; that I don’t know what I’m talking about. You know damn well that Sam Winchester is your brother. That he has been and always will be Little Sammy.” She stepped up to him, poking him in the chest. “And you’re Dean Winchester, Sam’s big brother that will always be there for him, no matter how hard or dark or awful things get.”

Dean stood silently as George continued her tirade against him. “Family sucks, Dean. I know that better than most, and so do you. But that doesn’t mean that we turn our backs on them. You think Levi and I always got along? That, had it not been for Al, we would’ve had dream lives? Well, newsflash, Dean, family doesn’t work like that. Family means you get to see the dark secrets and ugly side of each other, that you get to shove and they shove you back harder, but at the end of the day, you’re still there for each other and still love each other. And you are the one that is there by their side when the world shoves them down, shoving the world right back for them. Because that privilege—the privilege of shoving them back—belongs to you and nobody else.”

George’s chest heaved as she finished her irritated rant. Her shoulders moved as she took a deep, calming breath.

Dean paced away to the window as he processed her words. Deep down he knew she was right. Sam would always be his brother. And heaven and hell be damned, he would always fight for him. He was just so tired of fighting.

“You need to call him, Dean. Remind him he’s not alone in all of this. That he still has his big brother.”

George watched as Dean gazed out the window. She released a heavy sigh, her eyes closing softly for a moment. When she opened them again, however, Dean was no longer in the motel room.

But neither was she.

Chapter Text

George looked around the room she suddenly found herself in. The faded papered walls of the motel were gone, replaced with something more cold and sterile looking. The walls were solid, no windows or doors to be found.

She spun on her heels, taking in the entirety of the square space. It wasn’t large, but neither was it small. A steel table sat at the center of the room, a single white fabric chair tucked beneath. Unsure of what was happening, she pulled out her phone, lifting it high above her head. Despite the action, however, the phone refused to receive a signal. Frustrated, she snapped it closed and shoved it back in her pocket.

Panic threatened to rise up into her throat, but George kept it at bay. Panicking wouldn’t do anyone any good right then, certainly not her. She tried to find a sign, a book, a crack in the wall—anything that might give her an idea of where she suddenly found herself, but fate it seemed wasn’t on her side.

Minutes crept by. George searched the walls, hopeful in finding a way out of whatever prison she’d been dropped into. Something told her this was the work of angels. It made the most sense. If it were true, that meant she was in trouble. And there was no way out of the box she’d been locked in.

After another few minutes, a man finally appeared. George flinched inside slightly at the sudden appearance of the man in a suit, but she held back her outward movements. She wouldn’t give her captors the satisfaction.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the thorn in my side. I’d say it’s finally nice to meet you, but then I’d be lying.” The man was tall and round, his hair buzzed short to hide the receding hairline. His face held a look that made George want to slap him. The smile on his face was forced.

When George didn’t respond to his words, he held a hand out to her with a pep she could tell was fake. “Oh, where are my manners? I know who you are, but you don’t know who I am. The name is Zachariah.” George remained still and silent, forcing the angel to pull back his empty hand.

His face turned into something more sinister, his smile more predator-like as he continued on. “And you’re George Finley.” He pointed at her as he began to casually pace the bare room. “You know, now I know how Job felt. That thorn in his side.” His words were filled with forced politeness but still snarled with disgust as he turned back to her. “Festering and oozing puss from infection. I just can’t seem to quite get rid of the thorn that is you.”

George studied the man in silence, unsure of what was happening. “Where is Dean?” She finally dared to question.

Zach smiled at her with self-satisfaction. “Dean is right where he needs to be. He’s no longer someone you need to worry about. Dean Winchester made his deal and now he’s keeping his promise.”

“What promise is that?” George was hesitant to believe a word that came out of the angel’s mouth. She didn’t know if angels lied, but she knew they wouldn’t hesitate to twist things around to make you think something else.

The angel's face turned more irate, his words sharp with a forced lightness. “That’s nothing that concerns the likes of you, missy.”

“What about Castiel?” She tried. “Where is he?”

Zachariah turned on her with a snarling look barely covered by his forced smile. “Castiel is where he belongs. We’ve made sure that he understands, once again, whose side he’s on. That he knows he serves heaven and the story written for us.”

Concern for the angel she had grown to consider a friend rose, giving her the courage to step closer to the fiend of an angel stood before her. “What did you do to him?”

Zach, however, waved off her question as if he were swatting at a fly that might barely be pestering him, his face turning to something more relaxed. “You know. Now that we have you, we aren’t quite sure what to do with you. I mean, we could toss you back where you came from, but,” he held his hands up with a slightly disgusted look, “I don’t like to get blood on my hands.”

George pushed away the emotions and feelings the thought of going back brought. There wasn’t time to think about that. Instead, she let her fists curl against the fear and anger she felt rising. “So what now? You just keep me locked up for all eternity?”

Zach leaned back with a smile, as if she’d just given him the best idea he’d ever had. “Now there’s an idea. Let’s start with that, shall we?”

With that question, he disappeared, leaving George alone again.

“Great.”

*****

Dean looked on in complete confusion as Zachariah droned on about the apocalypse. He’d finally shown his ugly face after a short period of forcing Dean to wait. When Dean had turned away from the motel window to respond to George’s pleas that he call Sam, he’d found himself in a white room with golden accents. The place resembled something you’d find in a fancy hotel or a mansion. A marble topped table and chairs sat in the center of the room. A bucket of ice with bottles of Dean’s favorite beer sat next to a platter of bacon cheeseburgers. Fancy statues littered the surfaces of the rest of the room.

The angel had shown up and immediately started talking about the end of the world and Dean’s place in it. Dean had refrained from asking about George, hopeful that she’d gotten out before the angels discovered she was there.

Now, Dean struggled to wrap his mind around what Zach was explaining. The angels had wanted to break all the seals. Despite the impression they’d given Dean and his brother, breaking the seals had been their goal all along. Him, Sam, and George never stood a chance. And now Dean was learning that he wasn’t going to be the one to kill Lilith or stop the apocalypse. At least not the way he had thought.

Zachariah explained that Dean was needed to stop Lucifer. But that made even less sense to him. If he couldn’t stop Lilith, like Zach claimed, then how the hell was he supposed to stop Lucifer? There was so much the angel wasn’t telling him, and what little he did, made no sense at all. What Dean did know was that there was a chance Zach was wrong about it all. Because Dean had George.

Zachariah finished his spiel on the end times and heaven’s vaguely shared plans and started to walk away. “One day, we’ll all look back on this and laugh,” he said with a smug face.

“Tell me something.” Dean’s words made the angel pause in his steps. “What makes you think that’s how things are gonna go down?” He asked, referencing the vague story line Zach had just laid out.

The angel laughed smugly as he threw his arms out. “Because it’s already been written.”

Dean gave the angel a curious smirk. “It’s been written?”

“Yes.” Confusion clouded Zachariah’s face, not understanding how Dean couldn’t grasp that simple concept.

“What if it doesn’t go down the way you think it will though?”

Zach’s face fell slightly at the knowing question, his tone turning more serious. “It will. Because like I said, Dean. It’s already been written.” His voice turned more venomous with his next words. “And no smudge of a stain is going to change that.”

Dean knew who Zach was talking about: George. George was the blot on their story and it pissed them off to no end that they didn’t know how.

“In fact,” Zach stood straighter, his voice returning to something more casual but more dangerous. “I’m just on my way to make sure that specific stain is wiped away completely.”

Dean’s face fell, fear rising in his chest. “No.” He darted forward to attack the angel, to stop him somehow from getting to George, but in the next second, Zach was gone.

*****

George continued to scan the walls, running her hand across the material in hopes of finding a crack, anything that she could use in her escape. Finding none, she leaned against the corner, sliding down until she hit the floor. She took a deep, mind-clearing breath and began to work through all the knowledge she knew in order to find a way out. She could banish the angels away, but then what? Could their absence make the material susceptible to damage?

Her mind continued to work through everything, the gears turning quickly but smoothly. Her return, the angels’ intense interest in Sam and Dean, the seals breaking… none of it was making sense or adding up. What the hell was heaven up to?

Catching onto the thought of the seals, George’s mind ran full speed. How were the demons breaking all the seals so quickly? How was it possible for them to beat out the angels? Weren’t the angels supposed to be so much stronger?

It was the answer to those questions that led to George having a brain spark. What if the demons weren’t beating the angels? What if the demons were winning, not because they were beating the angels, but because the angels weren’t fighting to begin with?

The thought of that being true caused fear to rise and join her panic. This wasn’t good. If that were the case, she needed to get out of there and get to Sam and Dean. They needed to know what was really happening. With this speck of gleaned information, it seemed as if the dam of her mind burst, the pieces of research Castiel had insisted she spend her time studying finally fitting together in a way that made sense.

According to prophecies and ancient scriptures, the angels and demons were preparing for their final showdown. Both sides needed Lucifer raised for that to happen. That was what heaven’s story said, she concluded. The apocalypse was the final battle between Lucifer and Michael. Heaven versus Hell. George hated herself for not connecting it all sooner.

Pushing herself up to her feet, George looked at the room with renewed determination. Grabbing the single chair there, she began to swing at the wall. With only a few swings, the chair broke to pieces. Undeterred, she raised her fists, pounding at the same spot the chair had hit.

Her mind continued to work as she pounded against the wall, connecting more dots. Castiel had said heaven and hell were going to try and tear the boys apart. But why? What did they need with the brothers?

A thought passed through her mind, the shock of it causing her to pause in her futile work on the wall. Her fist rested against the panel as she took in a deep breath, her eyes wide. “Well shit,” she breathed out. Lucifer and Michael. The final fight of the apocalypse. Sam and Dean. Somehow, they were connected. Somehow, heaven and hell were going to use the Winchester brothers to break the final seal and let loose Lucifer; use them to obtain their perfect story-line of two archangels battling it to the death. The event would wipe out most of the earth’s population, if not all of it.

Desperate to find a way out, George lifted her fist again to pound against the wall, only to suddenly find herself, once more, somewhere else. Rather than her fist pounding against a metal wall, she found herself knocking lightly on a familiar wooden door in a familiar little town.

George stumbled back a couple of steps in surprise. She looked around suddenly, spinning each way, unsure of what the hell was happening.

A moment later, the door opened up to reveal Dr. Perkins looking at her with slight surprise on his face. “George!” He spoke kindly. “Come in, come in.”

George looked around again before following her friend into his entry and through to his living room. Her mind swirled in complete confusion, unable to work out what was going on. She knew Zach hadn’t sent her here. Had it been Cas? Had it been someone else?

“It’s good to see you again. What brings you to these parts?” Dr. Perkins’ welcoming words pulled her from her running thoughts. Hesitantly, she sat in the chair he motioned to, her eyes scanning her surroundings once more.

“I’m not entirely certain, doc,” she answered honestly.

Chapter Text

Dean was anxiously pacing the room he was trapped in. Panic and fear swirled in his chest. He needed to get out of this damn place and get back to George. He needed to know what was happening, that she was okay.

He turned to pace back the room’s length once more only to stop in his tracks at the sight of Cas now standing before him. “Cas, what the hell is going on? Where is George?”

Castiel’s face turned soft for only a second before his face returned to its hardened state. “I know how much you care for her, Dean, but things are happening now. You need to focus on that.”

Dean gave the angel a hateful look as he resumed his pacing past the angel. “So what, you're here to play good cop to Zach’s bad cop?” He spun in anger towards the angel. “Why are you even here in the first place, Cas? Huh? You won’t help me get back to Sam, you won’t help me get back to George. So then what the hell is it that you want?”

When Castiel didn’t answer, Dean scoffed out in frustration. “What are they gonna do to George? To Sam?”

Castiel paced away a few steps, his mind thoughtful. “George will be placed where she belongs. As for Sam,” he turned to look at Dean. “We aren’t going to do anything to your brother. He’s going to do it to himself.”

This caught Dean’s attention. The words caused dread to settle in the pit of his stomach. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Again, Castiel remained silent, simply looking away in response. Frustration formed again in Dean. “Oh, that’s right. You gotta toe the company line.” His words dripped in a venomous sarcasm as he stepped up to the angel. “Why are you here, Cas?”

Emotions and thoughts battled inside of Castiel’s mind. He knew what was expected of him, what heaven wanted, what had been written. But he liked to believe that Dean was his friend. “We’ve been through a lot together,” he started.

Dean’s voice was hard when he responded before Castiel could finish his thought. “Yeah. You’ve been through a lot with George too, it seems.”

Castiel paused at this, his brows furrowing.

Dean continued, answering the angel’s unspoken question. “Yeah, that’s right. I know. George is alive. She’s back.” His chest swelled with so much joy at those words, but he pushed it down with a deep breath. The moment required focus on the issue at hand. He needed to get out of there and find her, because his heart was tearing apart not knowing what Zach was putting her through. It pissed him off to no end that he was stuck here with a traitorous angel and not able to do a damned thing to save her or Sam.

“You know, you told me once that she told you she saw you.” Dean pointed at Cas’ chest. “The real you. Said you weren’t like the other angels.” He looked around the room, his arms stretched out at his sides. “Standing here? Right now? Seems like you were wrong. Like she was wrong.”

Dean shook his head at that, allowing his arms to fall to his sides. “But one thing I know in this life, Cas? People are wrong about a lot of things. But George? No. Not her. George makes sure she has the right answers before she opens her mouth.” He held the angel’s gaze, his hard glare challenging him. “So which is it, Cas? Is George wrong? Or are you?”

Castiel took a moment to formulate his response, the battle inside of him evident on his face. “Try to understand, Dean. This is long foretold. This is your—”

“Destiny?” Dean cut off with a sharp tone. “Don’t give me that ‘holy’ crap. You already told me George changed the story. A story that heaven is using as their playbook. Well guess what, Cas? That playbook is outdated! There’s a new one that they don’t have. But you do.”

Castiel sighed out. “Dean,” he tried again, to again be cut off by the Winchester, his voice rising.

“No. You know George. You know us. You’ve seen people. Been around them. Hell, you even helped save them! But now? What? You’re gonna watch them all burn? For what? A dick of an angel named Zachariah?” Dean stepped back up to the angel, again challenging him. “Do you really think they’re telling you the whole story, Cas? Are you so naive to just do whatever the hell it is that they tell you to, no questions asked?”

Having finally been pushed too far, Castiel snapped back, meeting Dean’s challenging glare with one of his own. “What is so worth saving? I’ve seen inside of you, inside of George. There is nothing but guilt, pain, and sorrow. In paradise, you’ll finally be at peace. Even with Sam. George,” Castiel stressed, “the person you seem to care about the most—George will finally know what peace is.”

Dean’s entire frame froze at those final words, his brows curving slightly in bafflement. “What do you mean ‘George will finally know peace’?”

The angel paused, realizing the words he spoke in a fit of frustration. His jaw worked to recover his secret, but Castiel’s mind struggled to provide any words.

Dean adjusted his stance, anxiety thrumming through his limbs. “You said George was in heaven, that she was at peace. That’s what you told me. So what do you mean, Cas?”

For once, Cas had the decency to look remorseful. “I thought—I was under the impression that she was in heaven’s care. That she…” His words trailed off.

Dean leaned forward slightly, angling his head to catch Cas’ eye line. “You mean heaven lied to you. You mean George wasn’t in heaven?”

Castiel nodded solemnly.

“If she wasn’t in heaven then that means she…” Dean’s chest pounded painfully with the words. “This whole time? She—George was in hell?”

Guilt flooded through Castiel’s frame. The angel wasn’t George’s personal guardian; there was no way for him to have actually known, but he felt the guilt just the same. “Yes.” He met Dean’s glistening eyes full of fear. “It seems hell was on the look out for her soul. She had defeated so many demons, they had been keeping a close eye out for her passing.” Castiel took a breath as he worked to explain to Dean Winchester what had happened to the woman he loved. “When they gripped her soul, heaven it seems, turned a blind eye. They considered her a blot on their story. A stain they would rather remove. And so they allowed it.”

Dean spun, running a hand across his mouth as fought against everything right then; worked to wrap his mind around the truth. The thoughts and memories of what he had experienced in hell himself rose to the surface. Knowing now that George had suffered through the same things he did… His eyes glistened with pain and empathy.

Anger drove through his heart, his fists clenching, his voice rising, as he spun back on the angel. “And this is what you’re choosing over us? You see us living the lives that we do, you see heaven letting an innocent soul go to hell, and yet you’re still choosing that over us?”

“Dean,” Castiel tried, though there seemed to be no strength left in his voice. His words were stopped when Dean stepped up to him once more.

“Let me tell you something. This pain? And guilt? And anger? I’ll take it. Hell, I’ll even take Sam as is. Because it’s better than being fed lie after lie from some stepford bitch. And that?” Dean gestured to the angels beyond the walls of his gilded cage. “That ain’t paradise, Cas.”

Castiel turned away from Dean, avoiding the harsh glare the man gave him with the put-down.

“There is a right and there is a wrong. And right now, you know that whatever the hell heaven had planned isn’t right!” Dean grabbed Castiel by the shoulder and turned him around, forcing the angel to look at him. “You know it!” He yelled at him.

Taking a breath in a futile attempt to calm himself, Dean continued berating the angel into seeing sense. “You know it, Cas, because you know George. And there is no way something evil is the one keeping her in the story. You wouldn’t have rescued her if you thought for even a second that it was the wrong thing to do. You knew what was right and what was wrong. But then they dragged you back to bible camp and forced you back into being the good little soldier you claim to be. But we both know that’s not who you really are, Cas.”

Dean’s eyes turned pleading, his voice softening as he spoke of the woman he loved. “We both know that George saw something better than that in you. Otherwise, she never would’ve stayed with you, never would’ve confided in you. She never would’ve trusted you.”

A war raged inside Castiel’s mind. Everything that Dean was saying fought against everything Castiel had been taught, had known and believed for millennia. In such a short time, Dean, George, and even Sam, had shown and taught the angel things that he knew to be right, but warred against what heaven claimed was right.

“You wanna help us? Help me? Help George? Now’s your chance.”

Castiel inhaled deeply, his head still turned away, unable to meet Dean’s gaze. “What would you have me do?” He asked with an almost defeated desperation.

“Help George do what you told her she’s supposed to do. Save her and get me back to Sam. Help us stop this before it’s too late.”

“If I do that, we will be hunted,” Castiel snarled in warning.

Dean’s anger returned. “George is already being hunted!”

“We will all be killed!” Castiel tried again, fear evident in his voice.

Dean held Castiel’s gaze, his shoulders relaxing slightly, his voice low. “If there’s anything worth dying for, it’s this. It’s for all of us, and all of this. For all the innocent people that are going to die because angels want to follow a story that isn’t even right.”

Castiel’s jaw worked as he ruminated on Dean’s pleadings. He knew the man was waiting for a response, but he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to make the decision he knew deep down was right.

“Come on, Cas,” Dean pleaded once more.

Castiel opened his mouth to respond when a sound caught his ear. His head tilted slightly, an effort to more clearly hear what it was. “Dean,” Castiel began, the strength in his voice returned, though his attention was still on the voice.

“Come on, Cas. You know—” Dean tried again, believing Castiel had spoken in protest again. Before the Winchester could offer another pleading argument however, the angel was gone. Defeat spread through Dean’s body.

*****

George heard the familiar fluttering of wings and turned back around. “Cas,” she breathed out, relieved that the angel had heard her. The pair stood in the backyard of Dr. Perkins’ home. Uncertain of what was happening or going on, George had resorted to praying to Castiel. She knew she could trust him to help.

Not allowing George a moment to speak, Castiel stepped over to her, gripping her shoulder. “I need your help, George.”

In the next blink of an eye, the pair stood in a white room with gold accents. George’s eyes widened as she caught sight of Dean.

**

Back in that small town, Dr. Perkins stepped out from the kitchen door into the back yard, a warm cup of tea in his hands. George had excused herself to make a call a few minutes earlier while he made her a cup of tea. As he took in the sight of the now empty yard, a small proud smile spread across his face. He hummed lightly to himself as he turned back into the house, taking a small sip of the steaming tea he held, returning to his chair and the crossword that sat beside it.

**

Unaware of their arrival, Castiel strode forward, grabbing Dean by the shoulder and spinning him around. Silently and swiftly, he clamped his hand over the Winchester’s mouth and shoved him back against the wall.

Dean’s eyes widened at the sudden assault. They softened in the next moment however as he caught the sight of George over the angel’s shoulder. Understanding the moment, he looked back at Castiel, nodding. He would stay quiet.

Castiel released Dean and stepped back to George. Pulling out the demon knife he looked at her, a silent conversation seemingly held between the two. George nodded, accepting the knife from Cas. She stepped close to him, hugging him tightly in order to whisper in his ear. “Get as far away as you can, Cas.”

The angel nodded, disappearing in the next second.

George turned to Dean, sending him a smile. As if acting as one, the pair reached for each other, holding on tightly for just that moment. Time was running out, they both knew that, but they needed to hold each other for just a moment. Just to know the other was okay.

George pulled back first, knowing what had to be done. Stepping away from Dean, she lifted the demon blade Castiel had given her and drew the sharp edge against her forearm. Dean’s face morphed into concern as he watched the blood begin to seep from her skin. He wanted to stop her, but he trusted her. She knew what she was doing.

George handed the knife to Dean, using her free hand to dip into her blood and draw a sigil against the pristine white wall. After a few strokes, Dean recognized the mark, understanding what she was doing. He recognized the sigil from the warehouse they’d found Jimmy Novak. She was getting ready to banish the angels away.

“What the hell is happening here?!” Zachariah’s voice boomed through the small room with his sudden appearance. He turned angry eyes on George. “How are you here?”

The large framed angel began to storm towards the couple but it was no use. George peered over her shoulder with a smirk, slamming her palm against the wall. In the next instant, a blinding light lit the room, banishing the angels from the space.

As soon as the light dissipated George turned to Dean. “We need to go. Now. That asshole will be back soon.”

“How are we getting out of here? I’ve tried, trust me, sweetheart,” Dean looked around the room. “There’s no way out.”

George gave Dean a knowing look. “Do you know me at all, Winchester?” She grabbed his shoulder and quickly led him over to a clear space of wall. “Your turn,” she said, motioning to the wall.

Dean looked at her confused. “For what?”

“You’re the muscle,” she mused, pointing at the wall. “Kick it out.” When Dean still didn’t seem to comprehend, she continued. “With Zach and his goon squad not around to hold the spell, it’s just drywall.”

With understanding, Dean wasted no time in sending a booted foot through the wall with a forceful kick. They peeled away the hole, making it large enough for them to escape through, crawling out into a large open space. It seemed the entire display had been set up in a large warehouse.

Dean looked over at George with a smile, grabbing onto her hand. “That’s my girl.” The two quickly made their way outside into the sunshine. “Now where?” Dean asked. “We can’t outrun an angel.”

George gripped his hand and pulled him along, the pair making their way farther down the road. When it started to seem like George didn’t know where she was going, she finally pulled Dean to a stop at the edge of an empty and overgrown parking lot. There, Castiel stood waiting for them.

“Hey, Cas,” George called as the couple approached.

Castiel nodded in hello before turning to Dean. “We need to get to Sam.”

“Say less,” Dean responded anxiously.

“We have to stop him,” Castiel persisted.

“I know.” Dean wasn’t understanding where the extra commentary was coming from. He had George, now he only wanted to get to his brother.

“No, you don’t understand, Dean. We need to stop him from killing Lilith.”

Dean tilted his head at this information. “But Lilith needs to die before she can break the final seal.”

George shook her head. “Lilith is the final seal, Dean. As much as I want that bitch dead, we can’t let Sam kill her. If she dies, the end begins.”

Dean looked over at Cas. “So what are we waiting for?”

“We need to find out where Sam is,” Castiel explained. With that simple and vague explanation, he reached out and grasped both Dean and George by the shoulders. A moment later they were standing in the center of Chuck Shurley’s living room.

They watched as the man paced away from them on the phone. He apparently had seen the end of the world as well, talking to someone in an effort to order a pile of call girls for a party. When Chuck turned around and caught sight of the new arrivals in his living room, the man froze, his voice catching in his throat.

“I’m gonna have to call you back.” Hanging up the call, he scuttled over to the others. His eyes held a panic as he looked at Dean and Cas, but widened even more so when they stopped on George.

“You’re…” he trailed off, unable to find the words.

“Yeah,” Dean said, stepping forward slightly, as if to protect George from the writer. “She is.”

“But…but…she’s not,” Chuck turned to Cas, his finger scanning between the three. “You’re not… Neither of you are in this part of the story. Not here. Not now.” He pointed at George. “Not ever.”

“Guess we got a different version,” George replied with a shrug. “Where is Sam?”

“What?” Chuck looked between the three of them. “No, no, you guys aren’t supposed to be there.”

“I’m not gonna ask again, where’s my brother?” Dean stepped up to the writer.

“He’s uh…” He swallowed his words. Understanding the threat, Chuck turned slightly and grabbed a manuscript off of the cluttered desk and quickly offered up the answer. “He’s at St. Mary’s.”

Dean took the offered script from Chuck, reading through the page Chuck had turned to. “St. Mary’s? Is that like a convent?”

“Yeah, but like I said, you’re not supposed to be there. You’re not in the story.” He looked over at George who was reading over Dean’s shoulder. “She’s definitely not supposed to be in the story.”

Before anything more could be said, a bright light began to shine through the windows, the items in the room shaking on the shelves.

“Awe, man,” Chuck groaned out as he scurried to hide like a mouse. “Not again.”

“Not what again?” George asked, reaching out to brace herself on a bookshelf against the shifting building.

A high pitched hum filled the air, the entire building seeming to shake with a roar. Castiel turned to warn Dean and George. “It’s the archangel! He’s here to protect the prophet.”

“Well, shit,” George breathed out as she looked around at the items falling from the shelves.

“I’ll hold him off. You two stop Sam!” Castiel placed his hands on Dean and George’s heads, transporting them to a church in Maryland in the blink of an eye. St. Mary’s.

It took a second for George to adjust to the sudden change of location and noise level. They stood in a hall built of stone, candles the only source of light in the dark night. The two hunters shifted, scanning down each hallway before looking to each other.

“We stay together,” Dean said, grabbing George’s hand and heading down one of the hallways. George wouldn’t argue. Things tended to go to hell whenever they split up.

The quiet noise of people grew as they jogged farther down the hall. Dean came sliding to a stop as he turned a corner, George right behind him. They both looked down the new hall to find a set of opened double doors. Ruby, Sam, and Lilith stood in a face-off on the other side.

Fire raged through George’s blood. She hated demons. With every fiber of her being. But Ruby outmatched them all. The bitch had almost succeeded in destroying the Winchester brothers. She’d driven them apart, playing and toying with Sam’s mind, convincing him to follow her til the end. Whatever happened next, Ruby needed to end here. Permanently.

George and Dean moved to run towards Sam, to stop him from unknowingly breaking the final seal, but Ruby heard them first. The demon looked over her shoulder at them with a satisfied smirk before lifting a hand and slamming the doors closed, locking Dean and George out.

“Son of a bitch!” George yelled as she pounded on the door. “I hate demons.”

“Sam!” Dean pounded on the door, calling for his brother. George and Dean screamed Sam’s name again and again, their fists wearing down from the force of their beating against the solid doors. “Don’t do it, Sam!”

Suddenly, something in the air shifted. George’s pounding lessened, as she focused on the change. Dean paused in his fight with the door to look at George, their chests rising and falling in tandem. He had felt it too. Somehow, they both knew. They didn’t know how, but they could tell they were too late. Lilith was dead. Sam had broken the final seal.

“We’re too late,” George whispered, eyes widening with a subtle shake of her head.

Dean’s jaw worked in anger. “It’s not over yet.” Glancing around for something, he spotted a tall candelabra just down the hall. Running to grab it, he returned and began to bash it against the door. After a few hits, it finally gave way, revealing Sam and Ruby. Beside them lay the dead body of Lilith, blood flowing from her head to form a pattern on the stone floor. George had never seen something like it before, but she could easily guess what it was doing. It was the key that would unlock the cage, releasing Lucifer into the world.

Ruby turned to face them, a smug look on her face. “You’re too late.”

“I don’t care.” Dean growled out at the woman, his teeth gritting as he and George moved across the stone floor in unison.

George gripped the angel blade Castiel had gifted her weeks prior. Something beyond murderous rage and hatred for demons flooded her veins. No, this was a fiery protection and hell-bent revenge. Ruby had messed with George Finley’s family, and there was a price to pay for that.

Booted steps echoed off the stone walls as George’s rapid steps drew closer to the demon. As if seeing in George’s eyes what was coming, Sam grabbed Ruby’s arms from behind the same time that George grabbed her shoulder, her nails digging in with a strength that surprised the demon.

“You messed with my family, you bitch.” With the strength of all her rage, George drove the angel blade straight through Ruby’s chest.

With a gasp, Ruby’s body lit with an orange glow before it faded away, the vessel falling to the floor, the demon finally dead. Satisfaction filled George as she looked over at Sam, her chest heaving. Never again would Ruby be able to hurt her boys.

Without hesitation, Dean stepped closer, his eyes looking to his little brother. Sam’s eyes were filled with tears, his face full of guilt, remorse, and sorrow.

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered, his voice cracking. There were no words to describe how Sam felt in that moment. He had betrayed his brother, Bobby, George; he’d betrayed the world. All because he had put his trust in a demon. Something Dean and George had warned him against time and time again. Yet, he had still done it. And now the world was going to pay the price for his stupid mistake.

George stepped closer to the brothers, placing a hand on each of their arms. But there wasn’t time for anything else. A bright pillar of light shot straight up from the pooling blood, a roar getting louder by the second. George gripped the boys’ arms tighter. “Time to go!” She yelled over the sound.

In the blink of an eye, the growing pillar of light grew drastically, a bright white light enveloping everything.

And then the boys were gone.

Chapter Text

It became quickly apparent that whoever was consistently saving the Winchester brothers had no interest in saving George. As the blinding light grew, the boys disappeared, leaving George by herself in the abandoned church.

Realizing she was about to face down Lucifer himself, George jumped into action. “I’d rather not meet the devil face to face,” she whispered to herself and to whoever had taken the boys.

Spotting the large stained glass window in the room, she grabbed the candelabra Dean had used to break down the door and smashed it through the window. Colored pieces of glass fell, skittering across the floor. Only taking the time to remove enough of the remaining glass to allow herself to escape, George climbed through the window. The remaining shards protruding from the casing dug into her legs as she climbed through, collapsing onto the grass on the other side. Ignoring the now bleeding slices, George pushed herself up to her feet and began to run. She’d suffered worse pain than a few slices, and if she didn’t hurry, she’d experience much worse pain with the devil’s arrival.

Her feet pounded against the overgrown grass, her only intention being to put as much distance between her and St. Mary’s as possible in as short a time as possible.

The column of light behind her seemed to explode, the noise sounding akin to a jet engine as it enveloped the entire church. It continued to grow, shooting up beyond the clouds in the sky and spreading across the lawn, chasing at George’s heels. The heat grew against her skin as the light encompassed her. The force of its arrival shoved her forward, her hands reaching out to help break her fall into a roll on her shoulder.

Instead of falling against soft grass, however, George fell against something hard. The ear splitting roar was replaced abruptly with the sounds of crickets quietly chirping, the soft grass now a solid door.

George gasped at the sudden change of environment before she steadied herself on her feet and looked around. Rather than seeing the fields of an abandoned church in Maryland, she saw the front door to her apartment and the small town she once resided in.

George spun around, taking it all in as she worked to slow her heartbeat. What the hell was going on?

*****

“What the devil is your name?”

“Sa—s–s— Yosemite Sam!”

Dean and Sam slowly lowered their arms as they looked up in confusion. No longer were they about to be smote by Lucifer’s arrival. Instead, they found themselves on an airplane, classic cartoons playing quietly on the screens in front of them, the ringing in their ears slowly fading away.

“What the hell?” Dean asked quietly, disconcert and uncertainty spreading.

“I don’t know,” Sam replied as his eyes scanned the passenger-filled plane.

“Wait,” Dean spun in his seat, panic flooding through him. “Where’s George?”

Before Sam was able to respond, the shockwave from a sudden and blinding pillar of light caused the plane to tilt, the pilot being forced to conduct an emergency maneuver in order to maintain control of the plane.

Dean looked out at the light from his window, the sight terrifying. He begged anyone that would listen that George had made it out of that disaster alive.

*

As soon as they were allowed to disembark from the plane that had been forced to make an emergency landing, Dean headed straight for the first payphone he could find. He needed to call Bobby. His own phone had been fried in the opening of the cage.

Sam easily kept up with his brother’s furious pace, his own concern and disbelief rising as he worked to process everything that had just happened. “George is really back?”

“You saw her with your own eyes,” Dean answered, not slowing his pace.

“How?”

“Cas brought her back.” Dean gritted his teeth in worry and fear. “And now I’m about to lose her again.”

Sam shook his head as he offered reassuring words to his brother. “If she was brought back, there had to be a reason. And I don’t think whoever brought her back would just let her die immediately after, man.” A concern crossed his mind. “Do we know who brought her back?”

“No,” Dean said as he stepped up to the payphone and began to dig in his pockets for change. “But I can tell you it wasn’t heaven. Or hell.”

His brother’s words made Sam curious but also concerned. “Well, that’s good news, right?” He tried to be optimistic. “Maybe we’ve got someone bigger on our side.”

Dean didn’t have a response for Sam’s optimistic comment. While he was grateful to whoever brought George back to him, he wasn’t about to trust them or count them as an ally. Not yet. Not until they had more answers. Punching in Bobby’s number, Dean waited impatiently as the phone rang.

“Hello?” The old hunter finally answered.

Dean didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Bobby, tell me you’ve heard from George.”

The response was quick but calm, Bobby recognizing the man’s anxious voice. “She’s okay, Dean.”

Relief flooded through Dean, his body collapsing slightly against the phone terminal. He nodded to Sam, conveying the good news. “Do you know where she is?”

“She said she popped up in front of her apartment.” He paused. “She also said Lucifer is back. That true?” Bobby believed George, but he wished she’d be wrong for just this one time.

Dean sighed into the phone. “Yeah, he’s back.” His eyes lifted to Sam, causing the younger man to look away in shame. “Thanks, Bobby. If you can, let George know we’re on our way to pick her up.”

“Will do. You be careful. And take care of each other.”

*****

Thankfully, it was only a few hours drive to George’s apartment. George was sitting on the bottom of the stairs that led to her front door when the boys pulled up in a rental car.

As soon as Dean had the car in park, he jumped out and found his way to George, pulling her into a crushing embrace. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he breathed out into her neck before pulling away to look at her. “You are okay, right?” He held her at arms length, inspecting her person for any visible injuries.

“Yeah, I’m okay, Dean. A few cuts on my legs from some stained glass, but they were easy enough to clean up. I’m just thankful that someone pulled me out in time and sent me here. At least I had clean clothes and a decent first aid kit.” George’s tone was light as she looked up at Dean. Her eyes tore away from him as Sam stepped from the car and hesitantly made his way to the pair.

A smile lit George’s face as she took in the sight of her friend for the first time since she’d come back. She pulled away from Dean, meeting Sam halfway, her arms open in welcome.

Though it stayed hesitant and uncertain, Sam’s smile lifted as he returned George’s hug. “I’m glad you’re back. I missed you.”

“I’m glad to be back,” George smiled.

“Yeah, somehow I think you’d rather be back in heaven than down here dealing with all this,” Sam said lightly, having his best friend return acting as a balm to the misery of the world.

Dean caught the flash of almost pain that crossed George’s face with Sam’s words. “Alright kids,” Dean said, stepping up to the pair and turning the subject away. “The day ain’t over yet. We’ve had our reunions, let’s get going before things start falling apart again.” He led the way back to the car, Sam and George readily following.

He wished they could stand around and catch up, maybe drink a beer or two. But Lucifer was rising and the world was about to end. Besides that, Dean knew the truth of where George had been. As far as Sam knew, George had been happy and at peace in heaven. It would be better for his brother if it stayed that way for now.

In truth, Dean didn’t know how he hadn’t figured it out before–though he hadn’t really had the chance. But as they pulled out onto the main road and headed in the direction of Chuck’s house—their next stop for answers—Dean looked in the mirror at the woman sitting in the back seat. The look in her eyes was a familiar one—one he’d seen too many times when he looked in the mirror. Though, admittedly, George seemed to do a better job of hiding it than he had. But it was there, hidden behind the fighter that she was.

Though he desperately wanted to just pull her into his arms and tell her it would all be okay, that he knew and he was there for her, that he understood; he wouldn’t do it. Dean wouldn’t ask her about her scars from hell. Not yet. George would need her own time to process it and come to terms with what she had endured. Until then—and ever after—he would be there for her. When it all came crashing down and it all became too painful, he would be there for her.

*

After a few hours worth of driving, the trio arrived at the front steps of Chuck’s house. They didn’t bother knocking this time around. Seeing as the front door was partially open and it was clear the house had suffered a serious storm, they pushed their way in, past the broken furniture.

They found Chuck in the living room, hugging a bottle of liquor amidst the war zone that now made up his home. Blinds were shredded, furniture was smashed to bits, personal effects littered the floor, and most alarmingly, blood was splattered throughout every room it seemed.

“Chuck?” Dean called out carefully as they approached the man.

The man startled from his position, scrambling to his feet at their approach. “Sam?” The man’s face showed the shock he felt at seeing the Winchester alive.

“Hey, Chuck,” Dean said, relieved that he had survived.

“You’re okay,” Chuck breathed out in relief to Sam, his anxiety high as he panted for breath. “The last vision I had of you—you went full-on Vader. Your eyes—your eyes were black.”

Concern marred Dean’s face at that news. He looked over at his brother. “Your eyes were black?”

Sam turned slightly to look at Dean, shame covering his features. “I didn’t know,” he answered softly but honestly.

“Where’s Cas?” George asked, changing the subject to something not focused on Sam. It was clear whatever had happened was a tense subject—something they could come back to later on. But for now, they needed to focus.

The question drew Chuck’s attention, the prophet finally realizing a third person was in his house. “You…how—how are you here? This is… you’re—” The man seemed to struggle to breathe through his stuttering question.

“Where is Cas, Chuck?” Dean asked, pulling the prophet’s attention back on track.

Chuck stared at George a moment longer before tearing his gaze away and answering Dean. “He’s dead. Or gone. The archangel smote the crap out of him.”

George’s heart stuttered a beat at the news. She had considered Castiel a friend of hers. He had made some mistakes, some bad decisions, but hadn’t everyone? The news that he was most likely dead was saddening.

“Cas, you stupid bastard," Dean said with a shake of his head.

“Stupid?” Sam questioned. “He was trying to help us.”

“Exactly,” Dean answered.

“Oh crap.” All three hunter’s attention snapped to Chuck with his words.

“Oh, crap, what?” George asked, but the answer given came from behind them.

Zachariah’s voice was loud. “Thought we’d find you here.”

As if in reflex or second nature, Dean and Sam stepped forward and together, partially shielding George from the new arrival and his two goons.

“Play times over, Dean. Time to come with us.”

“You just keep your distance, ass-hat,” Dean said, anger dripping from his words.

Zachariah stopped in his steps, remaining on the other side of the room. He cheekily smiled at Dean’s words. “You’re upset.” It was an observation not a concern.

“Yeah, a little,” Dean answered. “You sons of bitches jump-started judgement day!”

“Maybe we let it happen,” Zach defended with a smile, “but we didn’t start anything. Right, Sammy?”

Anger burned in George’s chest with that last comment. “Bullshit you didn’t start anything,” George snapped, stepping up beside Dean rather than hiding behind. Dean held out a hand, grasping her forearm to hold her back from potentially attacking the angel.

Zach’s face morphed into one of disgust at the sight of George. “You again. How do you keep surviving? You’re like a cockroach that keeps coming back,” he said, turning to share his words with the two angels stood beside him. “Now, getting back to the pressing matter, it’s time to come with us, Dean. You want to kill the devil, we want you to kill the devil. We’re all back on the same team.”

“And how exactly is he supposed to kill the devil?” George asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “And the full playbook this time would be nice.” She gave him a sarcastic tight-lipped grin before letting it fall from her face.

Zachariah forced a laugh at her question, shaking a finger at her angrily as he forced a smile. “Always with the questions, this one.”

“And yet you never have the answers,” George snapped back.

The angel’s smile fell, replaced with how he truly felt towards her: anger and spiteful hatred. “Won’t you just die already?” He growled out.

“Hey!” Dean snapped, stepping closer, Sam following suit. “Watch it!”

“We don’t have time for stupid questions from an insipid little girl. Dean, we need to move now. We need to strike hard and fast. Before Lucifer finds his vessel.”

“His vessel?” Sam asked curiously.

Two seconds ticked by as Zachariah remained silent. George caught the look on his face: as if the angel had spoken something aloud he was meant to keep quiet. She had a pretty good idea what he was hiding when it came to that specific topic. Castiel’s forced week and a half of studying and research had allowed George to learn quite a bit about the end times. Combined with her brain spark in her angel prison room, she was fairly confident in what she’d put together.

“He is an angel,” Zach chuckled. “Thems the rules.” Lucifer would need a vessel just like any other angel. And it would require permission being given.

The room was quiet as Dean considered his answer. He took a breath, his voice hard with his response. “You listen to me, you two-faced douche. After what you did, I don’t want jack-squat from you!”

Zachariah’s forced lightness dissolved to anger. “You listen to me, boy!”

With that, George stepped forward, her patience with the angel run out. She stopped no more than three feet from the angel, an angel blade gripped tightly in her hand. It had been tucked into the inside pocket of her coat, knowing that the angels weren’t going to sit back and let them walk away from the end of the world. Not when they seemed to so desperately need Dean to win.

Zachariah stepped back in silence, his eyes wide. “Where did you get that?”

“A friend,” George said. She knew should Zach really want to defend himself, all he had to do was snap his fingers. But it was the principle of it all. She wouldn’t stand idly by and let this asshat mess with her boys any longer.

Zachariah looked over her shoulder at Dean. “You gonna call off your guard dog?”

Dean shrugged. “George is her own woman. She can make her own decisions. Hell, if she decides to gut you from the inside out, I might just help her.”

Zach dared to take a half step closer, his anger evident as his voice grew. “You think you can rebel against us? Against heaven? You think…” His words trailed off as his eyes finally caught on the blood dripping from Dean’s hand. “You’re bleeding. Why are you bleeding?”

“Yeah,” Dean said confidently. “Insurance policy in case you dicks showed up.” In a quick and clean movement, Dean spun around, pulling open a pocket door to reveal the angel banishing sigil. Without hesitation, he slammed his palm against it. The angels vanished in the next second.

The trio of hunters each looked at each other, their minds whirring as they processed everything that was happening.

“This sucks ass,” Chuck breathed out.

George, Dean, and Sam heartily agreed.

*****

Sam pulled into the parking spot beside the motel the three of them were staying at. They’d left Chuck to figure out the state of his house and headed out of town. They’d driven for a short while before deciding it was time to stop for the night and take some time to rest.

While Dean showered, George ran an errand to the nearest apothecary shop she could find, Sam offering to tag along. Knowing his brother would be with her, Dean felt better about her leaving, even if just to a nearby store.

Though it had taken a couple stops, George had managed to find the ingredients required to make two masking spell hex bags.

Now, she sat in the front seat beside Sam, tying the last one closed. She looked up at Sam as he put the car in park. “Thanks for helping with this.”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded hesitantly. “I was happy to help.”

It was obvious that Sam felt a heavy weight of shame and guilt over having broken the final seal that opened Lucifer’s cage. George knew it wouldn’t be something easy to let go, or to forgive himself for, but she was determined to not let him carry the burden alone. While he had made the decision, and a few wrong choices, the blame couldn’t fully lie with him. In fact, George laid complete blame on the angels and the bitch named Ruby.

“Here you go,” George handed over the hex bags. “You and Dean make sure you keep these on you at all times. It’ll help keep you hidden from angels and demons.”

Sam nodded, taking one of the bags and tucking it into his pocket.

George fiddled with the empty paper bag that had held the supplies. Gathering the courage, she finally spoke, the thought weighing on her mind. “I noticed you were familiar with the ingredients.”

Sam nodded, his eyes staring at the center of the steering wheel. “Uh, yeah. Ruby taught me.”

George nodded in understanding. She reached to open the door, only pausing when Sam spoke again.

“She was playing me the whole time.” The man looked down in shame at his hands in his lap. “I should’ve listened to Dean. He told me. He warned me. You even told me to trust Dean. That we would need each other.” Sam sighed with his confession. “But I was just… I was just being selfish.”

“No,” George corrected. She laid a gentle hand on Sam’s arm, garnering his attention. “You were trying to save your brother. To do the right thing. You couldn’t have known, Sam.” With those words, George pulled her hand back, her own focus turning to her now fidgeting hands in her lap.

Sam, having noticed the sudden change, frowned. “George?” He called softly.

George twisted her hands together with her own guilt. “I knew, Sam,” she confessed quietly. “I figured out that Lilith was the last seal.”

This time, Sam was comforting her. “Hey, you couldn’t have—” his words were cut off by George shaking her head, her words firm.

“Al might’ve been a bastard, but he made sure to teach me one thing, above anything else. Over and over again he made sure I knew. I had to know. I had to be prepared. I had to have the answers. Right then. I had to be ready before I even stepped foot into the fight. Because if I didn’t…” she paused, her chest rising with a breath as she looked out the windshield at the world going by. “If I didn’t, then mistakes were made. Wrong choices were chosen, and people died.” George watched the people walking past, living their lives. Oh how she wished she could have lived one of their lives, going about the regular day to day, existing in complete and total ignorant bliss. But she hadn’t been so lucky. She was a hunter who saw the dark underbelly of the world. Her gaze dropped to the dashboard as her eyes held steady in memories. “He was a bastard, but he knew what he was doing. And now, it’s not just someone dying. It’s the entire freaking world.”

The pair sat in silence for a few seconds before Sam tried again to reassure his friend. “George,” he started, but George waved off his words.

“No, please don’t, Sam. There’s nothing you can say, just like there’s nothing I can say for you. Not this time.” Her attempt at a smile was pitiful but honest.

Sam collapsed back against his seat, remaining silent. Because he knew she was right. There was nothing anyone could say for either of them. Each of them held the guilt of the world ending on their shoulders, in their own way, and nothing would take it away.

Quietly, the two climbed out of the car and made their way up the exterior metal staircase that would lead to the room. At the top, George paused. “Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Regardless of everything else? You and Dean need to talk.”

Sam thought on her words for a second before nodding.

*

Closing the room door behind him, Sam turned and tossed one of the hex bags to a freshly showered Dean.

“What’s this?” Dean asked as he looked down at the dark velvet pouch.

“Hex bags,” George explained. “They’re not perfect, but as long as you keep it on you, it should keep you hidden from angels and demons.”

Dean nodded as he looked at the bag. “Speaking of which,” he hedged carefully, looking up at Sam. “How are you feeling? You jonesing for a hit?”

George waited for the answer. Sam had essentially become addicted to demon blood, using it to fuel his psychic abilities to exorcise demons and send them back to hell. It had all been a ploy on Ruby’s part to get him strong enough to kill Lilith. George too, had wondered if Sam was dealing with any sort of withdrawal.

“No,” Sam answered confidently. “It’s weird. To tell the truth, I’m fine.”

George sat back on one of the beds in relief. That was one less thing they’d need to worry about.

Dean lightly tossed the hex bag from hand to hand in thought before nodding. Holding it up, he pointed at George. “What about you?”

“What about me?” She asked in confusion.

“You get one too?”

“Ah. Uh, I actually don't need them.” George subconsciously rubbed at her ribs in memory.

“How not?” Sam asked, intrigued.

“Rib tattoos. Courtesy of Cas.” George continued her explanation, though her words remained vague and reluctant. “When…well, when I came back, heaven didn’t know and uh, hell wasn’t too happy. So he hooked me up. Kept me off everyone’s radar.”

Sam tilted his head slightly, a puzzled look taking over. “Angels didn’t know you were missing from heaven, but demons did?”

Dean looked at George, but turned his attention to reloading the gun sitting on the table beside him, already knowing the answer to that question. George avoided looking at anyone, instead offering only a shrug before focusing on her duffel beside her.

Sam noticed the sudden awkwardness, though he wasn’t sure what had caused it. Deciding it was best to move on, he turned back to his brother. George was right. They needed to talk. He took a deep breath before stepping closer. “Listen, Dean, about—”

Dean, already knowing what was coming, cut his brother off before he could continue. “Sam, it’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.”

Sam chuckled humorlessly. “That’s good because what can I say? I’m sorry? I screwed up? Doesn’t really do it justice, ya know?” There was a pause before he continued. “There’s nothing I can do or say—”

Dean’s frustration became evident in his tone, his voice raising a level. “So why do you keep bringing it up?” He didn’t want to dwell on what had happened, he didn’t want to think about how his brother had turned his back on him and trusted a demon over him. Dean didn’t want to deal with any of it anymore.

“Dean!” George scolded softly, her face disapproving.

Dean tossed the magazine he was reloading onto the table, feeling chastised by George. His hands rose for a moment in surrender. “I’m sorry, okay? I just—I wanna move on.”

Sam shrugged with his arms. “So do I. Trust me, but,” Sam glanced at George who gave an encouraging nod. “We need to talk about this.”

“What more is there to talk about, Sam?”

Sam’s frustration was growing; for Dean as well as himself. “How about how I broke your trust? How I turned my back on you?”

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but Sam didn’t give him a chance.

“About how you turned your back on me and pushed me away just as much?”

Dean raised a finger at his brother. “I never pushed you away, Sam. You ran.”

“Dean, you called me a monster. And I don’t blame you,” he rushed out, “I don’t. But you pushed just as much as I ran.”

“I apologized for that, Sam,” Dean defended, his tone carrying a sharp edge.

“When, Dean? Because last I checked, you didn’t.”

“I left you a voicemail.”

Sam’s brows furrowed. “What? When?”

“When you ran off with Ruby.”

Sam adjusted his stance as he thought about the voicemail. Sam hadn’t forgotten it. The words he’d heard come through in his brother’s voice hadn’t left him since he’d heard them. Dean had called him a monster, a blood-sucking freak. He’d said he wasn’t going to save Sam anymore, but rather kill him for the monster he was.

“Dean,” Sam said, his voice quieter, “I listened to that voicemail. There was no apology.”

“What? No.” Dean’s face contorted in disbelief and confusion. “I said that I was still pissed and owed you a serious beatdown for what you did, but I apologized for what was said.” His voice softened, his next words coming out honest and sincere. “No matter how bad it gets, it doesn’t change that you’re my brother. Always will be.”

George rolled her eyes in slight amusement at the situation. “You boys are idiots.”

Both Sam and Dean looked at George, each one clearly offended and confused.

“Angels are trying to split you up. Look at everything that’s happened. Heaven and hell want you at each other’s throats for some reason. Pretty sure they did some hinky shit to change that voicemail in their favor.”

Realization played across the brother’s faces. Sam’s held more relief and looked less burdened with the knowledge that Dean didn't hate him. His relief was short-lived as he asked a question. “If heaven and hell want us split apart, then what chance do we stand against them then? I mean, are we really gonna stand here and pretend we can hold our own against an entire host of angels?”

George thought back on Castiel’s words. He had said she was needed. She still wasn’t entirely certain how, but for now, she would be their glue, their shield. Heaven and hell wanted her, so she would use that to their advantage: George would be the distraction.

Rather than sharing those thoughts, she shared another fact she knew to be true. “You boys are Winchesters. And if I know anything about Winchesters, it’s that they’re pretty good at surviving the impossible.” She smiled up at the boys. “Now, shake hands and make up.”

The brothers chuckled at her demand, but obliged, hugging each other tightly.

“Good,” George said smugly as they parted. “Now that the chick flick moments are over, what now?

Dean gave her a look but plopped down on the bed beside her, looking between her and Sam. “Let’s say this is just another hunt. What’s first?”

“We, uh, we figure out where the thing is,” Sam offered up.

George scrunched her nose in dislike. “Great. Any ideas on how to find the devil?”