Together Again

I needed Dean's blood.
I needed it soon. I needed it as soon as possible. I needed it right then, right there.
Preferably before I blew up, killing everyone in a ten mile radius.

I ran my hands under the tap. The hotel had crappy water pressure, but it got the job done...sort of.

The cut I'd pressed a knife into over and over again throbbed under the water, a fresh lining of skin slowly forming against the latest gash.

My hands were covered in blood. My own blood, but blood nonetheless. A pile of Dean's clothes sat on one side of the counter, Sam's on the other. I dried my hands on the red towel hanging across from the toilet and picked up a pair of dark jeans from Dean's pile. I dug in the pockets, procuring the silver ring I knew to be there.

I held the thin band between my fingers, relishing the power that radiated from it. I held it in my thumb and index finger and watched it twinkle in the dim light of the bathroom. Something I hadn't expected was engraved sloppily into the inside of the ring.

My name.

Gemma.

I dropped the ring like it was on fire and it rolled around the sink, too big to fit down the drain. I stared down at the circle of metal and squished my eyebrows together.

Two more bands appeared in the sink and I smirked.

Being a crazy half-breed had its perks.

I slipped one of the duplicates onto the middle finger of my right hand and stuff the original half-heartedly into Dean's pocket.

A gun cocked and the cold, metal barrel pressed into the back of my neck.

"If you're looking to kill me, you better aim a little higher," I said quietly, "Sammy Winchester."

"I'm looking forward to a slow, painful death for you, bitch," he sneered, his words punctuated and painfully serious.

I turned, still looking down. Without flicking my eyes upwards, I grabbed the gun now poised over the hollow of my throat and forced it upwards. The barrel rested between my eyebrows and I sighed.

My eyes travelled up, along Sam's long legs, his broad chest with a black and blue plaid shirt stretched tightly across it, and finally to his face. His eyes were hard chunks of blue-green ice, his eyebrows knitted together above them.

"You got taller, Sammy."

And with three little words and a childhood nickname, Sam's entire face softened and his hands shook as he lowered his gun.

"Gemma?" he asked, almost like he didn't believe it was me. He reached around me as I nodded solemnly. His gun clanked onto the counter and as he leaned back, the gun in my back pocket appeared in his hand. Sam's fingers twisted around the trigger and I moaned.

"It really is me, Sam," I breathed, brushing a strand of dyed-black cherry hair out of my face.

"If it's you, then tell me something only you and I would know."

I sighed again, leaning back against the sink and crossing my arms over my chest.

"I was on the road, with you, your brother, Dean, and your dad for almost two months when I was sixteen, same age as Dean. Your dad, John, he taught me how to shoot my first gun."

"You could be a demon; you could've been watching Gemma when she was with us. You could be a shape shifter."

"Sure, I could, but I wouldn't know how I got these," I replied, tugging my grey tank top up, revealing the claw marks scarred into the skin of my stomach. Sam flinched and chewed his lip as I continued.

"We got into a mess with a hellhound, just me and your dad. The night before we went on the hunt, I had been...doing stuff with Dean... We got into a fight and I told him I was going to leave, but I didn't tell you that. And the next day, I went on my 'final' hunt with John. We hadn't expected a hellhound and I got messed up pretty bad. John took me to the hospital and they thought I wouldn't make it. But somehow, the next morning all I had was scars. An overnight miracle. The next day, the three of you were gone and I stayed with Bobby for a couple days; your dad gave me directions and a couple hundred. I haven't seen anyone since."

"It is you," Sam said, still staring at me.

"Of course it's me, Sam."

Next thing I knew, I was wrapped in Sam's arms, being crushed against his chest. His blood beat in my ears, but something wasn't right. I pulled back and stared at him. There was something in his eyes. It clicked, my half-breed senses tingling like I was Spiderman.

"Not demon blood, Sam," I whispered, but he let go of so quickly I stumbled backwards, tossed my gun to me and walked out of the bathroom.

"You were always...different, Sammy," I said, following him into the main part of the room. The sheets were rumpled and the Winchester's trademark duffle bag sat in the middle of the orange carpet. I hadn't really noticed the little details when I exploded through the door, instantly rummaging through the boys' clothes for a pocket knife (which now sat covered in my blood on the bathroom counter) and ran into the bathroom.

"I can't stop thinking about it, Gemma. It's the only thing I can think about." His voice was full of tears and he sniffed, dropping down onto one of the beds. The weird yellow and blue pattern on the sheets made my head hurt. I leaned against the cabinet that held the television, looking at Sam.

"Does Dean know?" I asked; my voice surprisingly calm and strangely collected.

"No, how the hell am I supposed to tell him?"

I nodded, but at his mention of the h-word, banged my head softly against the wall. My eyes slipped shut and pain flashed through my entire body. My memory of hell was a burden I hated to bear, but one I couldn't seem to rid myself of.

At that moment, my eyes flashed open and Dean burst through the hotel door, a gun in hand. I stepped around the cabinet so he could see me. His green eyes locked on my grey and his gun fell clattering to the floor.

"No..." was all he said. Pain radiated through my chest. "You're dead."

"Obviously I'm not, Dean," I snarled, a burning sensation filling my head as I said his name. "You of all people should know."

"I should...? No. You're in hell. I saw you." Sam jumped to his feet at his brother's words and I raked a hand through my hair.

"You're in hell?" Sam whispered.

"Was," I spat back at him, running my finger around the ring on my hand.

"She's supposed to still be there," Dean said, shrugging out of his coat. "You can leave. Now."

"Wait. How do you know that, Dean?" Sam asked with an argumentative tone to his voice. He knocked Dean's shoulder and Dean scowled.

"Because, I-"

"He tortured my soul," I said simply. Sam looked as though I'd just shot him. He grabbed Dean by the collar and slammed him against the wall. I rolled my eyes. I'd always been like an older sister to Sam; giving him tips on how to impress girls, helping him act a little 'cooler'. He'd always idolized Dean, but I guess, to him, I was the female version of his brother.

"How could you?" he spat, slamming Dean against the wall again. "You said you loved her!"

"I can hear you!" I yelled, stepping between the two of them and forcing Sam to let go of Dean. My skin touched Dean's and I tried not to cry out in pain.

"I didn't have a choice, Sam!" Dean yelled, trying to step around me. "Alastair told me to, so I did!"

"And since when do you do what a demon tells you, Dean? Since when do you turn on the girl who might as well be family?" Sam yelled back, trying to step around me like Dean had.

"Stop it!" I screamed and they both stared at me. "Both of you! Quit it! I need your help."

Sam stepped back and Dean brushed past me. Reaching my breaking point, I yelled at him.

"Stop touching me!" I screeched, squeezing my eyes shut. "You know what you did! You remember every goddamn second of it, Dean! You know that touching a soul you've tortured puts them in physical pain! You know that!"

"I don't remember any of it, Gemma!" he yelled, stepping towards me, throwing his arms out to the sides. "I don't remember torturing you, Gemma, okay? I don't! All I remember was that you were the first one and Alastair told me to."

"Well, I wasn't your only first now, was I, Dean?"

I struck a nerve and he turned, his eyes green flames.

"You don't talk about that in front of Sam, Gemma!" he yelled, but I could see it in his eyes. He remembered that night. The night before the hellhound attack. The night when we were sixteen and 'in love'. The night when he told me he loved me.