Title: Just Like The Journey

Author: Oldach's Dream

Timeline: Anytime, really - as long as John's not in the picture.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.


"It's bad." She sighed sadly, washing her hands, avoiding looking at the brother. "It's really bad."

"How bad?" The broken boy croaked.

"I'm not sure yet," she admitted, trying not to give him hope or bring him despair, she told him only the truth. "We'll have to wait 'till morning."


"Why are you doing this?" He asked at some point, lost later in the darkness of the night. "We don't even know you."

"I like to help people," she shrugged. "You find that so hard to believe?"

"Yes," he nodded. Voice holding not bitterness, simply truth.

"Why?" She questioned, sounding more innocent than she was. "Isn't that what you guys do? Isn't that what you did for me tonight?"

He half-smiled at her, crossing his arms and rubbing his eyes tiredly. "That's different." He said.

"How?"

He shrugged.


"I lost someone once." She admitted right before the break of dawn - he turned towards her, she wouldn't meet his eyes. "We had a connection like the one you and your brother have. It was so intense, nothing else could measure up to it. Nothing ever came close."

"Like you're one person," he spoke quietly, "Two halves of one being that doesn't truly exist without the other."

"Poetic," she teased.

"Sleepy." He countered, and she remembered what all-nighters could do to a person.


"What happened?" His voice was lost - they were at his bedside and nothing was happening. "When you lost that person? How'd you survive it?"

She bit her lip. "I got drunk a lot. I made every bad decision there is to make, I yelled at her, I cried, I prayed. And then I finally realized that no matter what I did, she wasn't coming back."

"Did it ever get easier?" He was studying his brother's unmoving body.

She shrugged, "Not really. I stopped blaming her, and the rest of the world, for what happened. I found something like... I don't know, peace? Inside myself. It makes the days bearable and life livable. But nothing'll ever come close to being the same again."

"We went two years without talking once," he offered up after a pause.

She smiled sadly. "It's not the same," she felt the obligation to tell him. "Me and her, we went almost a year without speaking once. Hurt like a bitch, but it wasn't the same."

"Why?" He didn't really want to know.

"'Cause I still had hope then."


"He should be awake by now," the brother sounded mad, she cringed at the tone. "Why isn't he awake?" Big soulful eyes bored into hers, raw pain clear as day. "He's not..."

She checked the pulse quickly, "No," she shook her head. "He's just sleeping."


"Everything felt so wrong when we weren't talking," his head was hung low, and she'd falsely assumed that he'd dozed off.

She nodded, stood up, and started preparing another pot of coffee.

"Like... It was life, and it was normal, ya know? I was living... But it wasn't the same." He seemed to be having trouble getting these words out, but that was okay. She understood.

"It felt like life kept going, even though it shouldn't of, and you had no choice but to play along."

He chuckled sadly, "Something like that."

Coffee brewed quietly in the background.


"S'goin' on?" Were the first, almost inaudible, words out of his mouth. She pushed him down before he could even try to sit up.

"You're okay." Thank you, she added silently, glancing at the ceiling. "You're somewhere safe. You were hurt. Hunting. Almost two days ago."

"My brother?" He croaked, following it up with a coughing fit.

She turned her back to get him some water, and hide her smile. "Your brother's fine. He tried to stay up until you woke up. Passed out a few hours ago. Here, small sips." She waited until the water was down, and she was sure it wouldn't be coming back up, then placed the cup on the bedside table.

"Who are you?" He asked, eyes closing again - this time, she knew, out of innocent exhaustion.

"A guardian angel."


She watched from the doorway, studying the brothers as they interacted. The one on the chair next to the bed seemed never to take his eyes away from the injured one - forever watching, worrying, blaming himself.

"I'm fine, dude." The bed-ridden man spoke with a smile. "Don't worry, we'll be back on the road in no time."

A half hearted smile, a long pause, then, "I thought I'd lost you."

Her heart clenched.

"Never," was the mumbled response.

She closed the door.


She watched the Impala as it faded into the distance, studying the road the brother's were traveling, marveling at how it seemed to go on forever. An optical illusion, she knew. The road ended. The road always ended. Just like the journey.

She still smiled though, knowing in her heart that those two still had a long way to go.


End.