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More Yuletide goodness: well, this one is very dark, but it’s the Sarah Connor Chronicles; it’s not going to be sunshine and kittens. Tell Me How This Ends.
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meret
Double Cross Dean/Dee
Samantha being dead had been like having the air sucked out of the world and replaced with ice, every breath hurting so bad Dee thought—hoped—she’d turn into a pile of shredded flesh just from trying to keep going. Drowning in her failure, so turned around that the Crossroad Demon’s kiss had tasted sweet as spring water.
Samantha being gone—well, that was pretty fucking bad, no doubt about it. But it wasn’t pegging the dial just yet, not while Samantha’s guy version was working on a way to get Dee back to her rightful place.
So a little roll in the dirt with the dick version of herself was a good distraction. Better when she tripped him, letting him—yeah, letting him, nobody watching would have said different—pull her down on top, moving from fighting to fucking in the time it took to kick GigantoGuy Sam out of the room (though something told her he didn’t entirely want to go; more for her, later).
It was all just treading water until she could get back, because as scared as she was of Castiel and his unending preaching about her mission, she was going to stand with Sam until Hell rose up and Heaven fell down and they crushed her in between.
forcryptoxin
One of the 66 seals from SPN is in Metropolis. Lex has it and he intends to keep it. (Note: I had to ignore SV’s timeline to make this work; I presume everyone’s okay with that.)
The thieves on the floor, hands pressed to the backs of their necks, were innocuous enough. Substantially less well-equipped than the average miscreants who made moves on LuthorCorp’s vaults, which might account for why they’d tripped the silent alarm before getting any further than the first set of security measures. Mercy was supervising the guards, two to an intruder, guns unholstered and ready.
“Out of curiosity,” Lex asked, squatting down next to the bigger one, who was looking at the floor with a completely justified rueful expression, “what were you looking for?”
“Heard you had the first issue of Playboy,” the other one said, and the bigger one rolled his eyes, saving Lex the necessity.
The man twitched his head, but his bangs were still in his eyes and Lex didn’t feel the need to make him any more comfortable. He was huge, Lex noticed, easily as big as—He shook his head and waited for the thief to speak.
The thief cleared his throat. “This is going to sound crazy, but—you have an artifact that can be used to do a lot of damage. We’re here to, uh, protect it.”
“Which one?” Lex asked, because this was a better-than-average story, if a worse-than-average theft.
“Which one?” the other thief repeated, sounding miffed. “Dude, how many glowing crystals covered with runes do you have?”
“Total or just in present inventory?” Lex asked. “Search them, take any weapons and communications devices, and bring them into my office,” he told Mercy, rising and heading towards the exit.
Finally, something interesting.
forladydey
SV - Lex/Clark, "You didn't have to hide from me that you were sick"
Near the end, Lex returns to Smallville.
It’s been three generations and four identities since he’s lived in the mansion. The townspeople actually think it’s haunted, though Lex suspects that’s just the result of kids triggering various security measures over the years.
The Kent farm is a memory, a plat on the map drowned under a sea of hybrid supersoybeans, LuthorCorp’s latest technology. Lex drives out—he will never get used to these electric motors, silent and smooth—and pulls to the shoulder when he’s as near as he can get using the roads. Then he walks through acres of soybeans. Back when this was corn, he would have been lost, the tasseled heads taller than he was, but now he is a giant; the plants come only to his knees.
When he stops, he doesn’t need to check his comms to know he’s come to the right place.
He’s only been standing for ten or fifteen minutes when Superman touches down, so gently that not a leaf trembles.
No one who didn’t already know would notice the hesitation, like Clark isn’t quite sure where to put his feet.
They don’t say anything. Eventually, Lex decides that Clark is waiting for him, which is possibly a first. “You didn’t have to hide from me that you were sick,” he says.
Clark swallows. The Superman illusion that hides his real face wavers, then disappears. Clark, unlike Superman, has lost muscle, and the shape of his face has changed, thin where it used to be full. “I’m not sick, Lex. I’m just old.”
Lex looks over at where the barn used to be.
“It won’t be long now,” Clark says, as if he knows that Lex is trying not to think about it. “I’d like—I want to spend this time with someone who knows me.”
“Don’t you have any friends left?” Lex’s voice is cruel; he knows Clark is invulnerable.
“Just one,” Clark says softly, and it cuts worse than Lex’s taunts ever could.
Lex closes his eyes. “Just because you think you’re dying, it doesn’t change anything.”
“Please, Lex.” Did Clark ever ask him for things? It’s hard to remember, but Lex seems to recall demands of one sort or another. He doesn’t remember ‘please.’ “Take me home.”
If he does this, it will break the one part of him that never, in all these years, has been broken. He feels the black hole inside of him pulse, dark energy bleeding off of him. He feels pain, and it’s the first thing he’s felt in years.
“My car’s this way,” he says, gesturing. They walk back together, two old men in the world they made, and Lex pretends that they will never reach the edge of the field.
Forcellia
Dean/Castiel (or gen with Dean and Castiel), hierarchy
“What’s that mean, Anna bein’ your boss? You get promoted when she left?”
Dean hadn’t exactly meant to ask. Ever since they’d played Above and Below off one another, Castiel had been a lot less friendly, like Dean had welshed on a debt or something. But here the angel was in their motel room, hanging around without any particular orders to deliver, and Dean had to say something or he’d go nuts.
Castiel looked at him, as direct as a little kid and twice as incomprehensible. “Unlike humans, the orders of angels are fixed. Anna was a Principality, one of the Elohim. She was a ruler, a leader, responsible for overseeing groups and carrying out the orders of the Dominions.”
“When she Fell, did you—did she ask you to come?”
Castiel shook his head. “It was not something she discussed. I was—surprised. I had not known she doubted.”
“I don’t think she doubted,” Dean said, because he’d been thinking about what they’d both said to him, first Castiel and then Anna—if that was still her name. “I think she disagreed.”
Castiel sat down on the bed, beside Dean. Dean thought about shifting his weight away, but he wasn’t up for the deliberate insult. “That is a fine distinction, and not one I would have expected you to make.”
Dean hadn’t known how much that would sting. He knew he wasn’t the brains of the operation, but Cas had seemed to respect what he had to say, before. He rubbed his thumb against his ring, spinning it on his finger.
“I have upset you,” Castiel said, sounding confused. “I did not mean to. It is only that your doubts about God’s presence in your life and your refusal to accept God’s mission have always been one.”
Dean shrugged. “You can follow orders without thinkin’ they’re right.”
Castiel draped his hands over his splayed knees, oddly graceful in his otherwise awkward body. “Perhaps. We are not as adept as humans at--distinguishing belief from action. It is our strength, and our weakness. To follow a directive is to believe in its rightness.”
Dean looked up and met his eyes at last. “Maybe that’s the problem. If God only talks to a couple of angels, and they only talk to other angels, by the time it gets down to us it’s all screwed up, and you guys don’t ever talk back unless it’s on your way out the door.”
The angel smiled, and it was the saddest Dean had ever seen him look. “I am afraid, Dean. I am afraid that if I protest, I will discover that there is no one listening.”
Dean couldn’t figure out why, but he wanted to make Castiel feel better. “I am,” he said, knowing it was stupid, given how little he mattered.
Castiel reached out and touched Dean’s jaw. His fingertips were dry and cool, and Dean closed his eyes against the sensation. “I know,” Castiel said. “In all of this, it is the one consolation I have found.”
When Castiel kissed him, stiff and clumsy, Dean opened his mouth and grabbed Castiel’s shoulders, right where the wings ought to be. Dean was pretty sure this wasn’t part of Castiel’s assignment. That was the only reason he could stand how gentle Castiel’s hands were, how careful.
God couldn’t love him, not after what he’d done. But even angels must have some room to maneuver. Dean was falling, every waking moment. If Castiel could dive to catch him, maybe he could keep fighting just a while longer.
for a lurker
Dr. Luthor closed the door, then stepped into the corner, beneath the camera. He looked up and tossed something like a magnet attached to a string. It wrapped around the camera’s body and Clark saw a brief surge of electrical activity.
“Come on,” Dr. Luthor said. “We only have four minutes until the surveillance program will detect repetition in the feed and sound the alarm.”
“What?”
“We’re getting out of here.”
Clark didn’t repeat his question, but he still had it. Dr. Luthor had never shown him an ounce of compassion, never responded to his attempts at conversation. The first day he’d shown up, Clark had heard him in the hallway—that was before the lead shielding, before things had gotten really bad instead of just lonely—talking about the scientific bonanza that ‘the subject’ represented.
Maybe Dr. Luthor had sold him to someone else, and this was an act of corporate espionage. He was Lionel Luthor’s son, but stranger things had happened in families.
If there was anything the past six months had taught Clark, it was that the situation could always get worse, in ways Clark was unable to predict. “Why?” he asked. He didn’t like having meteor rocks shoved into his skin every day so they could get their samples and their data. But if Dr. Luthor couldn’t even come up with a comforting lie, Clark wasn’t going anywhere with him.
Dr. Luthor stared at the door as if he was trying to develop X-ray vision himself. “Because the current research plan anticipates switching to postmortem examination in less than ten days.”
Yeah, so ‘worse’ had definitely made the agenda. “But why help me escape?”
Dr. Luthor looked him in the eyes, for the first time that Clark could remember. “Because you’ve only ever asked about the safety and well-being of your friends back home. Because I’ve spent my nights reading about all the lives you saved back in Smallville. But mostly because my father has ruined enough good in the world for twelve lifetimes, and much to my own surprise, I was still able to recognize true goodness when I finally found it.” His eyes were ice-blue, and reminded Clark of the way the sky got when a big storm was coming and the whole world seemed filled up with wind and the promise of rain.
Clark felt himself getting red, the way he always did; you’d think being a lab rat would have burnt the embarrassment out of him, but it hadn’t happened. “You’ll have to hide from him, too,” Clark pointed out. Lionel Luthor wasn’t the type to let something like blood relation deter him from vengeance.
Dr. Luthor looked at him like he was an idiot. It was still an improvement from what the others did: like he was a dog that could, fortunately, respond to basic commands. “Of course,” he said. “You wouldn’t last five minutes without me. Now stop delaying and get moving.” As he spoke, all the lights went out and Clark heard the distinctive click of the door lock disengaging. “Take my arm and guide us out,” Dr. Luthor continued as if he hadn’t even noticed. “I’ll give you directions, you just keep us from running into any walls.”
Clearly, Dr. Luthor was planning to continue giving orders. Clark thought he could probably live with that.
forjakrar
SV: Clark/Lex -- Against all expectations, Lex saves the world.
“Hunh,” Flash said. “How about them apples?”
Clark glared at him. Lex wasn’t the Joker, interested only in forcing others to feel pain; he wasn’t Grodd or one of Flash’s nastier playmates, selfishly desiring to destroy if they couldn’t control. He was Lex Luthor, and he would have said to anyone who’d listen that there was no point being a natural ruler without a world to rule.
Flash ignored Clark’s glower, though, and sped off, doubtless to check the refrigerator. Flash was big on snacking after a successful conclusion to a crisis. He always said that there was no telling when the next problem would break out, so you might as well fill up early.
“Flash isn’t wrong,” Batman said from behind him. Clark suppressed the urge to turn around. He thought it made Bruce feel better to be unseen. Instead, he put his hands on the viewscreen, as if it was just a window to the space outside, and watched the stars. “Luthor is going to try to use this, at least. Leak it to the public, paint himself as some sort of savior.”
“Technically, he is some sort of savior,” Clark pointed out. “I’m pretty sure that when you save the world, you get to call yourself a savior.” But Bruce was wrong about the PR move. Understandable: Bruce had a particular way of dealing with ordinary people, and it didn’t include publicity that went beyond gossip blogs. Clark, who was the ultimate in embedded journalists, knew better. Lex wouldn’t leak the story because it was so incredible that he’d look like a megalomaniac with delusions of superherodom.
No, Lex would just go home, throw an expensive item through another expensive item, and write off the destroyed space station in some way that came within two molecules of constituting tax fraud but didn’t quite get there.
The others were already involved in the cleanup and the post-mission reports. Diana had proved an intimidating taskmaster; even Clark tried to avoid her ‘reminders’ that vital data had yet to be entered into the League’s computerized event tracking system.
He didn’t want to be here, where it was all so ordinary, just another day at the edge of survival. He wanted to be with someone who was still reeling from being alive, amazed at what they’d been able to do when there was no other choice.
He wanted to be with Lex, he realized. Tonight, Lex wouldn’t try to kill him. Lex would let him in and rant at him and try not to listen when Clark gave his thanks.
Tonight, Clark thought, that could be enough.
For
meretDouble Cross Dean/Dee
Samantha being dead had been like having the air sucked out of the world and replaced with ice, every breath hurting so bad Dee thought—hoped—she’d turn into a pile of shredded flesh just from trying to keep going. Drowning in her failure, so turned around that the Crossroad Demon’s kiss had tasted sweet as spring water.
Samantha being gone—well, that was pretty fucking bad, no doubt about it. But it wasn’t pegging the dial just yet, not while Samantha’s guy version was working on a way to get Dee back to her rightful place.
So a little roll in the dirt with the dick version of herself was a good distraction. Better when she tripped him, letting him—yeah, letting him, nobody watching would have said different—pull her down on top, moving from fighting to fucking in the time it took to kick GigantoGuy Sam out of the room (though something told her he didn’t entirely want to go; more for her, later).
It was all just treading water until she could get back, because as scared as she was of Castiel and his unending preaching about her mission, she was going to stand with Sam until Hell rose up and Heaven fell down and they crushed her in between.
for
cryptoxinOne of the 66 seals from SPN is in Metropolis. Lex has it and he intends to keep it. (Note: I had to ignore SV’s timeline to make this work; I presume everyone’s okay with that.)
The thieves on the floor, hands pressed to the backs of their necks, were innocuous enough. Substantially less well-equipped than the average miscreants who made moves on LuthorCorp’s vaults, which might account for why they’d tripped the silent alarm before getting any further than the first set of security measures. Mercy was supervising the guards, two to an intruder, guns unholstered and ready.
“Out of curiosity,” Lex asked, squatting down next to the bigger one, who was looking at the floor with a completely justified rueful expression, “what were you looking for?”
“Heard you had the first issue of Playboy,” the other one said, and the bigger one rolled his eyes, saving Lex the necessity.
The man twitched his head, but his bangs were still in his eyes and Lex didn’t feel the need to make him any more comfortable. He was huge, Lex noticed, easily as big as—He shook his head and waited for the thief to speak.
The thief cleared his throat. “This is going to sound crazy, but—you have an artifact that can be used to do a lot of damage. We’re here to, uh, protect it.”
“Which one?” Lex asked, because this was a better-than-average story, if a worse-than-average theft.
“Which one?” the other thief repeated, sounding miffed. “Dude, how many glowing crystals covered with runes do you have?”
“Total or just in present inventory?” Lex asked. “Search them, take any weapons and communications devices, and bring them into my office,” he told Mercy, rising and heading towards the exit.
Finally, something interesting.
for
ladydeySV - Lex/Clark, "You didn't have to hide from me that you were sick"
Near the end, Lex returns to Smallville.
It’s been three generations and four identities since he’s lived in the mansion. The townspeople actually think it’s haunted, though Lex suspects that’s just the result of kids triggering various security measures over the years.
The Kent farm is a memory, a plat on the map drowned under a sea of hybrid supersoybeans, LuthorCorp’s latest technology. Lex drives out—he will never get used to these electric motors, silent and smooth—and pulls to the shoulder when he’s as near as he can get using the roads. Then he walks through acres of soybeans. Back when this was corn, he would have been lost, the tasseled heads taller than he was, but now he is a giant; the plants come only to his knees.
When he stops, he doesn’t need to check his comms to know he’s come to the right place.
He’s only been standing for ten or fifteen minutes when Superman touches down, so gently that not a leaf trembles.
No one who didn’t already know would notice the hesitation, like Clark isn’t quite sure where to put his feet.
They don’t say anything. Eventually, Lex decides that Clark is waiting for him, which is possibly a first. “You didn’t have to hide from me that you were sick,” he says.
Clark swallows. The Superman illusion that hides his real face wavers, then disappears. Clark, unlike Superman, has lost muscle, and the shape of his face has changed, thin where it used to be full. “I’m not sick, Lex. I’m just old.”
Lex looks over at where the barn used to be.
“It won’t be long now,” Clark says, as if he knows that Lex is trying not to think about it. “I’d like—I want to spend this time with someone who knows me.”
“Don’t you have any friends left?” Lex’s voice is cruel; he knows Clark is invulnerable.
“Just one,” Clark says softly, and it cuts worse than Lex’s taunts ever could.
Lex closes his eyes. “Just because you think you’re dying, it doesn’t change anything.”
“Please, Lex.” Did Clark ever ask him for things? It’s hard to remember, but Lex seems to recall demands of one sort or another. He doesn’t remember ‘please.’ “Take me home.”
If he does this, it will break the one part of him that never, in all these years, has been broken. He feels the black hole inside of him pulse, dark energy bleeding off of him. He feels pain, and it’s the first thing he’s felt in years.
“My car’s this way,” he says, gesturing. They walk back together, two old men in the world they made, and Lex pretends that they will never reach the edge of the field.
For
celliaDean/Castiel (or gen with Dean and Castiel), hierarchy
“What’s that mean, Anna bein’ your boss? You get promoted when she left?”
Dean hadn’t exactly meant to ask. Ever since they’d played Above and Below off one another, Castiel had been a lot less friendly, like Dean had welshed on a debt or something. But here the angel was in their motel room, hanging around without any particular orders to deliver, and Dean had to say something or he’d go nuts.
Castiel looked at him, as direct as a little kid and twice as incomprehensible. “Unlike humans, the orders of angels are fixed. Anna was a Principality, one of the Elohim. She was a ruler, a leader, responsible for overseeing groups and carrying out the orders of the Dominions.”
“When she Fell, did you—did she ask you to come?”
Castiel shook his head. “It was not something she discussed. I was—surprised. I had not known she doubted.”
“I don’t think she doubted,” Dean said, because he’d been thinking about what they’d both said to him, first Castiel and then Anna—if that was still her name. “I think she disagreed.”
Castiel sat down on the bed, beside Dean. Dean thought about shifting his weight away, but he wasn’t up for the deliberate insult. “That is a fine distinction, and not one I would have expected you to make.”
Dean hadn’t known how much that would sting. He knew he wasn’t the brains of the operation, but Cas had seemed to respect what he had to say, before. He rubbed his thumb against his ring, spinning it on his finger.
“I have upset you,” Castiel said, sounding confused. “I did not mean to. It is only that your doubts about God’s presence in your life and your refusal to accept God’s mission have always been one.”
Dean shrugged. “You can follow orders without thinkin’ they’re right.”
Castiel draped his hands over his splayed knees, oddly graceful in his otherwise awkward body. “Perhaps. We are not as adept as humans at--distinguishing belief from action. It is our strength, and our weakness. To follow a directive is to believe in its rightness.”
Dean looked up and met his eyes at last. “Maybe that’s the problem. If God only talks to a couple of angels, and they only talk to other angels, by the time it gets down to us it’s all screwed up, and you guys don’t ever talk back unless it’s on your way out the door.”
The angel smiled, and it was the saddest Dean had ever seen him look. “I am afraid, Dean. I am afraid that if I protest, I will discover that there is no one listening.”
Dean couldn’t figure out why, but he wanted to make Castiel feel better. “I am,” he said, knowing it was stupid, given how little he mattered.
Castiel reached out and touched Dean’s jaw. His fingertips were dry and cool, and Dean closed his eyes against the sensation. “I know,” Castiel said. “In all of this, it is the one consolation I have found.”
When Castiel kissed him, stiff and clumsy, Dean opened his mouth and grabbed Castiel’s shoulders, right where the wings ought to be. Dean was pretty sure this wasn’t part of Castiel’s assignment. That was the only reason he could stand how gentle Castiel’s hands were, how careful.
God couldn’t love him, not after what he’d done. But even angels must have some room to maneuver. Dean was falling, every waking moment. If Castiel could dive to catch him, maybe he could keep fighting just a while longer.
for a lurker
Dr. Luthor closed the door, then stepped into the corner, beneath the camera. He looked up and tossed something like a magnet attached to a string. It wrapped around the camera’s body and Clark saw a brief surge of electrical activity.
“Come on,” Dr. Luthor said. “We only have four minutes until the surveillance program will detect repetition in the feed and sound the alarm.”
“What?”
“We’re getting out of here.”
Clark didn’t repeat his question, but he still had it. Dr. Luthor had never shown him an ounce of compassion, never responded to his attempts at conversation. The first day he’d shown up, Clark had heard him in the hallway—that was before the lead shielding, before things had gotten really bad instead of just lonely—talking about the scientific bonanza that ‘the subject’ represented.
Maybe Dr. Luthor had sold him to someone else, and this was an act of corporate espionage. He was Lionel Luthor’s son, but stranger things had happened in families.
If there was anything the past six months had taught Clark, it was that the situation could always get worse, in ways Clark was unable to predict. “Why?” he asked. He didn’t like having meteor rocks shoved into his skin every day so they could get their samples and their data. But if Dr. Luthor couldn’t even come up with a comforting lie, Clark wasn’t going anywhere with him.
Dr. Luthor stared at the door as if he was trying to develop X-ray vision himself. “Because the current research plan anticipates switching to postmortem examination in less than ten days.”
Yeah, so ‘worse’ had definitely made the agenda. “But why help me escape?”
Dr. Luthor looked him in the eyes, for the first time that Clark could remember. “Because you’ve only ever asked about the safety and well-being of your friends back home. Because I’ve spent my nights reading about all the lives you saved back in Smallville. But mostly because my father has ruined enough good in the world for twelve lifetimes, and much to my own surprise, I was still able to recognize true goodness when I finally found it.” His eyes were ice-blue, and reminded Clark of the way the sky got when a big storm was coming and the whole world seemed filled up with wind and the promise of rain.
Clark felt himself getting red, the way he always did; you’d think being a lab rat would have burnt the embarrassment out of him, but it hadn’t happened. “You’ll have to hide from him, too,” Clark pointed out. Lionel Luthor wasn’t the type to let something like blood relation deter him from vengeance.
Dr. Luthor looked at him like he was an idiot. It was still an improvement from what the others did: like he was a dog that could, fortunately, respond to basic commands. “Of course,” he said. “You wouldn’t last five minutes without me. Now stop delaying and get moving.” As he spoke, all the lights went out and Clark heard the distinctive click of the door lock disengaging. “Take my arm and guide us out,” Dr. Luthor continued as if he hadn’t even noticed. “I’ll give you directions, you just keep us from running into any walls.”
Clearly, Dr. Luthor was planning to continue giving orders. Clark thought he could probably live with that.
for
jakrarSV: Clark/Lex -- Against all expectations, Lex saves the world.
“Hunh,” Flash said. “How about them apples?”
Clark glared at him. Lex wasn’t the Joker, interested only in forcing others to feel pain; he wasn’t Grodd or one of Flash’s nastier playmates, selfishly desiring to destroy if they couldn’t control. He was Lex Luthor, and he would have said to anyone who’d listen that there was no point being a natural ruler without a world to rule.
Flash ignored Clark’s glower, though, and sped off, doubtless to check the refrigerator. Flash was big on snacking after a successful conclusion to a crisis. He always said that there was no telling when the next problem would break out, so you might as well fill up early.
“Flash isn’t wrong,” Batman said from behind him. Clark suppressed the urge to turn around. He thought it made Bruce feel better to be unseen. Instead, he put his hands on the viewscreen, as if it was just a window to the space outside, and watched the stars. “Luthor is going to try to use this, at least. Leak it to the public, paint himself as some sort of savior.”
“Technically, he is some sort of savior,” Clark pointed out. “I’m pretty sure that when you save the world, you get to call yourself a savior.” But Bruce was wrong about the PR move. Understandable: Bruce had a particular way of dealing with ordinary people, and it didn’t include publicity that went beyond gossip blogs. Clark, who was the ultimate in embedded journalists, knew better. Lex wouldn’t leak the story because it was so incredible that he’d look like a megalomaniac with delusions of superherodom.
No, Lex would just go home, throw an expensive item through another expensive item, and write off the destroyed space station in some way that came within two molecules of constituting tax fraud but didn’t quite get there.
The others were already involved in the cleanup and the post-mission reports. Diana had proved an intimidating taskmaster; even Clark tried to avoid her ‘reminders’ that vital data had yet to be entered into the League’s computerized event tracking system.
He didn’t want to be here, where it was all so ordinary, just another day at the edge of survival. He wanted to be with someone who was still reeling from being alive, amazed at what they’d been able to do when there was no other choice.
He wanted to be with Lex, he realized. Tonight, Lex wouldn’t try to kill him. Lex would let him in and rant at him and try not to listen when Clark gave his thanks.
Tonight, Clark thought, that could be enough.
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And yes, I think Dean/Castiel would be a lot of neediness and sadness; possibly an angel has enough love in him to make things easier for Dean.