Disclaimer: This fic is part of a series based on the episodes of Supernatural. The characters and plots belong to the creator and writers for the show. If you want background on the OCs you can read the previous episodes.

Close to Home

"Sam!"

Kayla nearly came out of her skin as he yelled out and she took a moment to steady her breath. "Dean." She spoke softly and reached over to touch his arm. "It's just a dream." She had gotten used to the nightmares, but they seemed to stop for awhile. The violent yelling had simmered into restless awakenings.

"Yeah," He grumbled. "Reality is probably a lot worse." As per recent tradition, he sat up and grabbed the bottle next to the bed. "I'm sorry I woke you up, I told you I felt one coming. I should have slept in the other room."

"I don't want you to sleep in the other room." She sighed and took the bottle out of his hand, replacing it in its spot in the drawer. "The baby doesn't mind my miniature heart attacks. Keeps him on his toes."

"Right. I'm sure that's good for him." He continued to stare at the drawer. It had been a particularly vivid one tonight.

"You okay?"

The sudden craving for booze slipped away and he laid back down against his pillow. "Awesome."

She slid her hand across his chest and kissed his shoulder. "It's been awhile, what was it?"

He shrugged and let the anxiety from the nightmare settle some before speaking. "The same, it's always the same." He kissed her on the forehead. "It's alright. You need to sleep."

"No, it's okay." She sat up and turned the lamp on. "Let's go for a drive."

He wanted to. During the really bad spots, jumping into the Impala and driving aimlessly cleared his head. Before he could accept the proposal he saw her shifting her weight to get to her feet and sighed quietly. "Come on babe, it's two o'clock in the morning. You don't need to be doing all that heavy lifting."

"Please." She laughed and touched her rounded stomach. "I've held guns heavier than him."

They could go back and forth for awhile but he decided to save himself the trouble and skip to the part where she wins. She was kind of adamant about giving him what he needed, especially when it came to coping with Sam.

The first two months after the showdown in Lawrence were the hardest. From an outside standpoint anyone would say Kayla was dealing remarkably well, and that her parent's ranch was the perfect place for recovery. Of course things couldn't be that easy. When she was younger the house was her haven, her favorite place to stay as it was secluded and perfect for peace of mind. But Dean was persistent about moving to protect them and she didn't even bother enjoying the property as she once did. She never roamed the quiet paths at night, or just sat outside in the afternoon to take in the serenity of it all.

Instead, she focused all her efforts on house hunting. She scoured real estate ads and the internet looking for the perfect home to raise the baby in; the perfect neighborhood to have a normal family. This took a lot of time, given that she did background checks on everyone the neighborhood once she found a house she was interested in. There were several things about a person that could issue a red flag for them, and not just a criminal record. In fact it was the opposite. A background in the government, law enforcement, or any kind of investigation wasn't great. They ask a lot of questions. It took time, but it was good for her, it kept her busy. Dean thought she was doing well, and not once did she break down, well, not in front of him. He never saw her cry for Sam, just as Cas had told her.

Dean had taken back to the drinking habits from when he returned from hell. A swig first thing in the morning, a beer after meals, a couple shots before bed, and whatever he had closest to fill in between. He told her it took the edge off, helped him keep his mind off of Sam but it was a lie. For the longest he was all he ever thought about and the booze just killed a little of the intensity of the memories. While Kayla was house hunting, he was in the garage tinkering with all the cars she'd kept from her dad, the cars she kept just for him. They didn't really need work, but he did it anyway. Replacing wires, changing the oil, tightening bolts, waxing, detailing, whatever he could do to keep himself busy.

The nights were a different story. He hated sleeping altogether because he had no control over his dreams. To say his nightmares were violent would be putting it lightly. All his memories of hell flooded back into him as he imagined Sammy taking his place at the rack. It would be worse for him than it was for Dean; Alastair simply wanted him to take his place as the inflictor of torture. Sam was trapped in a cage with Lucifer and Michael, and they had nothing but time and hatred on their hands. Every morning he would wake up in a cold sweat, yelling, swinging, always dreaming of Sam. Always dreaming of trying to save him, and never being able to. And every morning he would reach for that bottle, trying to drown out the sounds of his brother's cries for help.