Lost Time Chapter 23/27

[dime_liora]

Title: Lost Time Chapter 23/27
Wordcount: 5,220
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Dean/Sam, Gabriel/OFC
Warning(s): Violence, Sex, Expletives, Mentions of an Abusive Relationship
Notes: Still very AU. If you like this, thank sammichgirl, who told me it was time to make it public. :) If you don't it's totally not her fault.
Summary: Sam Burton has an average life, a foul-mouthed sister, and a dream of putting his past behind him. All of that changes when Dean Winchester comes to stay.

First part
Previous part

A/N:Indulge me, when the story prompts it, open up a new tab and play this. I can almost assure you that you won't regret it.

Dean heals quickly, but Sam’s instrumental in that because if Dean had his way he’d rush headlong back into danger, fragile wound or no. They fight, frequently, about Dean’s limitations. Once so badly Sam was shouting with his fists clenched while Dean simply ground his teeth and insulted him. They slept separately that night, Sam not willing to let Dean touch him even after he apologized for some of the lower blows he’d thrown.

Still, time moved, summer rolled fully in, and Sam got picked to be sent to a conference in Denver. Dean flirted with the idea of finding a hunt in the area, traveling there to be closer to Sam, but he tossed it shortly after it came to him. It wouldn’t hurt for them to be apart for a while, and somebody needed to stay with Ope even if she said they didn’t.

He drove Sam to the airport alone, stole a kiss in the parking lot, and then slapped Sam once sharply on the ass outside of airport security. It made him nervous just being in the building, but he hid it deep and simply smiled at Sam. It was fun to watch Sam walk away, to see the way hazel eyes glanced back over one broad shoulder to see whether Dean was still watching or not.

When he got back to the house Ope was there, sitting in the living room with the headphones from her computer on and her fingers tapping the desk idly. He didn’t approach, knew he’d only scare her if he touched her, and went instead into her room to dig through books 'til he found one that had a hefty section on the Apocalypse.

He still didn’t know enough details, but if he was going to prevent the fight with Sam he’d need to know every aspect of the process. He took the couch behind her and flipped through pages, dry lectures on what Apocalypse meant and the historical context of Biblical prophecy. When he felt her hand on his shoulder he looked up to see the sun had gone down.

“How’d you know I was here?” He closed the book and dropped it on the coffee table.

“You smell. Can I get a hand?” Her grin was wicked, disconcerting, and Dean was happy to see it.

“Sure, yeah, what’d yah need sweetheart?”

“Come with me.” He followed her into the bathroom, watched her root around under the sink for a few minutes and then come up with four cardboard boxes. She held them out. “Two of these are bleaching kits, two should be a burgundy color. Start with the bleaching.”

He stared at the boxes for a long time before looking up. “You sure you want me to do this? I’m probably gonna fuck it up.”

“Well who's gonna tell me?” She shrugged carelessly and pulled her shirt off.

Ope gave him tips, laughed as he worked, and then while they waited for the bleach to do its thing she directed him to pick out a specific album and put it on.

“French? You want to listen to French music?”

“It’s not French music you xenophobic ass, they’re from Canada. Skip to track ten and put it on repeat.” She lit a cigarette and waved one hand imperially. He laughed at that.

“Bossy little thing ain’tcha?” He put the disc in, skipped to the track she wanted and hit the repeat button. The soft piano notes started it off, and he sat near her and listened as the violins kicked in. “So it’s Canadian Orchestra music? What happened to your love of shouting women and generic metal?”

She rubbed her forehead. “Shut the fuck up and listen to the words.”

“There is a house built out of stone/ Wooden floors, walls and window sills/ Tables and chairs worn by all of the dust/ This is a place where I don't feel alone/ This is a place where I feel at home”

The tempo picked up slowly, piano building speed and power. Her face was placid, serene, and Dean half-watched her as he listened to the words just like she’d requested.

“Cause, I built a home/ for you/ for me”

He saw Sam in his mind’s eye, Sam smiling and laughing, Sam grim and serious. Sam holding on so tightly to what little life had given him, as if at any moment something would steal it all away. Which wasn’t too far from the truth because from what Dean had seen so far that was all life seemed to do.

“By the cracks of the skin I climbed to the top/ I climbed the tree to see the world/ When the gusts came around to blow me down/ I held on as tightly as you held onto me/ I held on as tightly as you held onto me”

Sam standing vigil for Dean’s heart and soul, Sam waiting to make sure he could put the pieces of Dean back together long before he’d even consider putting himself back together. The violins were picking up the pace, the singer’s voice haunting and slow, and Dean gripped the arm of his seat as he remembered Sam kneeling before him after the werewolf hunt, trembling so hard Dean thought he’d fall apart. Sam desperate for him to live.

It wasn’t that no one had felt that way before. Dean had Bobby, which was as close to a friend as Dean came, before Sam. He had his father. But John Winchester had always insisted Dean ride into danger with him for civilians. It didn’t make Dean less worthy, it made them both less worthy. John treated Dean the way he treated himself, an extension of himself really, and after all these years what more did he expect?

He’d read the journal cover to cover now, studied each page, and the recounting of his mother’s death, the explanation for getting rid of Sam, all of it only served to make Dean question every fond memory of his father that he’d ever had. He’d always considered his dad something of a superhero, untouchable and strong against a world that specialized in beating on the weak. Now he saw him as a man. A man that had made a lifetime of mistakes all in the name of the greater good. He still didn't understand all of the reasoning. His father wrote about a psychic, a prophecy, but what the prophecy was he never said. It was goddamn maddening.

If he accepted the idea of being Heaven’s tool, if Ophelia was right and he was supposed to slaughter Sam for the greater good, could he do it? Would that be an option, to sacrifice his brother, his partner, his everything, for a world full of strangers?

“Until it disappeared/ from me/ from you/ And now, it's time to leave and turn to dust”

No. It wasn’t an option, would never be an option. It wasn’t a pretty thing, wasn’t noble or strong, but Dean was sure of it. Fuck the world and every last stranger in it. Sam was what mattered, Sam and always Sam. Dean didn’t necessarily like that voice, that violent thing inside him that would sacrifice countless innocents for his brother, but he knew it couldn’t be avoided or forgotten. When he looked up he saw Ophelia staring into nothing, sunglasses off and blue eyes unfocused and moving in a line over the room she only knew in her memories. God does not play with dice…

“Ope-“his voice cracked and he cleared his throat to try again. “Ope why did you want me to play this?”

“It’s a good song isn’t it?” Tears started to track down her face. “It’s powerful shit. Despite being Canadian.”

Her hair was rapidly undergoing a transformation, lightening before his eyes, and he watched it change as the song restarted and she rubbed her cheeks briskly. “I won’t fight Sam. I won’t kill him.”

She turned her head his way. “We don’t know that I’m right. It’s just a fucking theory.” There was no determination in that though, she knew perfectly well she was right. Her ritual had given her the puzzle pieces, but no greater picture to assemble them to. Castiel had done that last part, handed her the means to understand the image almost in its entirety. Minus the piece Dean held with her face on it.

“How light is your hair supposed to get?” He swallowed hard and glanced once at the stereo, half-tempted to turn it up, the other half wanting to shut it off entirely.

“Just light enough to be rid of the black. Is it there yet?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.” He washed her hair in the tub, careful that she tilted it just right and that he got all of the gritty bleach feel out of it. When he was done he dried it for her slowly, thinking about the short time he had with baby Sam. How he’d watch his father give Sam a bath, cupping water in his big rough hands before tilting it over Sam’s head. How gentle his dad had been with Sammy then, in those short months before he let Caleb leave his youngest son on the hospital steps.

When her hair was dry she explained the mixing process for the burgundy, laughed softly as he bitched about the smell of the chemicals, and suggested as he was halfway done applying the mixture that he should check to make sure his balls were still attached.

The final product was devastating, the purplish red worked with her skin tone, accentuated the color of her eyes, and he wondered distantly how Sam had never fallen in love with this girl. As if she could read his mind she reached up and found the hand he was using to brush her hair.

“His whole life Sam was waiting for you without knowing it. I’m glad you finally came.”

He had to swallow, the cycle of light-hearted and serious too much for him. “You reading my mind sweetheart?”

Her smile was soft, amused and sad. “You’re thinking aloud asshole. Let’s have lunch.”





-----



Sam had decided on the second day that he hated the conference. He talked to Dean and Ope every night, laughed until he cried when she described making Dean color her hair. He could hear his brother grumbling in the background, throwing out quips of his own to counteract her claims that Dean had been a natural at the process.

When Dean had the phone back from her his gravelly voice made Sam shudder. “I swear she’s more insufferable every damn day.”

Sam wiped at his eyes. “Yep. How are you Dean?”

He heard a door open and close. “Good. Working on the gutters tomorrow. Damn things haven’t had maintenance in years far as I can tell. How are you Sammy?”

Sam leaned against the headboard, soaked in the rich tones and nodded his head along with the words. “I’m ok. Kind of quiet here right now. They’re having a dinner downstairs but I wanted to call you guys before it got too late.” He toyed with the bedspread for a moment and then took a deep breath. “I kind of miss you.”

There was a chuckle, warm and friendly, “Aw Sammy of course you do. It’s always hard for a lady to be separated from her man.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.” He heard something else there, longing, and knew for a fact Dean only let him hear it to soothe any sting the joke might have had.

“Did you guys eat something healthy for dinner at least?”

“Yeah man. Really healthy. There was a lot of green and fiber.”

His eyes traveled past the generic hotel wallpaper and over to the view outside the window. “So cheeseburgers or tacos?”

“Tacos. All the food groups covered in a crunchy shell.”

“Dean that’s not-“ there was a knock at the door and Sam covered the receiver for half a second to tell the person on the other side to wait. “I have to go. Room service is here. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Sure thing. Be good Sam.”

He smiled and rubbed at his eyes again. “You too Dean. Hug Ope for me.”

Sam disconnected the call and got up to cross over to the door. The peephole showed him a slight blonde woman with a cart beside her. She waved once and he opened the door and gestured her inside, watching as she pushed the service cart in first.

“Just put it near the bed. How much do I owe you?” He was digging through his wallet when he felt the tap on his shoulder and turned to see her smiling, eyes fully black.

Fuck.

“We have to talk Sam.”






-------





Dean sat across from her, watched how her fingers twitched with nerves despite the calm mask she was working for. “Ok. So just pray for him.”

He squinted once and then looked up at the sky. “Are you kidding me? Pray for him?”

“Well he works for God Dean. How else? It's not like we have a goddamn phone number.”

He rubbed at his hair and let that one go, not willing to argue or try to build a comeback. “Dear Castiel, it’s Dean Winchester and I really need to talk to you. Amen.”

Neither of them spoke for several minutes, crickets chirruping loudly in the darkness that had settled around them. Just as Dean was about to point out how stupid the whole idea had been he felt a tap on his shoulder and jumped up from the patio chair. Ophelia jerked once, hands clamping down on each other, and when Dean found his breath again he put one soothing hand on her and turned accusing eyes on Castiel.

“Hey, maybe a little warning next time guy? A sound or something?”

“You called upon me Dean. What more warning do you require?” Castiel raised one eyebrow slightly and stared heavily.

“Well I never thought it would fucking work.”

“Then why would you-“

“Hey, both of you. Focus.” Ope’s hand grabbed Dean’s tightly and then released as she worked a cigarette out of her pack. “We have questions Castiel.”

“I am only supposed to interact with Dean, per his request.”

Dean wasn’t sure if he should laugh or scream. “I’m making an exception. She’s got questions I want the answers to.”

Castiel turned his blue gaze on her and Dean was surprised to see the way she shivered under it, as if she could feel it. “Please, ask your questions Ophelia.”

“There are Seven Seals right? That have to be broken before the Apocalypse happens?” Dean feels her fingers twine into his and he holds them.

“I am assuming you are referring to your Book of Revelation. No, there are roughly 600 Seals, and only 66 of them must be broken for the Apocalypse to happen. There is also no seven-eyed lamb.”

He controlled his urge to laugh when he felt her hand jerk sharply in his, and then she was standing. “We need a list. If we have a list we can stop them. Do you-is there an order to them?”

Castiel tilted his head once and then looked upwards briefly. “Heaven is handling the protection of the Seals with the assistance of Dean Winchester. You do not require a list.”

Dean stepped forward then, hand reaching out to touch Castiel’s shoulder and turn him. “I require a goddamn list. Is that good enough?”

“We will tell you when a Seal is in danger. You will go to protect it.” Castiel’s eyes fixed on Dean’s hand.

“What if there’s a way to make sure it can’t happen? Moving something from one place to another or heading off an attack? If we can prevent it entirely that seems more logical than waiting for it to be threatened.” Ophelia’s voice is slightly off, timid and questioning.

“These are my orders.”

That’s it for Dean. The last damn straw, because really? Orders? His entire life has been a series of orders from absent fathers. First his own and now God’s. He’d be damned if he was going to let it continue. “Fuck your orders. She’s right, if we can stop them ahead of time we should. If there’s an order to it we’d have an easier time. We could just prevent the first one and-“

“The first Seal has already broken.” It’s his face that sells it, that makes Dean believe this isn’t just a brush-off to avoid giving them a list.

“What was the first Seal? Who broke it?” He glances once to see if maybe Ophelia has an idea but she looks just as confused and horrified as he feels.

“A righteous man had to shed blood in Hell.” There’s silence, this terrible oppressive silence, because now Dean understands the look. The barest sign of pity intermixed with Castiel’s usual bland expression.

Ophelia doesn’t get it, and if Dean can ever find his voice again beyond the horror of what’s happened he’ll be sure to point out that he beat her to the punch this time. “A righteous-what? You're telling us Hell's been around how damn long and this is the first righteous man to shed blood?”

“Hell chose a specific man. He has given in and begun to torture other souls. That was the first Seal.” Castiel stared at her, and Dean watched as realization dawned on her face. She didn’t reach for him, didn’t try to comfort him, and he was insanely glad for that. His father had sold his soul for him, and now the Apocalypse was coming. It wasn’t the first time Dean wished his dad had simply let him die.

She swallowed hard and then took a step forward. “Ok. Ok so that’s a done deal, but the other ones could be stopped. It's not all gone to shit right?”

Castiel pursed his lips once and considered the sky again. “It is logical.”

“Then go tell whoever the hell you report to I want a list. I want to get the drop on these bastards. You got me?” He’s talking low enough that it sounds like a mockery of Castiel’s voice, but he can’t help himself.

Castiel nods once, turns as if to leave, and then stops. “Were those your only questions Ophelia?”

“No. If it happens, if the Apocalypse starts, is there a final battle? Between Lucifer and Michael?”

There’s a stiffness to his shoulders that Dean hasn’t seen before. “Do not ask that ever again. It is not a safe question. I am very sorry that you were injured and frightened, and I would be sorry to see it happen again.” Dean’s hackles are up, he’s stepping forward, but Castiel’s voice stops him. “I am truly quite fond of you Ophelia, but you are over-stepping your boundaries.”





-----





Sam has time to take in the break in the salt line from the cart’s wheels, the empty hallway beyond the door, and the duffel bag across the room that holds no weapons because the TSA doesn’t accept ‘I’m being hunted by demons’ as a reasonable excuse for bringing a gun or a knife on board. He scans all of these things and then he’s pinned against the wall and the door is flying shut. The blonde steps up near him, and he’s surprised to see that she looks honestly apologetic, black eyes turning warm brown as she pats his shoulder gently. It's a miracle he's not shaking, not falling apart, but Dean's "training" voice is in the background telling him to conserve his energy and make a damn plan.

“I’m really sorry about this kiddo. It’s a precaution you understand. I need to talk to you without the blood and violence.”

He pulls against the invisible force holding him to the wall, and when he knows he can’t break free he leans his head back and settles for glaring. “So talk.”

“I want to help you. I’m here to help you make sure-“

“Bullshit. Help me? You ambushed me. All of you are the same, just like Ruby you-“

She looks mad now, but the force doesn’t increase and there’s no pain. “Ruby? That bitch? Ruby’s a bruiser, a worthless dog who’d do anything if it made her master happy. Not all demons are the same Sam. Some of us want a better life, some of us just want to survive. Count me in both of those categories. I don’t want Lucifer out of the Cage.”

Sam feels his face show the confusion before he can stop it. When she sees it she pulls back, surprised enough that it seems like an honest question. “You don’t know? Your meddling friend and brother didn’t tell you what’s coming?”

He tries to school his face, force himself into a placid calm, and fails miserably. “The Apocalypse. They told me.”

“But they didn’t tell you about the Cage, or the final battle.” She laughs bitterly and shakes her head. “Amazing. He must be closer to giving in then we thought.”

Sam can’t help the confusion, and he really can’t help the interest he has in her story now. “Who’s giving in to what?”

Suddenly the force is gone, Sam’s standing on his own two feet and she’s crossing the room to sit on the bed, hands running through her bobbed hair. “Your brother. The one raised with Winchester values. He’s already been picked for Heaven’s team right? Didn’t you think to ask him why Sam, or for what?”

Sam had asked him. Asked him more than once, and Dean had told him it was to fight off the Apocalypse. If he’d gotten a glimmer of something, something hidden or held back, then Sam had let it go. Dean had a lot on his mind and it was obvious he wasn’t too fond of talking about the whole thing. The blind faith he’d shown in Dean then, the complete lack of curiosity as to whether or not he should know the secret was suddenly overwhelming.

“To stop the Apocalypse. Lead an army or something. What the fuck does it matter to you? What’s this about Lucifer and a Cage?”

She gestured widely. “It’s everything Sam. The Apocalypse is just a series of events leading up to letting Lucy out of the Cage, and once that happens it’s the big battle between him and Michael, and then if he wins Hell on earth. I’m hoping we can help you stop that, because honestly? I don’t want earth to be Hell. I come here to get away from the Pit. But Ruby, and Brady, and Azazel all want it to happen, and you are their Golden Boy. If they got their way you’d be Lucifer’s meat suit and fight the last battle.”

Sam watches her face, honest and open, intense, and the cold that’s always present in his skin settles into his spine. “So they need vessels to fight the last battle?”

She nods and points a finger. “They said you were smart kiddo. They were right. Now think real hard Sam. Who’s gonna be the vessel for Lucifer’s big brother Michael?”

The world trembled, wavered, and then Sam was sitting because his legs wouldn’t hold him up. He thought about mossy green eyes, hot skin stroking against him, the warmth and safety of Dean’s arms. He thought about the way his brother laughed, how easy it was to brush leg against leg or shoulder to shoulder. “No.”

“Yes. Yes to all of it Sam, and your brother is gonna say yes to Michael when the time comes because he has no other choice.”

Sam’s shaking his head, trying not to tremble with the horror of it. “He wouldn’t. I know Dean and-there’s no way he’d-he couldn’t.”

“I wish you were right kid, but I’ve been part of the anti-Winchester force longer than you can imagine. Your family’s legendary in the Pit and we study you guys pretty closely. Your brother is gonna cave to their demands because they’ll tell him how many innocents will die if he doesn’t. If his angel buddies haven’t already gotten him to agree. Dean not telling you that’s the plan suggests he may have.”

He finds the strength to stand then, one hand on the smooth wall to keep him steady even as he’s shaking his head. “Dean wouldn’t hurt me. He can’t.”

She looks sympathetic now, pitying, and Sam hates it. Wants to grab her and throw her out the window, exorcise her, scream at her until she simply dies under the force of his rage. “You poor kid. Everybody around you has really botched this up haven’t they? Dean won’t want to hurt you, won’t like hurting you, but he’ll do it. Because saving people is always first priority for a Winchester, and Sam you aren’t exactly a person. You’ve been pumped so full of demon blood you almost qualify as one of us.”

He hit her then, hand flying before his head realized what it was doing and she took the blow in stride. When her head turned back she was already wiping the blood from her lips. “Shut the fuck up. You don’t know anything about me. You don’t know anything about my brother.”

She stood then, eyes black again and hard. “Alright Sam. Figure it out the hard way, but when you realize you need help to stop the Apocalypse just give me a call. You’ll find me listed under Meg.”

The demon sauntered out, hips swaying, and Sam waited until she was gone, until he’d locked the door behind her and reset the salt line to collapse again.

It couldn’t be true. Couldn’t. Dean would never hurt Sam, never betray him, and Sam knew that. Except Dean knew something, Sam had seen it hidden, and why hadn’t he told him? Why had he kept something this big from him?

Dean was a professional liar, Sam knew that, had known since the beginning. If he was really hiding this then asking him outright wouldn’t get Sam an honest answer. Ophelia on the other hand, she’d never been very good at lying to Sam. So she’d be the one to ask.





-----





Ophelia leaned back in her chair and pointed a tired finger in Dean’s direction. “We have to figure out how to stop the Seals from being broken. If the Bible isn’t any help then we’ll need other sources.”

Dean tightened his grip on the back of the chair he was straddling, working the wood like he was trying to choke it. He couldn’t wrap his head around the whole thing, it was just too big. He was made for fighting, for killing, and he was damn good at it. Had been trained for the hunt since he was too little to really understand it. Heaven and Hell at war, the Apocalypse, killing-

His mind rebelled at the thought, spun away from it and focused on the rest. It was above his pay grade, far outside of his reach, and his only back-up at the moment was Ophelia. He needed to get a handle on this and there was only one person he knew who could possibly work this whole shattered thing into the semblance of a fixable problem.

“I’m going to talk to Bobby.” Her head jerked when he said the name and then she slapped the table.

“That crazy old bastard will want to get involved Dean. We decided not to do that remember?”

“I won’t let him. He’s our best option Ope, our only one. No one knows this stuff like Bobby.”

She was shaking her head already, reaching for her cigarettes and then rejecting them. “A lot of people know this stuff Dean. A lot of fuckers with no interest in getting into danger. A whole network of Theology and Religious Studies professors, priests and ministers, and there’s always-I could try my hand at summoning again. It wouldn’t be-“

“No.” She flinched at the deadly cold in his voice, but he didn’t have time to feel guilty about that. “Absolutely not. You’re not selling off more parts of your life. No more goddamn deals.”

She absorbed that, considered it, and then reached forward and felt until she found Dean’s hand. She gripped it tightly. “Promise me. Promise me that Sam won’t be hurt. That you’ll protect him. Tell me he’s your first priority.”

“Always. I’ll always protect Sam, don’t you worry about that.” He stood and nudged her upwards gently. “Go to bed Ope. I’ll call Bobby in the morning.”

He hoped that this was the best option, the best course of action, because it was the only one he could see.

Dean spent the night pacing, unable to rest and unwilling to drink in the hopes of finding sleep. At some point in the middle of the night Ophelia came through the door and sat on the floor. She never spoke, never moved, simply sat there with her head in her hands and listened to his feet swish through the carpet. It was comforting really, to know he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep. His father had-Sam was-

Fuck it. There was no solving this easily, and Dean knew that, but he held to the belief that whatever happened he wasn’t willing to give Sam up. To hurt Sam. He’d blow the world up himself, rip apart Heaven and Hell, whatever it took because no one was taking his little brother from him again. He would be damned first. Probably already was.

When the sun came up he called Bobby, kept the conversation short and easy without a plethora of details. Bobby said he’d research it, but told Dean that he’d be getting more story before he gave answers. It worked because it gave Dean time to come up with a lie Bobby might believe.

He worked on the gutters, came back in to find Ophelia sitting in the kitchen with her head on the table sleeping. He left her there, took a long shower, and started rustling up leftovers to reheat for lunch. Sam’s flight landed shortly before midnight, and he had to take a nap before he went or Sam would know something was up.

Ophelia roused just long enough to eat the reheated Chinese and then pat Dean’s bicep once awkwardly. They napped in the living room, TV droning in the background as the time to leave rushed on. Ophelia broke the silence only once, shortly before Dean was supposed to get up and get ready for the trip.

“Want me to stay here?”

Dean considered it, almost said yes because he’d like to greet Sam properly, and then thought better of it.

“No. You should come along.”

He didn’t explain, didn’t think he needed to, that it would be easier to face Sam if he had support. Easier to lie to Sam’s face about what they were up against. It wasn’t that Dean was worried about Sam making the wrong choice, it was that Dean didn’t want Sam making a choice at all. This was his best chance to protect Sam from a truth that would only hurt him. There was so much coming, so many things that wanted to hurt Sammy, and this was one Dean could protect him from.

Comments

[sammichgirl]

Breaks my heart, it just breaks my heart when they keep shit from each other, each trying to protect the other. They work better together, with everything on the table. I know they haven't had time or experience here to learn that yet, but arrrrrrrrggghhhh.

I have to wonder how pissed is Sam going to be? Is he going to confront Dean, or is Dean going to lie to him? Angst, oh, old friend....twist my heart.

Hm, I like that Meg is introduced here, in this way. In canon I have grown to like her against my better judgement...but I think she'd still sell the boys out in a heartbeat to save her own skin. Here though, it gives a different sense - she's a demon though, so no telling.

That song, wow, that was really beautiful - haunting and enchanting. I had to finish listening to it before reading, and then read while listening again.

Dean doing Ope's hair...it's a little OOC for him, BUT, it works, because it was meant to distract him and focus him on feelings, which he's not so good at. Working with hair is like therapy, I've always found.

I was taken aback that Sam went to the conference...alone. That he felt safe enough to do so, and wanted to. I'm glad of it, it continues showing growth. And it was sweet, them missing each other.

Ope will die to protect Sam, and Dean...I really get a bad feeling she's going to keep overstepping bounds - she knows nothing else, it's what she was made for. But who will take her out? Heaven or Hell? *cries at the thought*

[dimeliora.livejournal.com]

I always want to answer your questions, and I start typing the answers out and then remind myself I have to delete that and be cryptic.

I also hate when they lie to each other. It's a hard lesson to be honest.

Yeah, OOCness is my greatest fear, and yet for this scene I needed to indulge. Lol, if it helps I imagined him doing it with this look on his face like in "The French Connection" when he said they put make-up on him.

As for the last part, *evil laugh*.

[roxymissrose.livejournal.com]

That part with Dean and Ope and Dean thinking about Sam just made me cry. Pretty amazing how the lyrics in the story and the song synched up. I could feel Dean's longing for Sam. Very moving, that whole part.

Loved Meg showing up--and now, they're making that same mistake again.

[dimeliora.livejournal.com]

I'm one of those compulsive soundtrack making people. Like...really compulsive. I have a varied library for that exact purpose. It's kinda sad.

I'm really glad you liked it though. :D