Rusty angrily backhanded a tear from her face as she gathered her belongings methodically. Stacks of underwear on the right, jeans on the left, t-shirts in the middle. A box for her laptop, ipod, books and bathroom supplies was full to overflowing, a trash bag with a few pillows and blankets was tied shut next to that.

She shoved a hand through her chin-length mahogany locks, but the soft curls bounced back into place, as much as they ever were. She bit her lip, looking around the room, trying to tamp down her emotions enough to think straight, to remember if she'd left anything anywhere in the bunker. When she cleared out, she wanted everything gone, no 'Oops, I forgot this, sorry to bother you guys' to make this even more awkward.

Sam went striding by, a cursory glance in her door as he passed, then stopped and backpedaled to the doorway. "Whoa. Where are you... Rusty, what's going on?"

She continued rolling her clothes, stuffing them into the large duffle on the bed in front of her. "Hey, Sam."

"Dude... I mean... Hey, what happened?"

"Nothing happened, Sam. Just time to move on." She resolutely avoided looking at him as she packed, but he finally put a hand on her shoulder, turning her firmly towards him.

"Bullshit. What happened, Rusty?" He looked down at her, that kind, concerned look in his eyes that she could only bear to look at for a second before looking back down at the tops of her boots.

"I can't stay here any more, Sam. I need to be... not here."

"What does that mean? Why?"

"I can't."

He huffed out an impatient breath. "The hell you can't. Talk to me, Red. Did something happen? With Dean?"

"No." She pulled away from Sam's gentle grip and continued to shove her clothes into her duffle. "And if you don't mind helping me load up - I'd like to be out of here before he gets back."

The thought of dealing with Dean asking her these questions, demanding answers, made her nauseous, and she felt a little surge of something dangerously close to panic as she finished cramming the last of her things in the bag, zipping it shut and heaving it onto her shoulder. Sam was still standing there, staring with that frown between his brows, debating further argument. So she grabbed the trash bag, then tried to lift the box, but Sam finally sighed and grabbed both from her.

"Fine. If you've gotta go, I'll help you load up. But I don't understand why you can't talk to me, Rusty."

"I just can't. I... Not right now, okay, Sammy?"

He heaved another unhappy breath, then nodded, following her out her door and all the way to the garage where her Charger sat, trunk open. He placed his burdens inside, then stood, arms folded, as she put the duffle in and closed the trunk. "Were you even gonna say goodbye?" he asked softly, and Rusty sniffed, struggling to maintain her composure, before stepping closer to put her arms around his waist.

"Goodbye, Sam," she managed, then broke, just a little, as his arms came around her for a bear hug. She only allowed a couple of minutes, then pulled away with a deep breath, wiping her rebellious tears as she opened the car door and climbed in.

"Rusty..."

"Goodbye, Sam," she choked out again, looking into his confused face, her caramel-colored eyes swimming with tears. Then she started the car, hitting the door opener before tossing it to Sam, who caught it, surprised, on reflex. He watched, completely at a loss, as she backed out and turned onto the gravel leading away from the bunker. After staring after her for a moment or two, he hit the remote and watched numbly as the door closed with a soft thud.

His phone rang as he walked back into the library, his brain occupied with trying to remember anything that could have caused this sudden departure. It was Dean calling, and he guessed now was as good a time as any for him to know that she was gone. He wasn't going to be happy.

Dean slammed the door as he entered the bunker, and Sam braced himself for the coming storm. "What the hell, Sam?" he bellowed as he walked in, and Sam leaned back in his chair, shaking his head.

"I don't know, Dean. She wouldn't talk about it."

"Why the fuck did you let her leave?"

Sam's eyes rolled as he rose to his feet. "Come on, Dean. She's a grown woman. Short of locking her in the dungeon, how do you think I was going to stop her?" Dean was standing, his hands on his hips, his back to Sam, his head hanging low. "Dean... Was there... Did something happen between you two?"

Dean flashed a glare his direction, his mouth tight, as he strode to the liquor cabinet. "No. There was nothing going on. We haven't had a fight, we haven't done anything different than we always do. You?" He lifted an eyebrow as he asked, looking at his younger brother as he took a gulp of his whiskey.

"No. Nothing. She just... she just said it was time for her to move on. So I'm just as much in the dark as you are."

"Son of a bitch. I'm calling her."

"Dean..." Sam started, but he thought better of it, blowing out a tense breath and going back to his seat. She wasn't going to answer, anyway.

Dean paced as he listened to her phone ring and her voice mail kick in. 'Rusty. You know what to do.' "Hey, Rusty. What's up with ditching us, huh?" He tried like hell to make it sound like he was joking, but it'd be obvious even to a total stranger listening that he was two ticks short of an explosion. He stopped for a moment, letting his emotions back off a little. "Listen, when you put in somewhere for the night, call. We need to talk, okay?" He hung up, shoving his phone into his pocket, taking another generous drink of hunter's helper before stalking from the room, Sam's eyes on his back as he left.

He walked down the hall, pausing at the doorway to her room. It was empty, only the sheets on the bed, and he approached it, dropping down slowly to sit on the edge of the mattress. Had he done something? He was racking his brain, trying to remember anything that might have caused her to take off. "What the hell, Rusty?" he whispered, his mind flying back to the first time he'd seen her.

John Winchester's broad shoulders were enough to fill the small gun and ammo shop's room, but with Dean's set following right behind, the place seemed positively crowded. The shaggy-headed young man behind the register straightened a little. John's presence demanded respect, even before he uttered his name. "John Winchester. Is your dad around, son?"

Bryce Tillman even stuttered a little as he answered. "N-no, sir. He's out of town right now. Can I help you?"

John rubbed a hand over his liberally stubbled face, the gray overpowering the black these days. "He was making some special-order ammo for me. Do you know..."

"Oh! Yes, sir! I know he got that order ready before he left." He turned his head, bellowing loud enough to make Dean turn from the guns he was admiring and to make John wince a little. "Rusty! Get out here!"

"Why don't you bite me, Bryce..." her voice tapered off into embarrassed silence as she walked out into the store from the back, and the color brightened in her cheeks. Dean's chin came up a little, a smile curving his lips as he saw the girl. Red hair - not the bright, glaring kind, but a rich, dark red, curls and waves tumbling over each other as she brushed a lock behind her ear. Dean moved slowly towards his father, shoving his hands in his pockets as he observed her a little more. Her eyes... brown, but not just brown - a dark caramel with gold flecks that made them shine and sparkle, like life was just bursting from inside her, and lush dark lashes framing them. A few freckles were sprinkled over her nose, just a little more noticeable than his, and those lips... they looked soft, and lush, and damn, he wanted to taste them. If his dad wasn't standing two feet away, he'd have been letting loose with the charm and angling to stay in town an extra night. Then she spoke, and the slightly husky tone of her voice warmed him right the hell up. "I'm sorry, sir. I just thought my brother was trying to annoy me - again."

Bryce frowned angrily at her, then smiled at John again. "Rusty will get that order for you, sir. It's in the back."

"Dean, go with her in case she needs help," John ordered - his voice was soft, but it was an order, and it sounded like one. Dean nodded, inwardly grinning as he followed her into the back room, admiring the view on the way. She looked damn good in those jeans, that was for sure.

He followed her between a set of shelves that ran floor to ceiling, clear to the back of the room. She stopped about halfway down, looking up. "I'll have to get the stepladder," she muttered, but Dean had stepped up behind her, reaching over her to grab the box clearly labeled 'Winchester.' "It's okay, I got it," he said, enjoying the whiff he got of her shampoo, or perfume, whatever it was. When he stepped back, box in hand, he grinned down at her. She was a tiny thing, barely reached his shoulder, and she blushed a little at his smile even as she answered it a little shyly.

"Thanks." She headed back the way they'd come, but Dean plucked at her sleeve to slow her down a little.

"So, you're - Rusty?"

"Yeah. Raylene, actually, but I hate it. I've always been Rusty, ever since I can remember. The curse of red hair, I guess. And my initials."

"Your initials?"

"Yeah. Raylene Simone Tillman. RST."

"Awesome." Dean followed her out to the shop, bringing the box around to the cash register. "Do we need any .45 or shotgun shells, Dad?"

"Yeah. Grab a couple boxes of each, while we're here." Dean glanced at Rusty, and she reached beneath the counter, producing the ammo with another smile in Dean's direction.

He took them, bending quickly to whisper, "How old are you, Rusty?" Her eyes sparkled a little as she looked up from under her lashes at him.

"Twenty-two," she whispered back, then smiled, flashing a dimple in her left cheek before turning to go back to the storeroom.

John watched as Dean brought the extra ammo to him, then handed cash over to Bryce as he totaled their purchases. "You know we're not staying, right?" John asked, his eyes shining with humor even though the smile never reached his lips.

"Yeah, I know. But you never know when we might run out of bullets." Dean grinned at his father, and John's lips curved slightly as he shook his head, accepting the bag with their merchandise and following Dean to the door.

"Tell your dad I appreciate it," he called over his shoulder, and then they left, leaving the room feeling very much emptier.

Rusty signed her name on the credit card slip, then slid it back towards the clerk, who finally managed to pull his eyes from her breasts long enough to retrieve it. "Thank you, Miss Tillman," he said, and she barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes at his attempt at being smooth. "Enjoy your stay. And please let me know if there's anything I can do for you."

She flashed him a tight, insincere smile as she took her receipt and the key, and turned to leave. She moved the car around the building and parked, opened the trunk and reached for her duffle, then changed her mind and unzipped it, rifling through to grab only what she needed for the night and morning. It was only a one-night stop, so no need to settle in.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she closed her door behind her, leaning back against the cool, smooth wood for a moment. Then she tossed her clothes on the bed, grabbed her toiletries and headed in for a shower. She stripped down while the water temperature evened out, and stepped in, letting the spray pound against her neck and shoulders, which were aching with the tension of driving and the tension of leaving. Leaving the bunker, which had been her home for the last several months now. Leaving Sam, who had become one of her best friends. Leaving Dean, who...

The pain hit her in a wave, and the dam that she had fought to keep up throughout the endless day dissolved in tears. She sobbed until her head was aching and her throat was like sandpaper, and finally managed to pull herself back together to get cleaned up before the water was completely icy.

She dressed in her usual nightwear, a pair of soft cotton pajama pants and a worn old t-shirt, then grabbed a beer out of the six-pack she'd purchased at the gas station. She climbed up onto the bed, settling back against a pile of pillows, taking a pull from the bottle and reaching for the remote. Her phone light was flashing, and she closed her eyes for a moment, taking a few deep breaths before picking it up. She dialed the voice mail and tried to steel herself, but his voice washed over her like a tidal wave. "Hey, Rusty. What's up with ditching us, huh?" He sounded angry, trying to sound not-angry, and there was a little pause there, as if he were collecting himself - then, "Listen, when you put in somewhere for the night, call. We need to talk, okay?"

God, even the sound of his voice shook her to her foundation. How was she supposed to call him back? How was she going to explain her reasons for leaving when she could barely articulate them to herself, barely admit them to herself?

She took a huge swig from her beer, her emotions battering at her from inside. "Call him." "Just run, don't look back." "Why didn't you just fucking tell him how you feel?"

"Shut up!" she said out loud, and set her beer down with a thud. "Damn it!" She let her head drop back against the wall, feeling like her insides were being twisted and tied into knots. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself drift back to that night - the night she took a step into the wilderness that she had never been able to escape.