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Chapter Text

Brennan pushed her back into Booth and pulled his arm around her body. She nuzzled against him and kissed his arm. He groaned a bit, more asleep than awake.

“Shhh,” she whispered, kissing his arm again, “go back to sleep, Booth, we have a long day today.”

“Uh-uh,” he protested, rolling over and fully pressing her to his chest and stomach, “no chance,” he kissed her neck and a shiver went down her spine, “you caught me riiiight in the middle of a dream,” he kissed her again and moved his hands down to her hips.

Brennan pulled him tighter around herself, she felt alive and electric, and Booth made her feel so safe and sexy and loved. 

“Mmm, tell me all about it,” she said, rolling over and putting her hands to his face.

“I can show you, if you’d like, but you had the cutest–-”

Both Booth’s and Brennan’s phones went off at the same time, interrupting them. Brennan rolled over to answer and Booth grabbed at her in vain, “No, no, let it go to voicemail–”

“Shh,” she scolded as she answered. 

They still hadn’t fully disclosed their relationship. Angela knew, of course, and they had just told Sweets. Today was the big day to announce to the rest of the Jeffersonian team, and then they were to meet with the deputy director tomorrow morning. While it had been extra work to keep the secret, Brennan liked the secrecy so far. An additional benefit had been that when they received calls to come out to a crime scene, they would pretend that Booth was picking Brennan up and use the extra twenty minutes for themselves.

But five minutes later, they were in Booth’s SUV and on their way to the scene, pleasant sex dreams a vanishing memory. A sitting senator, along with others, had apparently been murdered and they were to get to the crime scene immediately. 

“Okay, Collins, keep everyone out of the scene,” Booth barked into his phone on the drive, “I’ve got Bones with me now and Cam is meeting us there. Let the squints do their thing, okay? Make sure to coordinate with the PR team and see how this will be handled.”

“Yeah, Booth, we're all over that," Collins answered, "it’s just, I’ve never seen anything like this. The media is gonna--just get here.”

Booth pulled up just as Dr. Saroyan was arriving.

“You two got here fast,” she said.

“Hey, when the deputy says jump…” Booth answered, opening the door for Brennan and Dr. Saroyan, “shall we?”

Brennan came around the corner and froze. She heard Booth let out a shaky breath. She was used to grisly things. Bone, muscle, brain, none of it bothered her. As long as proper precautions were taken, there was nothing in brain matter or shards of bone that could harm you. At the end of the day, the putrid mess of bodily fluids could be washed away. But the carnage before her was already wearing against Brennan. It stopped her cold, her breath caught in her chest. A few months ago she'd have said the violence on display had merely caused her to secrete excess adrenaline, that was what led to the air feeling charged. But now she knew there were other potential causes.

There were eight bodies in total. Two, including the Senator, were seated in the middle of the scene with their eyes missing. The other six had been dismembered and then reassembled, arranged in peculiar ways. Of the six bodies, three were fresh. They still had soft tissue. Given the blood on scene, it seemed probable they had been murdered on site. The other three bodies were her specialty: bones. She counted three skulls and three pelvic bones. Rib cages and spines had been pulled apart, everything arranged in a tableaux.

“Holy Gormogon,” Dr. Saroyan whispered.

“Yeah,” Booth answered.

“Despite my discomfort with assumptions, I concur that this appears to be a ritual of some kind,” Brennan said. She pushed down the fear, something she'd never felt at a crime scene before and focused on what she could ascertain.

"There’s obviously some significance in the arrangement of the six bodies, they’re facing the four cardinal directions,” Brennan pointed.

“Okay,” Dr. Saroyan said, “let’s get photos of everything. Every single detail."

"Seeley, I want Hodgins swabbing for particulates before we move anything," Dr. Saroyan continued, "I’ll do an initial exam here, but obviously we'll the bodies moved to the Jeffersonian. Dr. Brennan, anything else you need?”

Brennan looked closely at the Senator. She checked the other intact body as well. The eyes weren’t missing, they’d been burned from the sockets.

Burned out eyes. 

For the past five weeks she’d spent every spare second researching everything that Dean Winchester had mentioned. And multiple sources on the entities known as "angels" agreed: when “unworthy vessels” looked upon the “true visage of a seraph” their eyes were set ablaze.

“Dr. Brennan? Anything else you want from the scene?” 

She looked to Booth but he was examining the skeletal arm that had been attached at the lateral meniscus of one of the fleshy victims.

“Unclear," she answered,  "we'll need, we'll need to keep the space pristine. There may be significance to every detail here but we don't know what we're looking at yet. For now, let’s keep entry strictly limited and post someone here until we finalize all analysis, I want everything intact.”

Brennan leaned closer to examine the other body, seated across from the Senator. There were copious amounts of blood on her hands and clothes. Brennan could smell sulfur. Her research on that was clear, sulfur means demons.

“They’re forming a symbol,” Dr. Saroyan said.

“What?” Booth asked.

“Look, the bodies. The way they are arranged. It makes a symbol.”

Brennan followed Dr. Saroyan's gaze. She was right, it was a symbol. It looked familiar, something she'd come across in her recent research, but she couldn't immediately place it.

Uncomfortable with the feeling of uncertainty, she refocused internally. Her normal procedure for a homicide was to determine the identity of the victims and determine cause of death. That she could certainly do. But what was the procedure when the crime scene indicated that heavenly entities had interrupted demonic entities?

"Okay," Booth said, "Sweets is gonna go nuts for this."

“While I concede that Dr. Sweets provides useful context for some homicides, including those involving ritual, I'd like to contact a colleague as well. From Kyoto University," she said as she snapped photographs, "He is very respected in his academic writings on ritualized killings. Well, that’s been his focus the last ten years or so, his prior field of study was pre-agrarian societies north of Hieizan, which was interesting but not exactly groundbreaking. His work in the occult, while sensational, is obviously less objective. Still, its utility in homicide cases can’t be denied. Of course, every anthropologist is trying to assist on criminal investigations now, no doubt in part thanks to the success of our work, but–”

“Bones?” Booth interrupted, “The Kyoto guy?”

“Right, yes, I’d um, I’d like to make a call. His focus is Eastern mysticism and occult practices but he may know someone with similar expertise who could provide some insight, perhaps who can assist Sweets.”

Booth looked at her and titled his head. She took that to mean he suspected she was only being partially honest about her Kyoto contact. But they'd agreed not to discuss these things, and until Booth told her otherwise, she would honor that.

Booth shrugged and said, "Yeah, I'm sure Sweets could use the help."

Twelve hours later, they stood outside the departures gate.

A phone call to Professor Sasaki and a review of her notes had persuaded her that this conversation couldn't wait. She needed to get a message to the Winchesters immediately.

“I don’t like it, you flying off alone,” Booth whispered as he kissed her.

“I know, I know," she tried to phrase her words carefully, "and if you've...decided you'd like to come with me, you can. But the news will be out shortly about the Senator's murder. It will be hard to deny the ritualized nature of the homicide. I'm sure the FBI will place a higher priority on the actual crime scene over a conversation with a civilian.”

Booth looked down and Brennan saw his hand move to the cross he work on a chain around his neck.

“I-, look, are you sure it's safe to meet with this guy? Maybe you can start with a phone call?” Booth asked.

Brennan smiled, “No, I think it's better to discuss this case in person. If he has pertinent insight I'll invite him to return to with me. But, it's good for you to stay. I want you to oversee the transfer of the bodies to my lab. I'll want to start work right away when I’m back.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, as brushed her hair away from her neck then kissed it. “Just be safe, okay? If I don’t hear back from you I’m sending every local cop in the state to his doorstep-I'm not kidding.”

Brennan laughed and kissed him back.

"That seems like an unethical waste of resources and abuse of federal authority. But I've come to understand that you don't mean it literally. I love you too, Booth.”

Sam’s phone vibrated, “Hi Ruby,” he anwered. 

Dean rolled his eyes and turned away.

“Got an early birthday gift for you, Sam,” he could practically hear her smirking, “got a line on a very powerful weapon. Something that could kill Lilith.” 

“Seriously?” Sam asked, “Something better than the knife?”

“Way better. Demon urban legend? Lucifer forged a weapon back when he was still doing his heavenly duties. After the fall he used it as a scepter in hell and could wipe out demons by the dozen, just a point-and-POOF type of thing.”

“And what—it’s just been MIA for the last ten thousand years?”

“Pretty much,” she answered, “I still don’t know if it’s true, but I got wind of some frantic digging going on up in Oregon. Allegedly a lost, ancient battle-site. Some fight at the Dawn of Man between angels and demons. Lilith has a team up there now, surveying and digging.”

“Digging? Okay, send me the location and anything else you’ve got. We’re on our way.”

Sam turned to Dean.

“What the hell does she want?”

“She has something for us. Lilith has a crew looking for a legendary weapon. One that can vaporize any demon.”

“Good for Lilith,” Dean said, sitting down and picking up a drink.

“Dean, maybe you didn’t understand me. This weapon could kill Lilith. And it’s way more powerful than the knife, by the sound of it, it could take out hordes of demons.” 

Dean didn’t move. Sam could see him trying to tame his anger before answering, and Sam felt his own anger rising.

“So, what’s the plan? Go to, what was it, Oregon? And stake out a demonic archeology site, then swoop in, kill the demons and take off with Lilith’s new toy?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Sam’s voice was hard and angry.

“Seems like Ruby could do that without us,” Dean stood, “so I’m just wondering why when she says jump you’re so desperate to hop-to?”

“Dean,” Sam’s voice was low but shaking with anger, “the way to stop Lilith, the way to save the seals, is to kill her. I will do whatever I have to to kill her.”

“Yeah,” Dean stepped right into Sam’s space and it took an effort not to shove him, “and you really don’t see the problem with that, do you? A demon is pulling you this way and that and you are all to happy to go along because, hey, you wanted to go there anyway. If you think she's just being helpful, you don't know what they are, not really!”

Sam couldn't hold back his anger, “You don’t wanna talk about hell? Okay, fine! I can’t make you, but you don’t get to hold it over me. I know what demons are, Dean! They killed our mother, our father, my girlfriend--they have tried to manipulate and control me at every point in my life!! I know when I’m being played! I’ve already told you that Ruby saved me when she had no reason to! I’ve worked alongside her, and yeah, I trust her as far as you can trust a demon.”

“You can never trust a demon, Sam! What is not connecting here, man?! Are you really this blind? This set on revenge?"

Just then Dean’s phone rang.

“It’s Bobby,” he said. 

Sam took two steps back and tried to physically shake off some of his anger. Bobby's call may have been the only thing that stopped them from coming to blows.

“Yeah, Bobby, got Sam here, too,” Dean answered.

“Hey, Bobby,” Sam added.

“Is there anything you two want to tell me?”

They looked at each other, at a loss.

“Like what?” Dean asked.

“Like how come I got a pretty FBI forensic anthropologist sitting in my kitchen asking me if I know how to get a message to Dean Winchester?”

It was the last thing Sam expected. Dean hadn't told him everything about his conversation with Dr. Brennan, but it didn't seem like the kind of thing she want to follow up on, at least not in a non-arresting way.

“Oh,” Dean said.

“Can she hear us?” Sam asked.

“No, idjit, it's not my first day,” Bobby answered.

“And you made sure she’s not a demon?” Sam asked.

“Can someone start explaining things to me like I’m not an idiot?” 

“Temperance Brennan is the bones-scientist-chick, the one who was there when I woke up,” Dean said.

“Yeah, I figured that much out myself, thanks. Why the hell is she in my kitchen?”

“Because last month Dean tied her to a chair, told her monsters and angels were real, and then kissed her,” Sam said.

Dean shot him a look and Sam shrugged. It wasn’t punching him in his sanctimonious face but it did let off some of the steam.

“You ass!” Bobby said.

“Bobby, I didn’t say anything about you or–”

“A hunter friend from Japan gave her my name. She showed up here a five minutes ago and asked if I could help her find you morons. She just left a crime scene of, and I quote 'a homicide that appears to be ritualistic sacrifice possibly preformed by demons, with other supernatural entities interrupting the murders.’"

“Okay,” Dean said, shooting Sam a weary look, “put her on speaker.”

They heard Bobby open his front door and walk back inside.

“You sure about this?” Sam asked, "Could be a trap if the FBI found out about your meeting."

Dean shrugged.

“Hello? Dean Winchester?” the doctor’s voice came through.

“Hey, doc, what’s the haps?” Dean said, and Sam was a little impressed with how casual he sounded.

“Well first of all, I just want to assure you that me reaching out like this is entirely professional, it's nothing personal at all and I have to insist that if we do meet in person again there's no physical intimacy of any kind, agreed?"

"Yeah, uh, sorry about that, but, is there a point to this call? Or are you just stalling until your boyfriend and the rest of the SEAL team can bust through my windows?"

"No, this isn't a-a set up, Booth doesn't even know I'm here. Well, he knows I'm in South Dakota but he thinks I'm speaking to someone with academic credentials relevant to our case. Can I speak freely in front of your colleague?” she asked.

“Yeah, Bobby's a hunter, pretty much seen and heard it all,” Dean said.

“There were angels and demons at my crime scene,” she said flatly.

“What?” Bobby said.

“You’re sure?” Dean asked, standing up.

“Yes.”

“How can you tell?” Sam asked.

“There were three fresh bodies–recent deaths, probably killed on scene. They had been disarticulated and connected with three sets of skeletal remains in an arrangement of sorts. I've yet to determine the origin of those remains, or even how many individuals they originate from. The way they were arranged, it, it appears to be a symbol. Something I've come across in my recent studies.”

“Okay, I’m with you that it sounds occult-y but where are you seeing angels and demons?”

“Well, there were a further two bodies, who also died at the scene,” Brennan paused a moment. "They didn't seem to be part of the symbol though, they um, they may have been the ones to perform it, given the blood on their clothes and hands. But...I noticed they smelled of sulfur and their eyes...the eyes were burned out of the sockets."

Sam looked at Dean, who had closed his eyes and pushed the phone into his forehead in agitation.

"I’ve read that sulfur means demons, and the eyes–”

“Yeah,” Dean said, “yeah, we’ve uh, we’ve seen it before with angels.”

“Dr. Brennan,” Sam cut in, “where and when did this happen?”

“In DC, last night. And one of the demons...it appears that it was possessing a Senator.”

“Great,” Sam said. They were never going to be able to con their way into a senator’s murder scene.

“Dean," Brennan's voice shook ever so slightly, "when we met before you said that demons are trying to break seals, and unleash…”

“Unleash Satan, yeah,” Dean took another pull from his beer.

“I, I did find a few sources that corroborate that belief. I had accepted this was a legitimate theology of those entities but had rejected that it was actually happening."

"So," Dean said, "you found the lore but hoped it was just a demon Sunday school story?"

"Initially. But a colleague shared some texts with me, Canaanite inscriptions. They were particularly descriptive about some of the seals that keep Lucifer in place. And, what I saw this morning--”

“Wait,” Sam said, “are you saying—”

“I think this ritual, whatever it was, was to break a seal. The bodies formed a symbol, one that was included in the aforementioned texts. And they were facing the cardinal directions. And last night–”

“Was a new moon,” Bobby said.

“An empty sky, yes,” Brennan said. "I don’t know if what the demons tried to do worked or if angels stopped them, or if I’m just having some kind of psychotic break myself, which as the most likely scenario is actually quite comforting...but I thought you should know. Those texts I mentioned, here, I have copies," Sam heard her shuffling paper and handing it off to Bobby, "it says that was one of three seals to be broken, on the hill of the king, before the full moon returns."

"So you think there may be two more seals that could be broken in the next two weeks? In the same area?" Sam asked.

"These texts she's got, definitely talking about breaking seals," Bobby said.

"I am sorry to have shown up at your doorstep like this, Mr. Singer, but Professor Sasaki said that if I was trying to track down a hunter in the United States that Bobby Singer of Sioux Falls was a good place to start.”

“Wait, wait,” Dean said, “why exactly are you calling me, doc?”

“Because, you…do this. You were the one who told me about this, so now you know what I do and you can, I don’t know, stop it.”

Sam sighed, he knew where this was going.

“Lady, in a couple of weeks you’ve apparently become one of the leading experts on broken seals, right behind Bobby there. You got all the power and resources of the FBI and your fancy lab, but you use it to track me down to come solve this problem for you?”

“I’m a scientist, Dean. I've done some research since we spoke and I can understand there are metaphysical and theoretical–”

“It’s not theory! Hell on earth is not a goddamn thought experiment! It’s the goal of hell right now. They want to bring about the apocalypse. So why don’t you go on back to DC, get that boy scout of yours, and actually do something!” 

Sam shot Dean an admonishing look.

“Look Dr. Brennan," Sam put on his puppy-dog voice to try to soften Dean's message, "I get that this is all new to you, but Dean’s not wrong. We’re not the Justice League or something. We’re just a couple of guys who know about this stuff. I’m glad you called and we’ll do what we can, but, this is a battle on all fronts. I mean if, if–”

“If you can hear the music, you better start dancing,” Dean cut in, “otherwise, go ahead. Go back to your lab, go back and enjoy the next few months, because that might be all there is.”

Dean’s voice was hard and angry and Sam knew him well enough to hear that it was choked with grief.

“I--the FBI isn't in the business of hunting demons. I can't, I don’t know what to say, I didn't expect that you'd–” Dr. Brennan stammered.

“Go," Dean dismissed her, "go home. Maybe we can stop this thing, maybe not. If a year from now you don’t see a lake of fire out your window then, congratulations, you're probably safe. Until the next apocalypse, anyways. Thanks for the help. Bobby?”

“Yeah?”

“Call us back, we'll be on the road,” Dean hung up.

Sam waited a moment for Dean to collect himself. 

“Seriously, dude? A little harsh.”

“Five weeks, Sammy. Five weeks! She's known about demons a month and is already preemptively tracking down seals? That's more than we've be able to do! That lady got her hands on fucking Canaanite writings about the apocalypse, she found Bobby, and now she wants us to, what? Walk into the middle of a viper pit of Feds and government agents? Captain America can't use that book we gave him to help us out and stop a seal or two? Fucking Castiel can't throw us a bone?!”

Dean drained the rest of his beer and grabbed another from the motel fridge. 

“Yeah,” Sam wasn’t going to argue. Dean had a point, anyway. “Yeah, I get it. So, what? Forget the seals? Hit Oregon? See if we can track down that weapon?”

“What are you deaf or just stupid? We have to go to DC,” Dean said, “we know demons were there and if the angels haven't stopped them, there might be more damage to be done.”

Sam tried to control his anger, “I get that, I really do, but like you said it’s gonna be wall-to-wall feds. We can’t get near that. You may have scolded her enough to at least try to stop the other seals.”

“Educated amateurs are still amateurs.”

“Fine, but we have a real shot with the weapon. Who knows what we’re walking into in DC.”

“Oh we have a real shot with the weapon? The weapon we never even heard a rumor of before a friendly demon calls you up to fill you in?!" spit was flying everywhere.

Sam grit his teeth and took his lickings. There was no talking to Dean like this, he just had to let Dean rant and rage and wear himself out.

Dean went on, "Located on the opposite side of the country, might I add, from what appears to be a major play? Come on, Sam! And right now there is no weapon! Just a crew of Lilith’s looking for one!”

Dean was right. It’d be one thing if the demons had found something, that might be worth the risk of sacrificing another seal or two, but they couldn’t give away an honest shot at stopping a seal on a rumor and a demon urban legend. 

Sam shook his head and walked out the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To get some stuff for DC. Call Bobby back. Maybe he can soften Dr. Brennan up a bit so she'll work with us once we get there,” he shouted back to Dean, slamming the motel door behind him.

The air was cool. Sam watched the sky. The stars in the Sandhills really were breathtaking, it almost made him respect the angels again. That was assuming they had anything to do with creation. Sam let his anger simmer a moment, then released it as best he could. Dean was being a whiny little bitch but he wasn’t wrong. On either account. It did suck that someone like Brennan wanted them to come clean it all up, and it did suck that she was right and they probably should. 

“Yeah, Ruby,” he said as she answered his call, “change of plans, Dean and I need to head to DC.”

“What? Why?” 

“Looks like some demons just tried to break a seal. Angels may have stopped them but we have to be sure. There are more seals to be broken there, apparently.”

“Well, whoop-de-fucking-do, Sam, demons are out there breaking seals left and right, I’m talking about something that can kill Lilith.”

“Yeah, something legendary that they haven’t found yet.”

“Look, you already know what I think. I think that you’re the only one who can kill Lilith. I think that’s what makes you so special and terrifying to her, and I think we need to keep working on that part–”

“Ruby–”

“And I know, I know you don’t like the how, so I’m trying to offer some other options here, Sam. You don’t want to flex your psychic abilities, you don’t want to juice anymore? Then we gotta find another way. This scepter could be that, if you're willing to trust me a bit here.” She sounded hurt, which surprised Sam.

“Look, Ruby, it’s not that I think…you know that I trust you,” he said.

“You got a funny way of showing it.”

“I do, Ruby, and if there’s another way to stop Lilith, I’d rather that.”

“Then come to Oregon!” she hissed.

“I will, just not tonight. Can you keep an eye on the situation? Let us know if anything changes?”

He heard her sigh and he couldn’t help but think about her. How warm she felt in his arms and how she made him feel. Yeah, her blood made him feel powerful. But having someone who saw that power and helped him carve it out? He’d never had anything like that before. Not his dad, certainly not his brother. Jess loved him but she didn’t know him, not really. Ruby saw the thing that made Sam feel tainted, and she saw how it made him strong.

“Yeah,” her voice softened, “of course.”

Sam hung up and checked his pocket. He still had a small vial of Ruby’s blood. He wasn’t going to take it. He didn’t need it. But it helped to know it was there.

Chapter Text

Booth paced the crime scene, as he had for the last hour. The waiting was unbearable.

“What in the hell are you doing, Seeley?” he asked himself.

The scent of sulfur was subtle, just an undertone to the whole crime scene, really, but Booth found it overpowering. It had gagged him during Masry’s exorcism and no matter how faint it was now, he knew what that smell meant. And so had Bones. 

You just let her go…alone, the thought came back. Demons. She’s out there trying to find out more about demons. 

He thought about the small black book and charms that the Winchesters had given him. He’d tossed it all away without much thought. It was an impulse that felt right at the time but now he wondered if any of that could have helped with this case.

No, he told himself. No, that’s none of your business.  

Booth had no right to know about these things. He had his faith to guide him and he’d be damned if he’d give up on that. Demons were real? Fine, that was part of his beliefs anyway. Dean Winchester had been rescued from hell? Sure, okay, miracles happened sometimes. An angel was sorry he had shaken Booth’s faith? Good. That, more than anything else, confirmed that Booth had no place in this. He didn’t need to understand what he’d seen; he didn’t need to learn about the dark, demonic undercurrents of their world. He did good things in this life and world. Booth had helped people, saved lives, and brought evil men to justice. Booth operated within the world of men and anything beyond that realm he just had to leave to faith. That was enough for him. 

The crucifix he wore around his neck was dangling outside his shirt as he’d been tugging it all night. He tucked it back against his chest and thought about how Bones had always thought his faith was childish, superstitious. He thought her lack of faith was much more childish. Imagine thinking humans understood the workings of the universe? Imagine believing the whole of the soul was just the sum of your thoughts? Booth had always accepted her dismissals because he thought she lacked the spiritual maturity to even remotely understand. Like when a toddler makes a cutting remark. 

Except now he stood amidst six dead bodies torn apart by true evil. And the woman he loved had gone off, alone, to find real answers. He hadn’t even tried to stop her. 

One of the Capitol officers came to the door and poked his head in.

“Agent Booth? CSI is ready and Dr. Saroyan has given the okay, they’ll come in now for the bodies.”

“Okay, thanks, let them in.”

He hovered and watched as the techs did a last round of photographs before they loaded the bodies (or the pieces, anyway) into body bags, onto gurneys, and out the door.

Booth looked again at the symbol Cam had pointed out, now marked with tape and photographs instead of body parts. Bones knew something about that symbol and had gone off to talk to an “academic” (read: occultist) about it. Not a day had passed since the exorcism where she hadn’t studied lore about the occult, demons, angels, or monsters. All the while Booth pretended it was nothing but another academic project he could ignore. It was this gulf between them and today it grew to encompass everything between the Potomac and Sioux Falls. 

Without any conscious thought, he picked up his phone and called Bones. It went to voicemail.

“Yeah, Bones, they’re just getting the bodies out of the scene now. Look, I don’t feel right about this, I should have come with you. I’m gonna grab a bag and head to the airport, I can get on the next flight out, and, and we’ll talk it through, okay?” 

Booth looked at his watch, “And if I don’t hear back from you in the next 20 minutes I am sending the local PD to that man’s door.” 

Booth nodded at the Capitol cop and marched off, unsure what decision he’d come to, other than knowing he couldn’t let her face this all alone. 

Brennan sat a moment, staring at the phone that Bobby Singer had left on the table. She hadn’t expected that response. Honestly, she hadn’t expected she’d be able to get a message to the Winchesters, let alone have a phone conference with them. Her cheeks were stinging from embarrassment and anger. She swallowed it down and sorted through the facts in her mind. 

Brennan had flown here on a hint from a man she barely knew. She'd knocked on a stranger’s door on a wild chance he might know how to get a message to the Winchesters because Dean had seemed so desperate for information. She hadn’t even questioned it…of course the Winchesters would know how to handle this. Instead, they basically told her to grow up and fix it herself. She didn’t know if she was insulted or flattered. She was highly capable, after all, but it seemed too big an ask. Last month she’d been trying to debunk this…stuff…believing herself to be a victim of a dangerous con artist. And now they wanted her to roll up her sleeves and stop some master demonic plan? Ridiculous.

She landed on feeling insulted. She was helping. She did the best she could and now they needed to step in too. Bobby Singer hadn’t said anything. He’d engrossed himself in her notes and copies of the writing on seals and the translations she’d secured. He was cross referencing against some of his own books and writings.

“Do you know Dean well?” she finally asked, unsure how else to proceed.

Bobby nodded but didn’t add anything. He didn’t return to the notes either, though, so she decided to ask him more.

“You think he’s right–about my involvement, I mean?”

“Dean can be a real ass, and I’ve seen him make some dumb calls, but he’s usually right about this kind of thing.”

Brennan sat up a bit straighter. “He said that you’re probably the world’s leading expert on broken seals? Was that your field of study, or–” 

“Field of study?” Bobby laughed, “Doc, do you know what a hunter is?”

“Someone who hunts creatures associated with the paranormal, supernatural, preternatural, or occult.”

“A hunter is someone who got fucked over, hard, by one of them creatures you mentioned. Instead of crying about it, they picked up a gun and a book of lore. Most of us got a stronger sense of vengeance than self preservation, though some of us got a sense of duty. Like, once we seen what’s out there, once we knew there’s nothing holding back the darkness, we kept helping where we could. But we’re all just folk, doc, with our finger in the dike. Unfortunately, the storm’s rolling in now and it’s fixing to burst.” 

He took a sip from his glass and turned to take a book from a pile behind him, “It ain’t fair or fun but I always thought if I can help people, then it’s a damn better life spent than some.”

Brennan looked down at her phone, Booth was calling, again. 

“Excuse me, I have to take this,” she stood up and took a few steps out of his kitchen into the hallway. 

“Booth?” she answered.

“There you are! I was five minutes away from calling the sheriff in,” he sounded a little frantic.

“No, no, I’m fine, just wrapping up my meeting now,” she said. 

There were books everywhere. Thousands of books, piled all over every surface. Brennan bent down to inspect the titles and was surprised to find they ranged from Japanese alchemy to an original inventory from a Union platoon stationed in Kansas during the Civil War.

“Okay, I’m heading to the airport now, there’s a flight in three hours so I can meet you out–”

“Booth that’s absurd, by the time you get on your flight I’ll be in the air already. I’m leaving here shortly,” she paused at a book, a few centuries old at the very least, called, The Slaeying of Monstres, Nymphes, and Feyries.

“I shouldn’t have let you go alone to begin with! Let me call around. Maybe I can pull a favor or two and see if there are any FBI chartered flights going—”

“No, Booth, just wait,” she laughed a little. His desire to be with her, to help her was soothing. The Winchesters, Mr. Singer, this whole mess had made her feel ashamed somehow. Like she was a stupid little girl who should have been doing more and at the same time, like she was a coward who couldn’t be trusted to do the work herself.

“Can you meet me at the airport? I’ll send you my arrival information.” 

Booth paused a minute, “Okay, but let me know once you leave your meeting, or whatever. I don’t like any of this, I never should have let you go alone!” he repeated, more to himself than to her, it seemed. 

“It’s okay, Booth, I’ll see you soon,” she hung up the phone. 

Brennan picked a book up off a table and opened it to an earmarked page. She skimmed down the page to a section that had been highlighted: 

The process itself remains unknown to any who have not traversed the gruesome path. One must be assured all demons are liars by nature and untrustworthy in all matters. Yet the diaries of Inquisitor Robert le Bougre and the visions of the mystic Hermes of Dalmatia are two sources that stand in accordance with the claims sometimes set forth by demons, pulled by threat of pain and exorcism, by those who stand against them. The account given to this very author by a demon, most foul, when pressed for information during his exorcism aligns with such tales. The nature of hell, while wholly a place of pain and suffering, is where the poor souls there banished are transformed into that which besets us in this evil battle. 

“Normally I’d make someone like you a starter pack, but seems like you’re on to more advanced things already,” Bobby said, taking the book from her.

“This book–it claims that souls sent to hell, they eventually become demons?”

“That’s the lore,” he said.

“And Dean, he, he was rescued from hell?” she asked.

Bobby nodded, “Yeah, but from what I can tell his stay was a few centuries shy of that transformation. Still, not exactly easy time served.”

“No,” Brennan shook her head and, for the first time, she thought about what it really meant to return from hell. To be under pain and pressure so intense it changed your metaphysical substance into evil. And to be ripped from that place and thrown back into your old life, your old body, with little more than vague instructions to save the world from the same fate.

“No, I wouldn’t think so,” she said.

Dean drove for six hours straight, stopping only to gas up, without saying a word. He was pissed. Pissed at Sam, pissed at Brennan, pissed at the angels, homicidally pissed at Ruby. But more than anything he was furious with himself. He let the anger brew and burn, it used to be that enough miles of road could placate him, but it only made his fury simmer.

It was like dealing with children. What didn’t Sam understand? Ruby was a demon. By definition an evil, manipulative bitch. Sam was walking into something dark and dangerous. Dean would beat him senseless if he had to, but he wouldn’t let Sam make the same mistake he had. Dean's little brother would not be bound for hell. And Brennan? She’d identified a seal and tracked him and Sam down in a matter of hours–something no other human had seemed capable of so far, but she sat there all doe-eyed and innocent, like it was Dean’s job and destiny to figure this shit out for her? Like she couldn't use that freakish brain and her Catholic boyfriend and actually do something? And Castiel, the angels? Hell, even God, they could just fuck right off if they weren’t gonna help. How did anyone expect Dean to do what angels couldn’t?!

But between his anger there were echoes of cries and screams and the feeling of warm blood flowing over his hands. And he reminded himself that he deserved this. All of it. He deserved a brother who didn’t trust him, and a guardian angel that was always too late, and a whole world of people looking for him to clean up the mess. He knew he deserved it, but the anger felt better. It kept him moving forward, anyway.

Sam's phone rang and snapped Dean back to the present.

“Hey Bobby,” Sam answered on speaker.

“Your girl had some good intel. I was able to connect what she brought us with a few other texts and I think I got an idea on these seals,” Bobby said.

“Okay, great," Sam said, "what are we looking at?” 

“The first one was meant to be a sacrifice under the new moon, ‘a figurehead for the people, twice corrupted, shall arrange the sacred symbol in the sinew and bones of servants past, and speak the ritual over the sign to please our dark father,” Bobby read aloud.

“So, we think the demons finished the ritual, or did the angels stop it in time?” Sam asked.

“It’d be nice to think they can stop a seal without nuking the whole town,” Bobby said, “but hard to know. Either way, window's closed on that one. Looks like the second seal will be next week, halfway between the new and full moon.”

“Another sacrifice?” Sam asked.

“Sorta. In a reversal of the biblical story, a man will enter the lion’s den and, well, the lion’s get a raw deal.”

“Lions? What, Smithsonian zoo?” Sam asked Dean, who just grunted in answer.

“Okay," Sam continued, "we know the time and place, we wait and take the lions out before the ritual? Maybe a devil’s trap or two if we got a demon working the mojo?”

“Should do,” Bobby said, “but the third seal is a lot less specific. I'm digging into other sources but right now all I got is that under the full moon, quote black smoke shall fill a holy vessel and the darkness will stamp out light, and the guiding force of that life will flow and mix with the waters of the river, and Lucifer will smile upon the gift.”

“Huh,” Sam said, “a holy vessel…I dunno, demonic possession of a priest? Or a nun, maybe? Make them slit their own throat in the river?”

“Something like that sounds right, but it’s a big city and a big river. Maybe those angel buddies of yours can give some direction,” Bobby said.

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t hold my breath for that,” Dean said.

“You got something to go on, at least,” Bobby said, “the doc did good, Dean. I’m gonna do some more digging, see if I can find any other references to these seals or the river ritual. You two idjits keep your heads down. It's fed city. Dean's supposed to be dead and they think Sam is in Cuba. Don’t go making your life harder than it needs to be.”

“Yeah, a hard life, wonder what that’d be like,” Dean mumbled as Sam hung up. 

Bones came down the sidewalk and Booth jumped out of the car, half-running to meet her. He kissed her and took the messenger bag off her shoulder. She felt stiff and Booth put his whole body into embracing her.

“How was your flight?” he asked, as he opened her car door.

“Tense,” she answered.

“Well, you’re home now, I can help alleviate some tension if you’d like?” Booth used his playful voice, he doubled-down on getting her to smile. Or at least look at him.

He opened her car door and went around to his side, “Oh hey,” he said, taking a new track, “we can meet with your team in the morning and tell them about us, I rescheduled our appointment with the deputy for the afternoon. I figured we should disclose before we get too far into such a high profile case. Plus, Sweets will be all over us if we try to keep it under wraps much longer.”

Bones smiled, “Professor Sasaki’s contact was an interesting man. Not an academic, like I led you to believe…”

Booth froze. He hadn’t decided yet how to approach this conversation. He just wanted Bones, he didn’t want the magic and the occult.

“Bones…” he started, gently.

“I think it’s time we talked about it, Booth.”

“Are we doing this?” he asked, a note of pleading in his voice.

“Don’t you think we need to? Before we talk to Cam, or to the Deputy Director?” she asked, looking at him for the first time. 

It was like ice in his stomach. She didn’t just mean the demon stuff. She meant they had to talk about them. She wasn't sure they should be together because of what she'd learned. Booth loved her. Wildly and fiercely and for a million reasons that could never be quantified.

“I think that you think you’re someone different now,” Booth said, getting a little heated, “so you think this needs to be discussed…”

“I am different,” she said, “three months ago I’d never have entertained any of this, and now–”

“You’re not any different, Bones! Maybe you’ve accepted that there are spiritual realities but this is not some great, I dunno, awakening of faith or something! You’re still you! You’ve doubled-down! This isn’t about the grace of God, this is just...new mechanics you’re trying to understand. And still, you STILL can’t see why I don’t see the world that way! Why, maybe, asking me to look at the world through that lens is sacrilege!”

“Sacrilege? Booth, I don’t understand. Your whole life you had this belief in, in God, and in heaven, and now there is empirical proof. And beyond that there are things happening, now, that impact us. I know the kind of man you are, I know the part you should play in this! We have to talk about–”  

Booth slammed his hand on the wheel in frustration. 

“About what? Damn it, Bones! I don’t care! I don’t know and I don’t want to know what Singer said, or what that magic symbol was, or what that demon did to the senator. I just need you to do your scientist thing and tell me which human perp to go after and we can just keep going. Come on, Bones, we’re just gonna keep this thing going.”

He chanted the last few words, a prayer of sorts.

She watched him, and her eyes were filled with tears. 

“I love you, Booth,” she said. She reached out and touched his face, turning him toward her. 

“You’re the one who knows about people, about love. So, if you’re telling me we can keep doing this, that I can spend half my time hiding research from you and you spend half your time pretending I don’t have evidence that I do, then okay, we can keep it going.”

Her eyes were so damn beautiful.

“Just tell me that, Booth,” her voice cracked, “just tell me this is okay. Tell me we can keep doing it like this, because–” she reached for him again, and he kissed her fingers and tears fell from her eyes, “because I’ve never wanted anything more than for you to tell me none of that matters and that love like this is enough.”

“It is, it is enough,” he said, kissing her more and harder, and pressing his face into hers. She nodded and sobbed a bit, then pressed her head into his shoulder.

“Kiss me like the world is ending,” she whispered and Booth did as he was bid. 

They kissed and moved their mouths down each other’s bodies, all heat and instinct and she unzipped his pants and slid hers down past her ankles. He moved into her and they fell into each other right there, in the airport parking lot at 2am. 

Just as he was pushing and pulling back and forth and thinking how much he loved this woman and how desperate he was to keep her, she whispered, “I love you beyond the end of the world,” and Booth knew he was wrong. This couldn’t work. Not like this.  

But he kept going, all the same. 

Chapter Text

Angela was stuck on the strength needed to commit the murders. According to Cam, some of the dismemberment had been manual–meaning some limbs were ripped off. Where body pieces had been cut, the cuts through the bone were clean. Clear through bone and muscle with no hesitation or sawing. That took a sort of brutal, frenzied strength. Something almost inhuman.

The bodies got to the lab late and they were all too intrigued to call it a night, so they sat here now, discussing still. Well, Angie and Cam had discussed...Hodgins had spent the last forty minutes talking on and on about which Masonic societies that could have been a culprit. Finally, Cam cut him off.

“Okay, 3am is where I call it a night. Take a late morning tomorrow, people, but be ready to go over everything with Dr. Brennan when she gets back.”

“Actually,” Brennan’s voice came around the corner before she did, “I’m back early, but won’t be able to sleep tonight. Thought I’d get started on the remains.”

Brennan was positively glowing and Angie smiled. Guess Booth gave her a nice ride from the airport, she thought to herself. She knew about Booth and Bren, of course, but no one else did yet. They were supposed to announce it any day for about three weeks now, so all she could do was shoot Booth a knowing glance and give Bren the attagirl eyes.

“I realize that it’s quite late and you all need to get some sleep before we start the investigation in earnest tomorrow, but before you do–” Bren started.

“Ahh yes, reports are on my desk,” Cam stood up, “You can grab a copy and I’m sure Dr. Hodgins would be more than happy to fill you in on how Masonic rituals are–”

“Oh, thank you, Dr. Saroyan but this isn’t about the case. I just wanted to let you know–both in the official capacity of my supervisor but also personally as a friend–that Booth and I are together.” 

She slipped her hand into his and beamed. Booth smiled and squeezed Brennan's hand, but seemed subdued. Angela thought he seemed off.

“Whoa!” Hodgins let out a congratulatory laugh, “That’s great, guys! Glad someone is finding love in the office!” 

“Wow, Seeley, Dr. Brennan, congrats! That is…is that allowed?” Cam asked.

“Yeah, there’s some paperwork and reporting lines to reshuffle, but yeah, we talked with Sweets the other day,” Booth answered, “and have a meeting set up with the Deputy for tomorrow. We were going to tell you all this morning but–”

“Ah, yes, ritualized murder and political intrigue got in the way,” Cam said, and Booth nodded.

“I knew already!” Angela said, “But I can finally hug you both in public!” 

She threw her arms around both of them, Brennan leaning into the hug and Booth holding back a bit.

“Should we do champagne or something?” Hodgins asked.

“No, no, you all should go get some rest,” Bren answered, “I’m going to stay here and start my preliminary examination. Plus, I’d rather be here in four hours when the new interns get in. They’ll have quite a lot of work to do.”

“Okay, well, that’s great you guys, I’m happy for you, really,” Cam said, “but I will have to connect with Sweets to see what other paperwork is needed to make this relationship official-official. See you in the morning,” Cam said as she walked away, then she turned around and touched Booth's arm, “again, truly, very happy for you!”

“Well, I’m in need of a shower and some sleep, so I’m out for the night too–Angie, you want me to walk you back?” Hodgins offered.

Angela turned to Booth, “You staying here too?”

“Um, no, no, I uh, have an early meeting with the capital police chief, gotta go back and prep my notes,” Booth said, “you’re okay, here, Bones? Alone?”

“Yes, of course, the Jeffersonian has excellent security. You know very well I often stay here late into the night,” she answered.

“Well actually,” Angela said, “I think I’m gonna stay too. I have a lot of photos to finish cataloging from the crime scene.” 

Booth kissed Brennan goodbye and he and Hodgins walked off. Angela gave Bren another hug and rubbed her arm.

“I’m proud of you, sweetie. I know you kept putting that off. It’s a big deal! Not just making it like, official-official, but just telling people is a major–”

“I need you to leave, Angela, right now. Run and catch up with Booth and Dr. Hodgins, and make sure to be seen,” she climbed up to the platform and started to uncover the bodies.

“Umm,” Angela said, “what’s, what’s going on?”

“I am about to do something illegal and I’d like you to be seen elsewhere,” she looked up to the cameras and adjusted one of the gurneys slightly, moving it out of frame.

“Exactly how illegal are we talking, Bren? Because depending on what you're about to do I'll either stick around or drag you out with me, I don't think there's much in-between…” 

Brennan left the platform and climbed up the staircase to the walkway, where she pushed the camera a bit, turning it upward and away from the remains.

“The most serious charges would be criminal obstruction of justice, aiding and abetting known fugitives, concealing an escaped prisoner, and tampering with physical evidence," she answered with no emotion.

Angela looked at Bren, shocked.

“Seriously, Ang, you should go. Now.”

“Woah, Bren, can we just take a second here?”

“I have two fugitives from the FBI arriving in the next half hour to receive copies of evidence from me and to examine the bodies themselves. I strongly suggest you go, because there are other repercussions if you stay. Not just legal consequences, but fundamental philosophical ramifications.”

Angela almost burst out laughing. Brennan’s face was pained and serious and desperate to be believed.

“Ok, obviously I’m staying. Does this mean I finally get to hear more about this miracle you and Booth saw?”

Brennan hugged her as Angela said, “You need me, anyways. You missed that camera.”

Twenty minutes later, Brennan had copies of every report and photograph they had, packaged and ready to hand off. She’d even added weather reports for the week preceding the murders. She’d been muttering and mumbling to herself as she’d prepared everything. All cameras had been slightly adjusted outward. Bren had locked the main door with a latch so that no one could access the main room, even with a key card. 

“Sweetie,” Angela said as Bren realigned the gurneys yet again, “I know you said you’ll fill me in afterward, but let me just ask one thing: does Booth know you’re doing this?”

“That’s….a more complicated answer than we have time for,” Brennan’s phone buzzed, “they’re here.”

She tucked the hair behind her ears and smoothed her shirt, a nervous habit she had, then she opened the door to the Winchester brothers.

Angela couldn’t have been more shocked if Charles Manson was standing on the other side of the door. Her initial takeaway from being within feet of two of the most notorious killers she had ever searched for was, my god they’re REALLY tall! 

“Look, doc,” Dean– the one whose bones Angela had held in her hands a few months prior --began immediately, “I didn’t know Sam called you and would have stopped him if I did.”

“Excuse me?” Brennan asked. 

“There’s nothing those bodies can tell us that’s worth me, or Sam, or Booth doing time over. Nothing worth you losing your job over,” he said.

“We can’t know that until we see them,” Sam jumped in. They were picking up an ongoing argument and Angela tensed up. In her experience you don’t want practiced, merciless killers losing their tempers. But when Dean held his hand up his brother fell quiet. 

“SO,” Dean continued, “you and your friend here need to leave. Now. Take a route where the camera will pick you up. Then we’ll come in and take a peak, ten, maybe twenty minutes, tops. But I’d suggest you two call it a night, either way.” 

“Forgive my confusion, Mr. Winchester,” and Brennan’s voice was icy, “but yesterday you chastised me for not being willing to help. You implied I was a coward; and now you think I’m an idiot for risking my job?” Her voice grew higher and tighter as she spoke and Angela was surprised by how much anger and hurt was there.

“I think you’re doing this because a kid on the playground called you chicken, not because it’s the smart play,” Dean was frustrated and surly and handsome. Angie had no idea what the hell had caused all this, but she could understand why Brennan was helping them. Dean just commanded the whole scene, a charming, handsome, charismatic serial killer.

“Look,” he continued, “leave or don’t, but we ain’t coming in with you here. I got better leads to risk my life on, doc.” 

Bren tensed up, drawing herself taller and Angela worried she might slap the supposed-to-be-dead-fugitive murderer, so she put a hand on Brennan’s arm and took hold of the folder.

“Okay, here,” Ange cut in, “this is for you two,” she passed the envelope off to Sam, “and I dunno about you, Bren, but I sure could use some breakfast and coffee before we’re due back, okay?” 

Angela bodily turned Bren away from the very dangerous men and marched her toward the exit.

“Dr. Brennan,” Sam called out as they walked away, “this is helpful, and so was your initial call. It will matter, trust me.”

Some of Bren’s anger seemed to relent and she took the ID she wore around her neck off, laying it on a desk as they passed. Angela didn’t let her stop or even slow her pace, just continued to walk her toward the doors.

“You’ll need that to access the platform,” she called back. 

Angie held tight to Brennan as they left the lab, and walked her straight out of the building, she didn’t so much as glance backward until they were at the diner. 

“Okay, he was dead,” Angela said, finally spinning Brennan to look her in the eyes. “I held that man’s skull in my hands. So, spill,” she shoved Bren through the doors and into a booth, “ now. ”

Much to Sam’s chagrin, Dean was right and they gained nothing useful from their time in the lab. Except to know that Dr. Brennan could be worked. Her pride and anger were easy to set off and she would take risks to help them. Hadn’t mattered much this time, but Sam tucked that away, in case they ever needed it. 

The week wore on and Dean was pissy, tense, and drank himself into two or three hours of uneasy sleep each night. Sam tried to push back what he thought every time he looked at his brother, but it sat there, just below conscious thought: he’s weak . It wasn’t Dean’s fault, really. The guy had been to hell and back, but he’d come back broken, weaker. Dean lost something in the pit and now he was too scared to make the moves they needed to. Sam loved his brother, so he pushed that all aside and pretended like maybe time could fix it. But another part of him warned that time was one thing they didn’t have much of.

Halfway through the week, Bobby had great news for them. He’d been able to pinpoint the location for the third seal. Some esoteric calculations about ley lines and the stars, and they’d narrowed it down to a quarter mile area and an exact time. They still weren’t sure who or what the “holy vessel” was, but Dean had taken to visiting churches and religious organizations, looking for signs of demonic possession.

And they’d rarely been as ready for anything as they were for the second seal. They’d made two zoo employees for possessed and kept as close an eye on them as they dared without tipping their hand. Some of the references Dr. Brennan had given them pointed to Enochian sigils that would help them slow the demons and stop them from entering the lion’s den. Dean had managed to get the seals 80% etched into the enclosure so they could make quick work of it in the final moments before the ritual. They’d scoped out an entrance and even had an unobservant security guard picked out to tail in. They were ready, for once. 

“She deserves a heads up,” Sam picked up the argument about Dr. Brennan again, “we’re hardly ever this prepared and it’s thanks to her.”

They were parked a half block away from the security guard’s house, and the ritual was only a few hours away. The plan was to kill the demons to stop them, but agreed to shoot the lions as a fail-safe if they needed to. 

“We’ll give her the good news after we stop it.”

Sam scoffed, barely trying to conceal his disgust, “I don’t understand why you’re so afraid to pull her into this. You think she’s a good resource, she’s easy enough to—“

“To manipulate?”

“What? Like we’re above that? She has info and resources we can use, that can save lives, and you feel bad about it because, why? She’s pretty?”

“Maybe because I don’t like being yanked around, and don’t like doing it to others.”

“I’ll try not to take that as a rebuke,” a voice said from the backseat. 

Sam jerked around, adrenaline pumping, then tried to calm himself once he saw Castiel sitting there. 

“Cas!” Dean yelled, “Where the hell have you been?!”

“There are many battlefronts, Dean. You are not my only charge.”

“Did you stop it?” Sam asked, “the seal with the senator, I mean, last week?”

“The room was heavily warded against angels. It took time to break through,” Castiel answered. 

“So, no?” Dean asked. 

“We did not arrive in time.”

“Awesome, great work on that one, man.”

Sam adjusted the rear view mirror and chanced a look at the angel. Piercing blue eyes looked back at him and Sam felt his stomach drop. His hand flinched toward his pocket, toward the vial of Ruby’s blood he’d carried around all week, but he stayed himself. 

“You’ve done well, here. You’ve uncovered the seal, you have a plan to stop it. Seals are being broken, yes, but others are defended. We believe that’s because of you, Dean.”

The angel stared toward Dean, who turned to face him. Sam looked away, something between anger and shame twisting in his stomach. 

“Yeah, we’ve really been batting a thousand,” Dean sipped from his hip flask.

“Angels are not omniscient, but we have some insight into how the threads of reality overlay. The work you’ve done has helped. Lilith is behind schedule, her followers are divided. Demons are foul, petty, things. There is no loyalty, no trust,” Castiel said. 

“Amen to that,” Dean muttered. 

Sam touched his vial and squeezed. It was one thing to sit through lectures from Dean, it was another for an angel who didn’t mind exterminating entire towns to give a speech about trust.

“So,” Sam couldn’t help himself, “theoretically there could be factions working against her? Demons whose goals may align with ours?” 

“No demons have goals that align with the righteous. They always corrupt, it’s the inevitable path of their being,” Castiel replied. 

“On a long enough timeline, sure, but when you need allies, when you have a battle right in front of you—“ Sam continued. 

“I’m not here to discuss the folly of consorting with demons, I’m here to warn you. You’ve noticed two demons who are slated to perform the ritual. But there are three others that have escaped your attention.”

“Five demons? Five to two? You gonna help us even out the odds?” Dean asked.

“Their warding is strong. Angels cannot enter the entirety of the zoo. You have a better chance without me.”

“Great, battle outside your coverage zone, perfect. What can you tell us about the third seal? We know the where and the when but we’re fuzzy on the what and the how.”

“Black smoke shall fill a holy vessel and the darkness will stamp out the light.”

“Right, we’re thinking a priest? Possessed and sacrificed, something like that?” Dean continued.

“A holy vessel,” Sam said, suddenly laughing, “we were wrong. Not a holy person, but a person who was possessed by something holy. An angel’s meatsuit. I mean that’s what you do, right, Castiel ? You possess humans when you’re here on earth? Living, breathing people?” 

Even Ruby didn’t do that, she used an empty vessel. Sam liked the angels less and less the more time he spent with them. He gripped his vial tighter.

“Angels do not possess,” Castiel said, “we inhabit a vessel only with permission. Most are devout, have prayed to serve heaven.”

“Alright, alright, we get it, clean hands,” Dean said, “Is Sam right? Are we looking for a used angel condom?”

“Possible. But there are exceedingly few, and they’re largely under the protection of heaven. A reward for their service. But, most humans, when looking upon an angel or hearing our voices—“

“Yeah, I remember. Burned out eyes, high pitched noises, exploding glass...” Dean said.

“Yes, that is how most experience our form. But some humans have the proper metaphysical alignment to perceive us. It has to do with bloodlines and ancient covenants. They can act as holy vessels.”

“So we could be looking at someone who’s never been near an angel but has the right metaphysical fingerprint?” Sam asked. 

“Yes,” Castiel said, “that is the most probable source. I have other work to attend to. Good luck tonight, I’ll return if I learn anything else of value.”

And then he was gone. 

“What a dick,” Dean said, “Five demons against the two of us and some warding is gonna stop him? Five demons!”

“More help than usual,” Sam said.

Five to two, and just one knife. It’s too many. 

“I gotta take a leak,” Sam said as he climbed from the car. 

He went around the corner and stood near some bushes. Dean hadn’t followed, couldn’t see him from this angle. He slipped the vial of Ruby’s blood out of his pocket. The angels dropped the ball on the first seal, we can’t afford to miss this one. 

He brought it to his lips and took a small, controlled sip. The effect was instantaneous. Everything was clearer, sharper. Sam felt strong and righteous and ready. He came back around the corner to see their mark, the security guard, driving off. 

“Let’s go,” Sam said as he slapped the hood and hopped in. 

It all went much smoother than Dean would have believed. Sam was right, both Brennan and Cas had given pivotal assists. But still, the thing went off aces. 

They’d slipped into the zoo finished, the demon-keep-out graffiti, and waited. Just before midnight three demons tried to jump in but hit the demonic barrier. Dean slammed the knife through the spine of the first demon before they’d even realized they’d been delayed. He spun around, punching the knife through the throat of another. He was all instinct and movement and Dean relished it. There was no thought required for this part, just action.

At the other viewing window, Sam was saying an exorcism as two demons jerked and shook before him. Dean sprinted around the corner, briefly losing sight, and when he came into view both demons were trying to smoke out. Sam was continuing with the exorcism but seemed slightly pained as he forced his way through the words. Dean slit the throat of the nearest demon and stabbed the next through the heart in as smooth a single motion as he could manage. He winced, hoping to hear the crackle that meant he’d killed the demon and not just the poor bastard who’d been possessed. He let out a small sigh of relief as the smoke fizzled, faded, and went out, not thinking too deeply about the choice he'd just made.

“That’s four,” he said. 

“There,” Sam pointed, and took off running.

Dean wasn’t sure how Sam had seen it, Dean leapt through bushes, around a corner and was halfway to the entrance before he’d caught sight of it himself. Sam started ahead of him and had a longer stride, but Dean pushed with everything he had to stay with his brother. 

Why isn’t it smoking out? he wondered. 

“Distraction,” Dean grunted, “Sam, knife!”

Sam slowed for a second, turned and caught the knife at the handle, then kept after the demon. Dean circled back to the enclosure, drawing his gun as he ran. I really don’t want to waste a goddamn lion tonight, so now’s a good time to step in, he silently prayed to Castiel, or God, or whoever was listening.

He jumped up on a rock with a good sight line into the enclosure, gun drawn on the animals. All was quiet and still and the blood and adrenaline beat against his ear drums. Dean tried to control his breathing and steady his nerves, but there was no sign of other demons in or near the habitat. He checked his watch. The ritual was very specific, and after only three uncomfortable minutes, the moon was out of position, it was too late to break the seal. His phone rang.

“Yeah,” Dean answered, “we’re good here–you?”

“Looks like Cas was here after all,” Sam said, “I chased the damn thing to the exit and once it was outside the gates it vanished in a burst of heavenly light.”

“They smoke it?”

“No, looks like they took it,” Sam said.

“Well, whatever, we actually stopped a fucking seal for once, I’ll take the W,” Dean said, “I got four bodies here, though, what do you wanna do?”

“No time to clean it, I say we split. The demons would have disabled any cameras. With the big mission on the line, they don’t like to show their work.”

“Works for me, meet you back at the car,” Dean said. 

Alright, Cas, Dean prayed as he jumped down from the fence, we stopped a seal and we’re working another. You let us know the second you pull any intel from that demon you grabbed. And, uh, thanks. We weren’t ready for five, that coulda gone down different. So, thanks, man. 

Dean dropped Sam back at the motel. He wanted to eat, grab a drink, go for a walk, but Sam wanted to “look into the metaphysical structure of a holy vessel” thing. Figures. Dude couldn’t enjoy the victory, had to start obsessing over next steps. It was late, but Dean found a dive that served food. A burger, two whiskeys, and four beers later and Dean was actually feeling good for once.

He was outside the bar, forearms against the railing on a bridge, watching the traffic below. DC was a fucking trip. Grimy, dirty, filled with homelessness and crime and violence, but a veneer of majesty everywhere. Monuments and parks and cherry blossoms and memories, everywhere, of the sacrifice of others. He’d never spent much time here, but it made sense that there’d be demons and apocalyptic rituals. Made sense too that maybe there were some heroes that could stop it.

There was a rustle and Dean felt Castiel next to him.

“Hey Cas,” he said, glancing at the angel.

“You did well, Dean. This seal was defended and, while there are hundreds of others that can take its place, I maintain that your work is making a real impact. Lilith is constantly readjusting, Lucifer’s freedom is not guaranteed.”

The feeling of lightness, of contentment, the brief, now embarrassing touch of heroism that Dean had felt a moment before drained from him. Hundreds of others can take its place. Dean reminded himself that this wasn’t a journey of redemption, this wasn’t penance, this was a goddamn curse. 

“Right, well, thanks for the pep talk. You get anything useful from the demon you nabbed?”

“Other angels have been assigned to interrogation but I fear it will have no useful information. Lilith keeps her followers siloed, segmented. Demons report on each other, share secrets, she does all she can to protect the mission.”

“Course, right,” Dean was frustrated, “so what? This is a social visit? An attaboy?”

Dean stood fully now, turning to Cas and was surprised at how close the angel stood to him. There was a mixture of pity and sorrow in Cas’s face that hit Dean so hard he turned away again. The last thing Dean deserved was pity.

“This is…an unauthorized conversation.”

“Okay…”

“The demon I captured, it had to know that once it crossed the warding it’d be susceptible to angels. We smote its brethren last week…yet it didn’t try to leave its host…how long was your brother alone with the demon?”

Every part of Dean went cold. He knew what Cas was about to tell him.

“Just spit it out, man. What? Sam used his powers to exorcise the damn thing? Kill it? Interrogate it?”

“There was an oppressive force keeping the demon bound to its vessel when I captured it. I believe your brother was keeping it contained.”

That was why Dean was able to kill the two smokers Sam was exorcising. Sam kept them leashed to their meatsuits. He looked down at the traffic. How many of these people would be dead in a year? How many could Dean save? If he couldn’t save his brother, it didn’t matter. Sam was playing a dangerous game, no upside to it at all. Dean had been to hell and back and was supposed to save the world but couldn’t save his own fucking brother.

“I have faith, Dean. In you, in what you’re doing. Small victories may not feel like much, but they grow, the movement builds. I’ve seen small actions echo across centuries. I don’t know what Sam’s actions will come to eventually, but I believe that your works, your deeds, they gather goodness.”

“Why?” Dean heard the crack of emotion in his voice, he felt small, “what, because heaven says so?”

Cas tilted his head, confused at the question, “Orders can only dictate action. Belief is an involuntary act based on trillions of observations and assessments, accumulated over time. I–you’re different than I thought. I thought I knew humans from millennia of observations, but you–”

Cas stopped, listening to something outside of Dean’s range of perception. 

“I'm sorry, I have to go. I will return if there's anything I can tell you to help with the third seal,” he said, and Dean was left alone.

He stood there until dawn broke, just watching headlights and tail lights. It was like he was the only stationary object in all the world, and everything else moved away from him sooner or later.

Chapter Text

Booth pressed his knuckles into his eyes, trying to force a sense of calm. Bones had been in touch with hunters again it seemed, yet they still couldn’t discuss it. He couldn’t discuss it. Shame rippled through his chest. Not only was he afraid to talk with her about it, he’d resorted to sneaking looks at her phone while she was in the shower. 

A text from an unknown number read: We stopped it. What you gave us mattered.

He scolded himself for being such a coward. Just ask her! What was stopped? What did Bones give them? Who were they? He practiced the conversation in his head but hadn’t been able to speak it aloud yet.  Wasn’t ready for that, or a million other conversations that would spring from it…

“Booth!” Angela walked into his office, shutting the door behind her, “We need to talk.”

“Uhhh, can it wait? I have to meet Bones and Sweets, our mandated therapy–”

“It has been waiting. You’ve been avoiding me for almost two weeks now. Two brush offs and no calls back, so no, it’s not waiting any more. Sit,” Angela nodded pointedly at Booth’s office chair and took the seat across from him. 

“Look, I didn’t mean to give you a runaround, it’s just been busy with this case and—”

“Save it. Brennan told me,” Angela cut in.

Booth gave a half-laugh, wanting to measure his words carefully, “She told you what?”

“Enough that I’d have asked Sweets to assess her for psychotic break…if I hadn’t seen for myself that a dead man was alive and well.”

Her meaning hit Booth like a hammer. Bones hadn’t just been in touch with hunters, she’d been in touch with…

“Winchester?! You saw Dean Winchester!” 

“This is exactly what I was worried about. You have no clue what’s going on, do you? Brennan said you guys were taking a segregated approach with this, that your ‘intrinsic understandings of the universe were diametrically opposed.’ I told her that was bullshit, that she knows that bullshit and that YOU, Booth, certainly know that's bullshit.”

“Angela, it’s complicated. I can’t sit there with her while she calculates how ancient Sumerian texts prove things about God. I can’t talk about witchcraft and demons and let her quantify the metaphysical reality of angels and–”

“You’re smarter than that, you know a real relationship doesn't work like this.”

Booth shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. Something about Angela reminded him of the nuns who taught him as a kid. She could scold with the best of them.

“I love Bones. We witnessed something miraculous and then I saw something terrifying. I just want to keep us away from that and out of it.”

“Well, you’re keeping you out of it alright. You love her, I know that, but how can that be enough if you're not willing to get near this?”

Booth shifted uncomfortably and tried pointing the conversation to anything other than their relationship. 

“Well, what the hell were you doing with Dean Winchester, anyway? He’s supposed to be dead, his brother is supposed to be abroad, they should be in some backwater cabin somewhere for the next year! Not walking around DC! They seemed a hell of a lot smarter than that...”

Angela looked him up and down, looking almost offended he'd tried to redirect her.

“You have flaws, Booth, we all do. Never thought cowardice was one of them.”

“It’s-, I don’t want to go to prison and I’d like Bones to keep her career more or less intact. I'd also like us to avoid clouds of demonic smoke and keep our eyes!”

“Where does keeping her rank on your list? She’s one of the smartest people on this planet but she’s naive. You wanna know what I was doing when I met the Winchesters? I was practically dragging Brennan away as she handed them evidence! While you’re ignoring this little problem, two very charming, very attractive, and very dangerous men got Brennan to let them in the lab as easy as breathing. They knew exactly how to play it. They might be miraculously resurrected monster-killers but they’re liars all the same. And you're letting Brennan work with them.”

Booth sat back in his chair, refusing to make eye contact with Angela.

“The Senator thing, it’s–”

“Yeah, demonic somehow. With bigger consequences or something, I got the highlight reel from Brennan. Before she met you she was happy to, I dunno, look at old bones and build out stories, paint pictures of their lives. You got her hooked on saving lives, bringing justice, and that’s exactly what she’s going to do, even if the picture’s changed a bit.”

“So, she’s working with those guys on the Senator thing?”

Angela shrugged, “I dunno, she wouldn’t tell me many details. It sounded like she gave them some intel so they could do their hero-thing. All I know is that I got her the hell out of there when it should have been you. You love her? Then you need to be there to help her, or stop her, or whatever. So, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you better man the hell up and protect my friend.”

It was a grueling hour with Sweets. He asked a lot of questions and Bones, bless her, gave clipped, factual answers. Booth avoided speaking whenever he could and pointed to the Senator’s case as the source of distraction. The space between him and Bones felt thick, like it would have taken inhuman strength to reach across and take her hand. It reminded him of the heavy air and sulfur scent in that storage room, where Booth saw for himself that demons were real. He looked at his own hand, willing himself to move it toward Bones, but it stayed limp against his thigh.

Finally, Sweets began to wrap up their session.

“Dr. Brennan, Agent Booth, as you know I’ve been asked to assess your ability to continue to work together, given your new relationship. I had some initial concerns and I’m sorry to say that this session has done little to alleviate them.”

“What? Well that’s ridiculous.” Bones could always be trusted to just blurt out the thing Booth couldn’t say. 

“You’ve previously commented on my impressive ability to compartmentalize. You’ve stated many times that our care and concern for one another is foundational to our professional success. Booth and I work better together now, if anything.” 

“That’s true but I’m not concerned about anyone overstepping any lines of professionalism, not at this point. But there is a bigger issue. You two have barely looked at each other throughout this session. You care deeply for one another, that’s clear, that’s always been clear. Right now, you seem afraid of one another.”

Booth leaned into the arm of the couch, sizing the kid up. Smart kid. He’d caught it right away. Booth was fucking terrified and Bones had been pretending like she wasn’t.

“You’re quiet, Agent Booth, anything you’d like to add?”

“You think our roots are too deep. Too entangled already. That if we’re gonna go for this relationship, we need to be all-in. And you’re thinking maybe we’re not…”

Booth didn’t look up at Bones, didn’t move his hand. 

“Are you?” Sweets asked.

“Well, that’s even more ridiculous. Of course we’re committed,” Bones said.

“I don’t know that’s true, Dr. Brennan. I mean, yes, you two love each other, the problem is what comes next. Now, I’m not your couple’s counselor, although I’m happy to give you some exercises to work through together, but I sense hesitation from both of you. I don’t know if you’ve discussed things like, marriage, children, long term plans–”

“This–that–” Bones stammered, “for a relationship this new, those sorts of questions–”

“But that’s my point, this isn’t really a new relationship, you’ve been in love for years. You’ve both put your careers on the line for it, so if you’re not willing to have an honest and open discussion about that, perhaps you’d have been better keeping things at a simmer.”

Booth wanted to climb out of his skin. Of course he’d marry her! Of course he’d have a dozen kids with her, give up anything for her. He'd die for her right now, no questions asked. What he didn’t know how to do was let his sense of God, and faith, and the order of the universe fall apart under her scrutiny, and then still be the same man for her. But he was becoming more and more certain that if he didn’t do just that, then he’d lose her anyway.

Sweets said he wasn't going to recommend any changes in work assignments but gave them some talking points to address together. He wanted to "continue to explore this" in their next session. Like therapy would help untangle this mess. Angela was right, Booth just needed the man the hell up already.

They walked in silence to the car. A gust of wind hit, sending Brennan's hair up, Booth turned to smooth it for her and when he looked into her face and something stirred in him. It was like that moment in the lab. He just knew, body and soul that he loved her. He smiled, pressing against her, nearly pinning her to the car. He tucked another stray hair behind her ear as he kissed her. He let his fingers come down to her chin, holding it there for a moment, pressing his body against hers. She slipped her arms under his, pulling him closer. 

“I’m not afraid of a future with you,” she whispered.

He kissed her lightly. 

“I know, me neither. I want everything with you, I want you in every part of my day, every corner of my life. I’m sorry this has been so hard for me, but I’m getting there, I swear I am. I’m used to faith feeling a certain way. I’m used to trusting in the greater plan and believing that the force of good can defeat evil. I’m not used to knowing that evil is black smoke and the force of good are overworked angels.”

“Everything has changed for me, too, Booth. And maybe we think that means that we’ve changed. But I still want a life together, with you. A life, family, growing old…”

“You do?” Booth was alight with joy, “it’s just–I mean, you said so many times that marriage is an archaic institution–”

“It is and I don’t believe in marriage but I want a life with you. It’s just…the future…how can we build a future for ourselves when I know, with certainty, what kind of evil is out there?” 

Booth had no answer for that, so he kissed her again.

“I can stop, Booth,” she whispered. “I can, I don’t have to learn about...that stuff. I don’t have to work with hunters or, or think about demons. We don’t need to think about it. We should just, we can spend some time together. Parker, too, we can take a sabbatical, it’s–”

“Woah, woah, hey,” Booth pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head, soothing them both. “I love you. We’ll sort this out together, we will, but I love you. Let’s start with that, okay?”

Booth kissed her again. Suddenly a tapping came from the rear window of Booth’s SUV, and a muffled voice came through: 

“This is all very touching but can you two please get into the car? We have to talk.” 

Dean Winchester and his brother sat in the backseat of Booth’s car, waving for Booth and Brennan to take their seats. 

Brennan balanced the tea on a handmade serving tray she’d brought back with her from Nepal. She chanced a look into her living room where Sam and Dean sat on the couch, opposite Booth. Booth sat upright and rigid, ready for confrontation. Sam was hunched forward, he flexed and relaxed his legs, like he was forcing back his impatience. Dean, however, looked remarkably relaxed for a resurrected federal fugitive who had recently returned from hell. He was loose, laid back against the couch, and idly playing with a Apache boomerang Brennan had been gifted during graduate school. 

Guilt fluttered in Brennan’s stomach. She had no reason to feel guilty, but something about the Winchesters made her feel like she wasn’t who Booth thought she was. A half hour ago she told Booth she wanted to ignore everything she’d learned about the supernatural, about the fate of the world and just spend her life with him. But here sat a stark reminder of other options. Other paths, other responsibilities.

“Tea,” she announced, placing the tray on the coffee table.

“Thanks,” Dean said, helping himself to a cup. Booth and Sam didn’t move, but continued to eye each other.

The moment stretched on and the silence became difficult for Brennan to bear. 

“It’s English Breakfast,” Brennan said, filling the quiet, “but the tray is a Nepalese tea ceremony tray. Of course it would traditionally be black brick tea served with fortified yak milk, or the more standard chiya tea. Have you ever been to Nepal?”

“No,” Sam said, “we don’t go out of the country much.”

“I took down a Kichkandi outside Columbus ‘bout six years back,” Dean said conversationally.

“Oh yes, a hitchhiker spirit from Nepalese folklore–or, I suppose it’s not just lore. Usually a young, attractive woman?”

“Yeah, yeah, basically a woman in white, but Nepali brides wear red, so lady in red…”

“So, you’re here to tell us about a ghost you killed six years ago or you have some other reason for stopping by?” Booth’s voice was cold and sharp. 

He was sitting in the arm chair, out of reach from where Brennan sat or she’d have laid a steadying hand on his arm. She was suddenly very aware of the distance between them and squirmed a bit, finding herself uncomfortable with the lack of a united front in front of the Winchesters.

“Yeah, about that,” Dean looked at his brother.

“I’m sure Dr. Brennan has told you about demons breaking the seals and the three they've gone after the last few weeks,” Sam began.

Brennan shifted in her seat, the flutter in her stomach returned and shame burned in her chest and face.

Dean looked from Booth to Brennan and nodded, “...or not.”

“Well, Booth and I agreed not to discuss this kind of thing.”

The surprise and dismissal in Dean’s face was like a slap. Sam actually scoffed a bit, his face tightened, concealing annoyance, maybe. Brennan felt the need to defend Booth. 

“Booth did his part, already. He listened to the angel and let you go. He risked his job and even his freedom to help you avoid prison, and now he has another job to focus on. Booth and I catch murderers. It may not be a holy war, or as exciting as dead hitchhiking brides, but we help people too, you know.” 

“Bones,” Booth’s voice was low, he was talking to her directly, pretending the Winchesters weren’t there, “I know I’ve been reluctant, but if there’s something happening that I need to know about–”

“No, it’s fine,” she stood suddenly, collecting Dean’s empty cup and Booth and Sam’s untouched tea.  

“The Winchesters here, along with some of their other colleagues, are handling it. I’ve passed along information when I find it but otherwise I’m not qualified to help. You and I have other work to focus on, we’ve all got our roles and our jobs, and that’s that.” 

Brennan realized she’d been pacing. She crossed to where Booth sat and balanced on the arm of his chair. He placed his hand on her lap, a small gesture of reassurance and protection.  

“Right, okay,” Dean said, clapping his hands together, “taking a knee, or whatever, is fine but the thing is, um, you’ve spoken with an angel, Booth. And, I mean, we have too, but not until after he took a vessel–a human form, I mean.”

“The guy in the trench coat, sure,” Booth said.

“Agent Booth,” Sam said, “it turns out that it’s an incredibly rare person who can communicate with an angel in their true form.”

“At least without burning their eyes out of their sockets,” Dean added. 

“It’s due to some complicated things about metaphysical markers and bloodlines. Sort of a one-in-a-million type thing. Actually, something like, one-in-12 million, from what the lore tells us.”

“So that explains why Castiel came to me for help.”

Brennan felt Booth collapse a bit as he spoke. The sense of rigidity and purpose she was so used to slacked from him a bit.

“It wasn’t my faith, it wasn’t even really that your bones came across my team, it was because I was one of the only people he could come to. Probably made sure those bones came my way, huh? So, this 1-in-12 million thing, and the demonic seal thing you mentioned...that got something to do with why you’re here now?”

Sam looked down, but Dean put his full and considerable attention on Booth. Brennan was taken aback, once again, by just how green and intense his eyes were. 

“Yes,” Dean answered, flatly. “Demons are planning to possess you, march your body down to the river, and slit your throat. Just one in a series of demonic rituals that they hope will start the apocalypse. Your Senator case was one of those too, by the way. And the thing with the lions at the zoo, but we stopped that one, thanks again, Doc.” 

Brennan blinked, "Booth is the holy vessel?”

“Well, he’s a holy vessel, and the demons seem to know that. So smart money has to assume they want to use you, G-man.”

Booth stood abruptly and took Brennan’s arm, guiding her toward the kitchen.

“We need a minute,” he hissed at the Winchesters.

Brennan blinked again and thought about the Senator, eyes burned out, smell of sulfur permeating the crime scene. Booth half-pulled her to the kitchen and she looked up in his face. His kind, beautiful face. His holy face…she didn't want the demons to come near it, to desecrate it. She felt her eyes welling up.

“It’s my fault,” Booth started, “I shut you down, shut you out. I didn’t want to know because I didn't want to be in it. Now I’m in it. You’ve looked at this stuff, you’ve maybe even worked with these guys, so, should I believe them?”

“Yes,” she didn’t hesitate. “Yes, they know what they’re talking about.”

“And if demons do this, if demons possess me and kill me, they might end the world?”

Brennan nodded.

“But if we stop that from happening, the world is saved?”

“No. There are other rituals, other things for them to try. But if we stop enough of them, then maybe…”

“Okay, then. Is there anything else you want to tell me before I go along with whatever it is these two are proposing?”

Brennan’s heart quickened. She took some deep, steadying breaths.

“Only that I do want that future with you, that life. I want to build something, Booth, really, I just, I want to make sure–”

“That future’s not filled with hellfire?”

She nodded again and suddenly Booth was kissing her, soft and warm. She wanted more but he pulled back, took her hand, and marched them both back into the living room.

It was a long, uncomfortable two days. Dean drew the short straw and was sequestered away with Booth in a shitty motel room they’d demon-proofed as best they could. Booth had agreed to go along with Plan A (hide Booth with charms, mojo-bags, sigils, the works; no vessel: no ritual). Booth had even agreed to Plan B (be prepared to fight off any demons that might come along) and had diligently learned the exorcism rite and loaded salt rounds into a shotgun. His only condition was that Brennan was sent out of town to avoid any crossfire. Sam was staying with her until the night of the ritual, then he would cover the spot (Plan C). This was in case the demons found another holy vessel to use. They’d stashed containers of holy water along the area and carved some Enochian sigils that weakened the power of demons, another stellar find from the doc. Sam promised Dean he’d only use Latin to exorcise any demons that showed up, but Dean couldn’t even bother with pretending to believe him.

Being stuck in a room with Captain America was its own kind of torture. Booth had questions but he was suspicious and proud and didn’t want anything from Dean, so he was a showoff and a pain in the ass the whole time. He was all righteous anger and restlessness. Which was kinda Dean’s thing, usually, but Booth was more annoying about it. He worked out every few hours, cleaned his weapons throughout the day, talked up old cases and even some war stories. He talked about bad men he’d arrested and tough cases he’d solved while doing shirtless chin-ups. Dean listened politely while eating chips. It was the kind of preening and chest-thumping that was meant to show Dean that Booth was no pussy, he could take care of himself, had been in the shit before and walked out again. Dean felt kinda bad for the guy. By all normal accounts the man was a hero, plain and simple. An all-American super cop, soldier-warrior, tall and handsome. But he was in Dean’s world now, and there were no heroes here. 

They knew the seal had to be broken when the moon was at the exact right angle in the sky, giving the demons a 2 minute window at 12:03am. It went against all of Dean’s instincts to let Sam stay at the river himself, but it’d have been flat-out stupid to bring Booth to the river or leave him unguarded, and it'd be an even dumber move not to cover the spot where it was supposed to go down. So they were approaching this job separately. Dean didn't like it, but he'd agreed to it. No other choice, really.

“Yeah, hey,” Dean said when Sam answered his call, a few hours shy of the ritual. “You all good there?”

“Yeah, Dr. Brennan pinpointed the site exactly, it’s about the alignment of the stars, so I’m right where I need to be,” Sam answered.

“Well, keep soft eyes, you never know what these sons of bitches might try to pull. You don’t think you should have the knife?” 

“No, Dean," Sam put so much venom in his name that they both knew this was about Sam's powers. "I think an out-and-out assault on you and the vessel are a lot more likely, so you should have it. I can do the exorcism rite if I have to. Or do you have something else you need to say to me?”

“Okay, whatever…just keep in contact. Kinda bothering me how quiet it’s all been.”

“Well, angels almost stopped the first seal and we did stop the second, maybe they gave it up? I mean, there are other seals they could focus on.”

“Yeah, maybe, but I’ll relax at 12:05.”

“Same,” Sam said.

Dean hung up and silently shook his head. What the hell is Sammy getting himself into? Dean had gone to hell for the kid, yet Sam still couldn't trust Dean's instincts.

“What knife does your brother not want?” Booth asked. The man was addicted to proving that Dean couldn’t get one over on him.

“Magic knife,” Dean said, pulling it out and showing him the blade, “Demons usually can’t be killed. This is one of the few exceptions.”

Booth looked at it for a long moment.

“So that’s Plan D, then? If a demon gets inside me, you stab me and kill the demon to stop the seal or whatever?” 

Dean shook his head, “No, that’s like, the exact opposite of a plan. The knife is for Plan B, fight off any demons that try to get at you.”

“You’re a damn good liar but we’re talking basic strategy here,” Booth said. 

“Look, if a demon possesses you, which it won’t, it’s still gotta get you into that river at the exact right time. Sam is waiting there, ready to do the exorcism. But if they get you there, which they won’t, and if Sam can’t do the exorcism, which he can, then, yeah, maybe. Maybe we’d use the knife. But it’s not a plan, it’s like, a fucked up final thing to try if all else fails.” 

“But to be clear, the knife does kill the person too? So any time you’ve used it, you’ve killed a human too, not just a demon?”

“Yeah,” Dean took a drink from his flask, “yeah, that’s how it works. But, see demons keep a body going. You shoot a possessed guy in the forehead he won’t even bleed. You can break every bone in the body and it’ll barely slow the thing down. The demon keeps it moving. But once the demon’s gone, well laws of physics apply again. And demons like to ride their host hard, it’s, I dunno, fun for them, I guess.”

“So you’re saying most humans die from the possession, might as well kill the demon and assume the poor bastard would have died anyway, huh?” Booth sneered.

Dean turned away. It kinda was what he was saying, but he didn’t want to be saying it.

“Nice justification,” Booth scoffed as he sat to clean his weapon again.

“You know, Henriksen was all-in the second he knew about demons.”

Booth’s face snapped up.

“He got possessed for, like, a minute when we were in that little Colorado lockup. Sam exorcised him and with almost no questions he joined the fight. We had over thirty demons surrounding that station. And uh, an option came up. Turns out there’s a spell that’ll kill all the demons within like a mile radius. We could have used it to kill the demons, wouldn't have harmed the bodies at all, so, thirty dead demons, thirty saved townsfolk.”

Dean’s mind went back to that night all those years ago. Ruby offering hope, then revealing the consequences. Dean remembered that sweet girl, Nancy, willing to lay down her life for everyone.

“Thing is, it required a sacrifice,” Dean took another drink. “The heart of a virgin. All we had to do to save 30 possessed townies and the agents and cops left in that station was cut out the heart of a virgin and say a few words of Latin.”

Sam had wanted to. He thought it was justified. Or, at least, he wanted to discuss it. That was the most scared Dean had ever been, before hell, that is. That his brother thought it was strength to pay a price in blood, it nearly killed Dean.

"Wasn’t even a question," he continued. "We weren’t gonna do that. Henriksen sounded like an old pro, refusing to sink to their level. So we came up with another way. It was messy, meant a higher body count, and we all knew that. Knew it might even be a total loss, but we were okay with that. So, we did it my way...and Henriksen, and the deputy and the sweet, innocent virginal secretary ended up dead after all. I told myself it was okay. We’d all agreed, you know? We all said we’d rather die than do some demonic sacrifice. But lately? I dunno, man.”

Dean took the knife out, looking at the blade.

“I’ve killed a lot of demons with this. A lot of people who might have lived to fight another day if I hadn’t. I stick to it because what choice do I have? But, honestly? I’m not sure that using this is so different from cutting out a girl’s heart to save the town. So, no, I’m gonna stab you in the heart if you get possessed…at least not until it’s too late to do anything else.”

Booth had listened to Dean’s story quietly. The bravado on display the last few days was gone. His shoulders were softer, more relaxed, and once again Dean felt sorry for the guy. Maybe he’d made peace with the fact that he was very likely to die tonight.

“I don’t like you much,” Booth said after a long pause. 

"Well, I'm an acquired taste," Dean said.

“I think you’re a liar, that you’ve done worse things than you claim. I think you’ve manipulated Bones and abused her sense of right and wrong to get information from her. Information you guys are too stupid or too lazy to figure out for yourself. Just in my gut I don’t trust that you’re this good, righteous man.”

Dean laughed, Booth had him on every count.

“But I’ve seen war. I know the choices we all have to make, the compromises we make with ourselves. I think you should use the knife when you need to and you can start worrying about the morality of it when you stop feeling bad about it.”

Dean laughed again, “Well that’s some Catholic nonsense, Agent Booth, but I appreciate the sentiment all the same.”

The hours and minutes came slowly now, every second felt like it pulled on, and on. Booth and Dean would exchange a few words here and there, then peter out. Dean asked if Booth wanted to play cards, but he didn’t play anymore. Recovering gambling addict. Figured. As they drew closer to allotted time, Dean felt he had to make a confession. 

“Hey, look, about what you said earlier, about me working Brennan for intel…I think I fucked up. She tracked us down to give us some really good information about what the demons were doing but I was in a shitty mood and, I um, I implied she could do more than just pass over some old prophecies. Kind of said she was a coward if she didn’t.”

“What, do actual demon hunting? You told Bones she could handle fighting demons? Are you insane?” Booth was pissed.

“No, I meant like, she could do more in the fight but I didn’t mean she should fight-fight. Not actual slash and kill type stuff. I just meant don’t wait until a case falls into her lap and then call us up, you know? Grab the lore and dig in. Or better yet, use your resources to preempt this shit. But, I think she thought I meant get out there and kill demons–”

“Of course she did! She doesn't know how to approach anything with tact! She once brought a 50 cal-500 with her when we were after a perp! She couldn’t even shoot straight, I had to trade with her!” 

“Oh shit,” Dean laughed at the thought of her hauling around that canon of a handgun, “No wonder she thought she could mix it up. Well I’m sorry, man, but you’re gonna have to keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn’t try to do something dumb.”

“Yeah, well I’ll add it to the list. She’s stubborn though. I mean she saw you get resurrected before her eyes. She heard the angel herself and still spent weeks trying to disprove it. She was reading about ancient indigenous tissue regeneration–”

“Wait, wait, stop–” Dean said, bolting up, “she heard Cas’s voice?”

“Not in a visitation like I did, no, just heard his proclamation when you woke up. He said, ‘Bear witness to the second miracle: Dean Winchester is saved.’”

“And she heard it?!” Dean jumped up.

“Yes! We both did, why?”

“Because if her ears didn’t melt off her fucking skull then she’s another holy vessel !” Dean was shouting. He checked the magazine in his gun and reloaded it.

Dean grabbed the coffee and end tables barricading the door and began tossing them aside.

“Stay here!” 

“Like hell! If you think they’re grabbing Bones, I’m coming!”

Dean caught Booth with the butt of his gun in the side of the head and the guy crumbled. He dragged Booth a few feet toward the far wall and handcuffed him to the exposed pipe.

“Sorry, G-Man,” Dean said as he tapped Booth’s face, “can’t have two vessels running around. You gotta sit tight.”

Chapter Text

Sam had demon-proofed the Fairfax townhouse that Brennan’s publisher graciously opened to her for a few days. He promised Booth he'd stay with Brennan for a up until he needed to be at his post along the river when the seal was to be broken. She had quite enjoyed her time with him, actually. She didn’t feel that unnerving mix of attraction, curiosity, and dread that she felt whenever she thought too hard about Dean. Part of her was relieved, it wasn’t the allure of magic and monsters that she found so tempting and fascinating, but part of her was worried that it meant she was genuinely interested in Dean on some level. Which was preposterous. She was with Booth, she loved Booth. Booth made her feel alive, and human, and whole. Dean Winchester was just this pretty, shining mystery, easy enough to put aside. 

Brennan had asked Sam when and why he and Dean started hunting. 

Sam was detached and factual in his response. Their mother was killed by a demon, a rather famous one she had actually read about in her studies (though she didn’t mention this to Sam). Their father witnessed the supernatural elements of her death and subsequently devoted his life to finding and killing any monster, spirit, or demon that harmed people. The reality of that life aligned with what she knew from Dean’s remains. The Winchesters had a hard life of grueling work and physical suffering, and as the years came on they simply took more and more pain and punishment. Not unlike Booth.

They spent most of their two days together discussing some of the more abstract concepts that Brennan had come across. Sam helped her to fill in the blanks about the different types of spirits, their styles of communication and interaction with the physical plane, and over wine they debated whether spirits could be described as having either sentience or free will. Sam gave her the names of some philosopher-hunters she may want to look up; he thought she’d be interested in their theories on how physical and spiritual planes overlapped.

The only time things got uncomfortable was when she asked him about Dean’s time in hell. Sam tensed and told Brennan she’d heard more about it than he had. She assured him that all he’d told her was that it was bad there.

“Do you know about hell,” he’d asked her, “what it does to a soul, I mean?”

“My area of study on it is very limited, but as I understand it, in addition to being a place of pain and suffering it eventually transforms the souls there into demons.”

“Exactly, it harms souls so completely, they actually become demons,” he said.

“Which satisfies the very question of hell’s existence. It exists to sustain its own existence, like most things.”

Sam laughed at her summary, “I guess I never thought of it like that. Do you think it’s possible a demon could come out of hell and still want human things?”

“I barely understand the motivations of humans, in fact, I often don’t. I don’t feel equipped to discuss the wants and needs of non-human entities.”

Sam was quiet at her response and Brennan was unsure if she’d offended him or not.

“What about repurposing their own weapons against them? Do you think that could work?”

“Possibly,” she answered carefully, “I’m new to this field of study but I have studied folklore of many cultures and that’s a common theme.”

“What, fighting evil with evil?” Sam asked.

“Yes.”

“So, what does the lore say?”

“I’m not sure you’ll like my answer,” she replied.

“Why’s that?”

“Because the lore shifts depending on the culture. Up until a few months ago I’d have explained that myths and folklore reveal more about a culture’s morality and priorities than about their history or lived experience, but now I understand it’s more complicated than that. Though, regardless of the truth, we all tend to emphasize what we believe to be important.”

Brennan waited for him to respond, when he didn’t she offered her interpretation.

“Some cultures don’t have a concept of intrinsic evil. So, fighting 'evil with evil' is nonsense. The act itself is without moral weight, its outcomes are what’s measured.”

Sam smiled, he seemed to like that concept, "The ends justify the means."

“More like the ends ascribe moral judgement to the means," she corrected, "But in other cultures, there's the idea that evil, or weapons or tools taken from evil entities will eventually corrupt whoever wields it. Now, I don’t know what answer you're hoping for, I don't know what decision you’re weighing, but I’ve come to learn that magic and metaphysics have structure. They have rules. So, if you truly understand the principles at play, maybe you can make an educated guess about the outcome.”

"Yeah, maybe. Seems like the rules are always hidden until after you've broken them, though."

They spent their final hours before Sam had to leave discussing some Palaeosyrian myth fragments uncovered by Brennan's friend. Sam had insight that would push the field of study forward decades, but Brennan could hardly call up her academic colleagues and inform them that the writings referred to the hallucinatory state induced by a djinn while it fed on the victim’s life force.

Sam left her to her devices and she found herself thinking once again about Dean Winchester's skeletal remains. She understood now that ligaments had tore away from the bone in certain places due the repetitive nature of grave digging. His skull had sustained numerous concussions over the years, she wondered whether or not he'd been partially deaf prior to his resurrection. As the time for the seal breaking came closer, she checked in with Booth again. So far everything had been mundane. No demons had come anywhere near them, and Dean and Booth were ready if any did. 

After numerous assurances from Booth that he would call her the minute they passed the time for the ritual, she hung up and turned to her writings. She reassured herself again that the most likely outcome was that the demons had abandoned this attempt. They knew their holy vessel was guarded, they knew that both angels and Winchesters were protecting the seals. It was the most logical thing, there were hundreds of other seals demons could turn to instead. 

She settled into the armchair, turning again to the cryptic writings about Bronze Age djinn. And then her world exploded. 

She was on the floor. Glass, wood, drywall surrounded her. There were plaster and pieces of furniture fluttering through the air. Brennan heard a ringing in her ears and took a moment to piece together what happened. A car had crashed through the wall. It hit the table behind Brennan, pushing it into the couch and knocking her to the floor. As she deciphered that, she noticed a man standing above her. He lifted her by the wrist and tore the anti-possession charms from her hand.

Thick, black smoke billowed from the man and went to her face. It was like being suffocated. She was breathing just fine, but her own sense of self, her own brain was being smothered beneath the smoke. Her last conscious thought was: Dean was right, I wasn't ready for this.  

“It's Brennan!! It's gonna be Brennan!!” Dean shouted as Sam answered his phone.

“What?? She’s been possessed?” 

Sam sat up, he was concealed about a hundred yards from the ritual site, keeping a close watch.

“Gotta assume, yeah. Can’t get through to her, and Booth says she heard Cas’s voice as clear as he did!”

“And nobody thought to mention that?! So much for her being a genius!”

“I know, right? Be ready, man. They’ll have gone with a demon that can zap in there, and I’m sure she’ll have back up. I’m like two minutes out.”

Sam checked his watch. Dean had the knife, Sam had holy water, salt rounds for his shotguns, and a megaphone. Low tech, but they hoped it’d be effective if he needed to do an exorcism.

“Where’s Booth?” Sam asked.

“I left him cuffed to a wall, but doubt it’ll hold for long.”

“The last thing we need is another vessel walking around, hopefully it slows him enough.”

The Impala roared onto the scene. Sam stuffed his supplies into his duffel and went to meet Dean by the river’s edge. 

“Where is she?”

“I dunno, I guess the demons are waiting until the last second, less of a chance we can stop it.”

Just then Sam was hit square in the back with something that made him freeze to the spot. He seized up and fell to the ground, gasping for breath. He saw Dean reach for the knife but get telekinetically pushed back and held right above the river’s edge.

“I know, I know,” Brennan’s voice came from behind him, “a taser is so impersonal, but since you’re immune to my abilities and Dr. Psycho had this on her, I thought it’d be more fun. This way, you can see your brother die.”

Brennan flipped Sam over. As he reached out an arm, trying to concentrate on expelling her, she delivered a powerful kick to his head. Sam saw pinpricks of light as his vision blurred.

Brennan was starting to come round. It was like looking at a television screen two rooms away, craning your neck to get a glimpse through a crack in the door and down a hallway. It was distant but she could hear it all very clearly.

“Get out of her right now! I’m going to kill you, you evil bitch,” Dean threatened, from somewhere far away. 

The demon turned Brennan’s eyes toward him and she thought the threat was somewhat undercut by the fact he was dangling helplessly over the water.

“Where’s Booth?” the demon asked, “figured he’d come running to save his one true love.”

Brennan focused as best she could on what the demon was saying and thinking. It wasn’t trying to kill her, it was still planning to kill Booth. The ritual wasn’t about spilling the blood of a holy vessel...it was about possessing a holy vessel and killing their loved one. They needed Brennan and Booth.

“Sorry,” Dean’s voice said, shockingly calm and steady for a man about to die, “I left G-man at home.”

They can’t do the ritual, Brennan thought, tucked away in her own little mental prison, without Booth they can’t do it. She could have kissed the ground that the Winchesters walked on. They’d stopped the seal from breaking, but more importantly they’d saved Booth. They might even save her.

The demon looked at Dean, hesitated a moment, then grabbed him by the collar and dragged him onto the river. Brennan couldn’t move her head to look down, but she felt the river as firm beneath her feet. The demon was walking on water, dragging Dean behind her.

“Ritual calls for the vessel to sacrifice the guiding force of their life,” the demon said, lifting Dean up in front of Brennan’s face, “that’s Agent Pious, obviously. But little Ms. No-One-Ever-Loved-Me-Enough has very complicated feelings about you, Winchester. I think it’s the bones. She's hot for them. Held them, imagined what it meant to live your life, so she thinks she knows you, which in her fucked up little world means she thinks she loves you.”

Dean laughed, “Well she’s a genius but she’s an idiot. She doesn’t know me and she sure as hell doesn’t love me. If you need the person she loves to break the seal, you’re one federal agent shy.”

“Yeah,” the demon said, “that’s probably true. But we’re nearly outta time, so it’s worth a shot…and either way, a dead Winchester is a dead Winchester…”

The demon drew a knife and began speaking Latin. Brennan was fully present now, watching and feeling everything. The demon had either let her out to see it all unfold or was so focused on the ritual it forgot to suppress her down further. 

Quicker than she’d have believed, Dean drew a knife from somewhere and slashed at the hand that held him. The demon felt the sting, worse than it expected. A creature that was used to shaking off bullets and blunt force didn’t understand why the knife hurt, and in the pain and the confusion Brennan seized her opportunity. With all her will she tried to take control and release both Dean and the knife. It happened in a second and the demon regained control almost immediately, but not before Brennan had let go. 

Dean was in the water already 5 yards away, swimming downstream. 

The demon seethed.

“Bones!!” Booth's voice cut across the water and the demon said a small prayer of thanks to Lucifer. 

Brennan’s heart would have stopped if she was in control of it. No, please! God, Castiel, anyone! Save him! She screamed, raged, pleaded for Booth to run, but the demon held Brennan there, helplessly. 

Now you get to see me rip out his heart , the demon taunted her.

It marched to where Booth stood. Sam Winchester was trying to flip himself around still, the demon hesitated. It had seconds, maybe, to complete the ritual. As it stood there, Booth began to recite the rite of exorcism. Before he'd gotten off three words, the demon clamped its hand around Booth’s face. Brennan felt bones beginning to crack under the pressure as the demon dragged him back toward the water again.

Suddenly the demon felt pain. It wasn’t Brennan’s body that hurt but the demon inside. Steam rose off her body and the demon snapped around toward the assault. 

Dean stood there, wet, exhausted, and flinging holy water. 

With a flick of her hand she launched Dean back into the Potomac, and turned back to Booth again. 

“You’re done,” Sam said. He was standing now. He closed his eyes and raised his hand and Brennan felt the demon being crushed. 

It raged against Sam but slowly it receded from Brennan’s mind. As it did, images and feelings flashed. She was experiencing it’s death-thoughts. She saw hellfire, demonic smoke, and a series of images. An old church somewhere, Sam with black eyes, Dean with angelic light surrounding him. It was hard to tell, everything was so jumbled, but Brennan thought maybe the demon was happy that Sam was killing it like this.

Slowly Brennan regained use of her body, her knees, her hips, her arms, her head. She found herself on the ground, on all fours, panting for air. Booth grabbed her, kissed her, held her, whispered a thousand I-love-you’s. 

Dean, drenched and panting with exhaustion, joined the group again. As tired as he was, he looked at his brother with anger and repressed violence.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Sam said, “we can talk later.”

Brennan looked at Sam. She’d spent the better part of two days with him and had never heard that tone before. It was an octave deeper than normal.

Booth pulled Brennan closer to him and began shouting at Dean.

“I should lock you up for that stunt! You gave me a concussion!”

“Plan A: keep you out of it,” Dean said simply, “sorry about the concussion, though.”

“You nearly got her killed!”

“Because you two neglected to mention that Dr. Brennan heard the angels too,” Sam said. “We saved the seal, with a zero-body count. It’s about as big a win as we get in this game.”

Brennan let herself fall into Booth’s arms. He was alive. Booth was alive! Demons had targeted him, her, both of them. Destiny or fate or a million bits of chance all aligned to bring Booth and Brennan together and here they stood, still, protecting not just one or two victims, but all of humanity. They stopped a seal from breaking! Another roadblock in the demons' plans! Brennan broke into a smile.

“I love you,” she whispered to Booth and he kissed her.

“Look at that, a match made in heaven,” Dean said, “a two-in-twelve-million chance thing, right here!”

“Actually for probability you multiply the denominator, so it’s really a one-in-one-hundred-and-forty-four-quattuordecillion chance that we’re together,” Brennan said.

“My girlfriend is so smart,” Booth said, as he kissed her again.

“Oh, and not to impugn the victory but the townhouse my publisher lent to me has been destroyed. A truck drove through the wall and there may be a body at the scene.”

“Still a low body count, I’m taking the win,” Dean said, “You two all good? I’d like to get the hell out of Dodge before our cover is blown and Booth winds up in federal lockup alongside us.”

“Yeah, yeah, I can handle the truck thing,” Booth said, standing and shaking Sam and Dean’s hands.

“Thank you,” he continued, “I wasn’t ready before. Didn’t want to face up to all this and thought I could go back, but um, we’re in it, I guess, one-in-a hundred quberillion or whatever…”

“One-in-one-hundred-and-forty-four-quattuordecillion,” Brennan corrected.

“Well I don’t think you need to quit your day jobs, but, uh, you know, keep an open line. Come on, Sammy,” Dean slapped his brother’s arm and they turned to go.

“Wait!” Brennan jumped up, she crossed to Dean and kissed him gently on the cheek, she spoke softly, a private moment between them. 

“The demon wasn’t exactly wrong. I’m, I mean, I do care about you, but not like that. I’ve spent my life looking at bones and reading the journey they endured. I know how far you’ve come already, before even the first half of your destiny, or whatever this is. I don’t know, I guess I feel a certain sense of responsibility toward you.”

Dean laughed, “Well, don’t, I’ll be just fine.”

“Do you know the Myth of Er?”

He shook his head.

“Er was a great warrior, he died in battle. Ten days later he awoke on his funeral pyre, describing his journey in the afterlife. He told everyone how souls choose their next reincarnation. He said that those who had done wickedness and suffered hell, tended to choose humble, good lives. While those who had known the delights of heaven committed vicious acts upon their rebirth.”

“Er, huh? I’ll have to look him up.”

“Booth and I will help you as best we can. You stopped two seals this week, maybe there is hope.” 

Dean smiled and looked at his brother. Whatever magic or weapon Sam had used to kill the demon was the tool he’d asked Brennan about, that was clear. And it was very clear that Dean was worried about it.

“Thanks, doc, we’ll be in touch.”

Booth held Bones against him the whole drive to the Fairfax townhouse, where they lied through their teeth about a drunk driver. He held her the whole ride back to her apartment, where they drank heavily. He held her as they showered together, kissed her every moment he could. Booth didn’t have to trust the angels. He didn’t have to worry about the demons. Bones was his, and he was hers. Sculpted from the same heavenly substance, two holy vessels, and Booth knew that they were destined to be united as one. And he couldn't wait to present some toned-down version of that to Sweets and tell him suck it.