Disclaimer: Supernatural and every character associated with it belongs to the CW and Eric Kripke.

The light illuminated the room, casting shadows that did nothing to enhance the place.

"Dude!" Sam stopped short and looked around in disbelief, while Emily sniggered as she crossed the room's span and dropped her bag next to the couch. They had decided to stop for the night in Kerrville, Texas. The pouring rain had brought visibility to almost nil, forcing them to stop earlier than they had intended.

"Hey, I didn't decorate the place. I just chose it!" Dean grumbled, bringing up the rear. However, he too did a double take when he saw the room. It was atrocious.

"Well, you made a craptastic choice! Even death would be depressed in this room!"

Everything in the room was aubergine in color, from the walls to the bedspreads. It made for an extremely gloomy look. The only good thing that could be said about the color was that it hid mould quite well.

"It's not like I had a guided tour before I took the room. The minute the guy said there was a pullout couch, I was sold!" Dean defended himself. "Besides, you Little Miss Sunshine can light up the room!" he added sarcastically in a terrible imitation of an old woman's voice. He was referencing an incident two weeks back when a woman had said Sam positively lit up a room with his smile. It had annoyed Dean to no ends because the dork had not even been trying to win over the woman. Dean was the one who had been trying to be charming.

"She wasn't that old!" Sam laughed, "You're just jealous!"

"No I'm not! She was like fifty years old!"

"Yet you tried to flirt with her!" Emily pointed out. She had been present at the event. The woman in question was probably between thirty-five and forty, and she had been drop dead gorgeous, and evidently Dean had thought so too.

"I was not flirting! I was trying to get information. You two idiots were in the background giggling about something dumb and stealing my thunder!"

Sam and Emily would have been affronted about being accused of giggling but they both knew that's what Dean wanted, so they refused to take the bait.

"Jealous!" Sam instead dismissed his brother as Emily dissolved into loud obnoxious laughter.

Dean huffed. He supervised Emily as she lay the salt lines. She rolled her eyes in irritation but didn't verbally object to his hovering. She had stopped fighting him. Well, not really, but she had stopped fighting him on supernatural and hunt related activities. After all, he and Sam were the experts in this area, so she mostly deferred to them. She wasn't docile though and the three of them still got into it, none willing to relinquish control and independence, but their fights were never earth shattering, and they made up easily and quickly.

They had showers one after the other, Dean going last and finding nearly no hot water. "Bloody hell! I'm going to wake up one night and go on a hair cutting rampage, because seriously, you two finish the hot water washing your damn hair!" he yelled from the bathroom.

"Just try to get in first next time!" Sam, the most extravagant water user called back. He and Emily enjoyed another laugh at Dean's expense.

Sam sat on his bed and grabbed his laptop. Emily lay on her stomach on Dean's bed. She had the best view to the TV from there. She'd move to her couch bed when it was time to sleep. She stopped at a channel that was promising to show the movie Equilibrium in a few minutes. Right now it was going through a series of commercials.

"Why don't you wear pajamas?" she asked curiously and suddenly. Sam as usual was wearing a tee and a pair of boxers to bed.

Sam looked up in amused shock to find her watching him, her head supported on her hand. She was actually waiting for an answer! He'd thought it was one of those idle no-need-for-an-answer questions she was fond of. "Because I don't own any!" he shrugged.

"How come?" she asked in amazement. She had four pajamas sets, that she never mixed and matched, and had only slept in a loose tee that one time she had gone after Bobby and had ended up staying in the town longer than she had planned, so she couldn't understand why a person wouldn't have nightwear.

"I never buy any!"

"Why? Is it a guy thing or is it just you and Dean?"

Sam had never really thought about it. Their dad didn't either, and as he flashed back to his freshman year before he got the apartment with Jessica, he realised his roommate hadn't either. "It could be a guy thing. I don't know. The guys I've known didn't own any as well. I don't know their reasons, but dad, Dean and I, don't buy any because it's a waste of time. Going shopping is hard enough without wasting time looking for specialised sleepwear," he answered.

Besides, they did most of their outer-clothing shopping at Salvation Army, something Emily had not been exposed to yet. However, when you've had your jeans slashed by claws and stained with blood a few dozen times, you didn't exactly want to waste money replacing them with pairs worth a hundred dollars! Especially when you didn't make a living and drove extensively around the country and had a car to fuel and motel rooms to rent.

Emily had not hunted long enough to get to their level of raggedness yet, and hopefully she never would. Her jeans, all four pairs of them, had no holes, and were not flayed or faded. All her clothes fit her frame well because she'd bought them in stores and probably tried them on before buying. He and Dean didn't really have that luxury. They went into thrift shops looking for clothes their size. If they didn't find any, they bought a size bigger. Sometimes, especially in Sam's case, they bought a size smaller. There were T-shirts he couldn't raise his arms while wearing because they would practically rise to his chest! It was rather embarrassing. The only thing Emily owned that was ragged were her boots, and that was because she had owned them for years. She apparently committed to everything, even shoes! But you could tell even in their ragged state that those boots were of great quality and had probably been expensive to begin with.

Even her demeanour, for the most part was shiny and peppy; she sometimes spoke with fast breathless enthusiasm and peppered her speech with hand gestures, and she still had that quick, boisterous, springy walk. Sometimes he was sure she was about to start skipping like a child, but she never did. He knew time and experience would inevitably dull this part of her, so he enjoyed it while it lasted; he laughed at her gaiety and wondered at her naivety. In the towns they'd stopped, he had noticed people looking at them suspiciously and watching Emily closely, trying to figure out whether she was acting scared or anything. They probably thought he and Dean had kidnapped her or something. Fortunately, the rapport between the three of them was quickly and easily evident. It amazed him sometimes how fast the three of them had bonded. It felt like they had known Emily for years. Like she had somehow always been there.

Then he remembered the fight that had threatened to tear them apart. Instead, and remarkably it had made their bond stronger. They still fought of course! After all, they were siblings and they spent a lot of time together, moreover in close quarters. And even though they had some similar traits, they had totally different personalities, so yes, fights were inevitable. However, the quarrels were resolved quickly and easily and without any bitterness or ill feelings left over. Besides, many of the fights could indisputably be classed under ridiculous! Sam smiled and returned to his computer.

In the shower Dean sang 'Riding in my car by Woody Guthrie' in a campy, hilariously exaggerated manner. He'd fallen in love with the ridiculous song when he'd heard it on Emily's iPod back in Rum River when Bobby had been hurt on a hunt. Despite his complaints about the lukewarm water, Dean enjoyed the shower. With the heavy downpour that had started out of nowhere, it was a good night to stay indoors, and he was glad he did not need to hustle pool as they had enough funds to last maybe another three days.

When he'd put Madeline's envelope in his jacket, he'd forgotten about it until they were on the road. The woman had given them 1,300 dollars! In a fucking envelope, like it was nothing! He supposed it was nothing to her. She'd probably grabbed it from a biscuit tin or something! After they had all expressed their shock and counted the money four times, Dean had tried to split it equally between the three of them but Sam and Emily had insisted he give them 200 each and keep the rest because more often than not, he fuelled the car and he kept their ammo topped up. The two of them rarely ganged up against him, but when they did, he didn't stand a chance of winning, but that didn't mean he didn't give his all in any of those arguments.

God, he loved those two stubborn dorks with everything he had, and even though they sometimes drove him mad, he would never trade them for anything. He remembered the hunt in Oregon with a slight shudder. That hunt had made him paranoid for a long time after. He wouldn't let either sibling out of his sight if he could help it. When he couldn't, he made sure he could at least hear them. He'd have them sing or talk loudly to him if he was in the bathroom and he cut down his shower time to a record low that had nothing to do with the fact that most times the water wasn't warm when he got in. In fact, the first thing he had bought with his money was a bright pink helmet for Emily, on which he had had the words 'Pinky and the Brain' inscribed. Who said just because he was worried, he couldn't have a sense of humor about it? Before wrapping it, he had given it to Sam to sign. Sam had laughed for nearly a minute before writing one word - Narf! "Just when I'm about to question whether the two of us are really related, you go and prove it!" Dean had approved of Sam's signature with a laugh and a slap on the back.

Emily had opened the wrapped box with such enthusiasm, that he and Sam had felt a little guilty about its contents. However, her reaction to the gift had absolved them. When she'd seen the helmet, her eyes had widened in shock, then twinkled with suppressed laughter and her lips had twitched. "You guys suck!" she had tried to glare at them, but her eyes were still dancing with mirth and the laughter could be heard in her voice. Dean knew that the significance of the present had not been lost on her, as her thanks though said with as much sarcasm as she could muster, was really heartfelt. She had worn the thing on a couple of hunts and even now kept it in her duffle bag.

Dean felt ridiculously happy whenever his impossibly strong willed, independent siblings accepted his help. His need for their validation would probably never completely disappear. It was too entrenched. He had been effectively indoctrinated.

He turned off the water, towelled dry and dressed up. "Any hunt in this town?" he asked as he got out of the bathroom. He jumped onto the bed jostling Emily, then he obnoxiously crossed his feet at the ankles in front of her face, snatched up the remote from the bed where she had dropped it and flipped through the channels.

"Oh sweet Pythagoras, don't say it's another salt and burn!" Emily groaned, as she shifted positions, getting off her stomach to sit shoulder to shoulder with Dean. She shoulder bumped him in retaliation for his feet in her face gesture.

If it was a salt and burn, it would be the eighth since leaving Oregon. In one town there had even been two. The boys had explained that spirits were the commonest supernatural being out there, because people died every day, and many people died with unfinished business. Yeah, whatever! As far as she was concerned salt 'n burns were boring. The three of them met no resistance. Both boys were immensely glad about this. They told her it was probably because the ghosts they'd found so far had just been created, their former host bodies only recently dead, and so the spirits were not yet powerful enough to harm anyone, let alone resist experienced hunters. They told her stories of salt 'n burns that had been way more complicated. She was yet to experience one of those. The ones she'd been on had been so routine she could do them alone and with half a brain. They found a spirit, found out who it belonged to, dug up the poor sod, salted and burnt his remains and covered up the grave again.

She had a flitting suspicion that her brothers had been choosing the easier cases because of the head injury she had received in Oregon, but she couldn't prove it, because she could never find a case on her own. She could thoroughly and diligently read a newspaper from the first page to the last and not come across a single case. Then Sam and Dean would perfunctorily scan the same paper and eyeball a case in seconds. Sam said it was because she was too logical. Even though she was now open to the existence of the supernatural, her brain still supplied logical explanations for the things she read. Dean called her a supernatural idiot savant, a comment that always started a round of bickering that digressed into hilarious name calling and ended in laughter.

Of course they didn't always find their cases through the papers. Once Dean had found one by eavesdropping on a woman's phone call with a friend. Sam had wanted to disapprove, but the fact that they got rid of a ghost before it got dangerous had made him forgive his brother's appalling lack of manners. The culprit had been the woman's husband who had died just two days earlier. He wasn't dangerous, he hadn't even learnt how to manifest yet, but his perceivable presence in form of cold spots had been freaking his wife out.

"Best of three, if it's another salt n burn!" Dean said idly as he settled on the channel Emily had previously settled on. Equilibrium had just started.

Emily smiled. At first, the boys wouldn't let her dig up graves, but the novelty of her being a girl had quickly worn off, something she helped along with her complaints and tantrums about not being a fragile thing. So these days, they played rock, paper, scissors to determine who would dig and who would stand guard. Sam was an RPS ninja! He almost never lost. Dean on the other hand was guaranteed to lose; like Sam so eloquently said, "Always with the scissors, Dean!"

More often than not, it was Emily and Dean digging. However, during the rare times she won, Sam dug alone because Dean, even though he'd lost, wouldn't join Sam in the grave and let her stand guard alone. His overprotectiveness sometimes chafed at her independent spirit, and was usually the cause of their fights, but they were both learning to relax.

She remembered getting wicked blisters on her hands the first time she'd dug, but it wasn't like they'd killed her or anything. She was fitter and her arms were toned from digging graves, and hefting herself out of deep holes, so she really had nothing against salt 'n burns, but still, hunting whose only activities were digging, salting and burning got old quick. Well, she enjoyed her brothers' company! And the driving! And the fewer social rules and expectations! So that counted for something.

"Nope! Nothing. The town's clean," Sam mumbled after a while.

Dean and Emily sighed together, neither turning away from the TV where a fantastic, albeit unrealistic fight scene was taking place. Their disappointment was palpable. Sam threw the paper aside and joined his siblings.

Later they had a spirited debate complete with attempted recreation of some scenes, about whether the fighting in the movie was feasible or not and in the end all three decided it wasn't. They laughed at the ridiculousness of the gun kata but admitted it was cool to watch. They concluded that the cool factor of the movie nearly but not quite made up for it's weak, unoriginal plot. They then got onto the topic of how Sean Bean dies in all his movies.

"Not all!" Sam objected, and he went ahead and listed all the movies he could remember that Sean Bean hadn't died in.

Dean stared at him with a dumbfounded look after he had finished, then threw his hands up. "I rest my case. Even proximity to my coolness can't ungeek you!"

"Well, your brand of cool isn't cool!" Sam retorted.

"Amen!" Emily quipped.

Dean glared at them.

She ignored him and with her eyes twinkling mischievously, she instead asked, "Most ludicrous Sean Bean death?"

Dean would have loved to rag on her for using weird big words like ludicrous, but he just couldn't resist answering her question. "Death by cow … the Field!" he answered promptly with a snicker.

Emily chuckled in appreciation before she whispered a little guiltily, "And sheep too!"

Sam looked at them in disapproval and shook his head. "You two are really disturbed!" but he ruined the effect by smiling almost immediately. He had to admit that was an absurd way to go.

Like coroners and morticians and other people who regularly saw and dealt with death, most hunters developed a morbid sense of humour. For Dean and Sam this was true to a small extent. For Emily, this only applied to movie and TV death; in reality, she hadn't been around death long enough. Still, none of the three was yet to get desensitised to death.

They talked easily, joking and teasing each other until Dean dropped off. It was not surprising that he'd fallen asleep first. He really was like a soldier; he could fall asleep nearly instantly and could sleep just about anywhere. He also woke fast, going from sleep to alert in seconds, if there was danger. Conversely, he was a bitch to wake if he didn't sense danger! Dragging him out of bed was an exercise in patience.

Before returning to his own bed, Sam helped Emily pull out the couch bed. She quickly made it up and settled in with a sigh, her hands laced behind her head. Not for the first time, she missed her guitar. She had wanted to bring it, but the day they had left Bobby's, the three of them had been at odds and Dean in particular had been so mad, that she feared if he saw her bring along a guitar for what he had expressly told her wasn't a road-trip, he'd smash it on the ground. Of course, she now knew her brothers a lot better, she knew he could never do such a thing. Underneath that tough, hard shell, was a real softie, especially when it came to Sam and her. Her iPod had also not made the journey, as she'd been unable to locate it that day. A melody from 'The Platters' would have been the perfect lullaby. From his breathing, she could tell Sam had finally fallen asleep too. She really hoped he had a restful night tonight.

Being on the road with her brothers, and sharing such close quarters, Emily had learnt that Sam didn't always sleep well. Some nights he slept fitfully and at times, she woke up at ungodly hours to find him on his laptop or just seated on his bed staring into space. She wanted to talk to him, but she had no idea what to say. Besides, she knew Dean was fully aware of Sam's restless nights but neither brother acknowledged it, so she followed their lead. Still, she did not think it was healthy, especially for a person as expressive as Sam not to talk about what plagued his dreams.

With a sigh, she turned to her side, her right hand slipping under her pillow to feel the cold comfort of her gun. Guns weren't new to her, not with a mom who had been a US Marshal, but if someone had told her a year ago that she couldn't go to sleep without a gun under her pillow, she'd have snorted in derision and called up a mental institution for the person. Sam kept his on the nightstand, as did Dean, but she knew Dean slept with his wicked looking bowie knife under his pillow. Emily didn't have a bowie knife, but even if she'd had one, she would never sleep with it under her pillow as she felt that the chances of a finger-losing accident were high if she did so. However, Dean was a veteran hunter, he was unlikely to hurt himself accidentally.

In her own personal knife arsenal, she now had an Extrema Ratio knife she'd bought in Lamesa, New Mexico, a butterfly knife and a punch dagger pocket knife both of which Sam had found and bought her as gifts. Both knives were antiques, beautifully crafted and considerably ornate but despite their cuteness, both were extremely sharp and dangerous. Dean, being the overzealous weapon maintenance hunter that he was, kept all the knives they owned constantly sharp with a whetstone. That they carried around a whetstone was yet another eccentricity about her brothers that should have surprised Emily, but hadn't.

It was also not surprising that Sam had bought her beautiful knives. Despite being macho, both brothers loved pretty weapons. Emily always teased them, saying that she, the girl, had the plainest guns. Dean's favored gun was a Colt that had ivory grips and Sam's was a Taurus with mother of pearl grips. Of course they had other guns including the shotguns which they switched back and forth between each other and Emily, depending on which ammo they had or what they were hunting.

Emily was now proficient with all the back up guns, but it had taken her a while to get used to the Beretta. One evening, the three of them had gone out in the woods along a beaten road they'd been transversing and shot a few bottles. Emily's personal guns were the S&W Bobby had given her, and a Ruger LCP she had taken off an incompetent thief who had waved it in her face as an intimidation tactic. The three of them had been hunting an incubus, with her as the bait. Her brothers who had been close by, did not need to help her take down the thief, but they had been so pissed at the man not only because he had threatened their baby sister, but because he had ruined their stakeout. Emily had been pissed because what had been shaping up to be an exciting hunt had fizzled out unspectacularly. The incubus had become aware of their presence and fled. Yeah, some monsters did have a self preservation instinct and knew when they were outmatched. This trait didn't mean they were not dangerous. In fact, being smart made them more dangerous than the average monster. Emily hoped she and her brothers or another hunter caught up to the incubus before it hurt someone.

The boys had trussed the thief up and Dean had just stopped short of kicking the man in the nuts!

"Next time, pick on someone your own size!" Sam had snarled at the man. That had made Emily want to snort with laughter because the man was actually only half an inch taller than she was.

"And pack a more manly gun!" Dean had added with a sneer.

"You know what? Just get another job! You're definitely not cut out for this one!" Emily had quipped goadingly.

Despite Dean's derision, she had taken the gun as they left the scene.

"That's a girly gun!" Dean had been aghast.

The look she'd given him had had Sam in stitches for days. She had also added in indignation, "FYI, I am a giiiiirl! Besides, just because it's small doesn't mean it's a sissy gun. It's a semi-automatic, six rounds, point and shoot gun, with .380 ammunition. Trust me, it can do a whole lot of damage! And on top of that, it's easy to conceal!" Also, she was really adept at using Rugers, admittedly bigger ones, and she knew they were reliable guns. She would take this gun any day over the Beretta and she'd told Dean so. He'd sulked a little over that, as if she had insulted his personal invention or something, but he'd soon gotten over it. After all, he could not begrudge her a second gun, moreover one that she was actually comfortable with.

She used the guns interchangeably, carrying the Ruger more often during the day because it was easier to conceal especially with her clothes that were slightly more formfitting than her brothers' were. Dean had made her a belt holster that made carrying the guns easier.

Emily smiled in the darkness. Her brothers' gifts to her were as unconventional as her brothers themselves. Gosh, she loved these boys. It sometimes scared her how much. Slowly she drifted off to sleep, content and safe in her brothers' company.