Acrid smoke burned at her lungs, and Alex's eyes watered as she flinched away from the flames. "Sam? Dean!" Timbers cracked high above her head, drowning out the brothers' cries, and the girl flinched away as embers burned at her exposed skin. The fire was all around her, caging her in, licking at her jeans, and Alex squeezed her eyes shut, reaching inside for her grace. "No!"

Her scream echoed through the silent room as the fire disappeared, vanishing into thin air and leaving the wooden walls without so much as a charred stain. The flickering heat vanished, and Alex cracked open her eyes, searching for the cause of their withdrawal. She was standing in a kitchen, empty save herself. Alex lifted her hands, turning them over as she examined the black, flowing script that decorated every inch of her skin. There was a meaning to the foreign words -- the ex-angel was sure of it, but when nothing but a fog came, and she gave up and turned her eyes upwards to examine her surroundings. A large kettle sat on the stove, the blood-red liquid inside bubbling as it boiled. The walls were painted red, too, still wet as if recently painted, and Alex inhaled sharply as her eyes drifted downwards. It wasn't just the walls. Everything was red. Everything was wet.

Blood.

The word had no sooner crossed her mind than the liquid began to move, flying off of the countertops and shooting past the ex-angel's head. "You." A voice came from behind her, and Alex turned to face the girl.

Tina stood behind her, her face pale and expressionless. "You did this to me," she repeated, and blood seeped from the corner of her eye, rolling down past her lips. "You killed me."

Alex felt her grace tremble through the air, growing stronger and stronger until every fiber of her being began to shake, pulled apart at its very foundations. She felt a scream leave her throat, drown out by the teen's own cry. Her body was cracking, blood oozing from the skin as the woman was ripped open, and Tina exploded into a shower of blood. "No!" Pain ripped through her own skin, tearing away at the elegant lettering, and Alex's legs gave away beneath the agony. "No!"

"No!" Alex jerked awake with a strangled cry, hands going to steady herself on whatever object it found first. They landed on leather, and the hunter planted her palm against the backseat of the Impala with a shuddered breath.

She felt the car jerk slightly, and she grimaced as she felt two sets of eyes turn onto her. "Hey, hey." A hand was on her shoulder, warm and comforting, and Alex instinctively reached up to grab it, holding tight to ground herself. "You're okay." Sam squeezed gently, and the ex-angel shivered as she forced herself up. "It was just a dream."

Just a dream. The pain still lingered, and Alex chanced a look down at her skin. It was pale and smooth, unmarred by the torments she had endured. "Yeah," she agreed and swept a hand through her hair, trying to chase away the adrenaline that still pumped through her veins. "I know. I'm fine, I'm fine. Don't worry," she added when she saw Sam's hesitant frown. "Human me and my human brain still have some adjusting to do for human sleep."

"Cain?" Dean's eyes had long since returned to the road, and Alex was thankful for the darkness that hid their faces; she felt her face pale as the images of her dream returned.

She covered her fear with a huff. "I wish," she retorted. "I'd take him over half the things we face." Once again, her hands went up to her hair, and she hurriedly brushed her fingers through it before pulling it back into a bun. "Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep. You, uh — you mind going over this case you said you found again?"

"Alright. So I'm thinking, uh, curse, maybe," Dean explained, and Alex watched as Sam let out a small, skeptical hum. "Hey, I'm trying to stay busy," the eldest Winchester was quick to snap. "You know, eye on the ball, not on the mark. And this is a case until we know it's not."

"Uh, sure — no, yeah, you're right." Sam shifted apologetically in his seat, clearing his throat as he gave Dean his full attention; a glance in the rearview mirror had Alex doing the same. "Uh, three suicide, two weeks."

"They're not just suicides." Dean scoffed at the description. "They gutted themselves. And they took their sweet time doing it. I mean, that had to be incredibly painful.I can't seem to find any link between the vics either." He looked over at Alex, and the ex-angel nodded, wincing as she recalled the violent and gruesome images.

"Yeah," she agreed. "I guess a curse would make sense. So, probably witches."

"Except there's no link between the vics," Sam reminded, and Alex half-heartedly kicked at his side of the seat.

"No link that you've found," she reminded. "Every serial gutting as a link." A glare from Dean had her pulling her feet back up and under her, muttering out an apology about kicking at the car. "How long until we reach Massachusetts?"

"Five hours, maybe four if we get lucky." Dean leaned forward to look up at the sky, the distant horizon grey with the coming dawn. "How'd you sleep back there, sunshine? Coulda sworn you were dead for a while there."

"Apart from the nightmare?" Alex forced a dry chuckle, and she reclined her head to close her eyes once again. "Not half as well as I'm going to once I get to a real bed," she admitted. "I'm going to need at least two cups of coffee before we roll into the police station in the morning." She tucked her jacket tightly around her, adding, "Being human sucks."

She opened her eyes to watch the grey horizon grow brighter, and she pushed aside her makeshift blanket with a reluctant sigh; there was no way she'd be able to fall asleep again, not with her heart still beating a million miles a minute. "Okay, can — can you run the details by me one more time? I wasn't listening when you first pitched this as a case."

"Worcester, Massachusetts." The engine revved as Dean accelerated around the highway's bend. "Over the past two weeks, three men have been found cut from sternum to pelvis — wounds seem to be self-inflicted. I haven't found any link between the victims yet. Cops are at a loss."

"But no — no sulphur, no cold spots, no — nothing paranormal?"

"Not yet." From the terse note in Dean's voice, he had had this conversation with Sam before. "But just because it doesn't smell fishy doesn't mean it didn't come from the ocean." His analogy had Sam and Alex exchanging confused looks, and the eldest hunter rolled his eyes. "Forget it. You — I told you already. Staying busy is the only way I'm staying sane."

"And we get that," Sam promised temperately. "We just don't know if running all over the country is, you know, the best thing right now." He ran a hand through his hair before his tone dropped. "Dean, we've been on the road for a week straight with nothing."

"And why did you have to drag me into this?" Alex rubbed at the faint bruising on her ribs, the remnants of her fight with Cain. "I thought I was on sick leave or something at the bunker — time off, vacation, call it what you want."

"Yeah, well, the team needs you." Dean merged lanes, slamming on the horn as a rusted truck slipped past. "Besides, you honestly want to tell me that sitting at the bunker is better than — than this?"

He motioned vaguely to the car, and Alex resisted the urge to kick him against through the seat. "Yeah, actually, it was a whole hell of a lot better. I was getting in some quality time with Cas."

"You mean sex."

"Shut up, Winchester." This time, Alex couldn't help but kick at the seat. "Yeah, I meant sex. Him and I, we haven't had a lot of 'us' time as of late, so you owe me big time for this." She batted away a half-hearted backwards swing of Dean's arm, the blow made slow and awkward by the fact that he was still driving the car, adding, "I swear, if this isn't a case, I'm killing someone and making it one."

Her joke was met with a chuckle from Sam. "Yeah. Sorry Dean dragged you out here. But, uh, he's got a point," he added when his brother let out a huff of annoyance at the blame, "and if — if you still want to hunt as a human, you're gonna need to get back on your feet soon."

"Of course." Alex dug her phone out of her bag to pull up the newspaper article that had first caught Dean's attention, slumping further down in her seat as she let the conversation die. "Whatever the two of you say."

May 26th, 2015
Worcester, Massachusetts

The Worcester police station smelled of sweat and coffee, and Alex wrinkled her nose as an officer squeezed past her on his way to the break room. "This place is crowded." Alex stepped closer to Sam with a shake of her head. "You'd think someone had just been murdered."

She heard a laugh from up ahead, and Alex looked over at the chief of police, who stood at Dean's side. "This is Worcester," he reminded. "Never a dull day in the city of the seven hills." He waved them down the hall, and Alex watched as Sam and Dean exchanged shrugs behind his back. "You three said you were here about those suicides, huh?"

"Yes, sir," Sam agreed. "We'd like to see anything you have on them — files, personal items, witness statements. Anything that could be of use."

"Sure thing. Files are in my office, and if you give me a moment, I'll fetch their belongings from evidence." The man motioned in through a doorway, and Alex followed the brothers into the office as he walked off down the hall.

"These files, I bet." Alex picked up the three folders that sat in the middle of the desk, running her eyes down the side to confirm the typed names. "Here. One for each." She handed out the manilla files, flipping through hers as she waited for the sheriff to return.

Rylan Lee, thirty eight years of age. The man had torn his guts open using the splintered end of a chair. Alex grimaced at the picture of the weapon, her stomach clenching at the sharp, splintered and bloodied tool. "This is awful." She held up the crime scene photo for the boys to see, shaking her head in dismay. "Talk about painful — he did this right in front of a crowd of twenty people at a local AA meeting, too."

"Same here," Dean agreed. "Except this time, it was Mr. Briggs in the library with the knife." He looked over his brother, grinning at his joke, but when Sam didn't share in his amusement, the smile faltered. "His wife saw him do it," he finished, closing the file. "Definite suicide."

"And here are the items you asked for." The police chief returned, the boxes in hand, and he set them down upon one of the wooden chairs. "Anything else I can help you three with?"

"Not at the moment, no. Do you — do you mind?" Sam motioned towards the boxes, and when the man nodded, the hunter hurried forward to dig through the evidence. Alex and Dean followed more slowly, watching as the hunter pulled out a cellphone from the box labeled Sloan. "Is this all you found?"

"That's all that was on him, yeah." The sheriff nodded again. "Same with the other two — they weren't carrying much." He motioned towards the phone, adding, "We haven't been able to crack it yet."

"Huh." Sam took the phone out, holding it up against the light. "Uh, do you mind? The men at the bureau's crime lab could have this unlocked in two, maybe three hours."

"Have at it." The officer shrugged. "I don't get why you boys are looking into this anyways — open-and-shut, if you ask me."

"Thanks." Sam tucked the phone into the pocket of his suit coat with a curt nod. "Uh, thanks for all your help. If we have any more questions, we'll give you a call." He placed the file down onto the table, and Alex and Dean followed suit, stacking theirs on top of his.

"Thanks for your time," Alex added, and she slipped past the Winchesters to lead the way out of the office.

"Alright, so here's what we got." Sam was the first to speak as they exited the police station, and he lengthened his stride as he made a beeline towards the Impala. "Latest vic was Terry Sloan, ordinary guy who gutted himself outside of St. Philomena's Church using a candlestick. Not a lot of friends but no known enemies, no relation to the other vics."

"Well, not necessarily," Dean interjected. "St. Philomena — he's Catholic, and so are the other two." He looked over at Alex, and the angel gave a nod of agreement.

"Dean, this is Massachusetts." Sam rolled his eyes with a small scoff, and Dean frowned slightly. "There are a lot of Catholics in Massachusetts. You really think this is a case?"

Dean squared his shoulders as he stopped beside his car. "Who kills himself with a candlestick, alright? There's about a billion better ways."

"Yeah, but he did kill himself."

"Alright, so, it was not a witch." Dean started a list on his fingers, and Alex leaned up against the Impala with a shake of her head. "There was nothing hexy found on him. Uh, possession? Could have been a demon."

"Yeah ..." Sam hesitantly agreed, "but the point of a demon possessing a living thing is to, you know, possess a living thing."

Dean's lips pursed at the criticism. "Okay, agent, why don't you get that cellphone back to the bureau's crime lab, get it hacked like you told those guys, and, uh, we'll figure out what's going on with Terry Sloan."

He unlocked the car door, and Sam grimaced as he pulled the victim's phone out of his pocket. "Probably nude selfies."

Dean rolled his eyes, motioning to the car with a shake of his head. "I'm feeling good about this," he insisted. "Let's get a room and see what turns up, okay? Okay?" he repeated when neither Sam nor Alex responded.

"Okay," Alex agreed, and she slid into the back seat of the Impala. "Sounds like a great plan to me. Let's get a room, and then while you two try and crack that phone, I'm going to get coffee, alright?" She yawned as she pulled the car door closed behind her. "Being human's going to kill me."

"One large mocha. Hot." Alex dropped her cash onto the counter of the small coffee shop, barely stifling a yawn as the barista counted out her change. "Thanks." Alex shoved the coins into her pockets, eyes falling momentarily closed as she drew in the bitter-sweet smell of freshly-ground coffee beans.

"Hello, darling." Alex's eyes snapped open at the voice, and she whipped around, adrenaline sweeping through her body. "Fancy a chat?"

"What are you doing here?" Alex dropped her voice into a hiss as she stepped away from the counter. "What — What the hell, Crowley?"

"Sit." The demon motioned towards a back table, and Alex pursed her lips as she looked around the shop. There were only a few patrons occupying the tables, their attention elsewhere, and the ex-angel gave a reluctant nod, unwilling to cause a scene. Crowley led the way, and she fell in step behind him, sinking down into one of the wooden chairs.

"What are you doing here?" she repeated irritably. "If Dean — if the Winchesters show up, they're going to kill you!"

Crowley's eyes darkened at Dean's name, but he brushed off her obvious bluff with a roll of his eyes. "Flattery will get you nowhere," he chided. "There's naught a bar nor a liquor store within two blocks of here; you and I both know Rocky and Bullwinkle wouldn't even bother with this part of town."

"Okay, so ignoring your gross misrepresentation of Sam ... I'm gonna ask you this one more time." Alex leaned forward, lowering her voice. "What the fuck are you doing —"

The air disappeared from her lungs, and Alex squared her jaw as she fought back her body's impending panic. "Public space, cupcake," came the reminder. "Mind your manners." Crowley released his invisible grip, and the ex-angel drew in a gasping breath as oxygen rushed back into her chest. She almost missed how the demon nodded towards the counter as her name was called. "Go get your drink," he instructed, his voice irritably calm. "And don't forget to tip; these people work hard."

Alex narrowed her eyes disdainfully at the command, but she pushed herself to her feet and walked away, rubbing at her throat with a dark scowl. "Thanks," she muttered to the barista, and she dropped a handful of change into the brightly painted plastic cup.

Her feet carried her reluctantly back to her seat, drink in hand. "There. Happy?" Her scowl darkened further at the amusement in Crowley's eyes, and she dug her nails into her palm to keep herself from snapping again. "Okay, listen, if you're just here to get your rocks off by bossing me around —" She cut off as Crowley's hand raised, poised to snap, and the ex-angel drew in a slow, calculated breath. "How's hell doing?"

"It's hell." The King's voice was flat, his tone so low it was almost a growl, and Alex rolled her eyes. "I hate demons — pitiful, whining children. And they're terrified of her, with the way she carries herself around the place, messing with the natural order!"

"Her?" Alex took a sip of her drink, steeling her features as the molten liquid burned at her tongue.

"Rowena. My mother." Crowley spat out the name, and Alex cocked an eyebrow, pain forgotten. "This morning she grew a second head on one of my demons! Just to spite me!" His fists tightened in an uncharacteristic show of frustration, and Alex hummed to show her curiosity. "I don't know what to do about her."

Silence followed his words, and Alex blinked in surprise as she realized he was looking at her expectantly. "I — I'm not your therapist, Crowley." She planted her hands on the table, ready to stand. "I thought you needed me to — to kill someone o-or steal Dean's porn collection. I don't do feelings." The cold look in the demon's eyes had her relaxing back into her seat, and Alex shook her head in disbelief. "Okay — okay, fine." She leaned her head back in exasperation, letting out a low, exaggerated groan. "I thought you had her all locked up for, you know, killing demons."

"I did. And then I ... un-imprisoned her. She's my mother," he insisted when Alex lifted an eyebrow. "What did you expect me to do, leave her there to rot in hell?"

Alex pursed her lips, unwilling to show her amusement at the demon's sudden altruism. "She, uh, must have been a good mother."

"She was the worst!" Crowley's voice boomed in indignation. "She was abusive, manipulative — she once tried to sell me for three pigs. Three. I was an attractive child, I could juggle. I was worth five pigs at least!"

"Uh ... sure." When Crowley didn't offer an further explanation, Alex sighed. "So, if she was such a shit mom, why'd you bother to do her a favor? Not to be rude, but you're the King of Hell, not the King of Cuddles." She watched as Crowley's face tightened, and she quickly matched his frown. "Hey," she defended, "you're the one coming to me before I've had a chance to finish my coffee. You want good quips, you come when I'm awake. And why — why am I your go-to for this?"

"You've been through this before, haven't you? With your father." Crowley motioned between the two of them, leaning forward insistently. "You know what I'm feeling."

"Yeah, I'm probably not the best character witness on this one." Alex took a sip of her drink with another roll of her eyes. "I almost killed my dad."

"But you didn't."

"Because I missed." The ex-angel slammed her drink down, eyes hardening in frustration. "Look, you want to impress your mommy, do something nice for her. Take her out to dinner, bring her the — the head of her mortal enemy. I don't care." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a couple glance their way, and she lowered her voice. "Listen, I've only met Rowena once, and no offense, but she seems like she's good at manipulation." Crowley's snort proved her right, and the ex-angel pursed her lips. "So whatever you do, just be careful about it. Keep her on your good side, you know?"

"Trust me, I know." Crowley's face darkened. "However, you have given me an idea. Thank you." He rose to his feet, leaving Alex in her chair, stunned at the genuine display of gratitude. "Ah, that reminds me. Do you know what day it is? Exactly one year from now, and that pretty little soul of yours is mine. Enjoy."

"A...nd there it is." Alex pushed herself out of her seat, shaking her head as the demon vanished without another word, and the sides of her cup caved under her tight grip. "Great." Never mind what Crowley thought. Castiel would find their grace before then. She relaxed her grip, finishing her coffee and tossing the disposable cup into the trash. She would be free long before the year was up.

"Up and at 'em." A swat to the back of her calf had Alex's eyes flying open, and she jerked awake from where she lay on the thin motel mattress. Adrenaline rushed through her chet, and the ex-angel jumped up in time to see Dean making his way to the bathroom. "New murder, new lead. Get dressed."

Alex glanced over at Sam, who was sitting at the small kitchen table, but the tall hunter showed her no sign acknowledgement, his attention fully on the phone up against his ear. Muttering curses under her breath, Alex slid out from under the covers. She quickly shucked off her shirt and began dressing herself in her slacks and oxford. "Sammy." She lifted her voice so the Winchester could hear her, turning to face him as she buttoned up her white shirt. "Can I borrow a tie? I'm feeling like it's a tie day for me. Skinny, if you brought one."

"Uh, yeah, let me see what I have." Sam brushed past her as he crossed to his bag, hanging up his phone and tucking it into his pocket. "Uh, is black okay? I think I saw it earlier."

"Yeah, that's great." Alex dropped down onto the bed, tossing her dark blazer up near the huddle of blankets as she pulled out her phone. "What did I sleep through? Dean said murder."

"Damn straight I did." Dean stepped out of the bathroom, pausing briefly to check his reflection in the black screen of the tv before he dug the Impala's keys out of his pocket. "We're meeting the cops down at the station in five minutes, then we're headed over to talk with Father Delaney. He's the cleric for all of our victims, by the way." Teeth flashed in a grin, still proud of yesterday's revelation, and Alex rolled her eyes as the Winchester finished filling his pockets with his phone and wallet.

"Alright, Kojak. Just promise me we can get breakfast afterwards, alright? Now that I'm human, this schedule is literally killing me." She patted her stomach, which growled as if on cue.

She heard Sam scoff. "Right," he retorted, "like you haven't been human every other day for the past year."

Alex threw a dark glare in his direction, sticking out her tongue when she couldn't think up a strong retort, and she rose to her feet when Dean swatted her on the shoulder. "Come on. There's donuts from yesterday still in the car." Dean led the way out of the motel room, and Sam followed, tossing Alex his tie on the way out. The angel slung it around her neck, pulling the door closed behind as she crossed the parking lot after the brothers. She paused, trying to quickly tie the tie in the window, but the revving of the engine had her giving up on her futile progress and climbing inside.

The donuts were in the backseat, and Alex pulled out a stale sugar one as the Impala rolled off down the street. "Okay, so what did I miss while I was sleeping?"

"Wonderful wife and mother of two Lisa McCarthy murdered her husband Frank with a pair of scissors."

"I talked with the deputy, and he says she claims that she doesn't remember anything," Sam added. "Sounds like possession to me."

"We'll talk to the sheriff if you want to head downstairs to the coroner's and get the lowdown on the corpse." Dean turned the Impala down another road, and Alex tore a chunk off of her stale breakfast before stuffing it into her mouth. "How's that sound?"

"Sounds amazing," Alex mumbled around her mouthful. "I'll take dead bodies over live ones anyday."

The car pulled into the wide parking lot of the municipal building, and Alex shoved the last of her hasty meal into her mouth, accepting the laminated ID from Sam as she wiped her hands off on the leather seat when Dean wasn't looking. She followed the Winchesters in through the doors, breaking off to make her way down the stairs in search of the coroner's office.

"Hello?" She approached an empty desk, tapping on the small silver bell that sat within her reach. "Anyone home?"

The door swung open, revealing a bright-eyed, flustered young man. "Sorry." The apology was rushed as he came to stop beside the desk, smoothing down his white lab coat while simultaneously adjusting his askew glasses. "Busy morning. A murder always sends me scrambling —"

"Frank McCarthy." Alex dug around in her pocket for her badge. "Yes, I know. Agent Barker, FBI. Do you mind?"

She gestured off towards the door the man had hurriedly bustled through, and the doctor blinked in surprise. "Uh, yes, yes, of course. I'm Dr. Shaw. Please, call me Henry." He extended a hand, but drew back and turned away before Alex could shake it, his attention already elsewhere. "Just follow me," he continued, hurrying back through the door, and Alex frowned as she let her outstretched hand fall back to her side before she followed. "You'll have to excuse the mess. Like I said, a murder —"

"Always sends you scrambling," Alex finished, and she peered in through an open door as she spoke; piles of papers almost completely hid a metal desk, and the filing cabinets lay open and disorganized. "You must get a lot of them, then."

Her comment went unheard, and the coroner pushed his way into the autopsy room. "Now," he began as Alex followed, "I haven't gotten past the preliminary examination, but so far, everything definitely points to murder."

"I'd hope so." Alex's response was dry as the man pulled open one of the metal doors to roll out a sheet-covered corpse. "The wife all but confessed." She pulled out a pair of latex gloves from their box as Dr. Shaw drew back the sheet.

At least a dozen stab wounds decorated the pale skin, the lack of blood allowing for a clear view of the gaping holes. "Fourteen puncture wounds in total," the man explained. "Three of which would have been fatal all on their own." He pointed towards the large wound in the neck for emphasis. "Two severed the carotid, one punctured the heart."

Alex stuck a finger into the wound in the chest, peering past the mangled flesh to catch sight of the dark-muscled wall of the cardiovascular organ. "Huh. Nothing weird or abnormal?"

"Nothing apart from the complete and utter overkill," came the distracted response, and Alex looked up to see him flipping through the papers on the clipboard. "If you ask for my professional opinion, the wife found out that he was homosexual."

Alex blinked, taken aback by the sudden, intensely focused look in his gaze as he locked eyes with her. "Um ... okay. I'll definitely take that into consideration." The ex-angel tossed her gloves into the hazardous waste bin, shaking her surprise off by rolling back her shoulders. "Looks open and shut, but have the sheriff give us a call if anything weird turns up, huh?"

"On it." The coroner's hand came up in a half-salute, and Alex refrained from rolling her eyes until she was out of the room.

Her feet carried her back down the hall and up the stairs, where both Sam and Dean were waiting in the lobby. "Hey," she greeted, shoving her hands into her pockets as she joined them beside the door. "Find anything?"

"Well, there's no denying that the wife did it. She was covered in his blood, and her prints were all over the murder weapon." Dean pushed his way out onto the sidewalk, and Sam and Alex followed. "But she hasn't changed her tune — she still claims she has no memory of it happening. You?"

"Apart from the realization that the coroner is a highly-functioning imbecile? Not much." Alex shook her head, rolling her eyes around in her skull as she circled around to the back door of the Impala. "He thinks the wife killed him because she found out he was gay." She tugged on the door, frowning when she found it locked. "He's right about it being a crime of passion, though," she added as she waited for Dean to open the car. "There were way too many injuries for there not to be an emotional component."

"Well, maybe Father Delaney will know something about it." Dean unlocked the Impala, and all three climbed inside. "How does church and then lunch sound?"

"Sounds wonderful." Alex reached for her seatbelt as the car purred to life, and Sam echoed her sentiment as the Impala rumbled off towards the road.

The beautiful grey stone walls of St. Philomena's church glowed in the sunlight, the spires stretching towards the cloudless sky, and Alex let her eyes wander across the gothic architecture as a note of amazement vibrated in her throat. "This is the place, huh?" She slammed the Impala door behind her, tearing her eyes away to look over at the two brothers. Sam's gaze also lingered on the building, but Dean was already crossing the street, giving the church little more than a disinterested glance.

A man stood on the stairs, dressed in the recognizable attire of a catholic clergyman, and he lifted his head as the three approached. "The FBI, I assume," he greeted as they climbed the stairs, and he extended a hand towards Dean. "Father Delaney."

"Agent Allman," Dean introduced. "This is Agent Betts, and our partner Agent Barker." He motioned to Sam and Alex in turn, and the ex-angel stepped forward to shake the man's hand. The warm light in his eyes reminded her of Father Greg Paske, the old man who had taken her and Castiel in the fall, and she met the man's smile with one of her own, echoing his soft greeting. "I'm sure you've heard about Frank McCarthy's death," Dean added, speaking over Alex, and sadness creased Delaney's worn face.

"Of course. It always saddens me to hear about the death of one of our own, and especially in such a terrible manner. But ... that seems to be the pattern as of late, doesn't it?" The man's shoulders fell, and he pushed open the doors to St. Philomena's church. "I just can't believe Lisa McCarthy would murder her husband." He shook his head as he led the way through the front doors of the church, and Alex lifted her head to take in the high ceilings and wide windows, the stained glass sending rays of color across the marble floor.

"Right, well, his blood was all over her body," Sam slowly began, hesitant with the truth, and Alex quickened her step to walk at the Winchester's side. "And her prints were all over the pair of scissors that butchered him."

"That's terrible." Genuine sympathy lined the Father's voice, and he paused halfway down the center aisle to turn and face the hunters.

Sam nodded in agreement, and Dean did the same before adding, "Now, we also have some questions. Um, for starters, she has no memory of it. The last thing she remembers is being here. Frank had gone to confession."

"So," Sam continued, "if he happened to say anything in the confession about, you know, maybe problems with the wife ..."

"I'm sorry." Father Delaney gave another shake of his head as he denied the Winchester's request. "The nature of confession is confidential. Between them and God," he clarified when Alex pursed her lips together tightly.

"Father," she began, "this is a murder investigation. Anything you can tell of us will be of use. All of these people who have died — they all attended this church. Could you at least say if they had all been to confession recently?"

"Well, yes," the man agreed slowly. "These men were fairly regular, but then, so are the majority of the folks here." The approach of a young woman clothed in the traditional grey garb of a nun had Father Delaney pausing, a hand stretched out to gesture towards the new arrival. "Ah. Agents, Sister Mathias is our Director of Social Services. I've asked her to show you around and answer any questions."

He stepped away, and Sister Mathias took his place in front of the three hunters. "Agents ...?"

"Allman." Dean motioned to himself, and then to Sam and Alex in turn. "And Agents Betts and Barker."

"Sister," Sam began, one hand coming up to adjust the his red striped tie, "you're aware of the recent string of deaths, right?"

"Yes, what a terrible tragedy." The young woman looked between the three of them, perplexity darkening her wide eyes. "But I'm confused as to why you're here. These were all suicides, weren't they?"

"Well," Sam hesitantly corrected, "possibly not."

"Murders?" The nun's eyes widened even further, and she looked up at Dean in search of answers.

The eldest Winchester have a half-hearted nod of his head. "Well, the actual methods of killing was all identical."

"Ah, the M.O."

Dean chuckled out his agreement, and Sam tapped Alex on the shoulder, nodding towards the front of the church. "I'm going to go, uh, have a look around," he told them. "Uh, excuse me, sister. Agents Betts — uh, Allman." He cleared his throat, quickly trying to cover his mistake, and Alex stepped aside to let him through.

"I'll come with," she added, and she followed after Sam, leaving Dean alone with the nun. "If they've all gone to confession, maybe the common denominator is here." She nodded towards the dark confessional box in the corner of the room, and she heard Sam hum in agreement. The chirp of an EMF detector had her looking over to see the small handheld device passing over the candles beside the front alter.

"So ... ghost it is."

"Well ... maybe not." Sam tucked the device back into his pocket as he straightened up to turn back to Dean and the nun, lifting his voice over their conversation. "Sister, I've got a question. Is there a cemetery nearby?"

"You could say that." Sister Mathias frowned over at Dean, confused by the question. "The entire church is built over burial crypts."

Sam glanced down at Alex, and the ex-angel frowned at the unfortunate news. "Oh." Sam stepped past her, and she followed at his side as he continued his questioning. "Have you ever, uh, heard or — or felt anything strange or unusual?"

"Unusual how?"

Once again, the woman's eyes turned onto Dean, and the Winchester took over the explanation. "Like, uh, spots in the building that suddenly get cold or, uh — or maybe you feel like you're not — not quite alone?"

"Rattling chairs and teacups that fly across the room?" Skeptical amusement glittered in Sister Mathias' eyes as she looked between the three hunters, and Alex barely refrained from rolling her eyes at the jest.

Dean, however, couldn't resist. "Sister, are you making fun of me?"

"Really?" The amusement died, and Sister Mathias looked between the three of them in disbelief. "The FBI believes in ghosts?" She forced a chuckle. "I'm afraid I don't. If you'll excuse me, Agents, I have to get back to work."

Alex watched as the nun walked back off down the aisle, shaking her head after her. "You'd think for a nun, she'd be a little more open to the paranormal."

No response came from either brother, and she followed them back out of the church with a shrug. "Tell me you didn't think that nun was hot," Dean started as he jumped down the church stairs. "I think she had a little thing for me, too."

Sam scoffed loudly, his long legs carrying him after his brother. "Dean, she was married to Jesus."

Alex laughed as Dean frowned, but he quickly shrugged the comment off, his tone growing brisk as he got down to business. "Alright, so according to her, Frank cheated on his wife Lisa. You know, the whole theme of this case seems to be about guys doing their women wrong. Notice that?"

"Lee and Sloan both had known affairs," Sam hesitantly agreed. "But Lisa McCarthy was pretty convincing that she had no idea whatsoever she had killed her husband."

Dean chuckled, circling around to stand next to the Impala. "Oh, hot nun said that Lisa had no idea he was cheating on her," he promised. "So, maybe she was controlled by someone who did."

"Except we didn't find anything even remotely witchy." Alex crossed her arms across her chest as she faced the Winchester. "Maybe a ghost?" She exchanged a look with Sam, shaking her head as she relented. "No, I know you're right. There was EMF, but the whole place was built on a burial ground. But, all of the victims recently when to confession."

Interest glinted in Sam's eyes. "You think Father Delaney's involved?"

"Or maybe something surrounding the confessional," Dean finished. "Hey, Sammy, how long has it been since my last confession?"

"You've never been to confession."

"Well, that's been too long." Dean unlocked the Impala, pulling open the door with a grin. "Lunch first, and then we'll see what we can drag out into the open."

The sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows, sending colored rays of light spilling onto the pews. Alex sat beside Sam, her eyes focused on the crucifix that hung high above the alter, and it was only the shifting of Sam on the seat next to her that drew her out of her thoughts. She cast a glance towards the side of the sanctuary, towards the confessional box where Dean Winchester sat with Father Delaney behind closed doors.

"It's been a while since I've been to church." Alex glanced over at Sam, careful to keep her voice low even though there was no one else in the sanctuary. "I used to go all the time with my parents, before my mom died."

"I ... I went once or twice when I was at Stanford." Sam looked up from his phone, and the pew creaked beneath him as he stretched out his legs. "It's just after the — the apocalypse, a-and the angels, it's hard not to believe in it all, but at the same time ..." The Winchester shook his shaggy hair, unsure how to finish his thought.

"I get it. It's not ... it's not what I thought it would be, that's for sure." Alex shifted closer to Sam, their shoulders brushing so he could hear her quiet voice. "Demons, the angels. God being awol." She forced a chuckle as her eyes turned up onto the altar where a cross hung suspended high above. "It was just so ... disappointing."

"Exactly." Sam's voice rose above a whisper, surprised to find his opinion being echoed. "And Michael and Lucifer —" He cut off, averting his eyes from her in momentary embarrassment, and Alex bumped shoulders to pull his attention back onto her.

"Yeah, they weren't what I was expecting either," she quietly agreed, and her eyes fell onto the stone floor as she remembered the devil's gaze. The opening of the confession box door had her falling silent, and Sam quickly pushed himself to his feet as his brother crossed over to them.

"So," he began, "you think you had an eavesdropper in there?"

"Hope so." Dean glanced back towards the box as a women stepped inside to take his place.

"You better watch your back." Sam followed his gaze with a shake of his head as he turned back to Dean. "If we're right, jerks like you are just what our ghost is looking for."

"Fingers crossed." Alex stepped out of the pew, her dress shoes clicking on the marble floor. "Okay, so now what do we do? Wait around until Dean guts himself?"

"Let's head back to the room. Maybe we can dig up something about this church and those who are buried here." Sam waited until his brother nodded before he led the way out of the sanctuary and out onto the street.

"Wait!" A voice had them pausing halfway down the sidewalk, and Alex lifted her eyebrows as she turned to face Sister Mathias. The nun stood on the stairs, hand raised to get their attention, and the ex-angel felt Sam and Dean exchange a look over her head. "Agents!"

"Sister." Dean's teeth flashed in a wide grin, and Alex rolled her eyes as he crossed back to her, a slow, confident swagger in his step. "How can we help you?"

"I ... have something I need to show you." Something darkened the woman's eyes, and curiosity drew Alex in after the Winchesters. "I ... I think it might have something to do with the deaths."

"What do you mean?" Two steps carried Dean up the stairs to stand at the woman's side.

"Come with me." Sister Mathias slipped back into the church, and Alex hurried after her, leaving Sam and Dean to follow close behind. "I think I know who you're looking for." The nun kept her voice low, and Alex had to strain her ears to hear. "Her name is Sister Isabella Bianchi. She was a nun in Florence, Italy, in the 16th century. Her stuff showed up three weeks ago."

"Whoa, wait." Dean was quick to interject as Sister Mathias led them through a side door and down a flight of stone stairs. "You — you're talking about the 1500's."

The woman nodded. "I never mentioned her to you because it didn't occur to me that she was connected with the murders," she explained, stepping off the stairs and leading the way into a large, stone room. "Ever since I've been here, I've come across restless spirits of all sorts."

"Wait a second." Alex pulled up to a stop, and the other three humans paused as well. "You mean you not only believe in ghosts, but you talk with them? Like Cole Sear?"

Sister Mathias blinked, but she ignored the ex-angel's last comment. "As a spiritual person, I've accepted many planes of existence," she explained temperedly. "And as I've said, they've all been harmless." Her blue-green eyes turned onto the thick wooden boxes that were piled against the walls, and her tone softened in regret. "Isabella was my friend. We had a lot in common, including ... painful love lives. I wanted to protect her."

"You said she showed up three weeks ago when stuff from her home arrived?" Dean's own eyes followed hers across the items, taking in the large crates.

Sister Mathias nodded. "Yes, part of a shipment from a monastery in Tivoli. Her family's treasures found their way to the church, as with many of the great houses of Europe."

Alex glanced up at Sam, whose lips were pursed slightly in frustration. "You get that she got here just before the murders started happening?"

"I finally realized that." The nun turned to face Sam, the slightest note of frustration straining at her voice. "And then I heard the two of you, and it made me wonder. That's when I read her journal." Sister Mathias crossed over to a box, where she carefully picked up a yellow-paged book. "It was given to her father right after her death."

"Sounds like a vengeful spirit," Alex finished, and she watched as both Winchesters nodded in agreement. "Looks like we were right after all."

"Yeah," Sam slowly concurred, "but 16th century Florence — she's probably buried over there."

"I assume," Sister Mathias agreed. "The journal ends right after her trial." She handed the book to Sam, adding, "Isabella talked a lot about her lover Piero. He was an artist, and ... and unfaithful. When Isabella found out, she killed him." Her eyes closed momentarily, and Alex watched as she gave a slow, barely perceptible shake of her head. "His death was so horrific, she was convicted of witchcraft. They sentenced her to burn at the stake."

"Okay, well, if she burned, then so would her bones." Dean's voice was low with frustration, and he reached up to rub at the back of his neck as he frowned.

"True, but there's obviously something that's tying her here — to this church in particular." Alex motioned around to the boxes, her gesture faltering as she took in the large amount of relics around them. "It's got to be something that came over with her."

"True," Dean assented. "It's probably the journal, where she wrote about her life. Why don't we see if we can't find Isabella, try and slow her down." He motioned to Sister Mathias and Alex, and the ex-angel nodded in agreement. "Sam, burn it."

"Her ... journal?" Confusion darkened Sam's gaze, and he hesitantly looked down at the old book. "Is that necessary? I mean, there might be more in here."

"Believe me, it's necessary." Dean's frown darkened when Sam opened his mouth to protest, and his voice grew sharp. "Sam, burn it," he repeated. "Alex, let's go." He waved Sister Mathias after him, and Alex shrugged over at Sam, unsure of how to console the tall hunter. "Alex!" Her voice on Dean's tongue had her hurrying after him back up the stairs.

The familiar weight of the shotgun rested against her side as Alex followed Dean back into the church, and the ex-angel touched her pockets to confirm the presence of her extra ammunition. The sky was already darkening, the black sky promising rain, and she shivered as a burst of wind brushed past her just before she stepped over the threshold into the holy building. Sister Mathias was waiting just outside the sanctuary, her hands folded in front of her, and her blue-green eyes widened slightly at the sight of the weapons.

"Where do you think she could be?" Alex pushed her way past Dean to make her way down the center aisle, teeth grit in frustration as she tried to push her non-existent grace out in search of the vengeful spirit. "We — we're definitely thinking spirit possession, right?"

"Yeah." Dean pulled his his EMF detector, swiping it across the pews as he looked for any indication of the ghost's presence. "Even though she's tethered to the church, she can still possess a person inside the church, ride them out, and then get yanked back after the kill," he explained to Sister Mathias as he turned the device onto the front alter.

"And ... can ghosts be shot?" The nun motioned down to their weapons, and Dean lifted the gun so she could get a better view.

"This is rock salt," he explained, tapping the barrel where the shells sat. "If we spot her, it'll slow her down."

"You think she's still here?" Alex turned her gaze around the large room, eyes flickering across the stained glass. "And where's Sam? He should have burned that journal by now." She frowned at the warble of the EMF, and Dean motioned her after him as he pointed towards a side hallway. The ex-angel nodded, and she fell in step at his side as they stepped through the doorway. The buzzing got louder, and Dean quickly turned the device off as he paused outside a room. A wave in the direction of the nun told her to stay put, and when Dean pointed towards the door, Alex lifted her gun.

The Winchester pushed his way into the room, and Alex followed, gun at the ready and finger on the trigger. At the sight of Father Delaney, however, her weapon immediately fell back to her side. The clergyman was laying on the table, arms spread out at his side, and the hunter wrinkled her nose at the smell of blood, which was dripping from his fingertips onto the floor. His chest was ripped open, the gaping wound stretching from sternum to pelvis, and Alex shook her head. "Great." She stepped closer, a hand going out to touch the bloody skin of the priest's neck. "The kill's fresh. The blood's still draining — I'd say one minute, maybe two."

She turned back to see Dean's grim face, and she was quick to mimic his demeanor. "Alright," was all the Winchester said. "Come on." He led the way back out of the room, and the ex-angel shook her head, frustrated at the life they were too late to save. "She got to Father Delaney," she heard Dean tell Sister Mathias, and she quickened her step to move into the hallway after him. "She's around here somewhere. We got to get you out of here." He grabbed her hand, his momentum pulling her with him down the hall. "Come on!"

The nun's feet dug into the floor, and Dean almost fell as he was suddenly stopped in his tracks. He turned, mouth open to protest, but Mathias' hand came up, and the slap to his face sent the Winchester flying down the hall. "Hey!" Alex lifted her gun, cocking the weapon as she pointed the barrel towards the now-possessed nun. "Careful there. Let her go."

The woman turned from Dean, anger flashing in her eyes at the sight of the weapon, and the Winchester struggled to his feet, gripping his head in a low, angry groan. "Really, possessing a nun?" Dean scoffed loudly, and he rolled his eyes when she whipped around to face him. "Even for you, that's got to be pretty low."

"You're one to speak about baseness!" The ghost's voice hissed and crackled, and her lips drew back into a vehement snarl. "Lying, cheating infidels! The priest had to die. He made it his business to forgive you pigs — forgive you, when what you do is unforgivable!"

"Sam!" Dean's voice lifted into a shout, echoing through the stone hallways. "Burn the damn journal already!"

"You all deserve to die —" The ghost cut off as her body shivered, and Alex's finger tightened on the trigger as the shudders turned into convulsions. Suddenly, Sister Mathias dropped, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as she hit the ground, leaving only the half-visible form of a dark-haired nun standing in her place. "No." The word fell from the spirit's lips, and Dean darted in, dragging Sister Mathias away and pulling her into his chest to protect her from the vengeful ghost. Isabella's eyes turned onto them, and the first hint of flames began to lick at the bottom of her skirts. "Sister!" Her voice grew sharp in a desperate plea, and Sister Mathias pushed herself closer to Dean. "Don't let them! You're my friend!"

The ghost's voice rose into a scream, and Alex lowered her weapon as the flames rose, engulfing the spirit and her cries. With a sudden, final rush of fire, the ghost vanished, leaving Alex alone with Dean and Sister Mathias. Her shotgun fell to her side, and the ex-angel swiped a hand through her hair as she shook her head. "About time," she muttered, flicking open the break-action lever and unloading her weapon.

She tucked the shells into her free pocket before brushing past the hunter, resting her gun against her shoulder as she lifted her voice. "Sam?" called out for the tall Winchester as she hurried down the hall, grey eyes stretched wide to see through the darkened church. "Sam? You okay?"

"Yeah." Sam suddenly appeared around the corner as she entered the main sanctuary, his own eyes stretched wide at the worry in her voice. "You guys? Where's Dean?" He placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently, and Alex reached up to place her own hand momentarily on his, a quick gesture of reassurance.

"With Sister Mathias. He's okay." She looked up into Sam's eyes, some of the concern leaving her face to find the hunter unharmed. "What the hell took you so long to burn that thing, huh?"

"I'll explain later," Sam promised, and his gaze flickered towards the door as Dean appeared, leading Sister Mathias by the hand..

Alex let her hand fall away from Sam's, taking a step back as she regarded the nun. "How are you doing?" She tipped her head, eyes softening in worry. "Personal experience has taught me that ghost possession is a bitch — uh, rough," she quickly corrected, eyeing the crucifix that hung over the alter. "It's rough."

"Yes, thank you. I ... I think I'll be fine." Sister Mathias looked up at Dean, and the Winchester gave a small nod of agreement. "I'm just glad that Isabella is no longer able to hurt anyone."

"Yeah, she's gone for good." Dean pulled his hand away from her shoulder where he was supporting her, and the nun stepped away with a soft dip of her head. "Listen, you run into any more trouble here, you just give us a call, okay?"

"Thank you." The woman's eyes turned back towards the hall, and the tears in her eyes caught in the flickering candlelight. "I should go contact the authorities to take care of Father Delaney."

"Isabella got to him before we did," Alex explained up to Sam, and the hunter let out a long, resigned breath from his nose as he shook his head in disappointment. "Yeah. Sister, the police can be here in five minutes. Are you going to be okay on your own until then?"

"You're ... leaving?" The woman's head tilted, and realization lifted her eyebrows. "The three of you aren't FBI, are you?" When Dean shook her head, she offered upa small smile. "You can go. I'll be fine on my own." Her voice softened as she looked over Dean, and Alex turned to Sam as she pretended not to hear. "I hope peace finds you, wherever you may go."

Dean's response was just as soft, too quiet for her to hear, and Alex fell in step beside Sam as he led the way out of the church. Rain pounded on the sidewalk, and lightning cracked through the sky with a sharp burst of light. "Ready?" Alex tugged her jacket tighter around her Dean stepped out beside her and Sam. The Winchester didn't answer, and Alex shrugged up at Sam as she followed him out into the rain.

The Impala wasn't far, but she was soaked by the time that she threw open the door and climbed inside. "Hey, hey," Dean warned as she shucked off her jacket. "Careful on the leather, okay?"

"It'll be fine." The young hunter tossed her damp coat onto the ground, groping around in the darkness for a sweatshirt she knew was somewhere in the back with her. "Just get the heat on so we can get dry."

The engine purred to life, and Alex reached for her seatbelt as the car pulled out into the street. She felt Dean drop his shotgun onto the backseat next to her, and she shoved it onto the ground with her own, shaking her head as she continued to feel around for her clothes.

"What took you so long, huh?" Dean asked as the engine revved. "What, did you spend that whole time reading the journal?" Sam shrugged, and and disbelief filled Dean's voice. "Wait, seriously?"

"You should be glad I did," Sam retorted. "It wasn't the journal that she was tied to. It was one of the paintings that her lover Peirro had done of her. She, uh, literally cut off her own finger and made grind it into his paints so she could become an actual part of his work."

"Ick." Dean recoiled at the idea, sticking out his tongue in disgust. "Who mixes their blood and bones into paint? No woman's ever done that for me." He chuckled, glancing over at Sam, but his brother only rolled his eyes.

"Is that you thanking me for not doing what you told me to do?"

"You know, if you had burned the journal, then we wouldn't know how to kill it, would we?" Dean reluctantly admitted, and Sam let out a small laugh at the slanted apology.

"Yeah, you're welcome." He slumped down in his seat, brushing his damp hair back out of his face. Silence followed his words, and Sam drew in a deep, hesitant breath. "You know ..." he slowly began, "you were in that confessional a long time. Look, man," he quickly added when Dean stiffened warily, "I'm just saying, I'm your brother." He motioned between him and Alex, and the ex-angel straightened up in her seat. "We're your family. If you ever need to talk about anything with anyone, you got someone right next to you."

"Okay."

Dean's answer was short and terse, and Sam's lips pursed. "I heard what Sister Mathias said to you back in the church," he reminded. "Something about, you know, hiding your pain by taking on a mission, and I-I know that's what you're doing a bit. A-And it's okay. I mean, it's fine. I get it. I've done it before, too. And — and I'm sure Alex has too."

"All the time," the young hunter was quick to agree. "And I ... I think what Sam's saying is that this Mark of Cain, it's not a terminal diagnosis. You're a long way from reaching the point of no return, and we're not giving up hope until then. So don't go making peace with the idea that — that you're unsavable."

"Exactly." Sam flashed her a thankful smile over his shoulder before turning back to Dean. "There has to be a way. There will always be a way, and we will find it. That's what we do. So ... believe that."

"Okay, Sammy."

Sam cleared his throat in displeasure, and Dean adjusted his grip on the steering wheel with a frown. "You want to ... uh, try that again like you mean it?"

"Okay." Dean's answer was more determined this time, but he didn't bother to expound any further. "How about we head back to the bunker?" he suggested. "I'm good to drive." He pressed down on the gas, reaching over to turn up the music, and Alex yanked her sweatshirt down over her head as the car sped off down the road.