Supernatural 1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note:_ The plot in the start (i.e. the next few chapters) may move slowly. However, what follows establishes the importance of things later so I apologize for that.

〖 〗

_"The Devil's best trick is to persuade you that he doesn't exist." - Charles Baudelaire _

In the earth's infancy, it was formless and empty. Darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. At least, that's what the book of Genesis teaches. I was liked that imagery. Despite the word 'darkness' which _should_ bring about feelings of fear and sadness, I always thought it would be rather peaceful. I could see it in my head now.

The earth would be calm, quiet. Peaceful. The picture reminds me of a hushed summer night. God hovering over the waters? That was always an interesting metaphor. I believe it would be like feeling genuine peace.

When you had to keep two different cell phones for each of your careers, peace was difficult at times.

My family and work had one number. My clients, the clergy, and others like me had another. And with the rise of occult fascination and the internet, my second number became more and more popular as of late.

"Hello?" I snapped, patience breaking at the fifth phone call to wake me.

"Eli, it's Ellen."

She never called unless it was important, and there was a tense undercurrent to her tone. "Yes?"

"Got some homework for you,"

I groaned. "You could just have Ash fax it to me,"

"He is, but you're gonna' have questions."

From down the hall of my apartment, I could hear my fax ringing and beeping from my office. With a sigh, it was almost impossible to get out of my warm bed. The cold case unit in the Bronx had called me in to help out with an interrogation that had lasted eight hours. For me it was overtime, but I got the confession. I had gotten home at midnight and I had to be at the office at six for the shift change.

Switching on my office light, I trudged over to the fax machine as a single sheet of paper settled onto the tray.

"You see it?"

"Hang on," I hugged the phone between my ear and shoulder as my fingers grasped the paper.

_Oh my God,_

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph- Ellen!"

"See?" There was a grim satisfaction in her voice. 'Told ya',"

〖 〗

"You're gonna' kill yourself with that crap," John warned idly, eyeing my garnished cinnamon dolche latte from Starbucks.

"Says the man who smokes half a pack a day,"

"Hey, I'm down _to_ half a pack a day. I'm improving."

Rolling my eyes, I took a sip of my drink and looked at him pointedly. The decrepit New York City block was scuttling with activity. The ambulance and paramedics were at the fringe of the activity, the bloody body covered with a blanket in no need of their assistance. Five police cars sat scattered around the yellow tape line, the lights casting sharp red and blue smears across the pavement.

"Where's AJ?"

John jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "Poor garbage crew's the one that found her. She's gettin' their statement,"

I eyed the scene. The body had been dumped in an alley way filled with a dumpster and various garbage cans. It was dark and secluded; most of this area was industrial. Once the work day ended the place was deserted.

"If you want a profile you're supposed to call Mitch," I said to John. "I don't work profiles anymore."

"Captain said she hates that little bureaucratic prick," He shrugged in response. "She called the field office and told them it was you all the time or she'd make some calls,"

Captain Sanchez seemed to have dirt on everyone in the Tri-State area. Taking another gulp of my coffee, I scanned the area where CSU was canvassing. "Fine, let me know when CSU is done, and don't tell me _anything_." It was always better for a profiler to have as little information as possible. However, CSU would take a while so I walked the scene while they worked.

Since the areas was so isolated the UNSUB could spend a good amount of time with the victim if they wanted. I wouldn't expect the victim to have been targeted at the crime scene, there's nothing here. So transported here? Seems most likely, which means that there's another crime scene somewhere else. The alley was well into the industrial area, so the UNSUB knew the place well. I'd tell John and AJ to check all the workers in the buildings surrounding the crime scene.

"Hey Rob, you done with the body?" I asked the head of CSU. Rob was as skinny as a Q-Tip with a wild head of blond hair. A pair of thick glasses enlarged his bright eyes.

"Just starting but go ahead, I know you won't mess with anything."

They pulled away the dark blanket that covered the victim's body from sight. The UNIs had already herded all non-law enforcement away from the area so they wouldn't see. It was a young woman, probably around my age. There were signs of a struggle, and the victim had some dried blood on her forehead.

"What you got for me, Eli?" AJ asked as she and John came to join me.

"Maybe a crime of opportunity?" I theorized. "UNSUB saw her, glocked her in the head," I gestured to the blood on the side of her head. "Brought her here, killed her. It's pretty isolated, so the UNSUB probably brought her here because they're comfortable. I'd start with the all of the people who work in these surrounding buildings; they'd know this area pretty well. If the garbage crew didn't have a pick-up in this exact spot we probably wouldn't have gotten this call until the workers got here later on."

"Guy? Girl?"

"Well, victim's white so your attacker is most likely also white. And you know I never decide on gender until I have more information,"

John snorted. "How many female perps have you actually collared?"

"Three, anything is possible." I retorted offhandedly. "When the ME's report comes back let me know. I can give you a more fleshed out profile with that. Same with CSU."

"They'll be forwarded to ya'," John said as I walked away. The sun was just rising over the buildings.

Ellen called me again an hour later. I was sitting at my desk finishing up my report from a serial rapist case I had last week. "Get a chance to find out anything?"

"Alright, it hasn't even been a full twenty-four hours yet."

"Well it's important,"

Guffawing, I leaned back in my chair and ran a hand over my forehead. "Look, I just got a dumped Jane Doe this morning and I'm due for an arraignment in an hour, I'll get to it as quickly as I can,"

Ellen made a noise. "Well get ready then,"

"Ready for what?"

She snorted. "You'll see," And then she hung up. That boded well.

By the time I got back from the arraignment the ME's report was on my desk along with a note from AJ saying that CSU's report wouldn't be ready until tomorrow. Outdoor crime scenes always took longer than indoor ones since there was so much third party contamination to go through. The ME found no signs of sexual assault, and the COD was asphyxiation. There were bruises on the victim's neck, but no sign of a rope or other item used to strangle her. I theorized that it was something the UNSUB had brought with them. Most likely it was a male, since this type of physical attack took a sufficient amount of time and required brute strength. Unless the killer was a female body builder, it was a male.

She also showed signs of drug use and she tested positive for herpes. The ME also reported a mix of chemicals on her face. So, lots of makeup, drugs, and a STI? My profile was becoming clearer.

My phone rang again. I sighed heavily to myself, if this was Ellen calling me _again_...

It ended up being a college student from NYU who represented the group "Take Back the Night." They wanted to know if I'd be interested in speaking at a session they were doing. I agreed. By the time noon came around, I was back at the NYPD precinct with John and AJ. I was on duty until midnight, working overtime with the murder from this morning. By the time I got home I ate some left over Chinese in three mouthfuls and practically fell into bed.

I woke up to a text from AJ telling me that they caught the killer of the dumped alley girl. He confessed almost right away. He worked in one of the factories close by to where she was found and he had a tool box full of electrical wires and various cords in his car. One in particular had flakes of the victim's skin on it. Open and shut.

My days were pretty much routine. I woke up early and worked my shift, came home and usually worked on reports. The free time was devoted to errands or...

Well, my secret life.

One constant though was coffee. It was my vice, God help me. I went to the same Starbucks every day. Today was _supposed _to be ordinary. Work my shift, and I had a client at eight o'clock tonight. However, God had other plans.

"I had that paper faxed to you more than twenty-four hours ago,"

I looked up from my table, hand still stirring my coffee. "Excuse me?"

He gave me a look. "You know what I'm talking about,"

Looking at him hard, I tried to place his face. He was an older guy, middle aged probably but he really didn't look it. His black hair was only graying along his scalp line and a tad around the ears. He was dressed in unassuming attire. Dark wash jeans, boots, t-shirt and a plaid button down long sleeved shirt over top. A jacket was held under one arm. He was a good looking guy but I had never seen him before. Alcohol? High? His eyes were bloodshot.

"There's a free clinic three blocks south," I said slowly as I snapped my cup's lid back into place. "It has an open door policy," I shuffled passed him but he followed me outside.

"I know what you do!" He shouted after me as I threaded through the busy foot traffic.

"Oh yeah?" I flashed him my badge.

"No," He stepped up to me and looked me square in the face. "What you _really_ do,"

I paused. "Ellen send you?"

He nodded.

Sighing heavily, I adjusted my bag's strap. "So, you're the one who sent me Mary Winchester's file,"

It wasn't his face that changed when I spoke, it was his eyes. Grief is always most visible there. "Yes,"

"Husband?" I guessed. He nodded again, and I sighed. The file was gruesome, depressing and utterly depraved. I wasn't expecting a face-to-face with family. I held out my hand. "Elisha Gideon,"

He stared at my hand for a split second, as if deciding whether or not to actually shake my hand. After inspecting my hand and finding no strange signs on it, he finally took it. "John Winchester,"

"Wish it were under different circumstances," I said that to everyone I affiliated with in this business. Kind of a joke. "Look, I'm kind of on my way to my real life job." I fumbled through my purse for a business card and a pen. "My shift ends at 6, meet me at my apartment and I'll give you a consulting opinion on your wife…" I trailed off. Normally I just deal with possessions but that report Ellen sent me… It was like nothing I had ever encountered or learned from my mentor.

"I've waited long enough," He replied. I stared at him, about to say hell no.

When a demon takes a life, the survivors always have the same look in their eyes.

"…Fine," I said with a forced breath. "Just let me make a call,"

Captain Sanchez answered her phone with a terse, "What?"

"It's Eli,"

She hummed to herself and mumbled something in Spanish. "Let me guess, another call out?"

"I'm sorry," I took a few steps away from John. "Look, new client and pretty desperate."

"Oh really? What makes this _diablo_ so special?"

"Because the possession ended in a violent death, and apparently it's happened on multiple occasions."

Sanchez paused. "Fine, but you owe me."

"I always do,"


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: _And here we are at part two! Sorry for the slow update! I was on vacation and I spend so much time on these chapters that they take me FOREVER. Anyway, as I said before I apologize for the slowness of the plot progress. I just really want my idea to seem plausible to you guys, so I will not compromise on that. But it will start to move along after this, I promise!

〖 〗

_"Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." – Hebrews 11:1 _

〖 〗

"I'm hungry, are you hungry?"

John gave me a look that could wither wallpaper. "No, can you just give me some insight _please_?" He said it like it was pulling teeth. Many of the police and other FBI agents acted like this with me. Not only was I a woman, but I was younger than most of them. The male ego is a fragile thing.

"Do you know how long it takes to develop an in-depth profile? Days, and more information then I have at my disposal." When we got back to my apartment, John had barely let me take off my coat before he herded me into _my own_ office and threw file and upon file at me. He not only had a file for his wife, but for others he had found. And that doesn't take into account the various leads and rumors he had documented and researched as well.

We had started at nine thirty. It was ten past five now. He wouldn't even let me make lunch. "I have an exorcism at eight, I need food." Not to mention I always spend an hour before an exorcism to pray in solitude. I was also afraid to tell him that I really wouldn't be able to give him a full report for a few days. What he had brought to me… I had never seen anything like it.

John frowned at my answer, opening his mouth no doubt to refuse me but my stomach growled so pathetically that he stopped. "Fine," He answered gruffly.

I rarely cooked. I never had time. The only things occupying my fridge was a quart of milk, some half and half, a yogurt, and party tray of assorted fruits that a friend gave me at the end of her baby shower when only half of the tray had been eaten. There were some frozen pancakes and a gallon of Ben & Jerry's Moose Tracks ice cream in my freezer.

The drawer I opened the most in my kitchen held all of my take-out menus. "You're the guest," I indicated to the pile of brightly colored menus, silently asking him to pick.

John's shoulders barely moved when he shrugged. "It doesn't matter, you're the hungry one."

John Winchester was an enigma, even among the hunters. Most of them were downright cruel; they became the things they were hunting. Like Gordon Walker, he came through the city about a year ago and left a trail so damn obvious I almost had to perjure myself. I had Ellen pass along a message to him that if he ever came through again I'd toss him in a cell in Rikers and take care of the problem myself.

Hunters and exorcists… we were different breeds. Obviously I loved my neighbor, but the hunters made that as difficult as possible. Usually because they were cocky, narrow minded, and vicious. They also went after more things then exorcists. Vampires, ghouls, werewolves, whatever. My domain was strictly demonic and theological.

John Winchester didn't look sad. He looked tired.

"Italian then," I pulled out my cell and looked questioningly at him. "John you have to eat something."

"I don't care what," He waved his hand dismissively and walked away.

"You're getting spaghetti then!" I yelled after him. "Speak now or forever hold your bitching!"

After I placed the delivery order I headed back to my office where I found John flipping through my various files of information that I had pulled. My personal notes from my exorcisms filled at least three journals. Names, hierarchies, anything I could get the demons to tell me I wrote down.

"Can you at least tell me what you're thinking?" He asked, rubbing a hand up and down his forehead.

I had two options. I could lie and give a noncommittal answer to comfort him or I could tell the truth. John Winchester struck me as someone who could see through all that. "I'm not thinking anything," He looked up to send me a questioning look. "I-I've never seen anything like this. Every exorcism I've conducted I get at least _some _information, and until you had Ellen pass me your file I had never known this was going on."

He seemed at a loss. "How-... How is this possible? I can't have been the first person to figure this out!"

"Yes John, you are," I said, sitting down in the chair next to his. "Now I'm going to try and help you but you have to understand that I am not a miracle worker. That being said, before I even begin to consult with you, I have certain... _expectations _of my clients." He nodded for me to continue. "If you want my help, _truly_, there are no secrets between us. No matter what the situation, protecting yourself or someone you care about, because you're ashamed or embarrassed. I'm telling you that hiding anything from me will never make it better, it will _always_ make it worse." I paused to let it sink in. "Do you understand what I'm saying? If you don't agree to that rule, I cannot help you."

He exhaled loudly through his nose and rubbed his hands down his face. "Okay, I understand,"

I nodded. "Alright,"

My doorbell rang, it must be the food. The delivery boy was only 17 and had a face riddled with acne. I gave him 30% tip. It smelled delicious and I was starving. John didn't want to eat, but I kept yelling down the hall until he came to the kitchen. I handed him the silver aluminum covered tray that was foggy from the hot pasta. He stared at it. "I don't have time to eat."

"You won't be able to help yourself or those you care about if you don't keep your body healthy." I handed him a fork and knife. "Eat,"

Grudgingly, John ate his food. We didn't speak for a long time. Finally I said, "Tell me about the night your wife was murdered." The temperature in the room seemed to drop. I glanced up, his face was taut. "Take your time, but tell me everything."

And so he told me. Every painful little detail that he had obviously obsessed over and replayed in his head since he ran into his son's nursery and found his wife pinned to the ceiling with flames licking at her sides. It was the most violent demonic encounter I had ever heard of. Some possessions did end in death, but it was usually suicide or the possessed being influenced to inflict mortal wounds on themselves. Never I had ever seen or heard of a demon taking a person like that as its own being.

Once he finished, John stared me full in the face and asked, "Why did this happen to us?"

Running a hand through my brown hair, I threw up my hands and shrugged helplessly. "You can't always compare things like this to human standards and expectations, because they are so beyond us. There are a few explanations, and none of them will ever seem adequate for you. Sometimes they pick you because there is something in your life that causes you great pain, something that leaves a hole in you and they just crawl right through it. Most of the time it's just because they _can_. They just want to fuck with you. And in the rarer times, they want something from you."

And there it was. A light of realization in John's eyes, his expression stayed neutral but the eyes truly are the windows to the soul. Especially when you know what to look for.

"No secrets," I reminded, looking hard at him. "And you're trying to hide one from me now, so just make it easier for both of us and just tell me."

Exhaling a shaky breath, John reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. His hands ran over the smooth leather, and the knuckles turned white as he gripped it. I waited until he was ready to pull out whatever was inside it. Slowly, he unfolded it and pulled out a crumpled photo. He handed it to me. I didn't know it at then, but this was the first time I would see the face of the boy who would change my entire life.

It was a candid shot; the boy in the picture obviously didn't know the photo was being taken. He was sitting at a wooden kitchen table, looking at something off camera and laughing. He had a light hearted look in his eye, and his smile was easy going.

"My son, Sam," John said with so much emotion they all blended into a flat tone. "He was six months old when Mary was killed. I found her over his crib…" He trailed off.

"You think it wanted him, not her?" I fished.

"I know it,"

"Oh? And what would a demonic presence need from an infant?"

John steeled himself as if he was about to say something that was hard for him to even think about. "I think it was feeding him its blood."

My heart hammered in my chest and my blood froze in my veins. I stared at him. "Is that what you believe happened?"

John leaned forward. "It's what I _know_ happened,"

〖 〗

When David and his mother arrived at seven fifty-eight, I took them to the third apartment. John followed behind us, but I blocked him from following us in. He glared at me.

"It's not personal, but I give these people a certain amount of privacy that they deserve. Not only are you not certified, but if what you say is true, then there is no way on God's green earth that I'm allowing any demonic presence to communicate with you."

"In other words, wait in my apartment please."

John stared at me for a few moments, grabbed me under the arms like a toddler and picked me up so he could walk through the doorway. I was too stunned that I didn't move and just looked at him in a stupor. He sidestepped around me and followed David and Ms. Charles down the hall. After a moment, I shook myself awake and went after them.

David was a six year old boy who had been my patient for three months, two sessions every month. His mother, Ms. Beth Charles first noticed something was amiss when her son began having intense mood swings. He had a sweet temperament, but he would be seized with severe tantrums caused by small things that had never bothered him before. The symptoms were very similar to bi-polar disorder but he was too young for that to be manifesting. After seeing a handful of mental health providers and three different pediatricians, Ms. Charles finally spoke to her priest about it.

She confessed that she felt it was her fault. David had been her foster child since he was four but she had adopted him. She told her priest in confession that she thought it was her fault for not giving him enough attention, despite the fact that she was a model parent. David had been removed from his mother's care due to her addiction to multiple substances. The father was unknown and David had a rough start. Beth was a widow and at thirty-seven had amassed a small fortune expanding her late husband's moving business.

David was small for his age, pale with freckles and a mop of brown hair. His smile though was the cutest. He gave me that adorable expression when I finally joined them.

"Hi David," I smiled in return and kneeled down to his level. "How are you feeling?"

He took my hand, his mother holding the other. "Fine,"

"How are you doing?"

"Alright," His throat sounded thick, like he was getting over a cold. I made him a cup of hot chocolate while the four of us sat in the living room turned waiting room. Before each session I caught up with the client and their family. David sipped his drink politely. John leaned back in a plush arm chair, dark eyes watching intently.

"Any incidents since I last saw you?"

Ms. Charles wrung her hands together, graying red hair pulled back into a sloppy bun. She had dark circles under her eyes. "They're getting more frequent and violent," She fidgeted. "Are you sure that this is working?"

"Try to understand, the closer to salvation we get the more the demon will fight back. It's hard to believe but this is a _good_ sign," I reached out to give her hand a friendly reassuring squeeze. "You both are stronger than this thing, I promise."

Ms. Charles looked a tad more at ease, but she was still wound tight. "Have you been observing the sacraments? The Eucharist is very vital particularly,"

"I had him baptized immediately, and I've been taking him to Mass weekly," She answered, smoothing out David's shirt.

Nodding, I eyed her hard. "And reconciliation?"

She frowned. "He's only six, what can he possibly confess?"

"It doesn't matter, the fact that he's engaging in the sacraments is vital to defeating this demon. You must strengthen your faith,"

John snorted. I turned and sent him a look. He did not appear apologetic.

"Please just take him; have you been going to St. Nicholas?"

"Yes,"

"The priest there is very good with children. Tell him that I sent you and he will take care of David and make confession understandable to him."

After we finished our talk, I took David into what would have been the guest room in this apartment. I tried to model it after my mentor's exorcism room as much as possible. There was a chair set in the middle of the room. Set against one wall was a table with the materials required for exorcisms, like holy water and a ziplock bag full of the Eucharist. My copy of _The Ritual_ sat there as well. It was worn, dog eared, highlighted, and riddled with personal notes.

The other wall, the one the chair faced, had two shelves. A crucifix hung over the doorway inside the room and a cross hung over the shelves. I had a statue of the Virgin Mary, it was a bust statue. It was all white with tiny pink rose vines on her praying arms and one single rose in her hands. The other statue was of Saint Michael the Archangel, my patron. The saint of police officers. A gold medallion of St. Michael hung around my neck. There was also a photo of John Paul II.

"Sit down whenever you're ready," I said to David as I grabbed _The Ritual_. He settled into the chair, settling into a comfortable position as I flipped through the book.

It was pretty uneventful. The sensationalized idea of an exorcism included twisted bodies, violence, and over-the-top theatrics. In reality, most exorcisms wouldn't even show a huge change to the untrained eye. David has the habit of breaking out into a sweat, as if he was suddenly overcome by fever, and his hands shook. He also entered, like most people suffering from possession, into a type of trance. I described it as an alternative state of consciousness (ASC), since trance had a type of voodoo or hypnosis connotation.

I went through my routine, opening with a prayer to Michael and the Virgin, and then went through the rite of exorcism. I commanded the demon to vacate David in God and Jesus' name and then said a final prayer over him. Throughout the entire exorcism I periodically anointed his forehead with holy water and pressed a cross to the back of his neck. Once he came out of his ASC, I gave David the Eucharist and asked him how he felt.

"Like something that was in me is gone, but in a good way." He said in a wispy voice, obviously exhausted. It had lasted about a half an hour. I pat him on the back and told him that he was very brave and did an excellent job. He beamed.

I reiterated my earlier recommendations to Ms. Charles and scheduled our next appointment before sending the two on their way. Once I closed the door behind them I went back to the exorcism room and began re-organizing everything. Glancing at John, who had been leaning against the back corner through the exorcism, I arched an eyebrow at him. "Well? Were you sincerely disappointed at how mundane it seems?"

He looked rather thoughtful. "There's nothing mundane about a kid that young feeling the pain I saw in his eyes,"

I stared at him for a long moment before a slow smile broke out over my face.

He did the John Winchester equivalent of a squirm. "What?"

_The Ritual_ lay neatly beside my rosary and holy water. "You get it, so I'll help you."

John straightened. "You will?"

"Yes, but the same rules I give to everyone I'm giving to you. No secrets, I _will_ tell you the truth even if it's something you would rather not hear, and you have to promise me something."

"What?" He rose to his feet.

"You're the type of person who, despite asking for my opinion, is going to go after this thing until the ends of the earth and no matter what the cost or danger." I paused. "Am I mistaken?"

He looked uncomfortable but nodded in concession. "Yeah,"

"Just promise that if you _are_ going after it, with a real, viable lead, please call me." I held my hands together, pleading. "I will come and help you; because if you take this on alone I promise you that it will not only hurt yourself but other people too."

John stared at me and then paced the room once, one hand to his face as he rubbed his chin. It must irk a man like him to admit that he may need help, or even _think_ that he needs it. That's why I took the initiative, because I could picture the horrible ending in my mind. After his one pace he rubbed a hand down his face. "Fine," He said it with a sigh.

I knew that he wouldn't actually call me for help, but I resolved to work on that. With a sigh, I did a quick blessing of the room and gestured to the hall. "Why don't we go back to my office and I'll give you a preliminary profile? And that Ben and Jerrys sounds pretty good too."

〖 〗

_The Ritual_: (Latin: _Rituale Romanum_) One of the official ritual works of the Roman Rite of the Catholic Church. It contains all of the services which may be performed by a priest or deacon which are not contained within either the _Missale Romanum_ or the _Brevarium Romanum_.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note_: Firstly, thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites, and follows! Each automated email I get makes me smile! Hopefully the cliff hanger-like ending of this chapter will give you all a hint as to where this is going. Finally picking up speed with this story, which means I really need to speed up my own watching of Supernatural. Also, I'm going to have a few chapters that feature Eli's backstory and the events that lead up to her becoming an exorcist. I have a few ideas plot wise about how I would weave them in, but if you guys have any ideas/suggestions about what you would like please don't be shy!

〖 〗

_"When I am afraid, you, Lord, know the way out." Pslam 142:3_

〖 〗

I wasn't very surprised when I woke up the next morning to discover that John was gone. The guest bedroom that I offered him didn't appeared disturbed or even used, the covers left exactly the way they were when I had last made it months ago. He didn't sleep last night, or at least that's what I assumed. My theory was that the moment I went to bed he rifled through my library, took detailed notes on everything he read, and then left. Momentarily I debated putting out a BOLO* out on him, but decided against it almost immediately.

The image wasn't very hard to conjure. I could perfectly picture two state troopers pulling him over and informing him that he would have to come with them into custody. I could see the headlines now, "Deranged Man with Lumberjack Fashion Sense Beats Two Troopers to Bloody Pulps and Escapes."

Wow, he even left me a note. John didn't strike me as the type of man to leave notes.

_Watch out for my boys. No doubt they'll land in some kind of trouble. _

_ - Dean Winchester_

_ - Sam Winchester_

Next to their names was a string of numbers, must be their socials. I felt honored at such trust. I made a mental note to put out another BOLO on them with special instructions to call me if they were picked up for anything. Looking down at Sam's name I couldn't stop myself from thinking back to what John had told me. What were the implications for a human directly coming in contact with a demon? Possession was different, it was spiritual, and you could sense it but never touch. The most direct I had ever heard of was people claiming they saw a figure or feeling something push them, never actually both.

Consuming the blood of a demon? I couldn't comprehend what that could do to a person.

My thoughts were abruptly cut off when my cell went off. The Civil Wars' "Barton Hollow" blared through my halls.

_"Please forgive me father..._"

"Hello?"

"Planning on coming to Mass today?" Mary asked with a slightly annoyed tone. My eyes widened as my sister spoke and darted toward the clock. I was fifteen minutes late. _Winchester! Argh!_

"Shit," I hissed and ran to my bedroom to hastily pull out my clothes.

"Nice, it's Sunday and everything. Might as well get your sinning out of the way before confession, eh?"

"I'll be there," I hung up and threw on a pair of slacks and a sweater. Brushing my teeth in less than ten seconds I slipped my feet into my shoes and ran out the door and banged on Dalton's. "Thanks for waking me, 'partner'!"

I owned the whole floor that my apartment was on. One was mine, the third I used for exorcisms, and the second one I sold to Dalton Grieves. The twenty-nine year old practically ripped his front door off its hinges; he looked just as disheveled as me. "My alarm crapped out on me!"

We skipped the elevator and flew down the emergency stairs, hailed a cab and promised the driver an extra sixty dollars if he could get us to Saint Peter's. When the taxi pulled up a block away, Dalton and I tossed our money at him and sprinted to the church. It was old, but small and there was always something ethereal about it that appealed to me. My dad and sister were standing in front of the steps.

"Sorry, sorry!" I apologized as I placed a quick peck on each of their cheeks. Dad gave me a look, one that said '_Jesus is watching and doesn't appreciate your tardiness._' Dalton shook Dad's hand and the four of us went in and took our places. We sat in the same pew every week, ever since we joined this congregation. I remember my first Communion and looking out to see my parents and little sister sitting in this spot.

Mass went along as usual, Father Andrew always wrote wonderful sermons. They were light hearted but also touching, something not very many men of the cloth could do. Usually they either wrote God fearing, fire and brim stone and doom sermons or completely forgettable ones. Father Andrew was the reason why my family had stayed at St. Peter's. After the service, Dalton, I, and my family all went to Confession and then headed out to brunch. It was our weekly tradition.

I listened to Mary babble excitedly about her rowing team and how they had been scouted by some college representatives at their last competition. Dad had retired about three years ago from the NYPD and now ran a popular police bar with a few of his old cop buddies. It made me happy to see _them_ happy, Mary was growing up and Dad was finally slowing down. Neither of them knew what Dalton and I did in our spare time. While they were both devout, I greatly feared Dad or Mary finding out that I was an exorcist.

Generally, it was a thankless and lonely service.  
〖 〗

This Sunday was one of my few precious days off. I spent it looking into the Winchester file.

After brunch, Dalton and I returned to the apartments. My own was very modest, a master bed and bath, an office, a guest room, a half bath, and a kitchen that opened in a modest living space with a medium sized table. Dalton's and the third apartment were identical. Besides the bedroom that I had converted into the exorcising room in the third apartment, I also used the office there to house most of my texts and resources. In rare cases of violent possessions, I would be required to perform an exorcism every day, or would have a client that would travel here for my services. In those cases I would let them stay in that apartment. We jokingly referred to it as the Cathedral.

We spent the day in the office of the Cathedral; I briefed him on what John had told me and what I had already researched. I also gave him the picture of Sam. I had photocopied it while John was in the bathroom and stashed it in a drawer. While it felt slightly deceptive the need for Dalton to see it outweighed my morality. He had a very singular and useful talent.

Dalton possessed a charism.

A charism is what exorcists refer to as a person who has a 'gift' for healing or discernment. We believe that it is distributed by the Holy Spirit to those who live devout lives. I glanced up from my book at him. He was blond, tan, and blue eyed. A fitness fanatic, his arms were toned and if he wore a fitted shirt you could see his abs through the fabric. I always chuckled to myself when we were out in public and every girl in a three mile radius ogled him. I laughed because Dalton was gay.

It takes a strong will to reconcile strong Catholic beliefs with a homosexual orientation. I liked to thing that will and pure soul is what earned him a charism. One famous priest and exorcist who possessed a charism was named Father Candido Amantini. Reportedly he could diagnose a demonic possession simply by looking at a person's photo. In addition there was a report that when a demonized person took a swing at Father Candido, the fist stopped only inches from his face, as if held there by an unseen force. Dalton had the same gift but more refined. He could decipher if it was a haunting, a possession, and the degree of the haunting or possession just by looking at a photograph. His senses were more refined as well if he the individual or house in person.

The minute Sam Winchester's photo touched his fingers Dalton retracted his hand as if he had been burned. It was the strongest reaction I had ever seen. "What-?"

"I'm fine," He stammered, gingerly taking the photo from me. Dalton stared at it for a long time, a deep furrow forming between his brows as each second passed. I felt the air tense around us, and my heart began to beat faster and the familiar feeling of anxiety coiled into a ball in my stomach.

"What are you thinking?" I couldn't take the silence anymore.

"It's... like... what the f_u_ck?" And just like that the intense atmosphere was broken, but the severity of the situation remained. Dalton had that quality too.

"I'm serious!"

Chewing on his bottom lip, Dalton flattened out the picture against the table's surface. Sam did really look like a happy person; you could see it in his eyes. I wondered how he had managed that when he had a father with eyes like the dead.

"I've never... I don't know _what_..." Dalton struggled to articulate the complexity of what he was feeling. I often wondered what a charism felt like. He said that it was a feeling, but he couldn't put it into words. "It's similar to a soul possession, but worse somehow."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

Never had I seen fear in Dalton's eyes, but I saw it now. "I feel like I'm staring down the devil."

〖 〗

I left John Winchester two messages per month. He never responded. Six months passed without a word. Along with my messages, every week I faxed Ash updates on the research. If he ever passed through the Roadhouse they would at least be there for him. However, that one meeting was enough to mark me.

It was autumn, the wind had a bite to it. AJ, John and I had just finished one of our meetings with the A.D.A* to go over our testimony for an upcoming trial. They always ran late, and this one was no exception. As my watched ticked to half past one in the morning the elevator doors dinged open on my floor and I slouched toward my door. Absentmindedly, I rummaged through my bag for my keys. It was my own fault, really. My senses were dulled from the late night, and my mental process was cluttered with legal jargon. However, the moment I turned my key in the lock and opened the door I felt the full weight of 'her' presence press down me.

The stench of sulfur was strong, it made my throat itch and I gagged. She stood in the front foyer, her short blonde hair shining from the light of the city outside the windows. Her eyes were black; darker than the deepest pits of the ocean, but the color is never the most demonic part of them. It was the look in that darkness, cruelty and anger and undiluted _hate_.

"Christ-" I tried to fling myself out the door, reaching for the container of purified salt that I kept on the end table by the front door. She was quicker. Before I could blink she was standing directly in front of me, our chests almost touching. One hand snaked out to clamp down on my arm reaching for the salt and the other fisted itself in my shirt and lifted me off my feet.

_Jesus, Jesus Christ_. I thought back to my most violent exorcism, and it couldn't hold a flame to this. The realization hit me that what I was dealing with wasn't the average soldier demon; this was something way higher up the hierarchy.

She hummed to herself, twisting her victim's expression into a sadistic grin. "Well, this is disappointing," Then she turned and flung me. I landed on the wood floor with a heavy thud and skidded until my back slammed into the wall. The air in my lungs all left in a rush, it was like I was drowning. "I was hoping you'd present at least _a little_ challenge. How boring!" Still gasping, I struggled to refill my lungs with air and stomp down the panic coiling into a tight ball in my stomach. Her eyes narrowed gleefully, she could smell it.

Father Luca told me once that when a demon in possession of a body looks at you, they can see right through you. He said that it's not being unafraid that is significant, but rather it's praying for strength and looking right back at them despite the fear. Pulling myself into a sitting position I winced, she must have broken a rib; I stared unwaveringly into those black eyes. Her lips curled up into a smile, but it was cold.

"Ah, maybe there's something to you after all," She knelt down so we were eye level. "Now, I'm going to ask you some questions and if you don't answer me, well..." She gestured to my position.

Exorcists never converse with demons. Well, all but me. I hadn't amassed one of the largest collections of demonic names and ranks by merely casting them out. However, I wasn't this time. Quickly, I tried to formulate a plan.

"Where's John Winchester?"

Her question caused my thought process to stutter. "What?"

She repeated the question, but enunciated each word very slowly. My response was a Hail Mary.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou-" The demon reeled her arm back and struck me across the face, _hard_. My jaw felt like it snapped, and my head was on fire. Blood ran over my lip, its coppery taste made my stomach clench uncomfortably. The girl's teeth were bared, like she was sucking in sharply in pain.

"Bitch," She snarled, grabbing me by the neck and hoisting me off the ground. I felt my back slam hard into the wall; the plaster cracked and sent little dust clouds around us.

"I'm only going to ask once more, _where is John Winchester_?"

The possession was too strong for me to even attempt to exorcise the girl. This was possession of the soul rather than merely the body; the bond with the demon was very strong and potent. But it was going to be a _very_ cold day in Hell before I told her anything. An idea suddenly came to me, like a shot to the brain. _Thank you Jesus, Mary and Joseph!_

We struggled, I kicked and thrashed and her gripped tightened. The small window of opportunity I had was closing fast. As I began choking and dots swam in front of me, I managed to wiggle an arm up to my head where blood was oozing down from my scalp. Wetting my finger with it, I used my other arm to grip her wrist as I smeared my finger on her skin.

_Vade retro satana._ Step back Satan.

She recoiled violently, as if I had placed a hot flame to her flesh. I dropped to the ground, one hand involuntarily going to my neck as I gasped for air. I coughed, the smell of sulfur strong around us. The girl screeched, clawing at her arm. Looking darkly at me, she began spitting words at me in Latin. I was able to catch a few words I recognized like 'Satan.' From her expression she was cursing my soul.

"Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle; be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil." I prayed to my patron saint, the hand at my neck gripping my medallion. "May God rebuke him, we humbly pray: and do thou, O Prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan and all the evil spirits who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls. _**Amen**_."

The demon looked physically ill, her imposing stature now crumpled around her. She was panting heavily, the arm I wrote on was clutched protectively to her body. She began walking backwards, toward the door. I followed a few paces behind.

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, this servant of our Lord Jesus Christ commands you to leave this place,"

An inhuman, guttural sound ripped from her throat as she was forced closer and closer to the threshold. The poor girl's human face twisted into an expression that no mortal could ever muster. I can't even describe it. It was the most powerful face of absolute hate I had ever seen.

"The earth a house of the Lord, and you _will_ obey His will!" I bellowed, grabbing a cross off the wall and holding it out in front of me. "Be gone, worker of iniquity, fallen soldier of the Deceiver! A child and lamb of God commands that you go!"

Her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped so far it was almost like she had unhinged it like a snake. A blood curdling, piercing scream left her lips, it made my ears ring my head pounded harder. The walls creaked, as if it couldn't contain what was happening inside. The lights flickered, dimmed, and then grew so bright that every light bulb exploded in a shower of glass. Just as the pieces fell, the demon and her possessed body disappeared as suddenly as they could come.

Standing in the hallway of my apartment, I could hear the nearby dogs baying. My entire body shook, the adrenaline in my blood slowly began to dissipate and I felt the full force and pain of the injuries I had sustained. As I grabbed my bible, a small plastic vial of holy water, and my rosary I said a prayer of thanks and stumbled across the hall to Dalton's door. I wouldn't have been too taken aback if no one had heard what had happened, demons had that talent. But the dogs could sense it, and their barks and howls still echoed around the building. I banged on his door, feeling my conscious start to fade. My side burned.

He sleepily opened the door, but his face was stricken when he took in my appearance. "Jesus, Elisha what-?!"

"Winchester, John Winchester," I gasped out, pitching to the side. Dalton may have caught me before I hit the ground, but I had already passed out. _God help them._

〖 〗

_BOLO_: Stands for "Be On Look Out" broadcast. Type of APB (All Points Bulletin), with emphasis as a want rather than a warrant. A BOLO usually means that a person is wanted for questioning rather than arrest and should be brought in and the police/federal department that issued the BOLO alerted, but their home or property not be searched.

_A.D.A._: "Assistant District Attorney." A prosecutor who represents the People, government, law, etc. in a criminal trial.

_Special thanks_: Almost all of my information on exorcisms and related topics I researched in Matt Baglio's book _The Rite: The Making of a Modern Exorcist_. For any horror movie fans, this is the book that inspired the 2011 Anthony Hopkins movie of the same title.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Note: _Thank you all once again for the support! You guys are awesome! This'll be quick, but I just wanted to clarify a detail. Some readers have asked me about the timeline. The first chapter took place about six months after the Pilot episode of the first season (so halfway through the season, thereabouts). This chapter takes place at the end of season 1/beginning of season 2.

〖 〗

_"Midway on our life's journey, I found myself in a dark woods, the right road lost. To tell about those woods is hard - so tangled and rough and savage that thinking of it now, I feel the old fear stirring: death is hardly more bitter." Dante, The Inferno _

〖 〗

Well, the beeping of my heart monitor was reassuring at least and slightly morbid at best. Waking up in a hospital, no matter the reason for your placement there, always has the same affect. Everyone wakes up feeling like their head is stuffed with cotton and that they've never slept so horribly in their entire life.

The generous morphine drip took the edge off, though.

Dalton sat in a chair to the right of my bed, and when I stirred he was immediately at my side. My thoughts felt fuzzy, but at least the pain killers kept me from feeling my broken rib or busted head. Dalton's blue eyes were red rimmed from lack of sleep, and his lips were drawn tight with worry. "Hey Eli,"

I grunted in response. He laughed weakly, one hand running soothingly through my hair. We must be a Mercy General, my work brought me here more often than I would like and I was able to recognize a few staff members as they walked by. They all threw me sympathetic, worried looks and a couple did a little wave.

"Elisha, what the _hell_ happened? After I called the ambulance I looked inside your apartment and-"

"_Please_ tell me that you did not call the station." The last thing I needed was my father racing down here and his head exploding from high blood pressure.

Dalton looked sheepish. "The hospital did, I'm sorry I tried to stop it. They just got hit with a kidnapping case so most of the force is tied up with the hotlines or canvassing so I think we have some time. I called your dad and told him that it was a mix up, and you can explain my lie away when you see him next." He paused, searching my face. "I'm getting that a person didn't do this to you,"

"Define 'person',"

Exhaling sharply, Dalton tensed as the realization hit him. "A possession? Seriously?! How in the actual fuck?"

"It was the most violent and demonic possession I have ever seen," I answered honestly. "and I believe that she's still working under someone else."

Dalton deadpanned. "So we're fucked three ways to Sunday is what you're saying?"

I smiled wanly. "Everything is possible with the Lord," I quoted. "Your lack of faith is disturbing."

"Leave out the _Star Wars_ references _please_! This is real shit! You're in a hospital bed, Elisha! You have a fractured _skull_!"

I stared down at my hands. "And God is good to have only burdened me with that," Dalton sputtered but I cut him off before he could say anything. "That demon would have killed me, Dalton. The only reason I'm still breathing is because of God's good grace." I could have met the same end as Todd-

Swallowing the lump that had suddenly formed in my throat, I forced myself away from that train of thought. It wasn't the time for personal reflection and penance. We were facing the beginnings of a true crisis. I would have thought that the demon targeted me for my status as an exorcist, but her one question had completely baffled me.

_"Where is John Winchester?"_

Something was going on...

Anger broiled inside me. "Get my cell, please."

Dalton looked nervous at the look on my face. "You can't use-"

"I need to get a number off it," I snarled as I grabbed the landline phone on my bedside table. There was something seriously rotten in the state of Denmark, and I _knew_ John Winchester had some hand in it. Violently punching in the numbers of John's cell, I stewed. It rang five times before he picked up.

"John Winchester," He sounded exhausted.

"I'm getting _real_ tired of your shit, Winchester!" I yelled into the phone. "You should be praising God and His angels that demon _didn't_ kill me because I would be haunting your ass _so hard_!" Normally I would never lose my composure, but Goddamn it I was in a hospital bed for whatever he was up to. Dalton looked taken aback at my sudden surge of anger; he was fussing wordlessly about my head injury.

The other end was quiet for a moment. "She went after you too, huh?"

"_'You too'_? Is this a normal occurrence for you?!"

Now he was angry as well. I had a suspicion he was accustomed to doing the yelling and not being the subject of it. "You're the exorcist, you tell me!"

"I have _never_ had client break a rib and fracture my skull!" I retorted hotly. "And she came about _you_, so you better get very chatty and tell me what on God's green earth is going on so, you know, I can actually prepare this time!"

He was quiet for a long moment; I could hear the dulled sound of an engine. He must be driving. "I'm sorry,"

"What did you do, John?" I asked in a softer voice, anger draining out of me. He sounded genuine just then.

I heard a click and the dial tone wailed in my ear. I felt a great sense of urgency and worry. John Winchester was about to do something _very, very_ dangerous and most likely completely idiotic. My resolve hardened.

Dalton practically squealed like a twelve year old girl when I began pulling out my IVs. "ARE YOU CRAZY?!"

Wobbly on my own feet, I threw his jacket over me and the hospital gown. "Please, just get me to the station,"

〖 〗

Dalton, bless his stolid heart, took me back to my apartment rather than to the station. I raged internally for the first fifteen minutes. I was frustrated on so many levels and various things. For one, my apartment was in complete havoc thanks to the demon. My broken rib kept me from moving much, and I cried a little out of pure aggravation when I found that I couldn't even bend down to pick up some of the bits of broken glass. The morphine made my emotions worse rather than calm them.

My poor friend, he looked completely aghast that night. The hospital called, frantic that I had left but Dalton made some long winded excuse. I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling. I went over every detail I had gathered on the Winchester's file. Then it hit me. John wasn't looking to exorcise the demon, which would never satisfy him. He wanted to kill it. I cursed myself for not putting the pieces together earlier. There could be no other answer. If he merely wanted to exorcise it, I could have blessed him and his sons in the beginning and sent them on their way. While I'm sure he wanted to stop the demon's actions, there was a thirst for revenge in his face that I had overlooked.

Wretched, wretched mistake.

_"She went after you too, huh?"_

My anxiety doubled. I wasn't the only person to face this thing; I may be the only one to survive it. I needed to talk to him, _now_. I left John three frantic voicemails before I fell asleep. When I woke up, Dalton had made me breakfast and arranged for a hospice nurse to come and check on me since I was so adamant about not returning to the hospital. He had even taken off work for a few days so that if I needed anything he would just be across the hall. I was deeply touched by the gesture. After I ate I called John's cell phone once more.

I heard the click of someone picking up the call, but no noise. My heart beat sped up, something was wrong. "John?"

A guttural voice tutted and cooed, but it sent a shiver up my spine. "How adorable, do you have a crush? You've called him all night,"

I inhaled silently, deeply, slowly and stomped down the panic that chocked me. It wasn't the same demon that attacked me, but it was another. They always had an undercurrent in their tone that didn't sound totally human. This also wasn't the first time I had heard a demon on the other end of the phone. As exorcists, we become marked by the world of Hell. One exorcist I knew on the West Coast was plagued by calls at three in the morning for seven months. No one ever said anything, just heavy breathing, or something that sounded like a growling dog and then hung up.

As I told John before, they just like to fuck with us.

"Let me speak with him,"

The demon exhaled sharply to mimic a pained person. "I'm hurt, Elisa! No chit chat?"

It was probably hoping to surprise me by knowing my name. It didn't. "I don't make pleasantries with the enemies of my Lord,"

It - he - scoffed. "Oh _please_! The noble act is _so_ boring. Can't one of you stuffy humans surprise me?"

"How about you let me speak to John and then I'll work on that,"

He laughed, and it caused my stomach to tumble down to my feet. "And here you're supposed to be clever," He tutted again. "You're disappointing, Elisha,"

My hand gripped my phone tightly, and I prayed for calm. "Hurt him and I will find you and exorcise you myself,"

I could hear the sadistic grin over the phone. "Now _there's_ something!" The fake merry tone drained away leaving only loathing and what I can only describe as evil. "Your threats are idle. When I take his soul and his children's I will make sure to remind them how Michael's little warrior didn't come to save them."

He paused for a moment, and then he reverted to the eerie cheery voice. "While I've enjoyed our little talk, I'm afraid I have some other things to attend to. Oh!" He said it like he had actually forgotten it and wasn't trying to needle me. "And Todd sends his regards!"

The dial tone clicked, and the longer it buzzed in my ear the colder my limbs and lungs felt. My head however pounded in a rhythm, like the world was crashing to glass pieces at my feet. I felt myself shaking, a range of emotions from rage to fear to self-loathing to an overpowering need to just _do_ something. Closing my eyes, I took deep breaths and recited the serenity prayer until my heart rate returned to normal.

Emotionally, I tried to take a massive step back and look at the situation as I would if it was a case file that was thrown on my desk. Look at the facts, Eli, look at the facts.

John must have found something that could kill a demon, which must be it. It would explain why such a powerful entity would go after him. Also it would explain why these demons were bribing him with the lives of people who know him. But John was alive though, that I knew for sure and it was some comfort. He had to be alive because if he was dead the demon would have rubbed it in my face.

If he's alive, they need him for something. He must have hidden whatever he had found and now the demon was attempting to get its location from him. I'm treating it like a kidnapping-ransom case. However, with my weak and injured body, I doubted my ability to handle the situation myself. There was only one other exorcist I would trust to assist me in this who was relatively close by.

〖 〗

Two and an half hours later Olufemi knocked on my apartment door. I told him that a crisis situation had developed and that we were going on a road trip. I didn't want to tell him about the attack until I saw him in person. When he actually arrived I was in my room packing, but Dalton answered the door. He had been cleaning up my apartment after the attack. The glass had to be cleaned up, all the light bulbs replaced, and my blood scrubbed off the floor and wall. All I had told Dalton was that Olufemi was visiting. I knew that my partner was not going to be happy when I finally told him why the other exorcist was really here.

When Olufemi finally saw me, I saw the Nigerian's eyes widen and his jaw waver like a dying fish. He was tall and broad, he had a wiry strength compared to Dalton's pure muscle buff but I knew he was strong as an ox. His hair was closed cropped, almost buzz cut.

"Ebele*, Lord...-!" He wouldn't even hug me for fear of making my injuries worse, and Dalton hovering around us only reinforced his worry.

"Jesus, boys, I'm _fine_!"

"WOMAN, STOP SAYING THAT." Olufemi agreed with Dalton, and the two herded me to my couch. Dalton even made me a cup of hot chocolate and I stared at him.

"I love you Dalt, but _damn_," He shrugged, like he hadn't just freaked out like a tween girl.

After I reassured the two that I was perfectly comfortable and in no pain whatsoever, I finally told Olufemi what had been happening. He already knew about John's original file, as I had called every exorcist in the United States to see if they had any information or experiences that were similar to this. However, after the first month when I couldn't contact John I quit updating the others. Olufemi listened intently; palms pressed together and held to his lips thoughtfully. He didn't say anything when I had finished and I waited anxiously for him to speak.

Inhaling deeply, he spoke slowly. "What do you hope to accomplish by finding them?"

"Exorcise the demon," I said, thinking it was obvious.

"From what you have said, there are multiple demons possessing various people to fulfill whatever they are doing. Exorcising one demon, do you think it will even help? You do not even know what it wants or why,"

"I can't just leave someone to the mercy of the devil," I replied, aghast that someone would even suggest that I forsake a person to that. Olufemi looked at me for a long moment before nodding.

"Alright, then we should go."

Twenty minutes later Femi and I were in his car and driving out of the city. Dalton didn't even try to hide his anxiety, but he bit his tongue and wrote down all of the doctor's instructions. I called the office from the road, asking for the last known location of John's cell phone. Five minutes later they called me back with the address.

"Jefferson City, Missouri," I told to Femi.

Suddenly he swerved into the right lane and took the first exit, sending us back to New York. I gaped at him.

"Do you know how much gas is?" He asked with a straight face. "We're flying,"

As we headed toward the airport I called the state police in Missouri and issued a BOLO on John. Olufemi and I bought tickets; thankfully we found a direct flight to Jefferson City with no layovers. I said a quick prayer of thanks as the pilot announced our take off. Two hours and fifteen minutes later we landed. I practically bolted to baggage claim, Olufemi following behind and throwing the TSA workers a meek smile. Just as Olufemi and I were walking around the vast parking looking for our rental car, my phone went off.

"Special Agent Gideon," I answered, not recognizing the number.

"This is Officer Klein, we got a hit on your BOLO," He paused, and I could hear the keys of a computer clacking. "They were first spotted just out of Jefferson, but with no further sightings and since it was a federal stamp we expanded the parameters,"

"Uh huh," I waved at Olufemi to get his attention, silently asking him to wait.

"Your suspect's in Memphis,"

I gawked. "Memphis," I deadpanned.

"Yes, at St. George's,"

The earth's axis spun out of control, turning violently on its side as the world crashed down at my feet. Olufemi watched my face worriedly. "What happened?" I asked, shaken.

The officer seemed slightly confused about my obvious concern. "Car accident, semi T-boned your suspect's car, well he was a passenger. It says here..." He must be skimming the police report. "It was your suspect John Winchester and his sons, Dean and Sam."

Numbly, I thanked the officer for his time and ended the call. Despite the afternoon sunlight, I felt cold seep down into my bones. Olufemi touched my shoulder. "Elisha?"

"We have to go," and then I sprinted back toward the airport, my luggage banging against my side with the broken rib. Olufemi ran after me, calling my name.

_God, God don't let me be too late. _

〖 〗

_Ebele_: Means "mercy, kindness" in Igbo. Sort of a pet name that Olufemi gave to Eli.


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note_: For anyone who's wondering, this takes place during Season 2, episode 1. Now I'm not sure when I will be able to publish next. I'm returning to college again tomorrow, and I'm a part of orientation so I will be busy from tomorrow until the 26th. And the 27th is the first day of my fall semester. Updates will slow considerably but I do not plan on stopping this series anytime soon so just try and bare with me! Your reviews, favorites, and follows are all appreciated and make me feel wonderful!

〖 〗

_"God be in my head, and in my understanding; God be in my eyes, and in my looking; God be in my mouth, and in my speaking; God be in my heart, and in my thinking; God be at my end, and at my departing." – "God Be in My Head"_

〖 〗

I hadn't left the house for three days. Mary was worried, every day when she got home from school she would creep into my bedroom and lay down beside me. And then she talked to me about every mundane thing that had happened to her that day. It was her way of trying to distract me, I appreciated the effort but it wasn't very effective. I wasn't sure if anything would fix me.

That night, Dad came into my room. He was a gruff older man. His brown hair that matched my own was graying at his ears. My sister inherited the light hazel eyes from him, while I had gotten my mother's dark blue ones. Right now he stood in the doorway, his typical Marine straight-as-a-wire and shoulder's back stance facing me.

It was raining outside, and I watched the drops smear my window. Dad hesitated uncertainly in the doorway before he went to my desk chair and eased himself down onto it. Raised by strict Italian-Catholics, Dad was always dressed 'respectfully' as Grandpa liked to put it. He was wearing a pair of dark slacks and a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. I think I only saw Dad in jeans three or four times in my entire life.

Dad seemed to struggle with articulating his thoughts. "You're stronger than this; don't let it take away what you're capable of doing."

After looking dully at him for a moment, I looked back to the window. "How do I go about my day after this? Grocery shopping, paying my bills, and all of those everyday things with this on my conscious? Todd and his wife and his little girl are _dead_ because of _me_,"

Most twenty three year old girls are planning their weddings and celebrating their life after college, most don't carry this sin and blood in their hearts.

Dad took another long pause. He was never a man of many words, which was Mom's best attribute. But she was with God and he was here and I looked back at him like I was a little girl again and afraid of a thunderstorm.

"Why art thou cast down, O my soul?" He quoted Psalm 42. "And why moanest thou within me? Hope thou in God; for I shall yet praise Him for the salvation of His countenance."

Not understanding, I stared at him.

Sighing, Dad put a hand to my shoulder and leaned down to kiss my forehead. "If you feel like you're forsaken, no one but God will be able to reach that far down into the pit and pull you out."

〖 〗

Three years later and I feared that I was gripping onto the edge of that same pit.

By the time we landed in Memphis, I had just about chewed my fingernails down to the bone, and the stress made my head pound in rhythm with my heart beat. The other passengers eyed me nervously the entire flight. I supposed a jittery girl with circles under her eyes and a line of stitches on her scalp were a strange sight on an airplane. Femi tried to calm and reassure me, but I just couldn't. I had lost someone before, because I hadn't _known_ about what lurks for souls in the dark. I was determined not to fall back into that pit.

Time passed slowly once we landed and acquired a rental car. Seconds felt like hours, and my entire body shook. I could barely think rationally, the absolute _fear_ was choking. And this fear went so much deeper; it cut through my body and soul like a knife. Because I had felt that violence myself, and I knew that evil could do much worse.

I was struggling out my seat belt and opening the passenger side door before Femi had even put the car in park. My side felt like there was a fire under my skin, it hurt to breath but it gave me something to concentrate on other than my anxiety. Olufemi caught up to me rather quickly, at this point my body was still so battered and bruised and collapsing under the stress. The poor nurse at the desk jumped when I half fell onto the counter.

"John, Dean, and Sam Winchester," The only photo I had of any of them was the picture of Sam that John had given. I practically shoved it and my badge in this poor woman's face. Stammering out their room numbers, Olufemi half dragged me to the elevator. My insides felt cold.

When the doors opened I limped down the hallway, breathing labored. I was exhausted, in physical pain and completely strung out emotionally. Femi had been throwing me strange looks this entire time, a long searching expression laced with confusion. In all honesty, I understood his mystification. I had never pushed myself so far and jeopardized my career and other aspects of my life for someone suffering from possession. However, despite my own reservations, I couldn't see myself acting in any other way. Something else seemed to be driving me as well, a feeling inside me whose origins or motivations I couldn't place. It felt like divine intervention.

As we neared the doorway, I detached myself from my fellow exorcist with my heart lodged in my throat and barged into the room.

Two sets of eyes turned to stare at me, and that was the first time I met Sam Winchester in person.

His father needed to update his photos. Sam was older than the picture, perhaps by only a few years. Sam was tall, taller than John at least. His brown hair was lighter than my own, and fell shaggily to his ears. In a pair of jeans, plaid button down and a sweatshirt he definitely took after his father's taste in clothing. However, I was caught off guard by how honest and open he looked, even while utterly confused. Like his photo that was crumpled in my pocket, there was lightness in his eyes that many people must envy. I was impressed, because I couldn't imagine how someone that had consumed part of a demon could manage to hold out for so long.

John was lying in a hospital bed, arm in a sling and his face just as bruised and scabbed as mine. He was staring at me in a rare moment of complete vulnerability. Relief crashed into me like a wave. It was almost just as overpowering as the anxiety I had felt for the last 48 hours. Now that I was here, with two of them looking back at me, I found myself at a loss for words. The adrenaline that had run like a drug through my body suddenly drained and I found myself swaying on my feet with pain now taking its place.

It was the look on Sam's face that let me know I was going down more so than my own senses.

He jumped to his feet and caught me just before my knees slammed into the floor. Femi muttered in Yoruba as he took me from Sam and gently hauled me to my feet. John had started when I teetered, but he remained in his bed and watched wordlessly as Sam gave up his chair and helped Femi lower me into it. My rib throbbed, and Femi admonished me for pushing myself. He sounded a lot like Dalton. John's look changed into something more contemplative as Olufemi ranted about my complete lack of health conscious.

I hushed him. "I'm fine, Christ…" Then I focused on John, my feelings torn between complete fury and sympathy. The weariness I felt bogged down my very soul. Stiffly turning to Femi, I winced. "Perhaps a nurse or doctor is needed, some morphine maybe?" Olufemi gave me a look that could wither wallpaper but nonetheless went off to the nurse's station. John and I entered a split second staring contest.

Sam cleared his throat awkwardly. "Um…"

"Elisha Gideon," I held out my hand. "Wish it was under different circumstances,"

Sam shook my hand like I was made of glass. "Sam,"

_I know_. Turning to John, I gave him a look that said _'So how are you going to fix this bullshit?'_ Something else was going on, because he couldn't hold my gaze.

"What the hell happened?"

"I could ask the same thing," He responded. I stared at him and he sighed heavily. "Sam, why don't you take her to see Dean,"

The way his eyes tightened when he said his oldest son's name made me tense, like I was balancing on a knife edge. Sam looked like someone had taken one and thrust it into his chest and twisted it. He choked out an 'Ok Dad' and helped me to my feet gingerly. Gritting my teeth, I realized how far I had pushed myself. My entire right side burned, and the area around my broken rib throbbed as if it was an open wound. I wondered what was taking Olufemi such a long time to find a nurse.

Sam was only supposed to let me lean on him, but he really ended up having to basically carry me. Some movements caused me to pull sharply at my rib, and I would let out the occasional sharp intake that had Sam fussing over me like Dalton. Perhaps it was my slight build and short height that made people treat me like that. However, with the large yellowing bruise on my jaw line, stitches, and injured side I imagined I looked absolutely pathetic.

"Did Meg do this to you?"

"She never told me her name," I replied. "Short blonde hair, petite?" He nodded. "I suppose that was her then,"

Sam looked guilty. "I'm sorry-" He cut himself off as if he wanted to say more but didn't know what.

"It's not your fault,"

We entered another room. Dean was lying in his hospital bed, eyes shut and body still. The only movement he made was the natural rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. I could practically feel Sam's emotions in the air. His breathing sped up and was slightly shallower and I glanced to the side to see absolute pain on his face. I didn't want to ask what the diagnosis was, I feared Sam would break down sobbing and shatter into a thousand pieces. I limped to the foot of Dean's bed and grabbed his chart.

Sam was mostly able to compose himself. "Are you allowed to read that?"

"I have a doctorate, not medical but I digress," I skimmed the chart and felt ice settle in my chest. Phrases like 'minimal neurological activity' and 'severe brain damage' echoed in my head. I felt like a sledgehammer had taken a whack at my body.

Fuck.

"He'll be OK," Sam said forcefully.

I tried to give him the best reassuring smile I could muster, but my stitches and yellowing bruises probably ruined it. "I'm sure he will be," I didn't believe it; I had faith in a lot of things but when faced with a diagnosis of complete neurological failure my confidence dwindled exponentially.

_You should have gotten here sooner. If you had done your job, you would have been tracking them and knew their location before all hell broke loose._

_ If he dies, it's __**your**__ fault._

"I need to find a nurse with a morphine drip," Sam tried to follow me, but I stopped him. "Stay with your brother, it's obviously where you want to be," He seemed slightly taken aback by my observation but conceded easily to my suggestion. Just as I curled my fingers over the door knob Sam stopped me again. I turned to look at him.

He was standing near Dean's bed, his own face scabbed over and beaten. Sam was just honestly earnest. It was endearing in a way. Sam was looking guiltily at me, like he wanted to apologize more but didn't know exactly what to say. Unlike before where I helped him along, I was just so tired and sore I merely stared at him, waiting.

However, he backed out of whatever he was thinking of saying and switched the topic of conversation. "I think my dad is going to try and summon the demon,"

I stared at him. Sam shifted his weight from foot to foot, as if regretted blurting out that piece of information to me. I wondered if John had told him about the demon blood, but when I looked into Sam's eyes I doubted it. He was haunted, but not by that knowledge and I was certainly not going to be the one to tell him that. I glanced at Dean, whose doctor obviously didn't believe he would live much longer. Suddenly, I felt a chill go through me and I looked around the room briefly. I shrugged off the feeling and was warmed by a surge of anger when it sunk it what Sam had told me.

Sam seemed slightly afraid of me in that moment.

"I'm going to kick his ass," I growled, rushed out the door and back to John's room. We were going to have a nice heart-to-heart chat whether he liked it or not. Olufemi was coming out of John's room just as I neared it. I gave him a _'where the hell have you been this whole Goddamn time?'_ look. "Why aren't you accompanied by a nurse with painkillers?"

"They're calling Mercy General for your records," Femi seemed distracted, his eyes kept drifting from my face and to something behind me. I turned around but saw nothing and looked back at him in confusion. "Why do you have the face of an executioner?"

"Because I'm going to kill John Winchester," I snarled, stomping past Femi and into John's room. There was a tray of hospital food in front of him, and I stormed over and took the small cup of jello and started shoveling it down my own throat. He looked completely affronted.

"I almost died because of you, I deserve this jello more than you," I said, traveling on the high of my moment of childish vindictive. "So," I scraped the plastic spoon around the cup, getting every morsel of jello. "Your son mentioned that you are planning on a small demon summoning. I was just curious when you were going to pencil that in, between your follow up appointments and your son in a coma."

If my father were here, he would have slapped me for saying something like that. John just stared at me. "Sam's just a little misinformed,"

"Don't patronize me, do _not_ try and pull this _bullshit_ with me." I was yelling, I don't do it often. But Goddamn it this man _infuriated _me. "What is going on in your head? On what planet does summoning this piece of shit remotely sound like a good idea?!"

Here's the thing about John Winchester, he was an angry man. I was angry, he was angry. Femi pointedly took three huge steps away from the door and waved off the worried looking staff as they walked by.

"Don't lecture me, girl," Girl? _Girl_?! I gaped at him. "You did the job I asked you to do, so stop sticking your nose into this,"

I pointed to the large bruise on my jaw from the slap Meg had given me and the stitches in my forehead. "Your 'business' almost sent me into a coma, John! As far as I'm concerned, the minute that thing broke into my house with the intention of killing me to get to _you_, it sure as hell became my business. And you know what?" I jabbed my finger at him. "If you had followed my rules and kept me informed maybe I wouldn't have walked into the lion's den. Hell, maybe your son would be awake now rather than fighting for his life in a hospital bed!"

The minute the words were out of my mouth I realized my last sentence was over the line. I was horrified with myself for being so cruel, but I felt even crueler when I realized that I really believed in the truth at what I had said. Honestly, if John had called me Dean might not be in this dire situation. However, I realized how vicious it was of me to say that to John himself. My motivation was also despicable; I didn't say it because it was true. I said it because a petty part of me wanted to blame someone else so I wouldn't feel so guilty at my own failure.

John just stared at me; he actually had a very blank expression on his face. I had no doubt that my words were a sharp jab to him but he was almost as proficient as me when it came to schooling our expressions.

"I… Um, erm…" My mortification choked me. Like a coward, I turned and fled from the room. Olufemi followed me; I was walking aimlessly, as long as I put as much space between me and John the better.

"Wow,"

"Shut up, I know," I snapped, feeling horrible. I rubbed my hand along my forehead, a headache blooming between my eyebrows. Making a b-line to the nurses' station, I stared pointedly at all of the nurses until one of them spoke to me. "Painkillers, I need them. _Now_,"

She stuttered and checked my sent over file, triple checked my insurance card, and eyed my badge suspiciously before she finally hooked me up to a morphine drip. It was a sweet relief, the burning and intense physical pain finally fading away. My head lulled as Olufemi pushed my wheelchair.

"Better?" He asked.

"Mm hmm." Head falling back, I peered up at him. "You look exhausted."

"Because you _are_, _Ebele_*,"

"Now I resent that!"

Olufemi kept me distracted with our banter, I didn't realize until the last moment where he was pushing me to. When my morphine filled brain recognized the room number, I squirmed in my seat and tried to violently wheel myself away. "Don't you-"

"You will thank me later, _Ebele_," And with that he opened John's door and pushed me through before slamming the door behind me. I froze as my wheelchair slowed, the bag of morphine swaying slightly on the hook attached to my chair. John looked at me almost like he was bored.

_I'm not high enough for this._ "Erm…"

John dismissed me with merely a look. I wondered how many times Dean and Sam had been on the receiving end of that look. It actually hurt me emotionally, and I had only known him for half a year!

"I'm sorry for what I said," I finally spoke, working up the nerve for about thirty seconds. "It's not true, and it was inappropriate for me to say."

After two full minutes of silence, John finally turned his head and looked at me. I attempted to look as pathetic as I could. "Were you releasing a press statement? That was the stuffiest apology,"

"Fine, I feel like shit and I'm sorry."

"Slightly better,"

I glared at him. "Are you going to forgive?"

"Why do you care if I do?"

The urge to wring his neck was never so powerful. "Jesus, could you be normal for five seconds?"  
John blinked at me and sighed heavily, probably exasperated by me. "Fine…" I had a feeling by the strange look on his face that this was his way of apologizing for keeping me uninformed. And for my broken face. We sat in a not very tense silence for a few minutes before I broke it.

"I know what you're planning to do," I said slowly, referring to what Sam had told me. It didn't take a profiler to deduce John's motivations. "If you sell your soul to save him, Dean will blame himself forever."

John didn't seem fazed; he stared at me with a look hard as stone. "He's my son," He said it with a tone of finality, leaving no room for discussion about the matter.

"Sam will blame himself too," I added quietly. "Don't you give those boys one other thing to feel guilty about," Fumbling with my IV; I struggled to wheel myself out the door. John watched me with only mild surprise.

"That's it?" He asked after I had successfully turned myself around.

"Hm?" I was concentrating on how to open the door and wheel myself out at the same time. Looking out the window of the door, I could see Olufemi down the hall chatting up one of the nurses. Internally I rolled my eyes at him and looked over my shoulder at John.

"To get here you practically killed yourself, and at that point you didn't even know if I was alive or still here." John deadpanned. "Now you're showing more concern about scuffing the hospital floors. Quick change,"

"John," I sighed heavily. "You're going to do whatever you want, and nothing me or Sam say will change your mind. You almost killed me once and I'm not doing it again."

"I can't let my son die," He defended hotly.

"Don't let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, and trust also in me. There is more than enough room in my Father's home. If this were not so, would I have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you? When everything is ready, I will come and get you, so that you will always be with me where I am. And you know the way to where I am going*." I paused, letting the verse sink in. "You read the Bible, right?"

He just stared at me.

"You're a hunter and you didn't read the Bible? Not even the author that shares your name? _Seriously_?"

His response was an unconcerned shrug. "Never had time,"

"Just let me know what your plan is," I sighed heavily, rubbing my temples. "I don't want you to fuck that up too." With that, I awkwardly got myself jammed in the door and yelled down the hall at my friend. "STOP FLIRTING AND HELP THE CRITICALLY INJURED," John laughed the entire time and made no move to hit the call button.

Olufemi wheeled me away, letting my muttering roll off his back like water. He let me seethe for a moment before he steered me to the vending machines. He got me a Snickers and himself a Clark bar.

"I'm going to the restroom," Olufemi said suddenly. "Wait here,"

Munching on my candy bar, I just let myself sink into the chair and relish in the morphine drip. The stress I had felt for the last couple days had left me numb, which I wasn't sure was a good thing. In regards to John, I was resigned. If he wanted to be reckless, fine, but I wasn't going down that road again. My body couldn't take it. However, I wasn't able to bring myself to be very angry at him. He was doing it to save Dean, his first born child. My father would do the same if he was in this position, and I would do it to save him or my sister. Hell, I would do it to save Dalton or Femi. But I couldn't save them, any of them, and that was hopeless feeling.

Perhaps I could make it an easier burden…

Olufemi reappeared at my side a moment later. His face was solemn, dark eyes brooding. I straightened the moment I saw his face. "What's wrong?"

"I had to tell John something, and you will not like what it is." I just stared at him until he continued. "If he's going to trade his soul for Dean's, he must act soon." His eyes flickered back down the hall to where Dean was. "His soul wanders these halls, and its roots to his body are fading,"

Olufemi was not gifted with a charism, but he had grown up differently then I had. He could sense spirits, but through instincts and his senses only rather than psychic ability. It was by no means refined, but he used it to his advantage whenever he could. Now, apparently, was one of those times.

"Are you sure?" I asked calmly, slowly crumpling up the wrapper from my candy bar. "Is he near us now?"

"No," Olufemi really did know me too well. "I suspect that once his soul returns to his body he will have no memory of what occurred. If he has heard his father's plan, once he succeeds Dean will not remember it."

"Thank God for small mercies,"

Suddenly we were both overcome with a feeling of fear, cold and sharp and hard. My breathing grew shallow and I felt a chilled sweat break over my entire body. I turned to Olufemi, wide eyed, and saw the raised flesh on his arms. He stared back at me, nostrils flared. It felt like pure, distilled evil breathed all around us.

I shook myself. The presence was still there, but both Olufemi and I had learned to ignore it. "He's summoning it now," I said coolly. The situation seemed like a sick joke. I was an exorcist for God's sake, and I was compliantly sitting by while John sold his soul. Despite my best efforts, I felt a few bitter tears on my cheeks. Quickly I wiped them away but I could feel my lip and chin quivering, my throat felt too constricted and breathing was difficult.

Olufemi looked at me sympathetically and covered my hand with his larger one. "Don't you blame yourself for what's about to happen here _Ebele_," I nodded, but I didn't believe that. My next confession was going to be a lengthy one.

Composing myself, I took a deep breath and gestured to him. "Well, let's go and do what we do best,"

"And that would be?" He asked, walking behind the wheelchair and pushing me down the hall.

"Pray,"

〖 〗

_Ebele_: Means "mercy, kindness" in Igbo. Sort of a pet name that Olufemi gave to Eli.

_Biblical Verse_: John 14:1-4


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Note: _Thanks everyone for all of the support (review, favorites, follows)! Hopefully the pace of the story finally good for you guys!_  
_

〖 〗

_"All secrets are deep. All secrets become dark. That's in the nature of secrets." - Cory Doctorow _

〖 〗

Sam was staring.

For the first three minutes I ignored it, but eventually my fingers stopped working over my rosary beads and lifted up my head slightly to look back. After a few seconds he seemed to realize what he was doing, flushed and turned back to his brother. My own eyes stayed on him for a few moments. He squirmed in his seat, feeling my unwavering gaze and turned back to me.

"What?" He asked.

For a beat, I didn't answer. "Nothing," I was merely trying to decipher the dynamics of the Winchesters. The only sound in the room was the beeping of Dean's heart monitor. For a man in a coma, it was steady, even. His room smelled stale, it was the universal scent of hospitals. A strange mix of cleaning products and stagnation. I wondered if Dean's spirit was in the room at this moment, the very idea made goose bumps bloom along the skin of my arms.

Sam's breathing was still sharp, I glanced over to see his hands pressed together at his nose and staring at his brother as if he could _will_ him to wake up.

"Everything will work out, Sam." I reassured, fingers unconsciously rubbing against my rosary beads.

He turned to stare at me, green eyes searching my own desperately. I tried to look back with as much conviction as I could. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him because the tension in Sam's shoulders relaxed slightly and he turned back to watching his brother's vitals. For a beat we lapsed back into silence. I was slightly surprised to notice him bow his head slightly and his lips move ever so slightly.

_Huh, _I thought to myself and returned to my rosary. _It's rare when a hunter prays._

We resumed our comfortable quiet, each sending our prayers on Dean's behalf. However it was interrupted by a large growl. Sam flushed, mortified.

"From what you've said of Dean," I said with a small smile. "I don't believe he would be very pleased if you weren't taking care of yourself."

Sam exhaled a laugh awkwardly. "I, um, kind of forgot..."

"To eat?" I teased.

"I guess," He let a small smile cross his face. It must have been the first one in a while.

"Go get something from the cafeteria, it's not Mom's home cooking but it tastes better than an IV drip," Sam's smile widened slightly at my lame attempt at a joke. However his green eyes strayed back to Dean, his mouth flattening back to a tight line. "I'll stay with him," I offered, as if there was a chance I could move anywhere. Olufemi had charmed a nurse into allowing him to sleep for a few hours in their on-call room, so my wheelchair had been parked firmly in Dean's room for the last hour and a half.

Sam seemed slightly placated, and lingered for another moment before finally convincing himself that Dean would be safe in my presence and left the room. Olufemi said Dean's spirit was still wandering the halls of the hospital, and I couldn't help but wonder if he was standing at his body's bedside. Bowing my head, I resumed my praying.

"O my Jesus, forgive us our sins." I repeated the Fatima prayer, fingers rubbing the rosary beads in my hand. "Save us from the fires of hell, lead all souls to heaven, especially those in most need of thy mercy."

The machines and monitors screeched just as Dean's eyes snapped open and he gasped for breath. For two seconds I was in complete shock, but the older Winchester started coughing around the tube shoved down his throat and I jerkily wheeled myself to the side of his bed and practically smashed the call button. "Some help in here would be much appreciated!" I yelled.

Dean's eyes darted about wildly, confused. Reaching out, I placed one hand on his and the other on the tube. "Dean, my name's Elisha. I'm a friend of your father's,"

Completely lost, he garbled something. It sounded disturbingly like, _"Where's Sammy?"_

"Sam's fine, your Dad too. They've been so worried about you that they both forget to eat for the last day or two."

That seemed to relax him slightly, but he was still tense and befuddled. I couldn't exactly blame him. Regaining consciousness slowly after being administered anesthesia could be disarming in itself. Dean had just unprecedentedly awoken from a coma that neither myself nor the doctor believed he _could_. It was like his mind and body were going into shock all over again.

"Dean," I enunciated each word slowly and calmly, making sure to hold his gaze with mine. "You're going to be fine, everything's fine. Just relax,"

I wasn't sure if he really heard me because the nurses and doctor came in the room at that moment. I had honestly planned on removing the breathing tube myself, but Olufemi had somehow woken up and found his way back into Dean's room. He and another nurse unclenched my fingers from it and Femi slowly wheeled me out. Dean looked panicked.

"It's alright Dean," I called. "We'll all be right out here-" The nurse closed the curtain beside his bed and slammed the door in my face.

The relief at seeing Dean awake was quickly overtaken by the resigned expression on Femi's face. "It's done, then?"

He only nodded once. "Yes,"

We were interrupted by three loud footfalls and then Sam was beside us. There was a cup of coffee in one of his hands; however most of it had sloshed out of the cup and down his shirt and pants from his sprint down the hall. A ripe banana was in his other, but he was gripping it so tightly it was beginning to bruise.

"Sam, he's fine. Dean's awake, he's _fine_," I grabbed the younger brother's arm as he tried to rush into the room. Wild green eyes focused minutely on me before turning back to the door, Sam's fingers drummed anxiously against the coffee cup.

Olufemi quietly excused himself, I watched him walk around a corner just as he pulled out his buzzing cell phone.

"I said he was going to be OK, didn't I?" Sam said in a rush, understandably itching to reaffirm for himself that Dean was awake. "The doctor didn't even believe me, but he doesn't know Dean..."

Nodding, I couldn't keep my own immense relief out of my voice. "Never doubted you for a second, Sam." Straightening in my wheelchair, I winced as the movement tugged at my wounds. "I going to go find your father and tell him the good news," Sam, however, stopped me before I could move. He didn't seem to realize that he had reached out for my hand until I looked questioningly at him. His hand was abnormally warm. Sam looked slightly embarrassed.

"Can you sit with me until I can go in?" He asked, clearing his throat awkwardly and repeatedly. I nodded. Sam looked relieved that I hadn't laughed in his face or something. "What's taking them so long?" He successfully changed the subject, but worked himself into a slight panic at the thought.

"Most likely they're checking his neurological abilities; he did just wake from a coma Sam. The doctor needs to make sure that everything is, uh, still wired correctly. So to speak,"

Sam went silent for a moment. "You said you're a doctor, right?"

"I have a doctorate in clinical psychology, so technically I am but I wouldn't recommend looking to me for cures to your ailments."

"No offense, but how does someone like you get involved in," Sam gestured at nothing. "_This_?" He must be referring to the paranormal and supernatural.

"It's a long story," I replied, keeping my voice carefully neutral but my tone implied that this would be the end of our discussion about it. Thankfully Sam didn't pursue the topic, but I felt him staring at me for a long moment afterwards. He must have been searching my face, looking for a tell in my expression that would give him a clue.

"Have you heard of something like this before?" Sam asked, and then elaborated. "People coming out of comas, I mean,"

I couldn't tell him the truth. How would I even if I wanted to? It was impossible for me to look into those earnest green eyes and crush the hope there. You would keep your brother, but soon you will lose your father. And which was worse? Dean dying but the possibility that his soul would enter Saint Peter's Gate or John saving him with the price of his soul for a demon's plaything? The injustice of it all made me physically ill.

"Yes, sometimes medicine underestimates the will of a soul." The doctor emerged then and smiled hugely at Sam.

"Go ahead, he'll be happy to see you," He sounded genuinely happy for Sam and Dean as the former wiggled past him and into the room. I remained outside, torn. It was time to tell John that, ironically, the demon had kept their word.

〖 〗

It was honestly only a matter of time before John and Sam began to argue.

For a family that practically survived on secrecy, the dynamics of the Winchesters were not difficult to discern. Dean was the glue that held them all together, carefully balancing between Sam and John and struggling to accept the fact that his very fallible father was not all knowing. John was the patriarch, obviously, and had the archetypal flaw of being emotionally reserved and keeping his children at arm's length. Sam, the rebellious son who had broken free for a time and reveled in the world outside of the Winchester universe was unable to reconcile his father's philosophy with his own.

Despite the fact that love ran strongly in this family, it was lost in translation. Broken people continually seek to mend the broken people around them without treating their own wounds.

I found myself affronted on Dean's behalf, because he wouldn't allow himself to feel it.

Personally, I was also angered that the last memory they would have of their family together would be like this. Sam would forever remember whatever snarky comment he said to John, forever unable to take it back. Dean would only see the arguing and John would have a tragic mixture of all of those feelings. I couldn't live with that.

However, it wasn't my place. I waited outside the door, feeling powerless in my wheelchair and listened. It took every ounce of my willpower to keep myself from wheeling inside and threatening John and Sam with family therapy techniques until they both pulled their heads out of their asses. Couldn't they just celebrate the fact that Dean was _awake_?

In our line of work, one must celebrate the little things or we would get eaten alive.

John told Sam that he didn't want to fight anymore, that when they did argue he was never really sure what they were even fighting _about_. It was the most vulnerable I had heard John emotionally since I met him. This was his suicide note.

It rattled Sam; I heard it in his voice. John asked him to get him some coffee, and I was only half aware of Sam leaving the room. He asked me if I wanted some, I shook my head and watched him disappear down the hall. They were going to be emotionally devastated.

I didn't hear what John said to Dean, he spoke too low. The gravity of the situation hit me in full force once again. I felt like a child, crying for my father to swoop in and fix everything. However, I was no longer a child and the world hadn't been so simple in years.

John came out of Dean's room, his eyes surprisingly as wet as my own. He seemed minutely surprised that I was still around, and we just stared at one another for a long moment. He placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. "Look out for my boys,"

Taking a silent, shaky inhale I nodded. My eyes burned as tears welled. John's resigned expression and his out of character emotional availability said it all. It was time.

"I'll get you out," I said in an uneven voice as John walked away to his own room. His step faltered but he didn't stop or turn around. "I swear to God, I promise,"

I was the last person to see John Winchester alive.

〖 〗

I never got the chance to say goodbye to Sam or Dean. Olufemi forcibly took me home the minute John disappeared into his own room. He told me that he had slipped my business card into each of the boys' jackets. The days turned to weeks. AJ and John interrogated me every day, asking me about the circumstances of the attack that led to my extensive injuries. I never answered, and I never pressed charges. Captain Sanchez spun some tale to 1PP*. My supervisor at the field office gave up after a week of questioning me.

Olufemi returned to Philadelphia, I thanked him profusely. I think he and Dalton spoke about me once or twice a week over the phone. They were worried, I understood. If our places were reversed, I would be worried as well. Dad was mad that I wasn't interested in catching the 'mugger' who had attacked me. My sister sobbed when she first saw my injuries.

Life resumed a type of normalcy, regained equilibrium. I slept; I went to work, prayed at Mass, preformed exorcisms and tried to ignore the heavy guilt in my heart. The BOLO on the Winchester brothers was updated, and I put one out on Dean's Impala as well. It was the only connection that remained which allowed me to protect them.

Along with my guilt, my own attack haunted me. Countless nights I awoke, chest tight with terror and an icy sweat on my forehead. Unethically, I self-diagnosed. I theorized that I suffered from a mild case of PTSD, but I was unsure who to go to. Despite knowing better, I said nothing. My own home felt unsafe.

The first month following the death of John Winchester, I spoke to some of my fellow agents and got in contact with a member of the FBI New York Field office affectionately known by his friends and associates simply as Ari. Before joining the Bureau, Ari served his conscripted three year military career in the Israeli Defense Force. While there, he learned Krav Maga* and taught it to his fellow agents since joining the FBI.

Despite the first lesson leaving me sore and panting, that night I had a nightmare free sleep. Psychologically, learning Krav Maga made me feel less powerless, less afraid of another Meg creeping into my home and breaking my body.

While my body healed, my soul began to wane away. I was far more susceptible to demonic attacks than I had ever been. No matter how much I slept I was always exhausted, I was irritable and angry at nothing. Dad was worried and said something to Father Andrew, who called the Bishop. Unlike my family, the Bishop was privy to my secret life. After all, he was the one who asked me to become what I am.

He then called Father Luca. I hadn't spoken to him in a year. When I answered my phone and heard the familiar raspy breathing and the bustling sounds of Rome behind him, I felt immense liberation wash over me. Father Luca's opinion was one I valued very much. I would trust him with the very fate of my immortal soul.

"I taught you better," He merely said, Italian accent making his voice thick. Father Luca was the general public's initial impressions of a priest. A slight and lithe man, age had shrunk his stature. A bald head, wizened tuffs of white hair around his ears and spectacles that made his eyes as large as an owl's hid Father Luca's surprisingly cynical nature.

"Yes, you did," This Italian man had taught me everything I knew about demons and angels and heaven and hell.

"Have you been observing the Sacraments? Attending Mass?"

"Of course,"

Father Luca would have been an amazing member of law enforcement. His ability to read people was almost as proficient as my own at times. "I had more faith in your common sense,"

"Think of it as my atonement," I replied in a quiet voice, unsurprised at his disapproval but still felt the sting. "His soul's damnation is my fault,"

"You flirt with danger to take the Act," Father Luca warned. "The Devil lusts for your soul, why would you open yourself to such a threat?"

"It's an absolution, of sorts," I repeated evasively.

Father Luca sighed heavily; I could picture him now shuffling through the narrow and busy streets of Rome while pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with the heel of his hand as he rubbed at his eyes tiredly. In that moment I found myself aching to return to that city, to be completely surrounded by my faith. A place where I could wear my cross unashamed.

"You're not a priest; this is not your role to play,"

"I'm a Christian, and my duty is to pray for my fellow man,"

"Then gather a prayer group," Father Luca snapped. "Elisha, you open yourself and those you care about to attacks and how will you live with yourself then?"

Swallowing, my throat felt constricted. "I promised him that I wouldn't forsake him to Hell, and I keep my vows Father,"

He was quiet for a long moment; the only sound coming from the receiver was his wheezy inhale and exhale. "I will pray for your safety, my child,"

"Thank you Father,"

"Take my advice to heart, Elisha. Try to save all the souls you can, but some souls don't _want_ to be saved,"

〖 〗

A Heroic Act of Charity, when explained to most people, didn't sound as epic as its name implies. Most people would smile fondly, as if taking this vow was sweet in its sentiment and admirable in thought alone. However, it was far from that. In essence, I gave up my own earned relief from the temporal effects of sin to the relief of souls in Purgatory. My attendance at Mass and receiving Communion also went to the relief of souls in Purgatory.

It's a dangerous vow to take for anyone, but for a person like myself who has made herself known to Hell the vow is almost a death sentence for the soul. All of my relief of sin, virtues through a good life that protected my soul from the devil, I passed to John Winchester's soul. Until I could free him from that pit, the only thing I could provide was temporary respite.

However, without protecting my own soul, I could feel myself draining away.

It was Friday night in New York City. People my age are out and about, throwing back shots and dancing and laughing. Their youth worn on their sleeves and sparkling in their eyes. They would not be able to imagine sitting in a church pew and exchanging their chunky bracelets for a rosary.

Saint Peter's was the only place I felt truly safe.

My family, friends and colleagues were growing increasingly concerned. I was becoming more and more reclusive. It was easier than explaining to them why I was losing weight, why I had dark circles under my eyes, and why I appeared to be wasting away. Only Dalton and Olufemi knew the truth, and both thought I was crazy.

Once my shifts would end and I finished my training with Ari, Saint Peter's was always where I found myself. My apartment was no longer home, it felt violated. Even with the new paint, I could still pin point exactly where my dried blood was. Meg's face swarmed my thoughts at night, and I became a coward.

I prayed for forgiveness, but John was gifted my respite.

After Father Andrew gave me Communion, I slowly made my way back to my apartment. Father Luca was right, soon I would require my own exorcism if my soul was continued to be laid bare to the devil's tribulations. Without the relief of Mass, Communion, and the cleansing act of confession, I could feel darkness creeping on the edges.

And every night when I came home Dalton texted me to make sure that I was fine.

It was over-bearing and comforting all at once.

However, this Friday evening was different. When I first met Sam Winchester, I had become embroiled in something far bigger than I ever imagined. However, I learned later that there were pivotal moments in time where I could have detached myself from Sam, and probably been better off in many ways for that. That was not my fate.

Dean hates the saying that God works in mysterious ways, but I find truth in that.

This Friday evening, I logged into my email to find a message from one of the last people I had expected to.

It was from Sam Winchester.

〖 〗

_Ebele_: Means "mercy, kindness" in Igbo. Sort of a pet name that Olufemi gave to Eli.

_1PP: _1 Police Plaza, Headquarters of the NYPD

_Krav Maga: _Krav Maga is the official self defense system of the Israeli Defense Forces, and has been taught to hundreds of law enforcement agencies and thousands of civilians in the United States. Krav Maga is a simple, effective self defense system that emphasizes instinctive movements, practical techniques, and realistic training scenarios.


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Note_: Sorry this took so long. I've been so busy with school, clubs, and my friends.

* * *

_"There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness but of power. They are messengers of overwhelming grief and of unspeakable love." - Washington Irving_

〖 〗

I stared at my laptop's monitor like Lucifer himself had sent me a friend request on Facebook.

My apartment was silent except for the sounds of the city outside my walls and windows. The harsh blue light of my laptop cast an eerie glow over my keyboard, taunting me with the occasional 'ding' that told me that I had unread emails in my inbox. My rational mind told me that I was acting ridiculous, that Sam could be contacting me because they had found information about the demon. But the irrational part of me, which was at this time the majority, had become afraid of the name Winchester. It seemed that my involvement with this family ended in pain, and I cowardly didn't want to deal with it anymore.

Taking a shaky breath, I admonished myself internally in a voice that sounded like Dad's. This was absurd, I told myself. It wasn't until I sat down at my chair that I realized I had been rubbing my fingers over my Saint Archangel Michael's medallion.

The subject of the email read: _I never know what to write in these things_. That boded well.

Inhaling once more, I clicked the email. The message popped up before I could blink. For a moment, my eyes refused to focus. The words meant nothing, they were just lines and crosses and indecipherable symbols. For a profiler, I had absolutely no idea what to expect.

_I'm not really sure how to start this off._

_ Hi, I guess. I hope you're recovering well; your injuries were pretty severe. Dean and I are OK, actually Dean's perfectly healthy. I'm still banged up but I'm surviving. _

I was genuinely relieved to hear that. Some of the weight that had been pushing down on my chest lifted.

_Anyway, Dean and I just wanted to make sure that you were OK. You and your friend disappeared and the staff said that you checked yourself out. And I'm totally not a stalker; I found your business card in my jacket. (Not sure how it got there, seriously I'm not creepy- This is sounding bad, isn't it?) But I wasn't sure what had happened since you left so suddenly. So you didn't hear._

_ My dad died in the hospital. The doctor said it was so sudden. I'm telling Dean it's a heart attack, but you know _why_ I don't believe that. I don't think Dean believes me either. I mean, it's not hard to figure out, right? He wakes up from a coma, perfectly healthy, and then my Dad dies and the Colt goes missing. Dean doesn't say anything, but he blames himself. I'm not sure what to say to him._

Tears welled in my eyes and I blinked rapidly.

_Maybe I should tell him it's my fault. I know it is, I knew what my Dad was planning to do and I let it happen. How could I do that? I let my Dad die without doing everything I could to stop it. _

Damn you, John.

_I can't tell Dean that though. I'm afraid what he'll think of me if I told him that I knew about Dad's plan all along. I can't really tell Dean anything, he's not a 'touchy-feely' guy. But he's falling apart at the seams and I'm not sure what to do about it because I am too. _

_ Sorry, I'm rambling. This isn't your problem. I just wanted to make sure that you were alright and that Meg or the Yellow Eyed Demon didn't do anything to you._

_ And thanks for staying with me at the hospital. It was nice to have someone else pray with me._

_ Sam Winchester_

〖 〗

_Sam,_

_ It's very good to hear from you. I'm so glad you and Dean are well, it's a relief. Thank you for your concern, I'm recovering well but not quite back to my normal capacities. I apologize for leaving so abruptly, Olufemi and I were both pressed to return home. We both work in law enforcement and could only make excuses for our absences for a few days. We didn't want to interrupt your reunion with your brother._

_ I wanted you to have my contact information, don't worry, I don't find you 'creepy.' _

_ I'm so sorry about your father. However, I would be egregiously remiss if I didn't tell you this. You and Dean should not feel guilt over your father's fate._

_ If you want to blame someone, please blame me. From the moment you confronted him about his motives, I also spoke to your father about his plans. Since you made me aware of it, I made it a point to discuss with your father the ramifications of forging a pact with a demon. _I _was the complacent one; _I _stood by idly by while your father sold his soul. _I am _the one to blame. Not you. Not Dean._

_ Sam, if you want to say anything to Dean, you tell him that his father loved him very much. That's all that matters. _

_ I'm so sorry, I should have done more. The responsibility lies with me, the exorcist who failed to protect the flock from the wolves. The only thing I can do is beg for your forgiveness. But rest assured, I _will _free your father from that thing. I promise you that._

_ You probably don't want to speak to me much now that I've told you this. I don't expect anything less because that is what I deserve. However, please, if you ever need _anything, _don't hesitate. Just promise me that you and Dean will stay safe._

_ God bless,_

_ Elisha Gideon _

〖 〗

Sam never replied. I wasn't surprised by that. My admission of guilt most likely angered him, but knowing the Winchesters I theorized that Sam's thinking was a mixture of self-loathing as well as blame directed at me. Even if he accepted my involvement, Sam would still blame himself. However, Sam was not malicious. He would never confront me about this directly unless we saw one another face-to-face.

I think I may have felt better about it if he had just ripped me a new one.

Dalton had a very potent opinion on the entire situation.

"They all sound batshit crazy. 'Let's go piss off Hell and _not_ tell our associates about our plan. Genius!'" He rolled his eyes sarcastically. I crossed myself.

"Don't speak ill of the dead,"

Dalton gave me a look. "Eli, pl_ea_se,"

"My tolerance for your 'gay-sass,' as you so eloquently label it, is not very high today, dear."

Sticking his tongue out at me, Dalton pulled a face that made me laugh. It seemed like life had stabilized. However, that foundation was rocked catastrophically two days later. It was Thursday night. The up-coming weekend was Veterans Day, and federal employees were blessed with tomorrow as paid time off. However, I was working.

The Bible says "_Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths_."*

Veteran's Day weekend I was scheduled to teach, along with a few others, some seminars at Nebraska's FBI field office in Omaha. The training was not mandatory, it was open to agents and police officers who were interested and had registered months in advance. My first lecture was Friday afternoon; it was centered on anti-social personality disorder. After landing at the airport that afternoon, I had a meeting with the other presenters and coordinators of the education program. They even treated us to dinner. It wasn't until late evening that I was finally free in my hotel room and I was pouring over my notes for the next morning.

Then my cell phone rang, and it wasn't the phone my family and co-workers called.

"Agent Gideon,"

"I need a home visit," Ellen's curt voice cut through the receiver.

I guffawed. "Why and exactly _how_ do you expect me to do that?"

"You got a license right? Figure it out," the line clicked and then dropped. Well then.

A couple hours and multiple cups of cheap gas station coffee later I pulled my rented car into the dusty parking lot of the Roadhouse. Killing the engine, I yawned hugely into my hand. Nothing good comes easy, so they say. The windows were bright with light, but it was eerily quiet. I idly kicked some gravel and dirt as I walked toward the door, irritated.

Opening the door and stepping inside, the bar was haunted by the regulars. By 'regulars' I mean, Ellen, Jo, and Ash. The three of them had the collective liveliness of a wet paper towel. Jo was wiping down some glasses, and smiled when I walked in.

"Hey Elisha!" Poor girl didn't get much socialization beyond the hunters who occasionally sauntered into this bar stinking of salt and blood.

"Jo," I nodded, sliding onto a bar stood and plopping my purse onto the countertop beside my elbow. "Your mother called me down here for something, her prickly tone suggested it was rather important."

She frowned, genuinely ignorant of her mother's call to me. "Mom's down in the basement getting a new case, she'll be up soon. You want a drink?"

I usually abstain, but Goddamn the last few weeks had been stressful as hell. "A gin and tonic would be welcomed,"

Jo probably didn't get many patron orders that varied from beer, scotch, and good ol' Jack. Forty-five seconds later the clear drink was in front of me and I took a swig, reveling in the slight feeling of warmth pooling in my stomach. Ash was nowhere in sight, but I could hear music blaring from a room in the back.

"We heard about what happened..." Jo trailed off.

"Hm?"

Jo stared sympathetically at me. "The demon, we heard about what it did to you,"

I blinked, going brain dead for a moment as the slight burning of gin went down my throat. "I never told you that,"

Jo shrugged minutely. "Sam told me,"

The glass I was holding in my hand almost shattered. "Sam? Sam Winchester?"

"Yeah," Jo confirmed, absentmindedly. She was rooting around in the bar cabinets. "They came in yesterday, something about a voicemail my mom left them on John's phone-"

"You took your time," Ellen interrupted, a large case of drinks in her hands.

She was probably joking, but the comment just irritated the shit out of me. "I have a life that doesn't rise and set with your needs."

Ellen was not a woman who you 'gave lip' to. Many hunters who have come through this bar have stood shaking in terror under her hard gaze. If my bruises weren't still yellow and brown on my face, my body slight and bowing under my own weight, and dark circles highlighting my tired eyes, Ellen would have given me a speech that would make the devil himself cry.

She settled with just staring at me for a long moment as she plopped the crate on the bar counter. "You look like hell,"

I grunted and pushed my unfinished drink away. "I should go,"

Ellen quirked an eyebrow. "You just got here,"

"You should have told me," I said in a low voice, turning back to face her. Ellen must have realized what I was referring to, because her eyes narrowed slightly and her lips flattened out into a thin line. The entire situation confused me, because this type of deception was so uncharacteristic of Ellen. Just as I was about to question her, the door to the Roadhouse opened and Sam and Dean Winchester stepped inside.

My head whipped back to Ellen, my eyes wide and my expression completely shocked. A small, mirthless smirk upturned the corners of her lips. _Got you_, that smirk seemed to say. So, Ellen was just the middle man, which left me with only one more important question. Who had put her up to it, Dean or Sam?

_Lord, give me strength_. I sent up a quick prayer and turned to face my executioners.

Dean's confusion was obvious and genuine. His eyebrows were knitted together and his lips pressed together slightly as his eyes went from me, to Ellen and then to Jo. Sam, however, was staring pointedly at me with wide eyes, his lips slightly parted and his cheeks flushed a different color. Aha.

"I should go," I reiterated to Ellen, and shimmied around the Winchester brothers toward the door, my eyes firmly locked on the floor. As the door swung shut behind me, I let loose a sharp breath, my face felt hot against the cool night air. Rubbing at my tired eyes, I headed toward my car, kicking at the loose gravel with more force than when I had arrived. _That_ was embarrassing.

As my hand fisted into my purse looking for my rental's key, the door to the Roadhouse creaked open and the sound of boots hitting gravel came toward me. I looked up to see Sam walking toward me, hands shoved in his jacket pockets.

"Um, hey,"

I blinked at him, bracing myself for the onslaught of anger, but nothing came. Transparent green eyes flickered at me, patiently waiting for me to say something.

"Why did you have Ellen call me out here, Sam?" My voice was quiet, unexpectedly unsure.

Looking down at the tops of his shoes, Sam toed at the loose rocks. He seemed almost shy. "I kind of wanted to talk to you,"

I stared. "You have my number,"

He stuttered for a moment and then blew out a rush of air. "Well, this doesn't feel like a situation where a phone call is enough!" Sam held up his hands in vexation.

Taking even breaths, I concentrated on reciting various chapters from The Ritual. I waited for the hate, and I would deserve it, but I sure as hell wasn't going to like it. Sam was one of those people who just _had_ that tender soul, it radiated off him like light. I couldn't imagine that soul hating me.

I was expecting curses, anger, and revulsion.

What Sam said was, "I'm really worried about Dean."

"Huh?" I stammered, and cleared my throat as heat crept up my neck. "I-I'm sorry?"

Sam looked at me like I had just taken a hit of crack. "I'm worried about Dean; he's taking what happened to Dad really hard..."

Re-centering myself, I inhaled slowly and adjusted to the idea that I was not about to receive a verbal ass whooping. It was cooler tonight, autumn was coming to an end and soon it would be winter. The night air was chiller, but it cleared my head and sobered me that much faster. "I'm sure it's been hard on you both,"

Sam looked choked up and swallowed audibly. "Um, yeah," He wanted to say more, but he seemed to think twice about it and stopped himself.

Focus Elisha. What _isn't_ Sam saying? Hone in on his body language and see what that tells you. His eyes were bloodshot and he had dark circles under his eyes, obviously Sam hadn't been sleeping. He also seemed to be a tad thinner, losing weight and not eating enough. Worrying about his brother and trying to come to terms with John's death were becoming more than Sam could bear.

"You want to talk?"

Sam looked immensely relieved that I took the reins and he didn't have to say it aloud. "Yeah,"

〖 〗

From the moment Sam and I walked back inside, Dean stared me down. I wasn't sure what emotion was behind it, but it was overpowering to the point that I could feel his gaze burning a hole into my back. Sam and I sat at a table wedged in a corner of the bar. Jo kept Dean mostly occupied, so when he wasn't staring me down he was staring down Jo's top.

Sam and I both sipped at our water.

"Sam, to be perfectly honest ethically I shouldn't be counseling you."

"Do you think I need counseling?" He asked, sounding genuinely concerned at the prospect.

"Of course not, but you aren't well," I said it as a statement, because it was obvious. By the way Sam's eyes tightened and he looked down at his folded hands he wasn't going to deny it. It actually hurt me to see him like this, and I barely knew him. He reminded me of a little boy trying to stay strong but wanted nothing more than for someone to swoop him up in their arms and assure him that everything would be fine.

"Sam," I said gently. "Mourning takes time, it's not a competition. There's nothing that states you have a deadline to come to terms with your father's death, but you do have to try."

"You went to Stanford, you've heard of the 5 Stages of Grief?" Sam nodded. "Which stage do you think you're at?"

Going quiet for a moment, Sam stared contemplatively at his water before answering. "Depression,"

"Well, good news is you're close to the last step," I paused. "And where would you place Dean?"

"Anger," Sam answered quickly. I pursed my lips, and Sam noticed. "What?"

"Why do you think it was easier for you to think about where your brother is emotionally then yourself?"

That brought Sam up short. "Um..."

"You two are very close, I can see that, you care very deeply for each other and that truly is a good thing. It seems you're more sensitive to what he's feeling than what you are feeling, correct?"

"I guess, yeah," Sam shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Doesn't leave a lot of time to deal with your feelings then does it? If you're worrying about his?"

"Um..."

And then Dean was standing by the table, hands on his hips and car keys looped around his finger. "We gotta' go Sammy,"

"Kind of having a conversation, Dean." Sam replied in a strained voice. Dean sent me a glare like it was my fault. "And it's just _Sam_." He asserted, eyes flickering back to me for a moment.

"Well wrap it up so we can head back to Bobby's,"

"Dean," I stopped him as he started to walk away. He looked suspicious. "I'm glad you're doing well,"

"Thanks?"

I got to my feet. "I don't want to keep you both, and I have a presentation in-" I glanced at my watch and winced. "Seven hours," Sam started, but I shook my head. "Keep me updated, alright Sam?"

"Yeah OK. And thanks Elisha, for coming out here and everything." Sam was so unadulterated about everything, like I had done something as remarkable as change the rotation of the earth by coming here and listening to him.

"Just take care of yourself Sam," I said meaningfully and then headed toward the door. I shouted a goodbye to Ellen and Jo. Ellen actually came around from the bar and gave me a hug goodbye. I must really look like death incarnate. I was exhausted, and I still had to drive back to Omaha.

I was stopped again, however, just as I was about to get in my car. But this time it was by Dean.

"Hey, um," He grabbed my shoulder just as I unlocked the door. I turned, and Dean awkwardly fidgeted with his hands. "I just wanted to, uh, say thanks for listening to Sammy."

This was painfully uncomfortable for Dean, he must be unused to saying thank you to anyone but his brother and even then I'm sure it was still embarrassing for him.

"Of course," I replied quietly. Nodding decisively and quickly ending the conversation, Dean headed back toward the Roadhouse. I opened the car door, but then turned back. "Dean," He was a few feet away, stopped, and half turned to look back at me. "It's not your fault."

He looked so broken and lost in that moment.

"God has already forgiven you," I parted with as I got into my car. "Now you must work on forgiving yourself."

〖 〗

_Biblical Verse: _Proverbs 3:5-6


	8. Chapter 8

_Author's Note_: SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. I'm not dead, as you can see. Unfortunately I've been sick with a cold and nasty cough for about a month and a half. Between my internship and course work, I haven't had much energy to write. With Hurricane Sandy though looks like I'll have some free time...

* * *

_"There is no witness so dreadful, no accuser so terrible as the conscious that dwells in the heart of every man." - Polybius_

〖 〗

"How was your turn on the couch?" John asked around a mouthful of lo mein.

"Nothing extraordinary, I'm comfortable with my own mental and emotional stability that talking to a mental health professional doesn't affect my self-esteem. Unlike certain members of law enforcement who also bluster when their masculinity is threatened."

John merely smiled in response and flicked a slice of mushroom at me with his chopsticks. The squad room bustled around us. Papers rustled, phones rang, and heeled shoes clicked in a chorus.

It had been a week or two since my late night drive to the Roadhouse. My wounds had finally healed up, and I could finally move without pulling any skin that ached. However, my heroic act of charity was still taking its toll. Food made me sick, I was constantly exhausted, and I wasn't sleeping. I was plagued by continued night terrors. Policy dictated after my attack I was required to get a psychological evaluation. I elected to continue with the appointments despite the fact that I had been cleared.

The PTSD had kept me on medical leave for about a week and a half, but the continued work with the therapist had decreased all of my symptoms but the nightmares. However, I was quickly starting to realize that my nightmares weren't a spawn of my psychological trauma.

My soul was weak, vulnerable to attacks of the devil. And being an exorcist, I had put quite a large target on my back. They were getting worse, if I found myself spacing out at work I would be seized with violent, fiery images that left my heart in my throat. I felt like one of the perps I profiled that suffered from hallucinations.

"Gideon," Captain Sanchez interrupted my thoughts. The middle aged Latina woman had her wavy, graying hair pulled back away from her stern face. "Since you've been cleared, your supervisor told me to give you this," She handed me my gun and badge.

"Thanks Captain," I placed the two beside my plate.

Narrowing her eyes, Captain Sanchez searched my face for a long moment. She was a natural born profiler. "You look like hell,"

"Once again Captain, thank you."

"Don't get sloppy," She warned and walked back to her office muttering in Spanish. John watched her go with a laugh.

"The Inquisition never sleeps,"

〖 〗

Dana Simms was a new client.

She was middle aged, recently divorced mother of two. A supervising accountant at a mortgage firm, she was intelligent and well spoken. However, it was easy to tell she was haunted. Dana told me that she was incredibly stressed and emotionally drained from her divorce, and her two teenagers were becoming difficult. Her symptoms included irritability, extreme anxiousness, and a growing fear that someone was constantly following her. She also said that she sometimes felt that 'something unexplainable had crawled inside her and controlled her like a puppeteer.'

I sent her to a physician and clinical psychiatrist to eliminate and biological or psychological causes. She came back with a clean bill of health from both. I told her that based on their reports and her talks with myself; I believed that she was demonically possessed. Naturally, she vehemently disagreed. Even when she first came to me she was sheepish and embarrassed that she was even entertaining the idea of possession. I told her she had to decide if she was willing to believe me or not. She walked out of my office with a rushed apology for wasting my time. A week later she called me in tears and scheduled an exorcism. She never told me what had happened to change her mind.

"This is not a magic pill," I warned her. "Faith is a way of life. You can't just use God for when He's convenient for you. You must attend Mass, Communion, and actively engage. Do you understand? If you don't, it will return to you."

"Y-Yes, I understand." Dana wrung her hands nervously in her lap. Her short, curly blonde hair bounced as she fidgeted.

It was supposed to be routine. I anointed her head with holy water, my rosary was wrapped around my wrist, I periodically touched it to her forehead as I prayed. Dana exhibited no extreme signs, the usual trancelike expression and cough. About halfway through _The Ritual_, it all changed.

The lights in the room flickered, but I didn't stumble. My nose and throat stung as the smell of sulfur permeated the room, and Dana stopped her gentle swaying to stare at me with a look of pure evil. She smiled, but it was the smile of iniquity, the expression wasn't even human.

"Exorcist," It snarled, Dana's voice contorted into a scratchy, deep octave sound.

"Give me your name," I commanded curtly. I was wasting no time with this demon; it was highly discouraged to even communicate with them.

It tutted. "How rude, you're treating me like a common soldier demon." A milky white spread over Dana's irises. "What ever happened to professional courtesy?"

Ignoring the demon, I continued with _The Ritual_. "_He will not allow your foot to be moved; He who keeps you shall not slumber*-_"

"John says hi~"

The skin on the back of my neck rose like a dog's hackles. "Did you _actually_ spend time thinking about that or pull it out of your ass?" I deadpanned. "You're a liar, your _kind_ is all liars, and your leader is a liar. Why would I ever believe you?"

"You have to look out for Sammy," That was John's voice. That was John Winchester's voice coming out of a demonically possessed Dana Simms' mouth. Demons were known to attempt to trick exorcists by impersonating voices and speaking languages the possessed had no previous knowledge of.

"Liar," I reinforced.

"Come now, he sold his soul. You know what that means; you _know_ what happens to souls in the Pit." The demon taunted, leaning forward in the chair. "And we all think it's _so endearing_," It spat the words like they were poisonous. "that you send him your reliefs. Thank you for that, it's like a gift for us to get a chance to rip into you."

"You're pathetic," I replied without missing a beat. Later once Dana was recovered and home with her children would I allow myself to comprehend what this demon was saying. "Honestly, did you pick this woman just to taunt me?" I scoffed contemptuously. "Did you think you can trick me? I've made it my life's work to study things like you, I know you better than you know yourself, and you went through this much effort to screw with me? _Please,_"

"No, I came to tell you that you can't save them," It replied with a cold smile. "The Boss has quite the plans for Sam, and Dean? Well, he'll get in the way- You know how it is. Collateral damage,"

"Even _think _about them and I'll do worse then send you back to hell," I realized halfway through my threat that I had made a mistake. The demon had pushed at all of my nerves until it found the most sensitive one. By the knowing grin, it realized that too.

"_You're_ the pathetic one!" It shouted, voice booming and the walls reverberated. The lights flickered more dramatically, and I felt fear but I looked straight into those milky white eyes. "You think your little gift of crackers washes away your transgressions?! You reek of sin; I can smell it all over you! John Winchester blames you, his sons too! They hate you, they know this is entirely your fault and you know it too!"

Enough, fuck this.

"Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle; be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil." Tugging on the chain around my neck, I heard a sharp snap and held my medallion of Saint Michael to Dana's forehead. The demon screeched and sucked its teeth sharply.

"You think they're going to help _you_?!" It challenged.

"May God rebuke him, we humbly pray: and do thou, O Prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan and all the evil spirits who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls."

"God has forsaken this place!" It shouted, but I could tell that its hold over Dana was almost gone. "Your faith is for nothing!"

"_In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti*_, amen."

Unlike any other exorcism I had witnessed, a loud roar overcame my hearing and suddenly the demonic possession was gone and Dana was gasping for breath. Tendrils of smoke rose from her shoulders, and her eyes were bloodshot and watery. I was deeply disturbed and rattled. Saying one last prayer over Dana, I gave her Communion and reiterated my instructions to her. She gave me a teary hug of thanks and went home, promising that I would see her at Saint Peter's on Sunday.

I told Dalton about what had happened, and what the demon had said.

"Do you actually think it's your fault?" He asked me bluntly. I didn't answer. "You are a complete dumbass. The Winchesters are fully functioning adults; they are all capable of making their own choices. John made his; you didn't make it for him."

Emotion, by definition, is not rational. I felt guilty nonetheless.

There were also things that the demon said that made me think. It said 'The Boss' had plans for Sam. Who was that? Lucifer? The Yellow Eyed Demon? I was sure that it was referencing the fact that Sam had been fed demon blood, especially since at the Roadhouse Sam confessed to me that he had developed psychic abilities. And Dean was collateral damage? It must have meant that Hell was aware Dean would kill Sam himself before he let demons take him, he was in the way. I had never heard of anything like this, and to my knowledge, neither had the Vatican.

As Dalton would say, 'What in the actual fuck?'

〖 〗

After Dana's exorcism, I became convinced they were taunting me with images of the Pit. Night after night my dreams turned into a terrifying view of the tortures of hell. Soon, it was difficult for me to concentrate during the day. Each file that crossed my desk, various law enforcement agencies reaching out to me for help, I saw hell in the pictures of the victims. Dead eyes became alight with fire and pain and hopelessness.

_O God, help me. _

After a week, I realized that I was creeping toward the precipice of having a nervous breakdown. It took all of my willpower to gather the courage to leave my house. I carved protective sigils into the wood beams of my rooms, slept with my bible under my pillow and my rosary twined around my wrist and fingers. I developed an almost obsessive ritual of reciting prayers under my breath. The legions of hell were around every corner and I was beginning to experience something I had never felt.

My faith was beginning to break under this weight.

I called Father Luca.

"What does my child need today?" He wheezed, slightly out of breath. The small streets of Rome wound high up the hills, and even when I was his apprentice he struggled to get home every day.

"I'm being tested, Father." Inhaling shakily, I slumped down my bedroom wall and curled into myself on the floor. My phone was clutched to my head like a lifeline. "And I'm afraid I'm not strong enough to withstand it."

He scoffed. "Your lack of self-confidence in your abilities reeks of adolescent self-loathing,"

"Father," I pleaded, breath hitching. "Please... I need help." My voice cracked at the end and my throat constricted.

He paused for a long moment, and I could hear the crinkle of plastic bags. The priest must be returning from the market with his daily groceries. It still surprised me that the aging man even owned a cell phone, let alone was able to use it.

"What troubles you?"

Taking another uneven breath, I spoke in a hushed whisper. My own home still felt unsafe. "I've seen the Pit."

Father Luca didn't speak for a long moment. "What did you see in the Pit?" His voice was stony.

"It's as in Revelations, smoke rises up and blocks the sun and the air."* Squeezing my eyes shut, I could feel myself choking on sulfur. "I can hear the souls screaming at night."

"Elisha," Father Luca pleaded. "Stop this act; do you understand how vulnerable your soul is?"

"But it's my penance!" I retorted. "His death is _my_ sin!"

"This is your _soul_! John Winchester forsook his! The immortal soul is your most precious possession, you know this! Guard it, protect it at any cost. The Devil has seen your face and he does not forgive those who trespass against him."

"But-"

"Don't force me to watch them take you." He interrupted in an uncharacteristically soft tone. "I'm an old man, Elisha; I've fought the Devil for many years. I don't think I could stand to exorcise you."

That startled me. Never had it crossed my mind that I would find myself possessed. "Do you truly believe that is what will happen?"

"Yes," Father Luca replies stonily. "It will be the greatest laugh they will ever share in Hell."

〖 〗

It felt like a betrayal, but I stopped the Act. A day later I heard from one of the remaining Winchesters. "Sam?"

The younger brother exhaled a quick breath over the receiver. "Hey Elisha,"

"Eli," I corrected automatically. It was around nine at night and I was trying to change with my cell pressed between my shoulder and ear. "How are you? Is everything alright?"

"Uh yeah," Sam chuckled nervously. "I just... needed to talk to someone _other_ than Dean."

_Unsurprising, they practically live on top of each other._ I thought to myself. "Is everything alright?"

"Y-Yeah..."

"Sam?"

"Hm?"

"I just want you to know that you do not sound convincing in the least."

He actually laughed at that, and I actually colored at little bit. Apparently Sam thought I was funny. "Sam, seriously, what's wrong?"

He went quiet again, and I could hear him inhale shakily. "Just, uh, kinda' coming apart at the seams, ya' know?"

I swallowed, remembering a time when it was painful to pull myself out of bed. "Yes, I do."

"Dean is too, but he won't talk about it. Pretty sure he won't let himself consciously realize it."

The sheer amount of trauma these boys have been through, for Dean starting at age four and Sam at six months. I wouldn't be the least surprised if both had severe cases of PTSD. It's not something people can just will away if they don't talk about it, it festers and poisons from the inside out. Honestly, I don't think either of them could handle that and I sure as hell wasn't strong enough to watch them deteriorate.

"Sam, remember what I told you. You have to take care of you too."

"Yeah, I know."

He genuinely sounded like he really heard me. But he also sounded like he was starting to crack. "Sam?"

"Yeah?" I could hear his voice waver.

"Don't do something you'll regret, alright?"

He didn't say anything.

〖 〗

Admittedly I had known the minute I got off the phone with Sam that the next call I got from a Winchester would be Dean. To Sam's credit, he didn't do something completely asinine for at least a week after he called me. However, his tone on the phone had me beyond nervous. Three days after the call I found myself going into a panic attack over the possibilities of what Sam could get himself into.

It finally came to a head nine days after the call. The sun was almost past the horizon, the last little sliver of light keeping the edges of the sky a baby blue. It was a chilly night, and I was practically jogging down the sidewalk to get to my apartment where I could make a cup of hot chocolate.

My night went to hell when my cell phone started ringing. It was Dean Winchester.

〖 〗

_Biblical Verse_: Psalm 121

_In nomine...:_ "In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit." Invokes the Holy Trinity.

_The Pit_: Revelations 9:2


	9. Chapter 9

_Author's Note_: Two updates in two days?! What is this madness? I suppose I can thank Hurricane Sandy for two days of no class. And thank you to everyone whose asked about my safety, I'm fine! I have electricity and everything, and the wind has stopped and the rain isn't too bad so I think at least my area is in the clear!

This chapter is kind-of-a-filler-not-really, you'll see when you read it. Thanks for the reviews so far guys, you all are awesome! :)

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_"Every way of a man _is_ right in his own eyes: but the Lord pondereth the heart." _

- Proverbs 21:2

〖 〗

"I can't find Sam."

That was all it took for me to pack one bag in record breaking time and fly out to Indiana. Of course, that was after I stubbornly demanded that Dean tell me where he was 7 times before he finally told me.

"There's a small airport thirty miles from your hotel. Pick me up there." I don't remember much, the sliding double doors as I entered the airport, the vertigo feeling of the plane taking off and landing where your stomach drops. Either I was in a trance or my worry caused a psychosis state, because I blinked and then suddenly Dean Winchester was standing in front of me.

His upper lip curled slightly in distaste, like the mere sight of me gave him heartburn. "You still look like shit,"

"Well I'm glad your sparkling personality has remained intact." I deadpanned, exhausted to the point that my small overnight back seemed to drag my shoulder down. Dean noticed and took it from me, scowling. "My hero,"

"Shaddup," I followed him to the car. Leave it to Dean Winchester to drive around in a muscle car. "All I needed was some info, don't see why ya' came all the way out here."

"A Sheppard must tend to even the most wayward of their flock." I shrugged. "Fight off the wolves, if necessary."

"Keep the preachin' to a minimum, alright?" Dean drawled as we got into the Impala. "Ellen called me before I called you."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, Sam stopped by the Roadhouse after he ditched." Dean started up the car, the entire frame shook. I breathed slowly out my nose and mentally prepared for car sickness. "That kid..."

We were silent for a few moments before Dean started talking again. He was restless, fingers constantly drumming against the steering wheel or fiddling with the radio. To say that Dean was worried was the understatement of the year. "I just wanted to lay low, figure out our next move ya' know? But Sammy just _had_ to run off, I swear kid's gonna' give me an ulcer..." He trailed off, eyes narrowed at me. "Well? Say somethin'!"

"Anything in particular?"

Dean grumbled. "Smart ass,"

"It's OK to be worried, Dean. I'd judge you if you weren't."

He stumbled, unsure how to react when I was able to say what he wanted to hear. "Um..." I could see why Sam felt frustrated in regards to his brother's emotional wellbeing. Dean had the emotional coping mechanisms of a cactus. Speaking about them was absolutely forbidden. So he handled it as he knew, he was prickly as hell.

"What do I say to him?" The thought of _that_ conversation terrified Dean. I could see it in the way his eyes widened and his knuckles gripping the steering wheel turned white.

"Let's cross that bridge when we get to it, alright?" I replied gently.

Dean relaxed at that, nodding almost enthusiastically. If he could put it off, he would.

He hadn't told me why Sam had run off, not that I'd given him the opportunity on the phone. However, I'd had enough conversations with John and Sam to get a blurry picture.

"When did your Dad tell you about the demon blood?"

Dean was silent for a moment, eyes dangerously focused on me rather than the road. "When did he tell _you_?" He challenged.

"When he brought me your Mother's case. He had already figured out what the Yellow-Eyed Demon wanted, _how_ he did that I'm not sure. As an exorcist, he thought I would have a better understanding of the concept." I stared hard at Dean until he pressed his lips together and wavered under my gaze. "That's not important right now. Did you tell Sam?"

"No!" Dean protested. "'Course not!"

"But you said _something_ to him?"

"I- I just-..." Cutting himself off, Dean cursed and stared pointedly ahead as he drove. "It's not important right now, OK? Finding Sammy is,"

〖 〗

"Dean,"

"No time,"  
"_Dean_," I said meaningfully.

"_Elisha_," Dean mocked my tone.

Huffing, I glared hard at him. He wiggled, uncomfortable. "Stop that!"

"Take this exit _right now_!"

"N-"

"Boy, Christ help me I will slap you-!"

"Cha'right," Dean scoffed.

_Smack_.

"Ow!" Offended, Dean begrudgingly took the exit where the rest stop shone as the sole light source for at least a 10 mile radius. The lonely stretch of highway was pitch black. The rest stop had a forlorn gas station that looked like it was last updated in the 80s. There was also a greasy spoon diner of sorts geared toward truckers, and the neon sign flickered 'open.'

I swear. These men would die of starvation if I didn't remind them to eat.

But Dean still might, if he was going to pout.

Actually, I shouldn't call it that. It's not that Dean was _pouting_ per say, he wasn't _that_ childish and the situation was pressing. Mostly he was staring straight ahead, refusing to look at me and his fingers clenching and unclenching around the steering wheel. A tick in his jaw was working, and his green eyes were steely. He was thoroughly _pissed_.

The tense atmosphere was broken however when Dean's stomach rumbled painfully. Dean glared down at himself resentfully. "Traitor..." He mumbled.

"You can't barge in and be Sam's hero if you're collapsing from hunger, now can you?" I smiled uncertainly. Dean stared at me before nodding his head and getting out of the car. I sighed in relief, I had been unsure with that one. I followed behind him.

The inside of the diner stank of grease that mostly covered up the smell of sweat. A few truck drivers were scattered about the place, one or two at the bar and a few others in booths. They barely looked up when Dean and I walked in. There was one waitress on staff and we could hear two cooks shuffling about in the kitchen. I watched Dean almost instinctively survey the entire building, looking for enemies or anything strange. It made me sad.

I excused myself to the bathroom, Dean waving me off as he was already concentrating on the menu. Raising an eyebrow as I walked away, I thought it was slightly amusing how he had fought me so hard about stopping and now seem totally engrossed. Whatever Sam was doing, I didn't feel he was in immediate mortal danger.

Don't get me wrong. I was going to cry a little on him once we found him after Dean and I had both given him a good smack down for running off, but I had a feeling he was having a slight resurgence of an adolescent identity crisis. After a day or two away from his brother, I was confident that Sam would call him, ready to go back. However, nothing with the Winchesters ever goes according to plan. Danger could rip at either of these two at any moment.

Splashing some cold water on my face, I stared at myself in the dirty and smudged truck stop bathroom mirror as I felt my pores snap shut. Dark blue eyes tinged slightly with red stared back at me. The fair Irish skin I inherited from my father's family was splotchy, and the beauty mark under my right eye was almost lost in the dark circles that framed my lower lids. Light brown hair in a loose braid draped uncaringly over my shoulder. I was a pathetic sight if there ever was one.

When I got back to our booth, Dean was picking apart the stale complimentary rolls the waitress had left. A fizzing glass of soda sat by Dean's elbow, and there was a steaming cup of coffee waiting for me.

"Look like ya' needed it," Dean replied to my questioning look.

"Thank you," I took a sip, my eyes shutting on their own as I relished the warm drink sliding down my throat. We fell silent for a long time, only speaking once the waitress came to collect our orders. Well, she was mostly interested in undressing Dean with her eyes. It was like a switch flipped on. Dean's scowling frown softened into a charming smile as he made sparkle-eyes at her. I timed it; they flirted and made innuendos for five straight minutes before she actually took his order.

Dean was born to be a hunter. He knew _just_ how to work that waitress. Intuitively knew when to tilt his head and how much to come across as endearing, but with that smoky look in his eyes that said he wasn't _so_ innocent. Dean Winchester, I came to believe, could charm the _absolute pants_ off of anyone.

I could also tell that he was one of the loneliest souls in the world.

To his credit, he was pretty clever. It took some skill to turn ordering a BLT sandwich into a sexual insinuation without sounding completely laughable. The waitress licked her lips. Then when she turned to me she scowled and jutted out her lower lip in a pout. My self-control kept me from laughing.

"Nothing for me, thanks," Dean gaped at me as I handed her our menus. "But could you just bring the coffee pot and leave it here?"

The heels of her shoes clicked as she walked away, but not before giving Dean a sultry wink. Unfortunately for her he was still staring unbelievingly at me. "What?"

"You were bitchin' for twenty minutes at me to pull over for some grub! 'Nothing for me'..." He trailed off, scandalized.

"Dean, I wasn't asking you to stop for _me_." I replied kindly, giving him a knowing look. He pursed his lips, but didn't say anything else. Dean tried calling Sam five more times and left him three messages by the time the waitress brought his order to our booth. She plopped the coffee pot beside me.

"Thanks hun," Dean smiled easily up at her.

She returned the expression, her now red lips wet and shiny. "It was my pleasure doll," Her southern accent drawled, hand lingering on Dean's shoulder before walking back to the bar with her hips swaying. Dean's green eyes lingered after her, gaze sliding downwards.

He remembered himself and focused on his food. "Sorry,"

I frowned. "For what?"

"Eyefuckin' the waitress isn't somethin' you preachy types like," He said around a mouthful.

It was petty, but a little part of me was offended at that. "I'm devout Dean, not some middle school principal that wears her pants up to her armpits and demands everyone dance a ruler's length apart."

Dean laughed at that, bits of food falling from his mouth, possibly the only person on the planet who could make that look endearing. "Sorry, that's pretty funny,"

I smiled, insult forgotten. "Thanks,"

The silence this time was comfortable, not strained or thick with awkward tension. Dean ate his sandwich greedily and ate the side of fries within 10 minutes. I sipped at my coffee, going through half the pot by the time he was done. He wiped at his mouth with a flimsy napkin and leaned back in the booth with a sigh. "Man, diner food,"

"You want to head back out?" I asked, glancing at my watch. It was nearing midnight.

"Nah, let me settle for a few 'kay?"

Dean stared out the window, watching the few lonely cars drive by. I smoothed out my checkered scarf, the fabric comforting against the skin of my neck. It was chilly outside, and my thin long sleeved shirt wasn't doing much to keep me comfortable.

"What are you doin' here?" Dean asked suddenly, still staring out the window.

"Huh?"

He turned to look at me, leaning forward so that you couldn't hear our conversation unless you were sitting in our booth. "I get why my Dad-" Dean gulped before composing himself. "was the way he was and why Bobby does this. Sammy and I kinda' inherited it, but what's your story? I don't get it."

There was little doubt what he meant by 'this.' I looked down, watching my own fingers wrap around the cheap off-white ceramic coffee mug that all diners seem to have. "It's not important."

I didn't have to look up to know Dean was frowning. "Bullshit, people don't just _help_ because it's 'not important.' People always either want somethin' from you or they're doin' it for themselves." He paused, staring at me unblinkingly, suspiciously. "Which one are you?"

An internal part of me sighed tiredly. Dean was nothing but paranoid, everyone but blood family was an enemy or could never be trusted fully. Sam didn't have that ice over his heart, but the older brother was different. I couldn't even tell if John had taught his son that or if he had come to believe that all on his own. "You're not going to leave it alone, are you?"

Dean smiled mirthlessly, it was bitter. "Nope,"

Audibly sighing, I drummed my fingers against the mug. My nails clicked quietly against the ceramic. "When I was drafted in my field office for a CIT position, I was the negotiator."

Dean stared at me. "I only _pretend _to be a cop sometimes, English 'kay?"

"I was the hostage negotiator for the Crisis Intervention Team, think SWAT." Dean nodded, and I took that as a sign to continue. "A couple of months went by, and I was good at my job. I mean, _really_ good. A few people I wasn't able to save but that happens to all of us, for the most part I had an almost perfect success rate." I stopped, unable to continue.

It didn't take much to figure out what happened next. "And then it wasn't so perfect anymore?" Dean prodded.

I nodded, swallowing. "Yeah..."

"It was late, really late, past midnight. And it was storming, and it was cold. We got a call from this elderly couple out in the suburbs of the city who thought they heard shots fired inside the house next door. A patrol car arrived on the scene first and looked inside the window, turns out the father had the wife and little girl held inside. He radioed it in, and the CIT team was called out." If I closed my eyes, I could put myself right back outside that house. 207 Orchard Lane, the house was baby blue with white shutters and rose bushes lined the porch. I remember that pretty little house awash in the harsh red and blue lights of police cars, and the echoing sound of rainwater trickling down gutters.

And I'll always remember a small girl's crying cut off by a gunshot.

"His name was Todd, and he was a homicide detective. I called his partner and captain; both had said that he had been acting strangely lately. Irritable, he wasn't sleeping, and he was losing chunks of time. One late night working a case his partner said he went out to get dinner and didn't come back for two hours. When he asked him, Todd couldn't remember where he had been." Blinking the moisture out of my eyes, I glanced up at Dean. "Guess where this is going?"

His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "Possession?"

I nodded solemnly. "But I sure as hell didn't know it then, because he _wasn't _possessed when I got there." Dean frowned, the space between his eyebrows crinkling. "I tried talking him down, I was on the phone with him for three hours. I spoke to his wife Vanessa and his daughter Maria. And do you know what he asked me in the end?"

Dean shook his head, but he had to know how this ended. There was no other way for this story to end.

"He asked me, 'Do you believe in God, Agent Gideon?' And I said, 'Yes sir, I'm very devout. I go to Mass once a week and repent frequently.' And he said, 'No, you don't understand my question. Do you _believe in_ God? Believe that no matter what, you're not alone.' And I said. 'Yes, yes I do. And I believe He doesn't want you to do this.' And then..." I trailed off, shutting my eyes tightly against the guilt. "He said, 'You haven't seen what I've seen. God's not here anymore, and now there's nothing to protect us from...'"

Going quiet, I turned and looked out the diner window and out into the dark barren highway. Darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters...*

"From what?" Dean asked in a surprisingly hushed voice. "Protect them from what?"

"I'll never know, because then he hung up and shot his family before shooting himself."

〖 〗

"I still don't get it."

Dean and I were back in the Impala, driving toward Lafayette Indiana. "Hm?"

"How'd you know Todd was possessed? Cop-suicides can't be _that_ weird,"

"They're not as rare as you would think," I agreed. "Todd was part of the force, it hit each division hard. I had a lot of time to... reflect on what happened."

"What? You quit?" Dean sounded almost disdainful.

Turning to stare at him, I waited a full minute and let him squirm. "What would be your opinion of a hunter who had let another die during a job?"

Dean hesitated for a moment, looking extremely uncomfortable. His fingers flexed against the steering wheel. "They got bad mojo..."

I nodded. "Cops are the same." Shifting back in my seat so I was also facing the road, I went on. "I was put on extended medical leave, but everyone knew it was forced isolation because no cop trusted me. It... wasn't a good time in my life. I was very depressed and I had to move back into my father's house. After a few weeks, the Bishop came to see me. He told me that the Vatican was hosting a special educational program for non-clergy in the coming month, and that the US Bishops were sending 12 people. He picked me."

Dean snorted. "Well, private Catholic education's pricey for a reason. Don't get much better demon schooling than the Vatican, I suppose." He eyed me. "That _is_ where you learned all this shit, right?"

"Yes, the twelve of us were trained specifically for the Vatican's sole purpose of fighting against the Devil. We're not members of clergy, and therefore don't have parish obligations. We travel the country wherever we are needed."

Dean snorted again in disbelief. "Damn,"

"Was that satisfactory to you?" I asked coolly.

"Yeah, jeez don't get your panties in a bunch."

"As if _you_ would ever conceivably have a direct effect on my panties,"

And just like that, we were back to our easy-going banter. Dean grinned at me. "You're not too bad, Eli."

I returned the look. "You're tolerable,"

Dean barked out a laugh. "And here I thought you religious types were all stuffy and no fun."

〖 〗

_Biblical verse_: Genesis 1:2


	10. Chapter 10

_Author's Note_: It's been a while! I've been so busy with end of the semester work! I'm hoping you guys like this update! Thank you to everyone for the reviews, favorites and follows! Each notification email brightens my day! Hope everyone had a nice Thanksgiving!

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_"He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And when you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you." _

- Nietzsche

〖 〗

"How is that you two have survived this long? Jesus, do you _always_ pick motels that have the decor of a crack den?"

"It's called _laying low_."

Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot of some motel off the interstate. It must have been the years of driving and traveling together, because that was the only way this motel was the first and right one. The car rumbled and Dean braked, and I peered over his shoulder to follow his line of vision.

Sam had his back to the window and turned, looking out without seeing us. Dean and I sighed in immense relief.

"Oh, thank God you're okay..." Dean mumbled, not caring that I was there to hear it.

Sam moved away from the window, revealing a nervous looking young woman. Dean chuckled.

"Better than okay! Sam, you sly dog." He said it with a hint of pride.

Rolling my eyes, I unbuckled myself. "Alright Papa Bear, let's-"

The front window of Sam's motel room shattered with the stifled sound of a rifle shot cracking. Dean's entire body tightened, and before I could blink he was out of the car and sprinting toward the building across the street where the shots were coming from.

"Stay in the damn car!" He snarled at me. Curling into as tight of a ball as I could, I covered my head with my hands and concentrated on taking deep, even breaths. Only a minute or two must have passed before the shots ceased, and an eerie silence came over the parking lot.

I could hear a high pitched sound inside Sam's motel room; it must have been the girl nervously babbling. Holding my breath, I waited for Dean to come back to the car. He didn't.

An icy grip clenched over my heart. _Shit, shit, SHIT_.

Sam and the girl cautiously exited the motel room; I crawled over the seats and leaned out of the driver's side window. "Sam!"

His head snapped around, and I saw his hand automatically reach for the handgun stuffed in the waistband of his jeans. Green eyes tightened when he realized I was very much alone in his brother's Impala. Scrambling out of the car, I shakily met him just as he jogged over.

"Elisha, what-"

I smacked him upside the head. "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

Sam looked stunned, hand numbly at his cheek. "Um-"

"I swear to _Christ_ Sam Winchester-!" I cut myself off, biting my lip. My relief at his safety was overshadowed by his recklessness and the fact that Dean still hadn't returned from the room. My stomach churned sourly and my fingertips went cold. "Get up to the roof,"

Swallowing, Sam practically scampered off with the young woman trailing behind him. She eyed me nervously as she followed, wisely risking a gunman rather than my irritation. I chewed my lower lip as I reached for my second cell phone.

"Dalton warned me you'd be calling." Sharise answered with a drawl.

Closing my eyes and breathing slowly through my nose, I willed myself to keep the terrified tremor out of my voice. "I need some information."

"About?" She popped her gum against her teeth.

"The hunters passing through your territory."

Sharise was based out of Chicago, and Olufemi and I worked closely with her. The three of us split the middle North-Eastern states between us when we could. However, she was far more aware of the situation in Indiana than I was. "What happened?" She asked, suddenly serious. "You sound scared stiff."

I gave her the quickest explanation that I could, beginning with Dean calling me and ending with the shots fired. "I need to know who's been passing through within the last few weeks."

Humming to herself, I could picture Sharise leaning back in her chair and rubbing a hand down her ebony face. "You're not gonna' like it."

A cold shiver ran down my spine. "What?"

"Only big name hunter that's been passing through my states is Gordon Walker."

"Thanks," I forced out, my throat going dry. "I'll let you know how this turns out, Sharise."

"Be careful, Elisha." She warned. "But seriously, he's over due for a good smack down. Kick his ass." And then she hung up.

_Shit._ I thought to myself again, numbly slipping my phone back into my pocket. Sam and the girl were heading back toward me. Sam had a resigned look on his face, jaw clenched.

"Dean's gone, isn't he?" It was obvious, but I asked anyway. Hoping that for some reason he'd jump out from behind a dumpster and say '_Gotcha_!' but Sam's face was pinched and pale.

He nodded and handed me a piece of paper with an address written on it. "He's in trouble."

"I know," My eyes flickered to the girl behind Sam, her arms were wrapped protectively around herself and she pointedly avoided making eye contact with me. "Take care of her," The implication was clear in my lowered tone. I wasn't taking an unknown civilian to confront _Gordon Walker _of all hunters. But I did take the paper from Sam. "I have an idea."

His green eyes followed the movement of my hand to my cell. "Anonymous tip to the police?"

I smiled mirthlessly; it was refreshing to have someone keep up. "Something like that,"

〖 〗

It only took a flash of my badge to have the local sheriff's office armed and heading out to the address Sam had written down. I hitched a ride with one of the deputies and had him drop me off where Sam texted me the location of the Impala. He'd parked it about half a mile away from the cabin and I waited anxiously by it for two Winchesters to walk down the dirt road.

I prayed that I had gotten the local authorities mobilized in time. Not only for the boys' safety, but Gordon Walker scared the living shit out of me. Knowing he was safely locked away behind steel bars would do wonders for my insomnia.

About twenty minutes after the deputy had sped off after the others and a nice deep line formed in the grass from my pacing, Sam _and_ Dean finally came into view. Sighing in immense relief, the Impala was the only thing to keep me from sagging to the ground.

"The cavalry was a nice touch," Dean's face was a little bloody and smudged with dirt, as was Sam's. "Little melodramatic though. Two cop cars max next time sweetheart,"

I smiled wobbly. "Well thank God _your_ wit is above all that." Sam shouldered his brother to the car and both boys leaned heavily against the frame. Sam weakly gestured to the trunk where I rummaged around until I found a first aid kit.

Anxiety and insomnia create an interesting cocktail of neurosis'. I become obsessive about wiping away all of the dried blood from their faces and dabbing antibiotic cream like it was moisturizer.

"For fuck's sake, I'm not a little girl." Dean swatted my hand away.

"Then stop blustering like one."

Dean's eyes narrowed at me as he pushed himself off the Impala, inhaling deeply as he rose to full height. I frowned at him. Was he trying to intimidate me?

"Alright Mother Theresa, we need to have a discussion."

_I'm getting the distinct impression that this 'discussion' will mostly involve Dean shouting obscenities at me._ "Uh..."

"Someone ran their big fat mouth to Gordon 'bout Sam and his freaky shit," Dean jabbed his thumb in his brother's direction, the younger frowning at him.

"Dean-" He warned.

"And I'm not sure I can trust that it wasn't _you_ that told 'em."

My jaw went slack; I was so insulted I was practically speechless.

"_Dude_!" Sam wheeled on his brother, shoving himself between Dean and I. "Elisha's not like that! Besides, _why_ in God's name would she come all the way out here just to kill us?" Sam sounded mildly mortified at Dean's accusations.

Shrinking slightly back into himself, Dean scrambled to justify is idiotic line of thinking. "'Dunno! Maybe she wanted to bask in my awesome before I died!"

Rubbing a hand down my face I sighed heavily. "Oh Jesus..."

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard." Sam deadpanned.

"Shut up. Bitch," Dean added lamely.

"Jerk,"

"_Boys_," I exhaled loudly, exhausted. "Please, for God's sake, can we just get in the car and find a motel?"

"Aren't you gonna' buy us dinner first before trying to get kinky?" Dean joked. I glared pathetically at him. "Not even a chuckle? Seriously? I thought that was pretty good..."

"I'm still affronted that you even insinuated that I would help Gordon Walker in any way."

Dean bribed my forgiveness seventeen minutes later with a large milkshake from McDonald's.

I dozed on and off for the next hour and half while I sprawled out in the back seat of the Impala. Curled on my side with my coat as a makeshift, sad excuse for a blanket I was almost comfortable. In between my state of sleep and consciousness I could hear Dean speaking curtly on his cell phone, no doubt confronting Ellen about the leak at the Roadhouse. Sam repeatedly called the other psychic, Ava, who he had sent home earlier. She wasn't returning any of his messages.

Usually in this line of work, that meant she was either dead or _something_ didn't want her calling back.

The sharp sound of the car door closing loudly shocked me out of a light sleep. Sam's expression was stormy and Dean's was eerily blank.

"Sorry," Sam apologized softly without looking back at me. I made a noncommittal noise as I surveyed the cute little house we were parked adjacent from. No doubt Ava's, and by the boys' expressions she was gone (in every sense of the word). "So what now?" He looked to Dean.

The eldest shrugged, fingers flexing on the steering wheel. "Your call Sammy,"

"We gotta' find her," Sam didn't hesitate. Dean nodded and started the car.

"Let's find a room, or two," Dean added, glancing through the rearview mirror at me. "for the night. Can't do much now." Sam nodded weakly. It took fifteen minutes of Sam coaching me before I dragged myself out of the Impala and slinked into the motel room. Dean was grumbling, endearingly embarrassed because there had been a strange rush of people so our party of three was only able to book one room.

I was going to offer to sleep on the floor; I only needed a few minutes to remember how to talk so I could voice it. Dean took one look at me though and guided me to one of the two beds. "Oh for fuck's sake..."

I tried to protest, but I was only able to gargle out a strange noise that only had consonances as I flopped onto the lumpy mattress. The minute I was laying horizontal my senses ran watery, the world around me crystal clear and murky all at once.

"You take the other bed; I'll get a futon from the front desk and take the floor." I heard Dean order Sam.

"What? No, dude, you were the one kidnapped today. I'll take the floor."

"Sammy? Shuddup," Dean paused. "Couldn't make her sleep on the floor, just look at her! She's like Droopy Dog..."

"Well," Sam's tone made me imagine him looking down at his shoes and shifting uncomfortably. "One of us could share _with_ her..."

"I'd feel gross," Dean lowered his voice, scandalized. "It'd be, like, sharing a bed with a nun. What if she purified me in the night or somethin'? Or her morning greeting is 'Have you accepted Jesus Christ into your life?'."

"Dude," Sam laughed, and I heard the distinct thump of his duffel bag hitting the floor. "Elisha's _so_ not like that..."

There was a long and drawn out lull in the conversation.

"Oh. _Oh_!" Dean gasped gleefully.

"What?" Sam asked, suspicious.

"Sammy's got a _crush_!" Dean sang.

Well, that was unsurprising. That Ava girl was rather pretty and he _had_ been calling her a lot. He told us he just had a _feeling_, psh.

A nagging thought in the back of my skull whispered to me that I should be reacting more to this conversation, but then I fell into a deep sleep I hadn't experience since I met John Winchester.

〖 〗

Feeling guilty the next morning when I awoke to see Dean in a restless sleep as he squished himself onto a futon, I quietly slipped out of the motel room to grab breakfast. My clothes were wrinkled; I had even fallen asleep with my shoes on! I sent a belated text to Sharise, updating her on the situation as I crossed the street to the Dunkin Donuts.

Ordering three coffees and a baker's dozen assortment of doughnuts, I shuffled my way out the door and back toward the motel. A middle aged man smoking a cigarette outside spoke without looking up at me.

"He's fated, you know."

A quick glance and sniff had my empty stomach churning. The stench of sulfur mixed with the cigarette smoke in such a way that made bile rise in the back of my throat. "You can exit your host painlessly or I will force you to."

He chuckled, not even attempting to disguise his pitch black eyes. "How cute, the little lost boys run to the little lost ewe for help. It will make breaking you much more rewarding."

"What do you want?"

The demon tilted its head, genuinely amused at my ignorance. "Sam Winchester to fall, of course." He said it like it should have been obvious. "You and the other Winchester dying painfully are just extra."

"It's becoming tedious to repeat myself." I growled, taking a step closer to the possessed man. My St. Michael's medallion was warm against the bare skin of my throat. "Make this clear to the rest of the shit heads in the Pit. Touch either Winchester and I will come for each and every one of you personally."

"Oooooh, I'm practically _shaking_." The demon mocked, exhaling a puff of smoke in my face. "It will be an honor to bring your soul to Lucifer, _personally_." He exhaled a violent cloud of inky black smoke and suddenly a very _human_ middle aged man was blinking in confusion down at himself.

"What the f-"

"Get yourself a cup of coffee," I thrust some tattered bills at him. "And God bless,"

I walked back to the motel room hurriedly, half way through planning an elaborate blessing of both Winchesters and every inch of the Impala. Olufemi had mentioned to me a few months ago that there were rumors of someone selling the Veil of Veronica*. If I split that between the two boys I was fairly confident that would be enough to protect them...

Perhaps they didn't completely need my protection since when I opened the door I was greeted with a shot gun barrel.

"Too early for this shit," I grumbled, still shaken from my encounter. Dean slowly lowered the weapon.

"Sorry," He replied, voice rough with sleep. "Can never be too careful..."

I nodded and placed my purchases on the scratched dining table in the motel room. "Breakfast, since you took the floor..."

"Don't worry about it," Dean said around a mouthful of a jelly filled doughnut. A rustle behind me caught my attention.

"Food?" Sam tiredly pulled himself up to a sitting position, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with one hand while the other held his body up. He brightened as the smell of coffee and pastries hit him. His hair was tousled and his eyes were bleary. From the way the blanket was tangled around him, his lower body was still as sprawled out as it had been when he was sleeping. His plain shirt rode up slightly, revealing a sliver of bare skin just above the line of his sweat pants.

_He is the most adorable thing I've ever seen._

Flushing slightly, I turned back to the table before I did something completely humiliating like coo at him or smooth down that stray piece of hair on his head. "Get the coffee while it's hot,"

Dean was looking at me with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. I narrowed my eyes at him. "Eat your doughnut," He finished off the rest of it before taking another one, not speaking a word. But he didn't exactly have to.

_You like Sammy, _I could practically _hear_ Dean singing it in my head.

Not only was this the most inopportune moment for me to develop romantic attachments, but Sam Winchester was by far the _worst_ object of affections to have. In just a matter of a few years time I realized that this was the last moment I could have saved myself. From this point on blood and pain and fear and hopelessness were unavoidable. With a jolt, I would come to realize in the future that loving Sam Winchester doomed me. It was beyond my comprehension at the time to even _entertain_ the warnings of what he would become. Despite Gordon's threats and the plans Hell had for him, I just could not see the monster in this boy whose night shirt had a hole at the bottom and sweat pants that hung just a little too low on his hips and looked delightedly pleased that I had brought him doughnuts and coffee for breakfast.

"Food, awesome," He gushed, turning to give Dean a significant look that I didn't understand. Dean stuck out a doughnut mush covered tongue at him. Sam and I both grimaced.

"You're a barbarian,"

"Dude gross,"

Rolling his eyes, Dean swallowed loudly. "Whadja' wanna' do now Sammy?"

Sam glanced at me, face blushing faintly. "Just _Sam_, man." Dean looked wickedly at his brother. "We gotta' at least try to find Ava." Sam tapped his fingers against the Styrofoam coffee cup, looking guilty.

Dean nodded absentmindedly to himself. "Right, but first things first. We gotta' send Merrin** here home."

"I'm not a child," I retorted. "This may be difficult for you to comprehend, but before I even heard the name Winchester I was able to pick out my own clothes _and_ use a telephone all by myself."

Dean stared at me before shaking his head slowly, grinning. Sam fretted. "Just... call us when you get home OK?" Sam asked. I nodded.

"And keep your phone on," Dean added. "Don't know when we may need Marshal Cogburn*** to come in for the rescue."

〖 〗

_Veil of Veronica_: Often called simply "The Veronica" and known in Italian as the _Volto Santo_ or _Holy Face,_ is a Catholic relic, which according to legend bears the likeness of the Face of Jesus not made by a human hand.

_Merrin_: Reference to a character in the 1973 film _The Exorcist._

_Marshal Cogburn_: Reference to John Wayne's character in the 1969 film adaption of _True Grit_.


	11. Chapter 11

_Author's Note_: Sorry for the lack of updates! I've been so busy with school and holiday preperations! When I did have free time I was feeling so burned out that I could barely concentrate on writing. Hopefully this will make up for it! And I'm on winter break as of now so I have lots of free time to update and _Jesus do I have ideas_.

Here's a little disclaimer as well, it'll seem random and out of context but I don't want to spoil the chapter for you. Earliest descriptions of angels in texts and the Bible itself don't describe them as we see them in art. Beautiful faces with wings, the Bible says that angels can take on the form of man but it is not their true form. And the hierarchy of angels deems that each class has a different appearance from the others. Also, I'm following the Christian angel hierarchy.

* * *

_"See, what you have to ask yourself is what kind of person are you? Are you the kind that sees signs, that sees miracles? Or do you believe that people just get lucky? Or, look at the question this way: Is it possible that there are no coincidences?"_

- Mel Gibson/M. Night Shyamalan, _Signs (2002)_

〖 〗

"You're going to have to come with me,"

John, AJ and I looked up from the crime scene photos spread out on the table to see a man with slicked back hair and a pressed three piece suit standing over us. John's upper lip unconsciously curled over his teeth and AJ sized him up disdainfully. He screamed _'Fed'_ complete with red, white and blue strobe lights. Well, I couldn't exactly judge as I was myself a federal agent. However, I took great precautions to avoid stepping on my coworkers' and local agencies proverbial feet. It was bad for solidarity. Captain Sanchez stood a few feet behind him, arms crossed over her chest and dark face frowning.

"And you are?"

"Agent Nazareth," He flashed me his badge. "CIA," I appraised him for a long moment. He couldn't be any older than forty, but was still handsome. His slicked hair was dark blond, skin tan and light brown eyes framed with light crow's feet. Olufemi had never mentioned his name before.

He sensed my suspicion. "It's a matter of national security,"

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

AJ stifled a snicker. Agent Nazareth's grin widened. "I have it on _high authority_ that you're one of the few people who can assist in this."

The emphasis wasn't lost on me. Sighing, I glanced apologetically at John and AJ. "Above average intelligence but delusions of grandeur, took some college courses but never graduated. Portrays a scholarly image but doesn't have the attention span to really read or understand the books he keeps in his office. Big and sensitive ego and rage toward women. Similar age range to the victim, look at casual acquaintances or friends with the same people while not friends themselves. Keep me updated," I gave a quick profile for the case on the table while pulling on my coat.

Agent Nazareth led me outside where a sleek black town car idled against the curb. "After you," He opened the back door and ushered me inside. There was a solid divider between the backseat and the front.

"Is this the part of the movie where I end up in a black body bag and I'm never heard from again?" The lack of witnesses was distressing. He laughed. "And there is no way in hell that your last name is legally 'Nazareth'."

He shrugged loosely. "It's company policy to have codenames assigned to us. My superiors don't even know my real name, only payroll knows that." He grinned wryly at that. "Just call me Joseph."

I stared at him. "Joseph Nazareth*. Seriously?"

"It's kind of our thing."

I tried to ask more questions but Joseph hushed me. Soon we were driving out of the city and hurtling down the interstate toward Pennsylvania. It was a lengthy drive. I began noticing strange things. There were faded etchings on the car's interior. The bottom of the windows had a white accent that I realized was crystallized salt. I hummed to myself.

Finally, as the sky was bleeding orange and red, the car came to a halt on a back road in some bumblefuck town in Pennsylvania on the side of a mountain surrounded by trees. We stepped out, the faceless driver leaving the car running as Joseph led me toward this shaky looking lean-to shack under a canopy of pine trees. Every female rape-torture murder case I ever worked flashed through my mind. "Erm..."

Unlike most lean-tos, I saw once we got closer that there was a keypad beside the door. Joseph typed in a string of numbers and the door swung open inside. Once inside, I realized that it was 4x4 and completely empty. However, once Joseph closed the door I heard a loud whirring noise and a release of hot air. Suddenly the floor lurched under us and lowered. It felt like I had stepped into a Batman comic. The government didn't actually have hidden _lairs _like this, only the Hollywood version of the government did.

And yet I found myself standing on a descending floor of a shack that let out to a dark hallway. Joseph grabbed my hand and pulled me along, somehow able to see in the pitch black. Just as my anxiety reached its peak and the muscles in my arm tensed to rip my arm away Joseph pushed open another door and bright light flooded my vision.

"Hey kid," Sharise greeted gruffly, leaning back in a solid wooden chair. Olufemi was there as well. And so was Ed.

"The hell?" I blinked, the shock of light stinging my eyes.

Joseph shuffled me inside and closed the door behind us. The room resembled the common area of a college dormitory. A handful of mix matched couches and overstuffed chairs occupied half of the floor. A stove, microwave, fridge and cabinets took up a corner of the room as well as a table and chairs that the others were sitting at. A flat screen TV hung on the other wall.

"And these will be our quarters?" Ed asked Joseph. The rest of us frowned at their familiarity, even Olufemi. Joseph nodded in answer.

Sharise grunted and Olufemi looked uncharacteristically stiff. I was flabbergasted. "What _the hell_?" I repeated. Ed grinned at me and pat the chair next to him, silently gesturing for me to join them. Resigned, I mentally prepared to be destroyed by Executive power and slumped into the chair. Joseph smoothed the vest and shirt of his suit idly well he waited for us to settle like we were children in elementary school.

"What's going on, Ed?" Olufemi asked. "How do _you_ know someone in the CIA that I don't?"

"Because knowing me is above everyone's pay grade. You only get to know if I _want_ you to."

Olufemi stared. "Are we being punked? Is this like a _Men in Black**_ LARP-ing*** thing? Did Sean from Accounting put you up to this?"

Joseph just smiled benignly. "The CIA has a sub-organization you might have heard of. National Clandestine Services,"

"Hn?" Sharise grunted, arms crossed stiffly over his chest. She could smell a bullshitter in a blizzard.

"It serves as the covert arm of the CIA-"

"You can be _more_ covert then the CIA?"

"-In a way yes." Joseph sighed wearily. "And within the NCS is the Special Activities Division. It serves two main purposes, tactical paramilitary operations and covert political action. I am a Paramilitary Operative, and it is my civil duty through the power invested in me from the United States government to actively seek out, assess, and recruit individuals who possess knowledge that could affect international relations and warfare."

"What do you want with us?" Sharise was unimpressed.

Joseph looked to Ed for help, shrugging in resignation. The Navy SEAL groaned as he pulled himself to his feet and idled over to stand beside the other man. "Ladies and gentle Nigerian, the world is getting smaller and there's talk. Lots of it, between politicians and warlords and nations who aren't exactly our best friends forever. And they, along with some of the top brass here, are starting to see clearer."

"Stop speaking in riddles," I snapped.

Ed just blinked at me, light blue eyes almost translucent. "Have you all noticed it?"

"Noticed what?" Olufemi asked warily.

"Hell is becoming bolder and bolder, like they're restless." He glanced at me, face unreadable. "Elisha," His voice softened though his expression did not. There was a hitch in the way he said my name, like a prompt.

"I don't know anything." I asserted.

He just continued to stare at me. Closing my eyes, I begged God for absolution. "The Winchesters," And I told them. All of it, every bloody and tragic detail beginning when John Winchester haughtily walked right up to me in the middle of a coffee shop like he would burn down the whole world and enjoy it.

Joseph nodded contemplatively as I spoke. "We have suspected for quite some time that certain demonic entities have been providing humans with their blood to consume. However, we are unsure of its significance or its side effects." He hummed. "I wonder at their particular interest in Sam Winchester however."

"How does the government even know about all of this?" Olufemi asked.

The agent shrugged. "It's a long story, my superior is in constant contact with the Pope and they both agree that something is coming. And others are starting to figure that out."

"How so?"

"What are bullets to a being that is immortal, or guns or drone strikes to those who possess the weapons of Biblical wrath?"

I stared at him for a long moment, feeling a heavy dread burrowing deep into my bones. "What you're saying is," I reiterated slowly. "is that the next nuclear arms race is for supernatural and Biblical warfare?"

"That is exactly what I am saying," Joseph replied. "And what's worse, you all know particularly well the nature of demons. They owe no allegiance to man, indeed probably are inclined to think of us as mere insects most of the time, or playthings to amuse themselves with at our expense. But politics do not see that, all they see are weapons. When Hell is no longer amused by our wars, they will wage war on us themselves. Countries are playing with fire," Joseph inhaled silently and gestured to Ed. "The President feels that it is in the best interest to have all weapons accounted for in one place, to ensure that no one may use them. But we need soldiers and operatives who can protect themselves from demons and the like. The Pope particularly mentioned the twelve American exorcists for the task."

Ed leaned back casually against the wall, feet idly crossed at the ankles. "I've already led a few raids and recovers for some of these relics, but there are too many and I don't have the manpower, resources or time to find the rest alone." He shrugged and grinned sheepishly. For a man in his forties and streaks of grey in his black hair, and a bloody job, Ed had a surprising uncomplicated disposition. "You three are the only ones I trust, with the connections on your own to boot. Olufemi's CIA with connections in Africa, Sharise is too damn sharp to be wasting her instincts as a dope buster****, and Elisha's the best damn profiler in the Bureau. The fact that you can all hold your own against a demon's a plus too."

"Is that why the others aren't here?" Olufemi inquired nonchalantly. Only we exorcists on the East Coast had been recruited, and as Joseph said the Vatican trained twelve of us.

"This operation requires some traveling. And like Joe said, Satan's getting stir crazy. We gotta' leave the majority of us to hold down the fort."

"And keep an eye on Sam, and those like him?" The question came out colder and more like a statement that I had meant it to.

Ed nodded solemnly, almost regretfully. "Yes, and that. Elisha, remember we still don't know what consuming demon blood _does_ to humans. They could be a danger to themselves or others and not know it, or God forbid our national enemies find out about them."

I understood it, but the idea still sat sourly in the pit of my stomach.

"And where are we all to go?"

Joseph touched Ed on the shoulder, he was to begin briefing us and it seemed Ed would be taking an assignment as well. I wondered at him. A world class sniper, Navy SEAL captain and a formidable exorcist with the heart of a child but the fight of a Titan.

"And you still haven't told us what the hell this place is," Sharise reminded him tartly.

"This is a Special Operations Group base; we specialize in the Special Activities Division for paramilitary tactics. Here is the main deployment and research facility of the Armor and Special Programs Branch. We are charged with development, testing, and covert procurement of new personnel and vehicular armor and maintenance of stockpiles of ordnance and weapons systems."

"And you won't make a lot of friends in this job, so this is a safe house. If you ever need it."

"Oh thank God, I thought it was a poorly renovated bomb shelter." Sharise snorted.

Joseph ignored her. "Each of you is assigned to discovering the location of, and procuring of a mythical Biblical weapon. Not only are black arms dealers on the hunt for these, but so is every other nation on the planet as well as some pretty nasty supernatural beings. Our intelligence has been able to identify specific regions where all analyses indicate the weapons location. However, a particular coordinate and location is unknown."

He paused for a moment, as if collecting his thoughts. "I'm not going to lie to you, this is as top secret and classified as it gets. There are about seven people in the world who know all of the details of these missions, the President being one of them. We aren't an agency that accepts criticism or responsibility. The things we have to do are the ones that no one will contemplate doing. If you're captured or discovered, we and the US government will deny all connections. So for God's sake, be discreet."

_Oh yeah, this is going to end splendidly. _It only took one Winchester for me to result firmly wailed on by a demon; this would end in Lucifer himself eating my soul.

_Maybe this is a blessing in disguise. _The thought occurred to me suddenly. My revelation from a few weeks ago in that shabby hotel room with a bag of greasy doughnuts in my hand had refused to give me peace. Sam Winchester was someone who was unattainable to me- no, that's incorrect. Sam Winchester was someone who was _off limits_.

John asked me to look out for his boys. It was the last thing he said to me; I translated it to a last request. I couldn't let my own feelings complicate things between my charges and myself. It was unethical, corrupt-

And way, _way_ too crippling.

I placed Sam's life far higher than my own, but it terrified me that I placed it above everything else.

Getting far away from him may lend me some perspective.

Joseph separated us before assigning us our individual operations. In the event that one of us was captured, we could not endanger the others if we cracked. Ed smiled reassuringly at all of us and squeezed my arm briefly. "I don't worry about you at all, kid."

I was led to a small room with a mirror, one-way no doubt. There was a cheap looking metal folding table and chairs, but otherwise the drab grey room was empty.

Save for the man in a trench coat. Or, at least I realized later it was a trench coat.

Natural law, or at least how I perceived natural law, was being bent to the point of breaking in half. Blinding, dazzling, and burning heat filled the room and my nostrils and blazed across my skin. It went through the ceiling, sluicing through the stone and solid material like a spirit. I wondered how far it went. And then there were the wings.

All six of them.

Two burning wings were draped across what I surmised were feet. Another two spread from the sides, twitching and stirring as if restless. I found myself terrified at the thought of seeing this being hurtling through the sky in flight. The last two wings covered its face, but I knew it was looking at me.

I made a noise, some garbled sound of consonances and vowels shoved together. Joseph stood behind me, unperturbed.

"Maybe I should try turning her off and then back on?"

"Ah," A gravelly voice came out of the fire and light and heat. "Well this was unexpected."

Unable to form coherent thoughts, I continued to spew word vomit and stare dumbly and terrified. I shivered half out of pure fear and the other as goose bumps bloomed over my skin. The heat was all encompassing, creeping through my pores and brushing against the vertebrae of my spine. The sensation reminded me of when I was a child, lying soft and curled in my bed on a wintery evening but lulled to sleep wrapped in warm, comforting blankets. The panic drained out of my lungs and my heart rate slowed.

"True Sight is... rare." The voice mused, shifting. Feathers of light twitched where its face should be, the set of wings twitching over it. "What does my voice sound like?"

"Like a garbage disposal clogged with silverware but still running." I forced out, voice slightly slurred from the sleepy calm the fire warmed.

There was a pause and it shifted. I realized it was looking at Joseph. "Yeah," He said with a shrug in his tone. "You sound like you've been smoking since the womb, it's an accurate description."

"Few humans can withstand hearing an angel's true voice, fewer still able to gaze upon our true form. I have never learned of one who could see but not hear."

I grunted.

"It has been said that those with True Sight can close their eyes to the supernatural, metaphorically of course. It requires you to focus however."

After a few minutes of trial and error, I was finally able to discern something different inside me. It felt like there was a new aspect to my mind that had not been there before. Like a switch, I mentally flipped it and suddenly the fire and heat and wings and light were gone and there was just a man with blue eyes that seemed too ancient and a rumpled trench coat.

"So... y-y-you're..." I swallowed the lump in my throat. Now that I was able to compose my thoughts, I processed the conversation that had happened moments before.

He tilted his head, dark hair rumpled as if he was tossed through a hurricane. His expression was grave and dark blue eyes seemed to stare through me right into my soul. It wasn't an intense, piercing gaze however, merely observational. Aside from his wrinkled tan trench coat, he was wearing a white button down with a dark colored suit jacket over it and a pair of slacks and dress shoes. Some poor white collar schmuck _had_ to be dormant behind that fire and light.

"Elisha, you have the misfortune of being highly spoken of by not only your bishop, but by your fellow exorcists and federal agents as well. I've been led to believe that not only is your faith as sturdy as they come, but every federal agency uses you for the most classified interrogations." Joseph's mouth quirked into a grin

I frowned, warily eying the angel and uncomfortable by such praise. "Erm..."

"Therefore, you are assigned the most prized weapon of them all."

"Goody," Bitter sarcasm practically dripped from my words.

Joseph passed me a plain manila folder. Inside was a single sheet of paper with an image at the bottom. It was a spear head, old and decayed but bits of its elegance was still visible. Etchings in the blade were faintly visible as well as evidence of intricate designs on the handle. My eyes devoured the words, my mouth going dry and blood draining from my face as I read on.

"The Longinus*****?"

For the first time since I had met him, Joseph's face was completely devoid of amused mirth. "A weapon that wounded the Son of God, possibly the only source of genetic evidence of Jesus Christ is a formidable weapon to those who would use it."

The idea of a demon like Meg possessing such a thing frightened a decade off my life.

"And," Joseph nodded to the angel, who had remained silent but ever watchful from his spot beside the table. Eyes flickered from Joseph to me, gaze staying on my face for such a drawn out moment that I wondered if he was trying to pull the very soul out of me. "The Host of Heaven is understandably interested, so they've _graciously_ agreed to a joint effort."

His tone implied that the Host of Heaven was very unhappy about that.

"I'll leave you two to get acquainted," Joseph plucked the paper and folder from my hand. "You can swap stories on whose First Communion celebration was wilder, or whatever." He practically flounced out of the room.

The angel and I stared at each other for a long moment, both awkward and completely unsure of the proper etiquette and decorum for this situation.

"Um, I'm-"

"Elisha Gideon," He supplied, rough voice falling over me like gravel. "We've been aware of you for some time. Those who invoke God's name and authority, and for the reasons that you do, make you quite known to Heaven."

_I can't tell if that's a compliment...?_

"I'm sorry if this is offensive, but I have no idea who _you_ are." I replied sheepishly, feeling myself flush at being so disrespectful to an _Angel of the Lord_.

"My name," He replied easily without an insulted tone. "is Castiel."

〖 〗

_Joseph Nazareth: _**Joseph** was the husband of Mary, mother to Jesus Christ. Before they were married, i.e. while Mary was still a Virgin, is when the angel visited her and told her that she would bear the son of God and to name him Jesus. Therefore, Immaculate Conception. Joseph was cool with this, and still married her and raised Jesus. **Nazareth** is the largest city in the North District of Israel. In the New Testament, it is described as the childhood home of Jesus and therefore is a very important location for Christians.

_Men in Black_: Movie franchise about a secret government organization called MIB where all employees no longer 'exist' on paper.

_LARP-ing:_ Live Action Role Playing.

_Dope buster_: Slang, joke. Narcotics police detective.

_The Longinus_: Also known as the Holy Spear or The Spear of Destiny. The spear that pierced Jesus' side during Crucifixion. It is named after the Roman soldier who wielded the spear.


	12. Chapter 12

_Author's Note: _I am SO SORRY this took forever to get out! I've had it sitting on my USB for, like, weeks and kept putting it off! I just quickly skimmed it for errors so I apologize for any spelling/grammar issues! Updates will be slower now that I'm back at school and my course work is piling up!

* * *

_"Thirdly we consider in fire the quality of clarity, or brightness; which signifies that these angels have in themselves an inextinguishable light, and that they also perfectly enlighten others."_

_- _Thomas Aquinas in his_ Summa Theologiae_, explaining the nature of Seraphs

〖 〗

There's nothing quite like watching an angel of God being pat down by TSA officials.

Unblinkingly, Castiel watched the worker's every movement and motion of his hands. I could see his jaw clench as he was pat down, personally affronted at being in this situation. I sniggered to myself.

"That was unpleasant." He deadpanned once he was cleared. I could see the TSA worker shudder over the angel's shoulder as he eyed Castiel's back warily. No doubt through the whole procedure he had felt uncomfortable, unblinking eyes boring into him.

"Welcome to the preventative measures of the war on terror," I replied, hitching my carry-on bag onto my shoulder and double checking our passports and tickets. "Are you going to be alright flying in a plane?"

Tilting his head marginally to the side, Castiel frowned at me. Did he carry out God's wrath? Because at this moment Castiel was looking about as fierce as a confused puppy. "At times I've had to fly through extremely violent weather, and I was not inside an aircraft vehicle so I don't see why I would have a problem."

I pat his shoulder. "Next time just say 'no, thanks for your concern,'"

He nodded seriously. "OK,"

As we walked through the terminals of Newark Airport, I found myself at a loss as to how I had wound up booked for a flight to Rome with an angel in tow to look for the weapon that killed Jesus Christ. Honestly, no one can make this up. Castiel was wide eyed, but stoic as we headed toward our gate. Those ancient blue eyes missed nothing, and they devoured everything that passed.

"Something interest you?" I asked casually as we stopped to allow a large group of people to pass by us.

"Angels have not been permitted on Earth for millennia." He paused to watch a family pass by us. The parents looked sunburned and exhausted, while their young son babbled happily about how their trip to Disney Land was the best while their teenage daughter trailed behind as she sullenly tapped away at her cell phone. "It looked different last time I was here."

Exactly seventy-three seconds later I realized that Castiel was no longer behind me. Frantic, I shoved people aside as I searched. I lost him. I lost an angel of God. There had to be a special level of hell for this. A crackle came over the loud speaker.

"Elisha Gideon, please report to the security station," The voice repeated itself, but before she had finished the last sentence I was already there.

Castiel was sitting patiently beside the security booth, feet firmly planted on the ground and his palms resting flat on his thighs. The two male security guards stared at him with a mixture of dumbfounded confusion and wary suspicion while the elderly maintenance woman who must have found him was busy cooing at him like he was a kitten.

"He yours?" One of the guards asked as he popped some chips into his mouth.

"Yes," I sighed wearily. It was like having a toddler.

The older woman was busy tutting at Castiel gently. "No don't run off on your own from now on,"

"Yes, I understand," Castiel nodded and rose to his feet. I thanked her for finding him.

"Oh, no he's such a doll! So polite, not many young men are nowadays!" She gushed to me as Castiel stood patiently behind me, like a child waiting for his mother to finish chatting with the cashier at the store.

I grabbed his hand as we walked away. He looked down at our joined hands, eyebrows furrowing together.

"Is that what you call 'making a move on me'?"

I gaped at him. "What?!"

"I was under the impression that humans show their monogamous commitment to one another by holding each other's hands in public settings to ward off others."

"What-! No!" I sputtered. "I'm holding your damn hand so you don't wander off anymore!" I grumbled as I dragged him along. "When I die, I don't want Saint Peter to say to me 'Thou hast lost the angel Castiel, this transgression is most severe! To hell with you!'"

"Saint Peter does not personally welcome human souls to Gates of Heaven, nor judge them. The Grim Reapers-"

I hushed him. "Bud, I need you to just be quiet for a little while, OK?"

"But my name is not 'Bud'."

〖 〗

The in-flight movie was _Angels in the Outfield_._i_ Castiel was displeased with the inaccuracies related to the Host of Heaven.  
I gave him my Bible for the remainder of our eight hour flight. He quieted at that and remained still in the seat next to me. While he read, I was busy replying to emails from my father and sister. There were also quite a few from AJ and John, and I groaned internally at the zip file attached to them. No doubt grisly crime scene photos for me to analyze and pick apart.

My sighing must have been rather loud because Castiel looked up. "You seem distressed,"

"I-" Stopping myself, I shook my head. "Nothing, don't worry."

Castiel frowned but returned to my worn Bible. How do you tell an angel that it's taking a toll on your soul to constantly get into the mindset of evil?

There was also an email from Sam.

I was purposefully avoiding opening it, forcing myself to answer every other unread message I had. Half of my motivation for accepting this assignment was to force myself to _not_ think about Sam Winchester. But when I found myself staring at it, the only unread and unreplied message left in my inbox, I felt like I was staring down a lion.

"So, Heaven!"

Castiel looked up again.

"What's that like?" I was pleading at him with my eyes. _DISTRACT ME._

"As it always was," He replied succinctly and resumed reading.

I stared at him, and decided to voice some questions I had since I saw a flaming column of bright light in some dingy interrogation room. "Why are you cooperating with my government?"

"Yours is mobilized and operationally the most efficient, I was not posted here long before they contacted me."

I gaped. "You can do that?"

"Yes, prayer can be quite powerful."

A streak of red hot anger flared through me, but I stifled it quickly. Castiel saw it however and blinked at me, an expression I couldn't identify on his face.

"Ah," He said it again, as if he understood.

"Castiel-"

"Something happened to you, it has caused you to question your faith."

"Don't." I prayed at Dean's catatonic bedside, I prayed when John Winchester sold his soul to save his son, and I prayed when a capricious demon laughed lightly as she splattered my blood along my own walls.

I found myself questioning.

I'm not even sure when it began, not consciously at least. Now, with Castiel saying it, I couldn't rebuke the statement knowing that I was being completely honest. Firmly clenching my jaw, I looked out the window at the flimsy shapeless clouds. Who was I without my faith?

Castiel dropped the subject and went silent. We didn't speak for the rest of the flight and I refused to open my laptop.

〖 〗

Father Luca would never forgive me if I didn't stop to visit him. Castiel politely refused to go with me.

"Whenever you are ready to begin, pray for me and I will come." And then he was gone. He seemed miffed that I did not plan on immediately seeking out the Longinus but I did not find myself that concerned. It would have drawn _more_ attention to us if we went out searching as soon as our plane landed.

Also, Agent Nazareth had skimped on my hotel bill.

The elderly priest lived, as many of the residents of the Vatican and Rome do, on one of the many long winding roads that crept up the steep mountains and cliff faces. His home was small, built off the side of the road with only a rusty flimsy gate remaining to keep out trespassers. A small courtyard lay beyond, weeds and grass cracking the stone floor. A small fountain was against the far wall, the water trickling out of a lion's open jaw. A statue of the Virgin Mary stood on the left edge of the pool, as well as various smaller statues of saints.

A dozen stray cats meowed and lazed about the courtyard, basking in the afternoon sunlight, despite the lingering March chill of winter. A crucifix hung above the front door, encased in a clear box to protect it from the elements. I wondered if he was even home or if he was at the church at the bottom of the road.

My shoulders ached from carrying my two bags and I hoped that he was here. I didn't think I had another mile left in me. Just as I raised my hand to knock, Father Luca opened the door.

Dark eyes blinked at me behind huge spectacles. "Elisha?" I had not told him I was coming.

I grinned. "Father," We embraced, I had to stop myself from completely sagging into him. It had been a long, long few months. He had been my mentor, taught me how to use my faith as a weapon. To me he still seemed untouchable.

"What are you doing here?" He said in poorly accented English. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"Unexpected business," I replied, switching to Italian. He had never quite been able to speak English, but he was proficient at reading and writing it. "I had no time to find a hotel, and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind putting me up for a few days?"

He shook his head. "You're always welcome here," Age had stooped his stature, and he had to tilt his head up to look into my face. Tufts of wizened white hair sprouted from behind his ears, but the rest of his head was bare. "You look like hell." He gave me a hard look. "I expect to be told what you've been up to these last few months."

"Gladly Father, but do you have some food? The meal on the plate was God awful."

The aging priest was the only mortal on this earth that I would never keep secrets from. So, I told him everything. I left no detail out, however I didn't give as much information about my assignment. To tell him everything would put him in danger, but I did tell him about Castiel.

He was unimpressed, and he warned me about becoming too attached to the Winchesters. "Hunters are a different kind of men," He said over a cup of tea. "They are violent men who live violent lives."

I stared at him for a long moment. "What happened to you Father?" Distrust doesn't spring from nothing.

He just stared back. "Don't ask questions you really don't want the answers to."

I didn't pursue the conversation and we sat in silence for a few more moments as we finished our drinks. Father Luca was on his way to the parish when he opened the door to see me standing there. He left me to unpack and said he'd be back in time for supper. I left my bags in his spare bedroom and left to summon Castiel. In the heart of the Vatican, the sun sparkling over Saint Peter's Basilica from the Square, I closed my eyes.

_Castiel..._

"I was expecting you to wait until tomorrow." His gravelly voice spoke from behind me. I turned to see him looking as disheveled as ever. I just noticed that his tie was backwards, but I dared not reach out to fix it.

"I _expect_ that you and the Host of Heaven are not pleased with this arrangement. Therefore let's conclude our mutual business as quickly as possible and then you can be on your way."

Castiel stared at me. "Angels were ordered by God to love all humans."

"Yes, and I can see that the love is just _oozing_ off you," I drawled, looking around to make sure no one heard us.

Castiel titled his head to the side. "An emotion does not have physical manifestation, 'love' cannot ooze-" He cut himself off at my expression. "What?'

I grinned. "You're an interesting one," I mused. "Now, I doubt the blade they have in the Vatican is really the Longinus, so-"

"I've discovered that a demonic black market thief has acquired the spear, he's hoping to host an auction."

"An auction? To like, Biblical scholars?"

Castiel shrugged. "More powerful demons, other supernatural beings, even the various governments of this planet. My hypothesis is that whoever offers the demon the best exchange will get the spear."

"So what does the Angel of the Lord suggest?"

Tearing his eyes away from the obelisk, Castiel frowned at me like I was an ape. "We take it,"

"Great," I barely finished forming the 't' when Castiel reached out and touched his first two fingers gently to my forehead. His skin was surprisingly warm. With a jolting movement that felt like the descent from the highest point of a roller coaster but amplified, I found myself standing in a gilded hotel room where a black eyed young woman was caught in a Solomon ring burned into the carpet.

"_Oh_, an exorcist? What's wrong angel? Wings no longer flap?" The demon cooed sarcastically. Her English was accented; the demon must have possessed a local. Her skin was olive dark and her eyes a deep brown.

"They're fine," Castiel replied stoically. "Thank you for asking." He deadpanned so well that I actually couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. Turning to me, Castiel gestured at the demon. "You may begin the interrogation."

Black eyed demons were tougher than the normal soldier demons I usually encountered, but relatively speaking they were still weak minded. It was fairly easy to get inside their mind. Demons - at least the lower level grunts - were surprisingly insecure and filled with a strange mixture of self-loathing and narcissism that I had only seen in Dean Winchester. Soon I was able to discern from the cracked psyche of a demon in the throes of an identity crisis where it had hidden the spear before the auction.

Castiel and I found it just where the demon said it would be. Buried in a shallow hole in a plain wooden box behind St. Martha's Chapel.

"Huh," I cradled the box in my arms, the spear swaddled in cloth.

"What?" Castiel peered into the box, intently appraising the blade.

"Wasn't this too easy? A little melodramatic for finding the blade that stabbed Jesus. After Agent Nazareth's briefing I was kind of hoping for some more excitement."

"Believe me; your life will soon have enough excitement."

Well. That sounded ominous. "Wh_a_t?"

"My superiors will be pleased to know that we safely recovered the Spear of Destiny." Castiel _almost_ smiled. Then his typical expression of lofting authority turned to me. "Elisha Gideon I'm holding you responsible in the eyes of Heaven for the safety of this weapon."

"E-Erm... cool?"

Nodding once, Castiel took a step away from me. "Goodbye,"

And then Castiel was gone.

〖 〗

"You can't avoid it forever,"

"My mother told me I could do anything I set my mind to!"

Father Luca sat at his table, my laptop open beside him. I was firmly committed to _not_ looking at it. My unread message from Sam was on screen.

"Don't be a wimp." The elderly priest yelled. "I didn't train you as a soldier of God so you could avoid emails from a _boy_!"

"WELL GOOD THING I DIDN'T ASK YOUR OPINION."

I heard a short chuckle and Father Luca muttering to himself. Aggressively chewing a mouthful of spaghetti, I held out halfway through my plate before I stomped into the other room and sat across from the priest. He gave me a look when I turned my laptop to face away from him.

Sam's email had nothing in the subject line. I had let it sit for three days now.

_Stop being such a wuss_.

Just as I clicked on the email my cell phone rang. Frowning, I saw my sister's name flash across the screen.

"Better speak fast, international calls are expensive."

"Eli, you need to come home _right now_." Mary demanded tearfully. "It's Dad..."

〖 〗

It had been three months since the assignment to Rome. I had never responded to Sam's email. I did read it though, one late night in May when it was my turn to stay with Dad. It was a long message, more like a confession. Sam told me about a werewolf hunt he and Dean had done, and he ended up shooting one of the turned victims because she tearfully begged him to.

My heart went out to Sam, in more ways than one, but I had to care for my family now.

Mary had called me when she had been pulled out of her Advanced Portuguese language class by the Principal and Counselor of her high school. Dad had been at the bar doing inventory with the other owners when he suddenly clutched at his chest and collapsed. He'd suffered a severe heart attack. However, during the medical tests, the doctors discovered worse news.

"I quit, twenty years ago." Dad grumbled when the doctor showed us the x-ray.

"And how long did you smoke before quitting?"

Dad grumbled, somehow managing to look masculine and intimidating in a hospital gown. "Only a decade and a half..."

Mary was trying to stifle her sobs, but shaky harsh breaths escaped her. She sat pushed against Dad's bedside, holding his hand. I held her other, my eyes feeling wet and dry all at once.

"How advanced is the lung cancer?" I asked, trying my damned hardest to keep my voice neutral.

The doctor looked sheepish and apologetic. "I won't sugar coat it, this stage of cancer is very advanced. But with aggressive chemo therapy it isn't unheard of for the cancer to go into remission."

"And what is the success rate of that?"

He paused, fingers twiddling with his stethoscope. "Less than ten percent..."

The next two months passed in a blur, I barely had time to sleep and eat. Dad was at the hospital almost every day for treatment, which left Mary and I dividing our free time between being with him. I worked over time at the hospital, making profiles while I ate. Mary spent her afternoons and weekends at home, alternating between homework and keeping up with the housework.

My mother had died when I was eighteen and I didn't want my sister to lose our father at the same age.

My father _being_ my father, and more like John Winchester then I ever realized, he did not talk about how he was feeling about the whole situation.

He only shrugged. "God'll call me back when he wants me back."

I found myself practically moving back in with my father and sister. It became easier if I stayed the night there rather than at my apartment. Dalton helped out a lot. With four hours of sleep a night I managed to take care of my father and sister, go to work, and perform at least three exorcisms a week.

Agent Nazareth had met me at the airport when I returned from Rome, took the Longinus from me and disappeared into the crowd. Father Luca emailed me at least once a day. I did not have the luxury of thinking about angels and demons or the Winchesters. Until I came back from work and Dad was offering Dean a beer.

〖 〗

_i Angels in the Outfield_: Based on a story by Richard Conlin, the film is about a young woman reporter who blames the Pittsburgh Pirates' losing streak on their abusive manager, who begins hearing the voice of an angel promising to help the team if he changes his ways.


End file.

Supernatural, Romance, Supernatural