AUTHOR'S NOTES: I know that in the canon episode 'Heaven and Hell' there's the big fight between the angels and demons, but as big fight scenes aren't something I'm that great at, I decided to forgo that scene.
Waking up, Fiona noticed that she was curled up across Sam's bare chest with his right arm wrapped around her protectively. There was an old blanket over them and when Fiona started to get up, Sam woke as well. "Hey," he said, looking worried as he watched Fiona get dressed. "You okay?"
Fiona nodded as she pulled her bra and panties back on before grabbing her shirt and jeans. "Hey… I need to do something. Can you and Dean…? I wouldn't go, but… it's important."
"Yeah, don't worry about it," Sam assured her, although he was curious about what could possible tear Fiona away now. As he pulled his jeans back on, he hurried forward and took Fi gently by the elbow. "Hey… You sure you're okay?"
Fiona didn't respond but she put a hand on Sam's chest and gave him a quick kiss before leaving quickly.
The airline flight back to DC flew by and as soon as she got back, Fiona stopped at the first diner she found and ordered the biggest steak on the menu, devouring it with gusto. When she was done, she would call Gibbs and have him help her with transporting her father's body to a secluded wooded spot.
3 hours later, her father's body laid upon a funeral pyre, Fiona showered him with rock salt and lighter fluid before flicking her lighter and tossing it onto the ground, next to the pile of dry wood. The flames caught quickly and as Fiona stepped back to join Gibbs, she looked down at the dog tags she held in her hand. She hadn't thought about keeping them but thinking about how it might be a way to hold on to him, she'd slipped them off her father's neck.
Beside Fiona, Gibbs watched the flames consume James Brendon. He remembered the three of them—Jethro, James, and John—fighting together in the Marines, laughing as they shared pictures and stories of their children while on leave.
And when Shannon and Kelly died, both men had made a beeline for his house, staying with him until certain that their friend wasn't going to kill himself out of grief.
Looking over at Fiona, Gibbs saw that though her expression was stoic, there were silent tears running down her face. Reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket, he pulled out a knife with a deer antler handle, tucked in a sheath. Wordlessly, he turned and handed it to Fiona.
Before taking the knife, Fiona wiped her eyes and when she withdrew the knife from the sheath, her eyes widening as she recognized it as the knife Dean had given her. "How did you…?" With dawning realization, she said, "You took this from the evidence lock-up? Gibbs, you shouldn't have done that."
"Not going to do much good sitting in Evidence," Gibbs replied with a slight shrug. Meeting Fiona's eyes, he added, "But in your hands…"
Fiona looked down at the knife, wondering how she would feel knowing that this was the blade than had ended her father's life. But it was cleaned of blood and the silver was shining. In that moment, she made herself and her father a promise, that she would use this knife to kill the demon who killed him.
Turning to Gibbs who was gazing at her with a father's love, Fiona sheathed the knife and stuck it in her belt. "You know I'm leaving, right? With Sam and Dean? I have to."
"I know," Gibbs replied, nodding. He hated the idea of maybe never seeing Fiona again, but he also understood her need to leave. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he knew why it was so hard for him to let Fiona go. She was everything he'd hoped Kelly would become. But like a father letting go of a daughter, Gibbs knew that Fiona needed to go in order to complete the task set before her.
As if sensing Gibbs' thoughts, Fiona hugged him and whispered, "I love you, Gibbs." Pulling away, she added, "Thank you—for being there for me."
Gibbs could only nod as Fiona turned away, hoping that he wouldn't lose his goddaughter the way he'd lost Kelly.
Back at her townhouse, Fiona was surprised when she found Ziva sitting in the living room. "Thought you'd be checking in at NCIS," Fiona replied, tossing her jacket onto a chair.
"I wanted to talk to you first," Ziva replied, following Fiona into the kitchen and accepting the beer she offered before sitting at the kitchen counter. After a moment, she said, "On the way back from Pamela's house I had time to do some thinking. About what you and the Winchesters do and everything that has happened." Meeting Fiona's eyes, she added, "I think I should come with you. I think that being a hunter is better use for my abilities than being a federal agent or a Mossad officer."
Fiona considered that for a moment as she sipped her beer. But after a while, she said, "Ziva… Until I was 18, hunting was my whole life. I never really knew anything else. And then I became a Marine and the idea of going back to hunting seemed unreal." Shrugging, she went on. "My point is… the only thing I remember ever being able to really hold onto was my family. Ziva, you would make a great hunter. Anyone would be a fool if they didn't recognize that."
Setting her beer down she added, "But if you have something—anything—to hold onto here… then you should stay. This life doesn't allow for putting down roots, Ziva. I'm sorry. And if you come with Sam, Dean, and I… you'll lose what you have here." With a sarcastic smile she said, "Hunters aren't know for working inside the law. You'd be on the run. And trust me—credit card fraud isn't as fun as it sounds."
Ziva hadn't considered that, but as she thought about it, she knew that Fiona was right. But as she considered the notion, Ziva smiled. "You are right," she admitted. When Fiona raised an eyebrow as if saying 'And?', Ziva went on. "Besides… I am sure hunters could use some assistance from law enforcement every now and then, yes?"
Smiling and giving Ziva a nod, Fiona tilted the top of her beer bottle towards her. After the two toasted, Fiona said, "I think this could work out very nicely indeed."
Dean Winchester was no stranger to dodging bullets. But surviving getting between demons and angels? That was like dodging a damn strafing. With the angels gone for the moment and Alastair sent God only knew where, Sam and Dean had just split, stopping just inside the Virginia state line.
Leaning against the Impala, a beer in his hand, Dean said, "I can't believe we made it out of there."
"No kidding," Sam replied, before he and Dean toasted with their beer bottles, even though the gesture was half-hearted.
After a drink of his beer, Dean sighed. After a long pause, he said, "I know you heard him."
"Who?" Sam said, knowing full well who Dean meant. But Dean was finally opening up and he would let his brother do that in his own way.
"Alastair," Dean replied, knowing that Sam had heard everything. "What he said, about how I had promise."
"I heard," Sam admitted, and even though he wanted so much to ask Dean about it, he wouldn't.
"You're not curious?' Dean asked, surprised that he wasn't being hit with a barrage of questions.
"Dean, I'm damn curious," Sam replied. Remembering what his brother had said before, he added, "But if you're not talking about Hell, then I'm not pushing."
At first Dean didn't want to say anything. He just wanted to keep everything inside but at the same time, he wanted to get this… this thing out of him. It was something dark and just seemed to eat away a little more each day. After a while, he said, "It wasn't four months, you know."
Sam looked sharply at his brother, not sure what Dean was talking about. "What?"
Not quite sure how to explain, Dean just started talking, trying not to let the memories overwhelm him again like they had back at the barn. "It was four months up here, but down there… I don't know. Time's different. It was more like 40 years."
40 years… The words seemed to echo in Sam's head and he felt guilty for not trying harder to save Dean from the deal… for not doing more to try and pull him out of the Pit… "My God…" was all Sam could say.
Remembering everything that had happened, Dean went on. "They sliced and… carved… and tore at me in ways you…" He couldn't explain. He could never make Sam understand what he'd been through. "Until there was nothing left," he finished. But not really… "And then suddenly I would be whole again. Like magic. Just so they could start in all over." It was strange, Dean thought. Even just talking about it, he could almost feel the knives and blades slicing into him all over again.
"And Alastair, at the end of every day—every one—he would come over and he would make me an offer," Dean went on. At that, Sam looked at Dean, wondering what kind of offer the demon might have given.
Thinking of every day in Hell, Dean kept talking. He didn't feel better, sharing this with Sam. It actually made him feel worse. "An offer… to take me off the rack if I put souls on. If I started the torture." The first few years it had been easy to refuse. Dean had believed so strongly that Sam would save him, had known that someone would come to his rescue. "And every day I told him to stick it where the sun shines."
And suddenly, Dean felt himself break all over again as he admitted, "For 30 years, I told him. But then I couldn't do it anymore, Sammy. I couldn't." He remembered that day as clear as anything.
"Enough," Dean whispered, eyes closed, his very essence weakened. "Enough… I'll do it."
And suddenly, Dean was off the rack and standing before a young woman with brown hair. He knew her and he saw the pleading in her eyes as he raised the blade in his hand. "I'm sorry, Bela." When he brought the blade down, cutting her, something twisted inside gave a pleasurable squirm.
But Bela was only the first of thousands…
"The things I did to them…" Dean choked out, tears falling down his face.
Sam wanted desperately to give his brother some comfort. "Dean." Sam cursed the choke in his voice and cleared his throat, starting again. "Dean, you held out for 30 years. That's longer than anyone would have." But Sam knew it was empty words. He knew that no matter what he said, nothing could make Dean feel better.
Dean couldn't even bring himself to feel embarrassed about crying in front of his brother. All he felt inside was the pain and emptiness. Sobbing, he ran a hand over his face as he shook his head and said, "How I feel… inside me… I wish I couldn't feel anything, Sammy. I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing."
It was a long time before Sam found his voice. "Dean… I don't know what I can say to help, but… I do know that I'm here because of you. That should count for something."
Dean sniffed and wiped the tears from his eyes. It did count for something. The fact that Sam was still with him… it was the only thing that kept him going these days.
When Sam and Dean got back to DC and Fiona's townhouse, they were surprised to find her old Marine duffle stuffed to bursting and sitting on the couch next to the box which contained the sword Dean had given her a week ago. God, had it really only been a week since they'd fist arrived?
"Fiona?" Sam said, loudly, looking around.
"Hey," Fiona replied, coming into the room from the basement holding a bag which clattered when she dropped it on the floor. "I'll be ready to go in a bit, guys."
"Go where?" Sam asked, a bit puzzled.
"With you and Dean," Fiona replied, as if the answer were obvious. Seeing the brothers about to protest, she said, "Look, I'm going with you whether you like it or not."
"Fine by me," Dean said with a shrug. "Sammy?"
But Sam looked doubtful as he said, "Are you sure? You don't have to do this."
"It's time," Fiona said, grabbing her duffle and weapons. "Besides, I already sold my car and Ziva's moving in here to keep an eye on the place."
After a while, Sam just nodded as he said, "Alright." Taking the duffle from Fi, he headed out to the Impala and tossed the bag in the trunk next to Dean's and dropped the bag of knives and guns in beside it, tucking the NCO sword along the side of the trunk.
"You want shotgun?" Dean asked, holding the front passenger door open for Fiona.
"No," Fiona replied, grinning as she snatched the keys from Dean. "But I'll drive."
Sam laughed as Fiona got behind the wheel and Dean begrudgingly sat in the back. After getting in the passenger seat, Sam thought he would die laughing as Fi started the engine and set the radio for a local country music station.
"Oh, come on!" Dean protested as Fiona backed out of the drive way.
"House rules, Dean," Sam quoted, still grinning. "Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole."
"And backseat can kiss my ass," Fiona added, as she pointed the Impala westward and hit the gas, making for the interstate.
A/N: While this is the end of this story, I hope you will join me with the continuing adventures of Sam, Dean, and Fiona in a story to be called: 'And Fi Makes Three'.