Chapter Text
Chapter XIII
And Then, the Heavens Screamed
Sam pushed Anna behind him, drawing the knife from his jacket. With his hand wrapped tightly around the sword's handle, Dean stepped forward, placing himself firmly between them both and the threat.
"Hello, boys," Alastair greeted, wearing a smarmy smirk. "It's a pleasure to see you."
"Can't say the feeling's mutual," Dean shot back without missing a beat.
The demon's smile only widened. "How unfortunate, Dean," he purred, the name rolling off his tongue like a shared punchline only they were in on.
Off to the side, Shemhazai adjusted the cuffs of his suit with slow, deliberate movements. He cast Alastair a fleeting side-eye, his lips twitching briefly into a sneer. By the time Alastair glanced his way, Shemhazai's attention had already moved, fixing solely on Dean.
Dean stiffened, cold sweat trailing down the back of his neck. Around them, the Throne's eye orbs scattered through the air, spinning lazily, watching everything. Dean tucked his grace tighter against his soul, pressing them so close together, it almost hurt.
Shemhazai might not care that Dean Winchester was Michael's true vessel—he considered Michael Lucifer's prey after all—but if his True Sight wasn't too damaged by his corruption, if he saw the truth of his real identity, Dean would be dead before he could blink.
Worst-case scenario, he could absorb the third fragment of his grace. It wouldn't be enough to defeat a Throne, but it would be enough to buy time to at least send Sam and Anna away.
Dean held his breath when Shemhazai's brow furrowed, his gaze sharpening, searching. A silent prayer to Father to not be recognized formed inside Dean's mind almost instinctively.
After an excruciatingly long moment, Shemhazai's calculating eyes finally moved away, landing on Sam instead.
Dean exhaled quietly. The Throne didn't see who he was or recognize him. If he had, Dean would already be a smear on the floor. Still, dodging this specific bullet didn't mean they were safe now or had found a way to defeat him. Even outrunning him was near impossible.
Only one choice left.
'Castiel,' Dean sent the urgent prayer out, unable to keep a commanding edge from slipping into his tone. 'Another Fallen's here, stronger than the last one. Bring the cavalry and get your ass here. Now.'
Sam shifted beside him, visibly uncomfortable under the suffocating scrutiny of the Throne. His muscles were coiled tight, ready to spur into action at any given moment. Behind them, Anna stood silent, her whole body trembling, though her face remained stubbornly composed.
Dean kept a wary eye on the orbs as they floated around them, slow and methodical, forming a loose circle around the three of them. One drifted too close, and Dean's instincts flared. He jerked his head in its direction, almost drawing the angel's sword to attack it before the orb moved away.
"Now, now," Alastair said, his voice a silky mockery. "No need for all this hostility. We're all friends here, aren't we?" His fake, friendly smile faltered for a split second when Dean shot him a glare, but he quickly masked it with an even wider grin and nonchalant attitude. "Am I wrong?"
"What do you want?" Sam asked.
"The girl," Alastair answered with a casual shrug, like he was asking for a drink at a bar.
Immediately, Dean's protective instincts bristled at the demon's demand. He didn't know much about Anna, didn't know her true identity yet or why she had fallen. Hell, for all he knew, she could turn out to be an enemy, but right now, all he could see was a lost and vulnerable younger sibling in danger, and until proved otherwise, Dean was going to protect her. "She's not some object to be peddled," he snapped.
Alastair scoffed, but before he could retort with some snide remark, Shemhazai's low, calm voice cut cleanly through the tension, "I have no interest in peddling," just as he casually waved his hand.
An invisible force slammed into the brothers like a freight train, launching both of them across the room. They crashed into the wall, and Dean barely had the time to roll out of the way when the statue of Mary tipped over and fell.
Anna screamed. Shemhazai loomed over her now, his dark eyes, deep as voids, focused like a predator's circling its prey, fixed on her and seemed to paralyze her body and root her in place.
"I am here to make you an offer," Shemhazai said. He sounded disarmingly gentle, smooth, and patient. "I have seen the truth. I have seen your sadness, your fear, your dissatisfaction with the current state of Heaven, and the betrayal you feel toward the one who made you. I have seen your desire to be free, to make your own choices instead of continuing on like a mindless drone, even if it meant losing yourself."
Her face pale and eyes wide, Anna stood frozen as if the Throne's gaze had her bound within its grasp.
Shemhazai's expression softened. He reached out his hand to her, palm open in offering, voice lowering to an almost entrancing whisper. "But our brother Lucifer understands. He does not forget those cast aside by Heaven. He cherishes us. Join us, sister. Help free him from his unjust prison and be part of a new order."
Those words, slick and persuasive, hung heavily in the air. Anna stood frozen, breath caught in her throat, and even Sam stilled as he gawked at her, shock clear on his face. It wasn't that hard to connect the dots and piece together the implication, even if the idea of an angel being born human was still foreign.
Keeping one eye on the few shimmering orbs that followed them and now kept circling like vultures, Dean pushed himself off the floor, sending the silent prayer out again, 'Castiel, hurry the hell up.' He couldn't let Anna take that hand, couldn't let her fall for those twisted words and false promises. Castiel would come—he had no doubts that he would—so he just had to stall for time.
Alastair was suddenly there, sliding in to block Dean's path with the smug grin and twinkling eyes. "Ah-ah," he tutted, wagging a finger. "Let the grown-ups talk, Dean."
"Or what?" Dean demanded, stepping closer until he was standing face-to-face with the demon. "You gonna run back to your master with your tail between your legs?" He gestured toward Shemhazai, indicating him being the master, and smirked. "That's all you are, aren't you? Hell's little mutt, barking behind someone bigger."
Alastair's smile twitched, a tiny crack in the mask.
Dean continued, "Thirty years. Every day, you begged me to take the knife. And the one time I did—out of pity, just for a single cut—you got so rattled, I swear I could feel your pride shriveling up." His grin was ice-cold, nothing but contempt written in the lines of his features. "And then you put me back on the rack, hoping to break me again. But I didn't scream, did I? Not once." His voice dropped as he leaned slightly forward, closer to Alaistair's ear, delivering the next words like it was an open secret. "You weren't torturing a soul. You were embarrassing yourself."
The demon's eyes flared, flashing white, and his lips pulled into a snarl.
Dean adjusted his fingers on the sword's handle, at the ready, waiting. One wrong move, a single opening, and he would swing.
Surprisingly, Alastair pulled himself together. His smile returned, but anything even remotely resembling friendliness was gone now. Only pure viciousness, malice, and sadistic mockery remained.
"Poor Dean," he drawled, soft with false sympathy. "You really don't know what you did for us, do you?"
Alastair took a step closer, fearlessly getting right in Dean's face, so close that Dean could feel his breath ghosting on his skin.
"The moment you picked up my razor and sliced into that weeping bitch, even if it was a single cut," he paused, savoring the moment of Dean stiffening, waiting for his reaction that he was so sure would come. "That was the moment the first—"
A sudden gust of wind whipped through the room, cutting Alastair's words short. And with the wind came the unmistakable sound of multiple beating wings. The moment a group of figures appeared, pressure dropped upon the church like a storm front.
Dean let out a breath, a tiny bit of tension easing from his shoulders. Finally. The cavalry was here. Not as big as he had hoped, but it should be enough.
Eight angels stood in formation, each holding a blade already drawn, standing straight with the stillness of a soldier who had no doubts about their mission. Their wings fanned wide in a display of power and resolve for battle while their eyes glowed with the cold, ethereal blue light of their grace.
Castiel stood at the front, equally ready. His gaze swept the room once, sharp and calculating, taking in the surroundings of the potential battlefield. It lingered on Dean for a second longer, then his attention flicked to Anna and finally locked onto Shemhazai as he commanded, "Step away from her."
Shemhazai scoffed. The orbs hovering in a loose circle above him gathered closer to each other, rotating slowly, watching like wary predators. "How hypocritical, brother," Shemhazai spat the last word as if it was filth he couldn't wait to be rid of.
"We are no brothers to the likes of you!" Uriel snarled, his wings rustled in warning.
But Shemhazai only smirked, a little amused twitch of his lips. "Indeed," he mused. "So why should I step away? It is my duty, as her elder kin, to protect her from the likes of you. Pretending to be righteous while sharpening your blades behind your backs to drive through her heart. Isn't that right…" His gaze landed squarely on Uriel. "Brother?"
Uriel's temper flared together with his grace as he took a step forward, his blade half-raised. Castiel caught him by his arm. A single shake of his head made Uriel growl, but he compliantly backed off.
Then, Castiel looked back at the Throne and said, "She's not one of yours."
"She's not one of yours, either," Shemhazai countered smoothly. "So why not let her choose?" He turned his head toward Anna, though the orbs continued to watch the angels like blinking stars. "The side that would welcome you… or the one that would kill you. The choice is yours, sister."
Visibly shivering, Anna swallowed hard, her panicked gaze darting between the angels and the Throne.
"She doesn't need to choose," Dean chimed in unexpectedly. "She belongs with us."
Every head turned toward him—Shemhazai's, the angels', even Anna's. Dean met their stares without flinching, full of confidence, squaring his shoulders under their scrutiny.
Shemhazai sneered, "A little bug thinks its opinion matters," and looked away, dismissing not only Dean's words, but his whole presence entirely.
Dean wasn't done yet. "You said she could choose," he remarked, sounding so casual that it bordered on absurd considering the situation. "I'm just giving her the third option, the one that won't try to use her or kill her. The one that'll protect her."
That got Shemhazai's full attention. This time, he turned his entire body, his wings unfurling from where they rested behind his back. A sign that Dean's interference got on his nerves. Several of the orbs turned in sync, locking onto Dean.
"You are nothing but dust," he said, hissed at him. "Inferior. Insignificant." His tone increased in volume with each uttered word. "I could destroy you with a thought." And then it changed, multiplied, reaching heights way beyond what human ears could handle. "Be silent in my presence!"
His true voice shattered the air like glass.
The sonic wave ripped through the room. Windows exploded, furniture rattled, and a thick cloud of dust kicked up into the air.
Dean's grace stirred, a low hum beneath his skin like a layer of defense, shielding him from the Throne's true voice. He caught Sam just as he staggered, clutching his ears, jaw clenched in pain.
Anna had no such protection. She stumbled backward, knees giving out, and she collapsed onto the glass-strewn floor, hands over her ears, eyes shut in agony.
Alastair growled, scowling as he rubbed his temple, but otherwise unfazed. Perks of being a high-ranking demon, no doubt.
Still staring daggers at Dean, Shemhazai raised his hand.
Dean instinctively shifted, keeping Sam behind him, bracing himself for the blow. Whatever this damn bastard planned to hurl at him, he would take it head-on.
But before the attack came, Castiel lunged. Sunlight pouring through the broken windows glinted on the blade of his sword as he slashed horizontally in a clean, practiced arc.
Shemhazai sidestepped, evading the strike by a hair's breadth. Even when the metal missed flesh, the force of their colliding graces detonated in midair. A blinding flash burst from the impact point, and the space there rippled and swelled before imploding, blasting another shockwave through the church.
The angels didn't flinch. The humans and the demon, however, were sent stumbling back once again.
Shemhazai's expression twisted into fury. His four wings stretched to their fullest, feathers dripping black, tar-like substance in bigger quantities than before. The eye orbs scattered, whipping around the room so fast they blurred into streaks of light.
"How dare you!" he snarled, eyes blinking dark inky blue with lighter shades of blue lines mixed in. "A mere Seraph challenging a Throne!"
As his true voice rang out again, Sam doubled over with a cry, hands pressed over his ears. Anna curled into herself beneath the shattered window, shielding her head. Even Alastair had to catch himself on a nearby shelf, grimacing in obvious pain.
Castiel didn't waste breath on meaningless conversation and pressed forward. This time, the other angels moved with him. Two sides clashed in a supernova of light and cosmic power that made the entire church shudder. The floor buckled. The roof groaned, and soon debris rained down.
Dean moved just in time to avoid a broken roof beam that slammed into the spot where he had stood a second before. He grabbed Sam by the shoulder, forcing his brother's dazed eyes to meet his own. "Sam!" Dean shouted, shaking him, hoping the urgency on his face would break through the ringing in Sam's ears. "We have to move! I'll stop the demon, you get Anna!"
Sam blinked, trying to focus. Blood trickled from his ears. He watched Dean's mouth closely, brow furrowed, and after a moment, finally nodded. Without a word, he crouched low and moved along the wall in the direction of Anna, careful to stay out of the angels' line of fire.
Dean turned around.
And there was Alastair, stalking through the swirling dust and chaos, eyes gleaming, teeth bared in something too vicious to be a smile.
Dean stepped forward to meet him, spinning the sword once in his grip with the ease of long-forgotten habit. It had been millennia since he had held an angel's blade, but its weight was as familiar as breathing, and its hum resonated with his very being, stirring his grace to its smallest threads. Maybe it was that connection, maybe it was the sheer overload of celestial power suffusing the air, either way, he didn't—couldn't—stop his grace from rising.
It bloomed, poured out, crackling faintly around him, and wrapped his body like a well-worn armor.
Alastair halted mid-step. He must have felt it, the subtle change in Dean. Too much was happening around them to tell what exactly, but his instincts should have picked up on it. "There's something wrong with you," he seethed. "There was always something wrong with you!"
Dean just smirked, slow, deliberate, as if Alastair was the only one not let in on this joke.
It hit its mark, getting under the demon's skin because his face darkened in utter rage, eyes flaring white. With a furious roar, he lunged.
Dean ducked under the wild swing, caught Alastair's other arm mid-strike, twisted it, and used the momentum to pull him closer, driving the sword straight through his gut.
Alastair choked on the impact, blood bubbling from his mouth and dripping down his chin. "That's a nasty little stick," he gurgled, lips curled into a parody of a grin, even if his expression tightened in an obvious pain. "But it won't kill me!" He twisted suddenly, his arm snapping toward Dean's throat like a striking viper.
Dean leaned back just in time, the blow grazing past. "No," he uttered, "but it should hurt!" With a hard kick, he slammed his feet into Alastair's chest, launching him backward. The demon crashed through the weakened floor from the angel's battle and vanished into the jagged hole.
Dean didn't waste a second. He knew Alastair wouldn't stay down forever. The demon was old, strong, and the angel's sword he wielded neither was his in the first place nor was it made for the Archangel's hands. Definitely not for the one running on scraps of their grace. But it should put Alastair down for the count long enough to get Sam and Anna out of here.
Dean turned, eyes zeroing in on them. They were nearly at the exit, Sam doing a damn good job dragging Anna along despite the relentless onslaught of flying debris and the angels' true voices.
Without hesitation, Dean broke into a sprint across the battered room. He reached Sam and Anna in seconds, scooping Anna into his arms just as another piercing scream rang out and she and Sam both almost went down on their knees. She immediately wrapped her arms around Dean's neck and buried her face in the crook of it.
"Grab on!" Dean barked at his brother.
Blindly, Sam reached for him, fingers wrapping around the handful of Dean's sleeve, and he let Dean guide him down the crumbling stairs, through the doorway, and finally out into the harsh daylight.
The dark clouds rolled across the sky, lightning flickering inside them like echoes of the angelic battle. The parking lot looked like a war zone with glass and wood scattered everywhere. Dean was both relieved and irritated that he had parked Baby all the way across it. It saved her from damage, but they had to waste time to get to her.
"Sammy, how are you doing?" Dean asked over his shoulder as they hurried across the lot to the Impala.
"I'll live…" Sam muttered, stumbling slightly but keeping pace. His voice was rough and strained, still recovering from the audio assault.
That was good enough for now. "And how are you, Anna?" Dean asked, voice softening.
A moment later, he felt her give a weak nod against his neck.
"Can you stand?" he pressed. They were almost at the car now, and with another nod, Dean lowered Anna gently to her feet, steadying her until she was able to lean on the side of the Impala, and yanked open the back door for her. While Anna clambered in, hands shaking as she pulled her legs after her, Dean swiped his hand across the sword's edge. He didn't even flinch when blood poured out of the wound.
Sam, who just reached the passenger door, froze when he saw it. His eyes widened. "What are you doing, Dean?"
Dean didn't answer. He slammed the back door shut and pressed his bloody fingers to the frame. With steady, assured strokes, he began painting a complex sigil on the metal.
"Dean?" Sam repeated with growing alarm.
No reaction.
"Dean!"
"Get in the car, Sam," Dean ordered, not even lifting his head to look at his brother.
Of course, Sam was too stubborn to let it go. "What the hell are you doing? Banishing sigil?"
"No." Dean drew the last line into place. "This should hide us from the angels. For a short while, at least." He slammed a palm on the sigil to activate it, muttering, "I'm sorry, Baby, I'll clean it later," under his breath.
Sam's jaw tightened. "Don't tell me Castiel taught you that too?"
Ignoring the demanding questioning, Dean turned back to the church.
An eerie, pulsing light spilled out from the church's shattered windows. The high-pitched whining sound kept rising, a relentless shriek that clawed at their ears. Every second that passed made it only worse.
Powerful pulses rolled out across the ground in a steady rhythm as if the earth had turned into a giant living creature that breathed. Overhead, the storm clouds directly above the church began to split by some unseen force tearing them in two. The sky gaped open in precise, symmetrical lines, and the brilliant light that glowed from within was anything but natural.
Dean recognized that light in an instant—one of the Seraphim was charging a smite.
And not a simple smite, but the kind that didn't simply cleanse, but annihilated. A single, devastating strike that would leave behind nothing but a scorched crater and glassed earth. A divine nuke in every sense.
Dean couldn't blame them. As weakened as he was by the fall and constrained by the limits of mortal flesh, Shemhazai was still a Throne. Even with a full squad hastily assembled for this fight, going up against him was a gamble with Seraphim as their highest-ranked warriors.
Oblivious to all that, Sam took Dean's silence as a yes. "Why would he do that?" he asked, his voice rising with disbelief.
Dean gritted his teeth, his patience fraying. "I don't know, Sam, maybe because we've got hostile angels on our asses?!" he snapped, wrenching the driver's door open. "Now get in the damn car."
Before Sam could reply, an explosion boomed in the air.
Instinct took over. Both brothers dove for cover as the blast rocked the ground. Pieces of wood and twisted metal rained down all around them. One of the bell towers groaned under the strain, then tipped to the side before toppling over, hitting the ground with a thunderous crash, and scattering more debris across the lot.
However, Sam barely registered the destruction. His gaze was drawn upward, mouth parting in disbelief, only now noticing the split sky Dean had watched earlier. Light finally broke through the clouds, falling down in searing beams so intense he had to raise a hand to shield his eyes. More and more poured out, threading and merging together, converging in a single, blinding column that gradually engulfed the ruined church.
Dean didn't look up. His eyes were on the figure stepping out of the smoke-filled entrance of the church.
Alastair.
"Car! Now!" Dean barked, slamming into the driver's seat and tossing the sword beside him.
Sam didn't argue this time. He flung the passenger door open and barely got inside before Dean stomped on the accelerator like hell itself was on their tail. The Impala's tires screeched, leaving scorched rubber on the pavement as they tore out of the lot straight through all the rubble.
A furious, inhuman roar thundered behind them, making the car windows rattle with the force of it.
Dean flicked a glance at the side mirror.
A swirling column of black smoke shot up violently into the sky from where they had just escaped.
Dean clicked his tongue. What a persistent bastard.
Anna was curled up in the corner of the back seat, arms wrapped tightly around her head, still trembling. But Sam had twisted in his seat to watch the blazing pillar of light through the rear window, utterly mesmerized by it.
Humans were always irrationally drawn to divine power, even when it ended up hurting them. Despite having no memories, Anna still retained some of her angelic senses; she knew what it meant and could only cower in terror. Sam didn't have that same awareness, and so he couldn't look away.
Dean noticed his brother's eyes starting to water. "Look away, idiot," he muttered, reaching over to shove Sam's head down before something burst or boiled.
Just in time.
The smite descended.
A shockwave detonated from the point of impact, tearing through space, bending the laws of nature until the very weaves of reality distorted. The world went white and soundless. Every window in every building and car blew up in a rain of glass. Trees splintered and broke. Lampposts crumpled like paper. People were tossed like ragdolls, some with inaudible cries, some silent forever, some with ruined eyes that would never see again.
Time stuttered and stopped. Everything was still.
Then, slowly, it restarted. The whiteness began to recede, colors flooded back, and the world righted itself. The sound returned as a cacophony of noise and screams and car alarms blearing all around. The light pillar narrowed, edges fraying into shimmering mist, until there was only a thin line left that retreated upward like a sword being withdrawn into the heavens. The clouds folded in, reforming over the rift as if nothing had ever happened.
Dean exhaled and pulled his grace back inward, releasing the shield that protected the Impala from the impact. Streets were turning chaotic, people were stumbling from buildings in panicked waves and running around, and he had to focus on the road.
"Oh my god…" Sam whispered, craning to look through the rare window again.
Nothing was left in the area they had just escaped from. Only a wide expanse of incinerated land, a few remaining structures charred and crumbling from the weakest breeze.
Dean glanced at it in the side mirror, quickly assessing the aftermath. All things considered, the smite was remarkably contained. Seraphim specialized in mass destruction and were capable of leveling entire cities without breaking a sweat. This strike, however, had been extremely precise, its firepower compressed into a tight, surgical burst.
Definitely not Uriel's style. And the other two Seraphs Dean had seen in the squad didn't seem strong enough to pull off something like that. Castiel, then.
His lips twitched into a faint, knowing smile. Yeah, it fit. Castiel, still trying to minimize collateral damage, even in a desperate fight against the Throne. Still the soldier with a conscience.
Well, that smite should have forced Shemhazai into retreat if the bastard didn't want to waste more of his dwindling grace.
"What the hell even happened?" Sam asked, still staring out at the scorched horizon like he couldn't quite believe it was real.
"The angels, Sammy," Dean said flatly. "When they fight, humans don't get front-row seats without a price."
Sam finally turned to look at him, eyes narrowed, expression unreadable.
Dean felt unease curl at the bottom of his stomach. Dammit, was Sam really that suspicious just because he knew a few sigils? He would have to be more careful from now on. "What else could it be?" he added with a shrug.
Sam let out a long, weary sigh and slumped into the seat. "No, you're right," he muttered. "This is way above our paygrade, man… It's a miracle that Impala even got through it intact."
Dean hid a wince. Good thing that because so much happened, Sam must have run out of energy to really have a go at analyzing how and why they managed to escape. "Yeah, Baby's just awesome like that," was all he could say.
Sam didn't respond. A moment later, he straightened up again, reaching out to pull a med kit from under the seat. "Give me your hand."
They had just left the town and were speeding down the empty road.
Dean glanced at his hand. Right. He did just cut himself and now was bleeding all over the interior. Offering another apology to Baby in his mind, he was about to extend his injured hand toward Sam when his senses flared in a warning—a demonic presence was closing in from behind at unbelievable speed. He glanced at the rearview mirror, and his eyes widened.
A semi-truck barreled straight at them, already close enough that it would slam into them within seconds.
Anna cried out in surprise, thrown to the side when Dean wrenched the wheel, yanking the Impala into a full U-turn with a helpful additional push of his grace, tires shrieking, and then floored it, racing back toward the direction they had just fled.
The truck roared past them, missing their rear bumper by inches, and immediately braked, skidding across the road. The trailer swayed from one side to another, until it jackknifed and flipped over, sending the truck tumbling off the road.
"What was that?!" Sam gasped, bracing himself on the dashboard, still catching his breath from the sudden maneuver.
Dean didn't take his eyes off the road. "The demon from the church," he replied, spotting the intersection ahead and slowing down the car. "If I had to guess," he added, trying to deflect Sam's growing suspicion with a touch of casual doubt. He took a sharp left and pressed harder on the gas.
No way Alastair had already fully recovered from an angel's blade through his gut. He might have forced the first jump between the meat suits, but doing it again so soon, even for him, had to be difficult.
Or so Dean hoped. He checked the rearview again. Nothing. No smoke, no headlights bearing down on them. For now.
When Sam tapped his arm, Dean extended his hand silently. As his brother worked on cleaning and bandaging it, Dean glanced in the mirror at Anna pushing herself upright in the back seat and asked, "How are you holding up, Anna?"
"F-fine," she managed, pressing both palms to her face like trying to squeeze her thoughts into some semblance of order. "Where are we going?"
"Good question," Dean muttered. "We can't hide from angels forever, but Bobby's panic room'll keep demons out. So, that's the plan for now while we figure something better."
"Agreed," Sam said, tying up the last knot on the bandages before turning toward Anna with his brow furrowed. "Are you an angel? They sure acted like you were."
"I—" Anna's mouth opened, then shut again. "I-I don't know. I've no idea why they said I was! I don't remember anything like that! I'm human! I feel human… But…" Her face paled at the thought. "Why do I hear their voices?"
"Alright, calm down," Sam said, softening his tone. "We'll figure it out."
Anna's voice dropped to a whisper, nervously wringing her hands in her lap. "What if they're right? What if I just don't remember? What if my purpose is to help the Devil? What if—"
"Don't go there," Dean cut in, firm and grounding. He let a gentle pulse of his grace fill the car. Warm, subtle, like a comforting hand on the shoulder. "Maybe we can jog your memory somehow. Hypnosis or something."
Sam blew the air out of his lungs in an explosive sigh. "It's risky, but I don't think we have a choice anymore. Should I call Pamela?"
"Yeah." Dean caught Anna's eyes in the mirror and held them. "And you, just breathe, okay? Like Sam said, we'll figure this out. That's what we do." He flashed a confident grin at her and watched the corners of her lips twitch almost involuntarily. "And hey, you don't strike me as the 'bring on the apocalypse' type."
A smile finally broke across Anna's face. A small, fragile one, but real nonetheless.
Dean counted that as a win.