Author's Note:

The OC is my own. They originally appeared in 'A Helluva Level O' Malevolence'. This story is not a sequel - the character just re-appears (by popular request. Thanks, you readers, you!).

For Mizpah, a little oasis in a drought, who opened the door just enough of a crack to make me think Zachariah was talking to me.

And for my sister, who put up with me going on about how much I missed writing for the entire LA convention weekend of 27-29th March, 2009.

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ONE

Sealed of Dreams

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He was standing at the door, his hand still holding it open for his wayward brother, looking into the busy bar room. The girl behind the counter, an Amazon Queen if ever he saw one, waved at him cheerily and beckoned him in with a wickedly enticing finger.

He grinned and let go of the door, not caring if anyone were behind him or not, or indeed if the door whacked into them as a result. He sauntered up to the bar, finding a space in the crowd. He laid both elbows on the top and lent his weight to them, clasping his hands together. The barmaid did likewise, grinning at him from barely six inches away.

"Evening," she said, one eyebrow tweaking upwards as she looked his face over. "And what can I do for you?"

"Do you want the short list?" Dean breathed, his eyes slowly sweeping over her face. If the Eye Police had been on duty, both jade orbs would have been arrested for Intent To Cause Combustion and Manslaughter By Charm on the spot.

The bar room door burst open and he and several other patrons turned to see a chattering, laughing crowd of twenty-something girls whoosh in. They looked around, found three vacant tables, and spread their group across it noisily.

"Right, this end is all the poker players, right?" one louder voice called over their chatter. Girls jumped up and changed places until they all seemed to be pretty well organised. The original girl surveyed the new arrangements. "We're one short. I'm not paying strip poker with only five players."

Heads turned and looked toward the bar. There was a buzzing as their heads came together and they conferred. A collective chuckle of agreement followed and the five hopeful poker players sprang to their feet, swarming toward the males leaning against the wooden counter still.

The man to Dean's left cleared his throat and stepped forward slightly, smiling. "Well, evenin' girls," he began.

One girl pushed her way to the front of the group. She pointed at the man. "You," she said firmly, before hooking her thumb back over her shoulder, "take a hike."

His head bowed immediately and he walked off. The girl turned and looked at Dean, smiling slightly and sauntering a little closer than would have been allowed under the Personal Space, Breaking Thereof guidelines. She looked him up and down.

"We were wondering if you'd like to help us out with a problem," she oozed slowly.

"Just me? Help all of you?" he blinked with apparent innocence.

There was a group 'Yes!' and he laughed wickedly.

"Well, let me think about this," he grinned nonchalantly, leaning his weight back on his elbows, still stationed on the bar. "Just what do I have to do?"

"Well…" she began with an indulgent smile, "first of all, we need another poker player."

"Ok, that I can do," he nodded confidently.

"And second, we need…" She bit her lip, then looked round at the group of eager girls. She leaned into him, putting her mouth very close to his left ear as she whispered something.

Dean's head turned to watch hers pull away again, a look of awe on his face.

"All five of you?" he dared. She nodded meaningfully and he clapped his hands together, rubbing them eagerly. "Right then, let's blow this pop-stand and get started," he grinned.

There was a sudden blaring, impossibly loud guitar strain and everything seemed to become hazy. The bar room, the girls, everything looked slightly wobbly. The entire room began to shake and turn into whispy trails of colour. The ceiling disappeared, the girls began to shimmer and bleed away into strips of pigment.

"Aw man," Dean protested, "I knew this had to be a dream."

He blinked and found himself looking at a very dingy ceiling in a very dingy motel room. He heard the guitar squealing away and groaned in the darkness. He rolled from his back to his right side, snatching the phone off the bedside table. He heard his brother's muttered protests from a bed far off in the darkness and ignored him to answer the call.

"Yeah'ello," he sniffed.

"Hello?" said a very small, timid voice. "Hello?"

"Yes," he said firmly, raising his volume. "Who is this?"

"Dean? Is that you?" came the girl's voice, and he collapsed on his front, rubbing at his eyes as they caught the bright red digits on the bedside alarm clock that read four twenty a.m.

"Yeah. Who's this?" he grumped.

"It's you? It's really you?"

"Yes! Now who's this?" Dean's hand stopped rubbing.

"You sound the same!" came the voice, sounding monumentally relieved.

"That's great - I'm hanging up now," he nodded pointedly.

"Wait! It's me! It's me. It's Moon," she admitted unhappily.

"Moon? Weh-- ah, how you been?" he managed with a surprised smile.

"Ah… been better," she withered, and his smile died.

"You ok? Where are you?" he asked suspiciously. "What's wrong?"

"Well… nothing. Really. I mean… Just checking they haven't… ah… Nothing. Just… a bad dream," she whispered.

Something about her voice made Dean shiver. He pushed himself to sit up, his feet swinging over the side of the bed and to the cold floor.

"Moon, we haven't spoken in nearly a year, and you call me at four in the morning to tell me everything's ok?" he pointed out warily. "What's happened?"

"Just a dream, really. I thought you were in trou--"

"Are you in any danger?" he interrupted.

"No, I'm fine, really," she said quickly. "Just these dreams sometimes freak me out, and I have to tell someone, and this one was--"

"Where are you?"

"I'm in Colorado," she said quietly.

"Where?" he barked, already standing and going for his clothes, hanging over the back of the chair.

"What's going on, man?" came a sleepy voice from the other side of the room.

"Ssshh," Dean hissed at Sam, picking up his jeans. "Moon, where in Colorado?"

"Paradox," she said quietly. "But--"

"We'll be there soon."

"Dean, you don't have to--"

"I said we'll be there soon," he urged. "Just stay where you are, calm down, and wait for us. Got it?"

"Ok," she replied, and she sounded a shade more relaxed. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet," he said, making himself calm down too. "I'll see you soon."

The line clicked and he pulled the phone from his face, looking at it. He thought for a long moment, then tossed the phone to the bed.

"Sam," he said loudly, turning for his jeans again.

"What?" he mumbled.

"Get up. Get dressed," he called, pulling the jeans round the right way and shoving a foot in quickly.

"What? Why?" he asked, opening weary eyes and rubbing them. Dean was already buckling his belt and looking for a t-shirt.

"We have to go, c'mon, up and at 'em," he ordered, clapping his hands briskly.

Sam rolled to get up, still scrubbing at his eyes. "Why?"

"Cos I've just had a phone call."

"From who?" Sam yawned.

"Moon."

"Moon!" Sam gasped, straightening unconsciously. "Moon Paloquin?"

"Well how many other people do we know named after a celestial body?"

"Sunny. Is she with her? They alright?"

"Vegas money's on the 'shit creek' square," he breathed, going to his duffle and opening it, searching for any clean t-shirt at all.

Sam scrambled out of bed and started his own search for clothes.

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There was a tap-tap-tap on the window and she jumped slightly. She swallowed and then ran in her thick socks to the door, leaning right to look through the assaulted pane of glass. She calmed herself and edged left to look through the spyhole in the motel door.

She spotted two shapes, the taller one at the back. She didn't even have to ask; she could feel the two of them - and their worry - from beyond the wooden divide.

She slid the two bolts back and ripped the door open. She hurled herself out of the door and wrapped her arms round the shorter figure, pressing herself into him gratefully. The smell of him, the solidity of him, the deafening silence of his surprise and happiness washed over her.

"Shupshe," she sighed gratefully.

"Hey there, Joan Jett," came his friendly growl and she grinned at last. She pulled herself away and looked up at him in the darkness.

"Come in," she said quickly, keeping hold of his sleeve with one hand, pulling him into the room with her. Dean let himself be led in, Sam's tall form following and closing the door behind them. "Sam," she said, suddenly edgy. "Good to - ah - see you."

"It's good to see you," Sam admitted with a warm smile. "You really made us worry. Everything ok?"

Her smile faltered and she let go of Dean's sleeve quickly. She put her hands to her waist, pushing them down her sides repeatedly as she thought of something to say. Her light brown shirt looked creased and well-worn. It matched her eyes too well.

"I… ah… I just needed to see someone who would… would…" Her voice tailed off as her eyes filled with water slowly. "God, I am so relieved! I'm so glad you're not… I just… I just…" She closed her eyes and put her hands over them, and both brothers heard the sound of hushed sobs.

Here we go. This is where he orders me and my 'puppy eyes' into action, Sam thought.

But Dean pulled off his jacket and threw it carelessly at the bed. "Hey, c'mon," he said innocently, "we don't smell that bad."

She crossed the carpet in an instant, putting her arms out desperately to cling to him. He was surprised for a long moment before clearing his throat and putting warm arms round her slowly. She grabbed onto him more tightly and he put a hand to her head, holding her tight against his neck. He waited but she didn't seem to be able to stop crying silently. He looked over her head at Sam. He shrugged, just as baffled.

Dean took a deep breath. "What's happened?" he asked quietly. "Not that I mind driving across the state like this, but we missed breakfast and this place don't do sausages," he teased.

Something about his less than sympathetic manner slapped perspective on her actions. She managed to stop her crying and took a minute to control herself. She pulled herself away from him, looking up into puzzled eyes.

"This has been a really hard year," she admitted. "A really hard year."

"Where's Sunny?" Sam asked gently, looking around the motel room.

Dean shot him an irritated look, then adjusted his features to look down at Moon. "Let's see how much alcohol you have, and you can tell us all about it," he offered.

"Good plan," she nodded. "Sam," she said weakly, still watching Dean's curious face, "bag by the bathroom door? Whisky bottle?"

"Got it," Sam allowed, going to the bag as directed and pulling a new bottle out. He turned it in his hands. "Woah. Looks like something Dean might lift."

"I know," she sniffed miserably. "I didn't get the red one. I deliberately didn't get the red one," she said urgently.

"Ok, you didn't get the red one," Dean shrugged.

"I didn't get the red one cos it makes me see Sam kill demons with his mind and cannibals and teddy bears and dead FBI agents trying to kill me and shapeshifters and angels in dirty macs and demons like Alastair twisting words and angels with demons in the back seat and--"

"Woah woah woah," Dean interrupted quickly. "Slow down, Moon."

"You've seen all that?" Sam asked quietly. She turned and looked at him.

"And Dean," she said fearfully, looking back at him with raging terror in her eyes. "I've seen you die a hundred times. Sliced and torn to shreds, cut with knives and blades and all kinds of horrible teeth - clawed and ripped into pieces, then it happens all over again - I saw you, over and over--"

"Moon!" he snapped, putting his hands to her head, holding her still. She closed her mouth. "I'm right here," he said firmly. "I'm fine."

She swallowed and they looked at each other for a long moment. Then she sniffed, sliding her hands up over his and pulling them from her face slowly. She put her hand to the edge of his shirt, pulling it to one side. Her other hand went to the left side of his t-shirt collar, and she wrenched it down quickly to see underneath. She put her hand to his skin, staring. She let everything go quickly and stepped back one.

"It's gone," she whispered. "It's all gone. It's new. You're new. You went down there, you came back. Back from the furnace without any of your old scars, right? No bullet wounds, knife cuts, none of the off-angle fingers from all the breaks - your new hide's smooth as a baby's bottom."

Sam watched her warily, wondering where he had heard those exact words before. His gaze ranged around the room, looking for evidence of Sunny, as he heard Dean speaking.

Dean was adjusting his t-shirt uncomfortably. "Yeah. I been shot a few times, always seems to be in that shoulder area. The Deal came due… I died. I went 'down there'. Then I came back," he allowed gingerly.

"So it's true?" she whispered. "I saw you. I saw everything. And I saw Sam killing demons. On his own. With just his hand and his mind."

"Moon?" Sam asked quietly, and she turned to him. "Ah… I hope you won't take this the wrong way, but… Do you have a lot of these dreams?"

She swallowed. "I didn't. Not till--. Then I dreamt about Dean - I didn't think they were real, but I had to really wonder why, if it was my dream, why I was torturing him like that. All the rest came after. And that's all." She cleared her throat under their gaze. "Really, that's all."

"Where's Sunny?" Sam asked pointedly.

Moon looked at the floor, her eyes shining with tears.

"Moon," Sam said, a clear warning in his voice. "Where is she? Where's your sister?"

"She's… ah… She's not with us any more," she admitted.

Both boys stared, and the room became just a little smaller, a little darker.

"Not with us? You mean - you mean not with us?" Sam dared slowly.

Dean looked at him, saw the upset all too easily. He looked back at Moon. "How long ago was this?"

Moon backed away to the bed slowly, looking at her hands. "About five months, two weeks and three days," she muttered. "Give or take an hour." She sat heavily, staring at her hands.

Sam let his head fall but Dean grabbed up one of the wooden chairs by the wall. He carried it across the carpet and set it in front of her, sitting no less heavily than she had. "What happened?" he asked quietly.

She didn't look at him, her gaze intent on her fingers. "Car crash," she managed. "Her and her friend were going to look up some old family." She paused, and Sam lifted his head to look at her. "She… ah… Her friend was driving, apparently. There was another car, he was over the limit so far they could--. He was very drunk," she interrupted in a small voice. "So the nice cop said."

"Moon," Dean breathed, pausing to run a hand over his mouth in frustration. "Why didn't you call us before now? Have you been alone all this time?"

"I'm alone but I'm not lonely, I'm with the only person who knows me," she whispered lamely.

"Yeah right, you and Jason Manns," Sam said with a brave attempt at a smile. She turned to look at him but couldn't make herself meet his eyes.

Dean looked at his brother then back at Moon, the reference lost on him. "Why didn't you call us?"

"I…" She sniffed and straightened slowly. "To tell the truth, I was afraid."

Sam ran his hands back through his hair and went to the remaining wooden chair. He picked it up and brought it over to the bed, sitting with a weariness born of apprehension.

"Of what?" he asked slowly.

"Of… I had nightmares about Sam all alone, and Dean being sliced n' diced in some really horrific place… I was so afraid that… that nothing had been able to save Dean from his Deal. I was afraid I'd call the number… I saw him use this number in a dream, and I wanted to… I wanted to call it but… I didn't want to find it not in service. I was afraid of never finding someone I could tell all this to. I was afraid of finding someone I could tell all this to and they'd think I was nuts. I was afraid of looking at Sam…"

"What does that mean?" he asked sharply.

Dean spared him an annoyed glance. He looked back at Moon. "Well we're here now. What's gone wrong, apart from Sunny?"

"Where do I start?" she asked herself. "I read cards and people's minds and predict weather for people that can pay. I can't get a proper job cos I can't stop Seeing things and people's memories when they stand too close to me, and I can't get along with normal people. Once they realise you're a freak cos you can read their mind they go off you real quick." She paused. "And then there's the whole 'I'm suddenly having friggin' weirdo nightmares that make me wake up and go buy rotgut alcohol'," she added lamely.

Sam raised his eyebrows at his brother. Dean felt his gaze and turned his head to look at him. Sam nodded his head to indicate Moon, then eyed Dean pointedly. Dean frowned at him dismissively, then got to his feet.

"Right. Well we ain't leaving you here, that's for damn sure," he said firmly. "We know someone who's gonna know exactly how to help you."

"Such a person exists?" she hazarded on a whisper.

"You need to meet a friend of ours," he said professionally, going to his jacket and picking it up.

"What friend?" she asked, but she sounded past caring.

Dean nodded. "Someone who can tell you more about who and why than you know."

"You're thinking Pamela?" Sam asked.

"I'm thinking Pamela," Dean nodded. "And you," he added, pointing at Moon sternly, "are riding up front with me, and explaining all the crap that's been going on since you never called us."

She smiled weakly. "Ok," she managed.

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I'm back from my experimental break. Hope this one is no worse than my other attempts at opening chapters!