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It really is a beautiful night.

Clear. Temperate.

Sky full of stars, breeze through the trees.

Not a bad last night, if you have to have one.

(And, in the end, doesn't everyone?)

It's quiet, too. The looping message from the angels -- Dean Winchester gives us Anna by midnight, or we hurl him back to damnation -- has finally stopped going around and around in her head. She hadn't really expected it to. Because, yes, of course, they all got the message after the first few dozen threats, but the message is only half the point. And she wouldn't have been surprised if her former brothers and sisters decided she should have to listen to that particular message for however long she could still hear.

Anna has slipped away, just for a moment, just to be outside and away from the discussion of what to do, how to stop angels and demons and both all at once, how to save her, if such a thing can still be done, which, practically speaking, may be impossible. Oh, Dean and Sam are very good at what they do -- Anna may have that on hearsay, but it's pretty reliable hearsay. But, practically speaking, this may be beyond them. May be beyond any humans.

She hasn't gone far, not out of earshot, should they call for her, still hidden from angels and demons and whomever else by Ruby's "extra crunchy" hex bag -- stealth technology of the mystical world. But she just wants to walk for a moment -- stars overhead, ground beneath her feet, awareness of the air in her lungs and the taste of her own mouth and the slight pull on her skin by the bandage on her arm.

It's a beautiful night.

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"Hey," Dean says, a couple-fifteen minutes later.

He's getting tired of all the strategizing, too.

Among, you know, other things. And it's not like he's gonna sleep much tonight.

Plus --

You know. It's Anna.

"You doin' -- "

Okay is the wrong word.

"You holdin' up?"

"Well, I'm not not holding up."

That's worth something, right?

"How 'bout you?"

He quirks a crooked almost-grin.

"We talkin' about tomorrow, or in general?"

Anna manages a small smile.

"Either.

"Both.

"Your choice."

"Abstaining ain't possible?"

He's kidding.

Or he wants to be kidding.

(He's not.)

Anna shrugs.

"It's basically what I did," she says.

"I'm sorry I got all of you mixed up in this."

"Nah, kiddo. Don't even worry about that."

He manages to keep that crooked grin on his face.

(Half of him actually means it.)

"We were pretty much stuck in this pile of shit anyway."

And, well.

"And, you know. I'm kinda glad you're not alone in this."

So.

Anna actually laughs.

"You know I'm not ten anymore, right?"

She can remember (if far from perfectly) a life that spanned millenia.

(She's not sure whether that means she's even fully human at this point.)

"I'd be lying if I said I'd rather be alone, but . . . we both know it would be better for all of you if I were."

"Yeah, I know."

Dean has the grace to look sheepish, scrubbing one hand through his hair.

Awkwardly.

"Doesn't seem to matter, though. I mean. It wasn't that long ago for me."

Uh.

"And -- well. It ain't like I deserve 'better', anyway."

He says nothing about Sam. Or Ruby.

"Yeah, well, I probably deserve whatever's coming.

"I mean, I Fell. I Fell, Dean. Lucifer Fell.

"It's the worst crime I could have committed. It's our murder one, it's treason. And I knew it. And I did it anyway."

"All that shit's relative," is what he comes up with.

(He always knew Anna had balls. Metaphorical ones.)

"And it kinda sounds like Falling's its own punishment. This's just -- "

Well.

"Fucked."

"No, Falling isn't -- "

Anna breaks off, and looks around at the sky and the trees and the ground beneath their feet before she continues.

"When we got to that tree, where my Grace landed, and it was gone . . . it's so selfish, but there was a part of that was relieved.

"So relieved.

"I didn't want to go back to being an angel.

"And as much as I want to think that I would have done it anyway if we'd found my Grace, and even knowing that you and Sam and whatever else was on the line . . . I'm not one hundred percent sure I could have actually done it."

Edited 2011-12-03 03:49 (UTC)

Dean huffs out a quiet breath.

"Yeah, that's the fun part of being human."

Or, you know, one of the shitty parts.

"Guilt."

Sometimes it's paralyzing.

"Guess angels don't go in for that much, huh?"

Looks like they don't do self-loathing, either.

"For guilt? No, not really.

"It's the beauty of orders. No responsibility, no questioning, no feeling guilty.

"No feeling much of anything.

"At least, not the way you feel things when you're human.

"Humans feel things so . . . intensely.

"Everything's muted by comparison, for angels. You can't feel things very strongly if you're going to have to feel them for centuries upon centuries."

Dean can feel something in his chest twist.

He's going to pretend it's heartburn, and not longing.

That's always easier.

"Yeah? Sounds -- "

What can he say?

"Kind of like what I was expecting."

Weak, Dean. Weak.

"Really?"

It's not what she would have expected to have been told, a week ago.

Or even a day.

"I -- "

He shrugs, eyes going every which way but in Anna's direction.

"I dunno. Castiel sure seems pretty out of it, anyway."

"Does he?" Anna says.

That's not how she remembers him at all.

But then, maybe he has changed.

Dean's expression slips closer to a sneer than it probably should.

"I'm pretty sure he doesn't feel bad about the whole 'angels killing Sammy' thing."

He looks away from Anna again, voice dropping.

"Or about threatening to throw me back in the pit."

Edited 2011-12-03 04:42 (UTC)

"You know they won't actually throw you back into Hell, right?

"Pulling you out is . . . unprecedented. They had a reason, and it certainly wasn't to have bargaining chip for trying to find their Fallen sister.

"It's a bad bluff. They're trying to play on an emotion they can't really understand.

"They're used to being feared."

"You sure about that?"

Again his mouth twists into something like a sneer.

It's self-directed this time, though.

"'Cause I'm pretty sure that, after everything, they'd only be puttin' me back where I belong."

Even if just the thought of it makes his heart race, makes his palms sweat --

Makes him feel like he's going to be sick.

Anna is silent for a moment, and then she takes a step closer to Dean, her eyes on his.

"Look, I have to tell you something. And you're not going to like it."

"Yeah, that's real comforting."

You know.

In case she was in doubt.

But this is Anna, so he's gonna let her talk anyway.

It's only fair.

And it's something she thinks he needs to hear.

"About a week ago, I heard the angels talking.

"About you.

"About Hell.

"About what you did there.

"Dean, I know."

Oh God.

He knew it was gonna be bad. He did.

But not -- not this. Almost anything but this, really. He's not sure he can stand it.

But --

"You know?"

Incredulity and self-loathing mix very neatly in his voice.

His face has gone white and pinched.

"You know. What they -- what I -- "

He swallows. Hard.

"You know, and you're still standing here, talking to me?"

He'd try to dredge up a smile, to deflect, but every muscle feels paralyzed.

"I know you thought I was awesome when you were a kid, Anna. But. Come on."

Edited 2011-12-03 05:28 (UTC)

"Still here.

"Still talking to you.

"And this has nothing to do with my opinion of you when I was ten."

That's all kind of the point.

Anna reaches one hand out and rests it on his arm, just below his shoulder.

"Dean, it wasn't your fault.

"You should forgive yourself."

His snort is all sorts of damp.

Keeping his eyes closed for a couple seconds helps, though. At least as much as anything can.

"Not my fault? I did all those things, Anna. I chose down there, and I -- "

He clenches his jaw, forcing back the flash of red behind his eyes, pushing away the memory of what happened last time an angel had their hand where hers is.

"I don't think I can."

Edited 2011-12-03 05:33 (UTC)

"You should still try.

"You're not the person you were down there."

Not any more than she's the Anna Milton who had no memory of being an angel.

"Tell that to my dreams."

His voice is low and rough, and he's back to not looking at her.

"To -- "

No. That's too much to lay on her, former angel or no.

"I -- "

No.

"It's okay," Anna says. "We don't have to talk about it.

"But when you can, when you're ready, you have people who want to help.

"You're not alone.

"Even if you feel like you are."

"Yeah, well."

His voice is still woefully hoarse.

Later he might even be embarrassed. Right now --

Now he's just focusing on breathing.

"I'll try to remember it. If you will."

It's always been easier to worry about other people.

This is not really all that much different.

And since he can't really give her a last meal that's worth anything --

This'll have to do.

Anna drops her hand back to her side, and then smiles.

"I did kind of just cut the legs out from under my it would be better for you to get of Dodge and leave me alone argument, didn't I?"

This time his snort is a little bit less damp.

"Like I would've bought into it, anyway."

Try 'Hell no' for one thousand, Anna.

Even after everything.

"Well, I'm selfish enough to be okay with that," Anna says.

She wouldn't be human and standing on Earth if she weren't.

"So I guess there's really only one thing we can possibly do now."

"Yeah?"

He arches an eyebrow, trying to relax the other muscles in his face at the same time.

It's --

It's not that bad of an effort.

"You gonna keep me in suspense here?"

"Only for a second," Anna says.

It's not like she's likely to have time left to waste on the build up, after all.

She pulls the papers he has left on the hood of the Impala over, flips though them till she finds one with a blank back. She draws a simple gallows -- the kind that's very suitable for hanging a stick figure -- and then adds ten dashes below it.

"Sweet."

Some days the simple things are best.

And this --

It really doesn't get much simpler than hangman.

And there are plenty of worse ways to spend what might be your last night on earth.

"Okay. This time I'm gonna start with 'S' . . . "

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