Alastair's eyes flickered back to their usual cold blue as he approached the chain, a cocky grin stretching across his face. His amusement at the situation was almost palpable, as the tables had certainly turned in his favor. He watched the Winchester boys with that familiar, sadistic satisfaction.

One of the demons, eager to please, handed him a shotgun. Alastair inspected it with a calculating glance, before raising it with a casual flick of his wrist and firing directly at Dean. The blast rang out, sending a spray of fiery energy through the air, evaporating Dean's body.

Alastair chuckled darkly, savoring the moment. "Rock salt's not so much fun anymore, is it?" he taunted.

Sam's jaw tightened in fury as he watched his brother vanish, his fists clenched in sheer rage. His eyes blazed with anger, but before he could react, Dean reappeared, staggering as though the impact had physically shaken him to the core.

"Alastair," Dean gasped, his voice strained with pain. "You bastard."

Alastair flashed him a wicked grin, clearly enjoying the torment. "Well, go on," he mocked Sam, his attention shifting to the elder Winchester. "Why don't you try some of your mojo on me now, hotshot? It's hard to get it up when you're not wearing your meat, huh?"

Sam growled, his face twisted with barely contained fury. "Go to hell."

Alastair smirked as he turned, pacing leisurely around the room. His boots clacked against the floor with each step. "Ah, if only I could," he sighed with feigned regret. "But they just keep sending me back up to this arctic craphole. I'm starting to think someone's trying to punish me."

Dean, though battered, met Alastair's gaze without flinching. "To kill death?" he asked, his voice hoarse but defiant.

Alastair's expression darkened, his gaze growing colder as he turned to gesture toward the two unconscious reapers. "No, to kill death twice." He waved a hand dismissively. "It takes two to break a seal. Thought another one would show up, though. They're like lemmings, really."

Before either Winchester could respond, Alastair pumped the shotgun again and fired at Sam. The smell of sulfur filled the room as the demon approached the chain that held the reapers.

"By the way," Alastair said with mock politeness, "It's, uh, good to see you again, Dean."

Dean shot him a look, his face set in grim determination, but with no trace of fear. "You can shoot us all you want, but you can't kill us."

Sam reappeared with a pained grunt, one hand clutching his side as he tried to steady himself.

Alastair's grin widened at the sight of the Winchesters standing tall, despite the odds. "Ah, that so?" he sneered, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "Well, we'll see about that."

But what the brothers didn't know was that there was more to Alastair's plan than they could possibly imagine.

Back at the hotel, Pamela sat silently in a chair, her mind alert and her senses extended outward as she kept watch over the boys' bodies. The air in the room felt oppressive, charged with tension as she guarded them. Ben, meanwhile, had fallen asleep on the couch, the faint glow of the TV casting shadows on the walls as it played softly in the background. After some coaxing, he'd finally convinced her to rest for a moment, but the psychic never let her guard down.

The room was eerily quiet, the only sound the hum of the television and the soft breath of a child asleep. But then, a faint creak sounded from somewhere deep in the hotel. It was a sound Pamela's sharpened instincts couldn't ignore. Immediately, alarm bells rang in her head.

Her body tensed, every fiber of her being attuned to danger. Slowly, she stood up from the chair, her senses expanding as she moved cautiously around the room, using her remaining abilities to track the source of the disturbance. She crossed to the door, bolting and chaining it quickly, her heart pounding.

Pamela stood there for a moment, listening intently, trying to get a read on what was happening. The air felt charged, and a strange, icy chill seemed to sweep through the room, tugging at her skin and leaving a trace of unease in its wake. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

Something wasn't right.

Alastair, a sadistic grin playing across his face, casually exchanged the shotgun for a long, gleaming scythe, turning it over in his hands as though admiring its craftsmanship. The weapon felt like an extension of his twisted persona, dangerous and unholy.

"Anyhoo..." he drawled, the smirk never leaving his lips. "Moon's in the right spot. The board is set. Let's get started, shall we?"

Dean raised an eyebrow, eyeing the weapon. "You're gonna kill a reaper with that? It's a little on the nose, don't you think?"

Alastair's gaze flickered down to the scythe in his hand, a glint of amusement flashing in his dark eyes. "Is it?" He ran his fingers along the edge, savoring the weight of it. "An old friend lent it to me." He paused, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. "You know, he doesn't really ride a pale horse. But he does have three amigos."

The boys exchanged a quick, worried glance, both knowing exactly who Alastair was referring to. They had no idea what kind of hellish plan was unfolding, but it was bad.

Alastair took slow, deliberate steps toward the reapers, who were still unconscious, their bodies seemingly lifeless on the floor. His boots clicked against the polished wood, the noise echoing in the room.

"And they're just jonesing for the apocalypse," he muttered, a grin stretching across his face as he knelt next to the reaper beside Tessa, his fingers digging into the reaper's collar.

"It pays to have friends in low places," Alastair chuckled darkly, shaking the reaper roughly until the unconscious figure jerked awake with a sharp gasp. The reaper's eyes shot open in a panic, but Alastair didn't let go. He yanked him forward, forcing the creature to meet his gaze.

Dean and Sam stood frozen, watching the scene unfold with growing anxiety. They could only hope they'd find a way to stop Alastair's twisted ritual in time.

Alastair shifted his grip on the scythe, raising it in one hand and slipping it behind his ear, looking almost casual as he began to chant in a guttural tongue. His voice was low, methodical, building in intensity as the air around them grew thicker, charged with dark energy.

"Hic cruor messorius, illud sigillum, quod luciferem reverendum obstringit, aperiat ut resurgat!"

The words carried a cold, unnatural weight as Alastair drew the scythe through the back of the reaper's neck. The blade sliced through flesh with a sickening ease, and a burst of white-hot light erupted from the wound. The room was filled with an unnatural wind that swept through, throwing the flickering candle flames into disarray.

Sam's gaze snapped to Tessa, now fully aware of what Alastair was doing. Her eyes widened in horror as she realized what was coming next. But there was no time to waste on words. They had to act.

Sam's mind raced. Above them, the massive chandelier hung from the ceiling, its crystals casting fleeting glimmers of light. He could just barely make out the chains, the heavy links that held it in place. If he could get it to move...

Dean was already on the same wavelength. He locked eyes with Sam, and without a word, they both focused their attention on the chandelier. They pushed their energy outward, willing the object to move with every ounce of their focus. It shuddered, rattled, and groaned as if resisting, but the force of their willpower was undeniable.

Alastair, oblivious to the boys' plan, continued his ritual with fervor. He dragged the unconscious Tessa to her knees, pulling her head back roughly by her hair. He aimed the scythe's edge at her neck, forcing the boys to watch her in terror.

"Stop!" Tessa woke up with a gasp gasped, her voice filled with desperation as she fought to keep her composure. The cold steel of the scythe pressed against her skin, and she tried to steady her breath, her heart racing.

The more they concentrated, the more the chandelier began to tremble, creaking ominously as it swayed. The lights overhead flickered in time with their efforts, casting erratic flashes of light across the room. It was a race against time—Alastair was dangerously close to completing his spell.

Tessa's eyes flickered upward toward the chandelier, her gaze filled with quiet fear and hope. She ignored the cold pressure of the scythe against her neck and focused on the only chance they had left.

Just as Alastair's chant reached its peak, the chandelier groaned and broke free from its chains, plummeting toward the floor with a deafening crash. The impact shattered the trap and sent the force of the blast across the room. Tessa vanished just as the scythe came down, missing her by a hair.

She reappeared, undoing the chain, and setting the boys free.

"Bye-bye," Dean called out with a smirk, looking at Alastair with a grim expression. His voice was dripping with sarcasm as he took in the demon's frustrated, angry grimace.

Pamela closed the window with a soft click, her senses heightened as the cool night air settled around her. She tilted her head slightly, listening for any sign of movement. "Benji," she called, her voice steady but with an underlying concern. The boy stirred, but didn't wake up. She furrowed her brow, her instincts prickling. She'd felt it earlier—a shift in the air, a disturbance in the room.

She parted her lips to call his name again, but something stopped her. Her gut twisted with unease, the feeling crawling up her spine like a chill. She'd been in the dark long enough to know that this was more than just paranoia.

They weren't alone.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she slowly turned, her hand outstretched in front of her as she navigated the room with quiet precision. She knew every corner, every table, every door. Still, the air felt heavier tonight—thicker, like something was pressing in from all sides.

Pamela took a step, then another, careful and calculated, as she made her way toward the bathroom door. "I know you're here," she said, her voice trembling ever so slightly, betraying the calm exterior she usually wore. She stopped just outside the door, feeling the tension in the air swell around her. "What's the matter, you reeking son of a bitch?"

Pamela ripped back the shower curtain, waking Ben with a start. He groggily sat up, rubbing his eyes, trying to clear the blur.

"Pam?" he mumbled, his vision still adjusting, but as his eyesight cleared, he froze. Right outside the bathroom, standing in the dim hallway, was a demon—its soulless eyes glaring at them.

"Pam, watch out!" Ben shouted, his voice a mix of panic and disbelief.

Pamela didn't hesitate. With one swift motion, she dashed past the demon, her footsteps echoing as she raced toward the living room, intent on finding Sam. She could sense the demon's presence behind her, the air thick with malice.

"Vis, vis, –" she whispered urgently, breathless, trying to finish the incantation as she neared Sam.

Before she could reach him, the demon's hand shot out, grabbing her by the leg with a vicious grip.

"Son of a bitch!" she cursed, her voice filled with fury as she was yanked to the ground, the force of the pull sending her sprawling.

Ben, heart pounding in his chest, grabbed the flask of holy water from under his pillow—something his father had drilled into him to always keep close. His fingers fumbled as he desperately pulled the stopper off.

"Leave her alone!" Ben shouted, throwing the holy water at the demon with all the force he could muster.

The demon hissed as the water sizzled against its skin, recoiling in pain. Its grip on Pamela's leg loosened, and it staggered back, a burning mark now visible on its arm.

"Benji!" Pamela called out, her voice full of fear and desperation. Her hand flailed, trying to find him. "Benji!"

"Pamela!" Ben cried, pushing himself up from the bed, his legs shaky as he rushed toward her.

As Pamela's hand finally found his, the demon, enraged and seething, yanked Ben back by the collar, throwing him like a ragdoll across the room. He crashed behind the couch, hitting the floor hard.

Pamela scrambled to her feet, her breath ragged, and made her way toward Sam, trying to finish the spell. "Animum vult decipi, ergo—"

But before she could finish, the demon was on her again, throwing her onto the dresser with a sickening crash. Candles tipped over, spilling wax, and the coffeemaker tipped onto the floor, shattering as Pamela's body hit it.

She gasped, the air knocked from her lungs, and blood welled in her mouth as she coughed, struggling to breathe.

Ben, still dazed from the impact, used the couch to steady himself, rising to his feet just in time to see the demon pull out a knife, its blade gleaming in the low light.

"No!" he screamed, but the words never left his throat. He could only watch in horror as the demon plunged the knife into Pamela's gut, a sickening sound of flesh tearing.

Pamela's face contorted in pain, and for a moment, Ben thought he might lose her.

Sam finally jerked up, waking up just in time to see the demon pull the knife out of Pamela's stomach.

"Pamela!" he shouted, his heart hammering in his chest. He reached out, summoning all the power he had left. His hand raised instinctively, his fingers outstretched, and with a surge of energy, he slammed the demon against the wall with an invisible force.

The demon struggled, snarling, but Sam's grip was unyielding. With a fierce look of determination, Sam stood, focusing his energy fully on exorcising the demon.

Black smoke erupted from the demon's mouth in thick, swirling tendrils, hissing as it burned through the air, before disintegrating into nothingness.

The man who had been possessed slowly collapsed to the floor, unconscious, his body a lifeless heap.

A heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by Ben's labored breathing as he locked eyes with Sam. His chest tightened with fear as he saw Sam's power in full force, but he also couldn't look away. He had never seen a human do anything like that before.

Pamela let out a breathless laugh, the sound slightly unnerving. She rolled her head back, ignoring the pain, and let out a strained chuckle. "Why are you laughing?" Ben asked, confusion and concern flooding his voice.

"I can't die, kid," Pamela's voice was hoarse, but there was a dark humor in it. She gave a weak smile, panting for air. "Not in this town."

Pamela's hand slid away from the wound in her abdomen, but instead of blood, there was nothing—just empty, still skin.

Ben's face drained of color, panic creeping into his voice. "That's... that's not a good sign, is it?"

"No," Sam said softly, his own unease bubbling to the surface as he watched Pamela's condition worsen. "It isn't."

"Quit your worrying, both of you," Pamela said, shaking her head with a tired, but stubborn, smile. She waved her hand dismissively. "Make me a drink, Sam."

Sam looked at her, shaking his head in disbelief. "You need a doctor, Pamela."

Her voice dropped, the tone shifting to something deeper, more serious. "Make me a drink, Sam."

Sam swallowed, uncertainty clouding his expression. He looked over at Ben, who seemed just as lost as he felt.

"W-w-what do we do?" Ben asked, his voice barely above a whisper, a mixture of fear and confusion in his tone.

"You heard her." Sam exhaled a deep breath, trying to shake off the unease. "We get her a drink." He turned to Ben, trying to push through the tension. "Let's get her up."

While Sam had woken up, Tessa and Dean had reappeared outside the funeral home, confusion painted on their faces as they looked around.

"Where's your brother?" Tessa asked, her voice tense as she searched the dark surroundings, her hand brushing the cool air as if trying to sense something Sam's presence might have left behind.

"I'll go find him," Dean said quickly, his voice sharp with urgency. "You get out of here."

Tessa nodded wordlessly, her figure flickering into nothingness as she vanished, leaving only a brief echo in the night air.

Dean didn't waste time. He rounded the corner of the building, his steps quick, his senses on high alert. His eyes scanned the shadows, searching for any sign of Sam. The alleyway was eerily quiet, the faint rustle of wind in the distance the only sound as he moved. He stopped dead when he saw Nadia and Anna finishing off the last of the demons.

"Looks like you guys ran into some trouble," Dean called out, his voice cutting through the stillness.

Anna wiped a streak of blood from her blade with a flick of her wrist, her gaze flicking to Dean. "More like trouble found us and lost," she remarked, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.

Nadia, still panting from the fight, stood upright, her hand gripping her weapon tightly. She scanned the area for any sign of Sam. "Where's Sam?" she asked, her voice more concerned than she wanted to admit.

"I don't know," Dean replied with a frown, frustration creeping into his tone. "But we managed to stop Alastair. We gotta get out of here, now."

Nadia nodded but didn't look relieved. There was still a heaviness to her, the uncertainty gnawing at her. She turned to Anna. "Thanks. I got it from here."

Anna offered a simple nod before she spread her wings and took off into the night sky, disappearing into the shadows above.

Dean and Nadia started walking down the alley, the weight of their mission hanging over them. The night seemed colder, more oppressive as they moved through the darkened space.

Just as they reached the mouth of the alley, the air grew thick, and a voice, cold and venomous, echoed through the alley.

"You can't run... Dean..." The voice slithered through the darkness, and there, blocking their path, stood Alastair, his eyes gleaming with malice.

Dean's heart skipped a beat as he stopped, his body tense. The power radiated off Alastair like a storm, dark and deadly.

Nadia stepped in front of Dean, her body instinctively positioning itself as a shield. She gripped her blade tightly, her posture defensive.

"Not from me," Alastair growled, his eyes narrowing with determination as she faced down the demon.

"Enough of this," grimaced Nadia, raising her angel blade to strike.

Suddenly, lightning struck Alastair from above and he disappeared. Dean frowned, having covered his head in shock.

The two whipped around to see Castiel.

"Okay, what just happened?" Nadia's voice was tinged with frustration as she turned to Castiel.

Castiel blinked, clearly not understanding the couple's confusion. His brow furrowed slightly as he tilted his head. "What just happened? You just saved a seal. We captured Alastair. This was a victory."

Dean's eyes narrowed, his disbelief evident. "Well, no thanks to you," he muttered under his breath.

"What makes you say that?" Castiel asked, his gaze still shifting between them.

Dean shot a quick look at Nadia. They shared a glance, both coming to the same realization in that moment.

"So, you were here," Dean began, his tone growing sharper, "and you couldn't get through the angel-proofing. That's why we had to do all the dirty work, huh?"

Castiel's eyes dropped to the floor, a flash of discomfort crossing his face. "Why do you think I recruited you and Sam in the first place?" he answered quietly, though his words carried an edge of reluctant truth.

"You recruited us?" Dean echoed, his voice rising with the disbelief in his chest.

"That wasn't Bobby who called you, Dean. It wasn't Bobby who told Sam about the seal," Castiel added, his voice softer, as though admitting something he wasn't entirely comfortable with.

Dean blinked. "That was you?" he asked incredulously, the weight of the revelation settling in.

Castiel nodded, his gaze drifting downward, an almost apologetic gesture that didn't go unnoticed. He looked uncomfortable with the way things had played out.

"If you wanted our help," Dean continued, his voice rising with frustration, "why the hell didn't you just ask? We could've saved ourselves a hell of a lot of trouble."

Castiel opened his mouth to respond but hesitated. There was tension in the air as he tried to find the right words. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter, almost resigned. "Because," he began

"Good point," Nadia agreed to Dean's dismay. "What? He's not wrong."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Yes."

"These are good people. What, you think you can make a few exceptions?"

"To everything, there is a season."

Castiel paused for a moment, then looked at Dean.

The angel's answer softened Dean's demeanor, pulling him deeper into his thoughts, feeding the constant internal war of self-worth that seemed never to end.

"Babe? Dean!" Nadia's voice snapped him back to the present. Tessa stood where Castiel once had, her presence grounding him in a way only she could.

"Hey," Tessa greeted, offering a small, understanding smile. "Nadia, if you don't mind, I'd like to borrow your boyfriend here. Got a certain boy I need to get to cross over."

"Yeah," Nadia replied, nodding quickly, her gaze lingering on Dean. "He's all yours. I'll head back to the hotel. Pam and Ben are probably worried sick."

"I'll see you back topside," Dean said, halting himself from reaching out, remembering too late that his hand would pass right through her. He hadn't been able to touch her, hadn't kissed her all day, and that hollow ache in his chest intensified.

Playing ghost had its moments, but he was beyond ready to be in his body again.

When Nadia returned to the motel, she teleported directly in front of the once-possessed body. Her heart sank as she took in the disarray of the room. She whipped around, hoping to find some semblance of normalcy, but the scene before her only confirmed her worst fears.

The room was a mess, the remnants of a struggle scattered across the floor. Benjamin sat on the couch, looking shaken but composed, while Sam stood nearby, deep in thought. Pamela was next to Dean, whispering something under her breath, her hands moving in the air as she chanted the spell.

Nadia's stomach twisted. "What happened?"

"Demons happened, that's what," Pamela struggled to sit up, leaning against the side of the bed. Her voice was rough, strained from the effort.

Sam quickly moved to help her, supporting her as Nadia rushed over. "Hey, we just need to talk to Tessa, that's all. We'll get her to hold off reaping until we can get you better."

Pamela shook her head slightly, grimacing from the pain. "I'm pretty sure she's started up again."

"Talk to Tessa?" Nadia repeated, confused. "Why do we need to talk to—"

Before she could finish, blood poured from Pamela's wound, rushing out of her body in a violent gush. It stained her clothes, her hands, and the bed beneath her.

"Oh my God," Nadia gasped, her hand instinctively coming to her mouth. Tears welled up in her eyes. "No! No, no, no!"

Pamela's grip tightened on her wrist, pulling her attention back to her. "Angel face, stop." Her voice was softer now, but there was an undeniable firmness behind it.

"What do you mean stop, Pam?" Nadia choked out, her voice cracking as she stared at the bleeding woman. "You're hurt! You're dying—why? Why didn't you all reach out to me?"

Pamela gave a weak, pained smile, looking over at Ben, who had stood up from the couch, watching helplessly. "It all happened so fast... And Ben," she paused, wincing. "He kicked ass. Tried so hard to—" She groaned again, the effort costing her.

"Stop talking. I can heal you. I can fix you," Nadia insisted, her voice trembling with desperation.

Pamela's face hardened, and she shook her head. "No!" she snapped, her voice surprisingly strong despite her weakening state. "I'm not anybody special. You heal me, you'll have to heal the whole damn world. This is the cycle of life, baby. Whether you deserve it or not, death will knock on your door. And the more you avoid it, the more trouble you're lookin' for."

Nadia's body trembled as her anger and heartbreak collided. "God damn it!" She turned away, her tears spilling over as she tried to hold back her sobs. The weight of it all—losing Pamela, feeling powerless—was crushing her.

Dean, who had been unconscious moments before, suddenly gasped awake, sitting up with a sharp breath. His eyes darted around the room, taking in the scene. He saw Nadia, tears streaming down her face, then shifted his gaze to Ben and Pamela. His eyes narrowed in confusion and concern. "What happened?"

Before Nadia could answer, Dean enveloped her in a tight embrace, allowing her to cry into his shoulder. He didn't need to ask more questions—he already knew the answer, just by looking at Pamela.

"Dean, where's Tessa?" Sam asked urgently, turning to Dean as he stood by the bed, his eyes lingering on Pamela's bloody hand.

"She's..." Dean gestured vaguely, still processing the chaos around them.

Pamela took off her sunglasses, revealing her exhausted eyes. Her breathing was labored, and the air around her seemed to grow heavier with each passing second.

"Pamela, I'm so sorry," Sam said softly, his voice filled with regret.

"Stop," Pamela rasped. "Don't apologize to me."

"You don't deserve this," Sam insisted, his face tight with frustration.

"Yeah, I don't," she shot back, her voice sharp despite the obvious strain. "I told you I didn't want anything to do with this." She coughed weakly, leaning her head back against the headboard, too tired to keep up the defiance.

"Take it easy, Pamela," Dean said softly. Nadia pulled herself from Dean's arms, moving to wrap her arms around Benjamin, who stood frozen in the corner, unable to say a word.

"If it's any consolation, you're going to a better place," Dean added, his voice steady but laced with sorrow.

Pamela let out a dry, humorless laugh. "You're lying. But what the hell, right?" She winced as pain wracked her body. "Everybody's got to go sometime."

"Angel face," she called softly, but Nadia couldn't bring herself to look. She couldn't face it, couldn't bear to see Pamela slipping away like this.

"Look at me, Angel face," Pamela's voice was firm now, and Nadia forced herself to meet her eyes. "Don't you go feelin' bad for me. I'm mad as hell, but you'd know I'd do anything for you."

Nadia's lip trembled, and she nodded silently, trying to steady herself.

"Benji," Pamela's voice softened as she turned her head toward him. "You take care of your sister, alright? This one's gonna be a hard one."

"I will," Benjamin croaked, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with emotion.

Pamela's attention shifted then, locking onto Dean with a knowing smile. "That goes for you too, Chachi." She couldn't see him, but she could sense him there, and the command in her tone was unmistakable.

Dean's breath caught in his throat, and he gave a nod, though he didn't speak.

Pamela reached for Sam, and he leaned in, his face filled with both confusion and understanding. "Come here," she whispered, her voice hushed.

Sam leaned in, and Pamela whispered something in his ear, her words too soft for the others to hear.

"I know what you did to that demon, Sam," she breathed, her voice tinged with both pride and sorrow.

Sam's eyes widened in surprise, the weight of her words sinking in.

Pamela's cough rattled through her chest again, a harsh, dry sound that was quickly followed by a trickle of blood seeping from the corner of her mouth. Her hands trembled as she weakly pulled herself back, a soft groan escaping her lips. Her head tilted to one side, the faintest of sighs slipping from her.

"Pamela?" Sam's voice wavered, his usual calm now breaking with fear and desperation.

"Pamela!" Dean shouted, but it was already too late. The light in her eyes had dulled, her body slack as her final breath left her in silence.