Gotta Have Faith

“Good night, sleep tight. The day is done, now time for sleep, my little one.” The woman’s voice was quiet and soft as she sang, and her socked feet didn’t make any sound as she moved around the room.

“Never fear, I am here, rest your head. Angels bright, guard the night, over your bed.” Black hair fell down the woman’s back in waves, except for one lock that was clutched in a tiny fist. Dark blue eyes were blind to everything except for the baby in her arms.

“Good night, sleep tight, my love is near. And when you wake, I’ll still be here, holding you. Loving you every day.” Tears were gathered in the corner of the woman’s eyes. Being a single mother isn’t easy, but there is nothing that she wouldn’t do for her little girl. The small sleeping bundle in her arms is her whole world.

“Close your eyes, listen now, as I pray.” When she found out she was pregnant, she yelled at God and hated the thing inside her. She never wanted children. Had been on the pill since before she started having sex. Then, as the baby grew, her walls crumbled. This child was all hers, depended on her. Looked up at her with innocent eyes and loved her.

“Watch over this little one, watch over ‘til we see the sun. Watch over, watch over.” She went through her pregnancy alone. She held her own hair when morning sickness hit in the middle of the night and went out to get her own cravings. She gave birth alone, with no one in the waiting room to greet her and her little girl. She’s taking care of her daughter alone, because they’re all each other has in this world.

“Good night, sleep tight, you’re in His care. And as you dream, I’ll meet you there.” The baby didn’t stir as she was gently set down in her crib, and the woman spent the next few moments just watching the little girl sleep. Her back ached as she stood up, but it’s an ache she’s become accustomed to. Her eyes fell on the picture sitting on the table next to the crib, and she kept one hand on the crib as her fingers ran along the edges. She drew the picture using only a hazy memory, so that her little girl would know her father’s face.

“Shh, little Frankie, it’s okay,” Betty mumbled and curled her legs up. She’s laying on her side with the devil pressed up against her back; there’s an arm around her waist and a thigh between hers. It’s the best sleep she’s had in months…until now.

Dark blue eyes are looking heavenward, but there’s no light in them now. She’s dead, dead, dead. She can’t hear her little girl’s screams, crying out for her mama. There’s a picture under a demon’s boot, and he has the little girl’s green eyes. She’s dead, dead, dead. Hell is no place for the innocent. No place for little girls with green eyes. She’s stretched thin and dead inside. Nothing left. She’s dead, dead, dead. He’ll stand in her stretched skin and turn dead eyes on his brothers. The vessel is his. No more hiding behind a tainted lineage. It’s all his. He’s going to win. She’s dead, dead, dead.

Betty woke up with a scream, and arms locked around her to keep her from getting away. She bucked against the body behind her and clawed at the arms around her middle, but she couldn’t get free. She’s got to warn them, needs to tell them…they need to know! Hands roughly gripped her shoulders and forced her back against the mattress, and she could feel knees digging against the sides of her hips. Blue swam in front of her and made her try to force herself up, but the hands kept her down. She’s not looking up into dark blue eyes; lighter blue, like a midday sky. Lucifer.

“What are you—What—Lucifer?” The hands left her shoulders to smooth the hair away from her face, and she reached up to touch against his warm skin. Warm. Alive. She’s okay. He’s okay. No one here is dead.

“Vision?” It sounds like a question, but he already knows the answer. Betty sucked in a deep breath and kept holding onto his hands, because she needs something to ground herself.

“Raphael has really lost it,” she finally got out. She’s seen horrible things, she’s even done her fair share of horrible things, but what she just saw takes the cake. Or should that be takes the pie?

“What’s he done now?” Betty easily slid out from under Lucifer’s body and up onto her knees, so now they’re both kneeling on the bed with their knees pressed together. She’s still holding his hands.

“He’s going to take a true vessel.” She lowered their hands and moved his to press his palms against her hips; his fingers curled around and spread against the edges of her back. Her own hands moved up his arms until she could feel the strong pulse in his neck and her fingers brushed against his hair.

“He’s creating a new line?” Hair tickled her cheeks as she slowly shook her head, and Lucifer raised a brow. “His vessel lineage died out centuries ago.”

“He’s going to take a true vessel,” she repeated. He must have been able to read between the lines this time, because those blue eyes of his narrowed and his hands tightened.

“The Winchesters. Neither of them would ever say yes.” Both of them have said yes, for different reasons, but Lucifer has a point. Sam and Dean Winchester are both stubborn, both willing to fight until the end.

“She’s only two years old.” Betty’s voice was a whisper.

“He wouldn’t.” Lucifer’s voice was a growl.

“He can, and he will. Unless I pass the message along.” She bit the words out slowly, like they were stuck in her throat, and he flexed his fingers against her skin.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“The decision is yours.” One day, she’ll get to make the decision. The day will come where she can disobey, but that day isn’t today.

“Tell me all of it this time, Betty Fay.” She hates that name, and she knows that he knows just how much she hates it. Her fingers idly combed through his hair as she gathered her thoughts, and he waited quietly.

“If Raphael inhabits a true vessel, he will defeat Michael and Gabriel. He will return your grace; he’ll rip it right from my soul. No more tests. No more fighting. You’ll be welcomed back with open arms. Your enemies defeated. Will you choose to let Raphael free you?”

“No.” The answer was immediate, and Betty blinked in surprise. She wasn’t expecting that at all.

“In a true vessel, he’ll have the power to rip up my soul and free your grace. You’ll be an angel again, without having to pass any more of your Father’s tests. It won’t kill me, so I’ll be yours to torture. To punish. Michael and Gabriel will be gone; they won’t be a threat to you.”

“I will get my grace back without any help from the brother who abandoned us all. I will deal with Michael and Gabriel. I…”

“Come on, Lu, don’t leave me hanging.” Of course the devil has too much pride to accept help from anyone, even his own brother.

“I do not want help from someone who has to resort to stealing a human child. It’s cowardly.” His lip curled on the last word, and Betty slowly nodded her head. Yes, Raphael is definitely taking the easy way out. It’s a smarter and quicker plan than trying to get his hands on one of the fully grown Winchesters, but it’s also… pathetic.

“So you want me to pray to Gabriel and tell him Raphael’s plan? If I do, she’ll be saved. Raphael won’t get a true vessel. You’ll be stuck with me.” She wants to be very clear about this; he has to know what he’s agreeing to.

“There are worse fates than being stuck in your presence.”

“Such a sweet talker.” She lightly scratched against his scalp and watched the way that his eyes closed against the sensation.

“Why Gabriel?” His eyes are still closed, and he’s tilting his head so that she’ll hit all the right spots.

“He’s nicer than Michael. Little Gracie might have taught the big bad archangel some new tricks, but he still bites. Will you help me?” His eyes opened lazily and slowly focused on her, and she felt her lips trying to twitch into a smile. Only the devil can push her to murder and make her smile all within twenty-four hours.

“What do you need?” He really has made his decision. No hesitation.

“Just you.” She pulled him down until their foreheads were pressed together, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. Their torsos were flush and she could feel his every movement, but it’ll help her focus. The first four angels are special, touching one archangel will help her contact another one.

She pictured Gabriel’s current vessel as she matched her breathing with Lucifer’s, and then she went further. Saw the golden light that made up the youngest archangel, the way it lit up the air around him. Felt the warmth of his grace as it wrapped around his vessel. Gabriel…Gabriel…Ga—

“-briel. Gabriel, can you hear me?”

“Well, well, well, is that little Betty Fay? Did you like your present?” Laughing. Always laughing. Lucifer twitched against her, dug his fingers into her back as he pulled her closer, because he can hear Gabriel too.

“Yes, I love having random hunters on the run living in my backyard. I have a message for you, Gabriel.”

“Ooh, for little ol’ me? And here I thought Daddy stopped caring.” Lucifer’s chest rumbled against hers, but no words came out.

“Freedom, Oklahoma is about to be under attack. You need to get there, all of you, and you have to save her. Frankie. She lives at sixteen-thirty rosemary drive. Save her, Gabriel, or it’s all over.”

“That’s frustratingly vague. Got anything else for me, sweet cheeks?”

“Yeah. Tell Dean it’s not his fault.”

Betty pulled out of the connection with a full body shudder, because being inside of an angel’s head is never fun. Not even Gabriel’s. She’s still holding onto Lucifer like he’s the only thing holding her together, and his breathing is uneven. Looks like it wasn’t easy for him to hear his brother’s voice. She kept her arms hooked over his shoulders, but she raised her hands to run them through his hair. It seemed to calm him, somewhat, and she doesn’t have the energy to fight with him right now. Just that little bit was enough to drain her.

“He sounds so…”

“Jovial?” When she opened her eyes, all she could see was blue.

“Carefree,” he corrected. Betty pulled away from him, because there’s nothing fun about a sweaty forehead, but she didn’t go far.

“That’s Gabriel’s specialty. Laughing in the face of danger and overwhelming odds. You could really learn some stuff from him,” she said as she massaged her short nails against his scalp.

“Like what?” It sounds like he’s trying to be gruff, but the scalp massage has managed to mellow him out some. That’s good for her. She needs him to work with her today; they can go back to wanting to kill each other tomorrow.

“How to relax and enjoy life.” He made a quiet humming noise in the back of his throat, something he must have picked up from being around her so much, and opened his eyes again.

“I’ll relax once the Earth is free of humans.” It was said with a slow smile that promised total destruction, but only on his own terms.

“You’ll keep me around though, right? Or am I getting a quick death after all?” His hands are warm on the bare skin of her back and his hair is so soft as it runs through her fingers; this should scare the ever livin’ shit out of her. No one should be this close to the devil. You can’t get this close without being burned.

“Maybe I should make you spend an eternity chained to my side. You can watch me wipe your species off the map.” His smile is looser now; he’s smiling for the pleasure of it and not just to taunt her.

“I knew you were warming up to me,” she murmured. Her head easily fit into the space above his shoulder and against his neck, and he was so warm against her. Her body is still weak, completely wrung out, and she could fall asleep like this. On her knees and propped up against Satan.

“You’ll be the last human standing. The only one to witness how truly beautiful this planet can be.” Betty held onto him as he wrapped his arms completely around her and lowered them down, so that they were lying on the bed again instead of kneeling on it. They were on their sides, facing each other, still holding onto each other.

“That sounds lonely.” To be the only human left…it’s a strange concept, one that she can’t really imagine. Lucifer can though. He saw the Earth before humans, so he can see it after them too.

“You’ll have me.” One hand is lightly cupping her shoulder blade; she can feel the press of fingers along the edges of the bone. Warm. Little rough. The other is on the side of her neck, trapped between her skin and the pillow.

“I’m such a lucky girl.” She dipped her nose towards his collarbone and breathed in the fresh scent of her washing detergent, because she washed all of his clothes after she bought them.

“I’ll bleed you out across the Sahara. Watch you drown in all seven seas. Listen to your screams echo throughout the Grand Canyon.” He sounds so happy just at the idea of her future torture, and that shouldn’t make her smile. She should rage at him, maybe show him that she won’t go down so easily, but she just doesn’t have the energy.

“I’ve always wanted to travel,” she sleepily answered. The sun is starting to come through the windows now; the day is starting, but she needs a little more sleep.

“I’ll show you everything.” Yes, he’ll show her everything and the entire planet will have tasted her blood when it’s over.

“Can’t wait.”


“Wake up, Luci. Come on. Wake up! Who knew the devil was such a heavy sleeper? Wake up!” Betty was leaning over him with sweat already beading on her forehead and streaking down her cheeks; she still hasn’t recovered from the binding spell.

“What do you want?” He was resting, quite peacefully, until she started shaking him. Even now all he wants to do is sleep and rest his body a little more. Why is his weak meat suit even more useless than usual?

“I used some of your energy during the spell, remember? Human or not, you’ve got still got more mojo than an ex-angel and a hunter, even if he is Nuriel’s vessel,” Betty shrugged. She took more from Lucifer than the other two, because he’s still stronger. Even in this ineffective form.

“Mojo?” He’s raised up onto his elbows now, and Betty is still kneeling at his side. Her legs are pressed against his ribcage.

“I should probably stay out of Gabriel’s head from now on. Come on, get up. We don’t have time to lay around,” she said and pushed on his shoulder. His body barely rocked with the movement, so he just raised a brow at the psychic and stayed right where he was.

“Grocery shopping?” He remembers them talking about it, before they fell asleep. He will not eat another peanut butter and jelly sandwich. His vessel can just expire before he lowers himself to that again.

“Too late for that, for us anyway. Sun’s going down. See?” She raised her chin and pointed it past him, and he turned his head to look out at the rest of the room. The sunlight was slowly moving out of the house, leaving parts of it in shadows, so they both literally slept the day away.

“Then what are we in a hurry for?” Betty looks as if she could fall over at any moment, so what do they have to do now?

“It’s time to pay my end. I’ll text Mimi and ask her to get us some groceries. She can use the emergency credit card at the shop.” As she spoke, the psychic leaned over him to reach the phone on the bedside table. He kept himself propped up with one elbow and moved the other one to her back as she sat up, to keep her balanced.

“What’s your payment?” His hand stayed on her lower back, fingers spread against her overheated skin, as she quickly typed out her message.

“Gotta make a delivery, but we need to leave soon if we want to catch him in time. You should go get dressed,” Betty said and gave his body a slow look. He could feel her eyes moving from the top of his head all the way down to his toes, and the look burned more than her skin.

“So should you,” he shot back. The thin material covering her body barely counts as clothes, but she’s still burning up. Sweat is streaking down her chest and arms now.

“I can take care of myself. Go. Now,” she said and pushed his shoulder a little harder this time. He grunted a little as the sore muscles in his chest and back pulled, and Betty was still kneeling on the bed when he started down the stairs. Lazarus ran to greet him as soon as his feet touched the floor, and he absently reached down to touch against the top of the beast’s head as he moved past.

He stood in the doorway of the bedroom that was his, for the time being. Did it look like this before he came here? Did Betty even have a bed in here before she knew that he was coming, or did she use this room for something else? The clothes had to be new, because she had no reason to have men’s clothing in his vessel’s exact size. The psychic went into a store and bought clothes for him, a necessity that he would need. A variety of shirts and jeans, socks and underwear, different pairs of shoes. Clothes for sleeping and clothes for going out. He’s even found shorts specifically for swimming in the small dresser that he didn’t even notice for the first two days. Why? Why? Why?

Today is his eighth day on Earth. Eight Days. It’s only been eight days since he was torn out of the cage and had his wings burned off; eight days of being bound to Betty Fay and in a human vessel. A week and a day, to go by the human passage of time. In eight days, he has resigned himself to waiting for the perfect moment to get his grace back. He had a chance, and he let it slip by. Why should he care if Raphael tortures a little girl? He knows that Lilith preferred possessing small children and loved the taste of a newborn’s flesh. Raphael could have had the chance to free him; he would have been able to decide for himself there on out. No one would ever control him again. Why should he care if his younger brother has turned into a coward? He had a chance to be free and to have Betty Fay at his mercy. Yet…he wants to be the one to set himself free and bring her to her knees.

The jeans and tee shirt fit him perfectly, and he pulled a jacket off the hanger to pull on before they left. He dropped the jacket on the back of a couch to pick up on his way out and continued on. His boots felt heavy on his feet as he walked through the house, and the dog was nowhere in sight. Neither was Betty once he made it up the ladder. The bed had been made, somewhat, and Betty’s closet door was open. The bathroom door was cracked and light was coming through, so he walked over to the open doorway. He could hear Betty breathing, as if moving from her bed to the bathroom was extremely strenuous, and he propped his back against the wall next to where the crack was.

“Need a hand?” he drawled. There was a clinking sound, metal on tile, and a quiet groan.

“You know, I think I could use an extra hand. You’ve got nimble fingers, right?” He used the toe of his boot to push the door open, and the hinges didn’t make a sound as the door slowly swung inwards. Betty was standing in front of the sink, bloody hands pressed against the white porcelain, and there was a needle lying on the counter. His hand locked around her bicep as he pulled her around to face him, and the front of her shirt was streaked with blood. The wound itself was placed over her heart.

“What did you do?” His voice was a hiss as he brought his other hand up and pressed the tip of his index finger to a line cut down the top of her chest.

“I need a little extra juice.” His finger slipped in the still dripping wound as she shrugged, and her brown eyes look the same as always. There’s no pain in her eyes from cutting into her own chest; there’s no fear of bleeding out on the bathroom floor. There’s nothing.

“You’re still bleeding,” he pointed out. Her skin is still too warm to the touch.

“You’d better stitch me up then, huh?” She raised a brow as she finished the question, and her eyes flicked down towards the dropped needle.

“Nick didn’t know how to stitch.” There’s blurry memories of horrible television shows, but there are no real memories. Nick never saw violence up close until his family was killed.

“I’ll teach you. Lesson one, sterilizing the needle.”

His hands moved to Betty’s words, and the task was relatively simple. A single repetitive motion to pull the flaps of skin back together and listening to Betty’s quiet grunts of pain every time the needle slipped. Simple enough. The deep cut resembled an F, but the two parallel lines branching off were turned at a downward angle. An Ansuz rune. The rune is normally carved into candles, or a stick, to help a psychic increase their inner power. By carving it directly into her skin, Betty’s paid for a little extra with her own blood and suffering. The deeper the cut, the more power. What is Betty Fay up to now?

“All done,” he sang as he tied off the last thread. Her skin looks pale and waxy, but she’s still standing.

“Good, because we’re running behind schedule.” She turned away from him to reach into an open cabinet, and she dropped a small container of wipes onto the bloody sink counter. The bathroom will never be free of those bloodstains. “Don’t be so sure. With the right cleaning products and spell, anything can become clean. Now close your eyes.”

“Feeling modest?” His eyes were already closed, and Betty’s answer was muffled by her shirt.

“Never.” He could hear her moving around, cleaning herself up with the wet wipes and pulling on new clothes, but he kept his eyes closed. He doesn’t feel like hearing a lecture on how to behave, and there’s a good chance that she might pass out if she talks at him for too long. “Okay. Open your eyes and tell me that I look pretty.”

The jeans clinging to her legs are dark and have clearly been worn on several hunts, going by the tears and rips. The plaid shirt is a mixture of dark blue and what should probably be white, but it looks closer to a dull yellow color now. She’s left it unbuttoned, so he can see the dark red color of her fresh wound and the stark black lines of the stitches against her bleached skin. If she keeps going at this pace, her body will give up. The only places of color come from the blood pooling in her cheeks and lips; signs of her fever and of her body fighting to stay upright. Does his Father even realize that He’s pushing the psychic beyond her mortal limits? Her dark hair is pulled behind her in a ponytail, but it looks dull in the harsh light. Her eyes look too big and dark in her face, and the bruises ringed around her throat look darker even though they should start fading soon. She looks worse than some corpses he’s seen.

“You look very pretty, Betty Fay.” It was said with a slow smile, and Betty’s big dark eyes rolled in a complete circle.

“Quit flattering me and patch me up. Gauze and tape is under the sink.” He pulled out the good-sized first aid kit and grabbed what he would need. Betty held the tape as he pressed the little gauze squares against her skin, and she used her teeth to rip him off a strip of tape to hold it in place.

“Your body was perfect.” One long line across the top.

“It still is.” A line down the right side.

“All of the scars were wiped away.” A line down the left side.

“I’ll have more before this Apocalypse is over. Someone like me shouldn’t look so clean anyway.” The last line went across the bottom, a little under the black bra she’s wearing. The darker clothes suit her so much better, but he’s starting to prefer the lighter colors.

“I’ll make you clean again after I get my grace.” He settled his hand over the gauze, because the wound is about the size of his palm.

“Will I stay clean?” He can feel the heat that her body is generating, and he reached down to hold the bottom of her shirt together. The bottom button easily slipped through the hole, and he moved up to the next one.

“That would take all the fun out of it.” He left the first few top buttons undone, just enough so that he could see the top corner of her bandage. Her hands slid over his and held them against her collarbones, and he still can’t read the look in her eyes.

“At the end, when you’re done with me, will I be clean?” There’s no urgency in the question, just a quiet kind of curiosity. He can see her now, skin flayed to show what’s hidden inside, but he wants her alive for that. Alive and screaming for his ears only. The morning she came back from Heaven, her skin nearly glowed in the sunlight streaming through the windows. So much warm soft skin stretched over muscle and bone.

“You won’t have a single mark.” Her smile was slow and dimpled her cheeks, and she was still smiling when she moved around him and out of the bathroom. She was standing in front of her open closet when he stepped out of the bathroom, after using some of the wet wipes to clean away most of the blood, and staring down at the floor.

“Boots are hunter attire, but I don’t think I’d be able to pick my feet up. How pathetic is that?” Her voice is rough, as if she’s disgusted with herself, and he moved to stand behind her. He can see the line of shoes, open things that would barely cover her skin at all, and her clunky steel-toed boots kicked off into a corner.

“Maybe you should wear the flipflops,” he suggested. That caused the psychic to laugh a little and lean back against him, and he felt the sharp press of her shoulder blades against the bruises on his chest.

“I’m afraid another hunter already has that look, and I hate being a copycat. Maybe the sandals.” She used her toes to pull the shoes out of the closet, and she carefully eased one foot inside. There was a strap that needed to go over the swell of her heel, and her knuckles popped against her thin skin as she held onto the closet doorway to bend over and move the strap into place. She straightened up to start the process over, and Lucifer forced himself not to roll his eyes.

“After this, you are resting until your strength returns.” He used one hand to grip the muscle of her calf, just under her knee, and lifted her leg so that he could slide the sandal on. He felt her fingers running through his hair, slowly pushing the strands back and then twining them around, as he set her foot back down. He looked up at her with his hand locked around her ankle, and her fingers moved down to brush against his cheeks.

“Don’t worry, Lu, I’ll be back to fighting form soon. Then we can play some more.” Her lips twitched into a smile as he rose to his feet, and she tipped her head back so that she could keep looking at him. Her hands are braced against his shoulders now, fingers curling into the fabric.

“Can you walk down the stairs?”

“Can I hold onto you?” He dipped his chin to nod his answer, and her fingers tightened and pulled the fabric taunt before suddenly letting go. She moved over to her bedside table and opened the drawer, and he watched as she slipped a bottle into her pocket. It looked like the same bottle that she put the stasis liquid in, but he knows that it’s empty now. At least, it should be. She left her phone on top of the table but grabbed the keys to the Jeep, which she passed to him.

“Where are we going?” He slipped the key ring onto a finger as he walked over to the ladder, and he stopped on the second step. He felt her heat a moment before her hands came down on his shoulders, and she held on as they walked down the ladder steps. Once they were back on the ground floor, Betty reached for him. He felt her fingers brushing against his, almost as if asking for permission, and he turned his hand just enough to get their fingers to slot together. She seemed to take that as a sign and moved over closer to rest her head against his shoulder.

“A little side road off of I-90, right before the state line into South Dakota. They stay away from the interstate, because he’s paranoid and doesn’t want to be seen. Doesn’t want them to be found.” Her voice was a whisper as she rested against him, and he kept his pace slow as he walked towards the living room. He grabbed his jacket from the couch and moved to the front door, and Betty stayed quiet.

“What do you have to deliver?” The door is closed behind them, unlocked, because who would break into Betty Fay’s house?

“I’m not really sure. I’ve only seen bits and pieces. I won’t know the whole thing until it’s time.” He walked her over to the passenger side of her Jeep, and his eyes moved from the ground to the passenger seat. It’s not a big step, but the Jeep is up higher than most vehicles. With a sigh, he bent down and placed an arm behind her knees. Betty held onto him a little tighter as he lifted her up, and he felt her lightly pulling on the hair at the nape of his neck.

“They treat you like a dog and only feed you scraps.” His eyes moved over the bandage, to make sure she wasn’t bleeding through, and she smiled at him. A small smile that barely moved her lips, but a smile just the same.

“For someone who’s regarded as the Father Of All Evil, you’re kinda sweet.” Her hand smoothed down the back of his neck and across his shoulder before falling into her lap, and she hummed a little as he carefully buckled her in. Betty Fay is the key to his salvation, and she belongs to him. He doesn’t care if his Father claims to own her or if Death has left his mark on her, she’s his.

“I still want you to suffer,” he said before closing the door.

“I know!” she called back. He slid into the driver’s seat and placed the key into the ignition, and he looked over at Betty as he locked in his own seatbelt.

“Just not until I say so.” His left hand gripped the wheel as he started backing up to turn around, because Betty is already holding onto his right hand. Her fingers slotted through his, like she was always meant to be holding onto him.

“Looking forward to it, Lu.”

“Really?” What kind of person looks forward to never ending torture? Because he’ll keep her with him for centuries. He’ll let her watch as this planet is cleansed of humanity; they’ll watch a thousand sunsets and she’ll die a thousand deaths.

“It’ll be a simpler life.” He looked over just in time to see her eyes close and her body relax against the seat, but the hold on his hand is strong.

“I suppose it will be.”


“Pull over here. Yeah, go down the dirt road a little.” The Jeep bounced its way down the small dirt road, and Betty did her best to hold herself still. The fever is making her body ache, and the Ansuz rune is throbbing something awful. It’ll give her the strength she needs though, and that’s all that matters.

“Do I need to come with you?” It was so quiet with the Jeep turned off, and she took a moment to just look up at the dark sky. It’s nice out here.

“No, you need to stay here. Don’t let them see you. Promise me you’ll stay here.” His eyes are an amazing shade of blue; are those Nick’s eyes or Lucifer’s? She knows that Michael keeps his vessel’s eyes, but Gabriel lets his grace color his. So, Nick or Lucifer?

“I’ll stay here until you come back.” She’s still holding his hand, because he keeps her grounded. She knows that when this is all over, he’ll torture her. He’ll go at her until she finally breaks, and she’s okay with it. How many has she tortured after receiving a heavenly order? How many lives has she torn apart with her own hands? Strangely enough, she trusts the devil. There are no secrets or half-truths. He’s honest with her. She knows all of his plans and the way his mind works; she’ll always know where she stands with him. It’s comforting, somehow.

“I won’t be gone long.” Her fingers tapped against his knuckles before completely pulling away, and she eased herself out of the seat and onto the ground. It took her a moment to steady herself, and she used the door to push herself forwards a little.

Her sandals left small trails in the dirt as she walked, and her breathing was a little labored as the dirt gave way to asphalt. She stopped in the middle of the road, planted her feet on either side of the yellow line, and closed her eyes. Sweat is dripping from every pore and her temples feel tight, but she has to do this. After this is done, her body can rest. The rune carved in her chest began to heat up as she focused her energy and then it turned cold once the spell started to work. She stills feel like herself, but she doesn’t look like herself. Betty Fay isn’t here. No, she looks like Ash for the time being and just in time too. Headlights swung around the curve, and she could smell burning rubber as the car screeched to a stop. The ugly green monstrosity is only a few feet away, and she watched as both doors creaked open.

“Are you okay?!” the passenger yelled as he stumbled out. She ran wide eyes over the kid, because she never thought she’d see him in person. Simon. The son of Eve and Elijah. The Nephilim that cannot be killed. His big brown eyes moved over her stolen form, as if looking for injuries, because Simon doesn’t remember everything yet. He’s been seeing flashes, and he’ll remember it all soon enough. She wishes that he could be returned to the life that Gabriel created for him, the one where he’s always safe and happy, but they all have destinies to fulfill.

“Stay away from him!” Betty’s not really sure who Adam is yelling at, Simon or her, but he trapped Simon between his back and the front of the car. Simon tried to peek around Adam’s shoulder, but John Winchester’s youngest son kept him completely blocked. Interesting. Adam knows that Simon can’t be killed and that he can very easily be killed, but he still wants to protect the Nephilim.

“You really gonna be like that, Adam?” Betty asked and propped her hands on her hips. It was strange to hear Ash’s quiet drawl coming out of her mouth, and Adam narrowed his eyes.

“You’re not Ash. He’s dead and in Heaven. So who are you?” She knew that Adam wouldn’t fall for it, but it doesn’t really matter. He just doesn’t need to know that it’s her; she’s already been too involved, and she doesn’t need anyone snooping around. She has to keep Lucifer safe.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not here to hurt you. Just need to pass something along and then I’ll be on my way.” She shrugged and let her hands fall to her sides, and Adam tensed up even more. Definitely the paranoid type. Good. That’ll keep him alive.

“What?” She pulled the bottle out of her pocket, opened the top, and tipped something out into her palm. A ring, with a silver band and white stone, fell into her palm. Death’s ring. She’s been carrying around Death’s ring.

“You need to hold onto this, but you can’t wear it. Sam and Dean will know what to do with it.” She stretched her hand out and looked at the simple ring resting in Ash’s callused palm, and she waited. If it was up to her, she’d send Simon to get the ring. Adam doesn’t really know who she is, and Simon can’t be killed. He’s seen that with his own eyes. It was Adam that walked forward, which was only a little surprising at this point. Adam may hate the Winchester name, but he’s not that different from his older brothers.

“Is it dangerous?” He was careful not to touch her as he picked up the ring, and Betty smiled.

“Only in the wrong hands. Keep it safe until you get to Bobby’s.” He tucked the ring into his pocket and started walking backwards, until he bumped into Simon.

“Am I free to go?” She nodded, and Adam pushed on Simon to get him moving. Adam stayed by his door until Simon was back in his seat, and she could see the confused look in his blue eyes as he looked over at her.

“See you around, brother!” she called out. Adam’s jaw locked as he ducked into the car, and Betty moved onto the other side of the road so that he could drive by. Once the car was out of sight, she moved back to the dirt road. She shook off the glamour until she was back to herself, and her feet drug as she walked back to the Jeep.

“I’m assuming everything went okay?” Betty’s arms shook as she pulled herself into the Jeep, and her body gave a violent shudder as she collapsed into the seat. Her fever has spiked into dangerous territory, and she’s starting to feel cold.

“I just gave Death’s ring to Adam,” she said and locked her teeth together. Lucifer leaned up and shifted around until he could get his jacket off, and Betty hummed a little as he draped it over her. Her fingers clutched at the fabric to hold it against her, and she felt his knuckles brushing across her forehead.

“You’re too warm.”

“It’ll pass.” The Jeep started up, and she looked over at Lucifer. She wants to feel him, to know that he’s still here and so is she, but she doesn’t want to move her arms out of the jacket’s warmth. She’s going to have to sweat this fever out, and she feels so cold.

“They have all the rings now. What are they planning?” Lucifer’s fingers curved around her thigh, just above her knee, and her body melted against the seat. She can relax now.

“I don’t know yet, and I don’t think they know either. I guess we’ll find out when it’s time. Do you remember the way home?” Her eyes are closed now, and she’s so tired. She’s earned some rest, hasn’t she?

“I remember. Rest now, Betty Fay. I’ll wake you up when we get home.” She fanned the jacket out until she could find his hand, and she laced their fingers together before settling their joined hands on her upper thigh. She needs to know that she’s still here; she doesn’t want to get lost in her dreams.

“My guardian angel,” she whispered and let herself fall.