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It finally happened. I knew this day would come but I didn't want to believe it.
I’d been hunting with the Winchesters for a while, a couple years by now. I didn’t usually get so attached, especially to hunters. Not the greatest life-expectancy rates and all that. I’d been through the heartache of watching my loved ones die before on hunts and I promised myself I wouldn’t go through it again.
Then Sam and Dean showed up in my life and damn it, they proved me wrong. They became the brothers I never wanted, leaving dorky selfies on my phone or teasing me because of how much shorter I was compared to their ridiculous towering heights, the idiots. Granted, I never got away with pulling any risky moves on a hunt but I managed to get away with commandeering the radio and cranking the Disney music way up. It was quite the surprise to find out how many songs Dean knew all the lyrics to…
Sam and Dean knew I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself. God knows I’d managed just fine for years on my own but I couldn’t help feeling grateful when Sam and Dean stood on either side of me during a hunt or when we walked into some skeevy bar and I got too much of the wrong attention. Sure, I could take care of myself but I sure as hell preferred back up.
Except those days are over.
My nightmares have come true and our last hunt went wrong. About half a dozen too many demons than what we had planned for ambushed us. Sam and Dean took on this bar in Missouri full of demons, armed to the teeth. Dean put me on lookout duty and I swear to heaven and every level of hell that he knew they wouldn’t come out alive.
They took the entire bar down, of course they did. But they went down swinging, just like Dean always said he wanted to.
A small, strangled sob escaped my throat as I knelt between their lifeless bodies, for the last time flanking either side of me. I placed one trembling hand to Sam’s chest, the other to Dean’s chest, painfully, achingly still. No heartbeat, no breathing, nothing.
I attempted to wipe some of the blood from Dean’s face but only ended up making it worse since there was more blood on my hands and I couldn’t stop shaking.
I knew I was supposed to do something, call someone….somehow get Sam and Dean into the Impala, take them home…but I couldn’t…I couldn’t think.
That’s when it finally started to sink in and the grief hit me like a tidal wave. One second, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t pull in any air at all to feed my seizing lungs then I wheezed, gasping like a fish out of water, suffocating no matter how much I tried to breathe.
Sam and Dean were gone.
This wasn’t….this...no it couldn’t be possible. They cheated death countless times. For god’s sake, Dean crawled his way out of hell and out of a damn coffin, buried six feet under like some undead horror movie. They couldn’t be gone like this, they couldn’t be lying on the cold, wet pavement in pools of their own blood.
Dean always joked that he wanted to go down fighting and this, this is exactly why I chewed him out for it because I knew it would come true. Dean was too damn stubborn and all he knew how to do was fight. And Sam….god, Sammy wouldn’t let Dean go down alone.
I pulled Dean’s limp body closer as best I could and cradled Sammy’s shoulders with my other arm. I wasn’t ready to let them go yet. I would never be ready to let them go.
I don’t know how long I stayed there, hugging Sam and Dean to me but a freezing drizzling rain started up somewhere around sunset and the icy water soaking my clothes, slithering down my skin finally woke me from my trance.
With numb fingers, I fumbled for my phone and called Bobby but my voice still wasn’t working all that well.
“Hello?” I’d never been so relieved to hear Bobby’s gruff tone than at that moment except it didn’t feel much like relief.
I bowed my head, fighting against the fresh onslaught of tears. “Bobby?” I croaked.
A single beat of silence passed before Bobby responded, his voice filled with a knowing dread.
“What is it?”
“Sam and Dean. They’re….”
“Where are you?”
“Missouri, Denny’s bar on…”
“I know where it is. Hang tight, kid. I’ll be right there.”
I had no intention of moving. Even if I wanted to, I don’t think I could have. At some point in the very near future, I would no longer have Sam and Dean at my side and I was in no way prepared to face that reality.
As promised, Bobby arrived a few hours later. I must have been a mess. Soaked to the bone, covered in Sam and Dean’s blood, my eyes red and swollen from crying for hours straight as I sat in the parking lot of a bar at midnight, rocking the dead bodies of my friends, my brothers, back and forth, refusing to let them go.
Bobby dropped to his knees next to me and I slowly raised my gaze to meet his, though every movement felt like it took far too much energy, energy I didn't have.
“It’s time,” he whispered.
I squeezed my eyes closed as I felt myself unraveling, coming apart at the seams. Gently, Bobby pried each boy from me in turn, first Dean then Sam, and put them in the back seat of the Impala. I don’t know why he didn’t put them in his truck. Maybe because it was natural, right, to put them in the Impala.
I don’t remember much after that. Bobby got us all home somehow. He drove a little off the beaten path to a small cemetery in the back of the junkyard where a small, worn grave marker sat nestled among some pansies. His wife’s name was scrawled across the stone.
When Bobby started digging, he took a wary glance at me.
“You don’t have to help with this, you know.”
I nodded. “I know but I want to.”
We worked side by side and I want to say that it helped, even a little, but it didn’t. It still hurt as if a giant hole had been ripped through my chest and the damn tears just wouldn’t stop.
I didn’t leave their graves for three days. Bobby didn’t even try to get me inside at first. He just sat next to me, occasionally bringing out a blanket or a cup of hot coffee to ward off the chilly nights. On the third day, he pulled me to my feet and brought me inside. I could tell he desperately wanted me to eat something - anything at all - but I couldn’t bring myself to swallow even a single bite.
I climbed the stairs to my room, curled up under the blankets and stayed there, hoping to block out the pain somehow just so I could get a decent breath again.
Bobby was relentless in researching ways to bring the boys back but somehow, I knew. I knew there was no way. They’d used up all their nine lives and then some and this was it. For good.
Months passed, crawling by. I watched the light grow and fade with each day, curled up in my bed. Bobby would leave me a solid meal next to my bed every single day like clockwork and every single day like clockwork I couldn’t bring myself to touch it.
One evening, Bobby sat down on the edge of my bed and hesitantly, awkwardly patted my leg.
“I miss them too, kiddo,” he said. “I practically raised those boys but you have to get up, you gotta keep going, for them. You think Dean would let you get away with this? Like hell he would. He’d tell you to drag your sorry ass out of bed and kill some of them evil sons of bitches that killed him.”
When I didn’t respond, he just sighed.
“It’s awful quiet around here without you, kid.”
For the first time in weeks, I managed to get up but around every turn, I found reminders of Sam and Dean. Bobby had a picture on his refrigerator of Sam, Dean and I as we played Slap Jack around Bobby’s kitchen table. Cards were spread all over the table in a haphazard mess. I had been cheating shamelessly but that had only made Dean twice as determined to beat me. When I dove for the jack, he caught me around the waist, lifting me up but I had still put my foot down, hitting the jack and winning the hand. Sam had his head tipped back, his cheeks flushed from laughing so hard.
I touched the picture, running my thumb over the corner. How was I supposed to keep going without these two nerds in my life? I slid the magnet aside and took the picture, holding it like the precious thing that it was and went back to my room, sliding under the covers. I placed the picture on the nightstand at eye level so I could see it when I woke up and when I went to sleep.
I got worse, so much worse. I kept the picture with me all the time, tucked in my back pocket or nestled in my hand. I did get up every day but I couldn’t eat. I tried, I tried every day, for Bobby, but the food turned to a tasteless lump in my throat and I couldn’t swallow it. I kept myself busy with mindless tasks, cleaning, cooking, fixing up a car or two, anything I could get my hands on but my body couldn’t continue that pace for long. Bobby found me unconscious in the yard one day. Turns out my body was shutting down. I was relegated to my bed, without the strength to stand on my own whether I wanted to or not.
Poor Bobby. He’d been through so much and I wasn’t making his life any easier. I’m worried about him. His clothes are hanging much looser on him and his skin is taking on a sallow hue. The few times I do manage to leave my bed, the increasing number of liquor bottles that spill over from the trash, spread across the counter tops in the kitchen and litter the living room floor don’t escape my notice. Sure, he had a couple drinks…before...but not like this.
One day, I hear voices downstairs. We haven’t had visitors since Bobby won’t tolerate anyone. Little did I know that it was Sam and Dean at the door. Bobby nearly shoots them on the spot but Sam stopped him, insisting that there’s no need for the litany of tests that he would typically use. Bobby still manages to sneak in a few, splashing them with holy water, spilling a little salt on the floor near them. They step right through it and Bobby pulls them both into a tight, suffocating hug.
“You boys have no idea the hell you’ve put us through,” he says in that no-nonsense, I’ll-kick-your-asses tone despite the tears in his eyes.
“It's good to see you too, Bobby,” Sam said.
“How did you…?”
“Apparently hell spat us back out,” Dean said. “Didn’t taste too good, I guess. Something about angel juice?” He shrugged. “No idea.”
Suddenly, Bobby remembered himself and pointed upstairs to where my bedroom was.
“You need to go upstairs, right now. She’s not doin’ too good but the sight of you two….just...go. Now.”
I heard them, coming up the stairs but even when they filled my doorway with their broad shoulders as they stood side by side, I still couldn’t believe it.
“I’m losing it,” I whispered. “The hallucinations are starting.”
Sam and Dean hesitated for a split second at the sight of me, nothing but skin and bones at this point. Then Dean stepped forward and took my hand as he sat on the bed next to me and I struggled to swallow the lump in my throat at the warmth of his touch, the way he felt so lifelike...
“We’re real, sweetheart,” he said. “100% genuine Winchester right here.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “No, you can’t be. I…” my voice fell to barely above a whisper. “I buried you.”
Sam came up to the foot of my bed and gave my toes a squeeze. “Nine lives, remember? We couldn’t let you get away with all that cheating at Slapjack.”
I bowed my head and drew in a deep, shaky breath as I gripped my bedsheets as if to ground myself and banish the ghosts before me, toying with me.
Slowly, Dean placed his hands on either side of my face, raised my head and pressed a kiss to one cheek, then the other and looked me straight in the eyes.
“You’re not crazy,” he said. “Any more than usual anyway.”
I couldn’t keep it together after that and started to cry. I wrapped one arm around Dean’s shoulders and pulled Sam in to me with the other arm. I wouldn’t let them go for several long minutes even after they got a little squirmy but I didn’t care.
“You’re lookin’ a little pale,” Sam pointed out. “Hungry?”
“Starving,” I said and for the first time in months, I smiled.
Sam carried me downstairs piggy-back style and Bobby and Dean cooked up some eggs and toast for dinner. I couldn’t stop randomly touching Sam and Dean, resting my head on Dean’s shoulder or brushing my fingers over Sam’s arm. None of it seemed real and I couldn’t quite bring myself to believe that they were actually here, alive, with me.
I never wanted to go to bed that night or any night after that. I didn’t want to be separated from them for any length of time for fear that when I returned, they’d be gone and it would finally sink in that it was all a dream, a terrible, horrible, wonderful dream that I had to wake up from and face the cold, stark reality of the real world without the Winchester boys.
Sam and Dean didn’t go on any hunts for a while, preferring to stay in with me and Bobby. I think Bobby and I would probably have ripped them to shreds if they dared to mention going on a hunt. I was still too shaky to be of much use so Sam and Dean watched soap opera reruns and Lord of the Rings marathons while I sat in Dean’s lap with my legs draped over Sam’s lap, as if I could pin them down with my scrawny little body and keep them from vanishing into thin air. I fell asleep halfway through Frodo and Sam’s wandering the Dead Marshes and Dean carried me upstairs, my arms draped around his shoulders. When he laid me down and I felt the warmth of his body leave mine, I whimpered a little, still half-asleep, still scared of losing him. I would always be scared of losing my boys. Dean tucked me in, wrapped his hands around mine and stayed with me until I went back to sleep then quietly slipped out of my room.
I didn’t stay by myself for long. In the middle of the night, I woke up, sweating and panting, my heart pounding a frantic drumbeat against my ribcage. I flung the covers aside and almost ran down the hall to Sam and Dean’s room, my bare feet slapping against the cold, hardwood floors. I eased the door open and finally, finally my racing heart calmed for a second as I caught sight of Sam and Dean sleeping in their beds. The peace of mind lasted for only a split second though as another ugly thought rose to mind. What if they were dead?
I tiptoed into the room and pressed my hand to Sam’s chest. Steady, even breathing. Calm, strong heartbeat. I let out a relieved sigh and brushed his hair away from his forehead, lingering longer than I should have.
I moved on to Dean and found the same, steady breathing, steady heartbeat, steady thrum of warm life in his body. Just as I was about to leave, he placed his hand over mine and I nearly squeaked in surprise.
“Didn’t think you liked me enough for a midnight visit,” he said, his voice rough and low in the darkness but not sleepy. Had he really been awake the entire time I’d been in here? Geez, how was I going to explain that one without coming off like a creeper?
“I just...I’ll go now,” I said, trying to pulling away but he tightened his grip on my hand.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “Not until you tell me what’s going on, sweetheart.”
I hesitated but knew there was no way to get out of it. I deserved it I guess, sneaking around in the middle of the night like this.
“I keep thinking you’ll disappear on me,” I said. “Most of the time, I can't even believe you’re real.”
“Thought as much,” he said. “You’ve never been this touchy-feely before.”
“I don’t mean to annoy you…”
“You don’t,” he cut in. “You don’t at all.”
“It’s just...I watched you and Sam die. Bobby and I, we hunted for every loophole we could find but there was nothing. I put you and Sam in the ground and somehow...somehow I felt like it was last time, that you couldn’t crawl your way out again. It feels like you and Sam, you’ll just vanish and I can’t...I can’t deal with that. I don’t want to believe you’re real if you’re going to disappear on me again.”
Dean shifted over on the bed to make space for me and gave my hand a little tug. “Come on then,” he said. “Can’t keep proper tabs on me all the way over there in your own room.”
Before, I would have said no. Too close. Too intimate. I would have kept my distance. Hell, before, I wouldn't have even been sneaking into their rooms in the middle of the night because of some ridiculous nightmare that I couldn't seem to shake, pinch or wake myself from.
Things were different now. They'd changed. I built walls to protect myself from getting hurt, from the pain of having my heart broken but it had happened anyway and now...well, now I was granted a second chance. I'd kept Sam and Dean at a distance before but I wouldn't do it again.
So I snuggled in against Dean, surrounded by the sweet smell of apple pie and whisky, soaking in his warmth and the soft fabric of his favorite worn t-shirt, taking comfort from the way his arms came around me and the way he pressed a kiss to the top of my head, something I didn't know I was missing all these months until he hadn't been around to do it. And for once...I let myself believe wholeheartedly.
Sam and Dean had come back. They were alive.
It wasn’t until about two weeks later that the pieces finally started to make sense. Sam and Dean were outside, helping Bobby with an old, 1940 Ford pick-up. It had been a project in the works for a while, a birthday present for me because Dean insisted I have a "real car" and not some plastic piece of crap. I had taken a break since it was my turn to whip up some sandwiches for lunch. When I poked my head out the door to call them in, I paused. The sun broke through the clouds for a second and a shaft of golden light fell on Sam and Dean.
Pure white wings, shimmering like prisms, blinding with crystal-like perfection draped down Sam and Dean’s shoulders. They hung casually, comfortably, the tips dragging against the earth though they left no trails or signs that they existed. Did Sam and Dean even know?
Then the sun slipped back behind the clouds again and the vision was gone. I closed the door with a smile.
I always knew my boys were angels.