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Chapter Text

What Was and What Could Be

Description:

“Hey, long time no talk kiddo.”

“Dean??” I stand up. “What’s going on??”

He pauses.

“It’s Sam. He’s in rough shape and I could use some help.”

I scoff. “Why did you call me then??”

“Because you’re the only shot I’ve got. If I can’t get through to him, maybe you can.”

Bryn Ashford wakes up to a call from someone she hasn’t heard from in years, Dean Winchester. Sam is struggling and Dean is desperate to help him. Despite how they left things, Bryn’s soft spot for the youngest Winchester still remains.

She’s been hunting alone for years, now she has the chance to reunite with the family she’s been needing.

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Cast List

Katherine McNamara as Bryn Elise Ashford (27)

Jared Padalecki as Samuel "Sam" James Winchester (29)

Jensen Ackles as Dean Alexander Winchester (33)

Misha Collins as Castiel "Cas"

Julie Bowen as Abigail Ashford (54)

Simon Baker as Carter Ashford (56)

Nick Gehlfuss as Rhett Ashford

Jane Levy as Kameron (née Wyatt) Ashford (31)

Ethan Hawke as Welch Anders (56)

Summer Bishil as Fawn Anders (28)

Jessica Alba as Rhys Anders (33)

Theo James as Nash Freeman (28)

Stephen Amell as Lucas Dane (36)

Matt Bomer as Jason Porter (28)

Jeanine Mason as Whitley “Whit” Matthews (28)

Austin Stowell as Caden Myers (30)

Danielle Savre as Laurie Hoyt (27)

Liana Liberato as Lily Wilson (24)

Jordan Fisher as Dixon Thompson (26)

Josh Segarra as Logan Fisher (28)

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Disclaimer Before You Get Started

There are chapters in this book that have episode numbers at the beginning. The dialogue and scene progression are NOT MINE. All credit goes to the writers of Supernatural. I used the transcripts found on the Supernatural Wiki to make sure the dialogue was accurate. All I have done is insert Bryn's thoughts, her point of view and actions, and edit them so that she is a part of them. All transcripts are available to the public on the Supernatural Wiki.

Chapter Text

Euclid

Contains pieces of Hello, Cruel World S07E02

July 8th, 2012

2:08am

~Bryn Ashford~

I stare at the ceiling of the shitty motel I’ve holed up in for the night. Another hunt, another dead end. The nightmares keep me awake most nights, this time interrupting the first good sleep I’ve gotten in weeks.

Accepting that sleep won’t come anytime soon, I sit up and stretch my arms. The blue numbers of the cheap alarm clock are flashing; the power must have flickered while I was asleep.I swing my legs over the edge of the bed before rising to my feet. Shuffling through the dimly lit room, I make my way to the bathroom. I flip the switch and squint at the sudden brightness. The girl staring back at me in the mirror is unrecognizable. Her eyes are dim, her skin pale, and her hair disheveled. She looks like she hasn't slept in a year. I lean on the counter and hang my head, wishing I could get rid of the images that flash through my mind at night. I turn on the tap and splash some water on my face, hoping the refresh will help clear my head. I look in the mirror one more time before cutting out the light and exiting the bathroom.

 My eyes adjust to the pale light coming from the streetlamp outside as I walk back to my bed. I sit down on the edge of the shitty mattress and rub my eyes.My phone starts to buzz against the nightstand, pulling me from my thoughts. The number on the screen makes my stomach sink.

“No, there’s no way,” I whisper as I answer it. “Hello??”

 “Hey, long time no talk, kiddo,” the familiar voice says in my ear.

 “Dean??” I stand up. My heart thunders against my breastbone. “What’s going on??”

There’s silence for a moment, then Dean clears his throat.

“It—it’s Sam.” He pauses again. “He’s in rough shape, and I could use some help.”

I scoff, my chest tightening in anger. “Why did you call me then??”

“Because you’re the only shot I’ve got. If I can’t get through to him, maybe you can.”

I shake my head in disbelief. What the fuck is he thinking??

“I don’t hear from you for, what, 4?? 5 years?? And you expect me to drop everything and help you??” I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me. A lump settles in my throat, but I manage to choke out: “Don’t get me started with Sam.”

Dean sighs. “Bryn, please. You’re all I’ve got. I wouldn’t have called if this wasn’t serious.”

I huff, running my hand through my hair, trying not to pull it out in frustration.

“Where are you??” I ask.

“Sioux Falls. Bobby’s place.”

I bark out a cynical laugh. “Can’t believe he’s still kickin’. Well, I’m in Virginia, so it’s gonna be a minute before I can make it up there.”

“That’s alright. Just be careful. Call me when you can.”

“Sure thing. See ya, Dean.” I hang up.

I toss my phone on the bed and pace. Just when I think I’m over it, the Winchesters show back up to ruin it. A pit forms in my stomach. I haven’t seen either of them in person since the funeral. We were still kids. The wounds were still fresh.

I look around the room I’m in and sigh. There’s no way I’m gonna get any more sleep, so I might as well start driving.

I change into some ripped jeans and an old t-shirt, throwing one of Rhett’s old hoodies over it. I pack everything up and grab my keys off the table. I head out, locking the motel door behind me. I toss my key in the drop box before tossing my bags onto the floorboard of my truck. I climb into the driver’s seat and take a deep breath. I crank Riley, my dark green 1982 Chevy Blazer, and turn on the radio, starting the Journey tape that’s been stuck in my cassette player for years. I turn the volume down and head out, stopping at a nearby gas station for some snacks and coffee before getting on the interstate.

Time to see what shit the Winchester brothers have stepped in this time.

—

After driving for 7 hours straight, I pull into a motel parking lot in Bowling Green, Kentucky, exhausted past the point of caffeine. After checking in, I unlock the door to my room and almost immediately collapse on the bed, asleep before my head hits the pillow.

After a good 4 hours of sleep, I make a pot of coffee and pour it into my thermos. I check out and hit the road again, settling in for another 8 and a half hours to Lawrence.

Around 10pm, I pull into Welch’s driveway. The lights in the front room are on, and I remember it’s Monday; I’m just in time for movie night. I approach the front door, gear slung over my shoulders as I rifle through my key ring. The lock clicks in front of me, and I look up, Welch smirking as he stands in the doorway.

“Hey, kid, just in time. We’re watching Zero Dark Thirty.” He steps aside, giving me the room to step inside.

I drop my bags at the door and kick off my shoes.

“Bryn!! Where have you been, girlie?? C’mere, Rhys made popcorn,” Fawn says, leaving the kitchen, two beers in each hand.

I follow behind her to the living room, and everyone’s face lights up as I walk in. There’s a chorus of welcome homes, and I plop down on the couch between Fawn and Rhys, tucking my legs under me. I take one of the beers from Fawn and a handful of popcorn from Rhys’ bowl and settle in. A smile spreads across my face. I’m home.

—

July 10th

7:30am

My alarm goes off bright and early, and I groan, smacking the snooze. The sunlight has started to filter in my window, a stream of light hitting me right in the face. I roll over and sigh, really not wanting to leave my warm bed.

“Bryn!! Breakfast is ready!!” Nash yells from upstairs.

I groan and sit up, then cut off my alarm and swing my legs over the side of the bed. I pop my joints and stand slowly, making sure my legs support my weight before leaving my room. I climb the stairs, following the smell of bacon wafting from the kitchen. I head straight for the coffee maker, where Jason hands me a mug full of my precious caffeine. I pour in some of my creamer and set my mug down on the table.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Welch says, patting my back. “Made you a plate if you wanna join us.”

I smile at him and pick it up off the counter. “Thanks, Wells.”

I head for my spot, and Rhys pushes out my chair so I can sit.

“Alright, give me all the juicy details. Anything good??” She asks, eyes eager for a good story.

I laugh at her.

“Just another vengeful spirit. Y’know, nothing crazy,” I say, stabbing into my eggs.

“Aw, c’mon, Red,” Nash says, smirking around his mouthful of bacon, “there had to be something exciting.”

I shrug. “Not really. It was pretty cut and dry; nothing a quick salt-and-burn couldn’t fix.”

The boys roll their eyes, obviously expecting some elaborate story.

“What about the other case?? Did you…” Fawn hesitates, “Did you find out anything new??”

I scoop more eggs into my mouth, my throat going dry.

“No, it was a dead end.”

A somber hush falls over the table. I take a sip of my coffee, suddenly aware of everyone’s eyes on me. I clear my throat and take a bite of my bacon.

“Think I found a case in Michigan. Three young boys went out to their family’s hunting cabin for the weekend; one ended up strung up in a tree, shredded. Fish and Game says it’s a bear attack, but the boys swear it was something else. No other details were listed,” Welch says, dropping a newspaper in the middle of the table. “We’ll head out in an hour or so.”

Everyone jumps to their feet, piling the dishes in the sink and scattering to their rooms, leaving me and Welch at the table. He pulls out the chair next to me and sits.

“You gonna join us??” He asks quietly.

I push my eggs around with my fork.

“I’ve got something else I need to do. Got a call from an old friend that needs some help.”

Welch nods.

After a moment of silence, he rubs his face and looks at me.

“You can’t keep going off on your own, Bee.” He crosses his arms and leans back. “You’re gonna get hurt.”

I sigh.

“I know, I know. I just… I have to do this. For them—for him.”

Welch gives me a sympathetic smile. He brushes my hair back, tucking it behind my ear.

“Running yourself into the ground isn’t gonna bring ‘em back, sweetie.” He takes my hand. “He has plenty to be proud of already; no need to prove yourself.”

I hang my head. “Yeah, well, at least it takes my mind off things.”

Welch stands back up and pats my back before heading to his room. He knows how this goes, how long it takes for the pain to finally subside, and what it’s like to bury yourself in whatever you’re doing just to escape the ache for a little while.

I throw back the rest of my coffee and set my dishes in the sink before heading to my room. I repack my bags, replacing the dirty clothes with clean ones and restocking my toiletries. I refill my med case and toss it in. Once everything’s packed up, I shower, braid my hair, get dressed, and brush my teeth. With one last glance, I shut the door to my room and head out.

Before anyone sees me, I load my stuff into my truck and pull away, not excited about the almost 6-hour drive I have to look forward to.

—

1:15pm

The rusty old Singer Salvage Yard sign comes into view, and my chest tightens. I stop just outside the gates, mentally preparing myself for the impending reunion. After a moment, I turn in and head down the driveway, Bobby’s house peeking out from behind the stacks of junk cars. A familiar black Impala sits to the side, a little bit beat up since the last time I saw it. Based on the toolboxes by the front tire, Dean’s been working on it, so it must be a recent thing. I pull into the gap next to Bobby’s old Chevelle before shifting to park and turning the engine off.

I can’t help but stare at the house, waves of memories lapping at the front of my mind. I shake them away and climb out, leaving my bags in the car for the moment. As I approach the door, my hands start to sweat, my heart racing in my chest. My hand trembles as I reach out to knock, the tarp on the porch behind me crackling as it flaps in the stale breeze.

After a few seconds, I hear a gun cock behind the door. My hand rests on the gun in my waistband as the door opens.

It opens to reveal Bobby, who’s gained a couple more wrinkles since the last time I saw him. His eyes widen as if he’s seen a ghost.

“Well, you’re the last person I’d expect to be on the other side of my door,” he grumbles.

“Nice to see you too, Bobby.” I chuckle. “Haven’t changed a bit, have you, old fart??”

Bobby chuckles and sets his gun down, then pulls me into a hug.

“It’s good to see you, kid. Been too long.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

Bobby holds me at arm's length.

“I’m sorry to hear about your folks. It’s a real shame.”

I bite the inside of my lip.

“Yeah, well, it is what it is. Just taking it one day at a time.”

Bobby ushers me inside and gestures to the living room, where his big oak desk sits in front of the fireplace. I walk around the corner to find Dean sitting in a chair, unwrapping the gauze on Sam’s palm. I hang back in the kitchen area and lean against the door frame, not wanting to interrupt.

“Eh, you’ll live. Here.” Dean reaches behind him and grabs a bottle of whiskey. He dumps some on Sam’s hand, and Sam hisses in pain. “All right, take it easy.”

Bobby grabs some things out of his first aid kit on steroids and rewraps Sam’s hand.

Dean stands up and takes a swig from the bottle in his hand before setting it back down on Bobby’s desk. When he looks up, that’s when our eyes meet. His face breaks out in a grin.

The last time I had seen Sam was at Rhett's funeral. That was about 9 years ago; I was 18. Dean and I spent a little more time together, but I lost contact with him a few years after Rhett died, sometime around 2008.

"Bryn Ashford," he says, grinning, "what a sight for sore eyes."

I push off the doorframe, holding my arms out by my sides. "In the flesh, Dean Winchester. "

He opens his arms, and I embrace him tightly.

"It's been way too long, kiddo." He chuckles. "You're all grown up now."

I pull away from him and smile.

"I could say the same for you, old man."

He grins back and shakes his head as he laughs.

He hasn’t changed all that much, if I’m being honest. His hair is short on the sides and kind of long on the top, spiked up in the front. A layer of stubble spreads across his jaw and cheeks. Freckles pop up on his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. His eyes, however, have not changed at all. They're still the brightest, purest shade of green they were when we were kids. His face has a few more wrinkles, deeper around his eyes and mouth, smile lines.

“Thank you for coming,” Dean says, dropping his voice down an octave. “I know this isn’t easy for you.”

I grit my teeth.

“Yeah, you’re lucky I like you.”

My gaze slides over and lands on Sam, who’s looking at me with those damn eyes, the hazel a caramel brown as the sun from the window hits them. I offer a small smile, unsure of what else to do. My anxiety gnaws at my stomach, and I nervously pick at the skin around my fingers.

“Ok, so,” Dean sits down on the arm of the couch Sam is sitting on. “How're you doin'?? And do not say okay.”

I see Sam hesitate, his eyes still on me.

“I’m not okay.”

“You think??” Dean says sharply.

“Hey,” Bobby glares at Dean. “Go a little easy.”

Dean crosses his arms. “There’s nothing easy about it, Bobby, okay. We acted like he had everything under control.”

Sam drops his eyes to his lap.

“I get it. I’m sorry. Look, I—I didn’t exactly want to crack up, you know??” His eyes flash with frustration.

“What the hell happened??”

Sam hesitates. “Well, it’s not just flashbacks anymore.”

“Well, then what??” Dean asks, tilting his head.

“It’s more like... I’m seeing through the cracks.”

“What does that mean??”

Sam’s eyes glisten as he looks at his brother. “It means I’m having a difficult time figuring out what’s real.”

“Hallucinations,” Dean sighs.

“For starters.” Sam briefly lifts his brows and huffs.

Dean's eyes narrow. "Well, for starters, if you’re tripping Hell’s Bells, why would you hide that??”

“I wasn’t hiding it, Dean, I—I was just not talking about it. I mean, it seemed like you two had enough shit going on as it was. Look, I—I just figured, try to hold onto the safety bar and ride it out, you know?? But it’s getting more specific.”

“As in specifically what??”

Dean walks over to where he set the bottle of whiskey on the desk. He holds it up and looks at me. I nod, and he pours three glasses.

Sam says something under his breath, looking down at his lap, avoiding everyone’s eyes.

“What??” Dean asks.

“Lucifer.”

My stomach sinks. This is way worse than anything I could have expected.

Dean freezes as he hands me my glass. I can see him process his brothers words in real time, witnessing the shift in his eyes as it clicks.

“What the fuck, Sam??” He finally barks out.

“I told you.”

“I mean seriously, how do you—how do you argue with that??”

“I know. It’s a problem.”

"Well, now wait, I got it. Why would the Devil holodeck you a whole new life when he could just kick your ass all over the Cage??” Dean crosses his arms.

“‘Cause, as he puts it...” Sam clears his throat, his eyes glancing to the side for a millisecond, easily gone unnoticed. “You can’t torture someone who has nothing left for you to take away.”

“Okay, fine. But this Malibu dream mansion that he-he-he makes for you to take away is this post-apocalyptic mess??”

Sam looks off to his left again and swallows hard.

“Wait, are you seeing him right now??” I ask, pushing up off the doorway again.

Sam looks over at me and nods, eyes full of pure terror.

“You know that he’s not real. Right??” Dean asks.

Sam swallows hard and looks at his hands, then back up at Dean, tears glistening in his eyes.

“He says the same thing about you.”

My heart drops. I’ve never seen that much fear in Sam Winchester’s eyes. I bite my lip, trying to keep my own tears at bay. I down the rest of my whiskey and pour more from the bottle. I have to walk back into the kitchen, trying to keep my emotions in check. I can feel the anger and resentment dissolving slightly as I start to really process what’s happening. An ache forms in my chest, my heart breaking a little for the youngest Winchester. I take another sip of whiskey, a couple of tears escaping, leaving trails down my cheeks.

“Hey, you ok??” Dean asks from behind me.

I quickly wipe my tears away and turn back around to face him. I know he can see the mottling of my cheeks, the pink tinge of my eyes and the tip of my nose, the tears that blur my vision glistening in my eyes. My voice shakes as I speak.

“Apparently, even after everything, I still have a fucking soft spot for your brother.”

Chapter Text

I'm Not Okay (I Promise)

Contains pieces of Hello, Cruel World S07E02

I watch from the doorway to the kitchen as Sam takes apart his gun for the 5th time in the past hour.

Bobby and Dean are at the small, rickety dining table, looking at the computer with rapt attention, Dean leaning over the back of Bobby’s chair.

“Well, at least he’s not curled up under the sink,” Bobby says to Dean quietly.

“Yeah, no, he’s just sitting there silently field-stripping his weapon.”

Dean takes a quick glance at Sam before fishing Sam’s phone out of his jacket.

“What are you doing??” I whisper.

“Turning on his GPS, ‘case he decides to fly the cuckoo’s nest.”

“And you?? How are you doing??” Bobby asks Dean.

"Seriously, Bobby, it ain’t like he’s hexed, you know?? I mean, what if it’s the kind of crazy you can’t fix??”

“Yeah, I'm—I'm worried too, but humor me for a second. How are you??”

Dean scoffs. “Who cares?? Don’t you think our mailbox is a little full right now?? I’m fine.”

I roll my eyes. I can tell he’s not ok, but he’s refusing to show any real emotion per usual, bottling it all up behind his self-proclaimed “tough” exterior. Same old Dean.

“Right. And weren’t you pissed at him when he said the same thing just a couple hours before he spilled his marbles all over the floor??” Bobby snarks.

“Yeah, well.” Dean grabs a mug and pours some coffee. “I’m not Sam, okay?? I keep my marbles in a lead fuckin’ box. I’m fine. Really.”

Bobby rolls his eyes.

“Of course. Yeah. You just lost one of the best friends you ever had; your brother’s in the bell jar, and Purgatory’s most wanted are surfing the sewer lines, but yeah, yeah, I get it. You're—you're fine.”

Dean nods. “Good.”

“‘Course, if at any time you want to decide that’s utter horse shit, well, I’ll be where I always am. Right here.”

“What, you want to do couples’ yoga, or you want to get back to hunting the big bads??”

“Dean, be nice,” I chastise. “It’s called us caring about you, dumbass.”

“Idjit,” Bobby mumbles under his breath.

Sam gets his gun back together and sits there for a moment before starting to take it apart again.

—

Dean gets back from the grocery run, and I help him unload the bags, looking for something, anything, to take my mind off things for a second.

“So, it looks like we got some bad news for a change. Stockville, North Kansas, most of a high school swim team got mangled to death in their locker room.” Sam reads from his laptop.

“Cop talk on the wire’s kind of garbled, saying it looks like some kind of wild animal attack. They’re saying that whatever attacked them’s about the size of a linebacker.” Bobby adds.

Sam shrugs. “It’s a lead, Dean.”

“All right, but if you think you’re going out on a hunt...” Dean points a stern finger at him.

“No, I know I’m not. But you are.” Sam’s tongue slips out for a split second to wet his lips before he continues. “Look, Bobby’s running the hub; I'm—I'm 5150’d, which leaves you to follow this thing up.”

“Sam, you’re in the middle of a psychotic break.” Dean retorts.

Sam tilts his head and shoots Dean a look, making me stifle a laugh. Sam’s bitchface is as strong as ever.

“It’s a couple hours’ drive, Dean, and it could be a Leviathan thing.”

“Nah, if you think I’m leaving you here alone...”

Bobby looks at Dean. “Hey. What am I, chopped brains on toast?? I can eyeball the kid. Go. Work off some of these nerves on something useful.”

Dean looks at Sam, then Bobby, then me.

“Want a partner??” I ask.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he says.

I shrug. “I’m always down for a cake run.”

A soft rock song plays quietly over the radio as we make the short drive to Stocksville. Dean looks over and smiles at me.

“So, what happened?? How did all of this start??” I ask. “Catch me up.”

Dean shifts a little.

“To stop the Apocalypse, Sam had to become Lucifer’s vessel. In order to slam him back into the Cage, Sam had to jump in with him. He was gone for a while, but when Cas pulled him out, his soul had been left behind. While Sam was topside and soulless, Lucifer was having a field day with Sam’s soul, torturing it in unimaginable ways. We, uh, found a way to get Sam’s soul back, but we were warned that, if his soul was put back as it was, he would probably die from the pain and memories of the torture that it had endured. The solution to that was a ‘wall,’ blocking off the memories of the Cage and the time he spent soulless. When Cas went insane, he broke the wall in Sam’s head, bringing all of those memories crashing down on him. He was unconscious for a couple of days, and when he finally woke up, he was miraculously ok. We thought all was good, and then Sam started acting weird. Now here we are, Sam hallucinating Lucifer.”

I take a deep breath, trying to process everything that's been thrown at me.

“Who’s Cas, and where can I find him so I can kick his ass??” I say, my jaw slightly clenched.

“Cas is an Angel,” Dean says, making my eyes widen, “and he’s dead.”

I look around as I think. “An Angel?? Like ‘heavenly host’ kinda Angel??”

Dean nods.

“Wow,” I say under my breath. “That’s a new one.”

We lapse back into silence for 30 minutes or so. Then, I ask the question that’s been eating at me.

"How are you actually, Dean??” I ask.

He sighs.

"Peachy.”

“Yeah, and I’m Batman.” I roll my eyes.

“Bryn, would I have called you if I was ok??” He glances at me before looking back at the road.

“I know, but you need to talk about it. Keeping it all bottled up is a recipe for disaster. You know that.”

He huffs again.

“I’m scared, ok. You wanna know how I am?? I’m fucking scared. Cas walked into a reservoir and imploded, spreading these… Leviathan everywhere. Sam’s hallucinating Lucifer; I’m fucking terrified, Bryn.”

I nod and pat his arm.

“It’s ok. I totally get it. Things just suck right now all around.”

Dean turns up the music a little, and we lapse back into silence. I occasionally feel Dean's eyes on me, but I just stare out the window and watch the countryside fly by. Past emotions hang heavy in my chest, and I can only hope the boys don’t feel it too. We remain silent, the only noise coming from the tires on the road and the music softly flowing from the radio.

A couple of hours later, we pull up to the high school, where we’re directed to the gym by the cops.

"What’s your alias??" Dean ducks down and asks quietly.

“Last name Crawford. Bryn is the same.”

He nods, and we keep following the signs. I pull my badge from my blazer and turn it over in my hands.

We finally reach the locker room, where a forensics guy is taking a sample of the blood splatter.

“Hey, Special Agents Anderson and Crawford.”

The forensics guy looks up. “Yeah, okay. Our point cop’s out on the donut. Forensics. I can show you the layout. And step lightly. We got a whole bunch of NC17 shiznickel right over there.”

Dean fake grins and nods. “Right.”

Dean turns, and his eyes lock on the wall. I look too, and there’s some kind of black goo on it.

“Shit.”

“What the hell is that??”

Dean’s jaw muscles ripple.

“Leviathan.”

—

While we’re tailing the swim team boys, Dean calls Sam and puts it on speaker. We’re both worried about him, more than either of us would care to admit.

The line rings a couple of times before he picks up.

“Yeah,” Sam says on the other end.

“Well, we are positive for ick. Same kind of stuff that came out of Cas, and, uh, two of the swim kids were missing—they stole one of their parents’ cars.”

“So, you think these, um, these Leviathan things just jump into people?? Like Eve did??”

“I don’t know; it makes sense, right?? Anyway, uh, state trooper’s got a surveillance cam on the kids about six hours old, of them gassing up just south of the Dakota line, so I’m headed back your way. We’ll just track them from Bobby’s.”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

“How are you doing, Sam??” I ask.

He clears his throat. “You know, uh, okay.”

“Okay. Well, uh, hang in there, all right??” I say.

Dean hangs up.

“He sounds better,” I say, trying to stay positive.

“Yeah, well, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

We finish the drive back to Bobby’s in silence, nothing but the radio in the background.

I want to talk about things with the boys, but they already have so much on their plates. I’m sure I’ll find some opportunity, but for now, I just have to pretend that everything is alright and that the old wounds have healed. Based on Sam’s facial expression when he saw me, his wounds haven’t healed either.

We pull up by the kitchen door; Dean parks next to my truck. I climb out, barely hitting the porch before I kick off my heels and take down my hair. My FBI outfit isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, mainly due to having to wear heels.

We walk in, and the house is eerily quiet. That’s not good. Dean and I go through every room, upstairs and downstairs, with no sign of Sam.

“Sam??” I call out with no response.

“Sammy?? Sam?? Oh, shit.” I hear Dean say, muffled by the walls between us.

My stomach sinks.

“Where’d he go??”

Dean struggles to get his phone out of his pocket. He pulls up what looks like a tracking app. The pin is in the middle of a building near the edge of town.

“Oh, this can’t be good,” Dean says under his breath.

I head to the nearest bathroom and change back into my normal clothes before grabbing my shoes and running out to the Impala. As soon as I jump in, Dean throws the car in reverse and peels out, throwing gravel as he speeds down the driveway.

..

A beat up black van is parked in front of the abandoned warehouse, explaining how Sam got here. Scary to think he drove all the way here while experiencing such strong hallucinations.

I place my hand on my gun just in case there’s actually something in there Sam went after or that went after Sam. Dean opens the door and walks in, me following closely behind.

Sam stands in the middle of the open warehouse. His eyes are wide, his gun drawn, and he’s looking at something to his left.

“Sam??” I say hesitantly. His head snaps around, and I can see him clench his jaw. “Sam, honey, what are you doing??” I ask, heart pounding in my chest.

Out of nowhere, Sam aims his gun at his brother. Dean tucks me behind him and holds up his hands.

“Whoa, whoa!!”

“I was with you, Dean!!” He yells, nearly growling.

“Okay. Well, here I am,” Dean says gently.

Sam’s eyes widen; he looks to his left, then back at Dean, seeing someone we can’t.

“No. No, I don’t, I...” He swallows hard, his normally rock steady hand trembling. “I can’t know that for sure. You understand me??”

Dean slowly steps forward, hands still raised.

“Okay, now we’re gonna have to start small.”

Sam’s eyes become glossy, tears forming.

“I don’t remember driving here.”

Before Dean or I can say anything, he turns and fires his weapon to his left. I duck down as it hits a wooden crate, the sound startling me more than anything.

“Whoa, whoa!! Sam!! This discussion does not require a weapons discharge!!”

Sam’s chest heaves with each shaky breath. He slowly lowers his gun.

Dean takes another couple of steps forward, with me creeping up behind him.

“Look at me.” Dean gestures vaguely to his torso. “Come on. You don’t know what’s real?? Look man, I’ve been to Hell.” I’m taken aback by that. Guess I really do have some catching up to do. “Okay, I know a thing or two about torture. Enough to know that it feels different. Than the pain of this—this regular, stupid, shitty this.”

Sam shakes his head, a layer of sweat beading on his forehead.

“No, no. How can you know that for sure??”

Dean closes the distance between him.

“Let me see your hand.” Dean slowly reaches out to him. Sam lifts his right hand. “No, no. The—the gimpy hand!! Let me see it.”

Sam looks over Dean’s shoulder but not at me. Dean snatches Sam’s bandaged left hand.

“Hey.” He jerks Sam’s arm. “This is real. Not a year ago, not in Hell, now. I was with you when you cut it; I sewed it up!! Look!!”

Dean’s fingers press into the cut on Sam’s hand, and with the other hand, he takes his gun and passes it to me behind his back. I flip on the safety and tuck it in my waistband.

Sam winces and sharply inhales, pain contorting his face.

“This is different. Right?? Than the shit that’s tearing at your walnut?? I’m different. Right??”

Sam yanks his hand away.

“Yeah, I think so.”

Sam’s attention is drawn back to his hallucinations. He pushes his thumb hard against the cut, fresh red blood soaking into the bandage.

“Hey. I am your flesh-and-blood brother, okay?? I’m the only one who can legitimately kick your ass in real-time. You got away. We got you out, Sammy.”

My chest aches a little at the tone of Dean’s voice.

Sam grits his teeth and pushes harder into his palm.

“Believe in that!! Believe me, okay?? You gotta believe me. You gotta make it stone number one and build on it. You understand??”

Sam blinks a few times and then nods.

“Yeah.” He lets out a breath. “Yeah, okay.”

He nods again. As his eyes finally meet mine, his phone rings.

He reaches into his pocket and digs out his phone.

“Bobby, hey,” he answers, “Leviathan here??”

Sam pulls the phone from his face, and his eyes shift back and forth between me and Dean.

“Bobby’s got a live one.”

“Okay, well, let’s go.”

Sam nods, and we all head out, piling in the Impala, the cold metal of Sam’s gun stinging the skin on my back as I sit.

We’re a couple of minutes down the road when Dean breaks the silence.

“Look, when we get back to Bobby’s—”

“It’s okay, Dean; I’m good. No white rabbits.” A short, light laugh leaves his mouth. “I’m not seeing anything.”

Dean glances at me in the rearview, then over at Sam.

“Okay. Baby steps.”

The boys exchange small smiles, and Dean faces forward.

My nose burns as the smell of wood smoke hits it. I look to my right and, where Bobby’s house should be, is a smoldering pile of rubble, smoke still drifting skyward.

“Oh God,” I whisper.

Dean rolls slowly down the driveway, gaping at the blackened wood that was once a home. All of the books, journals, and documents that Bobby had collected over his many years of hunting have been reduced to ash. Tears well up in my eyes as I take in the scene in front of me.

We all very slowly climb out of the car and stand by it, the gravity of what’s happened settling in.

“Oh fuck.”

I watch Dean slowly walk through the rubble, picking up pieces of things, stopping every now and then to rub his face.

I can’t help the tears that pour from my eyes.

Bobby’s house meant just as much to me as it did to the boys. Many summers were spent here, me and the boys, fooling around while our parents hunted. We’d play hide and seek in the yard, ducking under junkers or into the shed Bobby stashed his tools in. For overnight stays, the boys and I would pile into the guest room, two twins for Sam and Dean, and a roll-away cot for me. We’d tell stories and joke around for hours after we were supposed to be asleep. When Dean would fall asleep, Sam would let me sit on his bed, and we’d share the flashlight so we could read together, shoulder to shoulder. As I got older, I was allowed to either sleep on the couch or in the other spare room. Every night I would sneak into the boys’ room, or they would sneak downstairs to me. Bobby’s house is where I first drank whiskey, out of the bottle Dean snatched from Bobby’s liquor cabinet. It’s where I honed my shooting skills, using old beer and oil cans as target practice. As a matter of fact, it’s where I realized I had a thing for Sam.

I have to choke back my sobs as the memories come flooding back. I cover my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to lose my composure. I take a deep breath and wipe the tears from my face.

I hear the gravel crunch as Sam and Dean meet back by where the porch used to be. I walk over slowly, trying to hide my tears from them. I know they feel the same pain, but I don’t want to burden them with mine as well.

“Any sign of him??” Sam asks.

“That place was torched. Somebody knew what they were doing.”

Sam hesitates.

“You think Bobby was back there??” He asks quietly.

Dean bites his lip, his eyes glistening. “I don’t know.”

Dean points to the path weaving around to the back on the right side of the house. Sam goes that way, and Dean goes left. I follow behind Sam, not wanting to leave him alone.

He calls out to Bobby, his voice echoing in the still night.

I manage to hang back enough to eavesdrop as Dean dials someone on his phone.

“You cannot be in that crater back there. I can’t... If you’re gone, I swear, I am going to strap my Beautiful Mind brother into the car, and I’m gonna drive us off the pier. You asked me how I was doing?? Well, not good!! Now you said you’d be here. Where are you??” He hangs up.

My heart sinks, and I continue to follow behind Sam. He and Dean’s voices bounce back and forth, no response coming from anywhere.

I follow behind as Sam weaves up and down the aisles of scrap cars.

“Bobby?? Bobby!!”

We turn the corner, and I jump, startled by the random man standing in the middle of the path.

“Winchester. Congratulations. Apparently, you two are competent enough to warrant annihilating. I’d take it as a compliment.”

Out of nowhere, Dean shoots the man in the side of his head with a large shotgun. The man’s posture changes; he stands up taller and wipes a bit of black goo off his head. Then his head morphs into a wide-mouthed, pointy-toothed, snake-tongued monstrosity. The textbook definition of nightmare fuel.

He snaps his mouth closed and manages to knock Dean’s gun away. He grabs Dean by his shirt and throws him back against a car. There’s a sickening snap followed by groaning from Dean.

I storm towards the horrible creature, and with one swing, he easily knocks me to the ground. I’m instantly disoriented and lose consciousness for at least a couple of seconds.

Sam scuffles with the horrible man as I lay semi-helpless in the dirt.

“Dean, now!!” Sam yells.

Dean smashes a button for the car hoist that is coincidentally over the man’s head. Just before the car falls on him, the man hits Sam in the head as hard as he can with a crowbar. Sam crumples to the ground, and I yell for him.

Dean and I both crawl over to him, me getting there a little faster than Dean. My head spins horribly as I sit up, a wave of nausea hitting with it. I close my eyes and wait for everything to stop before I turn my attention to Sam.

“Sam,” I say, holding his face in my hands. Blood trickles from the gash in his head.

Dean grabs Sam’s shirt and shakes him a little bit.

“Sammy?? Hey, come on now. Come on, I’m the one with the broken leg; you got to carry me.” Dean half-jokes. He looks at me.

“There’s no way, Dean. I almost threw up just crawling over here.”

We both look back at Sam. I hold my hand over his nose and mouth, air brushing against my skin as he breathes.

“He’s breathing; thank God.” I brush some of his hair from his face.

Dean pulls out his phone and lays back in the gravel. He calls 911 for the three of us. I’m probably the least injured of us, but that’s not saying much. While waiting for the ambulance, I have to crawl away from Sam as the pain and dizziness get worse, causing me to eject the contents of my stomach.

“Bryn, you okay??”

I cough and gag a couple more times before I lay back in the gravel.

“Not really. Ugh, God.”

I slowly scoot back towards Sam and take his limp hand in mine. My heart pounds in my chest as I listen to Dean talk with 911.

Not long after, I start to hear the sirens approaching. They better let me ride with the boys; I refuse to leave either of them, especially Sam.

The ambulance pulls up, cutting off the sirens. Dean sits up and flags them down. They park the truck and head over, two stretchers in tow. One medic comes to me and Sam, the other tending to Dean.

“Hey, I’m Chance; my partner over there is Matt." He kneels and sets his stuff next to Sam. “Why don’t ya tell me what happened??”

“We were in a scuffle with someone, and they hit him over the head with a crowbar. Hard. He’s been unconscious since. His name is Sam Smith, birthday is 5/2/1983. If you need his weight, you’ll have to guess or ask his brother.”

“And what about you??”

“I got punched and blacked out a little. I more than likely hit my head on the ground too when I fell. I’m dizzy, and I’ve puked twice, and my head is killing me.” I pause and grab the medic's arm. “I need you to focus on him. I’ll be ok; I just need him to be ok too.”

The medic nods. He secures a c-collar around my neck and helps me to the rig. We have to stop a couple of times due to my dry heaving, but eventually, he gets me in and helps me strap all the seat belts. He pats my shoulder and heads back to Sam. I finally let the tears fall that I’ve been holding since Sam was knocked out. They load him and Dean in side by side, a bright orange splint on Dean’s leg.

They rush us to the hospital with lights and sirens. The other medic, Matt, is in the back with us, working on Sam.

“Sam, stay with me, you hear??” Dean yells at him over the sirens.

“Male, late twenties, head trauma. Signs of increasing intracranial pressure.” Matt says into his radio.

Sam’s eyes open for a split second before he grunts and goes into a seizure.

“Sam?? Sammy??” Dean yells.

“Yeah, he’s seizing. Copy that. We’re just pulling into Sioux Falls.”

“Sioux Falls?? Sioux Falls General?? No, no, no. No, you gotta take us somewhere else, anywhere. Please.” Dean begs.

The paramedic looks at him and rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, okay, buddy.”

Dean throws his head back against his pillow in frustration.

I close my eyes, trying to keep myself calm as the medic gives Sam something to stop his seizures. He has to be okay. I can’t lose him too.

Chapter Text

Hard Times

Contains pieces of The Girl Next Door S07E03

July 11th

My insides feel like they’re crawling as I lay on a stretcher in the ER, stuck staring at the ceiling until they clear my neck. I need to find Sam. I need to know he’s okay. I haven’t seen Dean since we got here either, though I heard some doctors in the hall discussing an ortho consult for “the guy in room 15.” I don’t know what room I’m in, so I do not know how far I have to go to get there.

Someone taps on my door and enters.

“Hey Bryn, I’m Dr. Dehlin; I’ll be taking care of you while you’re here.” He walks over and stands where I can see him. “First things first, I’m gonna take off that collar; you don’t have any fractures in your neck.”

He reaches around and undoes the Velcro on either side of the brace. He gently slips it off my neck, then lifts the head of my stretcher.

“You have a pretty bad concussion, so I’ll need you to take it easy the next couple of days. No intense activity, no TVs or computers, and be very careful not to hit your head again. I’m gonna get you some meds for the dizziness, nausea, and pain. Questions??”

I pause for a moment, then give him my best sad face. “Do you know where the two guys are that I came in with??”

The doctor smiles sympathetically.

“I’ll ask your nurse to give you an update.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

He smiles and leaves.

I pat my pockets and pull out my phone, silently praying that it’s not broken. Thankfully, it’s perfectly functional, and I’m able to shoot Dean a quick text.

Bryn

Hey, you alive?? I’m trying to get an update on y’all from my nurse, but I know she’s gonna take forever to actually give me the update

I set my phone on my bed next to my leg, closing my eyes and laying my head back. My head swims a little, aching from looking at my phone. On one of her previous trips in here, I had my nurse turn the lights off, and I’m lucky to have a room with a door to help keep the noise level down. I accidentally doze off for a minute or two until there’s another knock on my door. I peek out as my nurse comes in.

“Hey, hun. I’ve got those meds for you, and Dr. Dehlin wants you to have some IV fluids too, since your blood pressure is a little low.” She lays the syringes and fluid bag on the counter. “I was also told you wanted an update on the guys that came in with you. Dean is in room 15. His tibia and fibula in his lower leg were broken pretty badly, so they set it back in place and put him in a cast. Sam is in trauma room 2. He has some swelling in his brain and is still unconscious for the moment, but is doing much better than he was. We gave him some meds to help keep him comfortable, and he’s stable.”

I let out a sigh of relief. Sam’s still knocked out, but he’s okay. He’s not dying.

My nurse (I think her name is Alexis) hooks everything up to my IV and gives me the medications. After a few minutes, the pain in my head dulls to a low ache, and the rocking of my stomach settles. I sit up a little, and, much to my delight, the world remains how it is and doesn’t spin. I get to my feet and wrap my blanket around my shoulders, the warmth of the thin fabric long gone. I shuffle to the door and roll my IV pole with me out into the hallway. I squint at the harsh lighting and duck my head. I look at my room number, 20, and look up and down the hall, trying to figure out where 15 would be. I creep to my left and slowly make my way to Dean’s room. I look around to make sure no one’s watching and open the door, just peeking my head in.

Dean lies on his stretcher, fast asleep and snoring, obviously on some good drugs. A giant white cast covers his leg, spanning from his toes to about mid-thigh. He has a couple of cuts and some bruising on his face, but nothing too major.

I laugh to myself at his current state before closing his door and going to find Sam. I wander back towards my room and look for any signs that would indicate where trauma room 2 would be. As I wander past the nurse’s station, my nurse pops up and comes to my side.

“Bryn, honey, what are you doing up??”

My eyes drop to her name tag. Yup, Alexis.

“I had to go to the bathroom, and now I’m trying to find Sam.”

She sighs.

“Hold on, stay right here. I’m gonna get you a wheelchair.”

I watch as she walks off, shaking her head. I lean up against the wall outside of my room and close my eyes for a minute, trying to give my brain a break from the fluorescent lights. It feels like a sledgehammer is hitting my skull, matching the tempo of my heart.

Alexis returns with a wheelchair and has me sit before she moves my fluids to the built-in IV pole. She tucks the rolling pole back into my room and shuts the door, then rolls me down the hall.

“I’m really not supposed to do this, but I can tell that he isn’t just some guy to you. You don’t have to share any details, but he’s more than just a friend to you, isn’t he??” Alexis asks quietly.

I bite my lip, and my stomach sinks. Everything is so complicated right now, and I’m not able to think of the right words to put together to form a coherent sentence explaining anything. All I can do is nod.

We spend the rest of the short trip in silence, and she wheels me in, stopping with me right next to his bed. She drops the side rail on the stretcher down and locks the wheels on my chair.

“Dr. Dehlin is assigned to Sam too, so I’ll let him know you’re in here with him.” She says before leaving, turning down the lights and shutting the door behind her.

The monitor quietly beeps with Sam’s heartbeat—nice and steady. I take his hand in mine and hold it against my face. He looks so peaceful, his face fully relaxed, almost like he’s just sleeping. Tears prick at my eyes, so I close them, mentally reassuring myself that he’s okay.

“I’m so sorry, Sam.” I whisper into the quiet room. “You don’t deserve any of this.”

I adjust my position and lean over so my head rests on my arm, Sam’s hand still in mine. I can’t help but cry; too many thoughts are bouncing around in my head. I try to shove the painful ones aside and focus on Sam, as he is right now, not on what happened in the past. I just hold his hand and watch as his chest steadily rises and falls, the beeping of the monitor easing the dread in my gut.

—

1 week later…

I follow behind Bobby’s old Dodge up a gravel road, which heads deep into the forest. We pull up in front of an old cabin, and I hear Sam sigh next to me.

“You ok??” I ask him.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

I park my truck next to Bobby’s car and turn off the engine, but I don’t move to get out. I turn to look at Sam, who is looking at the cabin, eyes full of nostalgia.

“Be honest with me,” I say, folding my hands in my lap. “How are you really doing??”

Sam sighs. “Bryn…”

“No, don’t ‘Bryn’ me. You’re hallucinating Lucifer; something horrifying hit you in the head with a fucking crowbar and almost killed you, and now you’re sitting here with me like everything is peachy.” I drop my eyes down to my lap briefly, hands idly picking at the skin on my fingers. “Even though I haven’t seen you in years, I still know you, Sam. You’re not ok, and I don’t want you to lie to me anymore.”

Sam averts his eyes as well. He clears his throat.

“You’re right. I’m not ok. I don’t know what I am. I’m just… here.”

I pick at the skin next to my thumbnail.

“Well, we may not be on the best of terms, but I’m here if you need anything.” I say, then climb out of the truck, leaving Sam before he can say anything in response.

I grab my bags from the back of the truck, thankful I hadn’t taken them into the house before we left to go find Sam, sparing my things from the flames. I sling them over my shoulder and head inside, where Bobby and Dean are getting settled.

Dean is lying on the couch with his leg up next to him, eyes fixed on the small, old-as-shit tube TV sitting on a little cabinet in the corner, and Bobby sits at the dining table, scowling as he goes through some papers.

“The bunks are right over there.” Dean says, tearing his eyes from the TV long enough to look up at me and point to the cased opening at the far end of the room.

I say a quiet thank you before heading back there to drop off my stuff. The small area contains a giant stone fireplace flanked by two bedside tables with lamps and windows with gauzy curtains, a set of old metal-framed bunk beds with sheets and blankets on each one, and a cot with basic sheets, a blanket, and a pillow. I set my things next to the bunk beds and leave them for later.

I hear the front door open and close as Sam comes in. I step back down into the main living area and take in my surroundings.

The cabin is old and worn, with a completely open floor plan on the main floor. Standing in the living area, you can easily see the kitchen, dining area, and a wall of newspaper clippings and lore articles next to the couch. There are stairs on the back wall next to me leading up to, I assume, an attic, and a second set heading down to a basement. The smell of musty wood, old tobacco smoke, and whiskey hangs in the air. The boys don’t seem to mind, but I wrinkle my nose a little.

The kitchen is tiny, hardly even a kitchenette. It has a lower cabinet under the rusty sink with curtains covering the contents, a single overhead cabinet with no doors, a small electric burner on the counter of a singular lower cabinet, and a short fridge that’s half the size of a normal modern refrigerator in both width and height. The fridge technically has a freezer, but I doubt it’s more than just an icebox.

Next to the kitchen is a doorway leading to a small mudroom with a super old washer and dryer, a bench, a coat rack, and a gun rack, which seems appropriate. The door on the left-hand side of the mudroom leads out to the screened-in back porch that has a couple of old rocking chairs and a small table sitting between them.

The floors and walls are made with time-weathered wood, the once warm boards now reduced to a dingy brown, cracked and worn by time and its occupants. A fine layer of dust covers just about anything, returning a few minutes after you attempt to brush it off.

Behind the couch is a cased opening leading to another space. The desk in the small room is a clunky old oak desk, ornately carved and severely out of place in such a dumpy cabin. There are several drawers, each one adorned with a patinated bronze handle. I make a mental note to look through the drawers later.

The bathroom is just off the small room, on the back wall. It’s fairly old and tells its age by the dingy grout, flickering light fixture, worn tile, and the old clawfoot tub/shower combo that honestly looks a bit like a death trap. I can’t complain too much; at least this place has power, running water, and indoor plumbing.

Sam walks past me into the bunk area and sets his stuff down.

“I guess I’ll take the top.” I joke, smirking at Sam. “You’re too tall.”

Sam laughs. “Sounds good to me.”

I walk over to one window in the bunk area, pulling back the curtain a little, revealing a gorgeous view of the woods. I can’t help but smile at the serenity of it all. As the sun sets, the forest takes on a golden glow. That glow carries over into the open curtains in the main living area, casting rays through the cabin and onto the floor.

Sam and Bobby are sitting at the small dining table, Sam on his laptop again, and Dean is on the couch messing around on his phone. I sit in the chair next to the couch and stare out the windows some more. Sam and Bobby talk quietly, but I’m not listening closely enough to eavesdrop. I watch as some birds flutter around, and a squirrel runs up a tree. The sun sets fast, and I feel a little sad when I’m no longer able to see the forest. I turn my attention to the boys and rest my head on my hand.

Sam looks up and catches my eye. He smiles softly before returning his gaze to his laptop. I let out a large sigh.

Bobby leaves shortly after asking each of us what we want from the small diner nearby. He’s only gone for about 20 minutes, returning with two heavenly-smelling, grease-stained bags.

Sam tucks away his laptop and takes his food from Bobby. Bobby passes me Dean’s food, then my own after I’ve given Dean his. Bobby and I both sit down at the small table with Sam, and we eat in quiet, the only noise coming from whatever football game Dean found on TV, punctuated by a groan, curse, or yell at a bad call or play from Dean.

I shake my head at him and sink my teeth into my burger; the flavor spreading across my tongue as I chew. It’s honestly fantastic—the best I’ve had in a while. The fries are still crispy and perfectly salty, improving my mood. It doesn’t take long for me to finish my food, a satisfying weight settling in my stomach. I throw my trash away and return to the chair next to the couch, joining in on Dean’s complaints occasionally. Now that I’m closer to the TV, I can see that Oklahoma and Mississippi State are playing.

If any of my time spent in Austin taught me anything, it’s fuck Oklahoma.

“Man, if they would just throw the fucking football, maybe they could actually score some points,” Dean gripes, rolling his eyes as he throws another fry in his mouth.

“I swear to God, some of these teams need to just fire everyone and start over.” I shake my head as another play results in a loss. A flag is thrown, and I furrow my brow, throwing my hand out in disbelief. “The fuck is the flag for??”

Dean answers before the refs finish their little huddle. “Holding. Number 45 grabbed 8’s jersey on the way down.”

The ref confirms what Dean says, and I roll my eyes.

The game ends with Oklahoma losing 10-42. An ass whooping, as my dad would say. Dean changes the channel to some old Western, and I zone out, moving my focus to my phone. After a while, boredom sinks in.

“I’m bored, so I think I’m just gonna head to bed.” I say, pushing myself up out of the chair.

Sam, Dean, and Bobby all look at me.

Sam smiles. “Goodnight, Bryn.”

“Night, kiddo,” Dean says, immediately looking back down at his phone.

“See ya in the mornin’,” Bobby grumbles.

I head for the bunks and grab my pajamas. I run to the bathroom to change and brush my teeth, ready to just get into bed and lie there.

It’s been a long day, and I want nothing more than to no longer be upright. My entire body aches, and exhausted doesn’t even begin to describe how tired I am.

I climb up the ladder to my bunk, the entire frame creaking as I step on each rung. I pull back the covers and crawl in. It’s not the most comfortable bed in the world, but it beats sleeping in some grungy old motel. I end up staring at the ceiling for a while, trapped in my thoughts, old memories and feelings returning. It’s difficult being so close to Sam, considering how we last left things. I try to process as much as I can, letting tears fall if needed. Emotional exhaustion comes quickly, and sleep finally whisks me away.

—

2 weeks later...

August 15th

Bobby pulls into the driveway ahead of me, easily maneuvering the Impala next to my truck. I pull the old Dodge in next to him and cut the engine. I slide out and follow Bobby into the cabin.

Dean is on the couch with his leg propped up per usual, watching something on TV, and Sam is sitting at the table, a book in his hands, flipping the page as he reads.

The woman on the TV screen is crying over a man’s body and saying something in Spanish. I roll my eyes. Dean and Bobby have been watching this Telenovela for the past few weeks and, for some reason, have gotten really into it.

Dean looks up as Bobby enters and nods at the TV.

“Dude... Ricardo.”

“What happened??” Bobby asks.

“Suicidio.” He says with a grimace.

Bobby shakes his head.

“Adiós, ese.” Bobby pulls Baby’s keys from his jacket pocket. “Well, this ought to cheer you up.”

Bobby drops the keys on Dean, whose eyes light up like a little kid on Christmas.

“My baby!! Now I just got to get this stupid thing off, and I can drive again.” Dean pats his cast.

I laugh as he scratches over the top, which I know never works.

“So, how is it out there??” Sam asks, closing his book and setting it on the table.

Bobby pours himself a mug of coffee and sits down at the table across from Sam.

“Weird with a side order of bloody. Talked to a few hunters. They're running into the same kind of thing that set up shop at that hospital.”

“Yeah, and don't forget tried to kill us at your place.” I add, kicking off my boots at the front door.

I walk over and lean up against the kitchen counter, stuffing my hands in my pockets.

“Well, consensus is they're, um, they're like shapeshifters, only a lot more into eating folk. And nothing can kill 'em,” Bobby says, bringing the mug to his lips again.

Dean rolls his eyes, fiddling with his keys. “Good times. Anything else??”

“Yep. They bleed black goo.” I chime in.

Sam sits up a little. “Like that stuff that came out of Cas—those things from Purgatory. Uh... Leviathan.”

Bobby nods.

“What about those chompers that you and the sheriff saw at the hospital?? They still making spleen burgers??” Dean asks.

“Yeah, made some calls. That doctor never showed back up to work. Ditto a nurse and some administrator.”

I glance over at Sam and see his eyes glaze over a bit as he stares off into space. He straightens up, and his eyes widen.

“So, they could be at any hospital in America.” Dean says. “Great.”

I step over to the table where Sam is sitting.

“What do you think, Sammy??” Dean looks over at him. “Sammy??”

“Sam??” I say, lightly touching his shoulder.

“Hey, ground control!! Sam!!” Dean yells.

Sam’s right hand moves to his left, rubbing the scar. He shakes his head, looking down at his hands, and then leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

“Yeah. What??” He looks at me and then Dean. “I'm—I'm right here.”

“You okay??” I ask, taking a seat next to him.

“Yeah. I'm fine.”

An awkward silence hangs in the air for a couple of minutes while we all look at each other.

“Good.” Bobby sighs. “Every last bit of info I ever had burned down, so...”

“What about this place??” Dean asks. “Rufus leave anything?? Did you check the basement??”

Bobby shakes his head. “C-rations and dust. I don't think he'd been here in years. So, I got to go round up my old library.”

Sam looks up at him, brow furrowed.

“I thought you said most of those books were one of a kind.”

Bobby smirks.

“Yeah. That's why I stashed copies all over the place.”

I can’t help but smirk to myself, shaking my head. Of course he did, the paranoid old bastard.

“Okay, good. Um... Hey, uh, two-legs.” Dean turns his body so he can look at Sam. “We're fresh out of grub. Want to make a run??”

“Sure. Yeah.” Sam says, grunting as he pushes himself up out of the chair.

“Do you need any help??” I ask him quietly.

He avoids my eyes but smiles a little.

“Nah, I’m good.”

Dean tosses him the keys to Baby as he walks to the door.

“Be careful with her, would you??” Dean says, making Sam chuckle. “And, uh, Sam??”

Sam turns back. “Yeah??”

"Pie,” Dean says with a grin.

Sam and I both roll our eyes.

“Obviously.” Sam scoffs, then leaves.

Dean sits up a little, watching as Sam leaves. I can tell something dumb is about to come out of his mouth, so I cross my arms.

“So??”

“So what??” Bobby says.

“Before you bail again, Girl, Interrupted over there.” He gestures towards the door. “Any thoughts??”

Bobby shrugs. “Looks to me like he's doing better.”

“Better?? What do you mean, better?? You just saw him!!” Dean replies, throwing his arm out in a vague gesture at his brother.

“Dean…” I say, running my fingers across my forehead in frustration.

“Saw him check out once. That's progress.” Bobby says calmly.

“You're kidding!!”

Bobby glares at Dean. “Look, seems to me that Sam's head ain't no different than your leg. People heal on a curve.”

“Not diff—Bobby, I get this thing off in five days: I'm golden. Sam's not a curve. He's a fuckin’ time bomb.”

I shoot a glare at Dean. That’s a little harsh, especially since it’s his brother.

“It ain't like he's keeping secrets. What you see is what you get. What's so nuts about calling an upswing??” Bobby rises to his feet and puts his mug in the sink. He picks up a dish towel and wipes his hands with it.

Dean rubs his face, looking frustrated.

“Because that's not how it works, Bobby, ever!! All right?? Especially not with Sam. The other shoe is gonna drop. It's just a matter of when.”

Bobby huffs, throwing the towel down on the counter behind him.

“Okay. How 'bout we worry about today's problems?? And today, we need intel. I'm going. You sit there and stew. I'll check in.” He pauses with his hand on the doorknob and looks back over his shoulder. “Look... you sitting here wringing your hands ain't gonna do nothing. Maybe he'll surprise you.”

Bobby walks out the door, leaving me and Dean in silence.

“You’re being really hard on him.” I state.

“Bryn…” Dean runs a hand over his hair.

“No, don’t ‘Bryn’ me. You’re being an ass. Sam is struggling with horrible hallucinations, and you’re not being very helpful. He is doing his best to deal with the shit he’s been given, and you’re just kicking him while he’s down. He’s your fucking brother, Dean. Show some sympathy.” I fume.

Dean turns and looks at me, anger making his emerald green eyes darker.

“You have no right to say anything about how I’m treating Sam. Need I remind you that you cut him off completely?? That you never tried to reach out to him at all??”

“He fucking abandoned me, Dean!! He knew how I felt about him, and he fucking left anyway!! And you’re no better!!” I stand to my feet, unable to contain my anger anymore. “One day I called you, and your phone number had been disconnected. I hadn’t heard from you in years when you called me. I lost Sam, then Rhett, all in 2 years. I lost my family. You have no idea what I went through after that, what I had to do just to stay alive.”

Angry tears build in my eyes, the pressure in my chest building.

“My mom was abusive, and my dad was an enabler. After Rhett died, mom withheld all affection, forcing my dad to do the same. I had to move in with Welch, so I didn’t fucking kill myself. Then a year ago, they went on a hunt in fucking Colorado and got themselves killed. I have no family left. I have Welch and the crew, and I have Kam and the twins, but my family is gone. I have buried myself in hunting to distract myself from the near-constant pain, failing miserably. I cannot tell you how angry I was when you called me. I spent the entire drive to Lawrence fuming. I had to bury all of that when I showed up, because you’re my family, and that’s what family does, Dean.”

I have to walk outside to keep from punching him in the face. The woods greet me and absorb the screams that escape my mouth. I walk into the tree line and find a tree to sit under, crying my lungs out, finally letting out years of anguish.

The only person who has truly been there is Welch, and I can’t be more grateful for all he’s done for me. He’s been a lifesaver, both figuratively and literally. He was the only light in a long period of darkness, being the support I needed when I needed it most.

I cry myself hoarse, my eyes swelling, my body and mind exhausted. After sitting in the quiet of the woods for a few more minutes, I hoist myself back to my feet and make my way back to the cabin. I’m not excited to be back in the house with Dean, so I sit on the tailgate of my truck until Sam gets back from the supply run. The Impala pulls in, and Sam climbs out.

“Hey, you ok??” Concern flickers across his face.

My stomach sinks and I bite my lip. I know he can tell that I’ve been crying.

“Yeah, I just needed some fresh air. I’ll be there in just a minute.” I give him a small smile, hoping it’s convincing enough.

He hesitates for a moment, almost as if he wants to say something, but he doesn’t; he just nods and goes inside. I take a deep breath, trying to settle my racing heart. Once I regain my composure, I head back inside.

One bag Sam was carrying sits on the coffee table, Dean digging through it. He glances up enough to see that it’s me walking in and goes back to digging in the bag.

“Where's Bobby?? He take off??” Sam asks, pulling things out of the other bag.

“Yeah.” Dean looks up from the bag and over to his brother. “Hey Sam, how you doing??”

Sam shrugs and makes a face. “Fine.”

“I mean, you still, you know...”

“Yeah, no, I—I know what you mean. Yeah, I'm—I'm still seeing shit that's not real. But, yeah, I'm fine. I mean, I can tell the difference.” He touches his left hand briefly before grabbing more groceries to put away.

“Think it's getting better??” I ask, leaning on the back of a chair.

“Honestly??” He asks. I nod. “Uh... I don't know. I just know I'm managing it, so... So don't worry.”

Dean digs through his bag again. He pulls out a plastic container.

“Where's the pie??” Dean asks, looking back at Sam.

“I got cake.” Sam points at it while holding a loaf of bread. “It's close enough, right??”

I snicker as Dean looks like he’s gonna have a conniption. He makes a face and throws the container back on the coffee table.

“You gonna eat that??” I ask.

Dean shakes his head and passes it to me. I grin and stuff my face with the white cake. Definitely helps with my feelings.

After a quick dinner, Sam settles in at the table, flipping through a local newspaper. Dean dozes off and falls asleep on the couch. I head to the bathroom and take a much-needed shower. The water isn’t very warm, but it’s warm enough. I wrap my hair in a towel and brush my teeth so that when I’m ready to sleep, I can just sleep.

I head out to the bunks and dig out my meds, swallowing them down with a large swallow of water. I walk out, and Sam is still sitting at the table. I throw a blanket over Dean and look up at Sam, whose eyes are locked on me. There’s something in his eyes that I can’t read.

“Goodnight, Sam,” I say quietly.

He smiles a little.

“Sleep well.”

I head back to the bunks, Sam’s eyes still on me until I climb up to the top bunk and curl up under the covers. Within a few minutes, I’m fast asleep.

—

August 16th

I wake up relatively early, thanks to the morning sun hitting me in the face. I groan and drop down from my bunk. I walk into the living room, rubbing my face. I start the coffeemaker and lean against the counter as it brews. Once it finishes, I pour myself a cup and sit down at the table. I look around for a second before my stomach drops.

Where’s Sam??

My ears tune into Dean’s phone conversation.

“Yeah, but his me-time ain't just him. I mean, for all we know, he's road trippin' with Lucifer somewhere. Left me here like Jimmy Fuckin’ Stewart.” He grabs the stick he’s been using as a crutch and hoists himself to his feet with a loud groan. “Straight to voicemail. He turned his GPS off, too. And he took my car!! … Too late!!” Dean sighs. “Alright.” He hangs up.

“Where’s Sam??” I ask.

“That’s a great question. He took off in the middle of the night, left some bullshit note, and cut off the GPS on his phone.”

I take a deep breath. Great, that’s exactly what we need.

“I’m assuming you want to go after him,” I say, running a hand through my hair.

“Damn fucking right, I’m gonna go after him.”

I roll my eyes.

“Dean, your cast doesn’t come off for another 4 days. Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you won’t fit in my truck with your leg straight like that.”

He purses his lips and thinks for a second. His eyes light up, and I brace myself for whatever stupid shit’s about to come out of his mouth.

“Hey, there’s a bunch of tools in the basement.”

I nearly choke on my coffee.

“Dean, no. Bad idea.”

“C’mon Bryn. We can’t just sit around here hoping he comes home like a lost puppy. He could lose it at any minute, and he’s all by himself.”

I sigh and rub my face.

“Fine. I’m gonna get dressed, and then I’ll dig around in the basement and see what I can find.”

Stupid fucking soft spot.

I throw back the rest of my coffee and head to the bathroom. I quickly braid my hair into 2 Dutch braids and change into jeans, a distressed Led Zeppelin crop top, and some boots. I put on my jewelry and grab my keys, wallet, and sunglasses and set them on the dining table.

Dean looks on anxiously as I head downstairs into the damp basement. I look around and find a few small tools—nothing big enough to take off a cast with. I round the table in the middle of the room, and there lies an angle grinder. I cringe at the thought of Dean using it so close to his skin but grab it anyway, along with some scissors to cut the padding with. I jog lightly back upstairs and hold the angle grinder up.

“This work for you??”

Dean grins evilly. I plug it into one of the few outlets and hand it to Dean.

“You're goin' down.” He says to his cast.

I turn away as he cuts, really not wanting to watch how close he gets to his skin. He turns the angle grinder off, and I turn back around, just in time for him to finish cutting the padding with the scissors.

He laughs semi-maniacally to himself and lifts his leg out of the cast. It’s a little atrophied, and his skin could use some lotion, but honestly, not that bad. I hand him his makeshift crutch so he can try putting weight on it, and he stands to his feet.

“You, Dean Winchester, are an idiot.”

He smirks.

“I dunno. I think ‘evil genius' sounds better.”

I roll my eyes.

“Go clean yourself up; I’ll be in the truck.”

I walk out, shaking my head at his dumbassery. Some things never change.

Chapter Text

Who Knew

Contains pieces of The Girl Next Door S07E03

I pull into the parking lot of the gas station Sam stopped at yesterday. Dean goes in first, stopping at the register where the attendant is watching Wil E. Coyote and Roadrunner fight. I walk in after and immediately head for the snacks, trying to look somewhat inconspicuous as I eavesdrop. I grab a can of Arizona lemon tea and some sunflower seeds before coming up behind Dean at the register.

“Yes!! Yes. That's him. Do you, uh, you remember what he bought??”

“Snacks, maybe??” the clerk answers, still distracted by the cartoon playing loudly on the TV.

Dean turns his head and does a double take.

“How about a paper?? Do you have yesterday's paper??”

“Yeah, right there.” The clerk points to a few small crates on the floor next to the daily paper for today.

Dean moves over and picks one up, then stares at the cover page for a moment. I walk up to the register and the clerk starts to check me out.

“Do you mind??” Dean asks, holding up the paper.

The clerk shakes his head and turns back to me. Dean heads out to the car while I finish checking out. I thank the clerk and head back to my truck, cracking open the tea.

Dean looks at me weirdly as I climb into the front seat, throwing my sunflower seeds up onto the dash.

“What?? What’s that face for??” I ask, furrowing my brow.

He grabs my arm and moves it so he can see the can.

“Since when do you drink iced tea??” He asks with a heavily judgmental tone.

I roll my eyes and snatch my arm away, taking another sip before setting the can in the cup holder.

“I lived in Texas for a bit, and someone recommended it to me.” I crank the truck and shift to reverse. “Sue me for still having a taste for it.”

Dean throws his hands up in mock surrender as I shift to drive and pull out of the parking lot.

“So, where the hell am I going??” I glance over at Dean.

He flicks the paper he got earlier.

“Bozeman, just a few hours from here.”

I look over at the paper briefly before returning my eyes to the road. “Got an address or something??”

“Yeah, uh,” Dean taps a few times on his phone. “901 N Rouse Avenue, that’s the police station.”

“Awesome, you navigate; I’ll DJ.”

Dean laughs and rolls down his window. I smile and shrug, then do the same.

The warm summer air drifts in, bringing with it a sense of calm and comfort. I plug my phone into my aux cord and turn on some music. Dean and I ride down the highway with Foreigner blasting, the wind thundering in our ears.

—

We pull up to a motel in Bozeman around noon, the one Dean is certain Sam’s staying at.

“How are you sure he’s here??” I ask, pulling into a space in front of the office.

“First motel in the phone book, checked in under Jim Rockford and we usually pick an end unit on the first floor if one’s available—quickest escape route,” Dean says casually.

“Huh,” I say. “That’s kinda smart.”

He chuckles, then heads into the office, leaving me alone to jam in the car. Have Faith In Me by A Day To Remember comes on and I can’t help but turn it up. I sing along loudly, fully immersed in the music. After that song ends, Disasterology by Pierce the Veil comes on.

About midway through the song, Dean returns from the office with two sets of keys. I turn down the music as he opens the door.

“I got two queens. We should be right next door to Sam.” He says, passing me one of the keys.

I drive down to the end and park in front of our room. We stop in long enough to throw our stuff down and change into our Fed outfits: Dean in his suit, me in a knee-length black dress with a grey blazer, hair slicked back in a bun. I begrudgingly slip my feet into my heels, not excited about the aching feet that will inevitably haunt me for the rest of the day.

We head back to the truck and then pop over to the police station. We question a couple of the officers and kill a bit of time before asking about the bodies. The cops direct us down to the basement, where their morgue is. We walk down a long, winding hall and through the sliding glass doors of the morgue, which appears to be empty. On the right-hand wall is a door marked CORONER, and I point it out to Dean.

Dean taps on the door, and a voice grants entry. We step inside, and the coroner looks up from the file on his desk.

“Hello, how can I help you??”

“I’m Agent Morrison; this is Agent Crawford, FBI.” We flash our badges. “I had a colleague that stopped by yesterday that’s looking into the serial murders around here. Is there any way we could see the bodies as well?? Just trying to dot some Is and cross some Ts.”

The coroner smiles at the both of us.

“Sure thing, just let me pull the file and I’ll be right there.”

He shows us into the morgue and then goes to a smaller office for a moment.

“So, what exactly are we looking for??” I whisper.

“I’m not 100% sure, but I’ll tell you as soon as I know.”

I raise an eyebrow and open my mouth to ask another question, but the coroner walks over with the file. He sets it down and pulls out the body.

Dean and I stand over it, lightly inspecting it. There isn’t anything obviously wrong with the body, no bruising or fatal wounds that I can see.

“This is the one he asked to see.” The coroner says.

“Great, great. Uh, let me ask you, did he do anything to it??”

The coroner shakes his head.

“No. He just asked a few questions about the other vics—missing pituitary glands and so forth.”

I see Dean mouth something, then realization floods his face, his suspicions apparently being confirmed.

“Son of a bitch.” He mumbles under his breath.

“Thanks a lot; we really appreciate your help.” I say to the coroner, who nods and returns the body to its locker and the file to the office.

We walk back out to the truck, Dean mumbling quietly to himself. Once we climb in, I turn to him.

“Ok, wanna share with the class, or am I just supposed to guess??”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“It’s a kitsune.”

I look at him, brow furrowed. “A what now??”

“Kitsune, they’re kinda like a werewolf, but more fox-like than a wolf. They have long claws, and their eyes change when they’re feeding or attacking but otherwise look human. They feed on brains, specifically pituitary glands. They’re not very common, but Dad and I hunted one around Lincoln, Nebraska, in ’98, I think.”

I nod. After a second, another thought hits me. “But wait, where was Sam??”

Dean chuckles.

“He was meeting chicks at the library.”

I vaguely remember my parents talking in the kitchen about that hunt, one of the very few we weren’t with them on. I had a softball tournament, and John said he would take care of it, so he packed up the boys, and off they went. If my memory serves me right, I think that was when Sam had his first kiss. I was only 13, but I remember the small pang of jealousy when he told me about it later.

I shake my head and start the truck.

The cop we spoke to earlier told us that the best diner is just around the corner, so I drive the 2 minutes around the block.

Dean scoffs as I put the truck in park and cut it off.

“That was a waste of gas; why the hell didn’t we walk??”

I glare at him.

“Would you like to walk a mile in 4-inch heels??” Dean doesn’t answer. “Yeah, didn’t fucking think so.”

We pile out and finally get to the food. I take down my hair before we go in, at least getting some relief from one of the annoying, painful things I have to do when posing as a Fed. Dean and I slip into the booth and order, then start chatting about the case, trying to brainstorm some way to take the kitsune down.

After an hour of chatting and eating, Dean heads to the counter to pay before we go back to the motel room.

“Hey, I’m gonna sneak into Sam’s room before he gets back so I can kick his ass. Wanna join??” Dean asks as we walk in the door.

I immediately kick off my heels and let out a grateful sigh. My feet are killing me.

“Nah, I’m gonna shower and hang out in here. I’ll let you handle all that.”

Dean nods and heads to the bathroom to change back into normal clothes.

As soon as he walks out, I slide in, ready to wash off the grunge of the road trip and the makeup I put on. I take my time showering, letting the warm spray release my tense muscles. Once I’m finished, I dry off and throw on some shorts and one of dad’s ratty old t-shirts. I brush my teeth and head to bed, listening closely for any signs of distress from the brothers next door. It’s silent for a while, and then I hear a muffled “YOU WHAT” from Dean, eliciting a laugh from me. If it was serious and he needed backup, he would come get me or call me, and neither has happened, so I’m assuming it’s just normal Winchester brother bickering.

Around midnight, Dean comes back over, shaking his head as he walks in.

“So, how’d it go??” I ask.

Dean smiles sarcastically. “Fan-fucking-tastic. I punched him when he opened the door.”

I sit up quickly.

“You punched him?? What the fuck?? Why??”

“‘Cause he scared the shit out of both of us!!” He scoffs. “I heard him out; let him tell the whole story, and then he got to the part where he let the kitsune go.”

“Yeah, I think I heard that part through the walls.” I smirk at him.

“Shut up.” He says with another sarcastic smile. “Anyway, there’s no fucking way in hell I’m letting her go, so I’m gonna steal my car back and go after her.”

“Woah, woah, woah, Dean, wait. I’m sure Sam let her go for a reason; why would you do that??”

Dean’s brow wrinkles.

“Oh, I don’t know, because she’s a monster?? Just ‘cause he had a thing for her doesn’t mean she’s not a monster. She’s killing people, Bryn.”

I sigh.

“Dean, please. Just consider letting her go. Go to a bar, have a few drinks, just think about it. Think about how pissed Sam would be if he found out you did that.”

He runs a hand over his face and sighs.

“He won’t find out. I’ll make sure of that, but fine. Whatever. I’ll think about it.” Dean tucks his gun into his waistband, along with a silver knife. He turns to leave but stops. “Oh, and Sam asked about you. I told him you were in the shower and were just gonna chill, and he asked me to send you over.”

I bite my lip and grab my phone, sliding my feet into some cheap flip-flops and throwing Rhett’s sweatshirt on over my t-shirt. I follow Dean out the door, and he pats my shoulder as he walks to the Impala. I turn and stare at Sam’s door, trying to find the courage in my gut to knock. I shake my hands a couple of times to dissipate some of the nervous energy, but it doesn’t really help. I finally raise my hand and give in, knocking on the door.

It opens, and Sam stands behind it, towering over my 5’6 frame. He steps aside and gestures for me to come in. I don’t know where to sit, so I stand awkwardly to the side, and Sam sits down on his bed. I feel his eyes scan over me and I’m suddenly painfully aware of how short my shorts are, only adding to the awkward air in the room.

“Hi,” he says quietly, breaking the silence.

“Hey, Sam.”

He looks down at his hands and then back up at me, still fidgeting with his fingers.

“I feel like we haven’t talked much since you showed up.”

I nod. “Yeah, I’ve been trying to give you and Dean space since y’all are working through some shit right now.”

Sam chuckles.

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

I put my hands in my sweatshirt pocket. There’s a pregnant pause that I break.

“So, is there a reason you wanted me to come over here?? Or are we just gonna have small talk and stare at each other??”

Sam lets out a sharp breath through his nose, a half laugh. He pats the bed, and I come sit next to him. He puts his arm behind me, but not around me. I lean over so our shoulders touch.

“I feel like we need to talk about that night.” He says, being a bit too vague.

My eyebrows knit together. “I’m sorry. You’re gonna have to be a little more specific. What night?? Last night??”

His eyes drop to his lap before looking up again; this time his eyes are full of pain.

“The night I left for Stanford.”

My heart sinks and races in my chest. I lean away from him so I can make eye contact.

“Sam—”

He closes his eyes.

“I know, it’s a sensitive topic for the both of us, but I can’t just put my head down and not talk to you.”

I place my hand on his leg. He opens his eyes and looks me in the eye, trapping me with his hazel irises.

“Ok, let’s talk then. I have no idea what you want me to say.” I pause. “I have a million things that I’ve wanted to say to you, but I can’t.”

He sighs.

"Just... be honest, ok?? Please don’t sugarcoat it.”

I take a deep breath. So many thoughts race through my head. I rise to my feet and pace a little.

“Where do you want me to start??”

He shrugs at me. “Doesn’t matter. Wherever you feel is appropriate.”

I tap my fingers against my leg.

“Ok, um,” I pause, trying to find the words. “Let’s start with the fact that it’s been 7 years, and I’m still mad at you. You abandoned me. You and Dean both.”

I hear him take a sharp breath. He says nothing, so I continue.

“We had been spending so much time together. Hunt after hunt, day after day, you were always there. Hell, you even took me to prom. And then one night you show up at my house and have dinner with us. You were so quiet and withdrawn, and I knew something was up. After the dishes were done, you took me out into the backyard, and we sat on the steps like we always did. That’s when I looked over and saw you crying.” I take a breath, fighting back my own tears. “That’s the moment you broke me.”

..

2002

Something is off.

Sam has been super clingy in the last few days. Every chance he gets, he’s asking if he can come over, if we can hang out in the park, or if I want to go get food somewhere. At school, he sits right next to me, close enough for our elbows to bump when either of us move. Graduation for him is rapidly approaching, but there’s something else going on. I’m just not sure what, and I can’t help the uneasy feeling that worms its way into my brain.

On graduation day, Dean, Rhett, me, and my parents all cheer ridiculously loudly as Sam walks across the stage. I couldn’t be prouder; he’s graduating with honors, 5th in his class. When the crowd disperses after, I’m the first to spot him.

“Sam!!” I yell as I jog towards him, a massive grin on my face.

He turns at just the right moment and catches me in his arms, spinning the both of us around. He sets me gently back on my feet and holds me to him. I lean back and look up at him. Our eyes lock together, and time freezes. I haven’t ever told Sam how I feel about him. I’ve had a major crush on him since I was 14, too scared and too shy to say anything. I don’t want to mess up what we have, but I don’t have to say anything as he ducks his head down, gently pressing his lips against mine. His hand moves to hold my face, and we share a couple more soft kisses before he moves back.

I stare up at him, rendered speechless. Sam’s eyes flit back and forth between mine.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” He says with a giant cheesy grin.

This time, I put my hand on the back of his neck and kiss him. He smiles against my lips and softly returns the kiss. He moves and rests his forehead on mine, our noses brushing together still.

“Well, damn Bryn, you gonna hog him or do I get a turn??” Dean teases from behind me.

I laugh, and Sam releases me. Dean yanks his brother into a bear hug, laughing and ruffling his hair.

“Congrats, little brother!!” He shouts, patting Sam on the back.

Rhett pulls him into a less rowdy hug, congratulating him as well.

As my parents congratulate him, he pulls me to his side, resting his hand gently on my hip.

Time freezes at this moment. We’re all happy. I’m with my family, and Sam reciprocates my feelings for him. I commit it all to memory, holding the happiness in Sam’s eyes close to my heart.

The minute summer break hits, we head out on a hunt with the Winchesters. We travel all over the place: Boise, Phoenix, Fort Lauderdale, Norfolk, Dallas, and San Francisco. Every hunt, Sam and I are inseparable, only apart to sleep and travel. I spend the days researching with them and the nights fighting beside them, praying we all come back whole. Some of the hunts are traumatic with gruesome injuries, while others are wholesome and make me feel like we’re actually making a difference.

There are a couple of nights when Sam and his dad fight, and Dean shoves him in the door of our motel room. He drops onto the couch next to me, frustratedly running his hands through his hair, elbows on his knees.

“What was it this time??” I ask him, sitting on the lumpy couch, legs tucked under me.

“It was nothing; don’t worry about it.” Sam snaps, avoiding my eyes. He looks away and swallows hard. “I’m sorry. I’m just not in the mood to talk about it right now.”

I rub his back. “It’s ok, I understand.”

I turn my attention back to the TV, watching some stupid teen drama. The silence is slightly awkward, but I don’t want to press.

Sam finally relaxes against the back of the couch and opens his arms to me. My cheeks get warm, and my heart speeds up a little. I curl up by his side and enjoy his company. His fingers absentmindedly twirl the ends of my hair, his gaze far off as he wrestles with whatever is on his mind.

Many nights are spent talking on shitty motel couches about anything and everything. I can tell something is weighing heavily on his mind, but he’ll tell me about it in his own time.

School starts again in what feels like no time, eating up my time and attention. I hardly see Sam as his dad drags him around the country. He calls me when he can, having to use Dean’s phone when his gets busted during a particularly brutal fight with a vamp. We spend many nights talking into the early hours of the morning, making up for the time we spend apart.

At 6pm on September 2nd, the doorbell rings. Mom and dad are in the middle of making dinner, so I run to the door. When I open it, the last person I’m expecting to see is on the other side of the door. There in front of me stands Sam Winchester, his hair shaggy, his eyes red.

“Sam, oh my God!! What are you doing here??!!” I say, throwing myself into his arms.

He’s been on a hunt in Oklahoma with Dean and his dad for the past week, not sure when he was going to be back. We talked on the phone just the other night, and he was still knee deep in research.

He chuckles and holds me to him.

“Dad and I got into a fight again, and he kicked me out.” Sam sniffs. “I didn’t know where else to go, so I came here.”

I lean back and find Sam looking to his left, tears rolling down his face.

“Woah, woah, woah, hey, it’s ok,” I say, taking his face in my hands and brushing his tears away with my thumbs. “I’m sure he just needs time to cool off. How many times has he kicked you out for the night??”

Sam sniffs again. “Yeah, this time is different, though. He told me that if I walked out the door, I should never come back.”

My heart aches for him as his voice cracks and more tears stream down his face. I pull him back in for another hug, and he bends down to rest his chin on my shoulder.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it, Sam. You know what’ll make you feel better though??” He hums in response. “My mom’s making lasagna.”

Sam chuckles and stands up. He brushes my hair from my face and gives me a quick kiss.

“C’mon, let’s go inside before your mom freaks.”

I pull away from Sam and take his hand in mine, leading him into the house.

“Mom!! Sam’s gonna join us for dinner!!” I shout from the foyer as Sam kicks off his boots.

“I thought Sam was in Oklahoma??” She asks back.

“He, uh, got back early!!” I lie, grimacing.

“Oh, ok, well, the more the merrier.” She laughs. “It’ll be ready in about 15 minutes.”

“Ok, thank you!!”

I pull Sam to the couch, and he follows closely behind. I sit down and turn so I’m facing him. Sam laughs.

“What’re you laughing at??” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Do you know how to sit like a normal human??”

I roll my eyes and punch his arm. “Shut up.”

He takes my hand in his and just looks at me. I see his eyes glisten again, but he blinks it away.

“What would I do without you??” He asks, voice barely a whisper.

I shrug. “I dunno, suffer??”

We both laugh. He leans his head back against the couch and stares off into space, deep in thought. I change positions so I can lay my head on his shoulder, his hand coming to rest on my thigh. I sigh happily, grateful for the boy next to me.

During dinner, Sam remains relatively quiet, only really speaking when directly asked a question. Otherwise, he seems to retreat into his head. I can tell something bigger is going on, but I’m too scared to ask.

We finish eating, and Sam and I take our usual places at the sink to help with the dishes, him washing and me drying since he knows I can’t stand the feeling of wet food. We do so in total silence, which is incredibly unusual for us. Normally, we crack jokes and talk about what dumb things Dean did or the fun parts of the latest hunt. Instead, Sam has his head down, focused on the dishes, only looking up when he passes one to me to dry, his eyes never meeting mine. After a few minutes, the silence is too much, and I have to say something.

“Sam,” I set down my towel and turn my entire body to face him. “Are you ok??”

He freezes for a moment before he finishes scrubbing the dish in his hand. He passes it to me, and, as I dry it, he drains the sink and puts the sponge back on the counter. He turns around, leaning back against the counter. He watches as I finish drying, and as soon as I set the dish down, he grabs my arm.

“Can we talk outside??” He asks, still avoiding eye contact.

My heart sinks, but I nod in agreement and follow him out to the back porch. We sit down on the stairs as we’ve done a thousand times. My heart beats rapidly against my ribcage, mind immediately going to the worst-case scenario. Nothing could have prepared me for what comes out of his mouth.

“I’m leaving.” He pauses. “I’m going to Stanford, and I leave tonight, but I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”

Instantly, everything stops. My entire body goes numb, a pressure grows in my head, my chest gets tight, and my hearing turns to static. I can see Sam’s mouth moving, but the words are no longer registering. Tears well up in my eyes, and I think I can feel my heart breaking.

I’m pulled from my stupor by a hand coming to rest on my leg.

“Will you please just say something?? Anything??”

I avert my eyes, trying to hide the tears that threaten to fall. After a moment, my sadness turns to anger.

“Sam, what am I supposed to say?? My brother just moved halfway across the country, and now you??” I shake my head and look at him, no longer caring if the tears fall. “It’s been you and me against the world for forever, Sam. What am I supposed to do without you??”

I can see the hurt in his eyes. This is painful for him.

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine. You’re strong.”

My vision blurs even more as the tears build.

“What if I don’t want to be strong??” I whisper, causing Sam to close his eyes and take a shaky breath. “I can’t do this without you, Sammy. Please. Stay.”

With one last blink, the tears escape. I hear Sam sniff too.

“I can’t. This is something I have to do. Trust me, I don’t want to leave you.”

“Then don’t!! Don’t leave. Stay with me, please.”

Sam remains silent. He rises to his feet and holds out his hand. I huff and take it, pulling myself to my feet, staying on the step my feet were on. Sam stands on the ground in front of me, making us the same height. With his own tears streaming down his face, he smiles sadly at me and wipes mine. I close my eyes as his thumb brushes over my cheekbone. When I open my eyes again, they meet his, which are full of pain and love. He pulls me forward and rests our foreheads together, brushing our noses together as well, like always. I let out a small sob, trying to keep the dam from breaking. He moves his head and brings our lips together. I fist the back of his t-shirt, clinging to him for dear life. Our kisses are soft and slow, almost as if he’s committing my lips to memory. I try to do the same, savoring every moment. The taste of both of our tears combines with that of his lips, tainting my memories.

Sam is the one to break the kiss, bringing our foreheads back together.

“Please, don’t leave me.” I whisper between us.

Sam sighs but says nothing. He just pulls away and takes my hand, leading me back through the house. He puts his boots back on, then opens the door, nodding for me to step out first. We stand on the porch, both of us desperately trying to keep it together for the other person. He pulls me back to him, kissing me hard, breathing me in. I lean into him and my hands slide into his hair. He moves away and pulls me into his chest. I cry into his shirt, slowly losing my composure. He lays his head on top of mine and presses a kiss into my hair. After a moment, he lightly pushes me away, holding me at arm's length.

“I have to go now, Bee.” He says, his voice cracking as he attempts to give me a small smile. My heart breaks a little more as my childhood nickname comes from his lips.

“No, Sammy, please.” I beg one last time.

He looks up and clenches his jaw, making the muscles ripple. He looks back down at me, a wave of fresh tears staining his cheeks. He presses one last kiss to my forehead before he takes off down the steps. I follow him down the steps, stopping when my feet meet the wet grass at the edge of the sidewalk.

About halfway down the driveway, he turns back to me.

“For you,” is all he says before he goes to the driver’s side of the car at the bottom of the hill.

He climbs in and pulls away as I collapse into sobs in the front yard.

..

I turn to face him again, my vision blurred by tears. His eyes glisten as well. He swallows hard and nods, encouraging me to keep going.

“You told me everything, and my entire body went numb. I felt like I got hit by a bus. You kept talking, but I, honest to God, have no idea what you said. I was in shock. When you stood up to leave, I remember praying that you would stay. I remember begging you to stay. You held my face and wiped my tears, and I nearly broke down right there.” I can’t help it as the tears fall.

Sam wipes his face, avoiding my gaze.

“I managed to keep myself together until you left. You hadn’t even turned the corner at the end of the street when I broke. I collapsed to my knees, sobbing as if someone had told me you were dead. I cried for hours, every bone in my body aching. Every little thing reminded me of you, and it just hurt so bad. I stopped talking to my friends at school; I buried myself in schoolwork, and I spent most of my time in my room. After a while, the ache faded, but I still thought of you with everything I did or saw.”

I look down and shake my head with a cynical laugh.

“When I graduated high school, there was this part of me that, for some reason, expected to see you in the crowd as I walked across that stage. Thinking back, I still have no idea why I looked for you. I crossed the stage and saw Welch and the crew, my parents, Rhett and Kam, and coincidentally, there were two empty seats at the end of the row that, in my mind, were for you and Dean. It hurt more than it probably should have, but I was a dramatic teenager.” I laugh through the lump in my throat, and a soft chuckle comes from Sam. “I graduated with honors and at least 3 full-ride scholarships waiting for me. When asked why I didn’t take them, I told everyone that college wasn’t for me, when, in reality, I didn’t want to go unless you were there. So, I put my head down and put my blood, sweat, and tears into hunting, trying to outrun the pain instead of facing it.”

I take a deep breath, pausing to wipe my face.

“I had just started to feel more like myself when Rhett died. I was heartbroken all over again. I had lost you, and then my brother. I dreaded the funeral because I knew there was no way you and Dean would miss it.” I sniff and wipe a stray tear away. “Seeing you again at his funeral was like a kick to the chest. You went back to Stanford, and I went back to my broken family.”

I clear my throat and wipe my nose on my sleeve.

“My parents became extremely withdrawn after Rhett died. Mom stopped showing me any affection and, to keep Dad distant, she made sure they were barely home, burying themselves in hunting. I got a job to make some extra money for a little while and would come home to an empty house every night. One night in October, I packed up everything I could fit in my two duffel bags and my backpack, and I took off while my parents were on a hunt. I had become suicidal and knew that I wouldn’t make it through the week if I stayed in that house, so I ran. I left them a long note, telling them I would be fine and not to come looking for me, and booked it to Welch’s house. He and the crew welcomed me in with open arms and helped me way more than any of them will ever know. Despite that, I still felt like I was missing pieces of myself—missing you, Rhett, and my dad”

More tears fall from my eyes. Tears glisten in Sam’s eyes, one escaping and rolling down his cheek. I sniff a little before continuing.

“Then, just when I was settling in again, I got a postcard in the mail. It appeared as if it was from you. You had written a sweet message on it, and at the very bottom was a phone number. When I called, Dean picked up. He told me how he had seen you writing on postcards but never sending them, just tucking them in your bag.” I take a big, deep breath. “That’s when Dean told me about Ruby.”

I see Sam’s eyes widen, obviously panicking a little. I see the look on his face and silently ask the question I can’t bring myself to say out loud.

Sam wipes his face and runs his hands through his hair.

“It’s ok, keep going. I need to hear your side.”

I nod and swallow hard before continuing.

“I couldn’t believe everything he told me. That wasn’t the Sam I knew. But I kept my opinions to myself and just let Dean rant. He called me whenever he needed to vent or when he was overwhelmed, and even a few times when he was scared. I pushed aside my feelings and tried to help him as best I could from the outside. After a while, things went silent. Sometime around 2008, I think. Over the next couple of years, Dean slowly mailed me all the postcards you wrote. Any time the pain would sneak back in, I would read through them, committing your writing to memory, and sometimes it was as if I could hear you reading them to me. They brought me comfort when I needed it. You brought me comfort when I needed it.” I smile softly for a second. “I kept them. All of them. I have them in a scrapbook under my bed at Welch’s.”

I bite my lip.

“Then, last year, when my parents died, I fell apart. Despite all the abuse my mom put me through and the lack of love either of them showed me before they died, I was broken. I spent the week after their funeral locked in my room, curled up in bed, numbly staring at the wall. Eventually, Welch intervened and kicked in my door. He helped me put myself back together. I didn’t want to talk about my feelings, so I threw myself into hunting and tried to keep moving, hoping it would distract me from the pain. I would occasionally confide in Welch, but for the most part, I went where the hunts took me. I, at one point, was doing so many hunts in Texas that I just said, ‘fuck it’ and moved to Austin. I lived there for maybe 6 months before finally moving back to Lawrence.

“Then, last month, I was on a hunt in Roanoke, Virginia, fighting some major insomnia when my phone rang. It was Dean.” I laugh. “I was so pissed. He hadn’t said a word to me in 4 years, and now, out of the blue, he’s calling me begging me for help. He basically said that you were in rough shape and that he was worried. He wanted me to come because he thought I could get through to you when he couldn’t. I almost cussed him out. I almost hung up on him. And then my heart chose for me. Despite all the bottled-up anger and resentment I had, I couldn’t let you suffer. All of my memories of us together came flooding back, and I couldn’t say no.

“So, I packed up my stuff and started driving. I stopped by Welch’s house overnight to sleep and repack, and then I drove to Bobby’s house. When I saw Dean bandaging your hand, my world came crashing in. I saw the look in your eye when you finally saw me, and I almost lost it. You looked so scared and helpless. I honestly didn’t know what to do. I went through a whirlwind of every emotion you could think of. When you told us about your hallucinations, I had to leave the room, so you didn’t see me cry. Now here we are. Crying together in a shitty motel room, trying not to lose what little sanity we have left.”

I laugh, and Sam chuckles a little. But once again, the mood falls somber.

Sam clears his throat, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“Bryn, I am so sorry.” He looks up as his voice breaks a little. “I never wanted to hurt you. I knew that leaving would I just never imagined how much. To be honest, I assumed you moved on and forgot all about me.”

I scoff, honestly offended at the thought of ever forgetting him. “Never.”

I sit down on the bed next to him, and he takes one of my hands in his.

“Did Dean ever tell you what happened??”

“No, but you don’t have to tell me now if you don’t want to. It can wait til another day.”

He shakes his head.

“You spilled your guts; only fair for me to spill mine.”

He clears his throat and takes a deep breath, preparing himself for the memories he’ll have to relive.

“When I left for Stanford, I knew it was going to hurt. I betrayed Dean and Dad, leaving with our last words to each other being ones of hatred. I was fully prepared for you to go off on me too,” he pauses, “but you didn’t. Were you mad?? Absolutely, but you didn’t blow up like they did. I remember as I was leaving your house for the last time, I turned to you, and all I said was—”

“‘For you’.” I finish. “I always wondered what you meant by that.”

“Part of the reason I went to college was to get out of the life. I thought that if I could get out, maybe one day I could get you out too. I thought if I went to school and became a successful lawyer, I could get you out. We could have a family, and we could live an apple pie life.”

I look at him, a pit forming in my stomach. “But that’s not what happened, is it??”

He sighs.

“One of my friends, who later revealed that he was a Demon, introduced me to someone. He introduced me to Jessica—Jess. In an attempt to try and push away the pain of leaving you, I got with her. We had everything all planned out; our whole future laid out in front of us. I had even bought a ring to propose to her with. But we never got there.”

My stomach turns, and Sam clears his throat again.

“On October 30th, 2005, Dean showed up at my apartment and told me dad was missing. That’s probably why you didn’t hear from him for a little while. We finished the hunt he was on but never found him. I had my law school interview the next day, so I had Dean take me back to me and Jess’ apartment. I came in and immediately flopped down on my bed, happy to be home, and was waiting for Jess to get out of the shower so my life could get back to normal. Just as I settled in, I felt something hit my forehead. When I reached up to look at it, it was blood. And that’s when I saw her.”

My heart skips. Sam blinks away tears, his voice trembling as he retells the horrific memories.

“Jess was pinned to the ceiling with her stomach cut open. When I called out for her, she burst into flames, exactly how mom died when I was a baby. Dean had to drag me out of the apartment, so I didn’t die with her. At first, I was dead set on revenge. I was going to avenge her death and then try to live a normal life. But once I got back in, I knew there was no getting out.”

He tells me the story of the Special Children, how he died, and how Dean made a deal with a crossroads Demon. He tells me how horrifically Dean died, how he tried everything he could to get him back, even about his struggle with alcohol at the time. Then we get to Ruby.

“We had encountered Ruby a few times before Dean died. I was furious with her because she told me she could save Dean, but in reality, there wasn’t anything she could do. She got into my head, got under my skin, learned all my weaknesses, and used it to manipulate me into doing some horrific things. I was completely in denial of her schemes, despite Dean trying to warn me over and over and over. She continued to manipulate me, using me to help Lilith break the seals of Hell. The last one was killing Lilith herself, but I didn’t know that until after the fact. I released Lucifer and started the Apocalypse. That was in 2008, and that’s probably why you never heard from Dean again.”

He continues telling me about Cas, the whole Michael and Lucifer bullshit, and how he locked Lucifer and Michael away forever, at his own expense.

“What is it with you sacrificing yourself??” I tease. “God, Sam, do you really wanna die that badly??”

He chuckles at my jokes, and I see my favorite smile for the first time in a very long time.

He continues with his story, being soulless, then getting his soul back but not remembering anything, then Cas breaking the wall in his head.

“According to Dean, I was unconscious for at least three days after, and that’s probably when he called you. When I finally woke up, I felt fine. Nothing really out of the ordinary, and then the hallucinations started. That’s where you came in. I had a million thoughts running through my head when you walked in. I thought I was seeing a ghost, or that you were just another hallucination. I’m glad you’re not. I’m very glad you’re real.”

Once he finishes, we sit in the room's silence. Neither of us wants to talk, but I don’t mind all that much. The silence allows me to process everything, allowing a weight to lift from my chest. Our stories have been told, our struggles revealed, and I feel like I can finally breathe again.

I turn and glance at Sam, who has a blank stare. His mind is far away from where he sits, and I wonder if he’s struggling with his hallucinations again.

Saying nothing, I slowly slip my hand into his, the familiar warmth and weight of it bringing me a sense of comfort. His hand is much rougher than it used to be, now displaying years of hunting and the manual labor that comes with exhuming bodies. The most noticeable thing is how small my hand feels compared to his. His hand has always been bigger than mine, obviously, but it feels enormous compared to my somewhat dainty hands. Yet somehow, despite time and the size differences, our fingers still fit together like the last pieces of an elaborate stained-glass window. It feels incredibly natural, as if his fingers were designed to slot between mine.

A gentle squeeze brings me out of my trance, a quick smile flashing across my face. He can feel it too: the warm tingle that spreads from my fingertips up my arm, occasionally turning into brief shocks, sparks if you will. My heart flutters and I gently return the squeeze before sliding my hand from his grip.

“I’m gonna go to bed. I’m glad we could talk.” I pause, biting my lip and picking at my fingers again, deciding if I really want to say what echoes in my mind. My heart chooses for me. “I really missed you, Sam.”

Sam smiles softly at me.

“I missed you too. Sleep well, Bryn.”

He walks me to the door, and I walk out, then into the identical room next door. Now that all of that emotional weight is lifted, I fall asleep easily, mentally and emotionally exhausted, Dean’s bed still empty.

Chapter Text

August 30th

I head back to Lawrence for a couple of weeks, needing to do some laundry and take a breather. My last hunt with the boys was a tough one, so I’m in desperate need of a mental health day or two. Rhys and Fawn keep me company during my off week while Welch and the guys take care of some hunts on the east coast. We have some much-needed girl time and relaxation while the guys are gone, but once they return, it’s back to business as usual.

One morning while I’m scrolling on my phone at breakfast, I find another string of hunts down in Texas, so I call up one of my friends, Whit, to see if I can crash with her.

“Yeah, of course, girl!! I’m gonna be headin’ outta town soon, but you know where I keep the key. You’re welcome to whatever’s in the fridge, and I trust you’ll take good care of Natalie.”

I roll my eyes; Natalie is her fiddle-leaf fig tree.

“Yes, of course. You’re the best. When do you leave??”

“My flight is at 2 tomorrow afternoon. You’re what, 10, 12 hours away??”

“Yeah, give or take, I was gonna leave in an hour or so. I’ll probably be there sometime tonight, so we can hang out for sure.”

“Awesome!! Call me when you get off 35; I’m gonna put some fresh sheets on the guest bed.”

“Alright, babes, see ya soon.”

I hang up and start packing. I don’t think I’ll stay long, probably just a week. The hunts seem pretty cut and dry, so it shouldn’t take me long to get everything sorted out.

Once I’m packed, I load up my truck, restock my arsenal, grab a water bottle and a to-go cup of coffee, and head out. I put Whit’s address in my phone and start the GPS, then turn on my music before pulling out of the driveway and starting the horrendously long drive to Austin.

I stop at a couple of gas stations along the way, stretching my legs and getting snacks and gas. At the one in Dallas, I cave and buy an Arizona lemon tea. Finally, I reach Austin City Limits around 6:30pm. As soon as I hit the exit ramp, I dial Whit’s number.

“Hey girlie, I’m stuck on the exit ramp. Damn light backed up.”

Whit laughs.

“It’s alright, happens there all the time. Take your time; be safe.”

I smile. “I will. See ya soon.”

I hang up and drum my thumbs on the steering wheel. As much as I love Austin, the traffic here is God-fucking-awful. Finally, after what feels like an hour, the light changes, and we start moving. I pick up my phone again, this time calling Dean. It rings a bunch, then goes to voicemail.

“Hey Dean, just wanted to let you know I made it safely to Austin. See ya in a couple of weeks. Call me if you need anything. Bye.”

I then call Welch, who picks up.

“Hey, Bee, what’s up??”

“Just wanted to let you know I made it to Austin ok. I’m probably gonna stay a week or so, then head back.”

Welch hums. I can tell there’s something else on his mind, and I’m about to call him out on his bullshit when he speaks again.

“Are you running from the Winchesters??”

My face involuntarily scrunches in confusion.

“What?? No!! Why would I be running from them??” I shake my head. “I needed some space and a break for a bit, and then I saw a bunch of crazy happening here and figured I’d go off on my own for a bit. I’m good, I swear.” I roll my eyes at my stand-in dad.

“Hey, I’m just makin’ sure my girl’s alright.” He chuckles to himself. “Well, call me if you need anything. Love ya, Bee.”

 “Love you too, Welch. I’ll call you when I’m headed back.”

“Sounds good. Bye.”

I hang up and set my phone on my lap. I have no idea where he got the idea that I’m running from the boys. They have their own shit to handle, and I wanted to take some time to myself. As soon as I’m done with this and am back in Lawrence, I was planning to link back up with them.

After another 30 minutes on back roads, I pull into Whit’s driveway. She’s already standing on the porch waiting for me. I finish my tea and hop out, eager to catch up.

“Bryn!!” she squeals. I wrap her up in a hug. “Oh my God, I’ve missed you so much.”

I laugh.

“Missed ya too, Whit.”

She holds me at arm's length and gives me a once over.

“Haven’t changed a bit, have ya??”

I roll my eyes.

"Dude, it’s only been like 6 months. What were you expecting??”

She shrugs.

“I dunno, a breakup hair chop, more tattoos, another piercing, something.”

I laugh and hang my head.

“Nah, took me too long to get my hair this long.”

She laughs and I can’t help but think of when we first met.

..

The ice in my margarita floats as I stir it aimlessly. An ache grows in my chest as the weight of everything builds on my shoulders. I hate being alone, but I needed time away to escape the looks of sympathy from everyone. Just as my second round kicks in, a woman walks up to the bar a couple of chairs down from me.

“Hey Porter!! Can we get another round?? Caden’s being a bitch.” She says.

The bartender laughs.

“Sure, hun. Anything for you. Be ready in 10.”

She nods and heads back over to the table. My eyes return to my drink, and I take another large sip.

“Hey,” the woman says as she sits down on the stool next to me. “You ok??”

I turn and offer her a small smile.

“Yeah, I’ll be alright. Thanks.”

She taps her fingers against the bar top.

“I’m Whit, by the way. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before. You new ‘round here??”

I laugh quietly.

“Yeah, I’m Bryn. I just moved here. Wanted to try out all the local bars.”

She smiles. “Well, I may be a little biased, but I think this is the best spot. People are nice, drinks are cheap, and everyone knows how to have a good time.”

“Sweet. I’ll keep that in mind.”

I drink the last of my drink and set the glass back down. Whit looks like she has something to say but remains quiet. When the bartender turns back around, I catch his eye and wave for another one. He smiles and nods before continuing with what he was doing.

“Do you wanna join us?? My friends are super nice, and we’re always looking to make new friends.”

I look over at the table she came from, where everyone is laughing and smiling. I hesitate for a moment, but something about the group of strangers draws me in.

“Y’know what, sure. Why not??” I give her a smile.

The bartender comes over with the drinks for Whit and hands mine to me. I quietly thank him, and he nods in response.

“Caden!! Come get your shit!!” Whit yells to her table.

A guy with dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes walks over and takes some drinks from her.

“Bryn, this is Caden, my boyfriend. Caden, this is Bryn; she’s gonna be joining us for the night.”

Caden playfully rolls his eyes.

“I swear to God, you could make friends with a fucking brick wall.” He turns to me. “Welcome to the party table.”

I laugh quietly and follow them over to the round table in the corner.

“Ok, everyone, this is Bryn. She just moved here and needs some friends and a good time.” Whit passes out drinks as she introduces me. “Bryn, this is Laurie, my old roommate; Dixon, one of Caden’s work buddies; Lily is his girlfriend; and then there’s Logan, my best friend from high school.”

I give a small wave, and everyone smiles.

“Welcome. Hope you know how to have a good time,” Logan teases. Whit smacks him on the arm, eliciting a few expletives from him.

“Alright, let’s get this party started!!” Caden yells, making everyone else at the table hoot and holler.

This’ll be fun.

..

We hung out as much as their work schedules and my hunts would allow. At some point, Logan and I started getting close. We talked about it, and he knew I wasn’t looking for something long term and that I would eventually have to go back to Kansas. We continued our fling until the week before I was leaving.

..

“Ok, Logan, we need to talk.” I say, sitting down next to him on the couch, tucking my feet under me.

“‘Bout what, sweetheart??”

I pick at the skin around my nails a little.

“I’m leaving next Thursday. I’ve gotta go back home.”

His face contorts briefly.

“Ok, and??”

“And our little summer fling is ending. It was great, and I had a really fun time, but it’s time for me to go, and it’s easier to end it now rather than later.”

He scoffs.

“What do you mean ‘fling’?? This is way more than a fling.” He says, sternly.

“Logan, I told you when we first started this that it was no strings attached. Friends with benefits and nothing more. You agreed to it.”

“How dare you!! How dare you lead me on like that!! We had somethin’ wonderful goin’, and you think it means nothin’?? Way to fuck around with my feelin’s.” He says, raising his voice even louder.

“No, don’t you dare turn this on me. We had an agreement, Logan. You promised me you were ok with this. You told me to my face that this was nothing more than a fling. If your feelings are hurt, that’s on you, ‘cause I told you from day one and you agreed.” I yell back.

He laughs sarcastically.

“Look at you, always makin’ yourself the victim. It’s not all about you, Bryn; other people have feelings too.”

My blood boils, rage growing in my chest.

“Y’know what, Logan, fuck you. I told you I wasn’t looking for a relationship, and you knew that. Go fuck yourself.” I gather my keys and my purse.

As I turn around, a fist meets my face, knocking me to the floor.

“Fuck you, bitch. You’re just a fucking slut who’s only interested in a good bang. Go back to Kansas and be a whore for that guy that dumped you.”

I gasp a couple of times in shock before I gather up my things and sprint out of his apartment. I climb into my truck, tears streaming down my face. I take out my phone and call Whit, hands vibrating with adrenaline. While it rings, I throw my truck in reverse and speed out of the parking lot.

“Hey, babes, what’s up??”

I let out a sob.

“Logan punched me. I was breaking things off, and he got mad, and he punched me.”

“Oh my God, are you ok??”

I sniffle, trying to clear the tears from my eyes.

“I don’t know.” I wipe my face. “I’m 5 minutes away; break out the bourbon.”

..

Whit let me drink my feelings and was a great listener as I vented. I avoided Southern Roots except on days I knew Logan wouldn’t be there. I managed to avoid him until I left. He then started blowing up my phone, so I blocked his number. Thankfully, it has been radio silence from him since.

Whit pauses and looks at me, completely serious.

“He keeps calling me, asking about you. I’ve given him the truth every time, but he calls about once every couple of weeks.”

I sigh.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t think he’d be like that. Glad I blocked him, honestly.”

We both laugh.

“You know if we go out tonight, we’re probably gonna see him, right??”

I cross my arms.

“I didn’t come all this way to not have a marg at Southern Roots. Who cares if Logan’s there?? It was a fling, and we both knew it. He’s a big boy; he can handle it.”

Whit rubs my arms.

“Ok, whatever you say. Now, let’s grab your bags and get you settled.”

I grab one bag and my backpack, and she grabs the other. I kick my boots off at the door, set my stuff down in the guest room, then head out to the kitchen, where Whit is waiting with a couple glasses of white wine. I happily join her on the couch, carefully taking the glass from her hand.

While sipping my wine, I look around, then back at Whit. It’s awfully quiet.

“Where’s Caden??”

Whit sighs. “He’s been in Europe for the last week. Some business shit or something.”

“That’s annoying. Where are you going??”

She smiles.

“My mama is out in California, and I’ve been dying to go see her, but our schedules haven’t lined up in months.” She takes a sip of her wine. “I said, ‘fuck it,’ and took off a week of work to go hang with her.”

I beam at her. “Wow, Whit, that’s amazing!! You’re gonna have so much fun.”

She smiles and takes another sip. Her eyes get serious again, and I bite the inside of my lip, waiting for whatever question she has for me.

“What have you been up to?? Last we talked, you were driving to Sioux Falls for some family stuff.”

I purse my lips and take a big drink of wine.

“A childhood friend called me; his brother was going through some shit and wanted to see if I could help. You remember that guy Sam I told you about from when I was a teenager??” She nods. “It was him.”

Whit’s jaw drops.

“Dude what??!! I thought you hated him!!”

I laugh, shaking my head.

"Yeah, well, old feelings die hard, apparently. The minute I saw him, everything came rushing back.”

Whit tilts her head and looks at me with caring eyes.

“Man, that’s hard.” She takes my hand as I down the last of my wine. “I’m proud of you for going, though.”

I smile a little.

She passes me the bottle, and I refill my glass. We continue to gossip for hours about all the things that I missed after I left. When I look at my watch again, it’s almost 8:30.

“Hey, it’s 8:30; you wanna go??”

Whit’s head whips around and looks at the clock.

“Oh shit, yeah. We should change, though.”

I nod in agreement, and we each go to our rooms. I change into some short shorts and a cropped Coors Light shirt. I slip on my cowboy boots and a couple of bracelets, including my anti-possession one—better safe than sorry. I head to the bathroom and put on some light makeup, then brush my hair out and let it fall in auburn waves to the middle of my back. I spray on my favorite perfume and then head out, tucking my knife into the back of my shorts. I meet Whit out in the living room, and she grins at my outfit. She too is wearing short shorts but has paired hers with a cropped tank and flannel shirt combo. Her black hair falls in effortless waves just past her shoulders, and her makeup is a little heavier.

“You’re missing something,” she says, grinning.

I playfully roll my eyes.

“I know, I know. It didn’t fit in my bag, and I didn’t wanna squish it.”

“Good thing I have a spare.”

She runs back into her room and comes out with a beautiful black cowboy hat.

When I was here last, Whit and Laurie dragged me to a couple of shops in town. They bought me the cowboy boots I’m wearing and an absolutely gorgeous cowboy hat. I wore it every time we went to Southern Roots, which has always been our place. It’s kind of hard to pack, and I didn’t want to worry about losing it or messing it up. I knew I could count on Whit for a spare.

I put Whit’s hat on my head, and confidence suddenly buzzes through my body. I feel the most like myself that I’ve felt in a whole year.

“Wow, that hat changes everything.” Whit says, seeing my eyes light up.

I smile at her, and we head out to her car.

When we pull up, Laurie, Dixon, and Lily are all hanging outside waiting for us. Laurie is the first to spot me, and I can hear her squealing before I even get out of the car. I run over to her, and she pulls me into a massive hug. I laugh as we rock back and forth.

“Missed you too, girlie.”

She eventually lets me go, and I hug Dixon, then Lily.

I convince them all to gather in for a picture and snap a quick selfie of us. Lily then offers to take pictures of me and Whit together. She takes a couple with us in different poses. I swipe through them and love every single one.

“Well, are we just gonna stand here and reminisce, or are we gonna go in and have a good time like always??” I joke.

We all laugh and head in, making a beeline for our usual table. Whit waves at Porter, who’s working the bar tonight. I catch his eye and wave, and a shocked look grows on his face. He looks around for a second before waving me over.

“What’s up, Porter?? How’s it going??” I ask, genuinely happy to see him.

“You have to leave.” He says really low.

My stomach drops.

“Why?? I just got here.”

His eyes are constantly moving around, scanning the room for someone.

“Logan is here with some of his buddies. I’ve had to kick him out the past couple of nights for starting fights. Bryn, he’s violent, and I care about you, and I really don’t wanna call you an ambulance later.”

My heart thunders against my chest. I have no idea what to do. I just got here, and I wanna have a good time, whether or not he’s here, but at the same time, I’m not in the mood to get into a fight.

“Can I get a marg on the rocks, please??” I ask Port. He eyes me. “Chill, I just need to make everything seem normal. Whit’s gonna come over here if I’m gone too long.”

Port sighs and starts making my drink. My head is on a swivel, hypervigilance kicking in. Port slides me my drink, and I thank him before sneaking through the crowd to my friends.

“Hey, what took you so long??” Whit says, grinning like a fool.

I flash her a fake smile. “Porter had a couple of needy people, so it took a sec for him to get to me. All good.”

I sit down next to Whit, who’s sipping on her whiskey sour. I resist the urge to chug my drink, trying to act normal while half listening to the conversation. I jump in now and then, to make it seem like I’m engaged. I keep scanning the room, thankful that our table is a corner booth, so no one can sneak up behind me.

A familiar tune drifts through the air, and Whit gets a grin on her face. I down the last of my marg, knowing what’s about to happen.

“C’mon!! We gotta dance.” She grabs my hand and pulls me behind her to the dance floor.

Country Girl by Luke Bryan blasts over the speakers, and the dance floor fills up quickly. We all start the line dance we know by heart, some girls getting a bit raunchier than others. Joy fills me, and all of my worries dissolve. I dance my little heart out with one of my best friends by my side. She’s having an equally good time, scream singing the words as she dances. The song ends, and Whit pulls me in for a hug.

“I really missed this. You need to visit more often.” She yells in my ear as another loud song starts.

I pull back and give her a smile, and we walk back to our table, giddy as schoolgirls. I slide back into the booth, and Lily passes me a fresh margarita.

“Oh my God, Lily, I love you.”

She giggles.

“I noticed you finished your other one, so I figured I’d sneak over and get you a fresh one for when you got back.”

I thank her and take a sip. The previous dose of tequila kicks in, warmth spreading through my limbs. I relax and enjoy my time with my friends.

At some point, I realize I really need to pee. I tell Whit, and she follows closely behind me. I’m about 4 drinks in, so everything is getting a little hazy. I do my thing and wash my hands, then step out to wait on Whit.

Despite my carefree attitude from all the tequila, I still continue to scan the room, making sure that no one is coming for me. I see a figure move out of the corner of my eye, and as I turn to look, a punch lands on my cheek, sobering me up real fast. I stand up and stare Logan in the eyes, ready to fight back if I need to. He sneers at me and drives his fist into my face again, this time knocking me to the ground. I get up on my hands and knees, breathing deeply as the pain sets in. Logan’s hand knocks off Whit’s hat and tangles itself in my hair. He lifts me to my feet and slams me back against the wall, hand moving to hold me by my neck and starts crushing my windpipe.

"Did you really think you could come here and me not find out??" He growls in my face. I gasp for air and whimper as blood hits my tongue. My lip was split. "Where's that pretty boy of yours?? What was his name?? Sam??"

I grit my teeth and drive a hard kick into his groin. His grip on me releases, and he falls to his knees, allowing me to take in a deep breath. I pull out the knife in my waistband and slice a red line across his torso before he stands back up and plows his fist into my stomach, then again into my face. I fall to the floor, the world spinning. My knife goes skittering across the floor and I try to crawl towards it, but am yanked back by Logan’s hand on my ankle.

“You think you’re so tough, huh?? Let’s fucking go then. Gimme all you’ve got.” He holds his arms out to the side, welcoming me. “C’mon, let’s see if the little slut can fight.”

I know I’m not gonna win this fight, but I lunge for my knife and get back to my feet. I fight him as hard as I can, even stabbing him once in the side of his chest, but he ends the scuffle with a targeted blow to my head, instantly knocking me unconscious.

—

Fayetteville, Arkansas

11:30pm

~Sam~

Dean and I are doing research in our motel room, just hanging out, when my phone rings. Bryn’s contact photo pops up, and I smirk a little.

“Hey, Bryn, what’s up?? How’s Austin??” I ask.

“Hey, this is Bryn’s friend Whit. There’s been an incident, and I’m having to follow her to the hospital. Your contact was the first one I saw, and I didn’t know who else to call.”

My heart sinks.

“What happened??” I ask, rising to my feet.

“We were having a good time at a bar, and she needed to pee, so I went with her to the bathroom, and when I came out, she was gone. I turned the corner, and she was laying unconscious on the ground, her ex standing over her. He had her blood all over his hands and a couple of stab wounds from her knife. I called 911 and got the bartender, who kicked Logan out. The police have him in custody, but she’s in rough shape.”

My heart drops.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. What hospital are they taking her to?? Do you know??”

“St. David’s Medical in downtown Austin. I’ll stay with her until you get here; I just can’t leave her here alone, and I feel like she would want you here, too.”

“Thank you, Whit. I appreciate you doing that for her. Take good care of her for me.” I say, rounding up my jacket and wallet, Dean doing the same.

“‘Course, anything for her. See you soon.”

“Bye.”

I hang up. Stress builds as I grab all of my stuff.

“Ok, so you wanna share what’s happening??” Dean asks.

“That was Bryn’s friend, Whit. Bryn got attacked by her ex at a bar in Austin. He’s in police custody, and she’s on her way to the hospital.”

Dean’s eyes widen, and we both start packing faster. We run to the car, and Dean guns it out of the parking lot. My heart pounds in my chest, and I try desperately to remember Welch’s number. It suddenly comes to me, and I dial it. It rings a couple of times before he picks up.

“Yeah, Welch.” He answers.

“Welch, hey, it’s Sam Winchester.”

There’s a pause. “Why are you calling me?? What happened??”

“I just got a call from Bryn’s friend in Austin. She got attacked by her ex while they were at a bar. She’s headed to the hospital, and I figured I should let you know since you’re basically her dad.”

“I knew I had a bad feeling about that trip. Just text me when you get there. I’m in New Hampshire, so there’s no way I can make it down there.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Yes, sir. I’ll send updates as I get them.”

His voice hardens. “You better take good care of her, boy, or I will hunt you down.”

I swallow hard. “Yes, sir. I will, I promise.”

“Good,” he says, almost immediately hanging up.

I let out a breath. Welch is scary when he’s in dad mode.

Dean speeds as fast as he can safely, trying to cut down on travel time as much as possible. Despite Dean consistently doing 90 on the interstate, it still takes us 6 hours to get down there.

We arrive and park in the giant parking deck, taking the first spot we find. We jog across the breezeway and take the elevator down to the first floor. I pull out my phone and text Welch, then call Bryn’s phone.

The entire time the phone rings, I pray that it’s Bryn who picks up.

“Hey Sam,” Whit says on the other end, much to my dismay.

“Hey, where are you guys?? She still in the emergency room??”

“Yeah, head to the desk in the ER and tell them room 8. She’s under the alias Mallory Dexter, and you’ll have to give them the password ‘Hangover’ to get back, but that’s it.”

“Thanks Whit.” I pause and clear my throat. “How is she??”

She lets out a breathy laugh. “Just get your ass over here; it’s easier to tell you in person.”

Whit hangs up, and I roll my eyes. I tell Dean, and we follow the signs to the emergency room.

“Can I help you, gentleman??” the kind woman at the desk asks.

“Hey, I’m here to see Mallory Dexter?? She should be in Room 8??”

She looks up at me and Dean.

“What’s the code word??”

“Hangover.”

The woman looks between us, then nods and opens a door to the left of the desk.

“Room 8 is straight down that hall; 4th room on the right.”

I thank her and start walking as fast as I can, using my long stride length as an advantage. I make it to the room in no time, Dean following closely behind. I wait for him to catch up before I knock on the door. I hear someone say something, so I peek my head in.

The first thing I see is Bryn, asleep on the stretcher in the dim light. On the left side of the room, up by her head, is a young woman with long, jet black hair. She looks up and almost melts in relief.

“Please tell me you’re Sam,” she sighs.

I chuckle a little.

“Yeah, I am.” I open the door a little so Dean can peek in too. “This is my brother, Dean.”

Whit softly smiles and gets to her feet.

“Now that you two are here, I’m gonna head back to my place and get some of Bryn’s stuff and a shower. We’ve been here all night, and I feel gross.”

I nod and step aside so she can head out. She stops and grabs Bryn’s foot through the covers.

“I’ll be back, girlie. Miss you already.” She then turns and leaves.

I walk up to the head of Bryn’s bed. Her face is covered in deep bruising, as is her neck. Her lip is split, and dried blood is on the end of her nose. I reach out slowly and brush my hand over her hair.

"Oh, Bryn,” I sigh. “What did he do to you??”

I pull over a chair and sit close to her. The rail on this side is down, so I gently take her hand in mine.

Dean looks at me from across the room, leaning up against the wall.

“Dude’s lucky he’s in jail,” he says under his breath.

I huff out a laugh.

“Yeah, I’ve never wanted to beat someone to a pulp so bad.”

I look down at her hand, eyes landing on the bruises blooming on her knuckles and forearms; defensive wounds. I chuckle to myself. Atta girl.

There’s a tap on the door, and then a nurse walks in, somewhat surprised to see two men in here instead of Whit.

“Hi, I’m Lacey; I’m Mallory’s nurse. Did you two just get here??”

Dean looks down at his watch. “Got in ‘bout an hour ago.”

She smiles a little.

“I’ll catch you guys up really quick. Mallory suffered multiple blunt force traumas to the head and abdomen. She woke up once, about an hour after her injury, but she’s been sleeping since then. She miraculously didn’t have any bleeding in her brain. We’re trying to keep her sedated right now, just to make sure her brain has ample time to heal. Besides her injuries, everything is good. Her labs look great, and she’s healthy aside from the trauma. Once she wakes up again, we’ll know more about her mental status, but it looks like she should make a full recovery.”

Dean asks a couple of questions, but my focus is on her. My heart squeezes, a wave of old feelings washing over me.

“Aw, aren’t you two cute??" Lucifer sneers from the corner. “Makes me wanna barf.”

I try to ignore him and the ringing in my ears. This is gonna be a long night.

Chapter Text

August 31st

7:45am

~Bryn~

After sleeping for what feels like forever, I finally open my eyes. A soft steady beep comes from the monitor above my head. I stare at the ceiling, taking inventory of my injuries. My head aches, the skull-cracking pain dulled by the constant flow of pain medication into my veins. My neck throbs a little, there’s a deep ache in my ribs and stomach, and my face is swollen and bruised.

What really intrigues me, however, is the warm weight in my right hand. I look down at our intertwined hands, Sam’s hand easily dwarfing mine. I follow his arm with my eyes and find him fast asleep in the recliner next to me, his breathing slow and deep as he rests. I look down towards my feet and there sits Dean on my other side, scrolling on his phone. I take a deep breath and shift a little; the movement sending pain through my torso. My eyes clamp shut, and I try to breathe away the pain, but this hurts like a motherfucker. I feel Dean’s eyes land on me, and I hear his clothes rustle as he leans forward. When I reopen my eyes, Dean chuckles.

“Well, hey there, Sleeping Beauty.” He jokes quietly.

“What happened?? Where’s Whit??” I whisper, my voice hoarse and throat sore.

“Whit went home to shower and gather up your stuff when we got here. She’s been texting your phone with updates since she doesn’t have either of our numbers. Looks like she’s on her way back, but she’s stuck in the morning rush hour on 35.”

I let out a sigh of relief. Good to know she’s alright.

“What happened?? I don’t remember much after getting to Whit’s house.”

“You went to Southern Roots with Whit and met up with your friends. Whit said that you told her you needed to pee, so you both went to the bathroom. She said when she finished in the bathroom, you weren’t waiting for her in there, so she went out into the hallway. Logan was standing over you with his hands all bloody, and she called 911, yelled at him, then had the bartender throw him out. The police were waiting for him outside, and an ambulance was on its way.” He takes a deep breath and rests his hand on top of mine. “You got super lucky: no internal bleeding, just really bad bruising and a nasty concussion from the blows to the head.”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. This fucking sucks.

A thought occurs to me, and I panic for a second. “Wait, where are my clothes??”

Dean chuckles again.

“They’re in a bag over here on the floor. They didn’t have to cut anything off, and Whit said the hat and your knife are back at her house.”

I nod. There’s a brief silence, and I finally say what’s been bouncing around in my head.

“I’m sorry you guys had to come all the way down here.”

“Bryn, it’s ok. We had just started research for the hunt we were on. I put some of Bobby’s old hunter friends on it. I think Welch got someone to cover what you came down here for, so no worries.” He clears his throat. “We’re just glad you’re ok.”

His clothes rustle again, and I open one eye to see what he’s doing. He moves to the door and turns back before opening it.

“I’m gonna go get you some water. I’ll be right back.”

I thank him, suddenly aware of how uncomfortably dry my mouth is. He leaves, closing the door as quietly as possible so as not to wake Sam. I very carefully roll over onto my side, facing towards Sam. My eyelids get heavy again, and I slip back into a light sleep.

..

10:15am

“Alright, these are your discharge instructions. Take these medications as needed for nausea, dizziness, and pain, and continue all of your normal medications. Get lots of rest, no intense exercise or heavy lifting; try your best to not use your phone or watch TV; try to avoid bumping your head on anything as best you can; no alcohol or drugs for a month; there’s a list of red flag symptoms that warrant a trip to the emergency room; and some education on brain injuries and contusions for you. I wrote our phone number on the front page in case you have questions, and please, be careful.” Lacey says, going through the packet. “Your memory, coordination, cognition, and speech are probably gonna be off for a few weeks, so don’t be surprised if it’s hard to find words or keep a train of thought. I wish you the best with your recovery, and I hope you get back to normal soon.”

She points us toward the exit, and I walk out behind the boys and Whit. The Texas sun is in full force, and I’m immediately struck with a sharp pain and quickly close my eyes. I reach out and grab Sam, trying to make it known that I’ve stopped.

“Bryn, you ok??” He asks, taking the hand that grabbed his arm.

“The sun is crazy bright. I can’t open my eyes without pain shooting through my skull.”

Sam doesn’t say anything; he just loops my arm in his and holds me close, guiding me to the car. I rest my cheek against his upper arm, hoping the walk isn’t too long. We get into the parking deck, and I keep holding onto Sam until he stops at the Impala. He opens the door for me, and I slip into the backseat.

Dean drives us to Whit’s apartment so I can pick up my stuff and get my truck. I realize on the drive over that there’s no way I’ll be able to drive home. Just looking out the window as we’re riding is making my head hurt.

“Hey, Sam??” I lean forward.

“Yes, ma’am??” He replies, leaning his head back a little.

I snicker. “Is there any way you could drive me and Riley back to Lawrence?? There’s no way I’m gonna be able to do it.”

He turns to look at me over his shoulder.

“You’re gonna let me drive your truck??” He smirks.

“I don’t really have another choice, Sam. Just watching the cars passing by out of the window back here is too much for me right now, much less a long drive where I have to look at the road.”

“Hey, I’ll do whatever you need me to do. I promise, I’ll drive easy.”

I smile.

“Thank you, Sam.”

Dean pulls into the driveway next to my truck, and Sam gets out, opening the door and helping me out. He gets me to the shade where Whit is standing, holding my bags.

Dean takes them from her and tosses them into the trunk of the Impala.

I step forward, eyes still squinted, and wrap her in a bear hug. She laughs quietly.

“Thank you, Whit. I can’t thank you enough for everything.”

“Of course, babe. I couldn’t just leave you.” She rubs my back. “And sure, you can; just come visit more often.”

I laugh and pull away slightly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to stay very long. I promise I’ll stay longer next time.”

Whit just smiles at me. She turns to look at Sam, who is still lightly holding my arm, so I don’t fall.

“Sorry we had to meet like this, Sam.” She grins. “Take care of my bestie for me.”

Sam chuckles. “I will. I promise.”

“Good.” Her eyes get serious. “You ever heard the song Goodbye Earl by The Dixie Chicks??” Sam doesn’t say anything, just swallows hard. “Yeah, that’s what’ll happen to you if you hurt her again, got it??”

Sam clears his throat. “Yes, ma’am.”

Whit hugs me one last time before she and Sam walk me over to Riley. Sam opens the door and helps me in.

“Love ya, Bryn. See ya later, hun.”

“Love you too, Whit. Have fun in Cali for me.”

She laughs and closes the door.

I hear the driver’s side door open, and Sam sighs as he settles in the driver's seat. He cranks the engine, and Riley rumbles to life. Dean leads the way out, and Sam follows close behind.

Once we merge onto 35, I fall asleep, leaning up against the window, the tune of Goodbye Earl stuck in my head.

—

We pull into Welch’s driveway around 9:15pm, waking me from another nap. My head hurts, and all I want to do is lay down, my brain overstimulated and my torso on fire. Sam walks around and helps me out while Dean digs my bags out of his trunk.

Welch is waiting at the top of the porch stairs for me, arms crossed. He’s not mad; he’s just worried.

“Welcome back,” Welch says, supporting my other side as Sam helps me up the stairs.

They help me downstairs to my room, and I climb into bed. Sam unpacks my meds and closes my blackout curtains, making my room nice and dark. I let out a sigh of relief and sink down into my bed. I take all three of my medications, trying to get the world to stop swaying every time I move my head, the pain to stop pounding against my skull, and to stop the deep ache in my stomach. Sam runs his hand over my hair and presses a soft kiss to my forehead.

“Are you ok if I head out??” He asks very quietly.

My stomach sinks. I give Sam my best puppy eyes. I really don’t want him to leave.

“Can you stay a little longer??”

He chuckles and heads over to my door, where he kicks off his boots and shrugs out of his jacket. He crawls in under the covers, and I immediately move to his side, cuddling up to him. I fall asleep almost immediately, influenced heavily by the painkillers and the soft thumping of Sam’s heart in my ear.

..

September 1st

When I wake up again, Sam is gone, and the room is pitch black. Maybe it was all just a dream, but the strong ache in my head, throat, and torso says otherwise.

I groggily sit up and grab my phone from my nightstand. I have a couple of texts from Sam and Dean both.

Dean

Hope you get to feeling better, sweetheart

See ya soon

Sam

Hey, I know you’re still asleep, but I wanted to let you know I got to the motel ok. Dean had to drag me away from you

Come see us when you get to feeling better ❤️❤️

I smile at the messages and sigh. I will myself to get out of bed, trudging up the stairs. At some point, the sun came up, and it’s now noon. I hear voices and see that the light in the kitchen is on. I turn the corner, smoothing my hair down with my hands.

Jason is the first to spot me.

“Well, hey there, sleepyhead.” He smiles at me.

I laugh and smile back. Fawn and Rhys both jump up and come to my side, wrapping me in a group hug.

“We were so worried about you.” Rhys says.

“How do you feel??” Fawn asks.

I shrug.

“I’m ok. As long as I keep the pain meds coming, I’m fine.” I say, my voice coming out hoarse and crackly.

I let go of the girls and shuffle slowly over to the table.

“Are you hungry?? Welch made pasta.” Fawn asks, standing in the kitchen.

“Um, I’m good for right now; thanks, love.”

Her face falls a little, but she wordlessly walks back over to the table and sits down next to me.

I try desperately to keep up with the conversation, but my brain is not moving fast enough, quickly falling behind. Fawn passes me a roll, and I pick at it, eating very slowly. I catch what I can of the conversation but mostly just retreat into myself.

I can’t remember anything after getting to Whit’s apartment. She told me about meeting up with everybody at Southern Roots and us line dancing, but none of it is there. The doctors warned me that amnesia was a common thing with bad head injuries like mine. I have a bunch of photos from that night, but the memories are gone. Anger pools in my stomach at the realization that this is yet another thing that Logan has taken away from me. He took my happy memories.

I have to shake away the thoughts, not wanting to get myself too worked up. I finish eating my roll, and Fawn passes me another. I roll my eyes but take it and quietly thank her.

My phone buzzes against my leg, making me jump. I turn it over, and it’s Sam calling me.

“Hey, Sammy,” I say, pushing myself up out of my chair. I wobble a bit but quickly recover and head for the front porch.

“Hey, you’re awake.” I can hear the smile in his voice.

“I definitely don’t feel awake, but yeah, here I am.”

Sam chuckles.

“We got a motel room in town; I can come back over if you want??”

My heart flutters a little.

“Is Dean ok with that??” I tease.

“I gave him the idea, asshole.” Dean yells from across the room.

I can’t help but laugh. “I’m taking that as a yes.”

“I’ll be there in, hm, 20 minutes. Just gotta find a car to borrow.”

I smile.

“Ok, see you soon.” I pause. “Oh wait, Sam??”

“Yeah??”

“If you’re hungry, Welch made his famous pasta. I’m sure there’s more than enough for you, too.”

“Awesome, sounds great. Be there in a few.”

We both hang up, and I head back inside.

“Who’s ‘Sammy’??” Nash teases.

“Shut up. He’s a childhood friend.” Everyone looks at me like I’m stupid. “What??”

“Bryn, we could all see the look on your face when you saw it was him calling,” Rhys says. “He’s not just a friend.”

My cheeks flush, and I laugh.

“Ok, whatever you say.” I throw my hands up.

Rhys rolls her eyes and stuffs the last bit of pasta into her mouth.

Welch walks in from somewhere and sits in the chair on the other side of me.

“Hey, B, how’s it going??” He eyes the half-eaten roll in my hands. “Please tell me you’ve eaten more than that.”

I put another piece of it in my mouth. “This is my second one.”

Welch gives me his dad face.

“Bryn—”

“I know, I know. I just really don’t feel like eating right now. My head hurts and my throat is sore.” I look at the roll in my hand. “Is it ok if Sam comes over??”

Welch laughs.

“Bryn, you’re an adult; you don’t have to ask permission for your boyfriend to come over.”

I shoot him my bitch face.

“C’mon, not you too.”

“You’re in denial; I get it, but it’s ridiculously obvious that what you two had is still there.”

I pick off another piece of roll.

“Shut up.” I grumble, my cheeks warming.

Welch ruffles my hair and heads to the living room. I join the main conversation once again and listen to my adopted siblings bickering like always. I can’t help but smile; the sounds of my family laughing and joking around fill the air.

I finish off my roll as Rhys and Fawn finish their food. I get up when they take their dishes to the sink. They walk together to the living room, but I branch off, heading for the loveseat under the window in Welch’s office, looking out for Sam. I can hear everyone talking, but I tune it out as a car approaches. I silently stand back up and walk out onto the front porch. I very carefully traverse down the stairs and stand at the edge of the walkway, just like I did at my parents' house when he left 10 years ago. He climbs out of his “borrowed” car and locks it, standing in front of it.

We stand in silence, just looking at each other. Slowly, we both walk into the front yard, our eyes locked together. We meet in the middle of the yard, still looking into each other's eyes.

“Hi,” I say quietly.

Sam chuckles.

“Hey.”

His hands come up to my shoulders, and he pulls me to him.

I sigh happily as I press my face into his shoulder, inhaling the familiar smell of his cologne. His head rests on top of mine, and we just hold each other. At this point, my resolve weakens. I don’t know that I can be mad at Sam anymore. We’ve talked about it, and we worked through those pent-up emotions. I allow the feelings from my youth to slowly return, and I melt into him.

“You ok??” He asks, rubbing my back.

“I’m better now that you’re here.”

He chuckles and runs his hand over my hair, pressing a kiss to the side of my head.

I lean back a little, and Sam loosens his grip. I wiggle out one of my arms and brush his hair back from his face, my hand lingering on his cheek. I feel the muscles in his back ripple a little, an unknown emotion flashing over his eyes.

“Hey, you alright??” I ask, running my hand over the light stubble on his jaw.

He blinks a couple of times before responding.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

He looks down at me, and warmth floods my veins. I lower my gaze to his lips, lingering slightly before returning to meet his eyes. My heart pounds in my chest, breath catching in my throat. Sam’s eyes search mine for a second before he finally leans down and connects our lips. I eagerly return the kiss, savoring the feeling of his lips against mine. I slide my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding me to him. His hands gently hold my waist, keeping my body against his. Sam is the one to break the kiss, pulling back for air, our foreheads touching. My head spins, and I can’t tell if it’s from the kiss or the annoying head injury.

“I didn’t realize how much I missed that until just now.” Sam whispers between us.

I giggle a little.

“Me neither. I’m glad to have you back, Sammy,” I say quietly.

He just barely nudges his nose against mine, a callback to the past kisses we’ve shared. I press one last quick peck to his lips before pulling back even more.

“You wanna go inside??” I ask, jabbing my thumb over my shoulder.

Sam shrugs and lets go of me, taking my hand. We walk up to the house together, hand in hand. Sam opens the door for me and shuts it behind us. I drag him into the living room, where he sits down in my usual spot, pulling me down so I’m almost sitting on him. I giggle a little as he wraps his arms around my waist and holds me to him. We watch whatever random shit Welch has on; well, at least Sam does. My brain is still a little too scrambled for me to follow a TV show at the moment. Instead, I drape my legs across Sam’s lap and rest my head on his shoulder. I can feel everyone’s eyes on us, but at this point, I don’t really care. I’m just happy Sam is here.

Chapter Text

Slash Fiction S07E06

September 14th

Sam and I are sitting on the couch, Dean’s standing next to Sam, and Bobby’s leaning against the wall across from us. All of our eyes are trained on the old-as-fuck tube TV in the corner, staring in disbelief at the news.

“The two men, who up until today were presumed dead, locked the doors and opened fire, leaving no survivors. Sam and Dean Winchester are now the subjects of a manhunt throughout the state of California. Warning: The video you’re about to see is graphic in nature and may be disturbing to some viewers.”

Footage from a security camera shows “Sam” and “Dean” aggressively herding a group of people into a safe before looking at each other. “Sam” winks at the camera with a smug grin, and they open fire, killing all the people in the safe.

Bobby turns off the TV and turns to the boys.

“Busy morning, you two??” He asks sarcastically.

Dean shakes his head in disgust.

“Those sons of bitches xeroxed us.”

“But I don't understand how,” Sam says, standing up as he thinks.

“I don't know.” Bobby stands up and heads to the refrigerator, pulling out a beer. “Maybe one of 'em touched you at the hospital.”

From downstairs, the Leviathan Bobby has been experimenting on yells, “It was the hair!! Not too hard to lift some DNA out of a motel shower drain, guys!!”

“You can copy people like that??” I ask. Bobby just shrugs. “Awesome. Well, what is their plan, exactly??”

Sam shakes his head and crosses his arms.

“Squeeze us. Turn us into the most wanted men in America.”

“All right. Well, that settles it. We find these ass monkeys, and we kill them ourselves,” Dean says.

Bobby holds out a hand. “Wait a sec. Every form of law enforcement in the country has seen your ugly mugs this morning.”

“Exactly. So, what's the point in trying to hide??”

I roll my eyes at Dean’s ignorance. It’s like he’s trying to get arrested.

“Better than sticking your fool neck out. These things are smarter than you.”

“Geez, Bobby, don't sugarcoat it,” Sam jokes.

“You don't have a clue how to kill 'em or slow 'em down, and your plan is what?? Go right at 'em?? Genius.” Bobby rolls his eyes.

“They're wearing our faces, Bobby. This is personal,” Dean says, raising his voice a little in anger.

“Yeah, I'm with Dean here.” Sam says.

I shoot a look at Bobby and roll my eyes. I love them, but the Winchester brothers can be total dumbasses.

Bobby sighs.

“Well, if you're gonna be stupid, you might as well be smart about it.” Bobby walks over to a chair where his bag sits by the door. He pulls out one of his small journals. “You need to see a fella named Frank Devereaux.”

“Who's he??” I ask.

“He's a jackass and a lunatic, but he owes me one from back in Port Huron.” He writes something and hands Dean the slip of paper. From where I’m sitting, I can just barely make out an address scribbled on it. “In the meantime, I'll keep working on Chatty Cathy here, see if I can figure out what makes him die.”

We head to the bunks to pack, and I can feel Sam’s eyes on me. I try to ignore it, but my skin crawls as he looks at me. I know he’s still worried about me after the whole Austin incident, but I’m honestly fine. Cleared for activity by my doctors, given a clean bill of health and everything. Now, if I could just get the damn nightmares to stop, Sam would quit looking at me like I’m going to spontaneously combust.

After we pack, we pile into the Impala, and this time it’s my eyes on Sam. I can see him messing with his palm, so I know he’s having some kind of hallucination. They’ve really been messing with him lately, but he seems like he’s got it under wraps, though looks can be deceiving when it comes to the Winchester boys.

 I eventually stop watching him and turn my focus to the scenery flying by.

We stop at a gas station around 10pm, needing a gas and snack break. I get up and stretch my legs, leaning up against the side of the Impala.

“The usual??” Sam asks Dean as he heads towards the convenience store.

“Rhymes with sing-songs,” Dean jokes.

“Can you get me a Dr. Pepper, please??” I ask with a smile.

He smiles back and nods before heading inside.

After a few minutes, Sam comes out with empty hands and a very serious look on his face.

“Pretty sure the cashier just made me. Drive.”

Dean quickly hangs the pump back up while Sam and I climb in. Dean slides in, and we speed off, tires squealing as we leave the parking lot.

“What happened??” I ask, glancing back behind us.

“They had video playing from another attack on the news. Guy recognized me and called the cops.”

I sigh and run a hand through my hair. I’ve never really wanted to know what it’s like to be a fugitive (or to be associated with two of them), but now I get to experience it firsthand. This stress is going to be the death of me.

—

Dean pulls the Impala off a country road into a driveway with an old farmhouse sitting next to it. I’m already on edge after the other events of today, so my hand rests on the gun I keep in my waistband.

“You sure this is the right place??” Dean asks.

Sam hums an affirmation, and we all, semi-reluctantly, get out of the car. The boys walk in front of me up the stairs onto the small porch. Sam knocks on the door a few times.

“Frank, you in there?? Frank??” He reaches down to the doorknob and twists, the door clicking open. “Frank??”

We hesitantly step inside and start walking around in the dark.

“Frank?? Frank, anybody here?? Hello?? Anybody home??” Sam calls.

My heart thuds against my chest as we look around. The hair on the back of my neck stands up; someone’s watching us.

At that moment, someone flips on a lamp. We all turn around super fast to find a short, overweight man sitting casually in an armchair, pointing a rifle at us. His hair is disheveled, his button-up open to reveal a white t-shirt, wrinkled brown slacks cover his legs, and his glasses sit lower on his nose than they probably should.

“Well, well. Spider caught some flies,” the man says with a sarcastic smirk. “Well, I'll be damned. Psycho Butch and Sundance. You're on CNN right now.”

Sam shakes his head.

“No, no, t—that's not us.”

“I know. Can't be. Unless you had a teleporter.” He looks suspiciously at the boys, then jabs his gun in their direction. “Do you have a teleporter??”

Dean shakes his head.

“No, sir. We don't,” Sam says, his voice coming out with a slight attitude.

“Well, my condolences on the doppelgängers. Now, who sent you?? NSA?? The Feeb?? March of Dimes??”

What the hell did this guy do to be worried about March of Dimes coming after him?? Jesus fucking Christ.

Dean looks at Sam and me, then back at Frank.

“Uh, Bobby Singer sent us.” At that, Frank springs to his feet with a low growl, and he cocks his gun. Dean holds his hands up in appeasement. “Or not. Who??”

“H-he said you could help. He said you owed him from Port Huron,” Sam interjects.

After a beat, Frank lowers his gun.

“Guy saves your life one time, and, what, you owe him the rest of yours??” He mutters.

Dean nods. “That's usually how it works, yeah.”

Frank points his gun back at Dean, then brings it back down to his side again with an exasperated sigh.

“‘Kay, fine. I’ll need all your aliases to start with, any fake IDs if you have them.”

Dean nods and sends me back to the car to grab them. I dig one box out of the trunk, the other out of the glove compartment. I return to Sam and Dean, who are both staring at the security footage from the first incident as it plays on a couple of different screens. I try to keep my eyes off the screens. I’ve seen it enough times today and it’s incredibly unsettling.

Frank takes the boxes from me, pulls out all the IDs, and drops them a few at a time into a shredder.

“Oh, yeah. I know that Bobby's into that magic hooey, but truth is, the government has been cloning people for years. Guess it was just your turn in the barrel.”

I snicker. God, Bobby knows some weird ass people.

“Well, actually—” Sam starts before Dean taps his arm.

“Forget it. He's rolling,” Dean mutters.

They walk forward towards Frank’s desk, stopping in front of it with me just slightly behind.

“Yours have been busy beavers. You're number two on the most wanted list. Quickest climb up the charts since Donna Summer.” Frank turns and starts typing on one of his many keyboards. “Thankfully, they haven’t gotten to your little girlie friend over there yet, so you can keep yours the same, princess.”

I squirm at the way he talks to me. Makes me want to rip off my skin and bleach it.

“So, what do you think we should do??” Sam asks.

In all seriousness, Frank turns to him and says, “Cuba's nice this time of year.”

Dean’s brow wrinkles.

“No, we're not hiding.”

Frank looks at me and Sam.

“Is he always this stupid??”

I snicker, receiving a sharp glare from Dean in response.

“Look, we, uh—” Frank turns on some classical music as Dean talks. “We gotta stick around and kick a couple asses. So, we just need you to get us further off the grid but keep us on the board.”

“Well, first thing we got to do is wipe all your old aliases. No more rock shoutouts. It's Tom and John Smith from now on. And no plastic. Cash only. And change your phones on a...” He tosses two phones into the air, one for each of the boys. “...very frequent non-schedule schedule, you understand?? Oh, and try to stay out of view of the 200 million cameras that the government has access to, 'kay??”

“200 million??” I ask.

Frank nods. “Big Brother, he has many eyeballs, my friend. You see a place that even looks like it can afford security—” Frank pulls Sam’s laptop out of the messenger bag he keeps it in. “—you just ease on down the road. This... this is your laptop, right??” He asks Sam.

“Yeah. That's mine.”

Frank turns and begins enthusiastically smashing it on the desk.

“What?? Gee—” smack “hey—” smack “what are you—” smack “what the fuck was that??” Sam stammers as he watches Frank destroy it.

Frank then grabs a new one and passes it over to Sam.

“Uh... Thank you, I guess,” Sam says, turning it over in his hands before sliding it into his bag.

“No problem. You owe me five grand, cash.”

I nearly choke on my spit.

“What??” we all say in unison.

“Unless you wanna go comparison shop at the mall, sweet cheeks. Say hi to the cops for me. Okay.” Frank grabs a fistful of Dean’s jacket and shoves him towards a wall with a blue canvas hanging on it. “Let's Blue Steel you up some new ID, Mr...” He snaps a picture. “...and Mr...” he yanks Sam over to the same spot and takes his picture as well. “...Smith.”

Frank makes the new passports and fake IDs, then throws them into one of the empty cigar boxes Dean is holding. He then turns and hands Sam a map.

“I marked all the towns your stunt doubles hit so you can see the pattern.”

We all look at the map.

“All right, great. Um, so, what is the pattern??” Sam asks.

Frank shrugs. “No clue, man. I can't see it.”

“Seems random,” I say.

“Little tip from a pro—there is no such thing as a random series of robbery murders by your evil twins. Well, have yourself some uppers and look at that some more.” He leans forward and pats Sam on the shoulder. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, Frank,” Sam replies.

Frank scoffs.

“For what?? Sending you to your death?? Your doubles want to be on candid camera; put you in the line of fire.” He jabs a finger at them. "Now I'd lay low, 'cause I love life and its infinite mysteries. But you two want to be dumb; that's fine. At least have the common sense to ditch your car.”

Dean raises his eyebrows, his eyes wide, and cranes his neck slightly.

“Wh—uh, excuse me—what??”

I have to stifle a laugh at the look on Dean’s face. He’s about 5 seconds away from losing his shit.

“Your doublemints—they're using a car just like the one outside,” Frank whispers, jabbing a thumb towards a window. “I would suggest finding something more… conspicuous, if you will.”

Dean’s freak out intensifies, and he looks wide-eyed at me and Sam, potentially on the verge of tears.

“Hey, it’s ok; we can just use my truck,” I say, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, but what’re we gonna use to get back to the cabin??”

The answer to that is an old Pontiac Acadian hatchback that is just barely able to accommodate the boys’ height. I, too, am squished, just in the back, surrounded by trash. A My Little Pony figure hangs from the rearview mirror, and I can see Dean fume. It doesn’t take long for him to whip out his knife, cut the string it’s hanging from, and throw it into the floorboard near where I’m sitting.

I can see Sam trying to keep his composure as he looks at Dean, who’s scowling and white knuckling the steering wheel. I can only pray he doesn’t make eye contact with me, otherwise I won’t be able to hold back my laughter anymore.

“You okay??” He asks Dean.

“You know, it's bad enough that they're ganking people, wearing our mugs, but now this?? Have us driving around in this... this caboodle while Baby's on lockdown,” Dean growls.

“It's temporary, Dean,” I say, rolling my eyes at him being the ultimate drama queen. “This is literally just to get us back to the cabin, and then we can just use Riley.”

“Nobody puts Baby in a corner,” Dean mutters to himself.

“Y-you know that's a line from—” Sam says, and Dean cuts him off.

“Swayze movie. Swayze always gets a pass!!”

Sam pauses, nodding curtly.

“Right. Uh, well, you want some tunes or something?? Here.” Sam flips on the radio, and All Out of Love by Air Supply flows from the speakers. He looks at Dean and cringes. “Sorry, man, I—I...”

“Just leave it. Probably gonna be the only thing on.”

Sam looks down at the map Frank gave us, studying the different marks, and I look over his shoulder to see if I spot anything. When I look back over at Dean, he’s lip-synching with the song.

“I'm all out of love

I'm so lost without you”

Sam notices his brother as well, avoiding looking at him but wide-eyed.

“I know you were right

believing for so long

I'm all out of love”

At the same time, Sam and I turn our heads to stare at Dean in, honestly, pure confusion. Dean notices that we’re both staring at him, and he stops.

“What am I without you??”

Dean turns his head and keeps low-key lip-synching.

“I can't be too late to say that I was so wrong

Oh

What are you thinking of??”

Sam and I watch as he moves his head to the music.

“Here,” Sam says, cutting the radio back off.

I snicker and lean back, waiting for the bickering or teasing to start, but it doesn’t.

Sam continues to study the map as we ride, his eyes widening as he comes to a realization.

"Dean,” he says.

“What??”

“Jericho—the lady in white. Blackwater—Wendigo. Lake Manitoc—the kid in the lake.”

“They're hitting towns we've worked jobs in.”

“In order. Since the day I left Stanford with you.”

My eyes widen this time, and my stomach swan dives towards my feet. That was over 7 years ago; they have plenty of places to go before the boys find them.

“So, what, they want us to find them??” Dean asks, glancing back and forth between Sam and the road.

Sam shrugs.

“Well, one way to find out—next case would be in...” he thinks back for a moment. “St. Louis.”

Dean relaxes and smiles.

“Perfect. Connor's Diner. Best burgers in St. Louis. Oh, I deserve something good in my life right now.”

Sam’s phone rings, and the screen says Bobby. He answers and puts it on speakerphone.

“Hey, what’s up??”

“Choppin' their heads off won't kill 'em, but it'll slow 'em down pretty good. Till they fuse back up, anyhow.”

“Well, that's something, I guess. I mean, assuming we can even get close to them.”

“Believe me, I don't want you walking right up to 'em, either. I'm still looking for something you can shoot at 'em.”

“Good times. All right, thanks, Bobby,” Dean says.

A female voice in the background asks if Bobby takes mayo on his sandwiches. The answer is yes, but, hearing the female voice, Dean breaks out in a smirk.

“You got a chick over there??” Dean teases.

“What??” Bobby pauses. “No.”

“Are you even working, Richard Gere??”

I can’t help but laugh at that one, failing to keep quiet.

“Shut up, you idjit.” Dean, Sam, and I all grin at each other. “And Bryn, I can hear you laughing. Asshole.”

I laugh even harder.

“Where are you boys off to next??”

“Uh, St. Louis. That's where we—”

Bobby interrupts Sam. “It’s too late. They hit St. Louis. Pumpkin-and-Honeybunny'd a diner there.”

“Connor's Diner??” Dean asks.

“Yeah. How'd you know??”

Dean grimaces and looks out the window for a second, anger flaring in his eyes.

“Lucky guess,” he says through gritted teeth, the muscles in his jaw rippling. “All right, so much for that.”

“I guess we're off to, uh... Ankeny, Iowa. Call us if you get anything else,” Sam says.

“You got it.”

Sam ends the call, and Dean takes off for Iowa.

—

Dean parks the car in front of a small business, and we walk down the street. A familiar rumble gets louder as it comes closer, another Impala coming up behind us and passing us.

“Hey, hey. Hold up. Don't move. Don't move,” Dean says quietly.

The Impala does a quick U-turn before pulling into a parking space on the opposite side of the street. The Leviathan Dean and Sam climb out and head for the diner.

“Oh, no. This is all sorts of wrong,” Sam mutters.

“Those are nice wheels. Tell you what, when this is over, I'm stealing those rims.”

Dean pulls out his phone and dials Bobby.

“Bobby, we got eyes on them,” Dean says.

The other Dean walks around to the trunk and opens it, digging through it for something.

“It's like looking at a funhouse mirror. … All right, well, tell me you got something. Otherwise, we're gonna have to get in close.”

The boys walk a little further down the street, and I follow closely behind.

“It's too late. We gotta—”

A whooping comes from behind us, a police car almost jumping up on the sidewalk in front of us.

“Hang on,” Dean says to Bobby, pulling his phone from his face.

Two officers get out of the car and immediately point their guns at us.

“Hands in the air!!”

Another police car pulls up behind us, two more officers getting out and pointing their guns at us. We all raise our hands up.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Big misunderstanding,” Dean laughs nervously. “Look, the guys you want—”

“Shut up!!” one officer yells.

“They're right there.” Dean points over the sheriff’s shoulder.

“Shut up! Drop the phone. Put your hands in the air.”

Dean puts his phone down on the planter in front of him.

“Cuff ’em.”

The two cops from the second car pull Sam and Dean's arms down behind their backs and start cuffing them. The second cop from the first car walks over and cuffs me. They walk me to one car, then Dean and Sam to the other. I lean back and try to find Sam in the chaos, my heart going a million miles a minute.

“Sam!!” I yell.

He stops and leans around the sheriff.

“It’s ok; we’ll figure this out. Just don’t say anything,” He shouts back.

The sheriff yanks on him and shoves him in the cop car, his knees jamming up against the back of the driver’s seat. Panic floods my veins, making my limbs tingle. They stuff me in the backseat, and my chest tightens. The last time I was in a cop car was after Rhett died, which was a very traumatic situation. The memories flash in front of my eyes, and I begin to feel like I’m choking. My breathing turns fast and ragged. I can’t help but panic; the anxiety worsened by being separated from the boys. I watch out the window as they get Dean in the car and drive off.

The ride to the station is long and torturous, my anxiety spiking as I think about Sam. Stress is one of the worst things for his hallucinations. He’s with Dean, which is good, but not particularly helpful.

Tears flow over my cheeks, the anxiety attack reaching its full effect. It feels like something is crushing my chest, setting fire to my lungs and throat. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to ward off the horrible memories. Every nerve in my body screams as if I’ve been set on fire, yet my hands and feet feel icy and clammy. I manage to calm myself slightly but then begin to tremble like a chihuahua in December as the adrenaline continues to course through my veins.

The cops in the front seat ignore me as I struggle, probably used to detainees being dramatic or violent.

When we finally arrive, they park the two cars next to each other. The sheriffs yank Sam and Dean out of the back seat and then me, holding us at the cuffs and at our collars.

“Look, you're making a mistake. The real killers are back at the diner, okay??” Sam pleads.

“Is that the best you can do??” the lead sheriff sneers.

“I want my phone call,” Dean growls.

“Oh, there'll be a call to the FBI. Take him,” he points at Dean, “and the girl to cell one and two. Take that one,” he points at Sam, “to the interview room. Once they're separate and secure, you boys call it a night.”

Sam’s sheriff pulls him one way, my sheriff pushing me in the opposite direction, Dean being pulled the same way.

“You're making a mistake!!” Sam yells before the sheriff gives him another shove.

Dean walks ahead of me, shouting all sorts of things at the sheriffs.

“Dean, shut the fuck up!! You’re not making things any better by being an ass,” I shout at him.

He quiets and grumbles to himself the rest of the way.

Dean gets a nice hard shove into the cell from his sheriff before my sheriff turns and walks me to the second holding cell across from the one Dean’s in. He lightly pushes on my back to get me in, closing the door as soon as I clear the threshold. The sheriffs close and lock the door behind us before walking over to the bars and undoing our cuffs. I stretch out my shoulders and rub my wrists, sitting down on the bench in my cell as Dean paces in his.

“Dean, will you sit down?? You’re driving me nuts,” I say, leaning back against the wall.

“No, I won’t sit down. I’m pissed, and I wanna call Bobby. The Leviathan are still out there and will continue killing people if we don’t get out there and stop them.”

I sigh. “We don’t know how to stop them.”

“I don’t care; I’ll figure it out.”

“What, and get killed in the process??” I say, rising to my feet. I pick up a small rock from the floor and lob it at him through the bars, managing to hit him on the shoulder. He stops dead in his tracks to glare at me. "Dean, that’s suicide. We have no idea how to kill them or even slow them down. They are way stronger than we are, and last time we fought them, they broke your leg, gave me one of the worst concussions of my life, and nearly killed Sam. I’d rather not go through that again.”

Dean sighs but says nothing, just resuming his pacing. I huff and sit back down on my bench, fed up with the eldest Winchester.

I don’t know how much time passes before the head sheriff walks towards Dean’s cell.

“Hey. I have a right to my phone call,” Dean shouts.

The sheriff scoffs. “A right?? You killed how many people last couple days, and you want me to hop to on your rights??”

“I didn't—” Dean sighs. “Please—just give me one... one phone call.”

The sheriff scowls at Dean before he rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone. Dean recites Bobby’s cell number, and it rings once before he picks up.

“Boys??”

“Bobby, we got popped,” Dean says.

“Okay. I'll be there as soon as—” Dean interrupts him.

“No, no, there's no time. Look, we saw them...” He pauses. “They saw us. So, we are coming to get us. You read me?? Tell me you got something.”

“There's a chemical... sodium borate.”

“Isn’t that Borax??” I mutter quietly.

“Okay, let me get Mr. Wizard on speed dial,” Dean snarks.

“No, no, it ain't as weird as it sounds,” Bobby says. I can almost hear him rolling his eyes through the phone. “It's found in industrial cleaners, soaps, and laundry powder. Just look for anything with the word ‘Borax’ on it.”

Hey, look at that; I was right.

“You want me to ‘Desperate Housewife’ these motherfuckers??” Dean asks.

“No, just trust me. It burns 'em bad enough to slow 'em down, so get the strongest you can find. Hear me??”

“Borax. Burns. Got it.”

“Then douse 'em, then get close, and then chop the heads off.”

“Got it.”

“And keep the heads separate!!” Bobby urges.

“Bobby, you're a genius. Thanks. I—” The sheriff cuts him off by snapping the phone closed. “The fuck did you do that for??”

“Borax?? Decapitation?? What kind of sickos are you and your friends??” the sheriff says, disgust contorting his face.

He turns and walks away.

“Hey, you listen to me,” Dean yells after him. He stops and turns back around. “If you don't go get every ounce, every drop of whatever that stuff is in this place right now, we're all gonna die!!”

The sheriff scoffs. “Well, you're crazier than I thought.”

He turns and keeps walking, ignoring Dean’s yells. Dean steps back and hangs his head. He dejectedly drops onto the bench like me.

Not even 5 minutes later, the sheriff comes back around the corner, fear overwhelming his features.

“What is it?? What happened??” I ask him. Dean and I rise to our feet.

“I... It's just... I don't know what I just saw.”

“Let us out of here,” Dean says. The sheriff doesn’t hesitate to unlock Dean’s cell before Dean takes the keys from him and unlocks mine. “Okay, you listen to me, and we'll live. All right, keep your head down and get to the supply closet. Get anything that says Borax on it—bring it here. Now. Go.”

Dean and I walk through the main office area of the sheriff's department. One sheriff is laid over a desk, blood and guts covering his torso. I stop in my tracks, watching as Dean takes the gun from the poor guy’s holster.

“Sorry,” he mutters to the corpse.

He turns and walks back towards me, and we head down another hallway. Something moves out of the corner of my eye, and I turn to see Sam.

"Sammy,” I say, letting out a breath of relief.

Sam’s facial expression changes, making my stomach drop. Something terrifying glints in his eyes, something I’ve never seen in Sam before.

“Not Sammy,” Dean sneers, raising his gun and shooting at the Leviathan.

Not Sam knocks the gun out of Dean’s hands and grabs him by the collar before lobbing him into the trophy case. He turns to me, and I raise my hands, backing up until my legs hit the desk. Dean gets to his feet and smashes the glass covering an emergency axe with his elbow, drawing Not Sam’s attention away from me. The sheriff sneaks up and passes me a bottle, holding a bucket of liquid himself. I take the bottle and nod, creeping up behind Not Sam.

“Cute. Really think you can get close enough to use it??” Not Sam sneers.

“Not until you're burning.” Dean grins, looking over Not Sam’s shoulder at me.

The sheriff and I toss the borax at Not Sam, who cries out in pain as the borax sizzles against his skin. My heart clenches as I hear Sam’s voice crying out in excruciating pain. I have to keep reminding myself under my breath that it’s not actually him.

“Bryn!! Close your eyes!!” Dean yells, rearing back with the axe.

I close my eyes just as the thunk of the axe decapitating the Leviathan echoes through the air. A thud comes after Not Sam falls to the ground. I make the mistake of opening my eyes and my stomach lurches violently at the sight of Sam’s body on the floor, laying awkwardly, black goo running from the clean slice across his neck, and from his head, which rolls to a stop down by his feet. The scene is horrifying, but it’s like a bad car wreck, I just can’t look away. I stand there, horrified until Dean wraps an arm around my shoulders.

“Hey, look at me,” I tear my eyes from “Sam’s” lifeless body to make eye contact with Dean. “It’s not him. C’mon, I’ve gotcha.”

He guides me back towards the interview room where the real Sam is, using his body as a shield to keep me from staring at “Sam’s” body. I keep my eyes trained on the ground until Dean’s grip loosens slightly. The sheriff shows us to the interview room, passing Dean a smaller bottle of borax. Dean pushes me behind him.

“You might want to wait out here. I’m going to have to decapitate myself, and, after seeing Sam like that, I don’t want you seeing me like that, too.”

I take a deep breath.

“It’s ok. I’ll get through it.”

Dean hesitates for a second before nodding and kicking in the door. He immediately flings borax on his lookalike, then swings the axe, a sickening thunk followed by two thuds as he decapitates himself.

My focus is immediately on Sam, trying to keep from seeing Dean’s headless body on the floor. I rush over to Sam, the sheriff close behind. I go to Sam’s left side as the sheriff unlocks his cuffs, standing on his right side.

When I finally look at his face. Sam’s staring off into space, his eyes moving to me as I rub his back.

“Are you ok??” I ask as he mindlessly rubs his wrists.

“I think so. Are you??” He asks in return. His voice sounds almost… deadpan, void of emotion.

I nod. “I’ll live.”

Dean turns back to us from talking to the sheriff.

“Sammy?? You okay??” He asks his brother.

Sam’s eyes flit up to look at Dean for a split second before looking away and nodding. I feel the frustration radiating off him.

“Yeah, I'm fine.” He replies coldly. There’s something off in his tone and body language.

“Let's go,” Deane says.

He turns and walks out, leaving Sam and me behind. Once the door closes and Dean is out of earshot, I turn to Sam again.

“Ok, that was weird. What’s up??” I ask Sam.

“It’s nothing,” he says, pushing himself up from the table and walking out, leaving me to chase after him.

Something’s definitely up. Sam Winchester isn’t a consistency in his behavior through.

—

We stand on a dock by the shitty hatchback where Dean is messing with a duffle bag. Sam stands on the passenger side, resting his arms on the roof.

Dean sighs. “Are you sure you want to dump these things?? I'm thinking they might actually come in handy down the road. What do you think??” He looks up at Sam.

Sam doesn’t say anything. I can see the muscles in his jaw ripple, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

Dean stands up and steps beside the hatch.

“Hey. What?? What is it?? Talk.”

Sam looks off in the distance, avoiding Dean’s eyes. I nudge him with my shoulder.

“Nothing.”

Dean huffs out a laugh. “Well, that's convincing. Did Monster-us give you the jeebs, huh?? 'Cause I gotta be honest—I ain't looking in the mirror for—for a while myself.”

Sam pulls down his arms and turns to face Dean, straightening his posture.

“Okay. You really want to know what's wrong??” He says, stepping around me, hand on my lower back.

“Yeah. Yeah, you know my motto—here to help.”

Sam scoffs.

"Here to help.’” He pauses. “Kind of like you helped Amy??”

My stomach sinks. Oh god. I’m just as shell shocked as Dean.

I can’t believe he actually went through with it. When??

Dean’s eyes widen for a split second. He looks down at his feet as he thinks of what to say.

“Listen, Sam...”

“Don't,” Sam shakes his head, muscles tense. “Don't lie to me again. No, don't even talk to me.” He scoffs as Dean remains silent. “Yeah, I can't.”

He clears his throat, then opens the back door and takes out his bags. I grab his arm, and he gently removes his arm from my grip.

“You know what, Dean??” Sam turns and starts walking away from both of us. “I can't.”

Dean and I take a few steps to follow him.

“You can't what??” Dean presses.

“I can't talk to you right now!! Dean...” He turns and holds out his arms in frustration, a bag in each hand. “I can't even be around you right now!!”

“Okay, so—” Dean waves his hands.

“I think you should just go on without me,” Sam says.

All of us stay quiet. I make eye contact with Sam, begging for him to stay.

"Go,” Sam says tersely.

“All right.” Dean nods and starts to turn. “Sorry, Sam.”

I rush forward as Dean walks back to the trunk. Sam turns his back and slings his backpack over his shoulder.

“Sam, please, wait.” I say loudly.

Sam stops in his tracks, pauses, and then turns around a little.

“What?? What could you possibly have to say??”

I stop, taken aback by his tone.

“Excuse me??”

He laughs cynically.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know.”

I cross my arms.

“I didn’t. He told me he was going to. I told him not to, and I told him you would be pissed when you found out. I didn’t know if he actually did it or not. I promise, if I had known, I would have told you.”

He runs a hand over his face.

“When was this??”

I sigh. “The night you and I talked. He ambushed you, talked with you, came over to talk to me, told me he was gonna go, and then told me you wanted to talk. I was hoping he went to a bar or something like I told him to. I didn’t know he actually went through with it. I swear.”

Sam nods a couple of times.

“Just give us some space for a bit. We all need some breathing room.”

I reach out and grab his upper arm. He looks down at me, something dark in his eyes.

“You call me if you need me. Any time. Please, just promise me you will.”

Sam smiles a little.

“I will, I promise.”

I take a chance and press my lips to his. He hesitates but kisses me back. We separate, our noses brushing briefly.

“I’ll see you later, Bryn.”

My heart sinks as I watch him walk away. Shit.

Chapter Text

September 28th

It’s been a couple of weeks since Sam and Dean’s big fight. I let them have their space and came back to Lawrence, running hunts with Welch and the Crew. We take down a few vengeful spirits, a shifter, a nest of vamps, and two werewolves before we head back home.

We pull into the driveway around 2am. I basically fall in the door behind Rhys, struggling to pick up my feet as I head downstairs to my room. I throw my bag next to my closet and dig some pajamas out of my dresser. I grab underwear as well, then a towel from my linen closet, and hit the shower, ready to wash off the grunge from our last hunt.

Nash, Fawn, and I all got stuck on salt-and-burn duty, while Rhys, Jason, Lucas, and Welch protected the homeowners. I still have dirt in my hair and under my nails, plus a layer of salt and dirt across my skin from evaporated sweat. I’m sore from digging up that lady’s grave, making me realize I’m a little more out of shape than I thought I was.

I let out a soft moan as I step into the water, the muscles in my back finally relaxing with the persuasion of the warm spray. Dirt and grime swirls down the drain as I scrub my scalp, and I wash my hair a second time just to make sure everything is clean. I viciously scour my entire body with a washcloth until my skin is bright pink and the grungy feeling is gone. Once I’m satisfied with my cleanliness and feel like a new human, I cut off the tap and pull back the curtain, grabbing my towel from the hook and drying off my body.

The feeling of clean clothes against clean skin is heavenly after being dirty for what feels like weeks, even though it was only for a few hours. I quickly finish getting ready for bed, eager to finally get some rest. As I walk to my bed, my limbs get heavy, the fatigue catching up with me quickly. I enthusiastically pull back the covers and crawl in, more than ready to settle in for the night.

Before I go to sleep, I check my phone, making sure I didn’t miss anything. Surprisingly, I have a couple of texts from the boys.

Dean

Hey, have you heard from Sam??

He’s gone radio silent for me, just wanted to check

I type back a quick message.

Bryn

Hey

Yeah, I got a couple of texts from him about an hour ago

He’s probably still mad at you for Amy

Just give it time

I close out that message thread and switch to Sam’s.

Sam

Hey

How’s it going??

I miss you…

My heart sinks a little. I’ve been so busy with all the hunts that I honestly haven’t really had time to miss the boys. Guilt settles in my limbs as I type out my response to Sam.

Bryn

Hey!! The hunts are going good, just got back from a spirit in New Mexico

I miss you too

Before I get distracted by something else, I lock my phone and set it on my nightstand, then roll over and fall asleep in record time.

..

Per usual, Welch gets up before the rest of us and makes us all breakfast, even though it’s noon before any of us wake up.

The smell of bacon and coffee pull me from my slumber, along with the sunlight filtering in through my curtains. I stretch and sit up, letting out a groan as my body protests. It takes a few minutes of stretching before I can finally get to my feet, albeit with lots of unnecessary noises. I grab my phone and throw on a sweatshirt before I trudge my way upstairs.

The wonderful smells of breakfast grow stronger, bringing a small smile to my face as I climb the stairs at the pace of an 85-year-old lady. I slowly shuffle over to the kitchen, where Nash and Rhys are making their plates.

“Morning,” I say to them both, grabbing a plate.

They both smile at me, muttering a good morning back.

I load my plate with a comically large spoonful of eggs and two pieces of bacon before turning to the island behind me. I unceremoniously dump some Honey Nut Cheerios into a bowl and carefully pour my oat milk over the top, then grab a spoon and fork from the drawer before heading to the table.

The usual boisterous chatter is much quieter this morning, dulled by the lingering exhaustion of last night’s hunt. I gently set down my plate on the generic placemat next to Fawn, my bowl, fork, and spoon landing next to it. My favorite mug sits in its usual spot on the top right corner of the placemat, and I eagerly grab it, taking my place in line behind Jason at the coffeemaker. Welch recently bought a second coffee maker, since the old one was struggling to keep up with the sheer volume of coffee we all drink in the mornings.

Jason pours his cup, taking the last of the pot from the old coffee maker, then silently steps to the fridge where he pulls out both his creamer and mine. I quietly thank him while I fill my mug to the brim, my nose filling with the aroma of my favorite breakfast blend. I step aside to pour in my vanilla oat creamer, stopping once the coffee is a light caramel color, the cream swirling beautifully in the dark coffee. I toss my creamer back in the fridge and sit back down at the table, my stomach making obscene noises as it begins to eat itself. I stuff my face with eggs and tune in to what’s happening at the table.

Rhys and Lucas are laughing as they bicker about something that’s incredibly unimportant, which is par for the course at this point, and Fawn is trying so hard not to laugh at them—failing miserably. Nash and Jason are talking cars with Welch, and 99% of what they say easily flies over my head.

I smile at the exhaustion-subdued chaos and slide my phone from my pocket. Both Sam and Dean have replied to my texts. Dean’s is just a sarcastic reply about how Sam obviously likes me better than him, and I shoot back a sarcastic response. Sam’s message, however, is much sweeter.

Sam

Good morning

I’m glad you’re having a good time :)

Do you wanna meet for lunch later?? I’m over in KC so not too far

A smile spreads across my face, and I type my reply.

Bryn

It’s a date ;)

I set my phone back down, and when I look up, Fawn is smirking at me. I sip my coffee and shove a spoonful of cereal into my mouth.

“What??” I ask between bites.

“I know that smile,” she sings. “Haven’t seen it in a while, but I know it anywhere.”

I roll my eyes, my cheeks warming a little.

“Shuddup,” I grumble, mouth full of cereal.

She laughs, gently bumping my shoulder, and takes a bite of her bacon. After I finish chewing, I very lightly nudge her to grab her attention.

“Can you help me figure out what to wear??” I ask quietly.

She nods eagerly before standing and taking her dishes to the sink. I sip on my coffee, trying not to get too excited to see Sam. I know he and Dean can take care of themselves, but I can’t not worry about them. I was so tempted to meet up with Sam somewhere, but I wanted to make sure I gave both of the boys space and time to sort themselves out. Plus, I really needed to do laundry. I was down to the dregs of the things I had packed, and I had reworn everything as many times as was socially acceptable and hygienic.

I finish the last of my breakfast and chug the rest of my coffee, then take my dishes to the sink. When I head back downstairs, Fawn is sitting on my bed, doing something on her phone. She hears the third step creak and looks up, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

She claps her hands together. “Ok, so, what kinda look are we going for??”

I laugh at her child-like excitement.

“Fawn, it’s a lunch date, not prom.”

She playfully rolls her eyes at me.

“Casual it is.”

She turns to my closet and starts rifling through it. Her hands expertly pull out a couple of pairs of jeans, 3 different shirts, a couple of cardigans, and a few different shoe choices. I can see the wheels in her mind turning as she assembles the different combinations in her mind. She talks me through the different options, giving her opinions on which she thinks is best.

I trust her expert opinion and go with the dark wash jeans, a light-yellow blouse, and a dark-gray cardigan.

After taking care of my fashion needs, we hang out, just talking for a couple of hours to kill time. She eventually gets bored and goes back upstairs to her room, leaving me to get ready.

Around 11, I get changed and slip on my Converse before heading to the bathroom. I quickly brush my teeth, then get to work on my hair, deciding to curl it. Once the curls are just right, I put on a super light layer of makeup, just enough to make me look less exhausted than I feel. As a final touch, I lightly spritz on some of my favorite perfume, then head back to my room to grab my bag and phone.

The screen lights up as I reach for my phone—it’s a text from Sam.

Sam

Anthony’s @ noon :)

I glance at the clock, grateful to see it’s only 11:30, leaving me plenty of time to drive over there. With a smile on my face and a little extra pep in my step, I climb the stairs and walk across the house to the mudroom.

The garage door opens as I turn the corner and Welch looks at me funny, tilting his head as his eyes scan over my outfit.

“What??” I ask, my annoyance bleeding into the tone of my voice.

“What’re you all dressed up for??” Welch teases, shutting the door behind him.

My eyes shoot daggers at Welch, though I feel my lips betray me as they quirk into a smile.

“I’m meeting Sam for lunch.”

He chuckles to himself as he wipes his hands on his shop rag.

“Have fun, kiddo.” He walks over and quickly kisses the side of my head. “Love you. Text me when you get there.”

“I will. Love you too,” I call behind me as I walk out the door.

Nash is bent over the engine bay of his Camaro, arms reaching deep into the compartment. I hear the clicking of his wrench as he tightens something. He has the radio on, blaring some 90s Alt station, which is playing a Good Charlotte song I can’t remember the name of. His head is turned away from me as he reaches for another tool, allowing me to slip out without being teased.

I hop in my truck and start her up, plugging my aux cord in and turning on some music before backing down the driveway.

It’s only a 15-minute drive to the restaurant, so I end up sitting in the parking lot, waiting for Sam. I shoot Welch a text like I said I would, then start aimlessly scrolling on Instagram. After a few minutes, I see motion out of the corner of my eye, and there’s a tap on my window. When I look up, there stands Sam, a soft smile playing on his lips.

I push the door open, and he steps back, allowing me to get out. He shuts the door for me, and I immediately wrap my arms around his chest. His quiet laugh hits my ear, and I sigh happily.

“Hey,” he says, leaning his head against mine. “It’s good to see you.”

I let him go, and his hands come to rest on my arms, his thumbs rubbing across the fabric of my cardigan.

“I’m happy to see you, too.” I see some unknown expression cross his face. His eyes dart away for a split second, then return to mine. “You ok??”

He shakes his head, as if to clear his thoughts, then clears his throat.

“Yeah, yeah, just tired,” he huffs. “It’s been a long week.”

I take one of his hands and rub the back of it with my thumb.

“Hungry??” I ask.

Sam’s eyes light up.

“Always.”

We head into the restaurant and are seated at a little booth by a window. Sam sits across from me, picking up the menu. I scan over it quickly, knowing exactly what I want. I’ve been here so many times, I know the menu by heart.

Anthony’s was a staple when I was a kid. We came here at least once a week. My mom would get their grilled chicken sandwich and chips, and my dad almost always got the bacon cheeseburger with fries. I usually got chicken tenders as a kid, but now I get their chicken Philly cheesesteak with fries.

Sam sets down his menu and looks up at me.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting a salad at the best place for bar food in town,” I tease.

Sam rolls his eyes. “I’m actually gonna do the grilled chicken sandwich, thank you very much.”

I laugh.

“Wow, Mr. Rabbit Food is changing it up a little.”

He shakes his head and laughs to himself. Just as he’s about to say something else, our server walks over.

We order our drinks and food, and he heads back to the kitchen.

“So, how’s your solo hunting trip going??” I ask.

“It’s good. I’ve only had a couple of cases, but they were pretty simple.”

“Good, that’s good…” I trail off. I pause and bite my lip, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Sam. I hesitate, still debating if I should ask the question on my mind.

“Bryn, I can see you wanting to say something.” His eyes soften. “It’s ok, I promise.”

I sigh, hating how well he knows me.

“How’re the hallucinations??” I ask, dropping my voice down a little.

Sam purses his lips.

“Still there, unfortunately.” His thumb rubs the scar on his left hand. “I’m starting to have trouble sleeping.”

I tilt my head and sigh. Poor guy. As if having hallucinations wasn’t bad enough, now it’s keeping him from sleeping. My heart aches for him, and I offer a sad smile.

“I’m sorry, Sam. That really sucks.”

He nods.

“Yeah, it’s ok though. I’m managing.”

I reach out my hand and set it on the tabletop. Sam carefully takes it.

“If you ever need to talk, I’m always here.”

He smiles softly. “Thank you, Bryn. I really appreciate that.”

We continue talking about life, hunts, and just about everything. We pause when our food comes, but end up talking between bites. The 7 years of stories to catch up on keep us from running out of things to talk about.

As we talk, I can feel the old bond reforming; the more he talks, the more I remember why I loved him. Every smile or laugh makes my heart flutter; every prolonged touch makes my skin tingle.

We hang out at Anthony’s for what seems like forever, long after the food is gone and paid for.

“We should probably go before they kick us out,” I joke.

Sam looks around at the empty restaurant and then down at his watch.

“Oh my god, it’s been 2 hours??”

I laugh.

We both get up from the table and head out to the parking lot. My stomach sinks as we stop by my truck. Sam hesitates, and I can see something in his eyes, though I’m not sure what.

“I don’t really want to leave,” he says, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“I don’t really want you to leave either,” I admit, looking up at him.

We stand there in silence, just looking at each other.

“I really missed you,” I say, breaking the silence. “Despite being mad at you most of the time, I really did miss you.”

He smirks.

“I’ve missed you too. It wasn’t fair to you, me leaving the way I did, how I left things.” He looks down at his feet. “I thought about you almost every day.”

My heart melts a little.

“It’s ok, Sam. I promise.” He looks back up at me, so many questions in the look he gives me. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. I now know that you were busy trying to save the fucking world and shit. I think my anger and hurt after a few years was mostly because I missed having you around. I missed spending all my time with the Winchester brothers.” I look down and lightly scuff my shoe against the sidewalk. “I missed us.”

Sam’s hand reaches out and brushes my hair back before his fingers lightly trace my jaw, stopping at my chin. He pushes it up so that I have to look at him, and suddenly, our faces are super close. Sam leans his forehead against mine, our noses brushing together like we used to. My heart pounds in my chest as he finally moves in and connects our lips. I melt against him as his hand finds my waist, the other still holding my cheek. Our lips move in sync as if we never left each other. His kisses are soft and gentle, as if he’s savoring every moment. He pulls away for a second to breathe, and I sigh at the separation. Once again, our foreheads rest together, our breaths fanning across each other's skin.

“Can you stay the night??” I ask him.

He huffs out a laugh.

“You think Welch’ll go for it??”

I shrug. “I mean, you can sneak in through the basement door if you really want to.”

He leans back and laughs before planting a kiss on my forehead.

“They’re gonna tease you about the date anyway, whether or not I come back with you.”

I click my tongue. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Sam says, pressing one last quick kiss to my lips. “Drive safe.”

Reluctantly, I let go of him and jump into my truck. He follows behind me the entire way home, keeping his distance a little. I pull into the driveway, and he parks just in front of the house. He joins me in the driveway and follows me to the door. I flip through my key ring and unlock the door.

“Hey, I’m home,” I call from the door.

“OHMYGOD COME HERE, SPILL ALL THE DETAILS,” Fawn says, running around the corner from the kitchen. She comes to a screeching halt when she sees Sam behind me. “Oh shit, you should have said he was with youuuuuu,” she whines.

“I was going to, but you didn’t give me much time to say anything,” I laugh.

Sam steps into the house, and I shut the door behind him. He kicks off his boots at the door and follows me to the living room.

“Sam, this is Fawn and her sister Rhys. They’re Welch’s daughters.”

The girls smile and wave. Sam chuckles and waves back.

It’s a Friday night, so all the boys are out at a bar somewhere, having “guys' night,” leaving poor Sam trapped with us girls. I’m just glad that I won’t have to deal with the ridicule from Welch.

I sit down on the couch, Sam sitting next to me, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me against him.

Rhys and Fawn are watching some random TV show and making snide comments about the characters.

Sam and I laugh at their antics, somewhat enjoying the show.

He gently holds me, and I melt, taking a deep breath and relaxing into his embrace. He smells like mint, his cologne, a hint of coffee, and something else that’s distinctly Sam—my absolute favorite.

Sam takes hold of one strand of my hair and twirls it. I watch as the thin strand wraps around his finger, his large hands being delicate. He sighs quietly and presses a kiss to my head.

I nuzzle into his shoulder, my head resting right where his shoulder meets his neck. Both of his strong arms hold me gently to him, a constant comfort. I doze off a little, only lightly, lulled to sleep by my full stomach and the weight of Sam’s arm around my waist.

I feel like I’ve only been asleep for a few minutes when Sam wakes me up. I groan and bury my face in his shoulder.

Sam laughs and starts separating us.

“You wanna eat, don’t you??” He asks, voice down low.

I huff like a little kid and remove myself from Sam’s lap. I wrap the blanket around my shoulders and join the girls at the dinner table where two pizza boxes lay open. We stuff our faces and talk about random things, just like always. Rhys and Fawn end up bickering over something stupid, and I have to mediate to keep them from killing each other, much to Sam’s amusement.

After the food is gone, I shuffle happily back over to the couch and curl up against the arm. Sam says something about going to shower, and I hum in response. About 5 minutes after Sam leaves the room, Rhys strolls over to the other side of the couch, her footsteps making the wood floor beneath them creak.

"Go ahead, tease me for still liking my ex," I say, my head on the armrest, eyes closed.

"You guys looked so cute; it made me want to barf." She takes a sip of her drink and then sets it back down on the coffee table.

I open my eyes just to shoot her a glare and roll my eyes at her.

"Uh-huh, let it all out."

"Seriously, though, you guys make a good pair. I haven't seen you smile like that in a long ass time." She smiles and hangs her head. “You looked so happy and relaxed.”

I stare off into space for a moment.

"It all came back," I blurt. “All of my feelings from high school and even when he left for Stanford. The feelings never really left, which is why I was so mad. I was mad that I couldn’t get over him, mad that I still wanted him even after he left me.”

"I’m not surprised. You two have always had something special, even when we were kids. I swear you guys are soulmates." She gently pats my blanket-clad legs. “There isn’t anyone else I’d rather my best friend be with.”

I smile and close my eyes again.

I can’t ignore the connection that Sam and I undoubtedly have. I’ve finally moved past my anger towards him, which has been masking the love underneath. I feel at home with Sam. He’s my person.

I decide that I'm going to get ready for bed, even though it’s really early. I shed the blanket and make my way downstairs to my room, where Sam stands shirtless, ruffling his hair with a towel. Despite the endless teasing I could receive, I allow myself to stare, internally drooling at his physique.

Sam’s just a tad bit more muscular than he was when we last saw each other. He was still a lanky 20-year-old at Rhett’s funeral. Now, his broad chest ripples with muscles, his arms toned and veiny, and his abdomen near chiseled. His many hunts and hours working out have certainly paid off.

I keep walking forward, hitting a couple of noisy spots in the carpet. My hand reaches out and, with one more step, it meets his bare back. His muscles twitch as my hand brushes his skin. He stops drying his hair and drops his arms to the sides. I run my hand over the peaks and valleys of the rippling muscles in his back. I bring my other hand up to his back as well before sliding my hands around his sides and wrapping my arms around his waist. I rest my forehead between his shoulder blades, his skin radiating heat.

He chuckles in response and rubs his hands over my arms.

“What’s up, Bee??” My childhood nickname slips from his lips, and it makes my heart flutter.

“I couldn’t resist. Sorry.”

Sam laughs again.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I don’t mind this at all,” he says, a smile playing on his voice.

I close my eyes and turn my head, so my cheek is against his skin.

“Here, hold on,” he says.

He lightly pulls on my arms to loosen their grip.

I let go for a moment, bringing my arms back to my sides. He turns around to face me, and I stifle a gasp. His chest and stomach are way more chiseled than I expected. My heart beats hard and fast against my chest.

Sam grabs my arm, breaking me from my trance. He tugs me forward, and I melt into the hug.

My hands move across his surprisingly soft skin, attempting to memorize the feeling of every ripple. My head rests on his shoulder, right over his antiposession tattoo. He hums softly and leans his head against mine. We stand there for a long time; me basking in the comfort of Sam’s arms. It’s been far too long, and I missed the feeling of calm that consumes me when his arms are around me.

“I could stay like this all day,” I mutter, eliciting another laugh from Sam.

“Me too,” he mutters as he kisses my head gently, “but we both need to finish getting ready for bed.”

I groan a little, lifting my head and leaning it back to look Sam in the eyes. A sweet smile is spread across his face, but his eyes are tired. I sigh and loosen my arms so I can slide back a little, bringing my hands to hold the sides of Sam’s ribcage. His hands come to rest on my shoulders.

“I guess you’re right.” I shrug.

Sam is the first to let go, leaving me with a lingering touch. My fingers ghost over his sides before I finally let go. He playfully pushes his hand between my shoulder blades to hurry me along.

I approach the sink and look at myself in the mirror as I brush my teeth. My eyes are weary and still have bags under them, remnants of my long stretches without sleep. Despite being weary, there’s a twinkle in them I haven’t seen in a long time. I think for the first time in 7 years; I am legitimately and truly happy.

When I come out of the bathroom, Sam is slipping a long-sleeved t-shirt on over his head, his toned torso visible for a brief moment, until he pulls down the hem of his shirt. I have to admit, a small pang of disappointment hits my chest as his perfectly muscular torso is covered up.

I carefully slip past him and dig through my dresser for some pajamas. I can feel Sam’s eyes on me as I start to change in front of him, a warmth flooding my cheeks.

I, too, am more muscular than I used to be, especially in my stomach and arms. I was relatively thin when Sam last saw me, but I wasn’t eating very well, and I wasn’t wanting to exercise, so I had some extra fluff I was hanging onto. Since starting to hunt, I’ve become leaner, with more muscle than body fat. I’m also still trying to gain some weight back from my stints of not eating after my parents died, making me even thinner than I was, needing to gain at least 10 more pounds to be back to my normal weight.

I pull my shirt over my head and work on getting my bra off underneath it. Once that’s off, I put my shirt on the rest of the way and pull on the old pair of Soffee shorts I picked. I straighten up and turn to Sam, who is still eyeing me.

I put my hands on my hips and smirk at him.

“See something you like??” I say, laughing a little.

Sam’s eyes move back up to my face, and there’s something in his eyes I can’t read. He shakes away his thoughts, making me laugh.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare,” he clears his throat, “but, to answer your question, yes, I do see something I like.”

I walk around the end of my bed and drape my arms around his neck. His hands move to my waist, his fingers slipping under the fabric and making my skin tingle wherever he touches.

“Well, you’re not too bad yourself.” I twirl the hair at the base of his neck. “Though you just had to go and put that damn shirt on.”

He chuckles.

“I can take it back off if you really want, but it’s a little too cold for me to not wear a shirt.”

I playfully huff. “Ok, fine.”

I drop my arms and try to walk back to my side of the bed, but Sam’s hands stay locked on my waist, his fingers pressing firmly into the skin on my hips.

“I think you forgot something,” he says quietly, a smile playing on his lips.

I playfully roll my eyes and pull him in for a kiss. It’s short and sweet but seems to appease him.

He releases my waist, and we each climb in on our respective sides of the bed. His arms snake around my waist and pull me to him, our body heat creating a comfortable heat under my heavier bedding. His lips press a soft kiss to my forehead and all my worries disappear. Feeling like this is truly where I belong.

All I have to say is that I’ve never believed more in divine intervention and soulmates than I do right now as I lay in Sam’s arms.

Chapter Text

October 22nd

“This is where we’re staying??” I snark from the backseat.

The house we’ve pulled up to is in the middle of nowhere. It has a tall fence around it with a NO TRESPASSING sign hanging from the gate. As we walk up the path, I notice an auction paper is hanging in a plastic folder underneath it, swinging in the wind a little.

“It’s either this or camping, and I know how much you love sleeping in the woods,” Dean snarks back. I roll my eyes in response.

The lock hanging on the latch is fairly flimsy, and the bolt cutters Dean brought go through it like butter. He pushes open the gate, and we all file in. Once we’re in the door, Dean tests the light switches, which don’t do anything.

“Great, love that,” I mutter. Sam elbows me, and I lightly shove him.

We wander around the house, taking inventory of the rooms and bathrooms, and figure out which ones are habitable. Thankfully, this house isn’t nearly as bad as some of the other houses we’ve squatted in. There’s some graffiti on the walls and mysterious stains on the carpet, but all the rooms seem to be safe. Unfortunately, there aren’t any mattresses lying around anywhere, so we’ll still have to sleep on the floor. I’m not excited about it at all, but there weren’t any cheap motels in the area.

Dean throws his stuff in one room, Sam in another, and I kind of pause. Sam notices, and he leans against the doorjamb, giving me a questioning look.

“What’s up??” He asks, crossing his arms.

I shake my head and laugh. “It’s dumb.”

“I bet it’s not.”

I sigh.

“Is it ok if we share a room??” I ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Sam chuckles. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be??”

I smile, and he moves so I can set my stuff down. I set my stuff on the opposite side of the room, knowing that I’ll probably move before we go to sleep. As I stand back up, I feel Sam grab my arm. I turn to face him, and he pulls me into a hug. I laugh to myself and hug him back.

“What’s this for??” I joke, rubbing my hands over his back.

“‘Cause we’ve been in the car, and I feel like I haven’t seen you all day.”

I smile, enjoying the embrace. After a few minutes, I lean back slightly, and Sam’s hands move to the small of my back. We stare into each other's eyes for a moment before Sam ducks his head to bring his lips to mine. I let go of him with one of my hands to move it to his face, his stubble scratching against my palm. The kisses are short and sweet, saying more than either of us would say out loud. Sam is the one to pull away, but leaves his forehead on mine. I move both of my hands to the back of his neck, twirling a strand of hair at the nape.

“How are you doing??” I ask softly. “And don’t say fine.”

Sam sighs.

“I’m managing. It’s not easy, but I think I’m doing alright.”

I bring my hands back to the sides of his face and move so I can look him in the eyes better.

“I’m always here if you need to talk. Any time.” I run my hand over his hair. “I know you’ve been having trouble sleeping.”

He closes his eyes and sighs.

“Maybe I’ll sleep better with you here,” he muses softly.

I smile a little and quickly kiss him.

“Guys!! I think I found something!!” Dean yells from downstairs.

I peck Sam’s lips one last time before we separate and head downstairs.

“What’s up??” I ask, jogging down the last couple of steps.

“This isn’t the first time the woman in white has wreaked havoc.” He slides Sam’s laptop across the table. “Every 4 years since 1928. Carmen Masters was killed in a house fire that year, fits the description. I don’t know the significance of 4 years, but it’s something.”

We continue researching late into the night before Sam figures out the last piece of the puzzle. Since Carmen is a spirit, it’s a simple salt-and-burn solution. We head back to the house, exhausted and dirty from digging. There are two bathrooms, so I take the one upstairs and Dean heads back downstairs to that one.

Somehow, we have warm water here, and I appreciate every minute of it. My muscles relax, and the grime of the day easily flows down the drain. I scrub my skin until it’s pink before stepping out and drying myself off with my towel. I change into an old shirt and shorts before brushing my teeth and heading back to the room. Sam and I cross paths in the hall as he goes to shower. I part my hair down the middle and dutch braid each half, pulling it back and away from my face. I unroll my sleeping bag and move it over by Sam’s. I take my meds and slide into the sleeping bag, exhausted and sore from tonight’s activities.

As I’m drifting off to sleep, I hear Sam talking. The bathroom door hasn’t opened, so he can’t be talking to Dean. Plus, Dean’s door was closed when I came out of the bathroom, so he’s probably asleep. I crawl out of my sleeping bag and creep into the hallway, closer to the door.

“Please leave me alone. I’ve had a long night, and all I wanna do is sleep.” Pause. “Would you just shut up?? She is none of your business.” Another pause. “I swear to God, if you lay a single finger on her, I will kill you myself.” Short pause. "Ok, that’s it; goodnight; I’m going to bed.”

I quickly move back to my sleeping bag, and just as I crawl in, Sam opens the bathroom door and pads back down the hallway. I hear his feet on the carpet, and his belt buckle jingles as he stuffs it into his bag. He stands back up and pauses. I can feel his eyes on me. He chuckles a little before he unrolls his sleeping bag and lies on it on his back.

“I know you’re awake,” he says.

“How??” I grumble.

“Your breaths are too shallow and not even enough.”

I roll over onto my back so I can see him.

“Well, aren’t you a smartass??" I tease.

He rolls his eyes and folds his arms behind his head. He keeps his eyes focused on the ceiling.

“You heard me, didn’t you??”

I take a deep breath. “Sam…”

“No, it’s ok. I don’t talk to him very often, but sometimes he becomes hard to ignore, even with the scar trick.”

I turn onto my side, then hold out my hand and wiggle my fingers. “Lemme see it.”

He leans forward to untuck his arm and reaches out his left hand.

I gently grab hold of it, running my thumb along the edges of the scar.

“Is he bothering you right now??”

Sam huffs. “He’s currently singing some middle school nursery rhyme shit about us, so yeah, I guess.”

I gently squeeze his hand, not wanting to hurt him.

He closes his eyes and takes a breath.

“Look at me,” I say, super quiet.

Sam opens his eyes, and they meet mine, a hint of terror still in his eyes. His eyes flit over to my right, and he startles a little.

“Hey, hey,” I squeeze his hand harder, making him look at me. I bring his hand to my face, still holding firm pressure on his palm. “It’s ok, I’m here. What’s going on??”

Sam swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

“He’s, um,” he closes his eyes briefly, “he’s stabbing you. And taunting me.”

With no warning, I squeeze his hand as hard as I can, making him hiss, and grab my wrist with his other hand. I let go, and he looks around frantically.

He settles his breathing and lets go of my arm.

“Sorry, I, uh...”

“No, it’s ok, I caught you off guard.” I gently rub his hand. “Did it work??”

He looks around the room and then back at me.

“Yeah, actually.”

“I’m sorry I hurt you.” I kiss his palm.

“It’s ok; it startled me more than anything.” He pauses and laughs a little. “Thank you, though. You’ve at least stopped him long enough for me to get to sleep.”

I smile and nod. I let go of his hand so he can get into his sleeping bag. Once he does, he grabs my sleeping bag and pulls me closer to him.

“I hate sleeping on the floor,” I say, rolling around in my sleeping bag, struggling to get comfortable.

As soon as I relieve the pressure on one spot, it digs in another spot. I toss a couple more times before flopping onto my back and letting out a groan. Sam chuckles a little.

“You ok??” He asks, grinning with his eyes closed.

“No, I can’t find a position that doesn’t hurt,” I grumble.

Sam’s quiet for a moment.

“I have an idea.”

“Uh oh, that’s never good.”

Sam hits my arm.

“Get out of your sleeping bag.”

I crawl out and sit on the floor next to it.

He lifts the empty half of his sleeping bag. “Now, shove your sleeping bag under this half of mine.”

I do as he says, and he throws his sleeping bag back on top.

“How does this help??” I ask.

Sam grins. “Shhh, patience.”

 Sam unzips the empty side and motions for me to come over.

“Are we both gonna fit??” I tease.

He rolls his eyes playfully. “Shut up and get over here.”

I roll my eyes and carefully maneuver my way in.

When I lie back down, the sleeping bag is under me, creating a bit of a cushion.

“Better??” He whispers.

I blink at the ceiling a couple of times, noting my comfort level.

“Yeah, a little,” I finally answer.

I roll over onto my side away from him, happy to not have my bones digging into the floor anymore. Sam shifts behind me and stretches his arm out, creating a pillow for me to put my head on. I scoot back a smidge, and his chest meets my back. He drapes an arm over my waist and holds me to him, his head resting lightly against mine.

“Good night, Sam,” I whisper into the dark.

“Night, Bryn.”

—

October 23rd

When we wake up in the morning, I’m surprised to find that we’re both in the same position as when we fell asleep. Sam’s warm breath fans across my skin as he sleeps, his face buried in my neck. I absentmindedly trace patterns on the arm that lays across my stomach, dozing off for a few minutes at a time.

After a little while, Sam takes a big, deep breath, and his grip on me tightens for a moment. He adjusts his head and presses a light kiss to the back of my head.

“Good morning,” I say quietly. Sam grumbles something, squeezing me a little more. “Did you sleep okay??" I rub his forearm.

“Yes, better than I have in a while,” he says against my scalp. “Thank you.”

I smile and pat his arm.

“Ok, I have to pee; lemme go.”

Sam laughs and moves his arm so I can get up. I stretch once I get to my feet and walk around the corner to the bathroom to do what I need to do.

When I return, I find Sam rolling up his sleeping bag. As soon as he finishes rolling his, he folds mine and rolls it as well.

“Damn, I was only gone for a minute,” I tease, arms crossed, leaning against the door frame.

Sam rocks back onto his heels and laughs. “Yeah, I’m just ready to get out of here and back to a real bed.”

I walk over to my duffle and start digging through it.

“Amen to that,” I grumble, pulling out a clean t-shirt and jeans.

Sam stands up and heads to the bathroom, leaving me to change. I stuff my dirty clothes back into my bag and finish repacking. Sam comes back in, now fully dressed, and grabs his bag and the two sleeping bags.

“Sam, you don’t have to do that; I can carry mine.”

He ignores my protests, and we walk down the steps together. Dean is leaning against the back of the couch, scrolling on his phone.

"Finally, took y’all long enough. Let’s go; I’m ready to get out of this dump.” Dean shoulders his duffle, and we follow him out to the car.

Once our shit is loaded into the trunk, we climb into the car and ride back to the cabin. Thankfully, the car ride is short, and we’re back at the cabin in less than 6 hours.

As soon as we walk in, I flop down on the couch, not even bothering to take off my boots. Dean and Sam take our bags to the little mud room where the washer and dryer are and toss them on the floor before re-emerging. Sam drops onto the couch next to me, and Dean takes the chair. I lean into Sam and shut my eyes, basking in the cabin's silence after 4 hours of the radio playing and the rumbling of the car. We all sit in the silence, retreating into our individual minds, lost in thought.

When I open my eyes, a familiar sensation lingers in my left eye, the tiny blind spot causing a cold sense of dread to spread through my body. I mentally curse to myself as the blind spot grows, taking on a sparkly appearance. It continues to slowly grow, then shifts to my periphery. I panic a little when I can’t see Dean anymore; the aura taking a little less than half of my vision away. I try not to make my distress apparent, taking deep breaths and closing my eyes. I open them again and head to the bathroom, a small wave of dizziness causing me to wobble a little. I close the door behind me and stare at myself in the mirror as the aura finally fades.

My hands tremble a little, and a small wave of anxiety washes over me. The lights become brighter and my stomach sinks as the dread of my impending migraine sets in.

"Great," I breathe. "Just what I need."

As soon as the words leave my lips, my fingers begin to tingle. I take a deep breath and try to shake it off. A throbbing ache begins to build just above my neck, right behind my ears. I attempt to stretch my neck out, but it leaves me with only a split second of relief.

I make my way back to the kitchen, and I grab a water bottle out of the fridge, chugging half of it before the tingling and weakness begins. My grip on the water bottle loosens as my hand becomes weaker, causing my water bottle to slip out and hit the floor. Thankfully, I got the lid on just in time. I curse to myself under my breath and shake out my hand as the tingling worsens.

Sam looks up from his phone, and Dean turns around to see me from the chair. Somehow, I manage to flash a smile.

"You okay??" Sam’s concerned, his hazel eyes scanning over me.

"Yeah, I'm good. I just—I dropped my water bottle," I say, bending down to pick it up, trying to make everything seem ok. “I’m gonna go lay down for a bit.”

I turn around and walk carefully to the bunks, my left leg becoming heavier as the weakness spreads. The second I sit down on Sam’s bunk, the pain in my head becomes harder to ignore, throbbing against my skull.

“Shit,” I mutter.

I feel a new wave of weakness come and try to make a fist, watching my fingers shake as they struggle to move against gravity. I hang my head, trying to take deep breaths, letting each wave come and go.

I hear footsteps creaking as someone—I’m assuming Sam—walks across the room.

“Bryn??” Sam’s voice asks, confirming my assumption. “Everything alright??”

He walks over to where I sit on his bunk as another wave of pain spreads over my skull, making my hand shake again. The throbbing in my head continues to build with each passing second. I take a deep breath and pray for it to pass quickly.

Soon, my left arm, hand, leg, and foot will be useless, becoming nothing but a constant buzz of pins and needles. The migraine will reach its worst; then everything will slowly start to fade, and it’ll be over. I usually crash from pure exhaustion long before it goes away, though.

I chug some more of my water, and Sam sits down next to me, tucking a leg under him. He folds his arms across his chest and leans back against the bunk’s frame.

I feel the trembling of my fingers. "Gimme a sec."

I close my eyes so I can focus on breathing as the tingling in my limbs grows. My arm progressively goes numb as the migraine continues to worsen. The weakness in my arm is now constant and the dysfunction happening in my brain only amplifies my normal nerve issues. My head throbs harder, and everything becomes unbearably bright.

“Can you close the curtains on the window??” I ask, my voice shaking.

Sam stands and his fingers brush my legs as he steps around them. Then the room darkens as he draws the curtains and turns off the small lamp on the side table. He returns to his spot next to me and his fingers ghost over my back.

“That better??”

I hum in affirmation and put my head in my hands.

"Do you remember when we were kids, and we went to Salem, Oregon for some werewolves and my parents had to take me to the hospital??” I manage to choke out. Sam hums in response. “It was my first migraine, and it was really bad. I still get them, usually when I'm stressed, exhausted, or if I need to drink more water. My parents made the code word for it ‘Salem,’ and it stuck."

I was super young, around 7 or 8, and had no idea what was going on, making everything that much scarier. My parents rushed me to the hospital, fearing the worst as my pain increased to where I was inconsolable, screaming my lungs out. I had such bad weakness on my left side that I couldn’t move my arm or leg independently, and I had to be carried. I went through a battery of tests, and they pumped my IV full of pain meds and sedatives. I eventually fell asleep, and that’s when the doctor told my parents that I was having a hemiplegic migraine. They gave me fluids and more meds to try and help the pain. I stayed overnight and woke up without a headache or any lasting effects from it. I regained function in my limbs and could walk independently to the car when I was discharged. I was put on medications for it but eventually ran out, as it was nearly impossible to get refills or prescriptions while roaming the Lower 48. They’re pretty random, but don’t happen often, so I don’t really need the medications.

I open my eyes as much as I can and look over at him. All I can read in his eyes is sympathy.

"I'm gonna go grab another water bottle, plus I don’t wanna leave Dean in the dark about what’s going on." I smirk a little.

“No, no, you stay here. I can get it,” Sam protests.

I roll my eyes. “It’s fine Sam, I got it.”

I slowly stand up, testing my weight on my leg to ensure I have enough strength and sensation to walk. I can feel Sam’s eyes on my back as I take cautious steps towards the small step down, waiting to rush over if I were to fall. My foot drags as I navigate the short walk to the living room, and where Dean is scrolling on his phone. I’m pretty sure the gimpy walk and the squinty eyes give away what’s going on, but I never can be sure.

"Hey, kiddo,” he says, eyes still on his phone.

I make it to the table and lean against the closest chair, trying not to crumple to the floor as I wait for the wave of weakness to pass. I hear Sam’s hurried footsteps, and his hand finds the small of my back. Once it's better, I push myself back upright and situate myself back onto both feet, letting out a sharp inhale as a painful tingling shoots up my leg.

"Everything okay??" Dean asks, moving to the edge of his chair.

"Salem."

“Jesus-fucking-Christ, Bryn,” Dean gets up quickly and makes a beeline for me. “What are you doing up??”

“I needed more water,” I reply, my voice sounding small.

“So?? Make Sam get it for you.”

Sam raises his hands in innocence. “Hey, I offered, but she was being stubborn.”

Dean sighs and the two boys almost carry me back to the bunks, each with one arm firm around my waist.

Sam helps me back onto his bunk, sitting down next to me, while Dean drags his cot over so it’s closer to the bunks, both men’s expressions riddled with worry. A wave of guilt strikes me, and I feel bad that I’m worrying them so much.

I lean into Sam, really appreciating him being there. He holds me tight, his fingers lightly scratching my scalp to create a distraction, which is working. I close my eyes and try to focus on my breathing, failing miserably as everything keeps getting worse. I attempt to start a conversation but take in a sharp breath as the searing nerve pain takes over, as if half my body has gone to sleep, and the pressure and pounding in my head reaches full force.

Sam and Dean remain silent, just trying to let me work through it however I can. As much as I want to stay in Sam’s arms forever, I have to lean forward so I can press my head into my good hand, trying to create counterpressure as the vice tightens around my skull. I can’t help but bounce my right knee as everything peaks. I involuntarily let out a groan before I try to reassure the boys that I'm okay.

"Hey, hey, you’ve got this. You’re tough," Dean whispers into the air.

Sam just rubs my back as a deep ache spreads through my body, equating to the worst flu I’ve ever had. The tingling becomes more painful, and I let out a sharp breath.

Dean begins to quietly hum my favorite song, probably feeling helpless at the moment and wanting to do anything he can to make me feel better.

I try to focus on thinking of the words and keeping my breath steady, but my head is in such a fog, I hardly recognize the melody.

Sam continues to hold me as I try just about everything I know to do to ease the pain. I all but curl up in his lap, groaning at the sledgehammer pounding against my skull. If the weakness wasn’t so bad, I would be pacing.

“C-can I la-lay down??” I somehow stutter out.

Sam helps me onto my side, and I curl up into the fetal position, still shaking my leg to distract from the pain. I can’t help the soft groans that occasionally slip out, wishing I could rip my brain out.

It takes a while for everything to calm down. After 2-3 hours of crying, not moving, and begging for any higher power to make it stop, the pain recedes.

Sam lays behind me, gently running his fingers over my scalp, being more helpful than he’ll ever know.

Any energy I had is now long gone, and I fall asleep, exhausted from the drama.

—

The next morning, I wake up feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck while simultaneously experiencing the worst hangover of my life. I lay in bed for a while, floating in and out of sleep, trying to find the motivation to get out of bed.

“Hey, you’re awake,” Sam murmurs, kneeling down next to the bunk.

I scoff. “Barely.”

He laughs a little. “Are you hungry?? It’s almost 1:30.”

I stare at the bottom of the bunk above me, attempting to take inventory of what’s going on in my body. My stomach gurgles a little and does a roll, but not in a nauseating way.

“Yeah, maybe a little.” I turn my head slowly to look at Sam. “Can you help me up??”

His eyes soften, and he brushes my hair back from my face.

“Of course.”

I scoot over to the edge and drop my legs over it. Sam gently takes my hands and holds steady so I can pull against him. I get to a sitting position and drop my hands back to the bed, hanging my head as the throbbing in my body intensifies for a second. Once I’ve adjusted to being upright, I reach my arms back out and Sam takes them, letting me pull myself up to a standing position. The nerves in my feet send a shockwave of tingling through my legs as they take my weight, causing me to involuntarily hiss.

“Whoa, hey, you ok??” Sam says, moving his hands to my waist as I wobble.

I let out a sharp breath and press my forehead into Sam’s chest. “My feet are a little extra sensitive. It’ll go away in a second.”

Sam’s thumbs rub against my ribs, and he presses a kiss to my head.

After a minute, the sensitivity subsides, and I can move again.

“Ok, I’m good,” I mutter, lifting my head back up.

“Ok, take your time,” Sam says, turning to the side, keeping one arm firmly wrapped around my waist.

I take a hesitant step, bracing myself for another wave of nerve pain, but thankfully nothing comes. We very slowly make our way over to the kitchen, and I plop down into one of the dining chairs.

“Ok, we’ve got sandwich stuff, chili, chicken noodle soup, and…” Sam ducks down so he can see in the fridge better. “…leftover pizza.”

I think for a second.

“Can you make me a grilled cheese??” I ask, sounding like a small child and giving Sam my best puppy eyes.

Sam walks over to me and kisses my forehead, laughing to himself. “Of course, sweetheart.”

I smile and grab his wrist as he starts to walk away. His head snaps back to look at me and concern is written all over his face.

“You can do better than a forehead kiss,” I joke, and Sam relaxes.

He playfully rolls his eyes. “You’re so needy.”

I laugh.

“Shut up and kiss me,” I say.

He obliges, bending down and cupping my face with his hands. I melt a little, smiling against his lips. He pulls back a little, keeping our foreheads together.

“Can I make your grilled cheese now??” He whispers, looking into my eyes, a sassy grin on his face.

“I guess, though, I’d rather keep kissing you.”

“Will y’all quit being gross before I throw up??” Dean says from the couch, and I can almost hear him roll his eyes.

Sam gives me one last kiss before standing back up and getting the stuff for my sandwich.

My heart flutters as I come to a realization. Oh God. I love him. A lot.

Chapter Text

October 27th

The small book rests on my legs as I contemplate strolling down memory lane, biting my lip as my heart rate quickens. It’s been at least a year since I opened it last, too busy running from the grief of losing my parents to even remember it existed. Now that Sam’s back in my life and his presence in my mind is near constant, the sentimentality of these little notes isn’t lost on me. Each postcard holds a piece of each of our lives, ones that weren’t truly shared, but are still linked together by these little glossy, decorative rectangles.

With one final deep breath, I lift the cover of the book and start from the beginning.

My fingers trace over the indentations made by Sam’s pen as he wrote. I read this last postcard at least once a week, allowing the happy memories of Sam to play like a movie behind my eyelids.
The one I always come back to is our first kiss. I can feel the warm tingles that flooded my body as he caught me in his arms, that amplified as his lips finally met mine. I waited years for that kiss, and it was worth the wait. He was my first love, and honestly, I don’t think I’ve had one since.

“Bryn??” Rhys calls from upstairs. “You ready to go?? Everybody just left, so we’re on a time crunch.”

“Yeah, be up in a second!!” I yell back.

I slip the postcard from its sleeve in the book and grab my bag, tossing the open scrapbook onto my bed. I race upstairs and join Rhys in her car.

“Did you figure out what you’re getting??” she asks, looking both ways and turning onto the main road.

I smile. “Yeah, I did.”

She glances at me a couple of times.

“Care to elaborate??” she presses.

I laugh.

“You’ll see it when it’s done,” I say, dismissing her attempt to get me to spill.

Rhys rolls her eyes. “Whatever, buzzkill.”

I bust out laughing and in no time, we’re pulling into a parking spot by the tattoo shop.

It’s time.

Chapter Text

October 29th

At the worst possible time in the universe, my phone rings. The werewolf we were chasing turns towards the noise and runs off, completely ruining our stake out.

“Are you fucking kidding me??” Dean scolds.

“I’m sorry!! I thought it was silenced,” I say, pulling my phone from my pocket. “Hello??”

“Hey, Bee,” Welch’s voice drawls. “Just wanted to see what your plans were for Thanksgiving and if I need to make extra for you and the boys.”

My stomach drops. I can’t believe I forgot about Thanksgiving.

“Uh, lemme talk to them, and I’ll get back to you,” I say, cringing.

“Yeah, sure, just lemme know,” he says. “Love you, Bee.”

“Love you too, Welch. Talk to you later.”

I hang up and drop my head. How did I forget about Thanksgiving?? I’ve spent every Thanksgiving with Welch for years. You’d think it’d be engrained in my brain by now.

“What the hell was so important that you almost got us killed for??” Dean fumes.

I see Sam grab his arm and glare at him.

“It was Welch. He was wondering if we were coming for Thanksgiving.”

Dean throws his hands up in the air and walks away for a second. He can be so dramatic sometimes.

“That’s nice of him,” Sam says, smiling. “I personally would love to have a real Thanksgiving.”

Wait, what?? I turn to Sam; my brow wrinkled in confusion.

“What do you mean a ‘real’ Thanksgiving??”

Sam chuckles and shakes his head. “Dean and I usually just get a nice rotisserie chicken from a grocery store and some beer and eat it in whatever motel we’re holed up in.”

I gape at him.

“No way,” I mutter. “Well, that settles it then. We’re going to Welch’s for Thanksgiving, whether the drama queen over there wants to or not. It’s food, so I doubt he’d say no.”

Sam laughs. “Yeah, you’re not wrong.”

Dean eventually quits throwing a tantrum long enough for me to tell him I’m dragging his ass to Welch’s as soon as we’re done with this hunt. He grumpily agrees and we head back to the motel to brainstorm our new plan, since I ruined the old plan by forgetting to silence my phone.

“Dean, we know where their hide-out is, why don’t we just—oh, I don’t know—show up there and kick their asses??” I put another couple of French fries in my mouth. “It’s a small pack and they’ve all been turned recently so they haven’t had a chance to learn to fight or get crazy strong yet. Plus, they’re a lot easier to kill when it’s not a full moon.”

Dean hits me with a ‘you can’t be serious’ look as he chews on an oversized bite of his cheeseburger.

“That’s a terrible idea,” Sam says, stealing one of my fries, earning him a forceful slap on the hand. He lets out a string of expletives and shakes his hand out.

“Bryn, when werewolves aren’t turned, they’re just regular people. We’re hunters, not murderers,” Dean comments.

“We can’t wait until the full moon, Dean. It’s not for another month.” I shove more fries in my mouth. “So, unless you have a better plan, taking them out now is gonna be our best bet.”

Sam and Dean are both silent, exchanging one of their brotherly looks that holds an entire conversation. I roll my eyes and take a bite of my burger, resenting their silent communication. After a few moments, they break their staring contest, and both sets of eyes land on me, startling me a bit.

Dean sighs. “Fine, we’ll do it your way,” I start to celebrate, but Dean holds up a hand and continues, “but, if anything goes wrong, it’s on you.”

My stomach twists a little. I’m an adult and can take responsibility for my own actions but putting the blame solely on me if someone else makes a bad decision that gets them hurt doesn’t seem right.

“I can’t take responsibility for mistakes on you or Sam’s behalf. Would I feel guilty if something bad happened?? Absolutely, but you two are grown-ass men that make their own choices. I can’t control what you guys do, so I won’t take responsibility for something that was not my choice.”

Dean squints at me for a second.

“Y’know, she’s got a point,” Sam mutters.

“I know she’s got a point, shut up!!” Dean whisper yells at his brother. He looks at me with determination set in his eyes. “Ok, let me rephrase. If anything were to go wrong, this was all your idea, and we will hold it against you for eternity.”

I don a smug grin. “Of course you will. I’ll probably blame myself too, so…”

Sam snickers a little but brushes it off as a cough when I kick him lightly under the table.

“Alright, Fearless Leader, what next??” Sam teases, bending in half and contorting his body a bit to rub his shin.

An evil smirk forms on my lips. “Here’s what I was thinking…”

..

I lay down in bed, ready to sleep after the long day we’ve had. While I wait for Sam to come to bed, I figure now is a good time to shoot Welch a text.

Bryn

Hey, you can count us in for Thanksgiving

Anything you want me to bring??

I set my phone on my stomach and stare up at the ceiling for a little, allowing my mind to wander freely. Our plan for the werewolves plays through my head a million times, including every conceivable way it could go wrong. From something as small as one of us stepping on a rogue nail in the floorboards to us all dying a horrific, bloody death.

Ah, the joys of mental illness.

My phone buzzes, breaking me out of my catastrophe spiral. I pick it up and read Welch’s response.

Welch

You can bring something if you want, but I’ll be perfectly happy just to see you and the boys

But if you bring anything, Fawn requests your mom’s dressing :)

I laugh quietly to myself—of course she does. I type back a quick reply and plug my phone in, setting it on the side table for the night. I resume staring at the ceiling, this time imagining Sam and Dean at their first real Thanksgiving. The warmth of that thought fills my body, making me smile. A small sense of pride flickers in my chest as I realize they get to experience what having a semi-normal life is like—one they otherwise wouldn’t have ever experienced had Dean not called me that day.

The bed dips next to me, the old springs groaning under Sam’s weight. My eyes flick over to him, only to find him already staring at me.

“What??” I say, my smile spreading.

Sam’s face mirrors mine.

“I asked if you were ok, but you didn’t say anything.” He slips under the covers, laying on his side facing me, propping his head on his arm. His hand reaches out and tucks my hair behind my ear. “What were you thinking about that made you smile like that??”

I smirk. “I was thinking about how you and Dean get to have a real Thanksgiving and how you get to experience some normal family things, all because Dean called me when Cas broke you.” I laugh to myself. “I was so mad at him that night, but if I hadn’t answered…”

Sam nods, his fingers trailing over the skin of my forearm.

We lie there in a comfortable silence, just kind of staring at each other. I watch as Sam’s eyes scan my face, as if he’s memorizing every feature. His gaze is soft, loving even, the dim lighting making his eyes a warm brown. When his eyes finally return to mine, I’m glad I’m laying down because, if I were standing, I would be a puddle on the floor. He looks at me as if I am the only person in the world, as if I was a precious gem or a beautiful painting in a museum. I roll onto my side and reach up to caress his cheek with my fingertips, his stubble prickling against my skin. I can’t help but drop my eyes to his lips, my thumb brushing gently across his plush lower lip. When I lift my eyes back to his, they’ve darkened slightly.

His hand moves to the small of my back and pulls me to him, the speed of which catches me off guard, and I let out a small yelp. Sam just smirks and ducks his head down, pressing his lips against mine. I melt into him, my hand now cupping his cheek. He moves, so he’s over the top of me, resting his weight on his forearms. His body rests just perfectly on top of mine, his hips settling between my legs. A warmth floods my body, and I sigh into his mouth. Sam takes advantage of the split second my lips are apart and slips his tongue into my mouth. My limbs tingle as he deepens the kiss, leaving me wondering if this is what heaven feels like.

Suddenly, I remember Dean is sleeping in the bed next to us and I panic. My hands find Sam’s shoulders and push against them, trying to separate us. He feels my hands and pushes up onto his hands, accidentally causing some… friction. I have to stifle the moan that threatens to leave my throat as every nerve in my body reacts, my hands fisting Sam’s shirt. Sam hangs his head and takes a deep breath, choking back his own voice with a soft grunt. We both struggle to compose ourselves until Sam moves his legs, so he’s on his knees. His eyes finally find mine, pupils blown with desire, something I’ve never seen before.

“Are you ok?? Was that too much??” He asks me between pants, panic in his features.

I swallow hard and shake my head.

“No, no, it was great.” I say, still breathless myself. “A little too great with your brother in the bed beside us.”

Sam’s eyes widen as he remembers his brother’s presence as well, and we both look over to find that Dean is still sound asleep. We look back at each other and immediately start laughing. Sam drops back down onto the mattress, laying on his back next to me.

Our laughter eventually fades and everything goes quiet, the only noises coming from our breathing and Dean’s snoring. My mind races a million miles a minute, still riled up from the make-out session. I stare at the ceiling, trying to calm my racing thoughts, but I’m startled a little as Sam takes my hand. His fingers slot between mine and a wave of calm washes over me.

How can the same person both wind me up and calm me down??

His thumb gently sweeps across the back of my hand, the skin slightly rough from his calluses. He takes a deep breath and adjusts himself under the covers.

I roll over, keeping our fingers interlocked, and hug Sam’s arm, my head coming to rest on his shoulder.

“G’night, Bee.” Sam whispers, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.

“Night, Sam.”

—

October 30th

“Are you sure about this, Bryn??” Dean asks me as we approach the werewolf hideout.

“Yeah,” I look around, “unless you wanna come back in 2 weeks for that full moon.”

Dean grumbles something under his breath, and we creep up to the side of the old barn. It looks like a stiff wind would blow it down, but the wolves still settled down here.

A warm glow shines out between the slats of wood, casting rays of light into the dark forest. I lean against the wall and peek in through the gaps.

I can see 4 people sitting around an old, dilapidated card table, playing what appears to be poker. A couple of them sit on a couch, just watching the game. My eyes scan the room, and I don’t see any other wolves, just the 6 near the card table.

“There’s 6. 4 are playing poker, 2 are on the couch watching. You guys can each take 2, right??” I ask, turning my head back to look at them.

“Yeah, should be a piece of cake,” Dean says, slipping his gun from his waistband.

Sam and I follow suit, and we make our way to the front door. After a silent count of three, Sam kicks in the door and all hell breaks fucking loose.

All six of the werewolves are instantly on their feet, moving faster than any of us expected.

I shoot one in the chest, dead center, garnering the attention from another. Full of rage, the wolf begins throwing punches and beating the living shit out of me, moving much faster than I can even form thoughts. When they knock my gun away, I pull out my knife and slice a long, red line across their face. With a deep growl, they slash across my chest with their claws, tearing my shirt to ribbons and easily slicing through my skin, but thankfully they’re shallow since I took a step back before the wolf could swing at me. They then lunge forward and rake their claws across my stomach, eliciting a gut-wrenching scream from my throat. Blood seeps out and spreads through the fabric of my shirt as I stagger backwards. Adrenaline rushes through my veins, and I throw my knife, which lands with a satisfying thunk into the wolf’s heart.

I stand there for a moment, my chest heaving as I catch my breath. Sam and Dean are finishing off their wolves and I make my way over to the card table where the wolves poker game lays abandoned. The world spins, and I stumble a bit, having to lean on the table to steady myself. I reach up to my chest, and my fingers meet warm, sticky blood. I look down and the severity of my injuries registers in my brain.

Oh shit.

I hear Sam call my name and I turn, taking a step towards him, pain peeking through the adrenaline-fueled haze.

Sam’s eyes widen as he sees the blood on my shirt. I stumble forward and Sam rushes over.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what happened??" Sam catches me and gets me to the floor as my legs give out.

My head spins from shock.

"I, uh, I think I’m bleeding," I mutter.

"You think??” He sasses. “C’mon, you need to put pressure on that."

He folds my arms over my stomach and presses against them. My adrenaline fades, and the pain sneaks up on me.

Sam yells for Dean, who is by my side in an instant.

“Oh, God, what happened??”

“One of the wolves got her. We gotta get her to a hospital.”

Dean nods and runs out of the barn.

“You’re gonna be ok,” he whispers as he removes my jacket.

My eyes close for a moment as his hand brushes loose hair back from my face, unsticking it from the layer of sweat on my skin.

His voice whispers comforting things to me, a chorus of ‘I got you’ and ‘You’re gonna be ok’ with a random ‘Just keep taking deep breaths, you’re doing great’ now and then. I lay my head back against the ground; the pain becoming stronger with every minute that my adrenaline decreases.

Dean runs back in, and I hear the rumble of an engine nearby. He and Sam carry me to the car, trying their best to keep from jostling me. I whimper and moan as Sam lays me down in the back seat before climbing in after me, kneeling on the floorboard. I can see the panic in his eyes as he tells Dean to drive as fast as he can, his hands pressing firmly into my stomach.

A gnawing ache consumes my abdomen, and every little bump causes the muscles in my stomach to spasm. Eventually, I get to where I can’t help the groans and cries that fall from my mouth.

"C’mon man, drive faster," Sam says to Dean. He then looks down at me with tears in his eyes. “You’re ok, Bee. I’ve gotcha.”

“I’m going as fast as I can, Sam.” He pauses. “Hang in there, sweetheart.”

Sam puts more pressure on my wound and kisses my head as I cry out in pain. “I know, honey, I’m so sorry.”

 My hearing muffles and my ears ring as another wave of pain hits me like a truck. I can see the hurt in his face as Sam fights back tears. I try to hold back my own tears, failing as the pain continues to grow.

“—just a few minutes away, Bryn." Sam says, and his eyes widen with fear as he stares at his hands that are stained with my blood.

"Sammy," I say quietly. He looks at me. "It hurts so bad."

“I know, baby, we’re almost there; you’re gonna be just fine,” Sam says, voice shaking, tears glistening on his cheeks. “Just stay with me, okay?? Deep breaths.”

We hit another bump, and I cry out again, my muscles spasming. Sweat rolls off my forehead, mixing with the tears flowing down my cheeks. My hand trembles as I grab hold of Sam’s shirt, gripping it as tightly as I can. My body shakes uncontrollably from the adrenaline crash.

Slowly, my hearing grows muffled, and black dots fill my vision. Pressure grows in my head, and my heart sinks; I’m close to passing out. I close my eyes for a moment, not even two seconds, before Sam shakes me.

"Don't you dare," he growls at me. "I can't lose you. Not again."

Dean says something, and Sam relaxes but still holds firm pressure on my stomach.

My eyes close uncontrollably, and Sam continues to keep me awake as I swing wildly in and out of consciousness.

"Bryn, stay with me." Chills run over my arms, hearing the tone of his voice. “We’re at the hospital. Just hang in there, sweetheart.”

I open my eyes and blink at him a couple of times, my vision swimming slightly. I reach up and brush my fingers against his face, attempting to wipe away his tears. I drag my fingers through his hair, pulling it back from his face. His eyes meet mine with a look full of terror, a kind I’ve never seen from him before. Just as the emergency room staff throws open the door above my head, my heavy eyelids close, and I lose consciousness from the sheer amount of pain.

—

~Dean~

The waiting room is eerily silent, nothing but the ticking clock making any noise.

I pace back and forth across the room, trying to keep my mind off how bad Bryn looked as they whisked her into the ER. Sam is sitting in one chair, his elbows on his knees and his head hanging, almost as if he’s praying. When I turn and walk back towards him, he’s looking down at his hands and forearms, which are still stained with Bryn’s blood. I notice a small tremor in his hands as he messes with his scar, and my stomach tightens. Sam’s scared.

I walk over and sit down in the chair next to him. He looks up at me for a second before looking back at his blood-stained hands.

"Listen to me, Bryn is super strong, okay?? She'll get through this.” I say, hoping he can’t hear the fear in my voice.

"Thank you, Dean." He wipes some tears from his face.

"You really care about her, don't you??" I ask.

"I love her with every fiber of my being," he confesses. Tears well up in his eyes as he looks up at me. "She makes me so happy. I can't lose her, Dean. I just can't. Not again."

"You won't, Sammy. Trust me."

The door to the waiting opens and a doctor in blue scrubs walks out. I elbow Sam and we both get to our feet. She approaches us and shakes both of our hands.

"She did great. Incredibly lucky too, no major organs were hit, just the muscles in her abdomen. The cuts on her chest were superficial and only needed a good cleaning.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. The doctor continues. “We stitched her up, and she’s getting some IV fluids and antibiotics, and she’s on some strong pain medications. Overall, she'll be just fine. Just make sure she gets lots of rest and doesn't partake in any strenuous activity for the next few weeks. The stitches will need to be taken out in a couple of weeks, but any freestanding clinic can do that." She smiles at us and shakes our hands again.

"Thank you so much," Sam breathes out.

“The nurse will come grab you when they take her up to her room. I'll come up in a few hours to check on her as well," the doctor says.

We both nod and thank her again. I drop back down into the chair and let out a huge sigh of relief.

It seems like forever before the nurse comes out and grabs us, handing Sam the bag of Bryn’s belongings. We walk behind her as a transporter pushes Bryn’s bed. We ride the elevator up to the 4th floor and weave through the halls for a bit before we finally get to her room.

“I’m going to go talk with her nurse. I hope she gets better soon,” the OR nurse says, giving us a small smile.

I thank her and we walk into Bryn’s room, where her bed sits on the wall opposite the door.

Sam leaves my side and pulls a chair over by Bryn.

I pull a chair up to the foot of her bed and smile at my brother. He's holding her hand up to his face and murmuring to her as she sleeps. I catch a few words here and there, but what gets to me is the amount of love in his eyes. I can feel the love radiating off him as he looks at her. They are perfect for each other, and I couldn't imagine my baby brother with anyone else.

—

October 31st

~Bryn~

My eyes feel heavy as I open them. In the dimly lit room, I see Dean at the end of my bed, arms crossed and chin on his chest, fast asleep. Sam is filed in half, his head on my thigh and his hand clutching mine for dear life. The faint beeping of the monitor is the only noise in the room, save for Dean’s light snores.

I very gently run my hand across my gown-clad torso, my fingertips tracing the outline of the dressings. I sigh, frustration boiling in my chest. So much for this being a fucking piece of cake.

Dean snorts and lifts his head up, groaning and rubbing his stiff neck. He stretches and yawns, then his eyes lock on mine. I smirk a little and wave. His eyes grow wide, and he hits Sam’s arm.

Sam pops up and glares at him before running a hand over his face and through his hair, still holding my hand with the other. I gently squeeze his hand, and his head whips around to look at me. He rises to his feet and presses his forehead to mine.

"Hi, baby." His tone is soft and sweet. It makes me melt.

He gently cups the side of my face and rubs his thumb across my freckled cheek.

"What happened??" I ask, soaking up the color of his eyes.

"One of the wolves got you. We told them it was a mountain lion attack." He suddenly gets really serious. “You lost a lot of blood, but the doctor said they missed all your major organs; it just hit the muscle.”

I close my eyes and sigh. “I’m so sorry, Sammy.”

“It’s ok. You’re here and that’s all that matters.” He presses his lips to my forehead before sitting down on the bed next to my legs. He rests a hand on my thigh, thumb rubbing my leg through the blankets.

“If I could move,” I pause and chuckle. “I would scoot over so you could lie with me.”

Sam laughs. I see Dean smirking out of the corner of my eye. I take Sam’s hand in mine and relax, closing my eyes. I'm probably going to be down for a while, but I'm okay with that.

..

A couple of hours later, the sun has come up, and the boys have already had breakfast. They’ve had me on clear liquids since my surgery, just to be safe, so the guys ate downstairs in the cafeteria.

While we hang out in my room, the TV playing some random show, the boys and I all scrolling on our phones, an idea comes to mind. Using the side rail on my bed, I sit up and look at Sam. I let out a hiss as my stitches sting with the activation of my abs, drawing both his and Dean’s attention.

“Do you know how to braid??” I ask him.

Sam wrinkles his eyebrows. “No, I don’t. Why??”

I grin super wide.

“Well, I’m about to teach you ‘cause I can’t braid my hair while my stitches hurt this much.”

Sam laughs. “Ok.”

I try to scoot forward, creating a gap behind me. I then lower the head of my bed to make it flat. Sam watches with amusement as I get situated so my stomach doesn’t hurt. I pat the bed behind me, and he drops the rail so he can sit.

“Ready??” I ask.

“I guess.”

I hear Dean laugh.

“Dean, shut up,” I chastise, throwing my straw wrapper at him. He laughs some more.

“Ok, so, take your finger and part my hair down the middle.” I squirm as he does, especially at the nape of my neck. “Now, tie this one side off with my scrunchie.”

I hand him my scrunchie and pick up the left side. He wraps it around a few times.

“Good, now comes the fun part.” I lean my head back a smidge. “Take a smallish section towards the front of my head.”

I feel his fingers slide across my scalp as he separates the hair.

“Now take that and divide it into 3 somewhat equal pieces. Twist the hair under so that the piece on the far right becomes the one in the middle.”

“Bryn, there’s no way I’m gonna be good at this,” Sam says. I shush him.

“Shhh. It takes practice, grasshopper, which you’ll get plenty of while I’m mildly incapacitated. Do the same thing with the far-left piece.” I wait. "Ok, this is where things get weird. Before you twist the far-right side to the middle, grab a small chunk of my hair.” I feel as he sections my hair with his fingers, then holds it tight, so it won’t come out. “Awesome. Now do the same thing on the other side.”

I keep talking Sam through the basic Dutch braid, and I can feel him adjust his hands as he gets more comfortable with what he’s doing. By the end of the first side, I’m left with a surprisingly clean and neat braid, which is unheard of for someone’s first time Dutch braiding. I guide him through the other side, and he does an amazing job on that side too. By the end, it looks like I did it myself.

“Shit, Sam, I think you braid better than I do,” I tease, looking at the picture I had him take so I could see. I lean back a little, resting my back against his chest, and kiss his cheek. “Thank you for doing that for me.”

He presses his lips to my head.

“Any time.”

Chapter Text

November 8th

Sam helps me out of the car of the week, and my stitches tug at the movement of my torso, the burning pain causing me to wince with any activation of my abs. He continues to support me into Welch’s house and down to my room. He helps me sit on my bed, then removes my shoes. I crawl under the covers and slowly lay down the way the physical therapist showed me, yet my cut still screams as my ab muscles flex. Sam pulls out my array of medications and sits them on my nightstand. I smile to myself at how sweet he is.

He stands next to my bed and caresses my cheek.

"Do you want me to stay??"

I put on my best puppy eyes. "Please??"

He chuckles. "Of course."

He makes his way over to the other side of the bed, then kicks off his boots. I curl up next to him and breathe in my favorite smell, his cologne. He gently rubs my back. The simple things make me feel safe around him.

“Hey, Sam??” He hums in response. “Thank you.”

He huffs out a laugh. “For what??”

“Taking care of me.”

I can hear the smile in his voice as he replies: “Of course, anything for my girl.”

It feels like my heart stops for a moment. My girl.

I don’t say anything in return; I just scoot closer to Sam and nuzzle into his shoulder a little. The warmth radiating from him soothes the ache in my torso, and my muscles can finally relax. I am exactly where I belong: enveloped in the warmth and safety of Sam’s embrace.

I drift off to sleep as the exhaustion sets in. Sam just holds me and drifts off as well.

—

When I wake up, I'm lying on my pillow, and Sam is gone. I slowly sit up, having to bite my lip to stifle a cry when the intense burning pain spreads across my torso. I very slowly get to my feet, using the edge of my bed for support. Very slowly and very carefully, I make my way upstairs. I pause at the top of the stairs, stifling a groan at the gnawing ache enveloping my torso.

Everyone is hanging out in the kitchen, idly munching on the snacks that are spread across the island. Rhys and Fawn are sitting on the barstools, laughing at whatever story Jason is telling. Nash, Lucas, and Dean are all talking together, their hands occasionally digging into bags of chips or the plate of veggies that’s near them. Sam and Welch are off to the side, having what looks to be a serious conversation.

Welch, who’s facing me, notices my presence before Sam and does a double take when he finally looks up. His eyes widen, and he rushes over to me.

"What the hell do you think you're doing??" He asks me, a firm yet caring tone in his voice.

Instantly, everyone goes quiet and stares at me and Welch. Welch bends down slightly and wraps an arm around me for support.

"Sam was gone when I woke up and I heard talking, so I came to investigate," I say, wincing a little as I walk. “I’m also kinda hungry.”

Sam rushes over to us, taking my other side.

"You're supposed to be in bed. Resting. Not up wandering around," he says, almost scolding me.

I can’t help but laugh at the serious look on his face.

"I’m not running a 5k; I just want to be here with you guys."

Sam shoots me another concerned look and helps me as I shuffle towards the island. He pulls out a stool, and I carefully sit on it, wincing as a stitch tugs.

"So, what’d I miss??" I ask, shifting in my seat, trying to find a comfortable position.

Sam watches me, the worry emanating from him nearly palpable.

"We were just talking about the menu for Thanksgiving,” Rhys says with a smile.

“Tyler is coming,” Fawn blurts, causing Rhys to punch her in the arm.

“What??!!” I exclaim, nearly jumping out of my seat before Sam’s hand grabs my arm to stop me. I grunt a little as the cut stings with the sudden movement.

“Nash is bringing Dallas!!” Rhys says, deflecting attention from her.

I gape at Nash. “Who’s Dallas??”

“Lucas is proposing to Hailey!!”

Lucas whips around. “I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

“Holy shit, I’m way out of the loop,” I mutter to Fawn, who laughs.

Her siblings glare at her and her laughter comes to an abrupt halt, her face falling.

Nothing says “Happy Thanksgiving” like sibling drama.

After lunch, we all retreat to the living room, where Fawn catches me up on everything.

Rhys and Tyler have been dating for what seems like forever, making their relationship official in 2004, the year after I moved in. He’s been here for Thanksgiving a few times, but it’s been about 6 years since she’s invited him, since Lucas and Jason teased him endlessly the last time he was here.

Nash apparently met Dallas at a bar a couple of years ago, when I was hunting on my own to try and run from the grief of my parents' deaths. Dallas is an ICU nurse in Kansas City, where she lives with a dog named Colby and her best friend from college. According to Fawn, Nash and Dallas are very cute together and she thinks Dallas may be the perfect girl for Nash. She rides motorcycles and has her grandads old Bronco that she’s been working on in her free time. She also loves sports and they’ve been to a few KC Royals games together.

Lucas and Hailey are high school sweethearts, meeting through mutual friends. She and Lucas alternate whose family they spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with to keep it fair, but about 3 years ago, Hailey’s sister got married, and she started to spend every Thanksgiving with us to avoid the constant questioning of when her and Lucas are getting married. She’s perfect for Lucas and it’s hard to miss how happy they make each other. She works in Kansas City at one of the biggest law firms in Missouri. She’s a consultant for multiple high-profile, multi-billion-dollar corporations, known as one of the best lawyers in the Midwest. She’s super badass, and I’ve always been jealous of her confidence.

Once I’m all caught up, we talk about the exciting things I’ve been doing since the last time I visited. We laugh about random things, and I cherish every moment I have with my chosen siblings.

During a lull in the conversation, I feel a tap on my shoulder. When I look up, Sam is standing over me, one of his hands closed around something and the other holding a water bottle.

“Med time,” he says quietly, passing me the pills.

I take the water bottle from him and quickly swallow down the pills.

Sam sits on the armrest of the couch, right next to me. I lay my head against his thigh, and he runs his fingers through my hair.

“You ok??” He asks, lightly scratching my scalp with his fingertips.

“Yeah, I’m great.”

..

~Sam~

Shortly after dinner, Bryn tells me she’s exhausted and is ready to go to bed. I help her downstairs, supporting her as she slowly takes the staircase one step at a time.

“Do you need help changing??” I ask, helping her sit on the edge of her bed.

“I think I’m ok, can you grab my pajamas for me??”

“Of course.”

She has me grab one of her dad’s old shirts from one drawer and a pair of stretchy shorts from another, and I step out of the room so she can change, staying just outside the door in case she needs help. She lets me know when she’s done, and I help her to the bathroom so she can brush her teeth.

Once she’s back in bed and is relatively comfortable, I start to get ready for bed myself. I crawl under the covers next to Bryn, who has already drifted off thanks to the pain meds she was prescribed. She wakes up a little when the bed dips under my weight, and her eyes open slightly.

“It’s just me,” I whisper. “Go back to sleep.”

She smiles and grabs my arm, rolling other her side away from me and dragging my arm across her as she goes. I laugh and follow her lead, pulling her back into my chest. I slide my other arm under her pillow and settle in behind her. She sighs happily, then her breathing evens out and deepens as she falls into a deeper sleep.

I nuzzle my face into her shoulder, breathing in the faint smell of her conditioner and the perfume that clings to her.

Honestly, I didn’t realize how much I missed Bryn until she walked through the door that day. Once she came back, I swore to myself that I would do anything in my power to keep her safe and make sure I didn’t make the mistake of hurting her again. She has become my main priority, and I would give my life to protect her.

Guilt pangs in my chest as I think about when she got hurt. I was right there, but I still couldn’t keep her safe. Things could have been so much worse, but here she is, sleeping happily in my arms under the influence of narcotics.

I try to shake off the negative thoughts and focus on the beautiful woman laying beside me, lightly snoring.

The little things about Bryn make me happy: the way the light hits her eyes, the splattering of freckles across her cheeks, her laugh, the way her eyes crinkle when she smiles, how good of a hunter she is, and, most of all, how strong and determined she is. I feel like a love-struck teenager again: I get butterflies when she's around, and I smile like an idiot when she's next to me. I can't help but stare when she's all dressed up for a case. I can't help falling in love with her. I’ve always been in love with her. It comes as naturally as breathing.

Bryn shifts in her sleep and relaxes back into my chest. I press a kiss to her head and join her in slumber.

—

November 9th

Bryn stirs a little while I'm scrolling through random things on my phone. She yawns, her eyes slowly opening, blinking a bunch as they adjust to the light. She nuzzles into my shoulder and sighs happily. When I look down, she’s already looking at me, her eyes still hazy with sleep.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," I mutter, kissing her forehead.

"Hi, Sammy." Her eyes twinkle, and the blue hypnotizes me.

"How did you sleep??"

"Pretty good. I'm just glad my stomach stopped hurting." She lightly places her hand over the dressing on it.

"We need to change your bandages.”

"We??" she laughs. "I thought I could do it."

I shrug. "You probably could, but I'm supposed to be taking care of you."

She rolls her eyes.

"You don't have to do that, Sam.”

"Uh, yeah, I do. A man is supposed to take care of his lady." I wink at her.

"Aw, cheesy." She pats my chest. "C'mon, we have some dressings to change."

I get out of bed and help guide her slowly to her feet. She stays slightly hunched over; her stitches still pulling on her skin.

She slides her hand down my arm, and we lace our fingers together. I grab the bag of supplies off her dresser as we walk by on the way to the bathroom. Bryn slowly shuffles beside me, her hand fitting perfectly with mine.

"Alrighty." She grins. "What’re we starting with??"

I pull out all the supplies: alcohol wipes, antibiotic ointment, the gauze, and the clear dressings for each.

"Probably your stomach, since it’s a little more intense than your chest.”

"Okie doke,” she says, making me laugh.

She begins to slowly pull her shirt over her head, leaving her in a sports bra and her sleep shorts. I crouch down to a half squat, half kneel so that I am face to face with her stomach, making it easier for me to access it. Gently, I peel off the existing dressing. She holds onto my arms and lets out a deep breath as the dressing pulls on her skin.

Once the dressing is completely removed, Bryn turns and looks at her stomach in the mirror. She has four large wounds that originate from the bottom left of her ribcage and end below and to the right of her belly button, spanning almost her entire abdomen. The surgeon did a great job suturing it, and it's healing nicely. I clean each slash off with an alcohol wipe, then grab the tube of ointment and spread a lot on each of the wounds. Then, I unfold the super long pieces of gauze and have Bryn hold them in place while I unwrap the clear dressings. One cut at a time, I gently apply a piece of gauze and then secure it with one of the dressings, making sure all the edges are smoothed out.

Once her stomach is done, I rise back to my feet, turning my attention to her chest. She slips her bra straps off her shoulders and pulls the fabric down just enough to uncover the dressing. I repeat the process of cleaning her chest, then apply a thin layer of the ointment, but I don’t cover it with anything, per the doctor’s instructions. The angry red lines have faded to a soft pink, the scar tissue looking a little shinier than her normal skin. The scars follow a similar trajectory as the ones on her stomach, but they start at her collarbone and end just above her right breast.

"You're all done." I smile down at her, running my hands up and down her arms.

My eyes move from hers down to her lips. I take in the color of them and can’t help myself, knowing how soft they are. My heart races as we both lean in and our lips brush against each other. I softly kiss her again, gently guiding her closer to me with my hand on the small of her back. Her lips move in time with mine, and I hold her cheek in my hand. Her fingers twist in my hair, and I have to stifle a grunt as sparks fly through my body when she tightens her grip a little. We both pull away for air, and I rest my forehead against hers, brushing my nose lightly against hers. She keeps her eyes closed while I rub my thumb over the freckles on her cheek.

"Thank you," she says against my lips.

"For the kiss or for playing nurse??"

"Both." She quickly kisses me, then releases me.

I gather up the trash, and her things, then take the supply bag back to her dresser. We gradually make our way upstairs to the living room. Bryn flops down on the couch, and I kiss her forehead.

"I'm gonna go get us some food, okay?? Call or text if you need anything."

She nods and closes her eyes.

"Thank you, Sammy, for everything."

..

When I come back from the food run, Rhys and Fawn are sitting on the couch, laughing at Legally Blonde, which is playing on the flatscreen in the living room. Bryn is sitting on a couch off to the side by herself, scrolling on her phone. She looks up when she sees me move out of the corner of her eye. I set the bag down on the island and a pair of arms snake around my waist, Bryn’s forehead coming to rest between my shoulder blades. I smile and rub a hand over her arms.

“Hungry??” I ask her.

I feel her nod against my back. “Starving.”

I chuckle to myself as I dig through the bag for her food. Once I find it, I hand her the container and a set of chopsticks.

“Thank you,” she says, letting me go so she can take her food.

I watch after her as she shuffles over to the dining table and carefully sits down in one of the chairs. I call over Rhys and Fawn and give them their food, before taking mine out and joining them at the table.

We chat and laugh while we eat, stories of Rhys and Fawn growing up together and the antics they’d get into with Bryn as kids fill the air and I try to burn Bryn’s smile into my memory. She looks so relaxed and happy, every smile crinkling her eyes, every laugh genuine. I would give anything to just sit here and bask in her beauty and joy.

Her hand slips into mine, breaking me from my thoughts. I smile at her and lightly squeeze her hand. She laughs quietly and returns the gesture.

We all put our leftovers in the fridge, then retreat to the living room, where Bryn suggests a movie I’ve never heard of, and I shoot her a look.

Her eyes widen. “No, don’t tell me you’ve never seen Legion.”

I look at her and then over at Rhys and Fawn, who are also staring at me.

“No??”

The girls erupt into dramatic chatter and Rhys hurries to turn on the movie. I laugh at their comments and lean back on the couch.

 Bryn leans her back against my chest, stretching her legs down the length of the couch, and I wrap my arm loosely around her waist. This is where we belong, cuddled up on a comfy couch, watching a movie about evil angels.

"Hey, Bryn??" I whisper.

She hums in response.

“How did I get so lucky to have you by my side??” I say quietly, leaning my head against the top of hers.

She laughs a little.

“I could ask you the same question.”

My face warms slightly, and I can’t help but press a soft kiss to the top of her head.

Many of the best moments of my life have had Bryn there with me. She was there the day I went on my first hunt; she was my first date. She was there on my first day of senior year and every day until the last; her face proudly beaming in the crowd when I graduated. She doesn’t know this, but she was with me the day I found out I had been accepted to Stanford. I wish I had been able to share more of my memories with her, but I’m also glad that she was far away and safe during the Apocalypse. I can only imagine how things would have gone had I never left her or had Dean gotten her to join us when he got me from Stanford.

I can’t imagine my life without Bryn in it. The time I spent without her was way too long and honestly horrible. I tried to fill the hole with Jess and a handful of other amazing women, but none of them could ever replace Bryn.

“Can I tell you something??” I whisper to her.

She aimlessly draws circles on my arms with her fingers.

“Of course, Sammy.”

“You make me ridiculously happy, and I would be stupid to not hold on tight to what we have. So, that being said, will you be my girlfriend??”

She giggles and wiggles out of my arms so she can turn to face me.

“I would be stupid to say no.” She grins and kisses me slowly. “You’re so cheesy.”

I kiss her again, savoring the feeling of her lips on mine. “Only for you.”

—

No matter what I do, she dies.

I ignore him; she dies. I follow his instructions; she dies. I try to save her; she dies. Nothing I have done could save her.

“Lucifer, please. How many times are you going to make me do this?? I’ve tried doing everything you’ve asked me to, I’ve tried doing nothing you’ve asked me to, I’ve ignored you, and I’ve done everything, but you still kill her. Please, stop.” I beg him, considering dropping to my knees and truly begging.

“Well, thing is, Sammy,” I cringe at the way my nickname rolls off his tongue, “this is how it’s always going to end. You, me, and your pretty little plaything. There is nothing you can do to keep this from happening. We will always end up here.”

His words echo through my brain as I watch him slice her neck open, blood pouring from her neck like Niagara Falls. By the time I process what happened and rush to her side to catch her, she’s already gone, her body falling limply into my arms.

I jerk awake out of the awful dream, sweating profusely, with salty tears running down my face. Thanks to her painkillers, Bryn is still sound asleep next to me.

The house is quiet as I carefully climb out of Bryn’s bed, trying to keep from waking her. I tread lightly upstairs to the kitchen, managing to avoid the third step, but I still catch a creaky board here and there as I make my way to the fridge. The chill of the water bottle I grab sends a small shock through my system.

“I’m not wrong, y’know,” Lucifer sneers from the corner, startling me out of my skin. “It will just be us in the end; you’ll watch Dean die, and then her.” One of his signature smirks spreads over his face. “It’s too bad you can’t watch yourself die, but I’ll make up for it by killing her nice and slow.”

“Shut the fuck up, Lucifer,” I mutter, taking a seat at the island, my arms stinging as I rest them on the cold granite.

“Aw, are you a softie?? Got a squishy spot for the Ashford girl?? Honestly, it’s adorable; makes me wanna barf a little.”

I ignore him and focus on catching my breath. This isn’t the first time I’ve had this dream, and I know it won’t be the last. Lucifer continues to make fun of me, but it fades into the background as I put firm pressure on my scar. I feel like I’m able to breathe better once he’s gone.

I down the rest of my water bottle and head back to bed. Bryn hasn’t moved an inch since I left, meaning I didn’t wake her. I slip back under the covers and cuddle up to her, my hand resting on her ribs for the reassurance that she’s alive. I drift back to sleep again, my face buried in Bryn’s neck.

Chapter Text

November 22nd

~Bryn~

My head rises and falls in time with Sam's inhales and exhales. His heart thuds under my ear and I let out a content sigh. I move a little so our legs tangle and my arm lays across his chest. His warm fingers rest against my hip, slipping under my shirt to find bare skin.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Sam says, his voice deep and slightly raspy from sleep.

“Morning, Sammy.” I nuzzle into his chest, and he leans his head against mine. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

He lightly laughs.

“Happy Thanksgiving to you too.”

We lay there for a little while, lightly dozing off now and then. The smell of bacon and coffee wafts into my room, and I smile.

“Welch is awake,” I mumble. “Coffee smells good.”

Sam hums in agreement, planting a kiss on my forehead.

We untangle our limbs and climb out of bed, the frigid air hitting me like a brick wall. I crouch down as best as I can and pull Sam’s Stanford hoodie and a warm pair of sweatpants from my bag. I pull both on over my pajamas and follow Sam upstairs to the kitchen.

As we walk into the kitchen, I can hear Dean, Nash, and Jason having a heated discussion about something at the dining table. It sounds like a car argument based on the names of things they keep throwing out that sound like a foreign language. I try not to eavesdrop on them as I dig the Honey Nut Cheerios out of the cabinet.

"Do you want me to make you a plate??" Sam asks me, his hand resting on the small of my back.

I grin and nod.

Sam grabs a plate and piles on the food while I pour some cereal into my bowl. I pour in my oat milk and chuck the carton back in the fridge. Sam hands me my plate and gives me a quick kiss, one of his favorite habits.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!! What did I miss??" Welch teases, hands on his hips, a grin spread wide across his face.

I can see a similar grin on Dean’s face over Welch’s shoulder.

“In case you didn’t already know, Bryn and I are officially back together,” Sam says, looking down at me with a sweet smile.

I playfully roll my eyes. God, if this got any cheesier, we’d be in a fucking Hallmark movie.

Everyone in this house has teased me relentlessly about my relationship with Sam since high school. It got even worse after he kissed me at his graduation, only stopping after he left for Stanford. The minute he was back in my life again, the teasing picked up where it left off, only worse because I was denying my feelings. Everyone knows that we’re together, whether or not we have an official label on it.

“Is this actually a surprise to anyone??” Dean teases.

There’s a chorus of no from everyone, making me crack up. Case in point.

With another quick kiss, I take my plate of food from his hands, and he presses a soft kiss to my temple. We take our seats at the table, Sam sitting next to me at the end of the table, casually resting his hand on my leg. My heart flutters and I internally roll my eyes. Damn him for making me feel like a teenager again.

Welch turns on the Macy’s Parade, which is about 10-15 minutes from starting, so we all chat to kill time.

“Hey,” I say to Sam, making him look up from his plate. “Do you remember that regional tournament I had to play in the night before prom??”

He ponders for a minute before his eyes light up.

“You remember that?? I figured you blocked that one from your memory since we somehow managed to win Prom King and Queen.”

My stomach sinks. I completely forgot about that…

“Yeah, no one expected that you two would be nominated, period, much less win,” Rhys chimes in. She turns to me. “You complained about it for fucking weeks.”

I blush a little as Sam laughs.

It was worth complaining about, though.

..

May 24th, 2002

Lawrence High School

I don’t know which is more overwhelming: the lights, sounds, and smells of the softball complex, or the feeling of Sam’s hand in mine as we walk from my truck to the stadium.

We walk towards the dugout, where my teammates are chatting animatedly per usual. Someone is playing Nirvana over the loudspeakers, allowing me to find some reprieve from the anxiety storm that is raging in my head. My free hand fidgets with the hem of my jersey, and I try to keep my mind off the whole Prom thing.

Somehow, me and Sam were both nominated for Prom King and Queen, so we’ll have to get up in front of everyone tomorrow for them to announce King and Queen, something I’m really dreading. I hate being the center of attention, so I’m panicking a little at the thought of standing there with that many people staring at me.

Thankfully, the nominees for Prom King and Queen were all chosen as couples, so there’s no way for me to win and be paired up with some random guy. To me, this is all just a stupid popularity contest that doesn’t really mean anything once the night is over. All of my friends nominated me and Sam as a joke, not expecting us to actually end up on the “ballot.” Hopefully, someone else has more friends that voted for them, so I won’t have to worry about 5 of the most popular girls in school plotting my death.

“Hey, you ok??” Sam’s voice breaks through my thoughts, as he bends down to speak in my ear so I can hear him over the music.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” I say, unconvincingly.

Sam eyes me and pulls me over to the side, standing next to an empty dugout.

“Be honest with me,” he says, grabbing my other hand as he leans back against the fencing. “I care too much about you to let you suffer in silence.”

My heart flutters at how sweet he is.

“I’m ok, I swear.”

He stares me down again before squeezing my hands.

“Are you nervous??”

“To play or to be your date to prom tomorrow??” I joke, bringing my eyes back to Sam’s. “The answer is yes to both.”

Sam laughs.

“I promise I’ll be here the whole time.” He rubs the back of my hands with his thumbs. “I’m not very excited about Prom either, but at least it’s with you and not some random chick.”

I laugh.

“Yeah, that’s true.” I lower my voice a little and lean in. “You look really handsome, by the way.”

A smirk plays on Sam’s lips as he thanks me, his hands finding my hips.

He’s not dressed up to say the least, but he’s wearing one of his nicer T-shirts and dark jeans. His hair is shaggy, like always, my favorite.

“And you look beautiful as always,” he replies.

I roll my eyes playfully. I’m in my usual uniform for home games, with my hair braided in an intricate pattern Rhys found on Pinterest, accented with ribbons. I’m still wearing my old slides, and my face is free of makeup, covered only in a light layer of sunscreen to try and ward off the summer sun.

Sam smiles and pushes himself back to his feet. Our hands stay intertwined, but as we stroll towards the dugout, I find myself hugging his arm to stay close. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. His thumb steadily rubs across the back of my hand, a nice reminder of his support.

We stop just outside of the dugout, and I take a deep breath.

“You’re gonna do great, Bee,” Sam encourages, pulling me into his arms.

I sigh, burying my face in his neck and breathing in the remnants of his cologne and something that is very uniquely Sam.

After my heart settles and the twisting of my stomach stops, I let go of Sam and lean back so I can see him. He kisses my forehead, and I smile.

“Kick ass, babe,” he jokes.

I nod. “I will.”

I stroke his cheek with my fingers before turning and walking into the dugout. I’m immediately surrounded by my teammates and my brain switches into game mode.

I can feel Sam’s eyes on me as we take the field to start warming up. We do our normal warm-up while the spectators arrive and get settled. The visitor’s side is starting to fill as well, adding to the nervousness that peeks through my focus.

My anxiety peaks a little as more and more people fill the stands behind me. I catch Sam looking at me a couple of times, when he’s not talking with Dean, Rhett, Dad, and Welch.

While I’m sitting in the dugout waiting for the game to start, I hear a sharp whistle from next to me.

“You’re picking at your fingers again,” Sam says through the fence, smirking.

I laugh and get up from the bench, meeting him at the fence.

“If it wasn’t you, I’d yell at you for being creepy.”

“I’m not trying to be creepy; I just like to admire your beauty,” he explains.

“Uh-huh, right, is that what you’ll say to the judge??” I joke back.

Sam rolls his eyes, still smiling. “Shut up.”

We stand there for a while just idly chatting, Sam easily distracting me from the growing crowd and the gnawing in my stomach.

In the middle of a fascinating conversation about 18th-century witchcraft, the announcer comes on over the loudspeaker to introduce the teams. I internally groan as Coach Bradley herds us out onto the field for the starting lineup.

The game starts and I put my blood, sweat, and tears into playing. Not a single thought of Prom pops into my head the entire time.

..

May 25th, 2002

I stare at myself in the mirror, fidgeting with my dress anxiously.

Rhys let me borrow one of her dresses and a pair of heels since we’re the same size. It’s a simple, floor-length, emerald green dress with spaghetti straps and a slit running up the right side. It’s a bit fitted, more so than I would usually wear, but she said I looked amazing in it, so maybe that’s not a bad thing. The heels aren’t anything fancy, just strappy black stilettos. I’d much rather be wearing Converse or Vans, but Fawn said I had to wear heels.

The girls did my hair and makeup, since I am completely clueless when it comes to that kind of stuff. My hair is curled, and my makeup is pretty basic: just some foundation, light blush, eyeliner, mascara, and a tiny bit of shimmery eyeshadow with clear lip gloss.

“Hey, you ready??” Rhys calls through the door.

“I think so,” I say back.

The door opens and the girls walk in.

“Holy shit, you look amazing,” Rhys says, a giant smile on her face. “Sam is gonna lose his fucking mind when he sees you.”

I laugh. “You really think so??”

Fawn rolls her eyes. “Bitch, you could wear a fucking flour sack and he’d be drooling over you. Now shut up and get your ass downstairs before he gets here.”

I laugh and grab my purse, taking one last look in the mirror before following the girls downstairs. Fawn, Jason, and Nash are riding with me and Sam, and all my softball friends will be there, so I’ll have more than enough people to hang out with.

My heart speeds up as 7:00 gets closer and closer. The girls try to keep me distracted, fully aware of how anxious I am. When the doorbell rings, my stomach does a flip and my mouth goes dry.

Nash opens the door, and I can hear him talking with Sam. Their voices grow louder as they approach, only increasing the nausea I feel from my nervousness. They round the corner, and I allow myself to turn and look, not expecting just how handsome Sam is. If I wasn’t sitting, I’d be in a puddle on the damn floor.

Sam is wearing a simple dress shirt and a suit jacket with a pair of black slacks. His hair is smoothed with gel and lightly tousled, stray pieces falling in front of his forehead. The best part is that gorgeous smile that reaches his eyes and brings out his dimples.

When his eyes meet mine, it’s over. My heart races and skips as I watch them scan over me once I get to my feet. My face warms and I suddenly feel self-conscious.

He crosses the room, his eyes still roaming over me, that stupid smile still on his face. He reaches out his hand, which I take, and he slowly twirls me, taking in every angle of my body.

“You look… geez, Bryn, you look gorgeous,” he stutters out, his hands landing on my waist.

I blush again, giggling like a middle-schooler.

“Thank you, Sammy.” I smooth my hands over the lapel of his jacket. “You look ridiculously handsome.”

Sam presses a soft kiss to my forehead, filling me with warm fuzzies.

“You ready, Your Highness??” He teases, offering me his arm.

I playfully shove his shoulder while laughing. He joins in and wraps an arm around my waist instead.

“As I’ll ever be,” I mutter with a sarcastic smile, which Sam laughs at.

“Oh, wait, you’re missing something!!” Rhys yells before sprinting back upstairs.

When she returns, she has the corsage/boutonnière box from the fridge.  

“No, absolutely not,” I immediately protest. “This is already weird enough with me having to wear a dress and get girly. I don’t need a fucking flower.”

Rhys glares at me. “Wear it. You have to.”

I groan and snatch the box from her hand, grumbling to myself like the grouchy old man that I am. I pull out the box with Sam’s boutonnière in it and wave him over to the kitchen island. Very carefully, I pin the dusty pink rose to his lapel, making sure it sits straight and won’t fall off.

Rhys pulls out my corsage and hands it to Sam, smiling at us like a proud mom. Sam takes it from her and opens it, setting the empty box on the table. He rests the rose on top of my wrist while he gently ties the ribbon so that it’s snug. He takes my hand and admires it before we both turn to Rhys.

“There, now you can go,” Rhys says with a satisfied smirk.

“You suck,” I grumble.

“Love you too. Now get out of here. You’re gonna be late.”

Sam offers me his arm again and escorts me out to the car, Fawn, Nash, and Jason following shortly behind. We pile in the Impala, and I wonder how Sam managed to wrangle it away from both his brother and John. I figure it’s better not to ask, so I don’t say anything. Once we’re all in, Sam takes off for the school, blasting the local alternative radio station.

This is going to be interesting, to say the least.

The student parking lot is packed when we pull in, despite the dance starting less than an hour ago. My stomach twists a little and I start picking at my fingers again.

Sam glances over at me as he puts the car in park and grabs my hand.

“Hey, look at me,” he says quietly. I turn my head and our eyes meet, making my heart flutter. “You say the word and we can leave. If you need air, we can come out here and look at the stars for a while.”

I swallow hard and nod, squeezing Sam’s hand.

“Thank you,” I whisper with a soft smile.

“Of course. You’re more important than any stupid dance. I know after a big game like you played last night is a lot and coming to this today feels like fucking Everest, but we only have to stay as long as you want. Even if that means we’re only here for the announcement and leave immediately after,” Sam assures, earning a small smile from me.

We join the crew at one of the round tables littering the cafeteria floor. Sam takes my hand and pulls me to the dance floor, laughing as I glare at him. Thankfully, the song ends, and the next one is slow. As cheesy as it is, it’s I Want to Know What Love Is by Foreigner. His hands pull me to him, and I drape my arms over his shoulders as we sway. We both sing the words, unintentionally saying them to each other. His eyes twinkle in the dim light of the cafeteria, making my knees weak.

Man, I really do love him…

When the song ends, Sam keeps me in his arms, his eyes scanning over my face, gaze full of love. The emcee calling for our attention ruins our sweet moment.

My heart flops in my chest and my stomach drops to my feet as the assistant principal takes the stage, gaining everyone’s attention. I frantically search for Sam’s hand, unable to take my eyes off the stage, frozen in my fear.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok,” Sam says quietly, pulling me into his chest.

I fist his jacket in my hands for dear life, trying to keep my breathing steady as a vice tightens around my chest.

“Breathe, baby,” Sam murmurs, rubbing my back. “It’s ok. I’m nervous too.”

I lean my head back and look up at him with wide eyes.

“You are??” I say between gasps.

Sam laughs. “Of course I am. I hate attention as much as you do. I know we’d both rather be holed up in a library somewhere, but there’s no one in this world I’d rather be doing this with.”

My breathing catches a little and my heart flutters, though not with anxiety. I gape at him, his sweet words sinking in.

“I’ll be with you the entire time.” He kisses my forehead. “You and me against the world, right??”

Tears prick my eyes as I look into his.

“You and me against the world,” I echo, taking his hand.

Sam squeezes my hand as the assistant principal introduces herself and what’s going on. She gives us our cue, and the couples in front of us file up the stairs onto the stage. Three couples stand on the assistant principal’s right-hand side: a cheerleader and a football player, a baseball player and his girlfriend, and then Sam and me. On her left-hand side are a basketball couple, another cheerleader/football player couple, and a lacrosse guy with one girl from the dance team.

“This past Monday, the student body of Lawrence High voted for one of the six couples standing here with me. Only one couple will be voted King and Queen, and it was an incredibly tight vote.” She pauses for dramatic effect, fiddling with the envelope in her hands, a ridiculous smile on her face. “Your 2002 Lawrence High School Prom King and Queen are…”

My heart beats so hard in my ears, almost drowning out what she’s saying. Sam’s hand grips mine and I can feel the tension in his muscles as wait for her to say the names. In my head, I pray to every higher power I can think of that Sam and I won’t win, hoping that one of them is feeling generous.

“Sam Winchester and Bryn Ashford!!”

Guess no one felt like being nice.

My stomach sinks and a wave of nausea floods my body. I put my hands over my mouth, staring at Sam, who shares a similar look of shock.

How in the actual fuck did we win?? We were nominated as a joke. How did we have enough people to vote for us?? The other 5 couples campaigned as if running for president. There were posters and buttons and fliers and all sorts of annoying propaganda they were handing out all over school. How the hell did the two nerds win the popularity contest??

My body is numb as a cheerleader crowns me and puts a sash across my shoulder, then tucks a bouquet of flowers into the crook of my arm. Everything is a haze as we make our way back to the tables, my ears still ringing as they have been since our names were called. I drag Sam past the tables to one of the side hallways, away from everyone. Thankfully, the hall is empty, as I freak the fuck out.

“Shit, fuck, goddamnit, Jesus Christ,” I mumble to myself as I anxiously pace.

“Bryn,” Sam says quietly, his voice still slightly shaky.

“How did we win?? We were nominated as a joke!!” I exclaim.

Sam huffs. “I know, sweetheart, I have no clue how we won against Ryan and Nina considering they’re the school’s ’it couple.’”

I laugh cynically. “Yeah, well, now we have 10 of the most popular people in the entire school wishing we were dead, so I’m just gonna stay home the rest of the school year.”

Sam sighs, shooting me a sarcastic look.

“It’s not that bad, Bee.”

“Not for you!!” I shout, a little louder than I intended, making me cringe and drop my voice lower. “Sorry. This whole thing is a popularity contest. That’s why our friends nominated us as a joke. That’s why I thought there was no way in Heaven or Hell or anything that we would win.”

“Apparently we have too many friends,” Sam mumbles, making me laugh again.

After taking a moment to calm down, Sam and I return to the party, though not having as much fun as we were before it happened.

We stay for a couple of hours, sitting, talking, eating, and, very rarely, dancing. By the time 2 hours has passed, I’m exhausted, overwhelmed, overstimulated, and am dying to just get in bed and sleep it off.

 “Remember the whole ‘one word and we’re done’ thing??” I ask Sam, who nods. “Yeah, I’m playing that card. We’re leaving.”

Sam grabs my hand with a smirk. “Yes, ma’am.”

The ride back to my house is silent in the best way possible, only the rumble of the Impala’s engine in the background. My ears are full of a steady whooshing noise, still recovering from the loud music and chatter.

Sam casts an occasional glance in my direction, and it makes me smile.

When we pull up in front of my house, neither of us moves to get out. I look over at Sam to find him already looking at me.

“Thank you, Sam,” I mutter with a small smile.

He smiles back and takes my hand from my lap.

“Anytime, Bee.” He laughs to himself and looks at my house. “Can I say something cheesy??”

“Sure, go for it.”

He shakes his head. “I really don’t want this night to be over.”

My heart flutters in my chest.

“I don’t either…”

—

I smile at the memory of us going back to the motel where Sam and Dean were staying, climbing on the roof, and stargazing until my dad started calling me, asking me to come home. It was one of the best nights I have ever had, and I would give just about anything to spend a day on that roof with Sam just staring at the stars.

Nash and Fawn talk about how wasted they got that night and tell crazy stories about the parties they attended. I lean on Sam’s shoulder as they argue over a small detail they were both too drunk to remember.

Once we all finish breakfast, I go back to my room and change into a loose shirt and some stretchy jeans.

"We need to change your bandages," Sam says, leaning against the frame of the door. I groan in response. "C'mon, Bryn."

I begrudgingly snatch the supply bag from my dresser, and we head to the bathroom again, Sam dragging me by my hand while I shuffle my feet to delay the inevitable.

“Seriously, Bryn??” Sam says with a wide smile and a playful eye roll.

I shrug and shuffle a little faster to appease him. He just shakes his head.

We finally get to the bathroom, and Sam sets out the gauze, sticky dressings, and antibiotic ointment. I carefully remove my shirt, leaving me in my sports bra, so Sam has access to the wounds. He drops to his knees, then gently peels off the bandages and lets me look at it.

"God, I look like fucking Frankenstein,” I grumble.

Sam shakes his head at me, fighting back a laugh as he wipes them down with an alcohol swab.

“It’s really not that bad,” Sam says, trying to reassure me.

I shoot him a look and laugh while he continues cleaning my scars.

Once everything’s nice and clean, he moves on to my chest. The cuts there weren’t very deep, so they healed up pretty quickly. Sam carefully cleans off my chest with an alcohol wipe and I shiver a little as it quickly dries. He pecks me on the lips, and I thank him.

We rejoin everyone in the living room, where they’re watching the Macy’s Parade on TV. I plop down on the couch next to Dean, and Sam sits on the other side of me. I wince as I move just the wrong way, making the scar on my abdomen throb for a minute.

Sam notices and opens his mouth, but I stop him.

"I’m ok; I just moved wrong.” I lean against his shoulder, and his hand rests respectfully on the inside of my knee.

Around 11, Welch gathers some help and starts working on the meat for dinner tonight, figuring it’ll take a while for our two 9-pound turkeys to cook. He started marinating them a couple of days ago to make sure it had plenty of time to soak up all the flavors.

Rhys goes ahead and starts making her mac and cheese, knowing it’s always better when it cooks all day.

Fawn joins her sister in the kitchen to start making the filling for her sweet potato casserole, which also tastes better if it cooks all day.

Nash goes to the fridge and pulls out all the aromatics that will be stuffed in the turkeys as they smoke: oranges, carrots, celery, onion, garlic, a bundle of rosemary and thyme. He gets to work cutting everything up, leaving some celery and onion aside for my dressing.

I sit at the island with Sam, while Dean helps Welch with the turkeys. Rhys has me grate the 6 cheeses she uses, and Fawn has Sam chop the sweet potatoes. We all talk and joke as we work, making the time go by a little faster.

“So, if you and Dean didn’t really celebrate Thanksgiving, what did you do??” Rhys asks.

I look up from peeling the wrapper off the Gouda, slightly nervous to hear his answer. Sam laughs a little.

“We would go to the nearest grocery store that was open, buy a rotisserie chicken, a couple cases of beer and maybe a StoveTop dressing mix if we had the money. We’d sleep in, watch the parade as a rerun in the afternoon, and then hit the store before going back to whatever shitty motel we were in. We’d eat our chicken and drink our beer while watching whatever football game was on. Nothing fancy.”

I roll my eyes. That sounds like the worst Thanksgiving in the history of Thanksgiving.

“God, that sounds awful,” Fawn blurts from across the kitchen, making us all laugh.

“It was always weird to me that your dad made sure you weren’t in town for Thanksgiving,” I comment, lifting the grater to see how much cheese I’ve shredded.

“He just didn’t want to have to decline invitations to other people’s dinners. He knew your dad or Welch would invite him if he stuck around, so we’d take off the week before and hunt straight through it.”

I laugh cynically and shake my head. I’m glad John’s dead, otherwise I’d probably be in jail for his murder.

He was the biggest asshole to his kids. Sam and Dean didn’t deserve that. They deserved to be loved and taken care of. They deserved someone who would work hard and fight for them and make sure they had at least some sense of normalcy. Instead, they were left to their own devices on more occasions than not, John going off and drinking himself to death in some dive bar while his children fended for themselves. He yelled at them and hit them for things out of their control, his grief-fueled anger only getting worse as the boys got older. I can still remember the boys showing up at our house, battered, bruised, and hungry. I remember having to stitch up the cuts on them from being hit with glass bottles, the tiny glass shards still embedded in their skin.

As if he can feel my anger, Sam places a hand on my arm, stopping my aggressive cheese grating. He carefully takes the small remnants of the block from my hand and sets it on the cutting board. I drop my hands to my lap and avoid his worried gaze. His hand slips into mine and squeezes.

“It’s ok, Bryn. It just means that Dean and I get to make up for lost time with you,” Sam whispers to me. “Hey, look at me.”

I turn my head and stare into the kaleidoscope eyes that I love so much.

“It’s ok,” he says, rubbing the back of my hand.

I nod and bite my lip, trying to fight back the angry tears that prick at my eyelids.

Sam’s eyes soften and he glances over at Rhys and Fawn, who have busied themselves with their prep work closer to the stove. Nash has walked off to do something, so he’s nowhere to be seen.

“C’mon, let’s go talk for a minute,” Sam whispers to me.

I nod and slide off the barstool, Sam’s hands finding my waist to steady me. He takes my hand, and we walk to Welch’s office, where he shuts the door behind us. I take a deep breath, trying to sort my thoughts into comprehensible piles. Sam’s hands pull me into his chest and I’m incredibly grateful for it.

“What’s going on in your head right now??” He asks, running a hand over my back.

“You should have had real Thanksgivings. Real Christmases. But John,” I scoff, biting back the anger that swells in my chest. “John was horrible to you and Dean. You didn’t deserve a second of his mistreatment. He left you guys alone on multiple occasions to go drink, abandoning you and Dean when you needed someone to take care of you and love you. I never should have had to stitch you up from being hit by a bottle. Dean should have never had to be a dad. You both deserved a fucking childhood.” Hot, angry tears fall down my face. “John should have been there for you. He should have been at your graduation. He should have been excited for you to go to Stanford. Instead, he robbed you and Dean of your innocence, making you into child soldiers, beating you into submission and obedience. He had every opportunity to be a decent father, but he didn’t care about anyone but himself. Selfish bastard.”

Sam brushes away my tears with his thumb, his hand softly cupping my cheek. His touch is soft, loving. I lean into his hand, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.

“I can’t say I don’t agree with you,” Sam half jokes, “but he’s dead, Bryn. Being angry at him doesn’t take back the awful things he did. Trust me, I tried that.”

I huff out a laugh.

“I appreciate how much you care about me and Dean, but don’t waste your energy hating a man who’s answering for his sins in Hell.” Sam smiles softly.

I nod and bury my face in his chest. He just laughs and rubs my back.

“Now, let’s enjoy Thanksgiving and make up for lost time,” Sam says, his voice rumbling in my ear.

We walk hand in hand back to the kitchen and resume cooking, my body feeling a little lighter after letting go of my anger.

..

The smell of the food combines into a mouth-watering aroma, making my stomach do a flip as it attempts to digest itself. Once the final dish is set on the island, Welch says a quick prayer and gives us permission to eat.

One at a time, each of us loads up a plate, probably with more than one person could eat, but I’ve seen Jason and Nash wipe out enough food to feed a small country. We all sit in our spots at the table and the room goes quiet as we stuff our faces.

As the gluttony slows down, we start chatting, telling embarrassing stories about each other for the guests of honor to hear, much to the chagrin of their partners. Tyler gets to hear all about the time Rhys tried to learn to skateboard but fell while getting on it, Hailey learns about Lucas’s embarrassing crush on his 8th grade science teacher, and Dallas gets a detailed retelling of the night Nash tried to impress a girl by doing a backflip (which he had never done) off one of the picnic tables at school and ended up in the hospital with a broken leg for the rest of the semester. Fawn then decides to tell Sam about the night I ripped my pants in the middle of a softball game without a spare pair.

“Oh my God, Fawn, no, that was the worst night of my life,” I groan through a bite of her sweet potatoes.

“It’s a great story. Shut up.”

She launches into her dramatic retelling, and I watch Sam’s face as he listens intently. His facial expression constantly changes as Fawn talks, taking in every detail, enjoying every minute of my embarrassment.

“I swear to God, half her ass was hanging out.” Fawn says, struggling to breathe with how hard she’s laughing.

“Good thing it was an away game, otherwise half of the student population at Lawrence High would have found out that I wore thongs under my pants for games.” I put my face in my hands. “I still have no idea how that happened. I had to slide on my left side the rest of the night, which is nearly impossible as a righty.”

Sam laughs and rubs my back, trying to dispel my embarrassment.

“You would have loved it, Sam,” Fawn adds with a shrug. “Free show.”

“FAWN, oh my God,” I yell, then turn to Sam, feeling the heat rise in my face. “I am so sorry about her.”

Sam leans in, his nose against my cheek.

“She’s not wrong,” he mutters.

My heart leaps and I feel my face go red as he leans back in his seat, acting as if he didn’t do anything, a smug grin playing on his lips. I drop my eyes to my plate, trying to calm my racing heart.

Good Lord, I love my family, but they’re going to be the death of me.

—

November 24th

I'm chilling on the couch in the living room with a good book when everyone comes in from their hunt. I can hear their voices echo through the hall as they approach from the garage. Dean is teasing Sam, and Sam's laughing.

"Hey, you can’t keep giving yourself credit for that."

"But technically, I did do it."

"You were possessed by a fucking ghost, Dean."

"So?? My hands killed the son of a bitch, so I should get credit for it."

"You’re a dumbass."

I laugh to myself at their banter. The group walks in, all looking fairly bright eyed for having just gotten back from a hunt. Sam looks around the room for me, his eyes lighting up when he finally spots me. I stand up and walk as fast as I can over to him. He quickly pulls me into his arms and squeezes me slightly.

"Hi," he chuckles.

"Hi, Sammy."

We hug for a little longer, and when I finally pull away, Sam's lips find mine. I smile, and he sets his forehead on mine. My hands search his arms and torso for injuries, but I come up empty.

"I'm in one piece, just like I promised." He grins.

I kiss him again.

"I missed you,” I say softly, holding his face in both of my hands.

Sam brushes my hair back from my face.

“I missed you too.”

I give him another soft kiss before asking the question on the tip of my tongue.

“Are you doing okay?? Did you sleep alright??”

I can see the start of dark circles under his eyes, and I know he was having a hard enough time at home with sleep, much less off on the road somewhere.

“I’m ok. Sleep wasn’t the best, but I got as much as I could.” He clears his throat a little. “Lucifer’s favorite thing was to describe in graphic detail all the ways he would torture you just to get under my skin. It was hard to ignore, but I got through it.”

I wrap my arms around Sam’s neck and pull him down into a hug. He does so eagerly, burying his face in the crook of my neck, his arms wrapped tightly around my ribs.

“Well, good news is, he’s in your head, so he can’t touch me. I’m here, and I’m ok, and you’re ok. That’s all that matters.”

We stay in this position for a while, as long as Sam needs. His breathing evens out, and I can feel him relax as I run my fingers through his hair. I hate seeing him so broken, a shell of his normal self. I wish I could take it all away, but I can’t. All I can do is to be there for him when he needs me.

After a few minutes, Sam stands up straight and kisses me again before letting go of me.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

I smile gently and take his hand in mine. I guide him over to the couch and plop back down. Sam sits down next to me and wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his lap. I let out a surprised squeak before I lean into him and relax. Sammy's home, and he's safe now.

..

Welch decides around 8pm that we are having a family game night of sorts. I dig through one of the bookshelves and find some old playing cards, a poker set, Monopoly, and Uno. I stand back and watch everyone argue over what game to play first.

I lay out all the options on the table, but my attention lingers on Uno, one of my favorites from when I was a kid. My brother and I would play it while Mom and Dad were out hunting. It was our favorite way to ignore the shitty parts of our lives and just have fun. As I got older, we played more card games. Bullshit, Speed, and Spades were my favorites. I used to play Speed with Dean a lot too when we were younger.

I notice Sam watching me, and he reaches out his hand, resting it on mine. I look up at him and smile, squeezing his hand.

From the arguments around the table, it sounds like there’s a tie between Monopoly and Uno. Welch stays neutral; Rhys, Jason, Dean, and Lucas all want Uno, but Sam, Fawn, Nash, and I all want Monopoly. Welch mediates and chooses for us to do Monopoly first, then whatever card games to keep it fair.

I shoot Dean a smug smirk as I pass Welch the Monopoly box.

Dean scoffs playfully. “Should’ve known you would side with Sam.”

I roll my eyes.

“Shut up, Winchester. You’re just mad ‘cause I usually beat you at Monopoly.”

He opens his mouth to protest, then shuts it and crosses his arms, knowing I’m right.

We set up the game board and set out all the pieces. Welch is the banker because he's the best of us at math, but he’s also good about being neutral and not randomly adding extra bullshit “taxes” like Jason does.

I’m the Scottie Dog, Rhys is the Boot, Nash is the Battleship, Fawn is the cat, Jason is the Thimble, Lucas is the Wheelbarrow, Dean’s the car, and Sam is the top hat. We play as much as we can, knowing Monopoly can take forever to finish. It only takes about 4 hours for us to finish, with Sam winning in the end. Dean and I sulk, and Sam just laughs at us.

We decided to play Bullshit next, and of course, Dean wins. After Bullshit is Spoons, which is one of my favorites. Sam and Jason are both out after the first two rounds. The next rounds knock out Rhys, Fawn, Nash, and Lucas, leaving Dean and me, the two people at the table with the quickest reflexes. He counts to 3, and we begin. I quickly get 4 of a kind and grab the spoon, beating Dean. He throws down his cards and heads to the fridge for some alcohol. Nash follows him, looking ready for a drink himself.

"Someone's a sore loser," I mutter to Sam. He laughs and helps me clean up the cards.

Dean and Nash return to the table with a six-pack in one hand and one for him in the other. He sets the six-pack down near the middle of the table and takes a swig from his own. Nash comes in shortly after carrying a couple bottles of whiskey and professionally balancing a stack of 9 glasses, earning hoots and hollers from Lucas and Jason.

Sam grabs a beer, pops off the cap and passes it to me. I laugh and take the bottle from him with a soft thanks. He opens one for him, and we clink the necks of the bottles together. I do the same with Dean before taking a swig. The cold liquid slides down my throat, and I relax a little.

Welch gets up from his chair and walks over to me, where he grabs the last beer from the six-pack and pops the cap off with ease.

“Did you enjoy game night??" He asks quietly, taking his cap off and setting it on the coffee table.

"Yeah, it was great. I haven’t had that much fun in a while." I turn my head to face him.

He chuckles.

"I’m just glad to see you kids smiling and joking around again. Just like the good ol’ days."

I smile to myself. “I really missed this.”

He hums.

“I think they did too.” He nods his head towards the crew, who are all engaged in different conversations. When I look at Sam, he, Dean, Fawn, and Nash are all laughing loudly at something, a child-like gleam in each of their eyes. I can’t help but smile as I hear everyone’s genuine laughter for the first time in a long time.

Welch pats my back and returns to his seat, unable to control the smile that threatens to break his face in two. I sit back and listen to the chatter, the beer finally making warmth settle in my limbs. I fully relax and just enjoy hanging out with everyone, the bad parts of our lives fading away for a moment. In that moment, it feels like we’re a normal family, having fun, smiling, and laughing like we should.

Slowly but surely, the booze catches up with everybody, mixing with the post-hunt exhaustion and one by one everyone goes to bed, leaving me, Sam, and Dean at the table. Welch is the last to go to bed, and he lightly kisses the top of my head before lumbering upstairs to his room.

Once Welch is out of sight, Sam takes the opportunity to grab my waist and pull me down onto his lap as I walk back to the table with another beer, making me giggle.

I lean back into Sam, my back against his firm chest, and his arms lay loosely across my hips. His head pops up over my shoulder, and his lips meet my cheek. I squirm, so he'll let me get up, and, when he does, I turn around so that I'm straddling his legs and able to hug him. I wrap my arms around his rib cage and rest my head on his shoulder. Sam just laughs and hugs me back.

"Are you tired??" he asks.

I nod.

He readjusts my position and rises to his feet. I cling to him like a small child, locking my ankles together, and he carries me downstairs to my room. He gently lays me down on the bed and pulls out his duffle bag before stepping into the bathroom and closing the door.

I dig some black spandex shorts out of my bag and a pair of underwear for after my shower. An idea pops into my head, and I look over my shoulder really quick to make sure Sam doesn’t catch me going through his bag. I dig through it and pull out one of his t-shirts. It’s a super faded Coors Light shirt with just a simple logo on it. I add it to my little stack and sit on the edge of my bed until Sam vacates the bathroom. Before he can say anything, I step in and shut the door behind me.

I set down my clothes and pad over to the shower. Water surges from the showerhead after I twist the knob. I strip out of my dirty clothes and step into the spray. I quickly wash the grime from my body and hair and just let the water fall over my back. Once I'm satisfied, I cut off the water and dry off. I slip into my PJs and wrap my towel around my wet hair. I pack my soap back into my toiletry bag on the counter and move to the sink. I brush my teeth and put moisturizer on my face before leaving.

Sam is standing next to my bed, finishing pulling on his T-shirt.

I casually toss my dirty clothes into the dirty clothes pile next to my nightstand, then flop down onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Sam walks around the end of the bed to go brush his teeth, but as he walks by me, he pauses and locks his eyes on the shirt I’m wearing.

"Is that my shirt??" Sam asks with a grin.

I huff out a laugh. "Pfft, no."

His eyes move back up to meet mine, and he shoots me the sass face. He playfully rolls his eyes, then steps into the bathroom. He’s done in just a couple of minutes, and I get excited when joins me, already craving the cuddles. He lies down, pulls me to him, and I lay my head on his chest, ear pressed against a heart that's happily thumping against its cage.

“G’night, Sammy.” I whisper, fingers ghosting over the lines of his torso.

“Good night, Bee.”

Chapter Text

Contains pieces of Season Seven, Time for a Wedding! S07E08

December 5th

~Bryn~

Sam and Dean drag me along on their annual brother trip to Vegas, despite my endless protesting about how it’s their bonding time, and I don’t want to intrude. Sam insists, and both boys refuse to go without me. I begrudgingly go with them but give them space, enjoying some time to myself. My motel room is just down the hall from theirs, at the insistence of Sam, so they are close by if anything were to happen. I can’t keep them from worrying about me, but this is their trip, and they deserve some time without me.

The day after we got here, Sam started a hike in Zion, claiming he needed some time in nature and to himself. Dean and I aren’t the biggest fans of camping, so we stayed behind, immersing ourselves in the nightlife that Vegas has to offer.

I win a few games of poker and blackjack, making a decent amount of money that I set aside for later. After leaving that casino, I go to a bar down the Strip a little, wanting a drink without the overwhelming sound of a thousand slot machines going off constantly. There aren’t many people, so I take a seat at the bar, ready to chill for the rest of the night.

This is where things get interesting.

Around 10:30pm, my phone rings. It’s Dean.

“Dean, Dean, slow down; I can’t understand you.” I say into my phone, ducking out of the bar, escaping the abundant background noise.

“Y’know how I dropped Sam off for that hike??” I hum in response. “He hasn’t come back yet, and about 15 minutes ago I got a weird text from him. Um, it’s an address with ‘WEAR FED SUIT’ in all caps. I looked it up, and it’s a wedding chapel. Now, I’m assuming you’re not with him, so I have no idea what the fuck he’s doing there.” I roll my eyes at his joke. “How far are you from 348 Twain Ave.??”

I pull my phone from my face and put it on speakerphone while I Google the address.

“Um, I’m about 20 minutes out. Why??”

“Well, I have no idea what’s happening or if I’ll need backup. Trust me, there’s no way Sam’s marrying someone other than you.”

“Will you stop saying that??” I laugh. “It’s very possible that he’s just messing around.”

“Can you come or not??” Dean fusses, getting annoyed with me.

“I’ll be there. Guess I should wear my Fed attire too.”

“Thank you.”

Dean hangs up.

I roll my eyes and head back to the motel. Once I get there, I walk over to my bag and dig out the nice dress and heels I brought with me. I get all dressed up, make sure my hair looks decent, and put on some makeup, slightly heavier than what I’d normally wear. I grab my bag and keys and then slip on my heels, ready to punch Sam purely out of spite for having to wear these damn things. I head out the door, trying to figure out for myself what Sam would be doing at a wedding chapel. Hopefully not anything stupid or rash. We just started dating, so there’s no way it has to do anything with me.

I plug the address into my GPS and speed off, interested to see what’s really happening.

When I pull up, the only 4 cars in the parking lot are my truck, the Challenger Dean is driving, and two random cars. I take a deep breath and hop out of the car. Dean gets out of his Challenger.

“Do you have any idea what we’re walking into??” I ask.

“Not one bit, but that’s what makes it fun.”

I roll my eyes and follow behind him as we walk through the halls, where the decorative lights overhead flicker and the click of my heels and Dean’s dress shoes echo off the tile.

Dean stops under the light that’s buzzing and flickering, staring at it for a moment before drawing his gun and cocking it. I do the same as we continue to walk down the hall.

At the very end of the inadequately lit hall is a large set of double doors. Dean aims his gun at it, both of our spidey senses kicking in. Right as Dean reaches for the doors, they swing open, and we both aim at who’s on the other side.

It’s Sam and his eyes light up when he sees his brother.

“Dean!! It’s ok; you won’t need that,” Sam says, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder, completely ignoring me.

I tuck my gun into the thigh holster under my dress and hang back for a moment, thoroughly confused. Sam has never blatantly ignored me like that, especially now that we’re dating. Something fishy is going on here.

“I thought you were out, uh, becoming one with the land or some shit,” Dean says.

“You got to—come here.”

Sam puts his hands on Dean’s shoulders and moves him to a specific spot.

I sneak into the second row, trying not to attract attention. My heart pounds against my ribs, not really knowing what’s happening.

We’re standing in a modest, yet cliché, wedding chapel. Two blocks of chairs form an aisle and leads to a slightly elevated “altar.” The back wall is covered with a mural of what appears to be a poor replication of the Venetian countryside through the arches of a building’s patio. Flanking the “altar” are two Grecian columns and tacky, rainbow-stained glass windows are evenly spaced along both the right- and left-hand walls. The floor is an obnoxious checker pattern that, in combination with the fluorescent lights, is giving me a migraine.

“All right. Now...” Sam pulls out a boutonniere that matches his pink carnation and pins it to Dean’s jacket.

“The fuck is this??” Dean asks, looking at it weird.

“Uh, apparently, uh, pink is for loyalty.”

I roll my eyes. Surely, he’s just messing with us, right?? We just started dating, and Sam’s not the type to cheat, so maybe he’s looking into something for a case??

“All right, so what's the pretext?? What are we—uh, wedding crashers, huh?? We lookin' for some kind of siren or what??” Dean asks.

Sam just laughs.

“No. Nothing like that. All right, um... So, a little sudden. But life is short, so I'll keep this shorter.” Sam reaches out and puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I'm in love. And I'm getting married.”

Dean and I both gape at Sam. My stomach drops to the floor. A lump forms in my throat and my mouth immediately goes dry. Words can’t even begin to describe how off this is. Dean looks at me with a worried expression, then back at Sam.

“Say something, like, uh, like, ‘Congratulations,’ for example,” Sam prompts.

As he processes the bomb Sam just dropped, he moves his lips. He then scowls and says, “What??”

A horribly remixed classic wedding song begins to play, and a woman in a wedding dress and veil appears at the end of the aisle. Her veil is almost opaque, to where it’s completely obscuring her face. She walks slowly down the aisle in her poofy, cheap-looking wedding dress.

“What the fuck??” Dean and I say at the same time.

Dean’s face shifts from confusion to shock as Sam literally unveils his bride. After the shock, his face briefly contorts in disgust.

“Becky??” He spits, as if her name is poison in his mouth.

“Dean. I'm so glad you're here,” she says, making me cringe. Her voice is so nasal and honestly, I’m annoyed simply by her presence.

I’m not usually a jealous person, but I struggle to see how Sam could pick her over me.

Still in shock, I dissociate my way through the ceremony, trying to fight the bile that occasionally rises in my throat. I stare off into space in the general direction of the ceremony, but I tune out everything. I feel Dean casting worried glances at me every so often, but I never meet his gaze.

The ceremony finally ends, and the newlyweds sit in a couple of chairs on the front row, at the opposite end from where I’m sitting. I really struggle to keep from punching this chick's lights out as she holds Sam’s hand and his other hand rests on her knee. My gut twists and I have to look at Dean, who’s somewhat pacing.

“Shouldn't she ask for my permission or something??” Dean asks, gesturing to his chest.

Sam scoffs.

“You-you want her to ask for my hand??”

Dean glares at Sam for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts.

“How in the fuck??” He asks impulsively before taking a breath and trying again. “How did this happen??”

“Short version?? We–we–we met. We ate and–and talked and fell in love. And, you know, here we are,” Sam says, his eyes sparkling with love.

It’s revolting, considering the circumstances.

“Yeah, I-I guess I'm all caught up.” I can see Dean fighting to keep his thoughts to himself. “That's–okay. You know what?? Ignoring everything, have you forgotten the average lifespan of your hookups??”

My eyes snap up to Dean. What does he mean by that??

Sam nods dismissively. “Yeah, but—”

“But if anyone knows that it's me,” the annoying woman interrupts. “I mean, I read every book. So, open eyes, you know?? Open eyes.”

God, this just keeps getting more and more confusing. It feels like a fever dream.

“I'm gonna be sick,” Dean says, leaning against a column.

That makes two of us.

“Dean, look, it's simple. If- if something good's happening, I-I got to jump on it—now, today, uh, period.”

Dean rolls his eyes a little. “Okay, Dead Poets Society. Fine.” He looks at Becky. “No offense.” Then he turns back to Sam. “Did you make sure she's even really—”

“Salt, holy water, everything. See??” Becky says, holding her arm out to display the small slit in her skin. “Not a monster. Just the right girl for your brother.”

You wouldn’t last a day in jail, so you can’t hit her, I think to myself.

There’s no way that she is the “right girl” for anyone. Much less a sophisticated, smart, loving, and badass man like Sam. Now, I’m not saying that I’m the “right girl” for him either, but I’m closer to that than she is, for sure.

The ache in my chest grows a little more when I see the way he looks at her. In desperation, I look at Dean, who is somewhat zoned out himself.

Some guy from the chapel comes and steals Becky away, saying something about the bill, leaving me, Sam, and Dean to ourselves.

Dean blankly stares after her, no doubt trying to collect his thoughts. After a moment of him staring into space, he breaks out of his trance, flailing his arms out of frustration as he yells, “Really??!! Superfan99??!!”

Sam shoots him the bitch face.

“Dean, look. Honest to God, I-I had the exact same opinion of her as you do. But when we got past the whole book thing, I found out t-that she's great and I was the dick.”

Dean looks at him, temper still flaring a touch.

“Yeah, you know, speaking of the whole, uh, book thing... Becky randomly shows up during Vegas week??”

Sam looks at Dean and nods, obviously missing the weird shit that’s happening.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Yeah,” Dean echoes.

Sam adjusts in his seat, looking mildly disgruntled and almost offended.

“Okay, um, what are you trying to say??”

“I'm saying maybe she knew you were gonna be here. Maybe, uh, uh, uh, Chuck wrote about it.”

I am incredibly out of the loop here. Who the fuck is Chuck?? I can’t ask because I’m fairly sure that nothing but expletives and yelling at Sam is going to come out if I try.

“Dean, you're paranoid.”

“And you're in love??!! It's been four days, man!! Plus, what about Bryn?? She’s been the love of your life since we were kids and you’re gonna fucking ditch her for Becky?? I ought to kick your ass right here.”

Sam stands up from his chair, gathering up Becky’s veil and bouquet as he talks.

“You know what, Dean?? You know what?? Um, how about this?? Becky and I are gonna go up to her place in Delaware. Um, why don't you try and wrap your dome around this, get a little supportive, then give us a call??”

As he passes Dean, he pats him on the shoulder before walking up behind his new wife, who’s typing on her phone. Dean looks at me and I try to avoid his gaze.

Tears start to well up in my eyes as the weight of everything finally crushes me, and I walk back out of the doors, trying to control my emotions until I can get to my car. I feel Dean’s eyes on my back as I walk out but keep going until I reach the parking lot. I climb into the cab of my truck and kick off my heels, throwing them onto the floorboard out of frustration. I finally let the emotions come, a million questions running through my head.

He just asked me to officially be his girlfriend about a month ago. We have loved each other since we were kids. What could this bitch possibly have done in 4 days that I couldn’t in 21 years?? Sam and I have known each other forever and have loved each other for almost half of our lives; we’ve just never said it out loud.

Maybe that’s the problem. It would make sense for Sam to get tired of loving me without me ever saying anything. Maybe I pushed him away, to where he felt like our relationship wasn’t going to go anywhere and that if he really wanted love and marriage that he had to find someone else. Maybe this is my fault.

I let out a strangled sob, my heart breaking. I know that there is something wrong with all of this; I’m just not sure what yet. I just know that I’ve lost the one person in my life that I trusted and loved with my entire being without a second thought. He made me so happy, and now that’s gone. Great.

A few moments later, Dean walks out of the chapel, his phone up to his ear, talking animatedly with whoever is on the other side. He approaches my side of the truck and taps on the window, his face softening when he sees my puffy, red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

I roll it down, and he hangs up the phone. He props his forearms on the window edge.

“Bryn,” he starts. “You know Sam wouldn’t do this, right?? Not under his own power.”

I sniffle, wiping my face. “Sure seems like he did. It’s probably because of me, anyway.”

Dean shakes his head.

“What?? No!! No, the woman he just 'married’,” Dean makes air quotes with his fingers, “is a stalker chick we met a few years back. He would never voluntarily marry her. We both hate her guts. Now look, he said that he and Becky are headed up to her family’s place in Delaware, and I was going to follow them up there. Do you wanna go with?? See if we can figure out what’s really going on??”

I stare at my steering wheel. Dean’s right. There’s no way he would drop me that fast and act like I don’t exist.

“I’m in.”

Dean gives me the address and starts to walk off but stops and turns back to me.

“None of this has anything to do with you. He loves you more than anything, even if he hasn’t said it. He would never intentionally hurt you like this,” he assures, his voice firm, no sign of lying.

Another wave of tears fills my eyes, and I nod.

“Thank you,” I whisper to him.

He doesn’t say anything, just pats my arm before he gets in his car and drives back to the hotel. I follow shortly behind him, using the short drive to get myself together.

By the time we get back to the motel, my tears have dried, and the heartbreak has settled down to a dull emptiness in my chest. I park and follow Dean into the hotel. We ride the elevator in silence, neither of us having anything to say. When we get off on our floor, Dean walks with me to my room.

“Well, get this sorted out, Bee. I promise.” He pats my head. “I’ll meet you downstairs in 10.”

I nod in acknowledgement and unlock the door, leaning up against it as it closes behind me.

What a fucking nightmare.

—

When we pull up to the parking lot, Becky’s blue car is pulling out, unmistakable thanks to the balloons and “Just Married” scrawled across the back glass in white paint. I deflate in my seat a little and Dean rolls his eyes so hard it’s almost audible.

He pulls the car into a spot, and we go into the restaurant. Much to our delight, there’s a bar, just waiting for us to come drown our feelings in whatever booze they have. I drop onto one of the barstools, Dean taking the one on my right. He pulls his dad's journal out from under his jacket and opens it. I scan the room for the bartender, eager to start day-drinking so I can forget the shit show that is my life at the moment.

Dean whacks me on the arm with the back of his hand, and I turn my head to glare at him when I see the newspaper he’s pulled over.

“Guy got hit by a truck after winning the lottery,” he mutters to me.

“Ok, and??”

“Look, this whole thing with Sam is fishy and we want to get to the bottom of it, right?? Maybe this case is related to Becky showing up in Vegas.”

It would make sense for them to be related, especially since Dean told me Becky’s been obsessed with him since they met at some weird convention. Too many people’s wishes are coming true, which is never good.

I finally manage to wave down a bartender, ready to get the drinks flowing. Dean exercises some restraint while I drink enough for the both of us. My alcohol tolerance isn’t very high, so it’s not long before I’m hammered.

“Ok, c’mon, that’s enough, Bee.”

I pout, but get to my feet, giggling as the world sways and I stumble a little.

“You’re no fun.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, let’s get you to bed.”

He firmly holds my shoulders as I stumble my way out to the car.

“Dean??”

“Yeah??”

I bite my lip.

“Does Sammy really love me??”

Dean looks down at me and softly smiles.

“Yeah, sweetheart. He really does.”

I kick a rock across the asphalt lot.

“Do you think I’ll ever get him back??”

We stop at the car and Dean grabs my shoulders.

“Of course we will. You know we will.”

“Good, ‘cause I fuckin’ hate that bitch,” I slur. “She’s real fuckin’ annoying.”

Dean laughs and shakes his head.

“Couldn’t agree with you more.”

He opens the passenger door for me and helps me in before getting in and driving us back to the motel. He repeats the process to get me out of the car and dumps my drunk ass on the couch.

“You stay right there. Do not move,” Dean says as he walks back outside.

I slump onto the couch, looking around the room a little. The ceiling is stained, and the carpet isn’t much better. It’s got some weird beach theme to it even though we’re a good thousand miles from any beaches. Dean returns and tosses my bag on the bed furthest from the door, then his on the floor by the one closest to the door.

“Alright, time for bed,” Dean says, hoisting me up off the couch.

“You’re not my dad,” I sass, smiling mischievously.

Dean shoots me a look, obviously fed up with my shit. “Bryn, please.”

“Fiiiiiine,” I groan.

“How the fuck does Sam put up with you??”

“‘Cause I’m fuckin’ awesome, dickhead.”

“Shut up and get ready for bed.”

I roll my eyes and dig out one of Sam’s shirts and a pair of Soffee shorts. My eyes linger on Sam’s shirt, my emotions coming back. The ache returns to my chest as my fingers grip the fabric. I have to sleep alone tonight while Sam shares a bed with another woman. Tears prick my eyes as that realization sets in.

“Hey, what’s wrong??” Dean asks as he comes out of the bathroom.

I grip the shirt tighter.

“He’s not here,” I whisper.

Dean sighs. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”

I sniffle and slowly shuffle to the bathroom to change. I avoid looking at my reflection as I slip out of my jeans and t-shirt and into my pajamas. I finally look in the mirror when I put my hair up in a messy bun and I approach the sink. I brush my teeth and take my meds before silently slipping under the covers.

Everything feels cold in Sam’s absence, the comforting warmth of his chest on my back replaced with a cold, scratchy set of sheets and a duvet. After crying a few more tears, I sink into the bed and fall into a deep sleep.

..

I wring my hands as Dean and I walk down the hall to Becky’s apartment, feeling really uneasy about the whole situation.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea for me to be here??” I ask.

Dean adjusts the box under his arm.

“I’m hoping that he’ll see you today and snap the hell out of it.”

We walk up to apartment 7, and Dean rings the doorbell. I feel the subtle vibration in the floor as Sam’s heavy footsteps approach.

Sure enough, Sam answers the door, and his face drops as he sees it’s Dean. His eyes don’t so much as flicker in my direction, as if I’m invisible, which is way out of character. What I wouldn’t do to have him see me and wake the fuck up.

Dean holds out the waffle maker to Sam. “Me being supportive. Congratulations to you and the missus.”

Sam smiles and curtly nods. “Thanks.”

“It's a waffle iron. Nonstick. Yeah, you just, uh...” Dean mimics using it for a second before dropping his arms back to his side. “I actually don't know how to use it. Are we good??”

Sam smiles for a second and shrugs before stepping aside and allowing us to enter. He still hasn’t looked at me or in any way acknowledged my presence.

“Good, 'cause I'm sniffing a case in this town. The score is... Guy wins Powerball, gets squished by a truck. Second guy went from the bench to the Majors. Oh, and one week later, his face was the catcher's mitt, huh??”

I follow the boys into a bedroom near the back of the apartment. Becky is standing in front of a wall with newspaper articles hanging, and a banner across the top reads ‘Sam and Becky’s Investigation,’ which I emphatically roll my eyes at. She makes eye contact with me and makes a face, almost of disgust. She shakes it off and starts talking.

“Our first thought was crossroads Demons, but there's that 10-year time frame on collecting souls.” Her nasally voice instantly irritates me. I’ve never been so annoyed by a person in my life. “Then there's a cursed object, like in ‘Bad Day at Black Rock,’ but we haven't been able to connect the vics yet.”

I wrinkle my brow. What the hell is “Bad Day at Black Rock??”

When I look at him, Dean also looks dumbfounded.

“You're working this case... together??” He asks, gesturing between the two of them.

“Yeah. I know. Right?? I mean, I guess all those Chuck Shurley books paid off,” Sam says, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

My brow wrinkles harder. Books??

I turn to the woman myself. “All right, listen, Cookie, I don't know what kind of mojo you're working, but believe me, I will find out.”

Sam finally looks at me. “Bryn, that's... my wife you're talking to.”

My heart sinks and my chest aches.

“You're not even acting like yourself, Sam!!” I fuss at him.

“How am I not??” He counters.

"We just started dating, and now you've gone and married some random chick!!" I yell at him, tears pricking my eyes.

“And not just any random chick. You married Becky Rosen!!” Dean yells.

Becky crosses her arms.

“What are you saying?? I'm a witch?? Or maybe I'm a siren. Ever occur to you we're just—I don't know—happy??”

I let out the most sarcastic laugh, using every ounce of willpower to hold back the carnal urge to wrap my hands around this woman’s throat, slam her up against the wall, and choke her out myself.

"C'mon, Sam, guy wins the lotto, guy hits the bigs. All right, obviously, uh, people's dreams are coming true in this town. Don't you think this is a little bit of a coincidence??” Dean asks.

Sam gets defensive, looking solely at Dean again, making me want to barf.

“You know what, Dean?? What Becky and I have is real. And if you can't accept that, that's your problem, not ours.”

My heart sinks, and I have to turn around and walk away a little.

“Or maybe she's part of it. Because, for whatever reason, you're her dream. If you really do care about her, I'd be worried. Because people who do get their little fantasies or whatever seem to end up dead pretty quick,” Dean argues.

He turns and walks towards me.

“You know, I went after her, Dean. Maybe that's what's bugging you guys—that I'm moving on with my life. I mean, you took care of me, and that's great. But I don't need you anymore,” Sam spits out.

Dean freezes, and the air leaves my lungs, Sam’s words hurting more than anything I’ve heard him say before. Tears well up in my eyes, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying things I might regret later.

Dean turns around and walks out, frustration brewing in the both of us.

We exit the apartment building, and Dean dials Bobby’s number.

“I don't want another hunter, Bobby. Why can't you do it??”

We both drop into our seats.

“Ugh!! Fine. What's his name??”

..

I watch Dean’s eyes scan the room as we walk into the restaurant.

“What does this guy look like??” I ask.

“I have no idea. I think Bobby said something about him being lanky??”

“Hey. You Dean??” a voice calls from one of the tables behind us. A scrawny man sits at the table, slurping a milkshake. “Hm. I thought you'd be taller.”

I snicker, making Dean drive his elbow into my ribs. We sit in the chairs across from Garth.

“I assume Bobby filled you in on the road,” Dean says.

“He told me two things. One, he's tangling with a major-league nest up in Oregon territory. Numero dos, he said you'd be all, uh,” Garth scrunches his face. “Surly and premenstrual working with me. But, hey, man,” he raises his hands briefly. “Sticks and stones.”

Dean glares at Garth while I stifle another laugh. Dean drops the newspaper in front of Garth.

“Think I found a case. Check the headline.” He taps the paper.

“First things first.”

Garth picks up the paper and flips through it before his eyes light up as he finds what he was looking for. He lets out a laugh.

“Oh, Marmaduke, you're crazy!!” He says, shaking his head and grinning.

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance, and I bite my lip to stifle a laugh.

This is going to be interesting.

—

We sit on a couch in the CEO’s office area, his secretary at a desk in front of us. A woman is standing behind the desk, berating the poor secretary over a simple spelling error. As she walks out, Sam and Becky come out of the CEO’s office.

“Thanks again,” Sam says to the secretary with a charming smile.

My stomach lurches.

“Hey, is that your—” Garth starts. Dean interrupts him.

“Yes.”

“Awkward,” Garth says, looking at me and Dean.

Dean stands and walks over to the couple and says hi.

Becky makes a nasty face at Dean and me before walking away.

“Okay. So...” Dean says to his brother.

“So, uh, no point in going in. Guy's clean.”

“You sure??” Dean asks.

“Yeah. Positive. Becky grilled him like a pro. She's a real natural,” Sam says with a proud smile.

I cross my arms and look down at my feet.

“What's with the scrawny guy??” Sam asks, nodding his head in Garth’s direction.

"Temp,” Dean says with a shrug.

Sam makes a face and smirks before walking out of the office. Garth waves as he walks by.

..

“Throw a rock, hit a reporter these days, eh??” Mr. Burrows jokes.

“Well, your story's a big deal over at the, uh, the Actuarial Insider,” I say.

“Go ahead. Shoot.”

“All right. Uh... how'd you get the gig??” Dean asks.

“Board came to me, asked. Said yes.”

“Just out of the blue??” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He nods. “Pretty much.”

“And, uh, any idea how the board landed on you over your supervisors??”

Mr. Burrows looks mildly taken aback. “Um, they didn't say.”

“Could you tell us what specifically excited the board about your actual qualifications??” Dean asks.

“Say, what's with the third degree??” He leans forward, resting his forearms on the desktop.

“Oh, uh, no offense. We were just wondering if you got here by nefarious means,” Garth says nonchalantly.

Dean and I both yell at Garth.

“Oh. Uh, I—I didn't mean, of course, uh, corporate backstabbing—I'm sorry. I meant more like, uh, you know, black magic or hoodoo.”

I literally facepalm. I knew we should have left Garth in the car.

Dean fake laughs. “He jokes. He's a—he's a jokester. Let's, uh, rewind. Why don't, uh, why don't you, uh, tell us what it felt like when your big dream came true??”

Mr. Burrows sighs heavily.

“Look, on the record, it's great.”

I lean forward a bit. “Off the record??”

He pauses. “It's not my big dream.”

“Wait. You didn't want this job??” I ask.

“Hell, no. I'm a sales guy. I was good in sales.”

“Your secretary's an idiot. I'll be at the printers this afternoon.”

We all turn to look at the source of the voice and find the woman from the lobby standing in the doorway.

Mr. Burrows nods. “All right, dear. See you at dinner.”

“Just have the idiot make a reservation. Here's a tip: remind her she works for the CEO. One more screw-up, she's fired.”

The woman leaves, and we all look at each other for a minute.

“Your, uh, wife seems pretty stoked on the promotion, don't she??” Garth asks.

Mr. Burrows laughs a little. “Honestly, I've never seen her happier. I have no idea how I'm gonna tell her I have to resign. The news is just gonna—”

“Kill her??” Garth finishes.

“Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Burrows,” I say, the guys and I rising to our feet.

We each shake his hand and head out. While walking down the stairs to the exit, we catch up with the CEO’s wife.

“Mrs. Burrows??” She turns around as Dean calls her. “Hi.”

She looks him up and down with a snide look on her face. “Can I help you??”

“Yes, we're, uh, we're doing a story on your husband's promotion. Wanted to ask you a few questions.”

She gives Dean a fake smile. “I'm sorry. I can't today. If you schedule it with his girl...”

She turns to leave but stops when Dean rests a hand on her shoulder.

“Okay, you know what?? I'm trying to save you from a really bad accident.”

Her face contorts. “Are you threatening me??”

“No.” Dean removes his hand from her shoulder and leaves them slightly raised in appeasement. “No, I-I-I'm pointing out a pattern. Why do people keep thinking I'm threatening them??” Dean asks me and Garth.

“Because it sounded exactly like a threat, dude,” Garth says, making me stifle a laugh.

Dean turns back to Mrs. Burrows.

“Look, for your own good, what did you do to get him promoted??”

“I have no idea what you're talking about. Now leave me alone. Or do I have to call security??”

She turns and leaves, the three of us watching after her.

Dean rushes down the stairs behind her, Garth and I following. In just a split second, the chain on the light fixture breaks right as Mrs. Burrows stops under it. Before I can yell, Dean grabs Marsha and tackles her out of the way and onto the floor, narrowly avoiding the chandelier as it hits the floor where she was just standing.

“You okay??” He asks her.

“How did you know??” she asks, breathing heavily from the scare.

“'Cause you're not the first. Come on.”

Garth and I jog over to where Dean is helping her up off the floor, his eyes scanning her for injury. I rest a hand on Dean’s back as he steps next to me, and he nods subtly to let me know he’s ok.

“You want to tell us what's up here??” Garth says to Marsha.

She crosses her arms.

“I was having lunch with friends. This guy heard me bitching. Next thing I know, he's making me an offer.”

“An offer??” I ask.

She nods and laughs.

“Craig's job for my soul. I know. Hilarious. I mean, what have I got to lose??”

“Well, there's your soul.” Garth looks over at me and Dean. “What kind of Demon deal is this?? Timeline's whack.”

Marsha looks at the three of us. “What are you talking about?? Demon??”

“Let me back up here. You made a deal with a Demon in exchange for your everlasting.” He looks back over at me and Dean. “Except those are 10-year contracts. Why's the bill coming due so fast??”

Dean stares at the floor with his hands on his hips but looks up at Garth with a serious look on his face.

“I don't know, but I got a bad feeling about who's next. We got to find Sam, pronto.”

“All right, all right, all right. Uh, here's the plan. I drop this lady at my cousin's. He'll stop anything trying to get her. We, uh, find Sam; hopefully fix this; everybody's home in time for ‘America's Got Talent.’" He turns and points to Marsha. “Now, you—you'll be living with a triracial paraplegic sniper until this all blows over, okay??”

He walks past me and Dean, the both of us staring at him with confused looks on our faces.

—

~Sam~

My head pounds as I come to, the sun shining right into my face. I look around and don’t recognize my surroundings. As I go to sit up, something pulls against my wrist, digging into my skin. My heart sinks and beats faster as I realize that both of my wrists and ankles are tied to the bedposts of Becky’s bed. The memories of the past few days come flooding back, and panic settles in my stomach.

Oh my God, Bryn. I just asked her to be my girlfriend; I honestly love her more than anything else in the world, and then she watched me marry another woman that she’s never met before. I can’t imagine how hurt she must be. Fuck.

Becky comes rushing in and sits on the bed next to me, lightly placing a hand on my chest.

“Sam, do you feel concussion-y?? How many fingers am I holding up??” She holds up three fingers and waves them around next to her face.

“Where am I?? What the fuck's going on??” I yell at her while I pull against my restraints.

“Sam... Just calm down.”

I glare at her. “Calm down??!! You hogtied me, t—" I suddenly become painfully aware that I’m only in my underwear under the blankets. “Becky, why—why am I not wearing any pants??”

“They're very constricting,” she says, eyes wide. I groan and throw my head back against the pillow. “Don't worry. I didn't do anything weird. I was helping.”

“Let me go. Now!!” I yell, my voice rumbling in my chest.

“Are you thirsty?? Or do you need a bottle... to, you know, tinkle?? It's okay if you do. I can help.”

Something beeps in the other room, and Becky runs out.

“Wait. What?? Wait. Becky?? Becky. Hey, hey, don't!! Don't!! Becky!!” I yell after her. She ignores me and leaves anyway.

I groan again, lying back and staring up at the ceiling. How does this shit always happen to me??

I can hear her talking in the other room, and I strain to make out what she’s saying.

“Where have you been??” she says.

“I got your messages. Problem??” a man says on the other end.

“Big problem. I'm at my parents' cabin. I've got Sam tied to a bed. I'm out of elixir. I need a refill, okay?? This isn't the honeymoon I had in mind. Well, some of it is, but not in this context. And is it just me, or is this stuff wearing off faster and faster??”

So that’s how she got me here; she fucking dosed me with a love potion. Great.

“Becky... breathe.”

Becky drops her voice down and says something I can’t make out.

The man on the screen sighs. “All right. Meet me in an hour.”

She ends her call and walks back in.

“So, you dosed me with a love potion,” I sneer, glaring at her.

“How—”

“Thin walls,” I say with a smirk.

“Look... Yes, I used a social lubricant to—”

“You roofied me!!” I yell over her.

She looks at me like I’ve offended her.

“A roofie?? I'd never. We had a great time together. You were happy.”

I scoff.

“Oh, yeah.” I tug at the rope on my wrists. “I'm thrilled.”

“I have to go.”

She turns and starts to walk away.

“You know your pal Guy is the one icing all those people, right??” I say as she reaches the door.

She turns and looks at me, eyebrows wrinkled.

“No, he's not.”

“Oh, so he's not a witch??”

Becky laughs.

“No. He's just a Wiccan.” My face falls, and I glare at her. “Wiccans are good, like Glinda of Oz.”

“You're not this stupid, Becky.”

“Whatever is killing people... it's something else.”

I scoff and roll my eyes. “It's never something else. When are there ever two crazy things in town at the same time?? Guy's the creep, and you're on his list.”

She crosses her arms. “No. He's my friend.”

“No, he's your dealer.” I take in a breath and try to regain some composure. “Look, I don't know how much he's charging you for that Spanish Fly—”

“Nothing!! He gives it to me. And he said it wouldn't even work unless you already loved me, deep down. It just activates it.”

I furrow my brow in shock. “So, you think I love you??”

She grins sheepishly. “Deep, deep down??”

“Then untie me,” I say sternly.

She panics for a minute and looks around her room for something. She grabs a rag off her side table and shoves it into my mouth.

“No. No!!” I say, everything muffled by the rag.

“You're still working through your emotions.”

“Fuck you!!” I yell through the rag.

“I love you, too!!” She waves at me and leaves.

I groan loudly into the cloth and hang my head back again. A dull ache encircles my wrists and ankles, the ropes digging into them. I’ve got to get to Dean and Bryn. I have to let her know that I still love her and that none of this was done under my own power. I hope she can forgive me. I can’t lose her again; it was too painful the first time.

—

~Bryn~

Dean drives as fast as he can to Becky’s apartment, and my heart pounds in my chest. Anxiety twists in my stomach as I think of what could happen to Sam.

Dean hardly stops the car before me and Garth climb out. I pull my gun from the waistband of my jeans as we run up the steps. When we get to her apartment, Dean tests the doorknob, which is locked. I pull out my lock pick, and Dean steps aside, knowing I can do it faster than him. I quickly unlock the deadbolt, then the knob, and open the door slowly. Dean sneaks in first, opening the door with his shoulder, both hands on his gun. Garth skips in behind him and runs into the bedroom in the back. Dean rolls his eyes and lets me in before shutting the door behind us. We both tuck our guns away while Garth searches the bathroom. Dean freezes, and I look over his shoulder.

A picture of Sam and Becky hangs on the wall, both in their wedding attire, smiling happily. The band of rage in my gut finally snaps and I rip it off the wall, lobbing it across the room with a frustrated yell, the sound of breaking glass filling the silence.

The two men look at me with wide eyes as I catch my breath.

“Feel better now??” Dean asks sarcastically.

“A little.”

Dean rolls his eyes, then goes back to flipping through Becky’s mail.

“Anything??” He calls out to Garth, who’s still in the bedroom.

“Uh, she's got 11 Twitter...ers,” Garth replies. Dean and I walk in to take a look ourselves. “Last post: ‘Going on a romantic trip with hubster!!!’ Three exclamation points. I guess she got excited.”

Dean grabs a picture frame up and turns it so Garth can see it.

“That look romantic to you??”

Garth looks at him, mildly disgusted.

“Oh, hell, no. But I got this thing about fish.” He holds two fingers up to his eyes. “Dead eyes, man.”

Dean scowls and rolls his eyes as he removes the back of the frame and takes out the photo, tossing the frame parts onto the desk haphazardly. The picture has writing on the back: BECKY'S 1ST FISH! LOON LAKE FAMILY CABIN 1994

“Huh,” Dean says and flips the picture back over.

“Where the hell is that??” I ask, looking around his shoulder.

“This must be the family place in Delaware she mentioned.”

I look at Garth, then at Dean. “Well, what are we waiting for?? Let’s go!!”

..

The drive to Delaware is long and somewhat awkward. I made Garth sit in the back of Dean’s tiny two-seater Dodge he’s been driving, unable to think in tight spaces like that.

“Dean??” I mutter. He hums in response. “Sam doesn’t actually love her, right??”

He glances over at me, then back to the road. “Of course not. We both hate Becky. She’s an obsessive fangirl with no boundaries and is a pain in the ass to deal with. He wouldn’t marry her, even if she was the last person on Earth. I know he hasn’t told you yet, but he really does love you. Has since we were little. The only person he would ever willingly marry is you.”

I sigh. Too many thoughts race through my mind. I want to believe Dean, but it’s hard to when we don’t really know what happened yet.

A couple of hours later, we get a call from Sam.

“Hey, what happened?? Where are you??” Dean asks, putting the phone on speaker.

“I’m ok. Becky knocked me out and took me to her family’s cabin. Apparently, she had been dosing me with a love potion of some kind. The guy she’s getting it from is a crossroads Demon posing as a witch.” He laughs. “God, it sounds crazier when I say it out loud.”

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, a little bit.”

Sam takes a deep breath. “How’s Bryn??”

Dean looks over at me before answering.

“She’s doing ok, I think. Confused, like the rest of us.”

“Did I hurt her??”

My chest aches at the tone of his voice. Dean looks at me, and I shake my head.

“I don’t think so; she seems alright. She might have been earlier, but we knew that wasn’t you.”

“Is she there?? Can I talk to her?? I need to tell her I’m sorry.”

Dean looks over at me, and I nod.

“Yeah, she’s right here; hold on a sec.”

He hands me the phone and takes it off speaker. I take it from his hands and take a deep breath before speaking.

“Sammy??”

“Oh my God, Bryn, I am so sorry.”

I chuckle. “Sam, it’s ok. I could tell something was up.”

“Becky dosed me with a love potion. I promise I would never leave you or cheat on you like that.” He says, almost frantically.

“Sam, Sammy, calm down. It’s ok. I believe you. I’m not mad.”

He takes a deep breath. “I was so afraid that I had hurt you again. Are you ok??”

I laugh again. “Yes, Sam, I'm fine. I just miss you.”

“I miss you too. Now, let’s kick this Demon’s ass.” I put the phone back on speaker. “Ok, what’s the plan??”

..

“You're making the right choice,” the Demon says.

“I know. So... we seal the deal with a kiss??” Becky asks, feigning innocence.

“Exactly. Pucker up, sweetheart.”

I hear the lighter catch on the alcohol, and Becky gasps.

“I'm not your sweetheart!!” she yells.

We all walk in from our hiding spot, and Garth holds up the bottle in his hand.

“Blueberry vodka. The answer to all of life's problems,” he says, shaking the bottle a little.

I look at him in confusion but just shake my head. What a weird dude.

Becky’s eyes light up like a little kid’s, and she runs over to Sam’s side.

“You see that, Sam?? I did it just like we said!! I am awesome!! I—” She sees the perturbed look on both of our faces and stops. “I'll be over here.”

She skitters off into the corner, and we return to the matter at hand: the Demon in the vodka Demon trap.

“Dean Winchester. This is really thrilling. Hey, can I have your autograph??”

Dean pulls out the Demon-killing knife.

“Sure. Yeah, I'll, uh, carve it into your spleen. So, how you running your little scam??”

The Demon tilts his head with an evil smirk.

“Well, how do you mean, Dean??”

“Signing 10-year deals, snuffing 'em that week,” Sam says, voice slightly raised.

The Demon puts a hand on his chest, feigning shock.

“Well, I would never. No. Rules of the road—I can't lay a hair on any of my clients.”

“Right. So how’re you cheating it??” I ask.

“I'm not a cheater. I'm an innovator. It's called a loophole, you morons. Yes, when a person bargains away his soul, he gets a decade, technically. But accidents happen.”

“So, you're arranging ‘accidents’ and collecting early??” Sam asks.

“Oh, please. White gloves.” He holds up his hands. “I don't get my hands dirty. That's why it's important to have a capable intern.”

A man emerges from behind him and raises his arm, sending all of us flying backwards. My head hits the wall, sending a wave of nausea and dizziness over me, my ears ringing. Once I am able to shake that off, I take in what’s happening around me. Sam and Garth are unconscious but seem to be waking up a little.

Dean gets to his feet and throws holy water in the Demon’s face before starting the exorcism. He’s cut off by the Demon’s hands wrapping around his throat. The guy that launched us across the room heads for Sam.

“Becky... run!!” He yells before trying to get up.

I see Garth get to his knees, but so does the intern, who knocks his head into the table in front of him, then he falls back to the floor. I stay down and watch as the intern twists his hand, choking Sam.

“No!! Stop, please!!” I yell at him.

His eyes meet mine, and he twists his other hand, making an invisible force crush my windpipe as well.

I gasp and grab at my throat, the pressure in my head building with every second. Just as my vision starts to fade, the intern’s face glows yellow for a second before flickering and dying, sending the intern to the ground, dead. The pressure releases from my throat, and I suck in as much air as I can in ragged breaths. That’s when I notice Becky standing there, a shocked expression on her face.

“Whoa,” she mutters.

Still coughing, Sam pulls the knife out of the intern’s back and tosses it to his brother before coming over to me. I take a fistful of his shirt as he rubs my back.

“You ok??” He says quietly.

I cough again and wheeze a little, throat on fire.

“I’m getting there,” I say, my voice hoarse. I take another ragged breath. “You??”

He clears his throat. “Yeah, I’m good. C’mon.”

He wraps his arm tightly around me and helps me to my feet.

“Call them off, or I'll cut my own loophole in your throat,” Dean says to the Demon.

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, you said it. You're in a world—”

“Hello, boys,” a man’s voice rumbles.

Dean glances behind him, and Sam tucks me behind him, also slightly shielding Becky.

“Oh, shit.”

Dean grabs the Demon’s shoulder and walks around him, still holding the knife to his throat.

“Sam, Mazel Tov. Who's the lucky lady??”

Becky starts fidgeting.

“You're Crowley!!” she screeches.

I close my eyes and rest my forehead against Sam’s shoulder, trying not to strangle her.

“And you're—well, I'm sure you have a wonderful personality, dear,” Crowley says to her.

 I can feel Becky deflate beside me and I have to bite back a laugh.

Crowley starts to take a step forward.

“Ah, another step, and I'll Colombian necktie your little friend here,” Dean says, pressing the blade into the Demon’s neck.

“Please, don't let him get off that easy,” Crowley sneers.

“Sir, I don't think that you—” He starts.

“I know exactly what you've been doing. A little birdie named Jackson,” the Demon looks at his intern, who lies dead on the floor, “sold you out; e-mailed all the juicy deets to my suggestion box.” Crowley looks down at the body. “I assume... That's my whistleblower?? Shame. Had a future.” He looks up at the Demon. “Unfortunately, you don't.”

“I was just—”

“There's only one rule: make a deal, keep it.”

“Well, technically, I didn't—”

“There's a reason we don't call our chits in early—consumer confidence. This isn't Wall Street!! This is Hell!! We have a little something called integrity. This gets out; who'll deal with us?? Nobody!! Then where are we??”

The Demon shakes his head.

“I don't know,” he mumbles.

“That's right. You don't. Because you're a stupid, shortsighted little prat. Now, hand the jackass over. I'll cancel every deal he's made.”

“What are you gonna do with him??” Dean asks.

“Make an example of him.” Crowley looks at each of us. “Fair trade, right?? We all go our separate ways. No harm done.”

“What, out of the goodness of your heart??” Sam asks sarcastically.

“Years of Demons nipping at your heels; haven't seen one for months. Wonder why??” Crowley says, tilting his head.

“We've been a little busy.”

“Hunting Leviathan—yes, I know. That's why I told my lads to stay clear of you meatheads.”

Dean, Sam, and I all look at each other.

“So, what do you know about—” Sam starts.

“Too much. You met that dick yet?? Smuggest tub of goo since Mussolini. I hate the bastards. Squash 'em all, please. I'll stay clear.”

Sam and Dean exchange a look.

“Rip up the contracts first,” Dean demands.

Crowley snaps his fingers. “Done... and done. Your turn.”

The Demon in Dean’s arms starts to protest, but Dean shoves him forward anyway.

“Pleasure, gentlemen.” He looks between the two guys, then disappears.

Behind us, Garth groans as he slowly gets to his feet.

“What'd I miss??” He asks.

Dean throws his hands up in frustration before turning and walking towards the exit. Sam puts a hand on my back, and we follow behind.

—

Sam finishes signing the annulment for his and Becky's marriage, then sets the pen down and slides it over to her.

She looks up hesitantly.

“It... it wasn't all bad, right??” she asks, a hopeful look in her eyes.

I see Sam’s jaw muscles ripple in frustration, his glare sharp. Becky wrinkles her eyebrows and looks down at the table. Sam shakes his head and sighs.

“Okay, y-you did save me and Bryn, and for that, thanks,” Sam says, his face still displaying his disgust.

“So, I'll see you again??” she asks, smiling and hopeful.

“Yeah, probably not.”

Her face falls, and she turns the annulment around so she can sign it. After she finishes, she slides it back across the table. He goes to get up but hesitates. He sighs and rubs a hand across his face before speaking.

“Becky, look. You're not a loser, okay?? You're a good person, and you've got... a lot of...” he pauses, trying to find the right word. “E-energy. So, you know, just do your thing, whatever that is, and the right guy will find you.”

Sam turns his head to look at me, Garth, and Dean. We all notice the flirty look on Garth’s face. As Becky’s eyes meet Garth’s, he smooths down his hair and rubs a hand over his face before turning to Dean and nodding his head toward Becky.

“No,” Dean says sternly, seeing what’s happening. “No.”

Garth and Becky both deflate. Sam gets up from the table and takes my hand, giving me a soft smile.

We walk down to where our cars are parked, and the boys lean up against the trunk. There’s just enough room for me next to Sam, who has his hands in his jacket pockets. I loop my arm through the crook of his arm, leaning my head against his shoulder, and he smirks at me.

Garth comes to a stop next to his car.

“Well, buddy, I got to say, man—you, uh... you don't suck,” Dean says with a smile. He reaches out and pats Garth on the arm.

Garth chuckles to himself.

“Thank you. That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me.” He pauses. “Well...”

He hesitates, then steps forward and pulls Dean into a hug. Dean immediately stiffens up, his eyes wide. Sam and I can’t help but laugh.

“Oh. Yeah.” Dean chuckles and awkwardly pats him on the back. “All right, that's—thank you.”

He clears his throat, and Garth lets go of him. He pats Dean on the chest one more time before backing up and waving bye to us.

“Take care.” He waves back, then turns to Sam and me. “Wow.”

Sam leans over. “Aww, you made a fwiend.”

“Uh-uh.” Dean glares at him. Sam and I just laugh.

“Look, man, uh...” Sam clears his throat. “When I was all dosed up, I—I said some shit.”

“Oh, you mean she—she wasn't your soulmate??” Dean teases.

Sam rolls his eyes.

“Shut up. I mean, I do need you watching my back. Obviously.”

“Yeah, when, uh, crazy groupies attack.”

Sam looks up and laughs. “You know what I mean.”

“You know, I got to say, man... For a whack-job, you really pulled it together.”

Sam turns and looks at Dean with a serious face.

“That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me.” He laughs again. “Look, don't be too impressed, man. It's still a Denver scramble up here. I just know my way around the plate now.”

“I'm just saying. It's stupid to think that you need me around all the time. You're a grown-up.”

Sam nods. “Right.”

“You're a hike-in-the-desert, hippie-douche grown-up,” Dean jokes.

“Dude, I was camping. You camp.” Sam glares at him.

“Yeah, whatever. Hippie.”

Dean turns and walks to the driver's side, and Sam and I to the passenger side.

“You know what, though?? Seriously?? It might be nice.”

“What??”

“I mean, you basically have been looking out for me your whole life. Now you finally get to..." Sam waves his hands around a little. “Take care of yourself. About time, huh??”

“Yeah. Right,” Dean says.

I climb in before Sam, and then Sam sits down. A moment later, Dean climbs in. He starts the car, and we pull away.

“Hey, Sam??” I say quietly, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah??”

“Next time, I’m going camping with you. Make sure the crazy ladies don’t try to steal you again.” I tease.

Sam rolls his eyes and turns his head to look at me. I lean forward and peck him on the lips, smiling into the kiss.

“Y’all aren’t ever gonna let me live this down, are you??” Sam asks, looking at me, then Dean.

Dean looks at me in the rearview mirror.

“Nah,” we both say it at the same time.

Sam laughs, and Dean turns on the radio. We get on the highway and ride off to our next adventure.

Chapter Text

December 22nd

I finish folding my shirt and tuck it into my duffle bag before moving to the bathroom to grab my toiletry bag.

“Bryn??” Sam calls, the front door clicking shut behind him.

“In here!!” I call, sticking my head out of the bathroom.

I hear Sam kick off his boots and set down something on the table before his footsteps approach.

“Hey,” he says behind me. “Dean’s almost done switching your tires. The snow is pretty thick.”

“Thank you.” I look up at the mirror, smiling at him in the reflection. “Have you packed??”

He walks up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, resting his head against mine.

“Of course I have. Dean, on the other hand…”

I laugh while putting the last few things in my toiletry bag and zipping it up. I look back up at Sam in the mirror.

“I’m so happy that you guys get to join me for Christmas. Welch seemed pretty excited too.” I run my hands across Sam’s arms.

“I’m just happy to actually celebrate Christmas like a normal person.” He presses a kiss to my cheek. “Thank you for inviting us.”

“Of course. Can’t have Christmas without my boys.”

I wiggle out of Sam’s grasp and return to my duffle. I throw my toiletry bag in before zipping it up and throwing it over my shoulder. As I walk by him, Sam grabs the strap and gently removes it from my shoulder. I start to say something, but he silences me by pressing his lips to mine.

“I’ve got it,” he says against my lips.

I smile and allow him to take the bag from me. He kisses me one more time before taking my hand and walking with me to the door. We pull open the tailgate and slide our bags in the back.

I slam the tailgate shut and walk around to the driver’s seat. Dean runs back inside to grab his stuff, then comes back out, locks the door and tosses his bag in the back with the others. He lost the rock, paper, scissors match, so he’s stuck on the small bench seat in the back. He’s already mad that we’re flying, but I reminded him of the 21 ½ hour drive to get there, and he stopped complaining.

I drive us down out of the mountains and make the short 20-minute drive to the small town of Kalispell, where Glacier Park International Airport awaits our arrival. I find a spot relatively quickly in the small parking lot and we pile out. We pull our bags out, and I make sure everything is locked before starting the walk to the airport.

We enter the front doors and check in at the airline desk before they instruct us to follow the signs to security. After being mildly harassed by TSA agents and Dean getting one of his pocketknives confiscated (despite my reminding him to check all of his pockets and leave anything banned in the car), we’re finally at our gate and ready to board. We got here pretty early, so we still have about 30 to 45 minutes to go before boarding. Sam and I just hang out while Dean nervously paces in front of the windows.

For me and Sam, the time goes by relatively quickly, and next thing we know; they announce that boarding is starting. Our seats are kind of near the middle of the plane, so we still have a little while before they call our group.

“When was the last time you flew on an airplane??” I ask Sam, who is fidgeting with the zipper on his jacket.

Sam laughs somewhat cynically.

“We were hunting a demon who was actively crashing the plane.”

My stomach drops. “Oh, my God.”

“Yeah… Dean has always been terrified of planes, but after that even I’m hesitant to fly.” He chuckles again. “Guess I should have mentioned that sooner, huh??”

I bury my face in my hands and groan.

“Why didn’t you tell me??!! We could have driven there!! It takes for-fucking-ever, but it’s still doable.” I run my hands through my hair. “Now I feel like an ass.”

Sam puts a hand on my back.

“It’s okay, Bryn, you had no idea. Plus, you know me and Dean would do just about anything for you.”

I nod and sigh.

They call over the intercom for our boarding group, so we grab Dean and get in line. Sam lets me go first, and I hand the attendant my boarding pass. She scans it and hands it back before allowing me through. I wait just inside the door for Sam and then wait with him for Dean. We walk onto the plane together, and I stifle a laugh as Sam ducks to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. We finally find our seats, and Sam puts our bags in the overhead bin, then slides into the window seat. I sit in the middle, then Dean in the aisle. Sam lifts the armrest from between us and takes my hand.

I lean over to Dean. “You okay?”

He’s white-knuckling the armrests.

“Not really,” he says through gritted teeth. I peel his fingers from the armrest, earning me a questioning look. “What’re you—”

I shush him and take his hand.

“If it makes you feel better, I get scared during takeoff and landing.”

Dean takes a deep breath and lightly squeezes my hand.

“The things I do for you, kid,” Dean teases.

I snicker. “You know you love me.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

The flight takes off, and we settle in for the short flight.

—

After flying for what feels like forever, we land in Kansas City. They announce we can start disembarking, and I’ve never seen Dean move faster. He grabs his bag and joins the line to get out way ahead of me and Sam.

I look back at Sam, and we dissolve into laughter. We wait for our row’s turn, and Sam grabs our bags from the bin and blocks the aisle so I can get out without being shoved. We make our way down the jetway, where Dean waits for us just past the gate. He joins us, and Sam leads the way down to the rental car desk.

I booked us an SUV for our time here since we may need to drive everyone around if we go places. Sam volunteers to drive, and Dean heads to the backseat so he can sleep on the drive to Welch’s. I hop in the front seat with Sam, and I put Welch’s address into the built-in GPS as Sam exits the parking deck.

Sam and I sing along quietly to the Christmas songs playing on the radio, and I watch the countryside pass by the windows.

“Okay, so,” Sam starts, briefly glancing at me. “I’ve met everyone, but I don’t know the whole story. How did the crew become a thing??”

I smirk.

“Well, Welch lived with his wife for a few years before she was killed by a ghoul. After she died, he was distraught and went to my dad for help. After he killed the ghouls a year or so later, he really got into hunting. He and my dad went on these elaborate hunting trips, huge cross-country journeys for months at a time. Eventually my dad became less available as he got married to Mom and then had kids. Welch tried to date, but from the stories I heard from Dad, that didn’t go very well.” Sam laughs at the face I make. “One night in 1985, Welch was making dinner, and the doorbell rang. He opened the door, and Rhys was standing there with Fawn. Rhys handed him a note that basically said their parents had been killed, and he took them in. He adopted them shortly after, and they’re 100% his daughters.”

Sam smiles a little. “That’s really sweet.”

I nod.

“Yeah, it is.” I take a deep breath and continue. “Welch was a quick learner and easily adapted to being a dad of a 6-year-old and a 1-year-old. In ’88, Jason was 4 when he joined after vamps killed his parents, and Lucas was 12 when his dad was killed by a wraith. Then in ’91, Nash was 7 when a djinn kidnapped and killed his parents. When I joined after running away in 2003, I was the only one who hadn’t been orphaned, but that didn’t keep the crew from taking me in as one of their own. Welch was already my godfather and was pretty much an uncle to me, and we’ve all been best friends since we were kids, so nothing really changed all that much after I moved in. We all became closer and now they’re just as much my siblings as Rhett was.”

Sam nods and smiles.

“It’s awesome that he still got to have a family, even after everything with his wife,” Sam says.

I hum in agreement. “It was something he needed, and they all needed him too. It was a win-win.”

We go back to sitting quietly, and I softly hum along with the song playing on the radio.

“How did you celebrate Christmas when you were younger??” Sam asks me after a while.

I smile. “It wasn’t anything big or exciting. Most of the time, Rhett and I would get up early and wake Mom and Dad up so we could open presents. We would do all the present stuff, Mom would make a huge breakfast, then we would watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas and just hang out for the rest of the day until Dad started making dinner. We’d all cook together and just enjoy the family time.” I pause and start picking at my fingers. “After Rhett died, and I moved in with Welch, it was basically the same thing, but Rhys, Fawn, and I started a tradition of going to the mall on Christmas Eve to watch all the crazy people buy gifts last minute and get little things for ourselves. Oh, and whenever Christmas Eve or Christmas falls on a Monday, we do The Polar Express for movie night.”

Sam smiles. “I should have done Christmas with you. Dad didn’t really celebrate Christmas, and it sounds like y’all had fun.”

I stare out the windshield, digging into the depths of my memories.

“There was a Christmas you and Dean spent with us,” I blurt out after a moment of silence.

Sam looks at me in disbelief, then returns his gaze to the road.

“What?? When??”

“I don’t know what year it was, but we were young. Maybe 14 and 16??”

..

December 25th, 1999

The Ashford Residence

Lawrence, Kansas

The morning light falls on my face as Rhett gently shakes my shoulders.

“Bee, wake up!! It’s Christmas!!” He whisper-shouts, trying to keep quiet so we don’t get in trouble for being up too early.

I throw back the covers, and he pulls me out of bed and down the stairs. Sam and Dean are already waiting on the couch, staring at the tree.

“Took y’all long enough,” Dean says, leaning back with his arms crossed, a small smirk hanging on his lips.

I love how we all still get so excited about Christmas despite Dean and Rhett being 20 and Sam being 16. The little kid joy is a welcome change to the normal seriousness of our lives.

Rhett sits down next to Dean, and I plop down on the couch next to Sam, pulling my knees up to my chest.

“What did you ask for??” Sam asks, leaning over so I can hear him.

“All sorts of stuff. I really want a new sketchbook though.” I smile at Sam. “What about you?? What did you ask for??”

I see something flash in front of Sam’s eyes, an emotion I can’t read. He averts his eyes to the tree for a moment.

“Y’know, just some books,” he says with a shrug, almost deadpan.

I stare at him for a moment, trying to figure out what’s going through his head. I give up after a few minutes and lean forward so I can see Rhett.

“Hey, buttface,” I stare him down with a mischievous grin playing on my lips. “Is Kameron coming??”

His eyes widen, and the color leaves his face.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” he mutters, making me laugh.

“Who’s Kameron??” Dean asks, grinning widely as well.

“No, she’s not coming,” Rhett says, shooting me a glare. “She’s a friend from my finance class.”

I roll my eyes. “Friends my ass. You loooove her.” I tease.

“Bryn, shut up,” Rhett says, cheeks flushing a little. “I will kick your ass.”

I hold up my hands in fake innocence as Dean takes over teasing Rhett. I laugh and sit back, basking in Rhett’s embarrassment.

“You’re evil,” Sam says, laughing lightly.

I shrug. “It’s my job as his sister to embarrass him.”

After a while, my parents finally come downstairs, Dad wearing his usual ridiculous Santa hat.

“Guess we’re late to the party,” Dad jokes as he descends the stairs.

Mom rubs her face and looks like she hasn’t gotten any sleep. Dad walks over to us, while Mom makes a beeline for the kitchen, where Rhett and Dean have already made a pot of coffee. Dad sits on the armrest of the couch and pulls me into his side.

“Merry Christmas, kiddo.” He smiles at me.

“Merry Christmas, Dad.”

..

“Oh, was that the year your dad gave me my pocketknife??” Sam asks.

“The black one with your initials?? Yeah, that year.”

Sam laughs. “Oh my God, I thought Rhett was gonna beat you to a pulp right there when you asked about Kam.”

I laugh too. “Yeah, that was the first Christmas they were together. God, we were all so young.”

Sam sighs, still smiling. “Yeah, we were.”

I fidget with the strings of Sam’s Stanford sweatshirt as I try to figure out how to ask him about that day. I see him do a double take out of the corner of my eye.

“Hey, that’s a serious face,” he says, continuing to steal glances at me. “What’s up??”

“That morning, you asked me what I wanted for Christmas, but when I asked you, you froze. You gave me some generic answer, but I could see something else was on your mind.”

Sam furrows his brow. He doesn’t say anything, but I can tell he’s trying to sift through his memories to try and find what he was gonna say. Suddenly, his eyes widen slightly, and his cheeks gain a light pink tinge.

“Well??” I ask, still twirling the strings of Sam’s hoodie.

He laughs and shakes his head.

“I wanted you,” he says through a laugh. “I wanted you to be my girlfriend, but I was too scared to say that out loud, so I made something up and hoped you wouldn’t notice. Guess you noticed.”

I laugh and reach over to pinch his cheek.

“Aw, Sammy, that’s so cute.”

He slaps my hand away and shakes his head but remains silent. He drops his right hand from the steering wheel and rests it on my leg. I set mine on top of it and say nothing, letting the sounds of Christmas fill the truck.

—

As we pull into the driveway, Welch steps out onto the porch, waiting anxiously for us. Once Sam parks the truck, I climb out and dash across the front yard to Welch, who easily catches me in his arms as I fling myself at him. His chuckle rumbles in his chest.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Wells. I missed you.”

He laughs. “Bee, you were just here a few weeks ago.”

I lean my head back to scowl playfully at him. “Shut up, I missed you.”

We both laugh, and he lets me go. Sam approaches from behind me with our bags and sets them down to shake Welch’s hand.

“Merry Christmas, Sam,” Welch says curtly, taking Sam’s hand.

“Merry Christmas to you too, sir,” Sam says stiffly.

Welch grins and looks around.

“Where’s Dean??”

My stomach drops.

“Oh shit, he’s asleep in the backseat.” I look at Sam. “I got him, you remember where my room is right??”

Sam nods, earning a small look from Welch. I snicker and jog back over to the car.

Dean is crashed out in the backseat, completely unaware of what’s going on. I open the door very carefully, inserting myself between Dean and the door so he doesn’t fall out of the car.

“Dean, hey, time to wake up,” I say, shaking his shoulder. He stirs a little and groans. “C’mon, man, don’t make me get Sam to carry you.”

His eyes slowly start to open, and he stretches, removing his weight from me. He looks around with a blank look.

“Where are we??”

“Welch’s house, you fell asleep on the way here from the airport.”

He rubs his face, then runs a hand through his hair. With one last yawn, he slides out of the car with his bag in tow and follows me to the front door.

We all get settled into the basement, Sam and I sharing my room, and Dean sleeping on an air mattress in the rec space just outside my room.

I flop down on my bed, happy to finally lay down after a long travel day. A contented sigh leaves my mouth as my muscles finally relax.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep; you need to eat,” Sam says, shaking my leg.

“Ugh, fine.”

Begrudgingly, I follow him upstairs, knowing he’s right. My stomach growls as we reach the top of the stairs, the smell of Welch’s cooking making my mouth water.

Man, it’s good to be home.

—

December 24th

I somehow manage to wake up before the boys and sneak upstairs to the kitchen. Outside, the snow is falling heavily, making me feel like I’m in a snow globe. It also resurfaces the memories of snowball fights with Rhett and Dad, followed by hot cocoa and us falling asleep together on the couch under one of Mom's quilts.

After breaking out of my trance, I start up a pot of coffee and, while I wait, I turn on the TV and find a Christmas movie. The sweet aroma of coffee drifts through the air as I start a fire in the fireplace. I hear the floorboards creak beside me and see something move out of the corner of my eye. I turn to find Sam standing at the top of the stairs, rubbing his eyes, his hair still disheveled.

“Good morning,” I say, walking over to him.

“Morning,” he mumbles through a yawn. “What’re you doing up early??”

I wrap my arms around his torso.

"I'm, uh, getting in the Christmas spirit??" I reply, unconvincingly.

That earns me a look from Sam, who doesn’t say anything, just wraps his arms around me. He presses a kiss to my forehead as the coffee maker hisses to a stop.

“Coffee??” I ask, changing the subject.

“Of course.”

I let him go and grab a second mug from the cabinet. I pour come of the smoking hot coffee into each mug, then grab my creamer out of the fridge. I pour some in mine, turning the coffee a light caramel brown, the cream creating little swirls as it mixes.

“Do you want any creamer??” I ask over my shoulder.

“Nah, I’m good,” he says.

I turn around and pass him his cup. He whispers a thanks and pads over to the couch. I follow shortly behind, stopping briefly to put my creamer back in the fridge. I sit down next to him, tucking my legs under me. I sip on my coffee; eyes locked on the movie.

How the Grinch Stole Christmas is one of my favorites. I used to watch it every year with my brother. No matter where we were, he would always manage to find it for me. Christmas wasn’t always the best, but that little gesture meant the world to me. I continued the tradition, even after Rhett died. No matter what hunt I was on, what shitty motel I was in, I would scour the TV until I found it. Christmas isn’t Christmas without it.

I’m broken out of my thoughts by Sam’s hand on my thigh.

“Hey, something on your mind??” he asks, setting his cup down on the coffee table.

I smile, looking down at my mug.

“Rhett and I used to watch this together every year.” I look back up at the screen. “I’ve watched it every year since, but it’s not the same.”

Sam’s thumb rubs back and forth over the fabric of my pajama pants. I take one last sip of my coffee, sighing as the warmth settles in my stomach. I take a deep breath and set my cup down on the table next to Sam’s. I take his hand in mine and give it a light squeeze.

“I miss him too, Bee,” Sam says quietly.

We lapse into silence, the only noise coming from the TV. I watch the colorful scenes flash across the screen, soaking up every minute of nostalgia I can, hoping it’ll help dull the pain that comes with it.

About halfway through the movie, Rhys and Fawn make their way downstairs, followed by Welch. The girls race to the coffeepot, and, per usual, Fawn beats Rhys by a mile. Welch shakes his head as they dissolve into a fit of giggles, pulling things out of the fridge for breakfast. Once Fawn’s coffee is in her hands, she joins me on the couch, smiling at me and Sam as she sits. I scoot over towards Sam a little to try and give her more room.

“Oh my God, I totally forgot about this movie.” Fawn gasps and turns to me with a grin. “Remember that year that we were in… shit, where was that?? Arkansas?? I don’t know.” I laugh at her. “Anyway, it was like 2am and you, me, and Rhys were all sharing a room and you were just cussing up a storm when I came out of the bathroom.”

“It was Oregon, Fawn, 2006. We were at a shitty motel in Eugene after a rugaru hunt,” Rhys fills in with a smirk, shaking her head at her sister.

Fawn claps. “YES!! That’s right!! You were swearing like a sailor in front of the TV, and I sat down next to you, wrapped in that ugly-ass quilt, and before I could ask what was wrong, you leapt to your feet and started dancing and squealing.”

I throw my head back in laughter.

“I spent almost an hour scouring every channel on the shitty rabbit ears trying to find this movie. I almost cried when I found it,” I add, the warmth of a good memory swelling in my chest.

“I’m pretty sure we fell asleep watching it too.” Fawn smiles and sips her coffee. “We were exhausted.”

I nudge her shoulder. “It was a good Christmas though.”

She smiles at me. “It was.”

We settle back into silence, the quiet broken only occasionally by Welch making noise while he cooks. Once the smell of food begins to fill the house, the boys slowly make their way towards the kitchen, Dean being the last to arrive.

Welch calls for us to eat, and we all load up our plates, then take our seats. Sam and Dean pull up the spare chairs, sitting on either side of me. Sam’s hand casually rests on my thigh as he eats, a constant reminder of his presence. He can probably sense the pang of sadness that occasionally rips through my chest. As much as I miss my brother and my dad, there’s nothing better than breakfast at Welch’s house, surrounded by my chosen family, my handsome boyfriend on one side, my stand-in brother on the other. There are no words to explain the warmth, happiness, and safety I feel in this moment as I look around the table.

—

I stand in the bathroom, leaning in towards the mirror as I put on some light makeup. Sam walks in and places a hand on the small of my back as he slides past me to the second sink, making my heart flutter in my chest. I switch from my eyebrow pencil to mascara as Sam brushes his teeth.

We’re going shopping with Rhys, Fawn, and Nash while Welch, Jason, and Lucas get the food and booze for tonight. Dean was going to go with Welch and the boys but decided at the last minute to come with us. He and Nash are good buddies now, bonding over cars and a shared love of bourbon.

“You know you don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to,” I say, setting down my mascara.

Sam scoffs. “You really think I’d choose to go with Welch over you?? Are you feeling okay??”

I roll my eyes. “You know what I mean, Sam.”

He wipes his face and then turns to me, grabbing my hips. I rest my hands on his chest.

“Yes, I do, and I would much rather go shopping with you than do anything with anyone else,” he says, pulling me closer.

“You’re cheesy,” I joke.

Sam laughs.

“You know you love it,” he replies, ducking down so our foreheads meet, brushing his nose against mine.

“Of course I do.” I smile, then pat him on the chest. “C’mon, we better get going before Rhys kicks my ass.”

Sam laughs, and I take his hand from my waist, pulling him behind me. We head upstairs and to the kitchen, where Fawn and Rhys are sitting at the island.

“Hey,” I say as we walk in. I look around the empty living room. “Where are Dean and Nash??”

“Geeking out over Nash’s project car,” Rhys says with an eye roll.

I laugh. “Of course they are.”

“Who’s driving??” Fawn asks.

We all look at each other.

“I think our rental can seat 6 people,” I say.

Fawn nods. We head out to the garage, where Dean appears to be helping Nash with something.

“Yeah, now tighten that real quick and it should be good,” Dean says, pointing at something in the engine bay.

Nash reaches in and tightens whatever it is, then gets in the driver’s seat and cranks it. The engine turns over and starts to run, albeit roughly. He gets out yelling and high-fives Dean in excitement.

“Thanks, man!! I’ve been trying to figure that out for months,” Nash says with a huge smile on his face.

Dean pats his shoulder.

“No problem, man. I’ve worked on a couple of Camaros, and they’ve all had that problem.”

“Alright, boys, shopping time,” I say, raising my voice so I’m heard over the rumble of the engine.

Nash cuts off the car and locks it before hanging the keys up on the hook just inside the door. He climbs in first, taking a seat in the third row. Rhys, Fawn, and I slide into the back, and Sam and Dean sit up front. It’s a little snug, but we’ve ridden cross-country in Welch’s Tahoe, so we’ll live.

We make the 35-minute drive to Kansas City, finally arriving at the Oak Park Mall. Nash and Dean almost immediately go their separate ways, while Rhys, Fawn, and I all stay together, trying to come up with a plan, poor Sam just along for the ride. I told him he could go do his own thing if he wanted to, but he hasn’t left my side.

“Okay, what all do we want to hit??” Fawn asks, leaning against the bannister.

“You know me; I usually go to American Eagle, Aeropostale, H&M, Forever 21, the usuals.” I smirk. “Plus, Barnes & Noble and the Disney store, of course.”

Rhys and Fawn look at each other and shrug.

“Sounds good to me,” Rhys says.

“Anywhere else you wanted to go, Sam??” I ask, squeezing his hand.

He thinks for a moment and looks at the map next to us.

“I don’t think so. I don’t really need anything, so I’ll go wherever you want.”

I chuckle and kiss his cheek.

“Alright then, let’s go,” Fawn says, pushing herself off the bannister and heading for the closest store.

Let the fun begin.

..

After hitting American Eagle and H&M, we split up. Rhys and Fawn check out Abercrombie upstairs, and Sam and I head to Barnes & Noble.

The smell of books hits me like a brick wall as we walk in, and I take in a deep lungful of the sweet smell. I sigh happily and look around, seeing where all the different sections are.

“Looking for anything in particular??” Sam asks, ducking down so I can hear him.

I shrug.

“I’m not sure. I usually just wander around until something piques my interest. What about you??”

Sam smirks. “Same as you, nothing in particular. Just here for the free smells.”

I laugh quietly and take his hand before we begin to weave through the bookcases. I look around the room, in awe of the size of the bookcases and the sheer number of books on each one. This store is huge, with the stock to match. Sam and I look through the books in silence, only saying something if we find an interesting book or if we find one that the other might like. Sam and I have very similar tastes in books, so usually if it sounds good to me, he shows interest as well.

“Oh my God, I love this book!! I didn’t know they still made new copies of it,” I say excitedly to Sam, who’s only a couple of shelves down from me.

He puts his book back and walks over to where I’m standing.

“What is it??”

“The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. It’s technically part of a series but is perfectly fine as a standalone.” I smile down at the familiar cover. “I read it at least 4 times in middle school and probably another couple of times in high school. It’s one of my favorites. Have you heard of it??”

I pass him the book, and he turns it over to read the description on the back.

“I haven’t, but it sounds good.” He hands the book back. “If you’ve read it that many times, you probably own it already.”

I pout. “But Sammy, the cover is different on this one.”

Sam laughs and plucks the book from my hands, setting it back in its spot on the shelf.

“C’mon, let’s find you a book you haven’t read a million times,” he says, holding out his hand.

I take it and follow him to another area. As I look up at him, a memory resurfaces, taking my breath away and stopping me in my tracks.

..

July 2002

Albany County Public Library

Laramie, Wyoming

The library is silent as I walk up and down the aisles, searching for Sam. He wandered off while I was looking at a book, and I have no idea where he went. I checked all the “normal” places he would be, but he’s not at any of them. It’s not like I can call out his name.

I turn the corner onto the next aisle and look around.

“Sam??” I whisper-yell.

I continue to creep down the aisle, trying not to get distracted by more books. My hunter senses are on full alert, and my heart thuds in my chest. I take two more steps, then someone comes up behind me, one arm around my waist as they smack their hand over my mouth. I hold back a scream of terror as they turn me around.

“Samuel James Winchester, what the fuck is wrong with you??!! You scared the shit out of me!!” I whisper-yell while Sam shakes in silent laughter. “It’s not fucking funny!!”

“No, you’re right,” he whispers between laughing fits. “It’s fucking hilarious.”

I punch him in the arm a couple of times, and he holds his hands up in surrender.

“You’re an ass, you know that??” I huff, putting my hands on my hips.

Sam takes a deep breath, letting out a stray chuckle here and there. He steps forward and puts his arms around my waist, pulling me close to him.

“Yeah, but I’m your ass,” he says, turning on the charm.

My cheeks warm, and I cross my arms across my chest, avoiding his gaze. He pulls me even closer, so close I can feel his breath fan across my skin as he breathes. A chill runs down my spine.

“Stop it,” I mutter through nervous laughter. “We’re in public.”

Sam looks around.

“I don’t see anyone.”

I smack his chest.

“You know what I mean.”

Sam just laughs.

We stand there looking at each other for a moment before I finally cave and drape my arms over his shoulders. He smiles at me, and there’s a glint in his eyes that I can’t identify. My heart pounds in my chest as he leans down and brings his lips to mine. The contact makes my heart flutter.

This is all I need to be happy. Sam is all I need to be happy.

..

I’m snapped back to the present by Sam holding my face, his thumb rubbing against my cheek. I take a deep breath and gently hold his wrists.

“Hey, you okay?? You zoned out for a minute.” His eyes dart between mine, worry written all over his face.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Just a nice memory,” I say, smiling a little.

Sam chuckles, dropping his hands to my shoulders.

“Oh, yeah??” He tilts his head slightly. “And which one would that be??”

I bite my lip.

“Laramie, Wyoming. At the library.”

Sam stares off into the distance as he struggles to recall the memory. Suddenly his eyes light up, and he laughs.

“Oh my God, was that the day I scared you in the biography section??”

“Yes, you ass!! I’m still mad about that,” I joke.

Sam and I descend into a laughing fit.

“I can’t believe you remember that!!” Sam says between laughs. “God, you were like, what, 17??”

“Yeah, and you were 19. We’d gone there looking for lore books, and you disappeared while I was looking at something.” I wipe my eyes as I keep chuckling.

“That’s right. God, that feels like forever ago.”

I nod. “It really does.”

I sigh and look up at Sam.

It feels like yesterday that he was kissing me at his graduation, that we were drowning in puppy love and enjoying every second of the day together. The old familiar warmth that filled me then still arises now, over 10 years later. I don’t understand it, considering how angry I was with him for so long, but I welcome it like an old friend.

His eyes soften, and he pulls me closer.

“That’s a serious face.” He brushes my hair back and tucks it gently behind my ear. “What’s going on in that pretty little brain??”

I sigh.

“Do you ever wish you could go back to being young again??” I pause, messing with a string on his jacket. “When things were simpler, and the nightmares only happened after watching scary movies or a bad hunt?? Before everything fell apart??” My voice drops to a whisper.

Sam’s fingers rub circles on my back.

“Of course I do,” he says softly. “I think everyone does at some point.”

I rest my forehead on his chest. He sighs and rests his head on top of mine.

“I know Christmas is hard for you,” he says quietly. “Is there anything I can do to make it easier??”

I sigh again. I lean back, and he moves so I can see him.

“Just be you,” I say, lips twitching into a smile for a split second.

He nods and kisses my forehead.

“C’mon, let’s go find you a good book.”

I take his hand, and we resume walking through the mountains of books.

..

“I think I’m ready to go home,” I say, letting out a yawn. “We should try to find Rhys and Fawn.”

Sam nods and rises to his feet from the small bench he’s sitting on. I take his hand, and we start walking to the escalator. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out.

“Hey Rhys, what’s up??”

“Hey, we just finished in Gap. Where are y’all??”

I look around as we step off the escalator into another sitting area.

“We came back up on the escalator near Dillard’s, so we shouldn’t be far. Do we know where Nash and Dean are??”

“I called Nash, and he’s headed this way. I don’t know about Dean.”

“Okay, I’ll call him real quick. Sam and I are in the sitting area near the escalator.”

“‘Kay, see ya in a bit.”

“Bye.” I hang up with her and immediately call Dean.

“Hey, Bee,” he says.

“Hey, where are you?? I think we’re heading out soon.”

Dean laughs. “What, tired already??”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, asshole. C’mon, we’re all by Dillard’s.”

“‘Kay, I’ll be there in 5.” He hangs up.

I look up and see Rhys, Fawn, and Nash walking our way. They all have bags and are laughing about something Nash is saying. It’s a welcome change of pace from the awful shit we’ve had to deal with this year. I smile to myself and lean into Sam’s side, cherishing every second of happiness and committing it to memory.

—

When we get home, Welch and the boys are back and working on dinner. Sam, being the gentleman he is, carries our bags downstairs to my room while I hang out with everyone in the kitchen.

“I’m just saying, there’s no way Chuck Norris would lose a fight like that. He’d make a great hunter,” Lucas says, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth.

“Whatever, man, keep living in La La Land over there,” Jason says, stirring something on the stove.

I roll my eyes at their bickering and take a chip from the bag.

Welch walks in wearing his grilling apron, beer in hand.

“Well, hey, welcome back!! Y’all have a good time??” he asks, leaning against the island.

I hear Fawn and Rhys coming down the stairs behind me.

“Yeah, it was a great time,” I say, looking back at the girls for a second. “Found some cute stuff and got in some great quality time with my girls.”

Rhys hugs me from behind. “Aw, cheesy. It was nice hanging out like old times, though. We should do that more often.”

Welch smiles and wipes his hands on an old kitchen towel. Rhys lets me go and sits next to her sister before snatching the chip bag from my hands.

“I’m glad y’all had fun.” Welch looks around the room. “Where’re the Winchester boys??”

I laugh. “They're both downstairs. Sam took our stuff down, and Dean went to take a nap or something. Sam should be back any minute.”

Right on cue, Sam walks up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. He rests his chin on the top of my head. I lay my arms on top of his and sigh. There is nowhere else I’d rather be.

..

It’s organized chaos in the kitchen as we all help with dinner. Sam and Dean sit at the island, helping with whatever we throw at them. Welch and Jason are constantly going in and out, keeping an eye on the ribs they have in the smoker.

Welch is originally from Texas, where he learned to make the best barbecue on the planet. Any time the opportunity to grill or smoke something arises, Welch is taking it. He’s a great cook, but nothing beats his barbecue.

The girls and I are in charge of the sides, which consist of a fancy spring mix salad that Rhys makes, Nash’s roasted zucchini and squash, and the world-famous Anders loaded mashed potatoes that have a layer of cheese baked into the top.

I help Fawn peel the potatoes while Sam and Dean help Nash cut the zucchini and squash. Rhys’ salad is super easy to throw together, so she helps her sister with the potatoes. While we work, we are constantly engaged in conversation, ranging from the best Philly Cheesesteaks in the country to which monsters we’d rather hunt, a game of ‘Fuck Marry Kill’ with celebrities, and a short argument about if Die Hard is a Christmas movie (which it totally is).

Time flies by, and soon enough, Welch and Jason bring in the meat. Lucas dashes out to the garage for the booze, and the rest of us get out the sides. Rhys quickly tosses her salad and sets it out while Fawn pulls the potatoes from the oven, the cheese a perfect golden color. Nash sprinkles a little more salt on the zucchini and squash as they too come out of the oven, and he sets the baking sheet next to the stove with the other sides.

“Alright,” Welch claps his hands together, then points at each thing as he mentions them. “We’ve got smoked ribs and chicken breasts, Fawn’s potatoes, Nash’s zucchini and squash, and Rhys’ salad. Help yourself and enjoy!!”

No one has to be told twice. We form a line and fill our plates before taking our spots at the table. The room fills with lively chatter and occasional laughter—the sounds of a happy family. I look around the table at everyone, and my heart swells seeing us all smiling and laughing for a change.

The year has been rough for everyone, Sam and Dean included. July marked a full year without my parents, and August marked 9 years without Rhett. Welch had a hard time with his PTSD after one of his and Dad’s Army buddies died in February, Jason and Nash both had some rough injuries that kept them from hunting for a few months, Rhys and Fawn fought a couple of times that left their relationship in pieces until they made up, and poor Lucas suffered through a breakup for about 6 months before him and Hailey got back together. Sam and Dean had their own share of issues, and poor Sam is still struggling with his hallucinations and nightmares that wake us both up regularly. Seeing everyone together, happy, healthy, and smiling means the world to me. None of our lives are easy, but having a family to fall back on sure helps.

After we finish eating and cleaning up the kitchen, everyone splits off to get their pajamas on, as that is a requirement for Polar Express movie night. I pull on a pair of plaid sleep pants (that I’m fairly sure were either Rhett’s or Sam’s based on their length) and a Christmas-y t-shirt before pulling Sam’s Stanford sweatshirt over the top. I slip my feet into some fuzzy socks and wait for Sam to finish getting his pajamas on. He comes out wearing similar plaid pants and an old, worn t-shirt with one of his plain black hoodies over the top.

“Well, don’t you look cute.” I say, wrapping my arms around his torso, pressing my face into his chest.

He chuckles, returning the embrace. “Same to you, babe.”

He presses a kiss to my head and rubs my back.

I let go and we make our way upstairs to the living room, where Rhys has already set out four big bowls of popcorn. Nash and Fawn are in the kitchen, filling mugs with hot chocolate and garnishing them with marshmallows. Fawn looks up and sees me, and a huge smile spreads across her face.

“Bryn!! We found some hot chocolate you can drink!!” she says, super excited.

My heart squeezes a little. “That’s so sweet of you, oh my God.”

I hurry over to the island, and she hands me my mug and the hot chocolate mix.

“I read over the label 18 times and didn’t find anything, neither did Rhys nor Welch, so it must be okay.”

I take the bottle from her and scan through the ingredients. I get to the end of the list and there isn’t a “May Contain” section, meaning it’s completely free of milk. I pull Fawn into a tight hug, wanting to cry.

When I was a teenager, I started experiencing horrible gastrointestinal symptoms after consuming things with milk or dairy products in them. I’m still unable to eat most uncooked dairy products, with the only exception being cheese. Anything with milk or dairy baked or cooked into it is fine. Due to the presence of dried/powdered milk in most hot chocolate mixes, and the extreme amount of dairy in Fawn’s hot cocoa recipe, I haven’t been able to have real hot chocolate since I was a teenager.

Tears prick my eyes as I lean back, holding her face in my hands.

“Thank you, Fawn. I love you, girlie.”

She smiles back at me. “Merry Christmas, Bee.”

Sam takes a mug of the famous cocoa, and we go sit on the couch, joining Lucas and Jason. Dean trudges in after we sit down and takes the other end of the couch me and Sam are sitting on, the empty spot on my left. He’s wearing a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, fairly plain, but that’s Dean for you. I make a mental note to buy him some fun Christmas pajamas for next year.

Welch drops onto the couch across from us, next to Jason, then Rhys, Fawn, and Nash sit on the couch to my right. We all get settled in, and Welch starts the movie. Despite having seen The Polar Express 8,000 times, I still love every minute. There’s a strong feeling of nostalgia that comes with watching it, and I’m still filled with child-like wonder when it’s on.

Christmas has officially arrived.

Chapter Text

December 25th

When I wake up this morning, everything is silent, almost eerily quiet. The warmth of Sam’s body heat envelopes me, amplified by the heavy duvet on my bed. One of Sam’s arms rests across my waist, the other under my neck, his elbow bent so his hand is on my shoulder, hugging me in his sleep. My arms lay over his, our fingers entwined. Our legs are tangled together under the covers, and you couldn’t fit a hand between our bodies. I can feel the swell of his chest every time he breathes, his exhales blowing across my shoulder and over the bare skin of my neck. A small shiver runs down my spine at the sensation. I settle back into Sam’s embrace and let the warmth pull me back into a light sleep.

A little while later—I’m not sure how long—Sam shifts in his sleep, nuzzling into my neck, his arm tightening around my waist and shoulders, pulling me back towards him.

“Merry Christmas, Bee,” he mumbles against my skin.

I smile, pressing a kiss to his forearm.

“Merry Christmas, Sammy.”

We lay there a little while longer before we finally drag ourselves out of bed. I throw Sam’s Stanford hoodie back on, trying to keep in as much warmth as possible.

Sam trudges behind me as we make our way upstairs to the living room. Nash and Lucas are sitting at the kitchen island, silently sipping coffee from their mugs. Sam and I both get coffee, then find a comfy spot on a couch in the living room.

Slowly but surely, everyone trickles in, all stopping to get coffee in the kitchen. They eventually join us, and Welch takes his place leaning up against the mantle.

On hooks, perfectly spaced out, are stockings that Welch’s mom made for all of his kids. Each one is decorated ad nauseam with sequins, rhinestones, glitter glue, and little Christmas-y shapes made of felt.

The odd one out is mine, made by my grandma and gifted to my parents the Christmas before I was born. It’s more quilt-like, a patchwork of Christmas-patterned fabrics and solid pieces in varying shades of red and green. My name is embroidered across the top, the letters filled in with gold glitter. It was something I somehow remembered to stash in my bag the day I ran away.

Lying against the fireplace on top of the hearth with my stocking are two fairly generic, red knit stockings marked with a D and an S, respectively. The small detail makes my eyes a bit misty, and a knot forms in my throat. Welch catches my eye and smiles softly at me.

Each stocking is overflowing with goodies, to the extent that I’m worried the old stitching may not hold. An abundance of presents spills out from under the tree, and I feel like a kid again, wondering how many of them are for me. A big pile in one corner stands out against the rest, all covered in mismatched wrapping paper, or stuffed in gaudy bags with superfluous amounts of tissue paper filling the tops. That pile is from me and the boys, shipped here a week ago to make sure they made it on time.

Welch gets our attention by clapping his hands together. I can’t help the giddiness that fills my body, a childlike joy overwhelming me.

“Alrighty, we’re gonna start with stockings; however, we’re gonna do things a little differently since we have guests.” Welch looks over to where the boys and I are sitting. “Normally we go in age order, youngest to oldest, but guests always go first.”

I turn my head and lock eyes with Fawn, who nods. We both simultaneously rise to our feet and join Welch at the mantle. We’ve always been the ones to pass out the gifts and stockings.

“Bryn and Fawn will pass out the stockings, and please,” Welch shoots a pointed glare directly at Jason, “don’t fucking peek.”

Fawn and I both snicker as Jason looks around, feigning innocence.

Fawn hands Welch his, then takes Lucas’ and Rhys’ to them. I take Sam’s, Dean’s, and mine over to where we sit on the couch, then return to the mantle for Nash’s, Fawn’s, and Jason’s. Once everyone has their stockings, Fawn and I return to our spots.

“Okay, Sam, you go first,” Welch instructs.

Sam sheepishly grins before he starts to pull things out. He gets a variety of candy, a travel toothbrush and toothpaste per our traditions, a couple of awesome gift cards, a travel sized can of shave gel and a razor per tradition, some goofy moose socks, a couple of funny bookmarks, more candy, and a small surprise from me.

He digs his hand in, expecting more candy, but his eyes flash with confusion as he’s met with a small box. He carefully pulls it out, with an inquisitive look in his eye. He gingerly lifts the lid, revealing the surprise inside.

“I know it’s cheesy, but I made them for you,” I say quietly, leaning against his arm.

Inside the box lies a simple black and gray striped bracelet I made, and a black beaded one with “YOU ARE ENOUGH” spelled out in letter beads.

A soft breath leaves his mouth, his eyes soft and full of what looks like awe.

“You made these… for me??” he asks, in slight disbelief, judging by the tone of his voice.

My stomach does a flip.

“Yeah, do you like them??”

He huffs out a small laugh, a smile twitching at his lips.

“Are you kidding?? I love them, Bryn.” He turns and pecks my lips. “Thank you, baby.”

My heart flutters, a warmth spreading through my limbs.

Sam takes the bracelets from the box and carefully puts them on, holding out his wrist for me to tighten the woven one. He admires them for a second before wrapping his arm around me and pulling me into his side.

“Oh, Dean, spoiler alert, I made you some too,” I say, leaning my head forward to look at the eldest Winchester.

He laughs. “Looking forward to it, sweetheart.”

Dean goes next, getting similar things to his brother, only he gets squirrel socks and a small set of poker chips. He opens his bracelets, pulling out the solid black woven bracelet and the beaded one, which reads, “YOU ARE NOT YOUR PAST.” His eyes glisten a little as he reads it over and over.

I tried to think of what the boys needed to hear most when I made their bracelets. Sam always seems to think he isn’t good enough, and Dean struggles to see beyond the mistakes he’s made in the past, no matter how small or insignificant they are in the grand scheme of things. I figured it would be nice to have a little reminder every now and then.

Next is my turn, since I’m the youngest of the crew. My stocking also has a shit ton of my favorite candies, funny bookmarks, a toothbrush, and toothpaste as always, a couple of gift cards, goofy bee socks, my favorite lotion, and some more candy to fill the toe.

Welch beams on proudly as he watches the rest of the crew tear into their stockings one by one until it’s his turn. He gets a lot of the same things as us, with some new grilling seasonings in there, Grill Master socks, a cool Army keychain with his regiment and everything on it, and a bottle of nice cologne from the guys.

Fawn and I get back up and begin to distribute the mountain of gifts, trying to keep the piles from mixing as they grow. Once they’re all sorted, Sam and Dean go first.

Sam gets some cool lore books from the crew, a nice tie from Welch, a few button-ups and cologne from me, a flannel shirt and sunglasses from Dean, and a small mystery box. He opens it and immediately bursts out laughing.

I lean over to see what it is and find a really nice pair of cufflinks. Upon further inspection, I realize the cufflinks are little Moose. A hearty chuckle comes from Dean, and I join in on the laughter.

Everyone looks at us a little weird, but there’s a mischievous glint in Welch’s eye. He winks at me as Dean digs into his presents.

Dean gets a new set of tools from the guys, a nice watch and an AC/DC ball cap from me, a pair of dress shoes and a new wallet from Sam, and he too gets a mystery box. As expected, he gets a set of squirrel cufflinks, making me and Sam laugh again. Dean just rolls his eyes, but I can tell he loves them.

My stomach flips as I realize it’s my turn. Sam gets me a cozy lounge set and a gorgeous sundress for when the weather gets warm again, then surprises me with a beautiful necklace.

“Oh my God, Sam,” I gasp, lightly touching the tiny bee pendant. “It’s beautiful.”

“I saw it at one of the stores we went to yesterday, and I couldn’t help myself. Do you like it??”

I look over at him and laugh. “I love it, Sam.”

He helps me take it out of the box and carefully fastens it around my neck. The little bee rests perfectly between my collarbones, the small gems in the wings sparkling. As a thank you, I quickly press my lips to Sam’s, trying to keep it short for Welch’s sake.

“Thank you, Sammy,” I whisper, nudging him with my shoulder.

He laughs and wraps his arm around my shoulders, rubbing my arm with his hand.

“You’re welcome.”

I move on to the next presents and get a UT wall flag and a cocktail book from Dean, a new curling iron from the girls, and a really awesome coding book from the guys.

Last in my pile is my mystery box. It’s fairly large and slightly heavy, piquing my curiosity. I borrow Dean’s knife to cut the tape and open the box. Inside are a bunch of smaller boxes that aren’t wrapped and are marked with numbers. I assume that it’s the order in which to open them, so I start with 1. Wrapped in tissue paper is a small jewelry box. I tilt my head and gently lift the lid. Inside are my dad’s bracelets and his wedding band, things I thought were lost forever when he died. I bite my lip to hold back my tears as I close it and set it back in the #1 box.

The #2 box holds his dog tags and his silver chain necklace, more things that I thought were gone.

 The #3 box is a little bigger, but noticeably light, almost as if it’s empty. I open it, and a huge lump forms in my throat.

His favorite shirt lies perfectly folded and wrinkle-free among the tissue paper. The colors of the flannel are a tad bit faded, and a couple of buttons are missing, but the thing that catches me off guard the most is the familiar scent radiating from the fabric. My dad’s signature scent of his woodsy cologne, the laundry detergent we used, grease, gunpowder, and something uniquely dad fill my nostrils, as if I was wrapped in his arms again.

I close my eyes, and a tear falls down my face. I feel Sam’s fingers on my back, rubbing back and forth slowly. I take a deep breath and set the box to the side, ready to see what the next one has in store for me.

The #4 box isn’t heavy and is relatively small. I cut it open and find another jewelry box. I carefully open the lid, and resting inside are my mom’s engagement and wedding rings, and the silver locket she always wore. I smile softly at it, grateful to have them.

The last thing in the big box is wedged down at the bottom, covered in tissue paper. I get my fingers under the edge and pull it out; the paper falls away to reveal a scrapbook. I set the empty box on the floor and rest the book in my lap. It’s thick and heavy, full of pages. I open it, and the first page has the last picture of all of us alive in the middle with calligraphy above it reading: The Ashford Family and under that Est. 1978.

I look up at Welch, my eyes full of tears and a small smile on my lips. Sam takes the book from my hands, and I dash over to where Welch stands, nearly tackling him with a hug.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice breaking as a new wave of tears falls down my face. “You have no idea how much all of this means to me.”

Welch chuckles and leans his head against mine.

“I miss them too, sweetheart.”

The festivities resume after I sit back down, and I watch everyone’s faces light up with joy as they open their gifts. I manage to keep my mind from wandering until after all the gifts are opened. Everyone flocks to the kitchen to help with breakfast, but I stay on the couch, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Sam.

My fingers idly play with my father’s dog tags, my thumb running over the embossed letters.

ASHFORD

CARTER M

4430978226

O POS

ATHEIST

I carefully slip the chain over my head and tuck the tags into my shirt, the cold metal sending a shiver through my body. I reach over and grab the scrapbook from the cushion next to me and start to flip through it.

The first two pages are dedicated to my parents individually. My dad’s page has a few family photos, some casual pictures of him and his brothers, him and Welch, and his school pictures from senior year. My mom’s page is very similar, covered with pictures of her and her family, fun pictures of her with her brother and sister, surprisingly a picture of her and John Winchester, then her with her friends, and her high school senior portraits.

The next pages are covered in pictures of Mom and Dad from when they first started dating to when they got engaged. The love and happiness in their eyes are almost contagious. I can’t help but laugh at the picture of Mom and Dad with Welch and Danelle (his late wife) on a double date to the Kansas State Fair. The girls are showing off the prizes their men won for them, dazzling smiles and genuine laughter crinkling their eyes. They’re all so young, blissfully unaware of the trauma and devastation they will later experience.

The next spread makes me laugh. On the left-hand side is a page full of Dad and his Army buddies, goofing off during boot camp in the barracks. Along the bottom of the page are the more serious pictures: a professional headshot of him in full uniform, pictures of him with his company (Welch included), pictures of him receiving medals and other honors, and finally him receiving his certificate upon discharge from the Army. On the right-hand side is a page of just Dad and Welch, both serious and goofing off, with and without their respective partners, in and out of uniform.

The rest of the pages detail my parent’s wedding and honeymoon, Mom’s pregnancy with Rhett, him growing up, Mom’s pregnancy with me, me growing up, me and Rhett, and then at least 4 pages of us and the Winchesters.

Every page turn brings joy and pain all at once: happy that I have the memories that are immortalized by these pictures, but also the gnawing ache of grief, the pain of never getting to make more memories with my family.

“Hey,” Sam’s voice says softly as he lowers himself onto the arm of the sofa. “You alright??”

I laugh softly.

“Yeah, just strolling down memory lane a little.”

I look up from the book as Sam passes me a mug of coffee and a plate of Rhys’ coffee cake. I take them from him, thanking him quietly before digging into the cinnamon sugar sinfulness that is Rhys’ coffee cake. A happy noise uncontrollably leaves my body as the soft cake breaks down, dispersing the perfectly balanced flavors of cinnamon, sugar, and nutmeg across my taste buds. In what feels like three bites, the coffee cake is gone, making me pout a little.

Sam chuckles lightly before taking my plate back to the kitchen and serving up another piece for each of us. When he returns, I take my plate and lean against him after he sits down.

“This is why you’re my favorite,” I mutter to him through a bite of coffee cake.

Sam laughs and shakes his head at me.

“Who knew all I needed was a little coffee cake and some coffee to make you happy??” He playfully nudges my shoulder with his hip.

..

After breakfast is cleaned up, Welch and the guys take to the kitchen to prepare the meat for dinner, while us girls sit at the island, cutting fruit and vegetables for the sides.

Rhys gets her mac and cheese started in the crock-pot before coming over to help me cut fruit for my grandma’s fruit salad. Fawn’s face scrunches in concentration as she cuts sweet potatoes for her soufflé. Sam also helps by peeling and cutting carrots for Fawn. Once the fruit salad is mixed up, I put some Saran Wrap over the top of the bowl and chuck it in the fridge, pulling out the pack of bacon before I close the door. I toss it onto the counter next to the stove, then pull the green beans, cream of mushroom soup and crunchy onions out of the cabinet.

Fawn comes around me with the pot of sweet potatoes and puts them on the stove to start cooking while I grab a skillet for my bacon.

I put the skillet on the stove and let it warm up a bit before laying in the bacon strips. I pan-fry 8 strips of bacon, letting them rest on a paper towel to cool and absorb the excess grease. The grease in the pan goes in a jar to use later when I mix the casserole. I only need 4-5 strips, leaving the leftovers for topping Rhys’ mac and cheese.

The girls and I dance around each other in the kitchen with ease, having cooked together for so many years. After an hour of prep, all our dishes are in the oven, and we can finally relax until dinner.

Sam and I are sitting on the couch, my legs across his lap, talking about everything and nothing, when Welch walks over and rests a hand on my shoulder. I look up at him, and there’s a look in his eyes that I haven’t seen since my parents died, making my heart take a swan dive.

“Can I talk to you for a minute??” he asks, squeezing my shoulder lightly.

“Uh, sure.” I look at Sam, then back at Welch. “Can Sam come too??”

Welch shrugs. “Don’t see why not.”

I look back at Sam, and he nods very slightly. I swing my legs off his lap and get up, taking his hand as I follow Welch. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me as Welch leads us to his office. My heart pounds in my chest as we enter Welch’s office, and he closes the doors. Sam and I each sit in one of the chairs, and Welch walks around the desk, stopping to dig through a drawer.

“Your dad and I had a conversation a couple of years after you ran away,” he sets a manila envelope on the desktop, then shuts the drawer and sits down, “about what to do if they died. He told me about this envelope and where to find it, as he had hidden it from Abby. After Rhett died, they had a lawyer write up a will for them, which Abby agreed to, but Carter later had the will updated without her. He knew how your mother could be and figured it was best to leave her in the dark. Anyway, I wasn’t emotionally ready to go back to Carter and Abby’s place until recently, so I made sure to grab this and a few other things while I was there.”

He reaches into the drawer again and pulls out another little package. He sets it down on the desk, next to the large envelope, then folds his hands.

“Are you okay to do this??” he asks.

I freeze for a second, trying to sort through my thoughts so I can speak.

Sam takes my hand and gently squeezes it, obviously able to tell I’m struggling a bit.

With a deep breath, I give Welch a curt nod.

He cautiously hands me the envelope. I carefully break the seal to find a paper inside. I pull it out and immediately recognize Dad’s handwriting. My eyes scan the page in immense disbelief. I have to read it a second time to fully grasp exactly what it’s saying.

To our loving daughter, Bryn Ashford,

I hope you never have to see this letter, but in this life, tomorrow is never guaranteed.

In the event that your mother and I die on a hunt, we would like you to be the main beneficiary. You are already our legal power of attorney in case that too is needed.

In the event of our untimely death, Welch Anders will see to the following:

Kameron Ashford will receive 25% of our life insurance payout, any remaining property of Rhett Ashford, and Carter’s 2004 Ford Explorer XLT

Bryn Ashford will receive the remaining 75% of our life insurance payout, our house at 2284 Arkansas Street, Lawrence, Kansas 66046, Carter’s 1969 Ford Mustang GT, Abigail’s 2010 Toyota 4Runner Trail, all of our personal belongings, and all the weapons in our arsenals.

Attached is the legal documentation of our last will and testament if there are any issues.

Signed, Carter Matthew Ashford and Abigail Louise Ashford (née Daniels)

I flip the paper over and read through the legal documents, just in case I missed anything. I feel something else in the envelope and turn it over. A keychain falls into my lap, and I stare at it. On the keyring are three silver Schlage keys and a keychain. The keychain is the one my dad always kept our spare key on, buried in the flowerbed under the frog. It’s a long plate with warding engraved into it, a protection spell. I fiddle with it for a second, realizing what’s happening.

Welch slides the smaller package over to me, with the same hesitant look in his eyes.

I carefully pick it up and open it, revealing the keys to my dad’s Mustang, and my mom’s 4Runner, still on their normal key rings, as if taken from their pockets. Tears spring to my eyes as I stare at the keys in my lap.

Sam reaches over and takes the packet of papers from my lap, trying to figure out what has me so worked up. His eyes widen as he reaches the end of the letter.

“Kam has already gotten the last of Rhett’s stuff that she wanted and Carter’s Explorer from the house. Everything else is yours.” Welch gets up from his chair and comes over to stand in front of me before kneeling down. “I know it’s all still really fresh and painful, but say the word and I can take you over there, or you can have the girls take you.”

I nod, a few tears falling as I close my eyes.

I went from only having my truck and what I could fit in three duffle bags and a backpack to having two trucks, a classic muscle car, and a house full of stuff that I may or may not keep.

Holy shit.

—

Welch absolutely outdoes himself, like he does every year, with the spread for dinner. The kitchen island is covered in food, and I can tell that Dean is losing his mind.

This year, he smoked a huge prime rib and an entire turkey, which is insane to me. The rest of us helped make the innumerable side dishes, which include Fawn’s famous brown sugar glazed carrots, her sweet potato soufflé, Rhys’ Mac n cheese, my fruit salad and green bean casserole, and Nash’s balsamic glazed Brussels sprouts.

My mouth waters at the smell of Welch’s turkey, and I catch myself almost drooling.

Sam leans down and gets close to my ear.

“Okay, where the hell do I start??” he whispers. “What should I make sure I try??”

I turn towards him a little.

“Get both meats, obviously. Um, definitely try Fawn’s carrots, and the sweet potatoes are a must. Honestly, everything is good. I usually just get a little of everything and go back for seconds on the mac and cheese.”

He nods at me and smiles.

Welch clears his throat and claps his hands together.

“Okay, y’all know that I’m old-fashioned and that I have to pray for our holiday meals. There’s no pressure here to close your eyes or anything, just let me pray over my family,” Welch says, looking at each one of us with a small smile.

I bow my head slightly and stare at the floor, as most of the others do. None of us are particularly religious, though Welch and Jason do occasionally go to church. After the things I’ve been through and seen my friends and family go through, it’s hard to believe in any sort of higher power that gives any shits about us.

Sam wraps his arms around my waist and rests his chin on my shoulder. I know Sam still prays on occasion, but Dean is probably as far as you can get from being religious, especially after going through the literal Apocalypse.

“Dear Heavenly Father, we stand here today, grateful for the family we’ve made, the happiness we’ve found, and the love we share. Thank you for allowing us the privilege of sharing this wonderful holiday with each other. Thank you for helping Bryn and the boys get here safely, for the bond they share, and for the happiness they bring to our home. Thank you for this amazing food we are about to engorge ourselves with, and for creating the person that invented elastic waistbands so we can over-eat in comfort.” I can’t help but snicker, and I can hear Nash laugh under his breath. “Thank you, Lord, for blessing me with the best family I could ask for, and for the privilege of getting to watch each of them grow and mature and become incredible human beings. I love each and every one of them and can’t tell them enough how much they mean to me. We pray for a safe holiday and a safe new year ahead. Help us protect those that need it, save the ones we can, and help us grieve and move forward from the ones we can’t. We pray all of this in your holy name, amen.”

We all mutter some form of an amen before fighting over the plates and who gets to go first. Sam lets go of me and takes the plate I hand him, and we fall in line behind Rhys, who stands back as the boys nearly get into a fistfight over who goes first. Welch has to step in and break it up a little, sending Nash and Lucas to the back of the line for starting the brawl. Jason goes first, then Dean, then Welch, then Rhys, me, Sam, Fawn, and then Nash and Lucas.

Once everyone has gotten food, we break off into small conversations and laugh over bad jokes, fun memories and stupid things that happened when we were young.

“I swear to God; Nash was the brightest shade of red,” Lucas muses.

“Well, yeah, jackass, you got me a stack of porn magazines!!” Nash argues, throwing an almond sliver at him.

Lucas dodges it and laughs. “Dude, you were 16!! What else does a fucking 16-year-old want for Christmas??”

I crack up laughing, unable to catch my breath.

“What about the year Fawn nearly got us killed in a vamp's nest??” Jason adds, cracking a smile.

Fawn gasps, glaring at Jason.

“Hey!! That was not my fault!!”

“It totally was!! If that guy—what was his name… Grayson!! If he hadn’t texted you in the middle of us sneaking in, everything would have been fine.”

Fawn's face turns red.

“Yeah!! That one vamp kicked my ass. Welch had to give me 18 stitches in the gash she left,” Rhys adds.

I swallow my food and let out a laugh.

“Oh my God, I’ve never seen Welch so mad,” I add through my laughter.

We continue telling stories and laughing about happy memories long after the food is gone. Fawn and I retreat to the kitchen to put away the leftovers, and to get a little break from the noise.

“I’m glad you could come for Christmas,” Fawn says, spooning her carrots into a Tupperware container.

I smile softly at her as I tear off some foil to cover the casserole dishes.

“Me too.”

Chapter Text

December 31st

“Bryn!! Let’s go!! Rhys is gonna leave your ass if you don’t hurry up!!” Fawn yells from the top of the stairs.

I roll my eyes and do one last check in the mirror before joining them upstairs. Much to my surprise, Sam is leaning against the back of the couch, scrolling on his phone. He looks up as I reach the top of the steps and smiles, his eyes lightly scanning my outfit and lighting up as they meet mine. I nearly melt into a puddle right there.

I manage to keep my composure long enough to walk over to him, and he pushes off the couch, his hands coming to rest on my hips.

“I thought you were gonna go with Dean and the boys??” I question, unable to hide the smile forming on my lips.

“Absolutely not. They decided to go to a sports bar and hustle some guys at pool. I’d much rather be here with you.”

My knees wobble a little as I melt again.

“You’re sweet,” I say softly, running my fingers along his jaw, the light stubble prickling against my fingertips.

“Yeah, yeah, we get it, you’re madly in love and disgustingly cute. Now c’mon, let’s get to the exciting stuff,” Rhys sasses, flipping her keys into her palm as she walks to the door.

I roll my eyes, taking one of Sam’s hands from my hips and pulling him to the car.

Rhys drives us over to my old house, a ball of dread forming in my gut as we turn onto Arkansas Street.

The familiar navy-blue siding comes into view, and I hold Sam’s hand as tight as I can without hurting him, suddenly overwhelmed with anxiety.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, just breathe,” Sam murmurs as we pull into the driveway.

I try to take deep breaths, most ending up shaky.

Rhys puts the car in park and turns it off, leaving us in silence. She and Fawn both look at me with worried eyes as I mildly hyperventilate.

Sam unbuckles my seatbelt, allowing me to slide across the backseat into his side.

“Talk to me,” Sam says quietly into my scalp. “What’s going on in that head of yours??”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, immediately feeling more relaxed as Sam’s cologne fills my nose.

“The last time I was here was almost 10 years ago. My mom was acting as if I didn’t exist and forced my dad to stay away from me. She was a manipulative bitch who nearly pushed her own daughter to suicide. If I hadn’t left and gone to Welch’s house, I can guarantee you would have been coming to my funeral within a month or two of Rhett’s.”

Sam’s muscles stiffen under me as the weight of my words sinks in. No one really knew how bad it got. Not even Welch, who only found out when my mom was dying.

My childhood was decent, thanks to my dad, who protected me from my mother at her worst. As I got older, it was harder and harder for him to keep up the façade. I always knew my mom loved Rhett more than me, and she made sure I could never forget it. She never wanted a daughter, so I was the bane of her existence. We fought a lot when I was a teenager, leading to her hitting me and kicking me out for days at a time. My dad wanted to leave her, but despite her abuse, he still loved her. When Rhett died, my dad became a shell of who he once was, making it easier for my mom to manipulate him. Mom began to resent me and started acting as if I didn’t exist anymore. She refused to look at me or even acknowledge me. My dad could see how much I was struggling with the pain of losing Rhett on top of my mother’s abuse but was trapped under her iron fist. So, on October 2nd, 2003, I packed everything I could fit in my duffel bags and backpack and booked it to Welch’s house. That was the last time I was anywhere near this house.

I hold on to Sam a little longer before I finally feel calm enough to get out of the car. Sam helps me out and holds me close as we walk up the sidewalk to the front porch. I can’t help the visions that flicker in front of my eyes of the night Sam left for Stanford, making the gnawing pit in my stomach grow as I struggle to get the key in the deadbolt. After a couple of tries, my hand stops shaking long enough for me to get the key in and turn it. With one more deep breath, I press down on the handle and swing the door open.

The familiar hall greets me as I hesitantly step inside.

To my right is my dad’s office, the glass doors revealing the immortalized contents. A lore book still lays open on the desk, newspaper articles and websites printed out and hung on the walls, his favorite mug still sitting in its normal spot on top of his filing cabinet, right where he would set it before leaving the room when he figured out a case.

I continue down the hall, the wood floors crackling and creaking under my weight. We pass through the archway, where Mom had stashed some of her family’s lore books in case we needed them, into the open living room.

Our old couch sits near the middle of the room, with the loveseat on the left side forming an L-shape. The coffee table is still littered with Mom’s magazines, the TV remotes, some random junk mail, and other piddly things.

I turn to the left into our kitchen, where everything is pristine, like Mom liked it. Her mug sits next to the coffeemaker on the counter by the stove, as if it awaits her return. The sink is empty, as is the dishwasher, so Welch must have been by here after they died to clean up a little. The breakfast nook looks like it always does, but the table is devoid of its seasonal decorations that my mom would set out. The placemats are generic, and there’s no centerpiece.

I turn back around and walk through the living room to the stairs leading to the second floor, where all our bedrooms are.

At the top of the stairs, immediately to the right, is my parents' room. The door is shut as always, so I decide to come back to it in a minute.

Around the corner to the left of the stairs is the guest room, which hasn’t changed at all, so I turn to the end of the hall.

In the far-left corner are two doors side by side. The one on the right was Rhett’s; the left was mine. The rooms are identical in size, a perfect mirror image of each other.

I open my door and take a step in, suddenly feeling like I’ve time-traveled. My room is completely untouched. Nothing has moved since the night I left, a thick layer of dust as proof.

“Wow,” Sam whispers behind me. “Is this yours??”

Tears prick my eyes as I look around.

“Yeah. This is my room,” I whisper.

The walls are still the blue-gray color that Rhett helped me pick out when I was finally “too old” for the obnoxious aqua I had at the time. The picture wall I made of my softball teams, me and my friends, me and the boys, and me and Rhett is still exactly as I left it. My old band posters still hang on the wall next to my closet, with my Nirvana flag hanging proudly next to them. My dresser is still covered with random shit, mostly books and beauty products, with a few cassette tapes and decorative trinkets mixed in. My desk also remains untouched, with some of my old textbooks piled in one of the corners. The cup that Dad and I got from one of the Royals games we went to together is sitting in its normal spot, full of random pens and pencils.

My eyes catch a picture lying face down on the desk, not in a frame or anything. I wrinkle my brow and cautiously pick it up, turning it over in my hands. Tears prick my eyes as I take in the candid shot of me and Sam at his graduation. The sunlight creates a golden glow around us. Both Sam and I have genuine smiles, as if caught in the middle of laughing. His nose and forehead are against mine, and his eyes are locked on mine, with a couple of strands of hair falling in his face. My hand is against his jaw, my thumb on his cheek, and his hands rest on my waist. It’s a gorgeous picture of us. I tuck it into my pocket and wipe away the stray tears that have fallen.

I watch as Sam wanders around a little, finally seeing my room for the first time all these years later. I’ve known Sam for 21 years, and he’s never seen my room until now. We always played outside or in the guest room, and when we got older, Mom had strict rules about having someone of the opposite sex upstairs.

His eyes glisten as he looks at all my trophies from softball tournaments, and the millions of trinkets and things around my room. A small smile lingers on his lips as he moves around the space.

I step back out into the hall, where I stare at Rhett’s door. No matter how long I stare at it, I can’t bring myself to open it. One major step at a time.

Instead, I go across the hall to my parent’s room. Their bed sits against the far wall between the two windows overlooking the backyard, still unmade, making me laugh for a minute. Dad never made the bed, and it drove Mom nuts.

Everything else looks untouched, including the sleeping pills on Mom’s side table and the meds my dad took for PTSD on his.

I walk through the bathroom—which somehow still smells like Dad’s soap—into the closet. Mom’s side is organized by season, type of item, then color, while dad’s is a bit of a free for all. At the end of the closet is a door to the laundry room, which I don’t really care about, so I head back into the main hall.

I stand in the middle of the hall for a minute, just letting the comforting feelings of home wash over me. It’s been a while since I was last happy in this house, but the memories are easy to find in the recesses of my mind.

Sam follows closely behind me as I walk down the stairs. We get to the living room where I sit down on the couch, immediately overwhelmed with comfort and nostalgia. Sam sits down next to me and rests his hand on my thigh, reminiscent of the night he left for Stanford, which was the last time he sat on this couch.

“You okay?? I know this is a lot for you,” Sam murmurs.

I nod. “Despite all the awful shit in the last few years I lived here, there are still lots of good memories. It still feels like home.”

Sam heads back out to the car to grab some boxes, where Fawn and Rhys are waiting, eager to help. They all come in and pass me a box or two as well before we head upstairs.

I decide to start with my parent’s closet, simply sorting through everything to see what’s worth keeping. My mom and I were of a similar build, so we wore the same size, leaving me with a treasure trove of clothes. I keep most of her jeans and a few shirts, donating the ones that don’t really fit my style. My mom wore lots of blouses, so I keep a couple for my Fed outfits, but the rest go in the donate bag. I keep a couple of pairs of her nice slacks as well. Most of her shoes are in decent shape, so I save a couple of pairs of heels and a pair of combat boots that are nice.

When we move to Dad’s side, I keep almost every flannel shirt, as those are the most sentimental for me. Dad was much shorter than both Sam and Dean, and a touch smaller build-wise, so there isn’t much else for them to keep. I box up most of his shoes, since I know him and Welch are the same size and he may want some of the ones that are still in decent shape. A couple of pairs, however, I keep: my dad’s favorite hunting boots and the Ariat cowboy boots he got when he visited Welch in Texas a few years after they finished basic training. All of his pants and jeans get donated, along with his dress shirts and a couple of jackets he rarely wore. I keep a couple of his thick Carhartts, a couple of zip-ups, and his Army hoodie, pulling off my jacket so I can slip the oversized garment on over my long-sleeved t-shirt.

We then move to their dressers, going through their t-shirts. I keep most of Dad’s, donating the ones I don’t want. I keep only a few of Mom’s since she mostly wore plain t-shirts; a few graphic ones slipped in here and there. I decide to donate all of their socks and trash their underwear drawers, before moving on to my own things.

In my room, the closet is sparse, thanks to my packing most of my clothes before leaving. The few things left are things I never really wore in the first place, so I’m okay with donating them. My drawers are slightly fuller, holding all of my band tees and other random shirts I own. I donate the ones that are too small or that aren’t my style anymore and keep the rest. My sock drawer also goes in the donate pile, but I keep what little is left in my underwear drawer aside from a couple of bras that the wires poke out of.

After going through my room, I’m exhausted and ready to go home, physically, and emotionally drained. Despite that, I decide to make one last stop in the garage.

Nothing prepares me for the wave of emotion as my eyes find Dad’s winter blue 1969 Mustang GT convertible. Memories flash before my eyes of the joyrides we’d go on, the top down, wind whipping through our hair, blasting classic rock as loud as we could, screaming along to every word. My vision blurs as tears well up, the nostalgia overwhelming me. My dad was my best friend, as was Rhett. We were the three stooges, the three musketeers, whatever other famous trios you can think of. It was with them that I was the happiest. And now I’m the only one left.

I open the driver-side door and climb in, settling into the worn leather seat. My fingers wrap around the thin steering wheel, and the dam breaks. A strangled sob echoes off of the walls of the garage, my voice sounding far off and foreign. I never knew that I could miss them this much. I never knew that the pain of loss could stick with you for so long. My heart breaks in my chest as the memories play like a movie. Rhett and Dad had near identical laughs, but I can hear the distinct laugh of each of them, almost as if they were sitting here with me.

I lean forward and rest my forehead against the wheel, crumbling under the weight of my grief.

Oh, what I wouldn’t give to have them here with me again.

—

The ride back to Welch’s house is quiet, a somber mood falling over everyone. Sam holds me against his side in the backseat, comforting me the only way he knows how.

A cold numbness has consumed my body, leaving me staring off into space, trying to transport myself back to happier times. I hardly realize when we get back to Welch’s, and I operate on autopilot, absentmindedly following Sam back inside. Instead of staying in the kitchen with everyone and helping with dinner, I retreat to my room, needing to be alone to process everything. I kick off my boots at the foot of my bed and crawl under the covers. The warmth quickly builds under the duvet, seeping into my cold bones and easing some of the numbness. The deep ache in my chest recedes slightly, allowing me to feel like I can breathe again.

After lying in silence for a while, I hear the third step creak, alerting me to someone’s presence.

“Bee??” Welch’s voice calls.

I move my hand up out of the covers slightly and wiggle my fingers at him. I hear a soft chuckle from the doorway and pull my hand back into the cocoon I’ve made.

“Sam told me about your visit to the house,” he says, and my heart sinks. “I know you miss them, and I know it hurts, but you can’t do this again. You can’t shut us out again.”

I don’t say anything, not trusting my voice. A silent tear falls down my face.

Welch sighs. “I’m gonna get Sam. Seems like you need him right now.”

I hear Welch take one more breath, then his footsteps retreat, and the third stair creaks a second time as he goes back up. I let out a breath that I didn’t realize I was holding and sink back into the mattress.

A few minutes later, I hear Sam’s heavy footfalls on the stairs, then the third step creaks. His footsteps grow closer until he’s at the foot of my bed. I hear the thud of his boots hitting the floor, then rustling as he takes off his jacket and lays it on my dresser. There’s more rustling as he pulls back the covers and slips under them, our eyes meeting in the dim light from the hallway. He wordlessly pulls me into his chest, and my composure shatters. His chest muffles my sobs as he holds me tight, one hand on my head, the other rubbing slow circles over my back. His cheek rests against the top of my head, and he occasionally presses a kiss to my hair. He doesn’t say anything; he just holds me as I fall apart.

I cry myself dry, my eyes now swollen, and my voice hoarse. I slow my breathing, trying to match it with Sam’s as I pull myself together. It takes a while for me to finally calm down, but when I do, I’m hit with a brick wall of exhaustion. My limbs all feel like lead as I lean my head back a little so I can look at Sam.

His head pops up as I move, and he looks down at me with his irresistible puppy eyes. One of his hands lightly brushes some of the wetness from my cheek.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

Sam’s lips quirk into a small smile for a split second.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Bee.”

He ducks down and presses a light kiss to my forehead, my eyes closing as he does. I lay there in his arms, completely despondent. Neither of us says anything, and I slip into a light sleep, comforted by the weight of Sam’s arms pressing me to him.

..

After an uneventful dinner, we all retire to the living room, ready to watch the New Year's festivities. Sam and I sit with Rhys and Fawn on the big couch like normal, with Sam pulling me close. I lay my legs across his lap and curl up into his side, still not feeling 100% yet. He kisses the top of my head and rests a hand on my leg, a silent reminder of his support.

Midnight rapidly approaches, and the excitement builds. I’m ready for a new year, ready to start fresh. Around 11:55, I swing my legs off Sam’s lap and help Rhys grab the champagne and glasses. She carefully pops the cork over the sink in case it bubbles over. We pour a couple of glasses for ourselves before rejoining everyone. I pass out the glasses, and Rhys comes behind me to fill them.

Once everyone has champagne, there’s still about 2 minutes to go. I sit back down next to Sam and take a sip of champagne.

“Any wishes for the new year??” I quietly ask Sam.

He ponders for a moment.

“I just want us all to stay happy and healthy. As long as I have you and Dean, everything will be alright,” he says, smiling softly at me.

“Awww, aren’t you sweet,” I tease him. He rolls his eyes. “I agree. As long as my family is healthy and happy, I’m good.”

We watch as the clock counts down from a minute. We all stand, and Sam wraps an arm around me. My heart starts to pound in my chest with excitement.

10

9

8

7

6

5

4

3

2

1

January 1st, 2013

Sam pulls me to him and kisses me, his hand resting in the small of my back. We share a few soft kisses before separating.

“Happy New Year,” he whispers quietly between us.

“Happy New Year,” I say, pulling back a little more and holding my glass out to him. “Cheers.”

He lightly taps his glass against mine, and we both take a decently sized drink, as I try to fight the urge to gulp it all down. I set my glass down on the coffee table and turn back to Sam.

“I’m exhausted; I’m going to bed,” I say, yawning right on cue.

Sam chuckles.

“I’m sure you are. It’s been a long day,” he says.

We tell everyone good night and then retreat downstairs to my room. I change into some pajamas and climb into bed, ready for some real sleep after the long day we had.

Sam climbs in next to me after he’s finished changing, and I quickly curl up into his side. He laughs a little, then pulls me close and intertwines our legs.

“Thank you,” I say softly, lightly caressing his jawline.

His eyes look back and forth between mine. “Any time. I’ll always be here when you need me.”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and I have to break eye contact before I lose it again. Sam sees my tears and gently holds my chin, lifting it so I have to look at him. He ducks his head slightly and kisses me, soft and sweet. I brush my nose against his as we separate slightly, saying a million words with a minuscule gesture. I move my head down beneath his chin and nuzzle into his chest before quickly falling asleep.

Chapter Text

How to Win Friends and Influence Monsters S07E09

January 3rd

I watch intently as Dean works on the fuse box, trying to get us some power. I may know my way around a computer, but when it comes to electrical work or cars, I barely know anything. I used to work on cars with Welch, but nothing I was taught stuck.

The stairs creak behind us as Sam comes down them.

“Did you strip enough wire??” he asks.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yes, I stripped enough wire.”

“All right.”

Sam walks up next to Dean and attaches cables to the stripped ends of the wires.

There are a couple of loud crackles, and then the lights come on.

“See?? Told you,” Dean sasses.

We all walk back up the stairs to the living room and set up our stuff at the dining table. Bobby walks in a couple of seconds after I sit down in one of the chairs.

“Well, isn't this cozy??” Bobby says, setting down his bag.

Sam takes off his gloves and throws them down on the table, sitting in the chair next to me. “Yeah. Well, Motel 6 just ain't leaving the light on anymore.”

“Well, I'm taking a page out of Frank Devereaux's Bible on this.” Bobby stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Everybody's out to get you—paranoia is just plain common sense.”

Dean tugs off his gloves and looks between Sam and Bobby.

“Weeks, guys. Weeks. We've been living with cold showers, cold Hot Pockets, cold fucking everything. I mean, this is rock-fucking-bottom that we're living in. You guys get that, right??”

“How many big mouths are out there, running card traces, like Chet, or hunting us down God knows what ways??” Bobby stares at Dean. “No, now's not the time to be laying our bedrolls out on the grid. Not if we can help it.”

There are a couple more loud crackles, and the lights fizzle out. The light of the fire in the fireplace flickers against Dean’s face as he rolls his eyes and sighs.

“That’s just great,” Dean grumbles.

Sam reaches out and flips on the Coleman lantern, casting a harsh blue glow over everything in the room.

 “This is fucking stupid. Our quality of life is shit.” Dean picks up the green cooler and sets it down next to the couch under the window. He unrolls his sleeping bag as he continues to talk. “We got Purgatory's least wanted everywhere, and we're on our third ‘The World's Screwed’ issue in, what, three years? We've steered the bus away from the cliff twice already.” He flops down onto the couch.

“Someone's got to do it,” Sam counters.

“What if the bus wants to go over the cliff??”

I look at him like he’s nuts. “You think the world wants to end??”

“I think that if we didn't take its belt and all its pens away each year that, yeah, the whole enchilada woulda offed itself already.”

Bobby turns towards Dean.

“Stop trying to wrestle with the big picture, son. You're gonna hurt your head.”

I snicker. Dean rolls his eyes again and flips up the lid of the cooler, the ice crackling as he reaches his hand in and pulls out a beer. He lies down while Bobby joins me and Sam at the table.

“So, what's the guff??”

“Well, uh, there’ve been a rash of sightings all over the southern pine barrens,” Sam opens the folder in front of him, “a strange, fast-moving, human-like creature. Locals even have a name for it.”

He passes a local news article to Bobby.

“The Jersey Devil?? I thought that was just local tall-tale shit.”

“The area's history of sightings goes back more than two centuries. Some accounts gave it bat wings, others horns, a... a tail,” Sam says, handing Bobby another printout. “Oh, yeah, and a horse’s head.”

“Of course, the sketch looks more like a Chewbacca head,” Dean snarks from the couch.

“Sounds kind of mixed up,” Bobby grumbles.

“Yeah, kind of like it should be fighting a Japanese robot,” Dean says, then takes a swig from his beer can.

“Well, mixed up or not, it sounds like it might just have a body count.” He pulls a newspaper clipping out of the folder and lays it down on the table in front of Bobby.

"Camping High Season Harshed by Human Burrito??” Bobby reads from the clipping.

“Yeah. Something hung a camper up in a tree, then ate him alive right through his sleeping bag. His wife hasn't been seen either,” Sam says. My eyes scan over the two gentlemen in front of me before landing on Dean, who rubs his eyes. “Plus, there have been four other missing persons reported in the last three weeks. State troopers—get this—are saying it's a rogue bear,” Sam finishes, sarcasm oozing from his voice.

I scoff. “Yeah, of course, when was the last time you saw a bear string up its own piñata??”

“Something's out there in the woods.” Bobby sits back in his chair. His eyes light up a little. “Hey, we're going honest-to-goodness wilderness hunting. I haven't used my .30-30 in a while.”

I smile at the small display of excitement from the usually stoic man.

“Okay, Davy Crockett,” I roll my eyes at Dean. “Well, safari's gonna have to wait till tomorrow and after our suit-and-tie dance. We'll make sure this is not just some backwoods crackhead who likes to roll glampers.” He takes another swig of beer.

Bobby looks at Dean, eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

“The fuck's a glamper??”

“Sam?? Bryn??” Dean says with his eyes closed.

I look at Sam, and he nods, grinning.

“High-end camper. TV, A.C., Wi-Fi. Back to nature, zero inconvenience,” I say.

“That's idiotic.”

“Yeah,” Sam chuckles. “Some people just don't know how to live.”

We sit in silence for a second, only being broken by a yawn from me.

“Well, gentlemen,” I rise from my chair, “I think I’m gonna call it a night.”

I walk over to Dean and pat him on the head before heading over to the formal dining area where Sam set our stuff.

Before we left Montana, I had Dean stop at a sporting goods store so I could buy a sleeping pad. My body doesn’t take well to sleeping on the floor, so I had to get something to lie on. Sam had me buy him one too since he’s not a fan of the floor either. He did rock, paper, scissors with Dean for the couch, and somehow Dean won, which is rare.

I change into leggings and Sam’s Stanford sweatshirt, trying to make sure I stay warm. My sleeping bag should keep me warm enough, but there’s nothing worse than trying to sleep while freezing.

I brush my teeth and take my meds before returning to my sleeping bag. Sam, who is crouched down and digging through his duffel bag, looks up as I walk in, smiling a little as he sees his sweatshirt on me.

“Am I ever gonna get that back??” he teases.

“Nope, it’s my favorite,” I say, sitting down on my pad.

Sam chuckles and shakes his head.

“You wanna share a sleeping bag?? There’s plenty of room for the both of us,” he offers.

I nod sheepishly, a small smirk on my face. Sam smiles back at me before he leaves to brush his teeth. I unzip the zipper on my side and crawl in, the pad underneath making this tremendously more comfortable. I zip up my side and lie on my back, staring at the water-stained ceiling. I hate squatting in old houses, but I agree with Bobby; it’s better if we don’t risk it.

Sam returns from the bathroom and changes into a long-sleeved t-shirt and sweatpants, his normal cold-weather pajamas. He slides in next to me and zips up his side of the sleeping bag. He turns to me and smiles.

“C’mere,” he says, opening his arms under the covers.

I immediately move to my normal spot, head on his shoulder by the crook of his neck, legs tangled, my forehead against his cheek. His arm wraps around my back, and he sighs happily.

“G’night, Bee.”

“Night, Sammy.”

—

January 4th

I adjust my coat as we sit down with the Ranger, crossing my legs under the table. The boys sit in the booth, while I’m in a chair pulled up to the end of the table. The Ranger is happily eating a sandwich that, in my opinion, looks disgusting.

“So, Ranger Evans—”

“Oh, uh, you can call me Rick. Ranger Rick,” he interrupts with a smile.

“Uh, you were the one who found Mitchell Rayburn, correct??” Dean asks.

“The human burrito.”

“State police have it down as a bear attack,” I say.

The Ranger laughs. “Yeah, I read what the state police says. That was no rogue brown.”

“Apparently, some others reported seeing something a little, you know, weirder,” Dean says, raising his eyebrows.

“You know, I've been a ranger for 12 years. Tell you the truth; we have no idea what's out there.” He pauses. “Big. Lot of trees and whatnot. Tell you this, though. You got to respect Mother Nature. You respect her, or she's gonna string you up, and she'll eat your ass right through the Gore-Tex.” He holds up his sandwich, then takes another bite.

“So, you're thinking it's Mother Nature??” I ask.

“See, me and Phil, we've been finding, uh, something's leftovers for weeks—deer remains, badgers, missing pets.”

“Who's Phil??” Sam asks.

“Assistant Chief Ranger.” His eyes widen a little, and he looks around. “Come to think of it, I haven't seen Phil in a couple of days. He's supposed to call from whatever station he's checking off.”

I struggle to keep a straight face, fighting back a look of shock. How in the hell does someone act so calm when one of their coworkers, let alone their partner, is missing??

“You think maybe your assistant chief ranger might be missing??” Sam asks, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.

“I should probably report that,” he says nonchalantly.

The bell on the door rings behind me, and the boys look in that direction, Sam doing a double take before sliding out of the booth. Bobby must have shown up.

“Oh, excuse us. Well, you, uh...” Dean pulls out his business cards and sets one on the table. “Enjoy your lunch... Ranger Rick.”

I let Dean slide out of the booth before I rise to my feet and tuck my chair back under the table I took it from. I follow the boys over to the door to meet Bobby.

“So??” Dean asks, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Well, I took a look at the cadaver—what's left of it. Not a happy camper.” Sam and I both laugh a little. “Don't have any stats on a Jersey Devil, but the bite radius on the vic's wounds—it's too small for a Leviathan. And he's still got a ventricle and some change, so I doubt we're talking werewolf. And a wendigo don't leave no scraps.”

Dean nods. “Hmm. Lunch??”

Bobby sighs in relief, closing his eyes briefly. “Starving.”

Dean snags a server as he walks by.

“Hey!! Uh, Brandon. We grab a booth??” he asks, pointing towards the dining area.

“Hey, uh, douchewad,” he points at Dean, “a hostess will seat you. Do I look like a freaking hostess??”

Dean looks taken aback. I’m eager to hear his comeback.

“Do you wanna look like a hostess??” Dean stumbles through.

I facepalm, chuckling to myself. Sam hits my arm but has a shit-eating grin on his face when I look up.

The server clenches his jaw and walks away.

Sam reaches out and taps Dean’s arm, stifling a laugh. “That didn't really make sense, what you... said.”

“What was that??” Dean mutters.

“I sure hope we don't get Brandon's section,” Bobby says.

..

Brandon sets a plate down heavily in front of Sam. “Sidewinder soup and salad combo goes to Big Bird,” Sam does a double take as Brandon drops the next plate in front of Dean, “TDK slammer to Ken Doll,” he sets another plate in front of Bobby, “a little heart-smart for creepy uncle,” and the last plate goes to me, “and the Sidewinder soup and sandwich combo for Ginger Spice.”

I roll my eyes. How original!! I don’t think I’ve ever heard that one before (heavy sarcasm).

“What is your problem??” Dean asks, raising his voice slightly.

“You are my problem!!” he yells, then snatches up the tray he brought the food on and storms off.

“Oh, Brandon's got his flare all up in a bunch,” Bobby grumbles.

“Yeah. There goes his 18%,” Sam snarks with a grin, unrolling his silverware.

“How is it that the only ‘insult’,” I use air quotes, “people can come up with for redheads is fucking ‘Ginger Spice’??” I ask rhetorically before angrily picking up my club sandwich.

“Anyway, Chief Ranger—I don't think he believes in the Jersey Devil.”

Sam stabs at his salad but sets his fork down. “Oh, oh, by the way, did he seem a little, uh, stoned to you??”

“Ranger Rick?? Yeah. Definitely growing his own on the back 40 and smoking all the profits,” Dean says, picking up his sandwich. He takes a massive bite and makes a happy noise.

“He did seem to think that there was something—” Sam starts.

“Oh, that is a good sandwich,” Dean interrupts, mouth full of sandwich.

“What the hell did you get??” Bobby asks, using his chopsticks to take a mouthful of his salad.

“Whatever it is looks fucking disgusting,” I mutter, taking a bite of my sandwich.

Dean turns the little card stand around so Bobby can see the ad.

“New Pepper-jack Turducken Slammer—limited time only.”

Bobby looks mildly disgusted, as do I. “Bunch of birds shoved up inside each other. Shouldn't play God like that.”

“Hey, don't look at me sideways from that—that Chinese chicken geezer salad there, okay??” Bobby glares at him. “This is awesome. Like the perfect storm of your top three edible birds.”

Dean takes another huge mouthful of his sandwich, making Sam and me laugh a little.

“All right, anyways, um...” Sam clears his throat. “The Ranger did seem to think there was something out in Wharton Forest.”

Dean looks at his sandwich and shakes his head, as if in disbelief at how delicious it is.

“Well, then I'd say it's safari time,” Bobby says.

“Look at her!! You're telling me she's not fat??” Brandon’s voice rings out across the restaurant, making us all turn and look.

“Hey!!”

“Up yours, Mike.” Brandon throws his apron down on top of the pony wall. “Shove it right up yours!!” He yells, then storms out.

“Well, anyway, back to bigger and better things,” Dean says, looking at his sandwich and then taking another massive bite.

—

The sound of our steps crunching the leaves underfoot joins the other ambient noises of the forest as we make our way through. Bobby is just in front of me, a backpack hanging on his shoulders, a hunting rifle in hand. Dean is next to Bobby, carrying his rifle against his shoulder, also wearing a backpack. Sam walks next to me, his rifle slung over one of his shoulders. All I have is my backpack and an old shotgun I remembered to grab from my arsenal before we left. We move as a pack, all on edge a little as we trek through the massive expanse of trees.

Bobby stops for a moment and crouches down, examining a tuft of hair that is lodged in the brambles of a bush.

“Couple of bucks. Head-butting over turf, probably. Pretty sure the other fella won.”

I laugh to myself a little. “I guess I forgot. Before you were a hunter, you were actually a... hunter.”

He nods curtly. “Yeah, well, we shot our dinner when I was a kid.”

“You used to take us hunting. Remember??” Dean says, looking over at Bobby. “Dad had a case; he'd just dump us on you if the Ashfords weren’t available. Shit, you must have taught us most of the outdoor tracking we know.”

Bobby scoffs a little.

“Yeah, what I could get to stick.” The boys and I chuckle. “I never could get you little grubs to pull a trigger on a single deer.”

“You’re talking about Bambi, man,” Dean sasses.

“You don't shoot Bambi, jackass. You shoot Bambi's mother,” Bobby snarks back, making me laugh.

We approach a tree, and it looks like something is dangling from the branches. As we get closer, a bloody arm becomes visible.

“Well, looks like we found Phil.”

After calling it in and waiting about an hour, the Ranger’s truck pulls up, lights illuminating the area and casting a warm glow over the now dark landscape. The Ranger exits his truck and walks towards us.

“Special agents. Listen, I got your call. But I'm not sure I got what you were saying,” the Ranger says. Dean holds up a finger, then silently turns and points the flashlight on his rifle at the bloody arm above us. “Hey. I think we found Phil.”

Dean grins a little. “That's what I said.”

“Uh, I should probably call this in,” he says, surprisingly calm.

Dean nods and makes a face.

“Yeah, yeah. Solid move, Rick,” Sam says, looking at the man with mild confusion.

Ranger Rick turns back and starts walking back to his truck. As he talks on the radio, my ears catch the sound of movement nearby, and instantly my head is on a swivel. I see Bobby and Sam both notice the sound too, then Sam aims his rifle into the bushes.

The sound of breathing joins the soft crunch of leaves.

“Something’s here. I can hear it breathing and moving.” My grip tightens on my shotgun, finger moving to the trigger.

“Ranger, I think we've got company,” Bobby says cautiously.

“Yeah?? Who's that??” the Ranger says.

The words no more than leave his mouth before something grabs his legs and drags him off into the woods.

“Ranger!!” I yell out.

The men all arm themselves with the rifles they’ve been carrying, and we take off running, aiming into the dark.

“Ranger Evans!! Ranger!!” Sam calls out.

We scan the area, listening for any signs of where they went. Bobby’s eyes widen, and he looks up towards the canopy.

“It's got him up in the trees. Lights off.”

We all aim up into the canopy as Bobby turns off the light on his scope.

“What??” Dean asks, lowering his rifle.

“Wait, Bobby, you think that's really a good idea??” Sam asks.

Bobby rolls his eyes, looking down the end of his rifle into the trees.

“Shut up, shut off, and listen.”

Sam hesitantly lowers his rifle and flips off his light.

I keep my aim up at the canopy and listen harder. I hear the squelching sound of the creature, whatever it is, as it picks apart Rick.

“Damn thing’s eating Rick,” Bobby grumbles.

“Man, I liked Rick,” Dean says solemnly.

We all look at Dean for a moment before returning our attention to the creature in the trees eating the Ranger.

I watch as Bobby closes his eyes, moving his gun slightly as he homes in on the sound. After a couple of seconds, he fires up into the tree. A terrifyingly human creature falls from the canopy down to the ground, landing with a hard thud. I stare at the man in front of me in pure disbelief.

“Wow,” Dean says, eyes wide as he lowers his weapon. “Nice shot, Bobby.”

“Seriously,” Sam mutters.

Bobby just shrugs. “We all got our gifts.”

We all stand there silently for a moment, mentally processing what just fell from the branches.

“What about the rest of Ranger Rick??” Dean asks.

“Ranger called in his 10-20. His own will find him. We got shit to do.”

..

Sam and Dean hoist the creature onto the table, dropping it down with a thud.

“Built like a supermodel, but the thing was strong. That's for damn sure. Carried a full-grown man up a tree in nothing flat,” Bobby says, standing back with his arms crossed.

“But it only took one bullet to bring it down,” I say.

“And not even a silver bullet, just a bullet-bullet,” Dean adds.

In a split second, the creature is upright and on its feet on the table. We all draw our handguns and fill the thing with rounds. It collapses back onto the table with a thud, and we all stare at each other with wide eyes. My heart pounds in my chest, whooshing in my ears as the adrenaline rush makes its way through my system. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, and Sam does as well. We tuck our sidearms away and stare at the creature.

“First one must have just stunned it,” Bobby says, his eyes still wide.

“All right, well, let's check its hulk pants for some ID,” Dean says, stepping forward. I hold my breath as he approaches the creature and digs a wallet out of his pocket. He holds up the wallet that’s soaked in blood, cringing as it flops open. “Oh, that is just gonna ruin the leather.”

Sam rolls his eyes and snatches the wallet from his hands. Bobby looks at him with concern, as do I.

“Are you feeling okay??” he asks Dean.

Dean shrugs. “Yeah, I feel great.”

Sam pulls a card out of the wallet, which appears to be a driver's license.

“Gerald Browder, uh, lived here in town, 5'9", brown hair and blue eyes...” he reads, then pauses. “235 pounds.”

“Whoa,” we all say, looking at the creature.

It’s scrawny. No way it’s more than 85 pounds.

“Well, apparently, he's lost a little pudge,” Bobby says.

“Maybe it's a-a lap-band side effect,” Dean jokes.

He chuckles and looks at us to see if we’re laughing. The three of us stare at him. He gestures with his hands across the top of his abdomen before his hands fall dejectedly to his side.

Bobby picks up a stick and slowly inserts it into one of the bullet holes. He wiggles it around a little and then pulls it out, with a glob of gray goo hanging on the end. My face uncontrollably contorts in disgust.

“What the hell??” Bobby says, also making a nasty face. “I think we better have a look under Gerald's hood.”

I stand next to Sam as he and Bobby crack open Gerald’s chest, handing them things as they ask for them. They dig around a bit, examining the contents.

“God!! Its organs are swimming in the stuff,” Bobby says.

Sam cringes and keeps looking.

I see movement out of the corner of my eye and look over to find Dean walking in, pouring some whiskey into a glass.

“You guys getting hungry??” he asks. Sam, Bobby, and I all look at him. “I'm hungry.”

Sam makes another face and turns back to the body cavity.

“What's that??” he asks, pointing to the massive organ taking up almost half of his abdomen.

“His stomach.” Bobby pinches part of it with his forceps. “For a guy on a diet, Gerry here packed it in pretty good.”

Bobby pulls apart the tissue and opens his stomach. He and Sam examine the contents.

“That's human right there,” Sam says, pointing at something I can’t see from where I’m standing.

“That's fresh Rick. Let's see. Plus...” He pulls out a familiarly shaped object. “A pinecone??” He tosses it into the basin, making Sam jump a little. He digs around a little more and pulls something else out. “Pack of gum in the wrapper.”

They move things around, and Sam moves his head to see better.

“That's—that's older. Maybe like a—maybe Ranger Phil or the camper??”

God, I’m so glad I can’t see what they’re looking at.

“What's that??” Bobby asks, picking up something and pulling it out of the stomach.

Sam squints and gets a little closer. “Looks like a—yeah, that's a—that's a cat's head.”

My face contorts in disgust again as Bobby drops it into the basin.

“A glamper or two is one thing, but you got to be damn hungry to eat a cat's head.”

Sam makes a face as well and hums in response. I see Dean casually take a sip of his whiskey, completely unbothered.

“Well, look-it here. I'm no Dr. Oz, but...” Bobby grabs hold of something and pulls it up out of Gerald’s body. It’s huge, lumpy, and black, a putrid odor filling the air as it’s removed. Sam hovers the back of his hand over his nose, grimacing. “I think that's his adrenal glands.”

Sam brings his hand down a little and then back up. “Okay. And??”

“Meant to be the size of hotel bar soap...” Bobby says, turning the object over and cringing. “And bright orange.”

Bobby tosses the deformed organ into the basin, and both men take a deep breath as the smell moves away from them.

“All right, that might help explain the strength. Um, but whatever this thing is, it's not the Jersey Devil, but it sure as hell ain't Gerald Browder anymore,” I say, still grimacing at the creature on the table.

Dean pushes himself up from leaning against the mantle.

“Okay, guys, seriously.” We all turn to look at him like he’s nuts. “It time for dinner??”

Sam glances over at Bobby, then sarcastically nods at his brother. Dean seems satisfied, turns, and leaves the room. The three of us share a look before the men take off their gloves and chuck the dirty instruments on the table.

—

We sit inside the packed Biggerson’s down the street from the house we’re squatting in. Dean gets the nasty-looking sandwich again, while Sam, Bobby, and I just get coffee, none of us particularly hungry after the autopsy we just did. Sam types on his laptop and clicks on a website. Gerald Browder’s missing person report pops up.

“Gerald Browder, 35, self-employed. Air-conditioning repairman.” He clicks on another tab, and it opens the website for Browder’s business. “Missing person number three. Disappeared eight days ago.”

“Well, that explains all the people who got eaten in the last eight days,” Bobby grumbles.

“Yeah. Question is, what happened to him??” I ask, leaning over to look at Sam’s screen better.

I notice Dean is making a lot of noise eating his sandwich, and the sound makes my muscles clench in annoyance. Sam looks at me, then over at Bobby, and nods towards Dean. Bobby looks just as confused as we do.

Dean looks up at him, cheeks chock-full of sandwich. “I'm not that worried about it.” He says through his mouthful of food.

“Excuse me??” Bobby asks, brows knit together in worry.

Dean chuckles.

“That's funny, right?? I could give two shakes of a rat's ass.” His smile falters for a moment, and he stops chewing for a second. Sam glances at me. “Is that right? Do rats shake their ass, or is it something else??” He pauses again, bringing his sandwich back up to mouth level, then shrugs. “Eh.”

Sam looks around the restaurant, and I follow his horrified gaze. As I turn my head to look at the other side of the restaurant, I realize nearly everyone in this restaurant is eating that damn sandwich. I turn back to Sam in horror, and something flashes across his eyes.

He turns back to Dean and pulls the sandwich from his hands. “Give me that.”

“Whoa, whoa!! Why??!!” Dean protests, getting mad.

Sam inspects the sandwich visually, and Bobby stares at it from across the table.

“There's some funky chicken in the TDK Slammer, ain't there??”

Sam agrees, bringing the sandwich up to his face and sniffing it, immediately recoiling in disgust.

..

We get back to the house, and Bobby tosses the sandwich down on a plate, still wrapped in the swan-shaped foil.

“This is stupid. My sandwich didn't do anything,” Dean grumps, leaning against the sink, almost acting drunk. “I don't know what you think you're gonna find.”

Sam starts to unwrap the sandwich.

“There's something wrong with you, Dean,” I argue.

Dean scoffs, looking between me, Sam, and Bobby.

“Are you kidding?? I'm fine!!” he protests. Sam and I exchange a look. “I—pfft—I actually feel great.” He hops up onto the counter. “The best I've felt in a couple months. Cas?? Black goo?? I don't even care anymore. And you know what's even better?? I don't care that I don't care.” He makes a stupid expression and wiggles his head around in a ‘so hah’ kind of way. “I just want my damn slammer back.”

“Dude, you are completely stoned, just like Ranger Rick was,” Sam says, crossing his arms

“Just like the dinner rush back at Biggerson's. And everybody's loving the Turducken,” Bobby grumbles.

Dean looks down at the sandwich, drawing all of our attention as it makes a squelching noise and ejects a puddle of gray goop. Just when I think this hunt couldn’t get more disgusting.

“I think you pissed off my sandwich,” Dean mumbles, brow wrinkled.

The sandwich makes more noise as another wave of goo oozes out.

“That—” Dean slides down off the counter. “That's in me??”

“O-only half of it,” Sam tries to reassure.

“Does that shit look familiar??” Bobby asks, eyes still locked on the nasty sandwich.

“Okay, so whatever turned Gerry Browder into a pumpkin head...”

“And is currently turning Dean into an idiot—” I add.

“I'm right here. Right here,” Dean protests.

“Is in the Turducken Slammer at Biggerson's,” Bobby finishes.

“Yeah.”

“It's in the meat.” Bobby looks up at Sam with something in his eyes. I think it’s a realization, but I can’t tell.

“If I wasn't so chilled out right now, I would puke,” Dean says with a stupid grin on his face.

Sam purses his lips and nods back at his idiot brother.

Dean wanders off to do God knows what, leaving us to talk about him and come up with a plan.

“Okay, so what do we do now??” I ask, looking between the two men as I pick up the plate with the sandwich on it and toss the entire thing into the trash.

Sam pulls out one of the chairs and sits down, running a hand through his hair.

“You said it’s in the meat, right??” Sam asks Bobby, who nods. “Maybe we can catch a delivery truck or something to figure out where they’re getting the meat from??”

“When I worked at a restaurant as a teenager, we always got our supplies delivered at night after closing time,” I add, hands on my hips.

Sam turns and looks at me. “You worked at a restaurant??”

I glare back at him. “Not the point, Sam.”

He snickers and looks down at the tabletop before shaking his head and looking back up at Bobby.

“Okay, well, Biggerson’s closes at, what, 10??” Bobby asks, looking at his watch. “By the time we get back over there, they should be locking up for the night.”

“But wait, Biggerson’s is a nationwide chain, right??” I ask, and Sam slides over his laptop. “Normally, big chain restaurants have distribution centers that receive shipments of supplies before they’re sent out to all the franchises in that area.”

Sam types away on his computer, and I lean against the back of his chair so I can look over his shoulder.

“You’re right, look,” he says, pointing to the map result that pops up, providing the address of the nearest Biggerson’s distribution center.

It just so happens to be less than 30 minutes from our current location.

—

January 5th

Bobby pulls us into a wooded area back beyond the fence of the distribution center with a perfect view of the receiving docks. He puts the van in park and cuts the engine. I unbuckle my seatbelt and move forward so I can see better.

“How's he doing??” Sam asks me.

I turn and look at the snoring man slumped against the back of Bobby’s seat.

“He's sleeping it off. Tryptophan coma,” I say, smirking at just how asleep he is.

Sam scoffs. “So, you think he's okay??”

“Yeah, he's all right,” Bobby responds, looking up into the rearview mirror.

“Good. So you don't worry about him??”

“What do you mean??” Bobby almost whispers. “Before the Turducken??” He raises his voice back to normal volume, looking at Sam questioningly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I kind of mean more like, uh...” Sam takes a deep breath. “More like ever since my head broke... and we lost Cas. I mean, you ever feel like he's—he's going through the same motions, but he's not the same Dean, you know??”

“How could he be??”

“Right, yeah, but what if—”

Bobby looks over at Sam and interrupts him, brow wrinkled.

“What if what, Sam??” He pauses and takes a breath. “You know, you worry about him. All he does is worry about you. Who's left to live their own life here?? The two of you—aren't you full up just playing Snuffleupagus with the Devil all the live long??”

Sam huffs. “I don't know, Bobby. Seeing Lucifer's fine with me.”

Bobby and I both look at him as if he’s completely lost it.

“Come again??” “What??” Bobby and I say at the same time.

Sam looks between us.

“Look, I'm not saying it's fun. I mean, to be honest with you, I-I kind of see it as the best-case scenario. I mean..." He huffs again, looking down and rubbing the scar on his palm as he brings his hands up to his chest. “At least all my crazy's under one umbrella, you know?? I kind of know what I'm dealing with. A lot of people got it worse.”

Bobby stares at Sam. I rest a hand on Sam’s arm, and he looks down at me with a tiny smile.

“You always were one deep little son of a bitch,” Bobby grumbles.

Sam laughs and looks out the windshield, doing a double take.

“Wait, wait, wait. Here we go.”

We watch through the trees as a white box truck backs in. The driver gets out, loads up a dolly with containers, and then heads inside. He’s in there for a few minutes before heading back out with an empty dolly. He gets back in the truck and drives off.

We all squint to read the truck as it drives off. Sam notes the name, and then Bobby cranks the van.

“Well, I guess we follow him.”

..

I lean over Sam’s shoulder, squinting to try and see what’s happening. He’s got the binoculars, though, so I can’t see shit. Dean leans around Bobby’s seat, sipping on his coffee.

“That's weird, right??” Sam says, bringing the binoculars down to his lap. “I mean, national franchise like Biggerson's getting meat from a place that looks like it wholesales Hong Kong knockoffs??”

Sam brings the binoculars back up to his eyes.

“Okay. Yeah. It's a little weird,” Dean says, then takes another sip of coffee.

“All right, well, I guess we wait till they close up shop and go take a look around??” Sam asks.

Bobby does a double take, and I follow his gaze. A car has pulled up next to the truck at the warehouse.

“Hang on.”

“No,” Sam says quietly, straightening up in his seat. “Edgar.”

My stomach drops.

“Leviathans,” I spit out, the word leaving a sour taste in my mouth.

Edgar goes to the back of the car and opens the trunk, pulling out someone with a hood over their head. He and the truck driver take the man by his arms and guide him inside.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean grumbles.

“What the hell is going on??” Bobby asks.

“Nothing good, per usual,” I mutter under my breath. “What’s the plan??”

Sam drops the binoculars onto his lap. “Is it possible there’s another entrance??”

Bobby shrugs. “I mean, yeah, it’s always possible. Wanna do some recon??”

Sam smirks and hangs his head.

“Set myself up for that one, didn’t I??”

Dean, Bobby, and I all say, “Yep,” at the same time.

“I can go with if you want,” I offer, leaning over a bit more so I can see him better.

Sam smiles. “Sure, I could use a partner.”

We climb out after getting instructions from Bobby to circle the building. I follow just slightly behind Sam as we stick to the fence line, trying to stay out of view of any cameras they may have. We stay quiet for the most part; Sam occasionally warns me of a root that’s sticking up or some other hazard in the path. We get about a quarter of the way around before we say anything meaningful.

“This kinda sucks,” I joke, looking down to step over a root.

Sam chuckles quietly.

“Yeah, we drew the short straw, didn’t we??” he jokes back.

I laugh and take his hand. We lace our fingers together, and Sam pauses for a moment. I stop too and look up at him.

“What?? Did you see something??” I ask, glancing over my shoulder towards the warehouse.

He laughs.

“No, I just…” he pauses and sighs. He reaches out and tucks my hair back behind my ear. “Seeing Edgar made all the memories resurface from the night that Bobby’s house burned down.”

I shift my weight a little. He was knocked out for most of that, so what does he remember??

“Yeah??” I ask. “Anything in particular??”

He smiles and huffs out a laugh. “I remember the car dropping, Edgar hitting me on the head, then there’s a gap, but I remember feeling someone’s hands on my face. Someone brushing my hair from my face. Then I remember opening my eyes a little in the ambulance and Lucifer taunting me. Then nothing else until I was in the hospital, and someone was holding my hand.” He pauses, and his eyes soften. “Was… was that you??”

I bite my lip and avoid his eyes as I nod.

“The minute my neck was cleared, and they gave me meds that got me somewhat back to normal, I broke out of my room to come find you. I had to make sure you were okay. I felt like we had finally been given a second chance; I wasn’t gonna sit back and lose that chance.” I look down at my feet. “It was the moment I realized that I still had feelings for you.”

Sam’s hand comes into view, and his fingers slip under my chin, bringing my head up to meet his gaze. His eyes are warm, even in the chill of the night. I can’t help but look down at his lips before returning my eyes to his.

“I’m glad you were there,” he whispers.

I smile softly.

Sam ducks his head down and brings his lips to mine. I wrap my arms around his shoulders as our lips move together, each of us able to predict the other person’s next move and respond accordingly. Sam’s left hand wraps around my waist and pulls me to him, pressing our bodies together. I savor the feeling of Sam’s lips on mine, missing these kinds of kisses more than anything. I move my hands to the back of his neck, tangling them in his hair. I smile against his lips as he slows down, kissing me with nothing but love. After a couple more soft, slow kisses, he pulls back a touch, keeping our foreheads together, lightly bumping my nose with his own. We stand there for a second, Sam’s breath fanning over my skin as he catches his breath a little.

“God, Sam, you make me feel like a teenager again,” I joke, twisting his hair around my finger.

He laughs lightly.

“That so??” Sam asks, a flirty smile creeping onto his face. I hum in response. “In what way??”

“I mean, we’re making out in the woods, for one.” I smile back. “But also, how I can’t stop thinking about you, how you make my heart flutter pretty much daily. Y’know, all the cheesy things.”

His hand runs up and down my back.

“Do I make your knees weak??” he whispers, making my whole body tingle.

I press another kiss to his lips.

“Wouldn’t you like to know??” I whisper against them.

I see Sam’s eyes flicker in a way I haven’t seen in a long time. I smirk and kiss him again. I can feel how tense his muscles are, almost as if he’s holding something back. I pull back slightly and caress his face.

“Hey, are you okay?” I ask softly.

Sam laughs a little.

“Yes, I’m great.” He rubs his thumb across my ribs. “You just drive me crazy.”

I tilt my head and brush a stray strand of hair back, my eyes looking back and forth between his.

“What do you mean??” I ask, feigning innocence.

Sam playfully glares at me. In a split second, he turns me around, and my back hits the trunk of a tree, forcing the air from my lungs. The dim light catches Sam’s eyes, and warmth pools in the bottom of my stomach as lust lies heavy in his gaze.

“You know exactly what I mean,” he whispers, his eyes scanning my face for any sign of discomfort or anxiety.

Neither of us are innocent. Dean gave me all the gritty details of Sam’s “relations” with Ruby. I’ve had plenty of sexual relationships since high school. It also wouldn’t be the first time Sam and I have had sex either since he’s who I lost my virginity to in high school.

“The feeling is mutual, Winchester.” I smirk, brushing my fingers over his lips as I speak.

Sam takes a deep breath and presses his forehead against mine.

“As much as I would love to, I don’t want our first time together as adults to be a quickie in the woods.” He laughs.

I laugh too, the reality of our surroundings finally dawning on me.

“Yeah, no, you’re right,” I manage to say between fits of laughter.

I brush back Sam’s hair and give him one last kiss.

“Guess we should get back to recon, huh??” he says, running a hand over my hair.

“Probably a good idea.”

He gently helps me down from where he pinned me to the tree and holds my hand as we continue the walk around the warehouse.

“So, are you ever gonna tell me about when you worked in a restaurant??” Sam says, breaking the silence we settled into.

I roll my eyes.

“It’s not that big of a deal, Sam,” I say, a small smirk on my face. “It was my first job, and it honestly sucked ass.”

He squeezes my hand. “What kind of restaurant was it??”

“Italian. They served all kinds of stuff, including pizza, and I worked up at the front. I took phone orders, to-go orders, payment for the to-go orders and got all of them ready for pickup or delivery. It was stressful sometimes, and my bosses were horrible to their employees. After a few months, I was the only one still there who was working when they had the grand opening.” I shake my head and laugh a little. “I worked almost every day and hated every minute. Every day of the entire month I last worked there, I cried in the parking lot before my shift. It was honestly Hell on Earth.”

Sam looks down at me. “I’m so sorry, Bryn.”

“It’s okay, I was 16 and I quit shortly before you left for Stanford. I hadn’t worked there a full year, but my manager was verbally abusive, and I had to get out. I had a couple of other random jobs here and there, but never anything for more than a year.” I rub my thumb across the back of Sam’s hand. “I’ve always wondered what I would have done had I been born into a normal family.”

Sam chuckles. “I’d be a stuffy lawyer in a firm, hating every second of my day.”

I think for a minute about all the things I wanted to escape to as a teen. For me, being the kid of two hunters meant I wasn’t really given the choice to do anything else, kind of like Sam and Dean. When Rhett went off to college, then Sam, it honestly gave me hope maybe I could do something other than hunt for the rest of my life, but I never explored those other options.

“I don’t know what I’d be doing. I’d like to think that I’d be a doctor or something medical, but I’m sure it would have been something horrifically boring, like accounting.”

Sam laughs.

“Dean and I have both been in a few alternate realities, and they’re never as fun as you’d think they’d be.”

I nod and return my gaze to my feet.

We pass the halfway mark, and the sun is now up above the horizon. We stop and look at the back, trying to see if there’s another entrance.

Sam’s phone rings, making both of us jump. He pulls it from his pocket.

“It’s Bobby.” He hits the accept button and answers. “Hey.”

“How’s it going??”

“There's nothing happening back here at all.”

“Yeah, okay, Sam. Well, they're pretty dug in, so why don't you finish circling and head on back??”

“Right.”

Bobby hangs up.

Sam stuffs his phone back in his pocket and sighs.

I squeeze his hand, and we start walking back to the van. As we walk, I look up towards the main road and see a couple of black cars in the distance. I put a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“Wait, look.” I point off into the trees. “What is that??”

Sam ducks his head and tilts it a little before he can finally see it too, his eyes widening.

“Nothing good.” He looks at me, then starts jogging. “C’mon.”

We arrive back at the van, and Sam opens the door for me to climb in the back. I jump in, with Sam following closely behind.

“Hey, something's up,” I say as Sam closes the door behind him.

As the words leave my lips, I spot the two black vehicles approaching the warehouse. I lean forward over Bobby’s shoulder to see better. Bobby brings the binoculars up to his eyes to get a better look.

The two vehicles we saw pull up in front of the warehouse, and Edgar steps out of the building, the doctor following closely behind. A man gets out of the backseat, smiling and adjusting his sport coat.

“Well, I'll be a squirrel in a skirt,” Bobby mutters to himself. “It's Dick fuckin’ Roman.”

“What??” Dean asks.

“Who the hell is Dick fucking Roman??” I ask at the same time.

Sam and Bobby switch places so we can all see Sam’s laptop as he pulls up a recent interview with Dick.

“Billionaire Dick Roman, seen here at a recent press conference, has been on the corporate-takeover warpath in the last several months and shows no signs of relenting,” a reporter says over a video of Dick at a press conference.

The headline below the video says, “The Rise of Dick,” and I can’t help but giggle a little.

“I believe in good old American values, like unlimited growth. But it's like I always say—if you want to win, then you got to be the shark. And a shark's got to eat.” The video cuts to a different part of the conference. “Well, that's a great question. Yes, we have made new acquisitions. I don't believe in hostile takeovers. I believe in merging... and coming out on top.”

“Whether at the helm of his America's Cup-winning yacht or one of his Fortune 500 companies, Roman has never shied away from the spotlight.” The view switches to a picture of Dick receiving an award from Vice President Biden, then shaking hands with Prince Harry, then a still of him talking at yet another conference while the reporter speaks. It flashes to a proof of the cover of his book. “Roman's record-breaking series of motivational seminars, ‘When in Rome,’ have outsold every other money-making program on the market. A vocal member of the NRA,” the picture shows him holding a rifle over his head, then changes to him standing with some gentlemen, one of whom is in military regalia and saluting, while Dick and the gentleman to his left have their hands over their hearts. “And a steadfast supporter of the Second Amendment, Roman has started attracting some conservative political attention as well.” The last picture shows him with George W. Bush.

They show a gentleman at the desk.

“Roman is ruthless but good-looking. I think he'll make a great candidate.”

They show Dick again, this time in a more one-on-one interview.

“Another great question. No, I am not running for political office at this time. But I do have a number one bestseller,” he finishes with an award-winning smile while holding up a copy of his book.

We all sit back and dwell in the silence, trying to organize our thoughts.

“Holy shit. What the fuck is that??” Dean says, shaking his head in disbelief.

“That's one of the top 50 most powerful men in America, Dean.”

“Says here, top 35 as of last month. Now it's all making sense.” Dean closes the laptop. “Remember when Crowley kept going on about hating Dick?? I thought he was just being general.”

“Well, if the Leviathan got to him, then that means they're playing on a much bigger board than we were thinking.”

I furrow my brow and partly throw up my hands. “So what, then?? I mean, we can't exactly out-gun them.”

“No, but we got the drop on them. Means we got a chance to figure out what these guys are really doing here,” Bobby says, then grabs some pieces of equipment from the floorboard and starts putting them together.

“Whoa. Where'd you get that mother??” Dean asks, seeing the equipment in Bobby’s hands.

“It's on loan from Frank's Big Brother collection. It'll pick up vocal vibrations from window glass at half a mile.” He sighs and snaps another piece on. “It's time to find out what these ugly bastards are up to.”

—

“Our side's still dead, Bobby. Anything with you??” Dean asks him over the phone.

“Yeah, same here. I got—hold on. Yeah, I got movement—my side, second floor, meeting room.”

Sam adjusts his view with the binoculars to try and see what Bobby’s seeing.

“What's happening now??” I ask.

“Wait.” There’s a long pause as we wait for Bobby to say something. “Now I have officially seen it all.”

“Bobby, what is it??” Sam asks, moving closer to the phone.

“He's making the doctor eat himself.”

“What??” Dean asks.

“He's—” Bobby is cut off as the line goes dead.

“Bobby??” Dean says.

“Bobby??!!” I say with more urgency.

“We gotta get to the roof,” Sam says, being the first to rush out of the van.

We run over to where Bobby was camped out and get up to the roof. Dean is the first out of the stairwell, and he stops in his tracks. I come up next to him, then Sam is next to me.

“They got him,” Dean says as we all see his broken surveillance equipment.

“Frank’s gonna be pissed,” I mutter.

“Dean, there are at least four Leviathans out there. We don't even know how to kill one,” Sam says.

Dean looks up, and I follow his gaze to an ACME Cleaning van that has just pulled into the parking lot.

“Well, it'll be quite a shock when we walk in through the front door, won't it??” Dean says with an evil smirk.

My stomach sinks.

“Dean…” I hesitate. “What are you going to do??”

He turns to face me. “We are going to go in, borax guns a-blazin’.”

My heart races a little as I realize what he means.

“Oh my God, no. Dean, bad idea.” I shake a hand at my side to release some of the nervous energy.

Sam grabs my shoulder. “Bryn, they have Bobby. We have to do something. This is the best option.”

I take a deep breath, looking between the two men, still shaking my hand. Sam nods, and I hang my head for a second before looking back up at them. “I have a bad feeling about this, but if you two think it’s gonna work, fine.”

Dean pats my shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get going before they leave again.”

..

Sam, Dean, and I hide behind a shelf of boxes, waiting for the right moment. There are two bodyguards at the end of the adjacent aisle, waiting for something or someone.

I grip my sprayer as tight as I can without triggering it.

The boys exchange a knowing look, and Dean nods at me. I grip the handle with all my might, heart thrumming against my ribs.

“It’s okay, I’ll be right behind you,” Sam whispers into my ear.

I glance back at him and nod.

Dean gives the signal, and we run around the end of the shelf, spraying the four men with the borax-based cleaner. They scream as the liquid singes their skin. We keep spraying them until they drop to their knees in pain.

Dick is the next one to come around the corner, just as we’re all running low on borax. Dean manages to run off somewhere as Sam and I get backed into a corner. Sam runs out and tosses his sprayer to the side. I do the same, and we watch as Dick wipes the liquid off his face with a handkerchief, the skin underneath almost immediately healing.

“Sam... Bryn... That is not how we communicate from a place of yes. That was bracing. Where'd you kids find this stuff??” he sneers.

Bobby comes out of one of the aisles and shoots Dick in the back twice, making him turn to face him.

“Hey!! That's mine.”

Dean comes from the side and throws the rest of what’s in his sprayer onto Dick, whose skin sizzles as he cries out in pain.

“Go!! Go!!” Dean yells.

Sam and I take off behind Dean, running as fast as we can towards the door. We don’t stop until we get to the van. Dean jumps into the driver’s seat, Sam into the passenger seat, and I into the back, leaving the side door open as we speed through the parking lot to the door we exited from.

“Damn it, where's Bobby??” Sam grumbles, looking around.

Just as he says that, the door flies open and Bobby jogs out, looking back over his shoulder.

“Bobby!! Come on!! Come on!! Come on!!” Sam yells as he runs.

He climbs in the back next to me, and I see Dick come out of the door, gun drawn. I hurry him to shut the door, but not before Dick fires a couple of shots.

“Go!! Go!!”

I watch as his hat comes off, and he flops down onto the floor. My heart sinks in shock as I notice the bullet hole and blood on his forehead. I can’t speak, and my throat tightens up. My vision blurs with tears, and the urge to scream rises in my chest.

“Son of a bitch!! I'm glad you got in. He almost took your fucking head off,” Dean says.

“Hey, Bobby, your hat,” Sam says, holding up Bobby’s cap, waiting for him to grab it.

Silent sobs wrack my body as I stare at Bobby, who doesn’t move. Sam glances back and catches my eye before doing a double take, spotting the hole in Bobby’s hat.

He and Dean both turn around and look in the backseat, terror in their own eyes.

“Bobby?? Oh, God. Bobby?? Bobby??” Sam says, voice growing increasingly worried.

“Bobby??!!”

Chapter Text

Death’s Door S07E10

Sam and I do our best to sit Bobby up, Sam pressing a cloth to his temple to try and stop the bleeding. I’m still in a fog, my brain refusing to process what’s happening in order to protect itself.

“Sam, is he dead??” Dean yells from the front seat. Sam’s fingers feel on Bobby’s neck, his hands shaking as they move. “Is he dead??!!”

“Just drive, Dean!!”

“You gotta talk to me, Sam!!”

“All right, he’s breathing. There’s a pulse.”

Dean dials something on his phone and holds it to his ear, still driving like a maniac.

“Keep him upright. Stop the bleeding,” Dean says to Sam.

“I’m not an idiot, Dean!! I know first aid for a fucking bullet to the head!!” Sam yells.

The world begins to move in slow motion, and my hearing goes muffled as the gravity of the situation sets in. Bobby is most likely going to die. It’s incredibly hard to survive a gunshot wound to the head, and even if he does, he may be only a shell of who he once was, if he’s even cognitive at all.

I hold my head in my hands and run my hands through my hair, stressed but still numb to it all. It feels like a horrible dream, and if only it were.

In record time, we’ve pulled up in the ambulance bay of the hospital where a team of people waits with a stretcher. As soon as we stop, Sam throws open the side door, and Dean runs around the front to help him unload Bobby. I stay in the van, trying to stay out of everyone’s way. Next thing I know, Sam has gathered me up in his arms and set me down on my feet, keeping me wrapped in his arms.

“Bryn??” he says, voice still muffled. He grabs my jaw and forces me to look at him, knocking me out of my stupor. “Bryn?? C’mon, sweetheart, they’re taking him to a room.”

I stare blankly into his eyes, and I know he can tell I’m not okay, because I can tell that he’s not okay. He rubs my arm and leaves an arm around my waist as we walk together inside. We follow closely behind Dean, who is right at the foot of the stretcher.

They move Bobby into a room relatively quickly and begin to work on him.

“Gunshot wound to the right frontal area, no exit wound found. Breathing spontaneously. Respiratory rate 18 and shallow. RST at 120. BP 90 over 60, GCS 5,” the nurse rattles off to the doctor.

“Push 80 grams of mannitol over 30. Prep for intubation,” the doctor replies.

“Air entry clear to bases.”

“Let's get a central line in here now.”

Sam lets go of me for a moment.

“What's happening?? Please just tell us—”

“Get them out of here,” the doctor says.

The nurse herds us back a few steps.

“Sorry. You need to stay out of their way.”

“That's our uncle,” Dean protests.

“You got to stay back.”

“What are they doing??” Sam asks, breathing heavily.

“We need to get him stable.”

“Okay, when are you gonna take the bullet out??” Dean demands.

The nurse pauses in frustration. “If we can get the swelling down, if it's in a place we can get to, if—”

Sam finishes her sentence. “If he even lives that long.”

She gives a curt nod before pulling the curtain closed and disappearing behind it.

Sam turns to me and brushes my hair back from my face. “I know you’re pretty good with medical stuff; did you understand a word they said??”

I nod a little, still staring blankly at the closed curtain. Between being a lifelong regular at hospitals and my interest in the medical field, I’m probably the one with the most medical knowledge of the three of us. I always told Rhys that I probably would have gone to school to be a nurse or a doctor had I been born in a different world.

“He’s breathing on his own at a normal rate; heart rate is steady but fast at 120bpm. His blood pressure is right on the edge of being low,” I pause and swallow hard, “and he is basically unresponsive. The lowest GCS you can have is 3, which is completely unresponsive, and he’s at a 5.”

I see Dean bring his arms up and put them on his head, which is never a good thing. Tears well up in my eyes, and my throat tightens, everything feeling all too familiar. Sam wraps his arms around me, and I bury my face in his chest. He rests his chin on top of my head, and I can hear him sniffling.

“Push 30 more of mannitol over 10. CBC and 'lytes. Bolus him with 500 of saline.”

“The vitals were stable two minutes ago.”

“Well, he's crashing now.”

I hold Sam tighter, wishing I could bury myself deeper in his chest so I couldn’t hear what’s happening. Sam leads me over to a chair and leans against the wall next to me as I sit and stare off into space. He offers me his hand, and I take it, holding on for dear life.

After a few minutes, the doctor throws open the curtain and walks up to Dean.

“He's, uh, stable for the moment. Just have to see,” he says.

He and Dean nod at each other before the doctor walks away. Dean stares at Bobby for a moment before slowly turning back towards me and Sam. The look on his face is heartbreaking, and I can see all the gears in his head turning as he realizes just how bad things are. Sam is still breathing kind of hard, almost hyperventilating, and I can feel the anxiety radiating from him. I just drop my gaze to my lap, hoping that we’ll all wake up from this nightmare soon enough.

—

“So, there's nothing else we can do??” Sam asks the doctor.

The doctor makes a grim face. “I'm sorry. We just have to wait. We'll see if the swelling goes down.”

Sam crosses his arms and shifts his weight.

“How long??” Dean asks.

“It's hard to say in cases like this.”

“Well, he's lasted this long. That's something, right??” Dean asks, raising his voice. I lightly touch his arm, silently reminding him to watch his tone, and he looks down at me briefly before looking back at the doctor.

“Well, yes. Listen—the bullet didn't shatter. Only one hemisphere of his brain was injured. These are all positive things. But... I don't want to give you false hope here. He's far from out of the woods. Most of the time, cases like this...”

“They die,” I fill in.

“Right now, it comes down to him. I'll keep you updated.” The doctor turns and leaves.

I can see the pain in the boys’ eyes, making my heart break that much more. My chest aches, and I return to my chair by Bobby’s room.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a man approach Sam and Dean carrying a clipboard, and my heart sinks. He’s coming to ask about organ donation. He looks remarkably similar to the man who spoke to me after my parents died, the one that I lied to with Mom and who I screamed at and cussed out with hot tears streaming down my face after he asked about Dad. I have to look away as he pulls Dean aside.

—

July 2011

The last thing I’d expect to hear when I pick up my ringing phone is exactly what I hear when I answer.

“Welch, hey, what’s up??” I say, holding my phone with my shoulder as I fold my t-shirts.

Welch sniffs. “There was an accident, Bryn. Your parents are in rough shape. The doctor is saying they have maybe another 24 hours, but they’re dying.”

My heart drops into my stomach. My hands let go of the shirt I’m holding. My ears begin to ring, and my body goes numb, every inch tingling.

“What happened??” I ask.

“Bryn, there’s not enough time. I already bought you a ticket; I just need you to pack and go to the Kansas City airport. Your flight leaves in about an hour. Once you’re here, I’ll explain everything, I promise.”

I agree, and Welch hangs up. There’s no way this is actually happening. My parents are some of the most careful hunters, and yet somehow, they’re injured to the point of dying?? It makes no sense.

I numbly pack my duffel with a week's worth of clothes before tossing in my toiletry bag and booking it out of the house.

Jason and Lucas went with Welch to Colorado; Fawn and Rhys are at the mall, and Nash had to run out and get some parts for his Camaro, so I’m completely alone. No one is here to stop me and ask where I’m going or what happened, and for that, I’m grateful.

I jump in my truck and back out of the driveway. I make my way to the main road and turn onto it, accelerating to a near-dangerous speed. My heart hammers in my chest as Welch’s words sink in.

They’re dying…

I hop on the interstate and only increase my speed, cutting the drive time by 15 minutes. I quickly find a parking spot in the garage and climb out. I make sure everything is locked and then head to the terminal. I check in, get through security, and find my gate, where boarding has just started.

The two-hour flight is uneventful, except for the constant anxiety squeezing my chest. My heart hasn’t slowed down since Welch hung up, and I don’t know if it will.

We land in Denver, and I follow the signs for the rental cars, knowing Welch isn’t going to leave my parents behind in their condition. I manage to get the guy at the desk to book me a truck and take the keys from him. I walk to aisle 4, where the truck is, and admire it. It’s a shiny red 2012 F-150. The aroma of new car stings my nose a little as I climb into the driver’s seat. It’s bigger and taller than what I’m used to, but I’ve driven Welch’s Tahoe a few times, so I think I’ll be alright.

Once the seat is adjusted and I can comfortably reach the pedals, I start it up and start the drive to North Colorado Medical Center in Greeley.

..

I stand outside the hospital, leaning against a column as the weight of what’s going on gets to me. I haven’t been able to walk in just yet. I let Welch know that I’m here, but I haven’t found the strength to actually step foot in the lobby.

With one last deep breath, I push myself up off the column and walk inside before I can overthink it. I look down at my phone for the room number Welch sent me.

“Can I help you, sweetie??” the lady at the desk asks, seeing my confusion.

“Uh, yeah, that would be great. My parents are in,” I look down at my phone again. “2208 and 2209. How do I get there??”

I see a solemn, sympathetic look flicker in her eyes before she blinks, and it disappears.

“You’re gonna head down this hall here to the second set of elevators; they should have a sign with a yellow diamond on it. Take the elevator to the 2nd floor, and the nurse's desk should be down a short hallway,” she says with a soft smile.

“Thank you, I appreciate it.”

She nods and turns to the next person behind me.

I follow the woman’s instructions and head up to the second floor. At the end of the hall, when I step off the elevators, is a small nurse’s station. I tell the kind nurse my parent’s names and room numbers, and she gives me a colored wristband before pointing me toward their rooms. I thank her and start to walk away but freeze when I see the unit sign on the wall.

NEUROLOGY INTENSIVE CARE UNIT

My stomach sinks, and I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly going dry. I walk down the hall until I find my parent’s rooms, Dad in 2208 and Mom across the hall in 2209. Welch told me to call before going into their rooms, so I do.

“Hey,” he answers quietly. “I’ll be right out.”

He hangs up before I can say anything. I look at my phone in shock before slipping it back into my pocket.

Welch emerges from the door on my left, Dad’s room.

“Hey, Bryn,” he says, his face oozing with sympathy. “C’mere, let’s talk.”

He gently grabs my upper arm lightly and guides me to a small sitting area. I take one of the chairs, and he sits across from me.

“What’s going on, Welch??” I blurt.

He sighs.

“We were at an abandoned house, hunting that Shifter. We knew it was his hideout, and we knew it was dangerous. Jason, Lucas, and I took the front while Abigail and Carter took the back. What we didn’t know was that there were two shifters, and both of them were in the dining room at the back of the house. Carter kicked in the door, and he caught their attention. The shifters hid and waited for their guard to be down before ambushing them. They were arguing about something, but they were alone, so no one knows exactly what happened.” He wrings his hands and takes a deep breath before continuing. “Next thing I know, I hear Abby scream, and then a few massive thuds. When I came around the corner, both Abby and Carter had horrific head wounds. It looked like the shifters got the upper hand and repeatedly slammed their heads into the floor. I scrambled to call an ambulance while the boys administered first aid. We were brought here, and they ran tests and did scans, and both of them have severe blunt force trauma to the head. Brain bleeds, swelling, and your mom has a skull fracture. They did emergency surgery to fix the bleeds and get the swelling down, but the surgeon gave them a pretty poor prognosis, even with the surgery. They’ve been watching their brain activity, and what little they have is sporadic and chaotic at best.” He looks up at me with tears in his eyes. “They told me this morning that it’s only a matter of time before the brain activity stops and they die.”

My throat tightens as tears well up in my eyes. The pressure and ache in my chest grow exponentially, and I struggle to hold back my sobs. Welch takes my hand as tears slip down his face. We sit there for a while, quietly processing our grief, comforted by the presence of the other.

Welch is losing his best friends, his chosen brother and sister, his hunting partners who have had his back and saved his ass more times than he can count. He knows the struggles they’ve faced, but he has also seen how horribly they’ve handled it and the horrors they’ve put me through. We both have major mixed feelings about this situation, which only brings comfort to me, knowing that we both feel similarly.

After a few more seconds, I rise to my feet and walk back to their rooms. Welch follows behind me and stops me before I reach for my dad’s door.

“Hold on,” he says, holding both of my shoulders. “They're both in rough shape. They’re swollen and bruised and have tubes and wires going everywhere. I’ll let you go in if you really want to, but I personally would want my memories of them to be how they were.”

I nod and take his hands from my shoulders. “I’ll be okay, Welch. If I’m not, I’ll leave.”

I turn and push the handle, allowing the door to swing open. A curtain provides privacy to the room, which I pull aside. To my right lies my father—well, the damaged, broken, swollen version of him. I can’t help the small gasp that catches in my throat as I take in his appearance. He’s unrecognizable. Between the swelling, the tube in his throat, the shaved section of hair, and the blood that mats the hair he still has, any trace of resemblance to my father is gone. I slowly walk to his side and gently take his hand in mine. I can’t even compare his expression to sleeping, as his eyelids are completely still, void of the twitching that accompanies dreams.

“Hey Dad,” I whisper. I don’t know why, but I halfway expect an answer. “Been a while, huh?? I know you probably can’t hear me, but I’m hoping your spirit can.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I just want you to know that I forgive you. You were doing what you had to do to keep her placated, doing what you had to do to survive. But I also want you to know that I will never understand why you didn’t leave, why you stayed. She was just as horrible to you as she was to me, yet you never tried to take me and run. I had to do that myself. I missed you so much, but I knew that I would never be able to see you without her being there too. I love you, Dad—I really do. I just wish you had picked me over Mom.”

I lean forward and softly kiss his forehead, then drop his hand and walk out. I immediately cross the hall and walk into my mom’s room. Nothing but anger fills my veins. The sadness and grief end as I pass the threshold. I throw back the curtain and stand at the foot of her bed.

“You know, I always hoped that I’d never have to see you again, but honestly, I’m okay with seeing you like this. I wish I could say I’m sad that you’re dying; I just wish you were doing it without Dad. How dare you take him down with you?? How dare you take him from me?? Unlike you, he loved me. All along, he was my anchor, my friend, my dad. But you,” I scoff. “You only loved me until you lost your favorite child. You blamed me for his death—hell, I still do—but what I needed, what I really needed, was a fucking MOM. You have treated me like nothing, like shit, since Rhett died. The golden child died, leaving you with the disappointment. Nothing I ever did was enough to please you. I will resent you for the rest of my life.” I can feel the anger almost choking me as I yell: “I WILL ENJOY EVERY SECOND OF WATCHING YOU BURN.”

I feel Welch’s arms grab me and shove me out the door. He yanks me back into that sitting area and shuts the door behind us.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?? Do you feel better now?? Yelling at your dying mother, did that fix anything??” Welch yells in my face as I cry.

“She fucking lost that title the first time she laid her hands on me. She sure as hell didn’t treat me like a fucking daughter. I have resented her since Rhett’s death. She had the power to get me released from the involuntary commitment, both she and Dad, but she fucking brainwashed him. She manipulated him and told him it was what was best for me. She fucking left me there, knowing that it wasn’t going to help anything. Every second of Rhett’s funeral, I wished it was her on that fucking pyre instead of him. SHE DESERVED IT; HE DIDN’T,” I yell, voice gaining volume with every word.

I let out one last yell and dissolve into hysterical sobs. My heart aches for my dad, for Rhett. I would love nothing more than to have them and not her.

She told me herself that I wasn’t wanted. She wanted two boys. She said she sobbed the day she found out I was a girl, all her hopes and dreams shattered over what fucking genitalia I had. That was the first of many disappointments. She hated that I loved Sam. She hated that I was good at school and sports. She resented me for living the life she never got.

Welch catches me as I crumble and slowly guides me to the floor, where he pulls me into his chest and just holds me as I cry.

The bitch can burn in Hell. It’s what she deserves.

..

I don’t step foot in my mom’s room again until they come to tell me that her brain activity has basically stopped. Because I’m their only living child, I’m responsible for making medical decisions on their behalf. I give them permission to do the tests to confirm brain death.

In the meantime, I spend every second by my dad’s side. He was the best dad I could have ever asked for. Every bad thing he did after Rhett died wasn’t really him. I watched Mom manipulate him, change him, and do everything she could to erase the man he once was. He wasn’t the villain in my story, only an unwilling accomplice.

All the time spent with him in silence allows me to recall the great memories I have of him. I was his girl. He taught me just about everything I know about being a hunter. He was proud of every achievement, no matter how small. I don’t know what things were like for him after I left. I just hope he was still happy.

The next day, they finish all the tests needed to confirm Mom’s brain death and ask me for consent.

“Yeah, whatever, just make sure she stays dead,” I say to the doctor, whose eyes widen a little at my response.

I walk back to her room for the last time, and a man in a nice suit with a clipboard is standing at the foot of her bed. He turns to me with a somber look, and I almost roll my eyes.

“I’m Justin; I’m with Gift of Life. Are you Abigail’s next of kin??”

I shrug. “Yeah, I guess. I’m her kid.”

“I’m deeply sorry for your loss. Do you happen to know if your mom was an organ donor??” he asks.

I cross my arms. I knew someone was going to ask eventually, but I have no clue. It’s also complicated, since having her organs distributed to people could theoretically trap her in the veil. It’d be a shame to see them go to waste, though. Thankfully, Welch walks in behind me.

“Hey, he’s asking if Mom was an organ donor.” I pull him closer and whisper to him. “I don’t know if it’s safe to do that. Would it trap her here??”

Welch straightens and thinks about it for a second.

“Probably not a good idea. She was vengeful enough as is. I don’t want to have to deal with her on a hunt down the road,” he whispers back.

“She wasn’t. In fact, she made it pretty clear that she didn’t want to donate. She was a little superstitious and insisted it would keep her from transitioning,” I say, acting like she was a little crazy, while also halfway telling the truth.

The man nods and leaves the room. The doctors come in shortly after and get my consent for withdrawing life support. Of course, I give it to them almost eagerly.

One doctor stops all the medications keeping her “alive,” while the other messes with the ventilator. They both nod, and the doctor at the ventilator pushes a button, which ceases the constant whooshing. They turn, and we all stare at the monitor.

Slowly but surely, her blood oxygen level begins to fall, her heart slows, and then, everything stops. The doctors take turns listening to her chest, making sure she’s not breathing and that her heart has stopped.

“Time of death: 9:42am.”

After a minute or two, they remove the tube in her throat and the other ones taped to it. They also remove the monitor leads, her IV, and the sensor implanted in her skull to check pressure. They remove the EEG wires and throw everything away before leaving.

A nurse comes in with a basin of soapy water, and together we give Mom one last sponge bath. Welch steps out for this, to respect Mom’s privacy and preserve her dignity. The nurse also removes her catheter as we bathe her. The room is eerily silent as we bathe her. I notice as her skin grows cold, trying to ignore it as I get the EEG gunk out of her hair. Once she’s clean, the nurse helps me put her in a fresh gown, and I cover her back up.

“She doesn’t have to be taken by the coroner, right??” I ask. “Is there any way we can get her home??”

The nurse nods and tells me she’ll be right back. When she returns, her hands hold a brochure for transporting her. I know they won’t let us take her in our personal vehicles, so the next best thing is to have her shipped home. She calls them for me, and we set everything up. Once that’s done, I leave the room and go back to Dad across the hall.

..

4 days pass before the doctors approach us about Dad’s lack of brain activity. I’ve been watching the lines on the EEG monitor slowly flatten out, indicating the sharp decline in brain function. It doesn’t soften the blow when the time comes, though.

I allow them to do all the tests, heading back to Welch’s hotel room while they do. I cry through my shower until I physically cannot cry anymore. I change into something clean and curl up in the second bed that Welch isn’t using. I get a decent amount of somewhat restful sleep and wake up to Welch calling me.

“It’s time,” is all he says.

I numbly drive back to the hospital and make my way through the now-familiar halls to my dad’s room. This time, when the man with the clipboard appears, it’s a spark that ignites an inferno of anger. I’m unable to control the tears that stream down my face.

“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, Justin,” I sneer, a vindictive tone lacing my voice. “It hasn’t even been an hour since they declared brain death, and here you are, ready to collect his organs like a fucking vulture. It’s disgusting.” My voice grows louder. “You can take your clipboard and shove it up your ass. My dad is gone, and all you care about are the pieces you can retrieve. Get the fuck out!!”

Justin drops his gaze to the floor and runs out. My chest heaves with anger, and the hot tears continue to pour down my face. I know what comes next, and I’m not ready for it to happen a second time.

The doctors come in and follow the same steps as last time. Stop the meds, mess with the ventilator, nod at each other, turn off the vent, watch the monitors, each listen to his chest, nod, sign a paper, and say the words I’ve been dreading all morning.

“Time of death: 10:56am.”

The sounds that leave my body sound foreign; a guttural cry that echoes through the tiled halls. I drop to my knees, losing control of my body. Every part of me aches deeply as the weight of losing my dad hits me like a fucking truck.

The doctors remove the support measures and leave the room. Once again, the same nurse as before comes in with a basin and a washcloth.

“Wait, please,” I beg her. “I want to do it.”

She freezes and sets down the dry washcloth. I join her, and just like with Mom, we wash him together. She removes his catheter and cleans him there while I gently wash his face. The gunk from the EEG comes out a lot easier thanks to Dad’s short hair. We finish washing him and change him into a clean gown. She calls the same company, and we get Dad’s transport set up. I pull Dad’s covers up under his arms and give him one last kiss before I leave the room, breaking again as I realize I’ll never see him again.

The pain is unbearable. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. Although Mom probably deserved that level of pain.

—

Sam walks back over to where I’m sitting, and he leans against the wall again. He doesn’t say anything, but it’s okay. I rise to my feet and step towards Sam, needing something to keep me grounded. He opens his arms, and I fall into them, desperate for something to help ease the pain gnawing at my ribs.

At some point, the doctor comes and talks to Sam, but I don’t let go of him, and he doesn’t let go of me.

“We’ve gotten the swelling to go down significantly. He was fighting the ventilator, so we took out his tube, and we’re slowly weaning his sedation meds. He’s breathing well on his own, which is the best-case scenario for this severe of an injury. I’ll check back in a few minutes.”

Sam thanks him and leans back against the wall. He presses a kiss to my head and holds me tightly. We just stand there, trying not to think of the alternate scenarios.

I feel Sam’s muscles ripple under my hands, and his hand presses lightly on my shoulder. Dean must be back.

I step back and move to Sam’s side, leaning against his shoulder.

Dean walks over, holding a steaming cup of coffee in his left hand. When I look down at his right hand, I can see bruises blooming under his skin, and there’s a split in a couple of his knuckles.

“What did that guy want??” Sam asks.

Dean shakes his head.

“Uh, nothing. Just some insurance mook.” I can tell he’s lying; he’s avoiding eye contact with both me and Sam. “Dick Roman was out there.”

My stomach lurches as the horrible memories flash in front of my eyes, making me relive the moment I watched the man who raised the boys and took care of me get shot in the head, over and over.

“What?? What happened??” Sam asks.

“Nothing... For now. It was just a fucking staring contest. That was about it.” He glances over at Bobby, who is now extubated and wearing an oxygen mask. “What's the update??”

Dean sips his coffee.

“The swelling's down a little. They took him off sedation. Apparently, he—he started fighting his tube. So, they pulled them out, and he's breathing on his own.”

Dean’s eyes widen.

“That's good, right??” He looks down at me. “Is that good??”

“It could be, but he’s nowhere close to being out of the woods,” I tell him.

“Yeah. Well, the doctor said, best-case scenario,” Sam adds.

“All right, so when they gonna take the bullet out??”

I sigh at Dean’s persistence.

“Dean, t-they're not even—they're not even gonna try that, not yet. This isn’t like your leg or arm, where you just go digging around to get the bullet out," I tell him.

“What does that mean??”

“The word's ‘abrading,’ I think,” Sam says.

“Debriding," I softly correct.

Dean looks between Sam and me.

“English.”

“Cutting out the dead brain tissue.” I sigh. “That's if the doctor even thinks it's worth the risk.”

Sam looks around and grabs Dean’s arm, pulling him off to the side, away from a couple nearby. I follow closely behind.

“We need to talk, Dean,” Sam says.

“What?? Talk about what??” Dean says as we walk.

Sam stops and turns around. “You know what.”

Dean stops and pauses as the weight finally sets in.

“No, we're not gonna have that conversation,” he says sternly, shaking his head.

“Well, we need to,” Sam says.

“He's not gonna die.”

“He might.”

“Sam.”

“No, Dean, listen,” I interject, “we need to brace ourselves.”

Dean looks offended.

“Why??”

“Because it's real,” Sam urges.

The brothers have a staring contest for a few seconds, and I can see the denial in Dean’s expression. He’s hurting, and he’s coping the only way he knows how: running.

“What do you want to do?? You want to hug and—and say we made it through it when Dad died??” He tilts his head cynically. “We've been through enough.”

He storms off, hitting Sam’s shoulder as he passes him. I see him pause at the door and look back, but he turns and walks out the door.

I return my focus to Sam, who is rubbing the scar on his hand as hard as he can, clenching his jaw as he does it. I take a seat next to him and zone out, staring at a poster on the wall.

We’re all a mess, dealing with the shit we’ve been handed however we can. Sam’s fighting his worsening hallucinations, Dean is drowning in denial, and I’ve basically refused to process anything that has happened, choosing to zone out and retreat into my mind instead.

I have no idea how much time passes before Dean returns. I also have no idea how much time passes between Dean sitting down next to me and the nurses rushing into Bobby’s room. Sam is the first to jump up, then Dean, leaving me to snap myself out of my haze and join them.

I tune into the nurse's conversation as they work on something.

“Keep the head of the bed up for transport. IV can run off the pump. Just run a TKVO. We'll have to wait for respiratory.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait. What's happening??” Sam asks.

“He's showing signs of responsiveness.” My heart flutters a little. “We're taking him up for surgery. If you want to see him, I'd squeeze in there quick.”

I let Sam and Dean go in ahead of me, staying down by the foot of Bobby’s bed. He was pretty much their dad, and they spent significantly more time with him than I did. They deserve to have all the time they need with him.

Sam, however, notices that I’m not next to him and pulls me over beside him.

“Hey, um... Bobby, um, hey...” Sam says quietly, taking Bobby’s hand into his own. “Just... thanks... for everything.”

I see the tears glistening in Sam’s eyes and have to bite my lip to hold back my own.

Sam drops Bobby’s hand, patting it one last time.

“All right. Please step back,” the nurse says.

The boys and I take a small step back, but as we do, Bobby grabs Sam’s hand. I look up and see Bobby’s eyes open.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, stop. His eyes are open,” I say, moving back to his side. “Bobby??”

“Hey,” Sam says, holding Bobby’s shoulder.

Bobby looks at the three of us with wide eyes, pulling the oxygen mask off his face. Sam takes his hand, and Bobby grips it for dear life. He tries to speak, but Dean stops him.

“Don't talk. Don't talk. A pen—” Dean does a quick pat down of his pockets while looking around before he hits my shoulder and points at the chart.

I pull the pen off and hand it to him.

“Here. Here, here, here.”

Dean pulls off the cap and hands it to Sam, who passes it to Bobby. Bobby turns Sam’s hand over and begins to write on his palm. His breathing gets harder, and he grunts as he struggles to write.

“What is it??”

Slowly, he writes 4 5 4 8 9 across Sam’s palm before his arm falls back to his side and he sighs. He smiles at the three of us, making eye contact with each of us. He holds my gaze for a couple of seconds before looking back over at the boys.

He huffs a laugh once.

“Idjits.”

His eyes flutter closed, his face falls, and his head slumps to the side. His monitor flatlines, and I can’t help the strangled cry that leaves my throat. Everything moves in slow motion as the nurses shove us out of the room and begin running a code. Sam holds me tight and drags me away from the foot of his bed. More cries come out of my mouth as I strain against Sam, hot tears streaming down my face. Once we’re far enough away, Sam lowers me back to my feet and turns me so I can bury my face in his chest. He just holds me as I sob, everything hitting me all at once.

I feel the pain of my parents dying; the memories play like a movie behind my eyelids. This new pain joins in, and I relive the moment he got shot repeatedly.

Was there something I could have done?? Could we have saved him if I had acted instead of freezing?? What if we got there with the van a split second earlier?? Would he have gotten the door closed in time to halt the bullet that would take his life??

The doctor’s voice rings clearly through my head as he speaks.

“Time of death, 2:48am.”

Chapter Text

January 11th

It's been almost a week since Bobby died, and the cabin feels empty. An ache settles in my chest, the loss of another father weighing heavily on me.

The boys aren’t doing much better. Dean started drinking more, and I can tell Sam is really having to fight his hallucinations. His right thumb is almost always tucked in his left palm, fighting off whatever visions are haunting him. He hardly sleeps, and when he does, it’s plagued with nightmares. I’m pretty sure we’re all reliving Bobby’s death in our dreams now.

I wake up before Dean but after Sam, who’s still out on his morning run. I pad through the cabin over to the kitchen and start a pot of coffee. While I wait for it to brew, I scour the internet for anything that could help Sam sleep. I find every home remedy for insomnia, from chamomile to yoga to some weird Chinese herbs and questionable supplements. I write down the ones that seem doable and sigh. I wish Sam could just sleep and that we could all just be happy and healthy, but life could never be that easy.

I sit at the table, immersed in my thoughts until Sam gets back from his run. The front door opens, and I look up as he walks in.

“Hey,” he says. “What're you doing up so early??”

He walks over and gives me a quick kiss before sitting down next to me.

“I was trying to find some things to see if we can get you to sleep,” I say, looking down at the paper in front of me.

He gives me a soft smile. “You didn’t have to do that, Bee.”

I turn to him and take his hands. He looks at me with a curious expression.

“I’m worried about you, Sam,” I say. He looks up at the ceiling and huffs before looking back at me. I brush his hair behind his ear. “I know you’re not sleeping.”

He rubs the backs of my hands with his thumbs.

“Can’t hide anything from you, can I?? You know me too well,” he jokes.

I playfully roll my eyes.

“Sam, please. Just humor me and try a couple of these. Please??” I beg, squeezing his hands.

“Okay, for you,” he says with a smirk as he lets go of one hand and picks up the list. He scans over it for a second. “These aren’t too bad. You know you have to do them with me, right??”

I laugh.

“If it gets you to do them, I’ll do whatever you want.”

Sam shoots me a look. “Whatever I want??”

“Shut up,” I joke, pushing his shoulder a little. “Go get a shower; you stink.”

Sam laughs, his eyes crinkling. He shakes his head and heads for the bathroom.

“Love you, Sam,” I blurt. My heart skips as I realize what just came out of my mouth.

Sam freezes, and I can see his eyes widen as it clicks in his mind as well.

I rise to my feet with my hands over my mouth. This is not how I meant to tell Sam ‘I love you’ for the first time.

“What did you just say??” Sam says, turning back towards me and stepping closer, eyes searching mine.

I remove my hands from my face and walk forward a couple of steps. My heart is racing. I can tell by the look on his face that he wants to make sure he didn’t mishear me. I swallow hard and stop a couple of feet from him.

“I said I love you, Sam Winchester,” I repeat, with more confidence this time.

Sam closes the distance between us, and my heart skips even more, still beating like crazy. His eyes flit back and forth between mine with an expression in them I can’t read. Suddenly, he reaches out, grabs the sides of my face, and pulls my lips to his.

This kiss feels different, deeper.

He cradles my face in his hands, his sweat-damp hair tickling my cheek. Our lips move in sync, as if one knows the other's next move. Sam moves closer, pressing our bodies together. I wrap my arms around his waist and fist his shirt, pulling him closer to me. He pulls back slightly, giving us both time to breathe. I open my eyes to find him staring back at me. We stare into each other's souls for a moment, and he gently caresses my face. My heart is thudding wildly in my chest, and I honestly don’t think I could speak. He brings his lips back to mine, softer this time. He pulls back again, leaving his lips just barely on mine, our noses brushing against each other as we breathe. His forehead comes to rest on mine, and his warm breath fans across my face. We stand there without saying anything for what feels like forever. Sam’s fingers tuck some loose hair behind my ear before coming back to my face. He brushes his lips against mine one more time before he says the words I’ve been waiting for.

“I love you too, Bryn,” he whispers.

I can’t help the smile that nearly splits my face in two.

“You know I always have, right??” I say, moving back a little so I can make proper eye contact. My hands lightly run up and down his sides.

He smiles back at me. “I always have too.”

This time, I pull Sam to me and hug him tightly. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and holds me to him.

I can’t describe the joy that swells in my chest as the weight of “the l-word” is lifted. I’ve loved Sam for so long; it’s crazy to think that I haven’t said it before now.

—

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Singer Salvage Yard

June 3, 1998

“Okay, see that beer can ‘cross the range??” Bobby asks. I glance over at the can and nod. “You’re gonna hit that dead center, and if you don’t, we’ll keep workin’ ‘til you do.”

“Yes, sir,” I mumble.

He passes me an old handgun, and I grip it tight, closing my one eye so I can see better as I aim towards the can. Time slows and I focus on my breathing, squeezing the trigger on an exhale. I stiffen the muscles in my arm to absorb the recoil, then relax and drop the weapon to my side. I hear a metallic clang and a thud as the can hits the ground.

Bobby lets out a satisfactory grunt, and I grin.

“I’m gonna go look at it, put the safety on and set it down for me,” Bobby says, walking backwards away from me.

I nod and do as he asks, setting the gun down on the table in front of me. I watch as he bends over and picks up the can. He turns it in his hands and smirks.

“Not the middle, but pretty damn close,” he says, walking back over. “Your daddy teach you to shoot like that??”

I nod. “Yes sir. Daddy took me to the range on my 12th birthday with Uncle Welch, Rhett, and Aunt Margie.”

He chuckles and shakes his head.

“Alright, let’s do it again.”

I nod, and he grabs a fresh can from the recycling bin he brought with him. As he walks to set the can up, I hear footsteps in the gravel behind me.

“Hey!! What’re you doing here??” Dean yells as he and Sam walk over.

I turn and smile.

“Uncle Bobby is teaching me how to shoot,” I yell back.

“Girl, you already know how to shoot; you damn near hit dead center on the first try,” Bobby sasses from behind me, making me turn back. “We’re just fine-tuning your skills.”

Dean smirks.

“Damn, Bee. It took me an hour and a half to even get close to the middle,” he comments.

Sam laughs. “And Bobby almost took your head off.”

Dean shoves Sam, and we all laugh.

“Hey!!” Bobby yells, getting all of our attention. “Lesson ain’t over; let’s go.”

I step up to the table, waiting until Bobby is next to me before I pick up the gun. I cock it and remove the safety, then bring it up and aim. The breeze rustles my hair as I zone in on the can. Once the breeze dies down, I slowly exhale and squeeze the trigger, hitting the can with a thunk and it hits the floor. I bring the gun down, put on the safety and set it down on the table while Bobby walks over to find the can.

“Damn,” Dean mutters behind me.

“She’s a good shot,” Sam adds.

I can’t help but smirk as Bobby starts laughing.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he says through his laughter.

He holds up the can, and I do a happy dance. Dead fucking center.

“Holy shit!!” Dean shouts. “No fucking way!!”

“Boy, you better watch your mouth!!” Bobby yells.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

Sam wraps me in a hug, still laughing.

“Nice shot,” he says.

The boys and I spend the rest of the afternoon goofing off in the Salvage Yard, then have a dinner of beanie weenies before retiring to our rooms for the night. I take a quick shower to wash off the fine layer of sweat that formed on my skin from the June heat.

Once I’m nice and clean, I head into the boys' room, where Dean is fast asleep, but Sam is leaned up against the wall with a flashlight in the crook of his neck. I take another step forward, hitting a creaky board, which makes Sam look up.

“Hey,” he whispers.

I pad over to his bed and crawl onto it, sitting next to him.

“Whatcha reading??” I ask.

“I just started The Two Towers.”

I lay my head on his shoulder, occasionally reading the page Sam’s on, but eventually my exhaustion catches up with me, and I unintentionally fall asleep on Sam’s shoulder.

I feel Sam’s arms hook under my legs as he picks me up and carries me downstairs. He very gently lays me down on the couch and pulls the blankets up over me. To my surprise, he lightly kisses my forehead before heading back upstairs. I fall asleep with a smile on my face and a warmth in my chest. This is my happy place.

Sam returns from his shower, stepping on a creaky floorboard, which pulls me from my thoughts. My chest aches as I remember the warmth of Bobby’s house. The boys and I had so many amazing memories there, and I will forever miss that house.

“Hey, you okay?” Sam asks, pulling a water from the fridge and sitting down next to me.

“Just thinking about Bobby’s house and all the summers we spent there,” I say, fidgeting with my fingers. “I miss it. I miss him.”

Sam takes my hand, rubbing the back of it with his thumb.

“I miss him, too,” he mutters.

We sit there in the silence for a moment, just allowing ourselves to grieve.

A floorboard creaks behind me, and I turn to find Dean stumbling in, his hair still disheveled and rubbing his eyes.

“Morning,” he mumbles as he pours a cup of coffee and sits down across from me and Sam.

“G’morning,” Sam says back.

He moves his hand from mine to my thigh, rubbing my leg through my pajama pants. I sip my own, now lukewarm, coffee, praying for the caffeine to kick in fast. Dean slowly becomes more human as his coffee takes effect.

“Anyone find a case??” Dean asks, rubbing his eyes again.

Sam shakes his head. “Not a single thing unusual.”

Dean huffs.

“So, I got out of bed for nothing," he grumbles.

I snicker. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Great, well, I’m up now.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Bryn, your truck still running okay?”

I shrug. “The heat went out again yesterday, and there’s a bit of a clatter, but it’s not a big deal.”

Dean looks up at me. “I gotta go to town and get some parts for Baby anyway, so I’ll take a look.”

I smile softly at him. “Thank you.”

Sam pulls his hand off my thigh as I stand to take my mug to the sink.

“I need to do some laundry, and the bathroom could use some TLC, so guess it’s a chore day,” I comment.

“I can help if you’d like,” Sam offers.

“Sure,” I say with a shrug, pushing up my sleeves to wash the dishes.

“I’m gonna get dressed and then run to town. Anyone need anything??” Dean asks.

Sam and I look at each other.

“I don’t think so,” Sam says. “I’ll text you if I think of something.”

“‘Kay.”

Dean shuffles off to the bathroom to get ready for the day, and I turn my focus to the dishes.

“I’m glad to see him up and moving,” I mutter to Sam, who grabs a towel and takes his place next to me.

He takes the mug from me and starts drying it.

“Me too. I honestly thought he was gonna drown himself in Jack Daniels.”

I sigh. “Bobby is probably laughing his ass off at us being ‘pansies.’”

Sam chuckles a little.

“Quit your mopin’ around and go save some lives, dammit,” Sam says in a gruff voice, mimicking Bobby’s.

I laugh and do it too: “I didn’t get shot in the dome for you idjits to play pity party.”

Sam laughs and takes the next dish from me.

As we finish up the dishes, we exchange stories from some of the many summers we spent with Bobby when our parents wanted to hunt without us. We laugh and joke, and I feel like a kid again for a moment, the innocent joy I once had reigniting, albeit briefly.

After finishing the dishes, I quickly change into some leggings and an old KU crewneck that I think was Rhett’s at one point. I stole some of his stuff that he left behind when he moved to Memphis, so it very well could be his.

Once I’m dressed and I’ve brushed my teeth, I pull my hair up in a bun and move on to the next chore. Sam helps me scrub down the bathroom, reminding me to take a break when I look like I’ve overexerted.

“Bryn, hey,” he says, taking my wrist. “You’re gonna scrub yourself to death. Let’s get you some water.”

I pause for a second, realizing how bad I actually feel, and that Sam is right.

I nod and let him take the sponge from my hand, and he helps me to my feet. I feel a little lightheaded as I find my legs, and my heart is pounding in my chest. I’m out of breath and my limbs feel heavy, so I’m glad Sam intervened.

 His hand stays in the small of my back the entire walk to the dining table, no doubt seeing the dazed look in my eyes. He gently sits me down, then grabs two water bottles from the fridge, passing me one.

I crack open the lid and take two large gulps, the cold liquid sending a chill down my spine. I take some deep breaths, trying to catch my breath as my heart slows. It takes a while for me to cool off and for my breathing to return to normal.

“You okay?” Sam asks, wiping a bit of sweat from his forehead.

I nod. “Yeah, thank you.”

He smiles.

“Of course. I can’t let the best hunter I’ve ever known get taken out by scrubbing a bathroom too hard,” he teases.

I shove his shoulder with a laugh. “I was trying to be sweet, asshole.”

Sam joins in my laughter. After a few minutes, we fall back into a comfortable silence, enjoying the well-deserved break.

“Ready to get back to work??” I ask Sam.

He finishes the bottle of water in his hand and then gets up to throw it away. After he throws it away, he returns to my side but doesn’t sit down.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asks, running a hand over my hair.

“Yeah, I think my heart rate has calmed down.”

He nods.

“Finish your water, then we’ll go back to work.”

I look up at him. “Sam, I’m fine.”

He shoots me a bitch face, with good intentions.

“Yeah, and you were fine when you were going ham on the tub too.” He crosses his arms. “You have like 3 sips of water left, and I’m not letting you lift a finger until you hydrate.”

I roll my eyes and gulp down the last of my water. I stand to throw it away, and Sam hovers, worrying about me more than he needs to.

“Sam.”

“Yeah??”

“You can back up, I’m okay,” I say through a laugh.

He chuckles. “Sorry.”

We finish cleaning the bathroom, laughing and joking the whole time. Time flies, and before I know it, it's lunchtime. Dean gets home from his errands around the same time, so we all eat leftover pizza together.

“Hey, can I help you with my car??” I ask Dean through a bite of pizza.

His eyes widen slightly, and he looks surprised.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he stammers. “I can always use another set of hands.”

I smile at him. “I’ll try to be helpful. Just elbow me out of the way if I’m not.”

Dean laughs. “Noted.”

We finish eating, and I follow Dean out to my truck, which he has parked in the rickety old carport a few hundred feet from the house.

“So, what’s with the sudden interest in fixing your car??” Dean asks with a smirk, setting the box of parts on the hood.

I let out a noise of fake offense.

“What, I can’t take an interest in the repair and maintenance of my vehicle??”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You never have before.”

“Y’know, if you don’t wanna hang out with me, just say the word and I’ll go take a nap,” I say as I cross my arms.

Dean scoffs. “Of course I wanna hang out with you, dipshit.”

“Alright then, now that we have that settled, what’s the dumb version of what we’re doing??”

He shakes his head and laughs at me.

“Well, I have to figure out what’s wrong with your heat before I can fix that. There’re a few different things that could be, but I have the parts for most of them, so no big deal there.” He opens the trunk of the Impala and pulls out a bag as we walk and continues explaining. “The clatter is gonna be a little more labor intensive, depending on what’s making the sound. You shouldn’t be low on oil since I just did an oil change. It could be something super easy like a timing issue or an air-fuel mixture problem with the carburetor.”

I nod, able to follow his train of thought despite my limited knowledge of cars.

“So, where do we start??” I ask.

He holds his hand out, silently asking for my keys. I set them in his palm, and he climbs in. My truck rumbles to life, and I watch Dean mess around with something in the center console. I walk over to the open door and watch him fiddle with the controls for the heat.

“So, when I go to turn this on,” he says, then slides the fan speed adjuster, “nothing happens. That means it may have an issue with the blower motor, which is a major pain in the ass to get to, but a girl’s gotta have heat.”

He cuts off the engine but leaves the keys in the ignition as he climbs out.

“If I ask you to grab tools, are you gonna know what I’m asking for??” Dean asks, his voice neutral as he grabs the tool bag and drops it next to the door.

“I know what a ratchet is and the different socket sizes, the different screwdrivers, and regular wrenches but not much past that,” I admit, looking at the bag at my feet.

“Works for me,” he says as he opens the door more. “Pass me the Philips.”

I find a Phillips-head screwdriver and pass it to him. I watch as he takes out the screws holding the dash pad in place, handing me handfuls of screws to hang on to. Once that’s out, he uses the same screwdriver to undo the screws holding the controls in place. He slides it out gently, careful not to unplug any of the wire harnesses. While still cradling the control panel, he uses the other hand to twist the key in the ignition, bringing Riley to life again.

“Okay, there’s a little tool in there that looks like a giant pen. It’s bright yellow and kinda rectangular.”

I kneel down and start digging through the bag, searching for the object he described. After what feels like forever, I finally find it and hand it to him.

“What is that for??” I ask, watching as he touches it to each cluster of wires.

“It’s a multimeter; I’m checking to make sure power is going through the resistor. If it’s not, that’s why your heat doesn’t work.” He moves the multimeter around, and it beeps over and over. “Looks like it has full power, so it’s not the resistor.”

He hands me back the multimeter and puts the controls back into their hole in the dash.

“So, it’s the blower motor??” I ask as he pops the hood and slides out of the driver’s seat.

“Probably, but I need to check the power to it too, make sure it’s not got a faulty wire or something,” he mutters, a look of concentration on his face as he grabs the tools and walks around to the passenger side.

I watch as he lifts the hood, then moves to the passenger side, near the back of the engine compartment. He directs me to hold things as needed, then he unscrews a few things before pulling out a weird little machine.

“Hah, gotcha,” he says as he pulls it out, a smirk playing on his lips. “Can you pass me the multimeter again??”

I grab it from the bag and hand it to him. It beeps as he touches each wire.

“Yep, it’s toast,” he grumbles. “Luckily, I have a stash of random parts from Bobby’s house. There’s probably one from an old truck in there.”

I nod and shut off the truck, then follow after him as he goes inside and flies down the stairs into the basement.

Sam is chilling on the couch, and his head snaps up as he hears us come in.

“You done already??” he asks, brow furrowed.

“No, Dean had to grab a part from his stash, so I figured I’d take advantage of the opportunity to be in the warmth.” I notice the book in his lap. “Whatcha reading??”

He picks it up and shows me the cover. “The Stand by Stephen King. I saw it on one of the bookshelves and thought it sounded interesting, plus I love Stephen King.”

I tilt my head. “Is it good??”

Sam nods. “I’m already 150 pages deep.”

I laugh. How very Sam Winchester of him.

Dean comes running back upstairs, a machine identical to the one he pulled out of my truck in his hand.

“Got it,” he says, holding it up in the air and twisting it for emphasis.

“Back to work then,” Sam teases with a smile.

“I guess. Enjoy your book,” I say, walking over to where he sits on the couch.

I give him a soft kiss before turning and following Dean back outside.

“Alright, now comes the fun part,” Dean says, resuming his position at the passenger-side fender. “I’m gonna have you hold this shit back, and then once I unplug the wire harnesses from the old motor, you’ll hold them for me so I can plug in the new one.”

I nod in agreement and take my place, holding back some contents of the engine bay. Dean pulls the old motor up enough for me to grab the wires with my free hand so he can disconnect them without losing them. He drops the old motor onto the ground and grabs the new one, connects the wires, seats it in its spot, bolts it back in and seals the gap.

He brushes his hands together and steps back.

“Awesome, that’s done.” He puts his tools back in the bag. “Now we just have to figure out the source of the noise you’re hearing. Go ahead and start her back up and let me know if the heat is working.”

I nod and take my place in the driver’s seat. I turn the key, and Riley comes back to life. I adjust the fan speed on the control panel, and, to my delight, air blows out of the vents, albeit cold since the engine hasn’t had time to warm up.

“Heat’s working!!” I shout to Dean over the engine noise.

He gives me a thumbs up while staring at my engine. After it settles down into a normal idle, Dean’s brow furrows.

“Rev it for me,” he shouts.

I oblige and press the gas pedal a little. There’s a faint clicking sound that fades away as I let off the accelerator.

“You can turn it off!!” Dean yells. “I figured it out.”

I turn the key and climb out to join Dean at the front fender.

“So, Doctor, what’s the diagnosis??” I tease, trying to keep a serious face.

“Spark plugs,” he deadpans, pretending to be annoyed with my antics. “You need new spark plugs.”

I nod. “I’m assuming you bought some??”

Dean shoots me a look. “I have a stash, and I bought some.”

I pinch his cheek. “What a good Boy Scout!!”

He swats my hand away and we both start laughing.

“Shut the fuck up and grab the tool bag,” he says, shaking his head and smirking.

I smile as I pick up the tools and set them on the front of the engine bay.

“Do you know the last time you had a tune-up??” he asks, leaning forward so he can see something better.

I think for a second. Dad used to keep detailed service records, but I got a little lazy with it since either Nash or Welch would do my routine maintenance.

“If you have to think about it that long, you probably need one,” Dean teases. “I bought the parts for it anyway, so I’ll just do it.”

“Thanks, Dean.”

He smiles at me.

“Anytime, sweetheart.” He turns his full body to face me. “Now, this is gonna take a while, so how about you go back in and get warm. I’ve got this.”

I nod with a smile and walk back to the cabin, occasionally glancing back over my shoulder to see Dean with a slightly furrowed brow as he works.

Sam looks up from his book as I walk in, somewhat surprised to see me.

“Hey,” he says, his eyes glancing behind me. “Where’s Dean??”

“My spark plugs need replacing, so he decided to do a full tune-up and sent me back in. He said it was gonna take a while, so here I am.” I flop onto the couch next to him. “We got my heater fixed together, so that was cool.”

Sam smiles. “Glad you somewhat enjoyed yourself.”

I lean over and lay my head against Sam’s shoulder, fatigue settling in my limbs.

“Now I’m tired,” I mumble, closing my eyes.

“Then take a nap,” Sam states with a chuckle. “

I swing my legs up onto the sofa and scooch myself down so that my head is on Sam’s lap, making him laugh.

He sets his book to the side, and I sigh happily as his fingers scratch lightly against my scalp.

“Oh God, please don’t stop,” I mumble, closing my eyes.

His fingers run through my hair a few times before returning to scratching. My whole body melts in response, and I’ve never been so relaxed in my life. I fall asleep in record time, surrendering to the relaxation.

God bless Sam Winchester.

Chapter Text

January 12th

“Okay, I’ve gotta get out of here and do something before I explode,” I say, running my hands through my hair, trying not to pull it out.

Sam laughs, and Dean shakes his head.

“What did you have in mind??” Dean asks, smirking at me.

“I don’t know. A case would be good,” I mumble.

We all get to scouring the internet for something in our wheelhouse. Just as I think I’ve found something, my phone rings. It’s Welch.

“Hey, what’s up??” I answer.

“Hey, Bee. We’re headed out on a case in Idaho, and I wanted to see if you and the guys wanted to come along," he says, with a lighter tone than usual.

“Um, hold on.” I put him on speakerphone. “I’ve got you on speaker, so they can hear you. What kind of case is it??”

“Hey, guys. It’s a vamp nest in Twin Falls. They nabbed a few locals, and my buddies there are a little shaken up about the whole thing. I told them I’d look into it and take care of it. Y’all are more than welcome to join if you want. We started driving yesterday and still have a few more hours till we get there, so you have plenty of time to decide.”

I look at the guys, who both shrug and smile.

“Alright, we’ll head that way. Thanks for the invite, Welch.”

He chuckles. “Of course, anytime. See you soon.”

I say bye and hang up before leaning back against the couch.

“Well, that was easy,” I joke.

Sam chuckles and gets up, triggering me and Dean to do the same. We all head to the bunks and start packing our bags.

After packing, we load up the car of the week and start the 8 ½ hour drive to Twin Falls.

..

The halfway point stretch break couldn’t come fast enough, and I almost jump out of the car as Dean pulls into a gas station parking spot. I immediately head inside, ready for some snacks. Sam joins me a couple of seconds later, standing right behind me to look at the same rack of snacks.

“Sunflower seeds or chips??” I say, crossing my arms and glancing back and forth between the two.

Sam hums.

“I say chips for now, sunflower seeds for later. They’re kinda hard to eat in the car, anyway.”

I nod. “You’re right.”

Sam laughs as I grab a small packet of sunflower seeds and a bag of cheddar and sour cream Ruffles off the shelves. Sam and I then walk over to the drinks, where I immediately snatch up a Dr. Pepper. Sam grabs a couple of waters and a pack of gum before we head to the register. I set my stuff on the counter, and Sam puts his with mine while digging out his wallet.

“What’re you doing??” I ask.

“I’m paying for our snacks,” he replies nonchalantly as he hands over some cash.

“But—” I say before Sam shushes me with a sly grin and grabs the bag, thanking the clerk.

We walk out to the car, me with my arms crossed.

“Since when do you pay for my snacks??” I ask Sam as he sits down in the passenger seat.

“Since I asked you to be my girlfriend??” he says, tilting his head at me as he looks up from the bag.

I lean against the door, my knees almost touching Sam’s.

“You don’t have to do that, y’know,” I say, grabbing the top of the door as I lean.

Sam scoffs. “Of course I do. It’s part of my boyfriend duties.”

He sets the bag down on the floorboard and grabs my hips, pulls me towards him, and crosses his legs lightly behind me so I’m trapped.

“What are the other boyfriend duties you speak of??” I say with a smile.

His thumb rubs against my hipbone.

“I mean, getting the door for you, pulling out your chair, giving you my coat if you’re cold, letting you steal my shirts, spoiling you with your favorite snacks and drinks, knowing all the little things about you.” He shrugs. “That and just generally keeping you happy.”

“You’re sweet,” I say softly.

Sam just smiles at me.

I blush a little, then bend at the waist to rest my forehead on his, bringing my hands up to his cheeks.

“It’s the truth, though. That’s the most important duty I have,” he whispers, holding my waist.

I rub my thumb across his cheekbone. We stare at each other for a minute, then Dean interrupts.

“Hey, lovebirds!! Can we at least get to the motel before you start acting all gross??”

I laugh and press a light kiss to Sam’s lips before he lets me go and hands me my snacks. I settle back into the back seat and smile.

..

Dean leaves me and Sam in the car when he goes to check us into the motel. I lean forward and drape my arms over his shoulders. He brings his hands up and laces our fingers together.

“How much you wanna bet he’s gonna get us a separate motel room??” Sam asks, leaning his head so he can look at me.

I laugh.

“He probably will. He seemed pretty fed up with us earlier.”

Sam shrugs. “I’m fine either way.”

I hum in agreement and gently lean my head against his.

“You okay??” he asks.

“Yeah, just tired. If you and Dean wanna do research, that’s fine, but I’m going to bed.”

Sam softly chuckles. “Ok.”

Dean comes back out of the office and holds up two sets of keys, making Sam and me laugh. Guess Dean is predictable like that.

We climb out of the car and take our things from the trunk. Sam takes the keys to our room, and Dean heads for his.

“See y’all in the morning,” Dean says as he walks away, waving his hand.

“Sleep well!!” I call back as Sam unlocks the door.

The motel room is pretty basic: a king-sized bed on the right-hand wall, a kitchenette and small table in the front left corner, and a TV sitting on top of the dresser at the foot of the bed. The door to the bathroom is on the far side of the dresser.

I drop my bag on the floor and lie down on the bed, which creaks under my weight.

Sam chuckles as he walks to the other side and puts down his stuff.

“You don’t wanna sleep in your jeans, do you??” he jokes as he slides his button-up from his shoulders.

I groan and get back up, then heave my duffle onto the bed. I pull out an old shirt and some shorts and start to undress. Sam heads to the bathroom, leaving me with a bit of privacy while he brushes his teeth. Once I’m in my pajamas, I take my toiletry bag to the bathroom and join Sam, who’s finishing up.

He rinses one more time before he wipes his mouth and steps back to give me full access to the sink but doesn’t leave. Instead, he comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, setting his chin on top of my head.

I smile at him in the mirror as best as I can with a toothbrush and toothpaste in my mouth. We stay like that until I step forward and lean down to rinse my mouth out. Once my face is dry, Sam’s hands turn me around to face him and return to my waist.

“You okay??” he asks, pulling me closer and pressing his lips to my forehead.

“Yeah, I’m good. I’m ready for some sleep.”

“Okay, good.” He pauses and runs a hand over my hair. “I love you.”

I smile back at him, my heart fluttering as three little words roll off his tongue effortlessly.

“Love you too, Sammy.”

—

January 13th

The sound of Sam’s phone vibrating against the nightstand wakes me up, pulling me from some of the best sleep I’ve had in a while. I groan and bury my face in my pillow.

Sam slides it off the nightstand and cuts it off. He groans a little before rolling over and pulling me to him.

“If we cuddle, I’m going to fall back asleep,” I mumble as Sam’s chest presses against my back.

“Good thing I set my alarm 30 minutes earlier than we have to get up,” Sam mutters into the crook of my neck.

I can’t help but laugh as I settle into his embrace and doze off, his warm breath tickling my skin.

Sam’s alarm goes off again, and it feels like it’s only been 30 seconds since I fell back asleep. Sam releases one of his arms and rolls over onto his back so he can grab his phone. He cuts the alarm off and rolls back onto his side.

I turn my head back to look at him, and he places a soft kiss on my lips. I can’t help but smile at him.

“Alright, I guess we actually have to get up now,” I grumble, really not wanting to get up.

“Yeah, unfortunately.”

I sit up, dangling my legs over the edge of the bed. I yawn and stretch, then run my hands through my hair. With one more dejected sigh, I push myself off the bed and grab my duffle off the floor. I hoist it up onto the bed and dig out a shirt and a pair of jeans.

Sam heads to the bathroom while I change into my clothes. He mumbled something about taking a quick shower, so I guess that’s what he’s doing.

I pull on my bootcut jeans over a pair of leggings. I then slip on a black, long-sleeved Henley, then a warm, red and black flannel over the top. I join the boys in their multiple layers club, throwing an old black Carhartt jacket, that was either Rhett’s or Dad’s, over the top for extra warmth. I also slip on some fuzzy socks to wear in my boots since my feet are always freezing.

While we were asleep, a fresh layer of snow fell, bringing the below-freezing temperatures with it. We’re not doing any major investigating or interviews today, thankfully, so I can wear my warm clothes.

Sam exits the bathroom, his hair still damp, and grabs his jacket off the back of the chair. He turns and sees me watching him and smiles, eyes scanning over my outfit.

“You look cute,” he says, then looks down into his duffle bag to find something.

“Thanks, you do too.” I laugh. “Your hair is still wet.”

Sam pulls out a pair of socks and sits down on one of the dining chairs.

“Yeah, I should probably dry it more before we leave so it doesn’t freeze.”

I chuckle. “That’s probably a good idea.”

I walk over to him and lean on the table in front of him, tucking my hands in my pockets. I kind of stare off into space for a minute, and I can feel Sam’s eyes on me.

“Hey,” he says, resting a hand on my thigh. “You okay??”

I startle out of my thoughts and blink a couple of times before looking down and meeting Sam’s golden eyes.

“Yeah,” I pause. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He looks at me questioningly but doesn’t say anything, just slips on his boots like normal. He stands and starts to walk away but stops and turns back.

“Something’s up,” he states.

I sigh.

“I hate how well you know me.” I drop my gaze to my lap and start picking at the skin around my nails.

He comes back and stands in front of me, taking my hands to stop the nervous habit.

“Talk to me, Bee. What’s up??” he says quietly, scanning my eyes with his.

I bite my lip. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t help the anxiety that rules my mind in this moment.

“You’re gonna think it’s dumb,” I mumble, then scoff. “Which it is, so…”

Sam’s thumbs rub the backs of my hands. “It’s not dumb if it’s bothering you this much.”

I take a deep breath.

“After everything with my parents and then Bobby, I was reminded of how hunting is so horribly unpredictable, and we don’t ever know what’s going to happen.” I swallow the knot in my throat. “It reminded me of how terrified I am of losing you. And now I can’t get it out of my head.”

Sam’s face softens, and his whole body deflates a little. He runs a hand over my hair.

“C’mere” is all he says before pulling me into a bear hug.

I close my eyes, basking in the warmth and safety of Sam’s arms. It’s something that will never grow old, something that I’ll always crave, always long for. Today, it’s the reassurance that I need in the moment, saying more than any words could say.

We just stand there for a while, holding each other as long as needed.

Well, that is until I’m startled out of my skin by a knock on the door.

Sam lets me go and walks over to open the door. Dean walks in and plops himself down on the couch.

“Morning, lovebirds,” he says.

“Morning,” Sam and I say at the same time, though with different tones. Mine comes out a little deadpan, while Sam actually sounds genuine.

“Geez, Bee, who pissed in your cornflakes??”

“Shut up man, she’s having a rough morning,” Sam defends.

I roll my eyes as the two brothers begin to bicker. I sit silently on the bed, waiting to see if they’ll stop on their own or if I’ll need to intervene.

I allow them to bicker for a few more seconds before my patience runs out.

“WILL BOTH OF YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP!!” I yell over their petty argument.

The boys both abruptly stop and look at me.

“Sorry,” “Yes, ma’am,” they say at the same time.

I take a deep breath.

“Okay, good. Now, can we go meet Welch and the crew for breakfast without you two killing each other??” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest and glancing back and forth between the literal children in front of me.

Sam and Dean both grumble out some form of a yes. I nod in satisfaction and grab my wallet and phone before heading out to the car. The boys follow behind me, two more sets of boots crunching in the snow.

We all climb in, and Dean makes the short drive to the diner down the street. Welch’s Tahoe and Jason’s Jeep sit side by side in the parking lot, and I have Dean pull into the empty spot next to Welch.

We head inside, and I immediately scan the room, where I spot Fawn before anyone else since she’s sitting at the end of the table. I start walking, and she rises to her feet to hug me, drawing everyone else’s attention.

“Hey, girlie,” I say, hugging her tight. “It’s good to see you.”

She giggles and squeezes me a little.

“I missed you, Bee.”

I pull back and smile at her. “I know, sweetie, I missed you too.”

Rhys all but shoves Fawn out of the way once we release each other, and she yanks me into a bone-crushing hug.

“Rhys, I love you, but I can’t breathe,” I gasp out, my ribs and lungs screaming under the pressure.

“Oh shit, sorry.” She loosens her grip enough for me to take a deep breath. “Got a little too excited.”

I laugh. “It’s okay, babe. No harm done.”

She lets go of me, and I give each of the guys a short hug. Welch, of course, stands up and wraps me in a bear hug. My entire body relaxes into his embrace, and I sigh happily.

“Hey, Wells,” I mumble into his chest.

“Hey, Bee. Missed you a bunch, kiddo.”

I smile. “Missed you too, old man.”

I can almost picture Welch’s eyes rolling as he releases me.

“Those boys been taking good care of you??” he asks, holding me by my shoulders.

I nod. “Very good care of me.”

“Good, I don’t wanna go to jail for murder or assault with a deadly weapon anytime soon.”

I roll my eyes at his being a stereotypical dad.

“Yeah, yeah, tell that to the judge,” I say, shoving him lightly.

Sam joins me down at the end with the girls, his body language shifting as he sits down next to Welch, which doesn’t go unnoticed.

Welch rolls his eyes. “Boy, relax, I’m not gonna kill you.”

I laugh, and Sam relaxes slightly but doesn’t completely let his guard down. Dean drops into the empty chair next to Nash, and they start to chat about his Camaro.

“Okay, so,” I say, taking a sip of the water they got us. “What’s up with this nest??”

Welch leans forward, and Sam leans back a little, throwing his arm across the back of my chair. Welch’s eyes flicker over to Sam’s arm for a split second before he replies.

“They’ve gone super rogue the past couple of days. Chandler says they’ve taken at least 6 locals: a schoolteacher, a lawyer, two nurses, a businessman, and a florist of all people. From what I can tell, they have nothing in common other than wrong place, wrong time.”

We pause our conversation so we can all order our food and then resume once the waiter walks away.

“Where’d they grab ‘em from??”

“The one coffee shop in town. The teacher and the nurses were there super early in the morning; the businessman and the lawyer came in a little later, and the florist came in probably around 10, 10:30. All of them had different orders, snatched on random days of the week. I can’t find a pattern, but most of the time, vamps don’t have a pattern.”

I nod and look over at Sam.

“Got anything you wanna ask??”

Sam looks at me, then Welch, then back at me.

“I think I’m good.”

I eye him for a second, then lean back and tuck myself into his side. His hand immediately rests on my shoulder, thumb running over the fabric of my jacket.

I start to talk to the girls, and they ask me all sorts of stuff about me and Sam, and I have to keep them from squealing when I tell them we’ve exchanged ‘I love you’s.

“Oh my God, tell me everything!! Was it romantic?? What were you doing??” Fawn asks, nearly jumping across the table in excitement.

I laugh. “It wasn’t anything fancy. It kinda just came out, but it felt… natural.”

Thankfully, our girl talk is interrupted by the waiter bringing our food. Everything gets passed out, and we lapse into silence, all too busy stuffing our faces to talk.

—

“Okay, I’ve got a search running on the victims, just to make sure there wasn’t some weird connection. I’ve also got a hack running on the police department and the traffic cams in the area, so that should finish fairly soon,” I say, standing up and walking over to the bed before flinging myself onto it.

Sam just playfully rolls his eyes at me and continues to read his book. I drift in and out of sleep, trying to kill time while the search runs.

After a few minutes, the bed sinks down next to me, and I open one eye. Sam lies down next to me, taking my hand in his. I scoot over a little so that our shoulders are touching and give his hand a light squeeze.

“You okay??” he asks me.

I nod. “Yeah, I just ate too much.”

He laughs lightly. “I did too. I’m glad we split that waffle, though. That thing was massive.”

“It was bigger than my face!!” I say between laughing fits.

We laugh for a couple more minutes before the giggles fade and we settle into silence.

Sam’s laptop dings, and I jump to my feet and sit down at the table.

“Other than the coffee shop,” I pause, speed reading the screen, “yeah, no, nothing in common. They don’t even shop at the same grocery stores.”

Sam sighs and leans on the back of my chair. I pull up the traffic cam footage and the police database. I find the videos from the different cameras by the coffee shop and play them, looking for anything suspicious. One of the vamps comes into frame, and I freeze. My heart drops.

“Sam, that’s not a vamp.”

“What do you mean??” he asks, sitting down next to me so he can get closer to the screen. “How can you tell??”

I replay the footage and slow it down a hair. The vamp turns their head, and the iris of their eye glints.

“That’s a fucking shifter.” I rest my head on my hand. “How in the fuck??”

I pick up my phone and call Welch.

“Yeah, Welch.”

“It’s not a vamp.”

“What do you mean it’s not a vamp??”

“I’m watching the security footage, and the fucking eye glint happened.”

The line goes silent.

“Shit.”

“Yeah. What if it’s—”

Welch cuts me off. “No, Bryn. I’ll tell my buddies, and they can take care of it. I’m not gonna put you and the crew at risk like that.”

I sigh. “But what if it was?? We could finally get answers. This could be our only chance.”

I hear Welch huff.

“Bryn, drop it. I can’t risk them hurting you too.” His voice almost comes out in a growl.

My chest squeezes. Welch lost just as much as I did when my parents died. He wouldn’t ever forgive himself if something happened to me at the hands of the same shifters.

“Okay, fine. I’ll leave it.”

“If I hear from anyone that you went after that shifter, be prepared for a nasty fight.”

The line goes dead, and I drop my phone on the table, simultaneously rising to my feet and pacing the floor.

I hear Sam say something as he watches me pace from his seat at the table. I unintentionally ignore him, trapped in my mind and the flurry of thoughts swirling around in my skull. I start picking at the skin on my fingers, and I see Sam get up out of the corner of my eye. He steps into my path and grabs my hands.

I startle and look up at him.

“What?? I’m sorry, I’m everywhere but here,” I say, shaking my head.

Sam’s thumbs rub against the backs of my hands.

“It’s okay.” He softly kisses the back of my right hand. “What’s going on??”

“My parents were in Colorado when they were killed by a couple of shifters. Welch had tracked them back to somewhere in Idaho, and everything had gone cold after a couple of months, so we let it go.”

“And you think these shifters might know something.”

I nod. “No one knows how or why my parents were killed. They were alone in the back room of a house when the shifters attacked them. All we know is that they both suffered severe blunt force trauma to the head.”

Sam lets go of my hands and pulls me into his arms. I hold him tightly, burying my face in his chest. He leans his head down and rests his cheek on the top of my head.

“This could be the only chance I have to get closure, but Welch said that if I go after them, I should be prepared for a nasty fight.” I sigh. “I don’t want him to be mad at me, but I don’t wanna pass up the chance to find out what happened to my parents.”

Sam’s hand rubs up and down my back. He holds me as the anxiety in my chest dissipates, being my anchor for the moment.

“Maybe we should just go home,” I mutter after a long silence.

“If that’s what you want.”

I lean back, and Sam loosens his grip.

“That’s the thing, though. I don’t want to go home. I wanna go after those shifters and interrogate the shit out of them and find out if they know who killed my parents and then kill them slowly. I don’t want to just let it go.” I let out a frustrated groan and rest my forehead in the middle of his chest as I try to slow my breathing.

“Do you want me and Dean to look into it for you??” he asks softly, trying not to rile me up any more than I am.

“I don’t wanna fight with Welch, and I don’t want you to be on his bad side.” I rub my hands against Sam’s sides. “Maybe he’ll surprise me and look into it himself.”

“You can always ask him to. I’m sure he’s just as anxious to know as you are.”

I sigh. Sam’s right, per usual. I pull my phone from my pocket and start typing out a text.

Bryn

Hey, if you won’t let me look into these shifters, will you do it?? I need to know and I can’t stand just dropping everything and leaving.

We both lost a lot and I understand your resistance, but we both deserve closure.

At least think about it and consider it. For me. I promise, I’ll go home if you go look into it for me.

I love you W

I tuck my phone back in my pocket and start packing my stuff up a little.

“Guess we can leave in the morning. Hopefully, Welch will take care of things, and I can forget about all of this.”

Sam nods and wraps his arms back around my waist from behind. His lips find my neck, but not in a seductive way. It’s soft and gentle, and he nuzzles me with his nose a little.

“I love you,” he says against my skin, sending a chill down my spine.

I lay my arms on top of his and sigh contentedly.

“I love you too.”

Welch doesn’t answer before I go to bed, leaving me with a million thoughts racing through my mind. Sam easily falls asleep, on his stomach with one of his arms lying across my torso like a seatbelt, his hand curling softly around my rib cage. Meanwhile, I lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling and tracing aimless patterns on his forearm. My last memories of my parents play in front of my eyes like a horrible movie. Slow streams of tears flow over my cheeks.

Sam shifts next to me, gripping me tighter and pulling me closer with a deep breath. I close my eyes and hold my breath, hoping he’ll settle back to sleep fairly quickly. He rubs my side with his thumb a couple of times before he sighs and falls back asleep, his breath fanning over my neck. I hug his arm and close my eyes in a last-ditch attempt to fall asleep. With my face pressed against his bicep, I drift off, his warm skin providing a comfort like nothing else can.

—

January 14th

The warmth of the summer sun spreads over my skin, and I can’t help but sigh happily. The sky is a brilliant blue; the birds are singing in a horribly rehearsed chorus, and a soft breeze occasionally floats through my hair, the loose tendrils tickling my face. This park is one of my favorite places on Earth, and it truly makes me feel at home. The sweet aroma of honeysuckle flows in the breeze, and a smile spreads across my face.

“Well, that’s something I haven’t seen in a long time,” Sam says, the cadence of his voice like music to my ears.

“What, a smile??” I tease, looking up at his figure that towers over me as I sit in the grass. “I’ve smiled recently.”

Sam joins me in the prickly blades of grass.

“Yeah, but those were nothing in comparison.” His eyes scan my features as he talks. “This one reaches your eyes.” He reaches up and brushes my hair behind my ear. “Happiness suits you, my love.”

My heart flutters at his sweet words. I lean forward slightly and very gently kiss him, a silent thank you.

When I lean back, the sun beams through Sam’s kaleidoscope eyes, each color bolder and brighter than usual, a soft gold halo forming around his hair. My smile returns as I take in Sam’s unique beauty, his lashes catching sunbeams as well.

“I love you,” I whisper softly between us.

Sam’s eyes soften as he smirks. “I love you too.”

We bask in the sun for a bit longer before a familiar voice calls out to me.

“Hey, shithead!! You took my spot!!”

My head whips around so fast, I nearly break my neck. There, just a few yards away, stands Rhett in all his glory, the sun casting a glow over his fiery hair and alabaster skin.

I spring to my feet and sprint over to him as fast as I can. He grunts as he catches me in his arms, taking the brunt of the impact with his chest.

I nearly cry as my fingers fist his worn-out flannel; the one Dad gave him for his birthday a few years before he died. The smell of mint, pine, and his aftershave fills my nostrils, a scent that’s unique to Rhett. He holds me tight, his big brother senses kicking in.

“Hey, Bryn,” his voice rumbles in my ear. “I missed you too.”

I can’t help the tears that prick my eyes as I cling to my brother. I pull back slightly and hold the sides of his face in my hands.

“It’s so good to see you,” I say, my voice breaking.

Rhett’s facial expression shifts to concern as he notices my tears.

“Oh my God, why are you crying?? What happened?? It’s only been a week, Bee.”

My heart stutters. “What??”

“Yeah, you came over, and we had a cookout last week with the Winchesters. Why are you so upset??” He brushes away the stray tears that continue to slide down my cheeks.

I sniff and laugh. “Of course we did. Duh. Just ignore me; I’m on my period.”

Rhett eyes me but eventually smirks a little.

“C’mon, Sam’s gonna kick my ass for hogging you.”

I laugh, and we walk across the field to where Sam sits, still right where I left him.

“All we’re missing now are Mom, Dad, and Dean,” Rhett says, looking around.

“Dean left 15 minutes ago, so he should be here at any moment,” Sam says, slowly getting to his feet.

Rhett and Sam hug briefly before talking about Rhett’s work.

“Enough about me, man, how are you?? How’s the new firm treating you??”

My brain short-circuits for a second. New firm?? Like, law firm ‘firm’??

“It’s good!! It’s closer to home, so Bryn and I see each other way more than we did for a while. Everyone there is crazy nice, and the actual workload isn’t terrible. It’s spread pretty evenly over 5 of us, so I only have maybe two or three cases at a time.” Sam beams.

I’m still stuck on the whole firm thing.

“That’s great, man. I’m happy for you.” Rhett grins, then turns to me. “And how about you, hotshot?? How’s life at the hospital??”

I stare at him for a minute, slightly dazed. Sam nudges me with his elbow.

“Uh, good!! It’s good, just really busy,” I lie, still reeling from the whole Sam thing.

“Good, I’m glad everything’s going well for you both,” Rhett says, looking back and forth between me and Sam.

I offer a fake smile in return as I try to figure out what’s going on. My dead parents and brother are alive; Sam is a lawyer, and I work in a hospital. What other crazy shit is going on??

I pull out my phone and go to unlock it, my heart squeezing at the super cute picture of me and Sam that I have as my lock screen. I open the first social media app I see, Instagram, and start scrolling through the posts on my page. In my bio, it says, “Bryn Ashford, PA-C” and “Badass Ortho PA” with some bone emojis next to it. My jaw drops as I scroll through the pictures, many of me and Sam on gorgeous vacations, me in my scrubs, me in the OR, and one of them truly takes my breath away. It’s a huge group photo of me, Sam, Rhett, Kam, Mason and Kinsey, Mom, and Dad. Tears prick my eyes again as I stare at it in awe. My family, whole again.

“There’s my favorite asshole!!” Rhett yells as he spots Dean, who’s crossing the field towards us.

I look up, and Dean is grinning up a storm as he hugs Rhett, then me and Sam.

“What’s up?? How’s it going??” Rhett asks, smacking Dean on the back.

“Great!! Boss is keeping me busy at work, but hey, sure beats sitting on my ass all day in an office like a douchebag.”

Sam and Rhett laugh and roll their eyes.

“Hey, is there any way you can do me a huge favor and help me with my project car?? I swear to God, the second I get one thing fixed, something else falls apart,” Rhett asks Dean.

“Of course, man!! Just tell me when, and I’ll be there. Your Mustang is too sick to say no.”

I laugh under my breath. Of course, Dean’s a mechanic.

Someone’s phone starts ringing, and Rhett digs through his pockets. Once he fumbles with his phone, he steps back.

“It’s Dad. I’ll be right back,” Rhett says before answering and walking away.

Dean sits down at a nearby picnic table, and we join him, sitting across from him.

“And how are you two?? Been a while since I’ve seen you, since y’all moved and everything.”

I look at Sam, who, much to my surprise, is already staring at me.

“We’re really good. Both in good spots in our careers, doing things we love and then coming home to the person we love. Couldn’t ask for a better life partner,” Sam says, making me blush.

I smile and nudge his shoulder with mine, wishing I could hide the pink tinge on my cheeks.

“That’s great; I’m so glad you guys are happy,” Dean says with a soft smile.

Rhett joins us again with an annoyed huff.

“Oh boy, what’s got you in a tizzy??” I tease.

“Mom’s not coming,” he says, deadpan.

Sam’s hand rubs comforting circles on my back.

“What?? Why not??” The anger I have for her starts to bubble up a little.

“Cause she’s mom, and she’s an asshole. Dad’s trying to sneak away so he can come hang, but it’s not looking too good.”

I shake my head. Guess my mom is still a shitty mom, even in the perfect world.

“It’s okay; we can still have a good time,” I say with a soft smile.

We jump into a conversation, and my head feels like it's in the clouds. I laugh with my boys, and I can’t stop staring at Rhett. This is the best day ever.

Sam’s alarm goes off, screeching as loud as possible and buzzing against the nightstand. I groan and bury my face in Sam’s back.

Damn, that was an amazing dream. I’m fucking pissed that it’s over.

Sam chuckles, and his muscles ripple under me as he moves to turn off his alarm.

“You alright??” he asks, a smile playing on his voice.

“I was having a really good dream.” I groan again. “I don’t wanna wake up.”

Sam laughs again and rubs a hand over my arm that’s wrapped tightly around him. I press my forehead against the spot between his shoulder blades, my hand resting right over his sternum.

“You’re too big to be the little spoon,” I tease Sam, who scoffs.

“How dare you. It’s not my fault you’re so small.”

I laugh, rubbing my hand against Sam’s chest. I scoot up a little, so that I can rest my chin on Sam’s shoulder. I nuzzle my face into his neck like he does with me and breathe in the glorious smell of his shampoo.

“This is nice,” I mumble against his skin.

“Yeah, it is,” he sighs. “I love you.”

I smile against his skin and press a soft kiss to his neck. “I love you too.”

Much to my dismay, Sam gets up and changes into his running clothes, excited to use the gym in the hotel. He gives me a kiss before he leaves me to fall back asleep.

I manage to get another hour of sleep while he’s gone, waking up when he opens the door.

Sweat glistens on his forehead and neck, and his hoodie is now slung over one of his forearms. He lays it over the back of the desk chair, then turns back towards the bed to get his duffle.

“Hey,” he says with a smile. I close my eyes as he kisses my forehead. “I thought you’d still be asleep.”

I stretch my arms up over my head.

“I woke up when you came back in.”

He tosses a pair of jeans and a shirt on the bed, then digs in his bag a little more. He pulls out a pair of boxers and rises back to his feet. He leans over the edge of the bed one more time and gives me another kiss before he retreats to the bathroom.

I sit up and swing my legs over the edge. Slowly but surely, I get up and get ready for the day. Once I’m dressed and mostly ready, I sit on the end of the bed, and I let my mind wander a bit.

This Leviathan shit is getting really old. I am so over squatting in random buildings, avoiding security cameras, and having to worry constantly about the fact that Dick is always watching and will take any and every opportunity possible to attack us. As sad as it sounds, I miss the shitty motels. No matter how shitty they are, they always have a bed and a bathroom with running water, something that isn’t guaranteed when finding houses to squat in. We got lucky with this hunt that Welch let me use one of his cards since we’re working together.

Another part of me has also realized that I’m a little burnt out on hunting, and my brain takes every opportunity to remind me of how amazing it could be to get out, to run as far away from all of this as I can, to actually see what it’s like to live a normal life. My dream definitely didn’t help things.

Sam exits the bathroom, wearing only a pair of jeans slung low on his hips, his hands ruffling his wet hair with a towel. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him turn and freeze, dropping his arms to his sides.

“Bee,” Sam’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts, and I look over at him. “What’s wrong??”

My stomach twists. Damn him for knowing me so well. I drop my eyes to my lap again.

“I’m tired, Sammy,” I whisper.

Sam tosses his towel onto the back of a chair and pads over to me. He reaches out and brushes my hair back, kneeling down in front of me.

“Tired, how, my love??” His eyes search my face. “Of… hunting??”

I shrug. “It’s not just hunting; it’s hunting while also harboring two fugitives on Dick’s most wanted list. It’s having to constantly be on alert and worrying that some fucking Leviathan is gonna hunt us down.”

Sam sighs and purses his lips a little.

 I subconsciously chew on the inside of my lip. I shake off my thoughts and close my eyes. “Y’know what, never mind. You have much better things to do than listen to me complain about stupid shit.”

I get to my feet and hoist my duffle up onto the bed, trying to push down my irrational frustration. I can feel Sam’s eyes on me as I stick my dirty clothes back in my bag, and I know he’s trying to figure out what he could say or do to help, when I’m self-admittedly a little too far past the point of no return.

He eventually gets back up and walks back to his bag, pulling something out before zipping it closed. He puts the object on the table, then turns back to me.

“Y’know what, fuck it,” Sam’s words catch me off guard, making my head snap up to look at him in shock. “Nothing is more important to me than making sure you’re okay.”

“Sam—”

“Stop.” He holds up a hand, and his brow furrows. “I mean it; you are more important than anything else I could possibly think of right now.”

My heart melts a little.

“It’s stupid, Sam,” I mumble, stuffing more things into my bag.

I see him move out of the corner of my eye, and next thing I know, his hand grabs my upper arm, and he turns me to face him. I stare at him for a second, trying to process what just happened.

“Look at me,” he says, ducking his head down a little, making himself smaller. “What’s bothering you??”

I take a deep breath, trying not to seem dramatic. I close my eyes and think through how I want to say this.

“You had a chance to live a normal life. You got to experience life outside of all this.” I swallow hard, my throat going dry. “God, it sounds even more stupid out loud.”

Sam smirks for a minute, disbelief in his expression.

“Wait a minute, are you…” he pauses and shifts his weight. “Are you jealous??”

“I don’t fucking know, Sam. I’m just… tired of hunting right now, and there’s this stupid little voice in the back of my head that keeps telling me how great life would be without all of this and sometimes it’s really fucking hard to ignore,” I spew. “Especially when I have dreams that Rhett and my parents are still alive, you’re a hotshot lawyer, I’m a physician’s assistant for an ortho doc, and Dean’s a mechanic.”

Sam’s face softens.

I shake my head a couple of times before softly brushing his hand off me and walking to the door.

“I need some air.”

I gently close the door behind me, not wanting Sam to think that I’m mad at him. I’m not mad at him at all; I’m happy that he got to get out for a bit. I’m just pissed that I didn’t take the opportunity when I had it. I could have gotten out. Like Sam. Like Rhett. I could have gone halfway across the country and had a completely different life, but I didn’t. I stayed. I stayed, and then a bunch of horrible shit happened, and I didn’t know how to cope with it other than hunting, and now I’m burnt the fuck out.

It definitely doesn’t help that I’ve been kicked off the hunt for the Shifters that may have killed my parents, that I may never get any answers. The anger returns, turning in my chest. I pace in the frigid February air, the sting of the cold helping ground me.

Once the anger settles back down, I lean up against the trunk of the piece-of-shit car we’re using this week, taking deep breaths, and trying to get out of my head.

Why didn’t I take the opportunity to get out?? Why was I so stupid??

Frustrated, I run my hands through my hair, trying to resist the urge to scream. I hear a door click behind me and whip my head around to see who it is. To my surprise, it’s Dean. He makes a face as he notices me leaning against the trunk but quickly replaces it with a grin.

“Good morning,” he says, digging his keys out of his pocket. “What’re you doing out here?? It’s freezing, Bee.”

I shrug. “I needed the cold air. Helps me think.”

Dean walks up next to me and tosses his duffle bag onto the trunk behind me.

“You?? Thinking?? That’s dangerous,” he teases.

I shove his shoulder, cracking a smile and laughing quietly.

“Shut up, asshole.”

Once my laughter fades, I can feel the shift of emotion as Dean goes from joking to concerned.

“Are you okay?? Do I need to kick Sam’s ass??”

I chuckle again. “No, Dean, this has nothing to do with Sam.”

He nudges me with his hip, making me scoot over so he can lean against the trunk next to me.

“Okay, good. Now, what’s bothering you so bad that you think risking frostbite is a good idea??” he asks, trying to shrug further into his coat and stuffing his hands in his pockets.

I sigh.

“I’m just… burnt out, for lack of a better term. I’ve spent the last year running myself ragged trying to forget the pain of losing my parents, and I’ve just worn myself out. I’m tired, Dean.” I look down at my hands, picking at the skin like always. “I keep having dreams and thoughts about what life would look like if I had gotten out when I had the chance, and now, I’m kicking myself for not taking that opportunity.” Dean nods solemnly. “I hate it, but I feel almost jealous of Sam. I know it was short-lived, but he got to have a real life away from all of this. Rhett got out as quickly as he possibly could and got to have a taste of white picket fence. It’s stupid, I know.”

Dean scoffs.

“Bryn, it’s not stupid at all. It’s something every hunter dreams about, something I’ve dreamt about. When I thought Sam was dead after he jumped into the Pit, I tried to get out. I hooked back up with an old fling and tried to make a life with her, but I couldn’t. I was overprotective, extremely paranoid, and I couldn’t ever totally relax. It eventually drove a wedge between us. As wonderful as it may sound, it’s hard to adjust to life without hunting, especially if it’s all you’ve ever known.”

I nod, taking it all in. Just like everything in life, the grass always seems greener on the other side, but sometimes it’s just paint on dead grass or artificial turf.

Dean nudges me with his shoulder. “If you need a break, take one. No one is gonna judge you. This life is hard, and just like normal people with normal jobs, sometimes you need a vacation to get away from it all.”

I lean my head against his shoulder and sigh. “Thank you, Dean.”

He kisses the top of my head. “Anytime, sweetheart. Now c’mon, it’s fucking freezing.”

I laugh and stand back up, allowing Dean to throw his bag in the trunk. He shuts it back and walks me to my room, waiting until Sam pulls me inside before walking back to his own room.

“Bryn, you’re freezing,” Sam fusses, grabbing one of his thick jackets and putting it around my shoulders.

I mumble a thank you and pull it around my shivering torso. To add extra warmth, Sam pulls me into his arms, trying to share some of his body heat.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” I say quietly.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he mumbles, his lips warm against my icy forehead.

He silently holds me as I slowly warm up, success marked by my shivering stopping. My extremities are still cold, but they’re notorious for taking forever to warm up.

“I think about it too, y’know,” Sam says, rubbing my back, “but then I remember how I felt at Stanford—so horribly out of place. I was too normal to be a hunter, but too much of a hunter to be normal. I was kinda miserable.” He chuckles a little. “Don’t get me wrong, it was nice to get away, but coming back to it felt like coming home.”

I lean my head back, looking up at Sam. He looks back at me with soft eyes full of love, and I can’t help but smile.

“I think I just need a little break. Some time to rest.”

Sam kisses my forehead. “You take as long as you need.”

The moment is interrupted by my phone ringing. Sam loosens his grip as I pull my phone from my back pocket. My heart sinks when I see Welch’s name on the screen.

With a deep breath, I answer.

“Hey, what’s up??”

“I took care of them,” Welch says, somewhat monotone. My stomach drops a little. “They told me everything.”

I walk over to the bed and sit down, not knowing what’s going to come next. Sam joins me, and I put my phone on speaker.

“So??” I urge. “What happened??”

“Abby kicked the door in, Carter following close behind. The Shifters had moved to the front of the house, so your mom started a fight, arguing that she knew nothing was there and that Carter was just paranoid. While they were arguing, the first Shifter attacked Abby, hence the scream I heard. They had a scuffle, each of them fighting a Shifter, giving it all they got. At some point, Abby’s Shifter was able to get her feet out from under her, causing her to smack her face and head on the floor. Her Shifter then took a fistful of her hair and hit her head against the ground a couple more times.” Welch pauses to breathe, and I can hear that it’s shaky. Tears prick at my eyelids, and my breathing is shaky too. “Now, your dad won the fight with his Shifter by stabbing him in the leg with a silver knife. He tried to help your mom by shoving the Shifter off her, but the Shifter got up and grabbed a rolling pin, then started beating Carter with it. He took two hard drives to the head, and that was it. By the time we got back there, it was too late; the damage had already been done.” Welch sniffles. “I’m so sorry, Bryn.”

I don’t say anything as I wipe the tears from my cheeks.

“Thank you, Welch,” I say quietly before hanging up.

My ears ring as I lie back onto the mattress. I don’t even try to hold back my tears. They flow in hot streams down my face, soaking into my hairline just above my ears. I don’t know if Sam says anything, but I am comforted as his fingers slip between mine, fitting perfectly as if our hands were made for each other.

It takes hours for my ears to stop ringing, for the pain to settle, for me to feel my limbs again. Sam pulls his jacket from my shoulders before replacing it with one of his old hoodies, bringing me a whole new layer of comfort. I function on autopilot as we pack up the car and head back to the cabin.

My eyes lock on the horizon, watching the changing landscape, being swallowed by the numbness I haven’t felt since Dad died.

I miss him now more than ever.