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Adding Rowena to speed dial had not been an easy choice. Sam had agonized over it for hours, analyzing and picking apart every argument for and against it. It would be useful, he had reasoned. That had been an easier thought to digest than one that came unbidden to him as he looked through the names of Dean, Cas, Jack, Mary, Crowley (who he had never gotten the heart to delete – despite their complicated past), and Bobby: Rowena’s name belongs here. No, that one he had swallowed back and tried not to think about. But ultimately, the pros outweighed the cons. Rowena’s name received a little gold star next to it, and it flew to the top of the list. Sam had never been more grateful for that decision as he staggered out to the Impala, half-carrying an injured Cas on his good shoulder, who in turn supported Jack. Once inside, all it took was two clumsy taps on the screen to pull up Rowena’s name, barely slowing him down as he shifted the Impala into drive and barreled out of the parking lot in a way that Dean would certainly disapprove of if he was actually Dean right now instead of a psychopathic archangel who had been knocked out by a desperate Nephilim. Speaking of which... “Jack?” Sam calls to the back as the phone rings. “You doing okay, buddy?” “I’m fine, Sam,” Jack says in a way that convinces Sam of anything but that. His next words are slightly more reassuring. “It hurt really badly at first, but I feel almost normal now.” “Okay, you let me know if it gets worse.” He sighs. “You can’t do that, Jack. Using your powers is too risky right now.” “But it was our only chance at getting out!” “That may be so, but every time you use your powers, you’re burning up a piece of your soul,” Cas steps in. “We just don’t want to see you hurt again.” Jack begins to protest, but he stops himself as Rowena picks up. “Yes, Samuel?” “Hey, Rowena. You wouldn’t happen to be anywhere near Lawrence, would you?” Sam’s faked levity doesn’t get him much of anywhere with Rowena. “Fortunately, yes. What have you gotten yourself into?” He can’t stop the thought of, No nonsense, as usual. “It’s Michael. We tried to take him down in Kansas City, things went south pretty quick. He, uh...” He pauses. The words stick to the roof of his mouth like peanut butter gone wrong. “He’s got Dean again.” He’s not quite prepared for Rowena to shriek into his ear, “What?! Why the bloody hell did you go after him? You didn’t even think ask me for help?” Sam can’t tell her that yes, he did think it, but the thought was pushed aside by the guilt of dragging her into yet another archangel conflict. Instead he says, “We thought we had it. What we didn’t count on is that Michael somehow has a door open to Dean’s head. Dean didn’t even have to say ‘yes’ for Michael to get back in.” “I’m sorry, Sam,” she says, her voice suddenly solemn and a little bit sweet. But she shifts back to her normal self in a split second. “I’m on my way,” she says. “I’ve got a wee bit of a plan.” Without another word, she hangs up. One thing that Sam has learned is that it’s hard to stop Rowena when she’s got an idea. She’s already settled into the Bunker by time they get back, and Sam doesn’t think he’s ever seen the war table full of so much stuff. A multitude of books, ingredients, and charms are spread out to cover every available surface. Rowena is busy at work, brewing up a potion. “What’s all this?” he asks, skipping the pleasantries. Rowena doesn’t seem to mind biting into the meat of the conversation. “The very thing that’ll force Michael out of Dean and into the Cage.” Sam is surprised that she doesn’t keep him in suspense, but even more at the idea that the solution to all their problems could come down to something so simple as a witch’s brew. “Wh-where have you been hiding that?” he sputters. His cheeks flush a bit at his own inability to form a coherent thought, but there’s no time to be embarrassed about something so trivial as that. “You’re welcome,” she corrects him and doesn’t elaborate. “I just mean,” he says, trying not to sound ungrateful, “I’m assuming we would have used this on Lucifer if we could. Or Michael when Dean first got possessed. Where is this coming from? Why now?” “It’s brand new,” Rowena says. She bites her lip, showing the slightest bit of uncertainty for the first time. “Untested, too, I’ll admit, but I’m fairly sure it’ll work. It’s something I started on a long time ago after Lucifer came back. I started working on it again when Michael got Dean the first time ‘round and I just finished it a few days ago.” “Why didn’t you tell us?” Sam asks. “Well, if I’d known you dunderheads were going to confront Michael, I would’ve told ye! I didn’t say anything because I thought it’d be prudent to double check my work, but time’s run out for that!” “Oh,” Sam says, and leaves it at that. He’s not sure there’s much else left to say. “You’re right, we should have come to you,” Cas says, holding her gaze intently. Something a bit green and envious twists in Sam’s gut at Cas’s ease of finding the right words to soften Rowena’s glare, but he pushes it down. It’s not the right time for that, and he’s not gonna be jealous of Cas, of all people, for his relationship with Rowena. “But what can we do now?” Cas asks. “My, aren’t you a sight?” is her only answer as she gives him a true once-over for the first time since they arrived. She takes a good look at Jack as well, and then Sam. He can feel his cheeks heat up as her eyes linger at his belt and – God, what is it about her that gets him blushing like he’s in middle school again? “He nearly beat you all to a pulp. What happened? How did you even get away?” “He, uh... he took control of Dean,” Sam says. “After that, it seemed like he was going to leave, just like the first time, but he took interest in Jack’s renewed powers. Tried to take him, but Cas and I stepped in. He threw me against the wall,” he says, rubbing his black and blue shoulder, “and started beating Cas. Jack panicked and knocked him out with his powers, and we hightailed it here.” Sam doesn’t expect Rowena to whirl around and hiss at Jack, “You used your powers? Do you have any idea how much your dads did to keep you alive, and now you’re just – just burning up pieces of your soul without a second thought?” “Hey,” Sam protests, stepping between them. As much as Rowena’s message is correct, it’s also a little harsh for the moment. “He knows. We’ve talked and we’re gonna talk more.” This seems to release a little bit of steam from Rowena. “So, what’s the plan? What do we have to do with that potion?” She sighs, shifting her weight to one hip. “The bad news is that it needs to be administered directly to Michael. The good news is: you have what he wants at the moment.” She looks pointedly at Jack. “Absolutely not,” Cas says. “We’re not using him as bait. It’s too dangerous.” “Well, I didn’t say we’d keep him here. We need to get him far away from the fight first.” “That’s not fair,” Jack pipes up. “I can help!” “And ‘accidentally’ use your powers again?” Rowena demands. “No, I don’t think so.” Sam doesn’t want to admit the truth of the matter, but someone has to be pragmatic. “I hate the thought of Jack in the fight as much as anyone, but I’m not sure we can subdue Michael without him. He almost killed us all the first time around.” He really doesn’t like the spark of an idea that forms in Rowena’s eyes. And although he doesn’t know what exactly that idea is yet, he likes it even less as he can see the gears turning in her head. He likes it the least when she speaks it. “Well, wouldn’t it be grand if we had someone Michael couldn’t kill? Someone who, perhaps, is fated to be killed by somebody else?” She quirks a brow. “Don’t give me that face, Samuel. It’s a blessing, really, if you think about it.” The word “blessing” hits him harder than a slap to the cheek. Before he can even stop himself, he’s saying, “No.” Dread washes over him. “No, no. We’re not – you’re not doing that.” He hates it. He hates Death’s prophecy for them, he hates this situation, he hates the familiar images from his nightmares that now sprout in his mind by day of Rowena bloody, Rowena screaming, Rowena twisted and mangled on the Bunker floor— “Samuel, what’s wrong?” “You can’t,” he blurts. “Oh, I can’t, can I?” She postures, “No, I think I’m the only one here who can. He can’t touch me. Only you can kill me.” “No, stop. Stop!” She gives him an incredulous look. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.” “It’s dangerous.” “Not for me.” “You could still get hurt!” “And you lot could get dead. I think one outweighs the other here, Samuel.” “But what if things have changed? What if – if I’m not the one to kill you anymore? Or if it’s not so direct? Maybe this will be technically my fault, and then—” “I think we both know that Death doesn’t just change her mind for nothing, nor does she work on technicalities. What is this really about?” Cas and Jack are giving him odd looks, but he doesn’t care. “Please. I don’t want you to.” Her eyes widen for a moment, and then her face softens. He thinks maybe he’s won until, with a whispered word, she does something she promised one night over a glass of wine that she would never do to him again – she places a curse on him. It’s a bit like being trapped in a half-sleep. He’s aware of his surroundings, but they all kind of blur and twist together. Cas is suddenly eight feet tall, Jack looks like he was painted by Van Gogh, Rowena is shimmery and purple, and the Bunker is continuously caving in on itself. He tries to speak, and then move, and he discovers that he can’t. The worst part is that although he’s stuck in this strange state, his thoughts remain completely intact. All he can do is shout No! against the barrier of his mind. “Did you...?” Cas trails off uncertainly. All sounds are loud and echo-y in Sam’s head. “He’ll be fine. It’s not hurting him, and it’ll keep him from barging into trouble for a while. You two agree this is the best way?” “I don’t like it, but yes,” Jack says. “Yes,” Cas agrees. Rowena reaches up and strokes Sam’s cheek. He tries to convey all the protests he can with his eyes. “Sorry, love,” she hums. “You’re outvoted.” She turns away from him, all business again. “Right. You two get yourselves and him to a safe place. You should be able to guide him. Jack, text Dean, well, Michael, and tell him you’re up for round two. He knows where to find ye.” She turns to Cas. “Make sure Sam stays with you. Restrain him if you have to; that spell won’t last long. On second thought...” She rushes to the table and rummages through her bag. Rainbows spill out. “Ah ha.” She hands Cas a vial with a gray, starry substance inside. “Give him that once you’ve found a good spot to camp out.” Cas gives her a questioning look. She answers, “Sleeping drought. It’ll keep him down for a bit longer, but you’ll still want to keep an eye out. Don’t come out, whatever you do.” She spoons some of the potion for Michael into a jar as she speaks. “If I succeed, I’ll come find you. If I don’t come out on top, Michael will, and you’ll want this,” she says, shoving the jar at Jack. “Now, go.” Sam desperately tries to break out of the bonds of Rowena’s spell, but with Cas guiding him by the arm, all he can do is walk away, his legs utterly betraying him. They end up hiding in the dungeon. If he didn’t hate every part of this so much, Sam would agree that that was a good choice. It’s isolated from the rest of the Bunker, there are plenty of places to hide, and they have weapons should they need them. Cas guides him to a seated position in a secluded corner of the room and uncorks the vial. No, Cas, no! Don’t! His protests are futile and unheard, of course. Against his will, he tilts back his head, opens his mouth, and allows the drought to spill down his throat, leaving a sweet, herbal taste in its wake. He wakes to the sound of a mighty crash. Cas is pushing down on him as soon as he startles awake, clamping a cool, rough hand over his mouth. Sam is no longer under the control of Rowena’s spell, but Cas’s hold prevents him from doing much of anything. He tries to communicate with his eyes that he won’t shout, and he won’t run into the fight, at least not yet. Cas thankfully seems to get the message, and he warily removes his hand from Sam’s mouth, but doesn’t let up the weight on his chest. “How long?” Sam whispers. “It started almost fifteen minutes ago,” Cas responds. Jack catches Sam’s eye. “She’s actually got more hits in than he has so far,” he offers. Sam has to concede that that does reassure him a little. He listens to the fight up above. He can hear the screeching of furniture sliding across the floor and the splintering of wood as it is thrown. There’s a dull thud as someone hits the floor, or maybe the wall. Rowena shouts a curse, and there’s another thud. Then another crash, louder than the one that woke Sam. “I have to go,” he pleads. “I have to help.” “She can handle herself, Sam. She’s a good witch,” Jack says. “I know she is, but he’s an archangel. She shouldn’t be fighting him alone. I have to—” “You can’t,” Jack says, and helps Cas restrain him. “And we can’t let you.” “Sam, think about it,” Cas reasons. “You said yourself that you don’t want her to get killed on a technicality. What if you rushing in to fight is what kills her? We know a mortal human stands next to no chance against Michael. She could get distracted, trying to protect you.” Sam admittedly had not considered that. He’s not sure that Cas’s goal was to send him into a spiral of doubt, but that’s what the angel had achieved. He’s also forced to recognize some fundamental truths about his relationship with Rowena, namely that his little crush may be significantly more than that. He stops resisting the hold that the two other men have on him and tries to focus on the fight above instead of his painfully complicated worries. It’s hard not to jump up at every loud noise, but he keeps himself in check. Minutes pass, and the fight seems to get more intense. Suddenly, there is a lot of shouting from both parties, and a massive crash, louder than any other. Then... silence. Sam isn’t sure whether it’s been ten seconds or ten minutes before he can’t stand the suspense any longer. “I have to see,” he half-explains as he pries himself from Cas and Jack’s grip to bolt up the stairs. Before he can reach the door, it swings open to reveal... “Rowena,” Sam breathes, and all but collapses onto her. “Thank God.” “Not all that good at following directions, I see,” she scolds lightly, but she runs a soothing hand across his back in spite of it. He pulls away, and notices that she’s pretty bloodied and bruised. “Are you okay?” he asks, looking closer at a deep gash along her collarbone. She hisses at his touch. “Aye, nothing that cannae be fixed.” “And Dean?” he asks urgently. Cas and Jack come up to join them. “Did it work?” “I think so,” she says, and he is flooded with relief, “but we won’t know for certain until Castiel takes a look.” The three men rush into the war room, Rowena floating behind. Sam barely notes the destruction of the room, stepping over the upturned table to intently watch as Cas lays a gentle hand to Dean’s chest. “It’s Dean,” Cas exhales with a relieved smile. “And only Dean.” Sam has to be sure for himself. He shakes him awake. “Dean?” Dean blinks his eyes open. “Sammy?” he asks, squinting into the light. “Where’s Michael? How did—?” He knows instantly that it’s him, and he crushes him in a hug. “The Cage. Rowena sent him there.” There’s still a pinch of fear in Dean’s eyes. “And how long have I been him?” “Just a few hours. We acted fast,” Cas replies. As Cas receives a much-needed hug of his own, Sam makes his way back towards Rowena to give her a proper thank you. In the background he can hear Dean ask, “The Cage? How?” but that conversation drifts out of his attention as he lays his eyes on her. “You should really let us look at these,” he says, gesturing to all her bumps and scrapes. He gravitates back towards her shoulder, where the cuts are deep and will probably require stitches or magical intervention. “Especially this one.” She looks at it and frowns. “Aye. I might.” He puts a hand on her shoulder – the good one. “Thank you. So much.” His heart flutters as she meets his eyes, gazing at him with more intensity, wisdom, and mystery than any mortal could. And also kindness. He has a sudden impulse, and before he can come to his senses and repress it, he leans forwards and catches her lips with his own. Her breath hitches, and she stiffens against him from the surprise of it. After a moment, she melts into his embrace, and leans back into the kiss, flirting with his tongue. He responds by cupping the back of her neck, hand brushing against silky strands of hair. He doesn’t want to ever let go, but he needs to look at her, really look at her, and figure out what they do from here. He’s short for breath as he pulls away, and for once, Rowena looks equally flustered. Sam tosses a glance at the others in the room. They’ve definitely noticed the most recent events but seem dead set on not intervening. Sam decides that no matter what happens next, he doesn’t want them watching, so he grabs Rowena by the hand and pulls her into the next room. She finds a place up against the wall, still looking disheveled. There’s nothing he wants to do more than kiss her again as he drinks her in, observing her tousled hair and red-tinged lips, but he’s determined to let her make the next move. “Well,” she says once she finally gathers herself. “I cannae say that’s the thanks I expected, but I also cannot complain.” He leans in and kisses her again, this time very softly. His lips draw away almost as soon as they brush against hers. She chases him, but he doesn’t let her catch him; this is only a tease. “It was more than just a ‘thank you,’” he says boldly. “Oh?” she asks, dragging a finger along his collarbone. “What was it then?” The question catches him off guard. He knows what it was, but he’s certainly not prepared to say it. He settles on something different, but no less true: “A question.” “A question,” she repeats. “Hm.” “What?” he asks, suddenly uncomfortable as she scrutinizes him a second too long. “I’m thinking of how I want to answer.” Sam takes her by the hand and meets her eyes. He hopes his body language can convey everything he’s not ready to put into words. “Oh,” she croons, dragging him down to her level by the collar of his shirt, “I think I know.” She kisses him again, more aggressively than before. His heart skips a beat as she bites down on his lip, and he thanks Chuck, Amara, Billie... anyone who’s listening that the events of recent years have led to this. Rowena spins him around and slams his back into the wall. As she practically scales him like a tree, pressing her body into every empty space she can find, he can only think, I could really get used to this.