Just Driving

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of it's characters. They belong to Eric Kripke (may his name be praised and dammed). Caitlin O'Brian is my OC and belongs to me.

A/N: This is my first fic, so apologies for anything that goes wrong with this series. I'm planning on writing a series of one-shots based around Caitlin and her relationship with the boys, but they won't be in chronological order or anything. If people like this, I might take requests for future chapters - we'll see! Reviews are appreciated. Hope you enjoy! :)

My cheek pressed against the cold glass of the window as I stared into the darkness, my eyes sleepily following lazy flashes of light from houses by the roadside as we zipped past them. The Impala was quiet for once, save for Sam's occasional snuffles from the front seat, his head, like mine, leaning against the passenger side window, and the constant thrum of Baby's engine.

Dean was driving (naturally), and for once he'd neglected to blast his usual classic rock tapes, giving Sam and I a chance to catch up on some well-earned sleep. Sam had offered to take shifts (I was already sprawled out in the backseat by that time, feigning sleep), but Dean insisted on taking the whole 5 hour drive himself, claiming that: "You look like someone ran over you with an SUV, Sammy" and telling him to crash in the front. I guess that was a good call, seeing as how Sam was passed out good and proper now, showing no sign of waking anytime soon.

I sighed and shifted a little in my seat, head still on the window. My mind began to wander to the events of the day, wincing as I remembered getting thrown halfway across a room by the vengeful spirit of a two year old. Who knew that a ghost could get so pissed over a freaking teddy bear? Sheesh, you'd think he'd be more angry about the fact that we were burning his bones.

I sat up slowly, my aching body protesting at this small amount of exertion, and wrapped my red tartan blanket more firmly around my shoulders. Over the years it had soaked up the scent of the Impala; her cracked leather seats, the faint whiff of aftershave mixed with whiskey, and an ever-so-subtle hint of apple pie. I mean, there was dried blood, steel, and gunpowder mixed in there as well, but together, it didn't smell unpleasant. I buried my face in it and inhaled, letting the weird yet surprisingly comforting mix of smells envelop me. It smelt like home.

I sighed again, exhaling, and lifted my eyes to rest on the back of Dean's head as he hummed softly to himself, tapping the steering wheel in time to the beat. I couldn't quite catch the tune, but it sounded like Kansas from the rhythm. 'Dust in the Wind' maybe?

"Hey Dean, whatcha humming?" I asked, breaking the silence. He turned in surprise and peered into the darkness at me.

"Thought you were sleeping?" he replied. It wasn't really a question – I never did sleep that much in the car.

"Nope. Can't sleep," I quipped. "Can't seem to drift off."

"Not like Sasquatch here, then," Dean joked, glancing over at the snoring heap of hair that was his brother. I laughed. Sam was the heaviest sleeper I knew, and when he was tired he would sleep through anything, and I mean anything. Once, I'd managed to completely cover Sam's face with pink glitter and lipstick while he was passed out in the backseat, and he didn't stir an inch, not even when I was drawing swirls all over his forehead. When he woke up, he couldn't understand why Dean and I burst into tear inducing laughter whenever we looked at him, and spent the next five minutes going "What? Is there something on my face?"

Dean and I were too busy snorting and exchanging grins to answer him, and he was left looking like a kicked puppy until he caught a glimpse of himself in the rear-view mirror. Putting it mildly, he wasn't best pleased. Actually, Sam didn't speak to either of us for two whole days after the glitter incident; the only times he said anything to us was when we ordered food for him, or when he needed the bathroom. To be fair, Dean and I did keep calling him 'Princess Sparkle-Pants', so I guess we kind of deserved the silent treatment.

I smiled slightly at the memory. I loved these boys. They were family – the only family that I had left. Even though they were so much older than me, I felt like their kid sister; like I had been my whole life. I mean sure, hunting was scary as hell and downright dangerous at times, but I felt like I had been born to do it. Shotgun (loaded with rock salt) in hand, ready to kick ass, I felt more alive than I'd ever done in my entire life. The thrill of terror and the adrenaline fuelled high helped me to fill a hole. A hole left in my by that demon bitch when she murdered my family. When she tore everyone that I cared about away from me. It was a hole that I doubted I would ever be able to fill, but it helped.

Who was I kidding? It wasn't really the hunting that helped. It was them. Sam and Dean. Without them, I would never have been able to pick myself up and keep going. Without them, I probably would have lost it. I would have gone crazy with grief and vengeance, and would have started to mindlessly hunt down the demon, with no regard for myself or anyone else. The boys told me a bit about their dad, John, and vengeance didn't sound all that healthy to me. But without them, I would have gone down the exact same road. I got where John was coming from, I really did, but I didn't want to become an empty shell. That would make me just like her.

Instead, I'd become a Winchester. I'd found a new family, and I loved them just as much as my old one. They taught me to fight, helped me to laugh, and put me back together in ways that I never thought possible. Sam and Dean were always there for me, and living with them reminded me of something I'd forgotten: There's nothing more important than family. I needed them, and I thanked God (wherever the hell he was) for bringing them into my life.

"You okay back there?"

I started, Dean's voice breaking my runaway train of thought. He was peering back at me again, concern flitting across his features as he searched my face. "You seemed pretty spaced out just then."

"Yeah…no, I'm good," I said, blinking. I realised for once that I wasn't lying.

"Okay. Good." He turned back to face the road.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"You never did tell me what you were humming."

He laughed then, and I leaned my head back onto the window, grinning softly as I closed my eyes.

Yeah… I was good.

Fin