OK, so this is my first Supernatural fic and the longest oneshot I've ever written. I hope you like it! It's set during the 6 months when Sam is alone in season 3, episode 11 (The Mystery Spot) after Dean dies from the Trickster's doing. Enjoy!

Update: There is a sequel up for this story (it's a multichapter) called Ghosts Of Our Past. Please check it out!

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, the song Back In Time by Huey Lewis and the News or The Legend Of Sleepy Hollow (mentions of the last two things in the story).

"Take me away
I don't mind
You better promise me
I'll be back in time
Gotta get back in time"

For a moment Sam was completely disoriented. Where was he? Why were there two beds? And why was music playing? Sam hadn't been woken up by music since Dean-

Sam sat bolt upright in his bed.

"What, are you gonna sleep all day? I know. No Asia. This station sucks," came a somewhat muffled voice from across the room. There was Dean, brushing his teeth. Sam stared at him in shock for a moment, before turning to look at the clock beside the bed.

"It's Wednesday." He choked out.

"Yeah," Dean was giving him a weird look. "Which usually follows Tuesday. Turn that thing off." He said referring to the radio.

Sam paid him no mind, instead getting up and hugging his brother without a word. He was alive. It was almost too good to be true. After months and months of searching for the Trickster, Dean was finally alive again. Thank God.

"Dude, how many Tuesdays did you have?" Dean asked in confusion.

"Enough," Sam responded, still hugging him. "Wait." He removed himself from his brother. "What do you remember?"

"I remember you were pretty whacked out yesterday." Dean replied. "I remember catching up with the Trickster. That's about it." He was giving Sam another weird look.

"Let's go," Sam said with a nod.

"No breakfast?" Dean pouted.

"No breakfast." Sam answered with a smile.

"Alright. I'll pack the car." Dean sighed, going to leave.

"Wait!" Sam cried. Dean turned to look at him, eyebrows raised. "You're not going anywhere alone."

"It's the parking lot, Sam." Dean laughed.

"Just-just trust me."

"Hey, you don't look so good. Something else happen?" Dean asked from the door as he waited for Sam. Sam thought about his answer for a moment. His brother didn't see the tears in his eyes as he responded.

"I just had a really weird dream." Sam's chest felt tight and his voice broke slightly.

"Clowns or midgets?"

Sam gave him a weak smile as he closed the door to the motel room.

"Come on, cheer up!" Dean said as they walked down the stairs to the parking lot. "It's a-" he looked up at the sky. "Not horrible day and we're both alive."

"You're right," Sam agreed. "That's a lot to be grateful for."

"That's the spirit!" Dean all but shouted as he opened the Impala's trunk.

Dean was right of course. They were both alive and well. Sam should've been happy but instead he felt something awful in the pit of his stomach. Sure, Dean was alive and that's what Sam had wanted all along. Sam had no doubt in his mind that he had done the right thing by tracking down the Trickster and demanding he bring Dean back. Then why did he feel so horrible? He hadn't felt like this since Jess-

Sam's eyes widened and his stomach dropped.

Oh, he thought, that's why.

He had never expected to feel any regrets once he got Dean back but then again he hadn't expected to fall in love either.

It was only a job.

He had been searching for the Trickster for a good 2 months and so far had had no luck. He took jobs where he could, knowing that Dean would be angry if Sam had given up hunting to save him.

The job was pretty routine, just dealing with a vengeful spirit. He had caught wind of it from a newspaper that was doing an issue a local haunted house where someone had drowned recently. He knew it was something supernatural right away since the victim had drowned in the living room, with no water in sight.

He started as he started any job: by going to the morgue. That's where he met her.

She was tiny, reaching only his shoulder with the top of her head. She was pretty but not in the "regular" way. It's not that she was exotic or anything like that. It's just that her colouring was a bit odd. She had a fair, but not pale, complexion, large chocolate coloured eyes and hair that was so blonde it was almost white. She had high cheekbones and relatively white teeth. Her hair was done up in a messy bun, her bangs falling in her eyes in such a way that she had to readjust them every five minutes. She wore very little makeup, just something around her eyes, causing them to look even larger, although he had to say that the doe eye look suited her. She was young looking, as if she was barely old enough to be legal. Despite that she seemed to have a good head on her shoulders and a strong stomach (seeing as she worked in a morgue).

He introduced himself as Detective Crane of the FBI and asked to see the body.

"May I see your badge?" She replied in a polite but firm way.

He pulled out one of the fake IDs that Dean had made him and held it up for a few seconds so she could inspect it before putting it away. She gazed at him, her expression still friendly but something different in her eyes. He couldn't tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"Right this way," she gestured for him to follow her as she headed into the next room where there was a body lying on a table. "Vic's name was Jonathan Christenson, 21." She looked up at him. "But you already knew that from the report."

"Of course," was all he said.

She eyed him for a moment with an unreadable expression before continuing. "Drowned in salt water, in the middle of a living room. No sign of a struggle; no abrasions, bruises, wounds or otherwise."

"How was he found?" Sam inquired.

"On his side, so he couldn't have drowned in his own vomit or anything like that," She paused. "At least if he had been on his back he could've drowned from drinking the water; though, I don't know why someone would drink salt water..." she trailed off, talking to herself.

Sam clenched his jaw slightly. Just as he thought.

"Well that's all I need, miss..."

"Van Tassel." She smiled as if she had some private joke. "Katrina Van Tassel."

"Thank you Miss Van Tassel. I'll be on my way now." He nodded his goodbye and took his leave.

It wasn't until later, when he had gotten back to his hotel that he realized what she had said. Katrina Van Tassel. He pulled out his fake ID before pursing his lips and throwing it on the bed. Of course, he thought. The name on the badge was Ichabod Crane. The same Ichabod Crane that had, in the Legend of Sleepy Hollow, fallen in love with one Katrina Van Tassel.

He had been made.

He was in the library the second time he saw her. He had been researching the old house where Jonathan Christenson had died when he noticed her browsing a shelf nearby. She wasn't hard to miss with her strange hair colour and also being the only other person in the reference/history section of the small library.

He watched her for a moment, debating whether he should talk to her or not. He didn't really talk to people voluntarily since Dean had- since Dean but he wanted to know why she had let him see the body when she clearly knew that he was lying about being an FBI agent. In the end she made the choice for him.

"Her name was Charlotte Parish." She said, plopping down into the seat across from him. "She was married to the owner of the house in the 1920s before he broke her heart and drowned her in the salt water pond in the court yard."

She looked at him smugly, her eyebrow raised as if she had figured it all out. He just looked back at her.

"It's a ghost, isn't it?" There was a little bit of breathlessness in her voice that betrayed her excitement.

He turned back to his books, "surely as a woman of science you cannot believe in such things as ghosts."

"Surely as an FBI agent you cannot be researching haunted houses in the area," she replied, picking up one of his books off the table and showing him the cover before dropping it. She gave him a half smile that let him know she had won. He sighed.

"Fine," he put down his own book. "What do you know about this Charlotte Parish lady?"

"Well I haven't been here long," she started, leaning forward and searching his eyes. "But there is an old local legend about the Weeping Lady that has been around for almost a century. Apparently in the house where Jonathan died, there is a spirit who drowns people who have broken someone's heart beyond repair, especially men. They call her the Weeping Lady because first they hear is her crying in the courtyard. Then they hear her scream. If you hear her scream, you're screwed. The next thing you know, your lungs are full of salt water and you're drowning with her standing above you."

"How do you know all this?" Sam asked. He had been trying to find out if there was anything supernatural in town for the last 3 hours and suddenly this girl was here with all the information he needed? Seemed a bit suspicious to him.

"Because one guy got away." She grinned. "And I asked him." Sam began to stand. "Where are you going?"

"To go see him."

"Well that's where you may have a problem." Her expression softened slightly, sadness creeping in. "He died this morning. Drowned." She looked up at him. "I guess she didn't like him talking about her."

He didn't trust her but he didn't have much of a choice. He had no way of talking to the witness and that was the best lead that he had had so far. He wanted to get this case over with as soon as possible so he could get back to looking for the Trickster and this seemed like the best option.

That didn't stop him from doing some research though.

Her name was Rachel Lee (he didn't really think that it suited her). She was 24 and apparently very smart according to the schools she had attended. She also lived in a small apartment close to the morgue which he decided to stakeout just in case.

She had a window overlooking the street that he had parked on. He watched her from the Impala. She didn't really do much. She went over reports for an hour before reading for another. Then she went to what he assumed was the bathroom since she came out about 15 minutes later with wet hair and in pyjamas. After that she watched the news and went to bed. All in all, she seemed normal but Sam decided to be wary nonetheless.

He was just starting the engine when the passenger door suddenly opened. There was a gun in his hand pointed at the person before they could even put one leg in the car.

"Whoa, relax."

It was her. She had changed out of her pyjamas into simple jeans and a sweater and her hair was still damp. She held her hands above her head as if she were being arrested but she didn't seem too scared.

"It's just me."

Surprise wasn't apparent on Sam's face but he sure felt it. Questions invaded his mind. How had she gotten out without him noticing? Had she known he was there the whole time?

"What are you doing here?" was all he said aloud, lowering his gun. She gave him a look.

"I'm coming with you, you oaf," she informed him, getting in the car. He stared at her. "There is no way I'm letting you go alone."

He shook his head, "no."

"Why not?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly.

"This is job for professionals. Civilians aren't allowed."

"Too bad," was her response, staring ahead. "I'm going whether you like it or not."

He clenched his jaw before getting out of the car and slamming the door. He went to the other side and pulled her out roughly by her arm.

"Ow!"

"Listen here, sweetheart," he hissed, putting emphasis on the word to make it sound like he was degrading her as he gripped her arm in such a way that forced her to stand on her tiptoes and look up at him. He had a murderous look in his eyes that made her attempt to shrink back but he wouldn't let her. He held her in place, his chest pressing against hers in their proximity. "You don't know anything about this sort of thing. Do you think this is a game? Monsters are real; vampires, ghosts, werewolves. They will kill you and I'm not going to have your blood on my hands."

He released her arm from his hand and she stumbled back, rubbing it, before looking up at him.

"I'm coming with you." This time her voice shook slightly when she said it but she stared him right in the eyes without looking away.

"That's it," growled Sam.

He grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder.

"Hey! HEY! Put me down!" she screamed. "Stop it!"

He barely felt her fists and feet pounding on his back and stomach as he carried her into her building and up to her apartment. By the time they got to her bedroom she seemed almost resigned and had stopped hitting him entirely.

He dropped her on her bed and opened his mouth to say something when she grabbed his shirt collar and punched him right in the nose. He let out a cry of pain before she pulled him down and twisted so she was straddling him, her fists up, prepared to hit him again if needed.

"What the hell?" he yelled, covering his nose as blood gushed out.

"I'm coming with you." She repeated.

He stared up at her, taking in the tenseness in her shoulders, the hardness in the way her jaw was set, the calmness of her breathing. She had freckles; he realized when he looked closer and the realization hit him right in the stomach. They reminded him of Dean's, barely noticeable but once you saw them, you would always see them.

Perhaps that was what caused him to say what he did next or maybe it was simply that he knew she wouldn't stop. Even if he didn't take her with him, she would show up at the house, no matter what he did. God knows why but she was determined to come with him and he knew he couldn't stop her.

Whatever the reason, he looked up to her, his anger dissipating slightly and agreed.

"Fine."

It was quiet when they entered the house; almost too quiet.

It was a Victorian style house, old and grand, although in much need of a clean. Despite that, it made no sound. The floorboards didn't creak beneath their feet; the door didn't screech when they entered, the stairs didn't groan under their weight. The only sound that could be heard was their breathing, going from calm and even to fast paced and urgent, depending on where they were.

"Let's split up," Rachel suggested in the barest hint of a whisper. Sam shook his head. She rolled her eyes. "I'll call you if I find anything, promise." She held up the gun that he had lent her to show him that she could protect herself. Whether it was on purpose or not, it was Dean's gun that he had let her use and it didn't go unnoticed how well it fit in her hand. He pursed his lips.

"Alright," he whispered reluctantly. "But call me if you see or hear, or even feel, anything at all."

She smiled and nodded before going back downstairs as quietly as she could, the gun held out in front of her.

He watched her until she was out of sight, then turned back to scanning the bedroom with his EMF. He frowned at how inactive it was as he scanned it over the sagging four poster bed. It wasn't long before he had finished that room and was onto the next. He was in the ancient bathroom when he heard the scream. His eyes widened and he dropped the EMF, grabbing his gun as he raced out of the room.

He found her in the courtyard, her head being forced into the pond by someone in a long black dress that floated around her as if she were underwater. She was struggling but slowly her movements became tired and sluggish. He spotted Dean's gun across the yard.

The woman holding her down turned to look at him, her features hard and cold. She snarled at him, contorting her face even more to become that of an old witch's before he shot her right in the chest. She screamed and disappeared.

Sam rushed to Rachel's side, pulling her head above the surface. Her eyes were closed and he couldn't feel a pulse. He swore as he rolled her onto her back and began CPR.

"One, two, three, four," he started as he pushed on her chest, trying to get her heart beating again. He tilted her head up and pushed air into her lungs from his before returning to the chest compressions.

It was almost 2 minutes before she gasped, water spluttering from her mouth. He waited until she was done coughing up water to help her up.

"I think you bruised my ribs," was the first thing she said as she held her side.

"I also saved your life, you ungrateful little mouse," he retorted, defensiveness seeping into his tone. She wasn't even supposed to be here! She was only here because he had allowed it and then when she almost drowned from her own stupidity and he had saved her, she complained about her ribs hurting!

Her eyebrows shot up and she laughed. The sound took him aback. He hadn't heard a genuine laugh from anyone in a long time and definitely not one like hers. It was hearty and full sounding, although still light and short. He stared at her for a moment, amazed that anyone could make a sound like that and particularly amazed that he had been the one that had caused it.

"True." She agreed with a small smile, tilting her head. "So what do we do now?"

"We don't do anything," he told her, finding his words once more, though they weren't as strong and confident sounding as it would've been if she hadn't laughed. He cleared his throat. "I need to find her bones so I can salt and burn them."

"Seriously?" she asked.

"What?"

"Why would we come here to find her bones?"

"Because I needed to make sure it was what we thought."

She pursed her lips and nodded. "Ah. You don't trust me."

"One can never be too careful in my line of work," he said, almost under his breath as he turned away and began to walk back inside.

She followed him soon enough, meeting him in the Impala.

"Where'd you go?" he inquired, wondering why it had taken her so long to get to the car.

She handed him Dean's gun.

"I thought you would want this back."

He stared at it for a moment before looking at her. Her hair was darker when it was wet but just barely. It hung limply around her shoulders much like the way her body had when he had pulled her from the pond. His eyes moved from her hair to her eyes, which were brighter than anyone's eyes should be after almost dying, to her lips, which were quivering from the cold. That broke him from his trance.

He soundlessly leaned across her and put the gun in the glove compartment before shrugging off his jacket and handing it to her.

"Don't get water on the upholstery." He said. She smiled and shook her head, seeing right through him as she put it on, tucking her legs up into it.

"Warm," she said quietly as if talking to herself. Both knew that she was pretending for his benefit, just confirming that it was indeed what she had needed, but neither mentioned it and for that he was grateful.

"I'm going to take you home." It was a statement, not a question but she replied anyway.

"No you aren't." He twisted to look at her.

"Why not?" She smiled innocently at him.

"Because I know where she was buried."

They reached the cemetery a few hours before the sun rose. It took most of that time to dig up the grave since Sam wasn't used to doing it without Dean and Rachel wasn't much help due to her ribs. He had to give her credit for trying though. She did what she could, getting the gas and salt, etc.

"Why do we need to salt and burn it?" She was sitting on the edge of grave as he dug.

"Because...it wards off...evil...and makes sure...it won't come...back," he answered through heavy breathing. It had been a while since he'd done this.

She nodded, "that makes sense. Salt protects you from ghosts and stuff right?"

He made a grunting noise in agreement. She nodded again.

Just then he felt his shovel hit something. He bent down to wipe away the dirt from the coffin. He could practically feel Rachel's smile behind him as she leaned forward to get a better look at it.

He dug around it a bit so he could open it before putting salt and gasoline inside and climbing out of the hole he had created.

"Want to do the honors?" he asked handing Rachel the lighter. Her eyes lit up even more, if possible.

"Really?"

"Go ahead," he nodded at the coffin.

She grinned and flicked it open. Then she threw it in the coffin and watched as the corpse burned. The light of the fire reflected off her eyes in a way that was so mesmerizing that it caused Sam to find himself watching her instead of the actual fire.

It was then when he realized how she actually looked at that moment. She appeared almost comical standing there with her wet hair and a jacket that reached her knees. He made a small sound from his nose, almost like a snort but not quite.

"What?" she crossed her arms across her chest, hugging herself.

"You look ridiculous," he informed her.

"Hey!" she laughed, hitting him with the sleeve of the jacket. "It's not my fault you're the Eiffel tower!"

He blinked, partially at her words and partially at her laugh.

"The Eiffel tower?" he repeated incredulously.

She shrugged, "It's the first thing that came to mind, OK?" He just raised an eyebrow. "Oh stop it you oaf!" she hit him with her sleeve again.

"Fine, fine!" he raised his arms in surrender. She grinned at him triumphantly. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You're smiling." She answered softly before turning away to head back to the Impala.

He touched his face as if to confirm and found she was right. For the first time since Dean had died, Sam had truly and genuinely smiled.

There was an odd sort of silence that pressed against Sam as he stood awkwardly in her apartment. Rachel was taking a quick shower since she had still been shivering when they had arrived. He had heard the water shut off a few minutes ago and he was still waiting for her to emerge from the bedroom.

He wasn't sure what he was waiting for. Earlier he would've just left her out front and went off in search of the Trickster but now...now things were different. He wasn't sure how they were or why they were but he was sure that they were.

My jacket, he thought, I'm waiting for my jacket. She had taken his jacket into the bedroom with her and he wanted it back. That must've been it.

She opened the door wearing traveling clothes (and his jacket) and holding a bag in her hand.

"Oh no." He wasn't sure if he was using an expression or refusing to let her come with him. Both, he supposed.

"I think you mean oh yes." She smiled at him slyly, unfazed.

He shook his head. "You're a civilian. I already let you come on one hunt. I'm not making that mistake again."

"You can't stop me." She told him, walking up to him. "Yeah, you can refuse to let me go with you but then I'll just go off on my own which is even more dangerous. You wouldn't want my blood on your hands, would you now?" She smiled sweetly. "It's your decision."

He nearly gaped at her. Was she threatening him?

He thought about it for a moment. She was right about one thing. Whether he took her or not, she would go hunting and there was nothing he could do to stop her. He could protect her, however but the only way to do that is if she were by his side.

He frowned. He had to take care of the Trickster, he didn't want to have to babysit as well. Still, he didn't want her blood on his hands. Plus she has medical training, he reasoned. That could be helpful.

She cleared her throat and he looked up. She was standing with the door open, waiting for him.

"Coming?" she asked. He sighed.

"Fine."

She grinned all the way to the car. Once they were seated, she turned to him.

"What's your name anyways?"

The question startled him. He had forgotten he'd never told her.

"Sam Winchester." She smiled and stuck out her hand.

"Nice to meet you Sam," she said as he shook it. "I'm Rachel Lee, you can call me Rae though."

It was much later, when she had already fallen asleep, that he decided that Rae suited her.

She was with him for 4 months in total.

It wasn't long before he thought of her as a partner, not just the annoying sidekick. She learned quickly and worked hard, helping him with research, hunts and all his medical needs. Sometimes he would take her with him but other times he would put his foot down and make her stay behind.

Death Valley was the first time she hadn't gone on a hunt with him. It was about a month in and they had found a very dangerous demon possessing someone there. She had helped him with identifying the demon and concocted a plan to exorcise it but he hadn't allowed her to go.

"Why not?" she had asked, following him around the room as he picked up the last of the stuff he needed. They would get separate rooms (Sam insisted) each time they changed motels but they always just used one except when sleeping.

"Because this demon is way above your pay grade!" He snapped, annoyed with her arguing. "I'm not going to let you walk into something like this with as little training as you have!"

"You know I can handle it!" she replied angrily, moving towards him. "I took care of that poltergeist in Chicago and-" He grabbed her shoulder, cutting her off.

"Those weren't demons. You don't know how to deal with them yet. They're different." He stared at her, long and hard; searching her eyes. "I'll let you come with me one day but not with one as powerful as this one. Alright?" She gazed at him for a moment before she let her shoulders slump.

"Fine." He nodded and let go of her, continuing to gather his things. It didn't take him very long and soon he was on his way out.

She stood by the door, watching him as he walked towards the Impala.

"Just be careful, alright?" she called after him, worry lacing her tone. He waved in response and got in the car.

It was several hours before he returned. Rae had been pacing back and forth, watching her cell phone in case Sam called.

When he finally arrived, she ran out to meet him.

"Did you do it?" she inquired when she reached him.

He nodded and a small grunt of pain escaped him. She looked down at the arm he was covering with his hand and gasped slightly.

"You're hurt!"

"It's nothing-" he began to say but she cut him off by grabbing his other arm and pulling him inside.

"It's not nothing. Let me see." She said once he had sat down on the edge of the tub.

He removed his hand to show a bullet wound. Worry covered her features before she set her jaw and nodded.

"Give me a second," she told him, leaving the room. She came back a minute later with a small bag she had gotten from her room. She leaned down next to him and opened the bag. It was full of medical supplies. "This is going to hurt a bit." She warned. Sam nodded. It wouldn't be the first time.

She took out some tweezers and carefully removed the bullet as gently as possible. She then disinfected the wound which caused him to hiss and her to apologize. After that she slowly stitched up the wound, doing her best not to hurt him.

"Done," she exclaimed triumphantly once she had finished.

"Thanks," he grunted, standing up and heading into the next room.

"Why are you like that?" she asked from the door to the bathroom as he changed shirts.

"Like what?" he replied, although he already knew what she was going to say. He sat down on the bed and began to clean his gun despite the pain he felt in his arm.

"So cold." She went over to him and sat down next to him. "And distant."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Yes you do." She grabbed his hand to stop him from continuing to wipe down the weapon. "You act like a machine; mechanical and driven with one purpose. All you want to do is find the Trickster. That's it. You have barely any empathy, you don't seem to care about almost anyone, even when you're saving them, and each hunt is done as quickly as possible, even if it's messy, so you can move on and find this Trickster. You don't laugh, you barely smile and it's rarely genuine and you won't tell me anything. The only thing I know about you is your name and that the Trickster," she pointed at the map he had placed on the wall with pictures and notes that were supposed to lead to the Trickster, "is the only thing you care about! Hell, I don't even know what the Trickster is!" Her voice softened a bit. "So tell me why, Sam Winchester. Why are you like this?"

And so he did. He told her about his life before. He told her about Dean. He told her about Mary and Yellow Eyes and John and Bobby. He told her about hunting and Dean's deal and Jess. He told her about Meg and his death and Yellow Eyes' plan. He told her about the Trickster and what he had done. He told her everything.

"Wow," was all she could say when he finished.

"I'm just trying to get my brother back." His tone was cold and calm when he said that, just like how it had been when he had told her everything else but he could still feel the pain below the surface. He needed Dean. And nothing was going to stop him from getting him back. Nothing.

It was a few months later, after the vampire nest in Austin that she told him. It made sense. It was the only explanation for her staying with him so long but at the same time, it was a surprise. Sam was blind to everything except the Trickster which was something he realized on the night she told him.

She had been drunk. The vampires had taken a lot out of her and she had almost died trying to save a little girl that couldn't be saved. They were a nightmare that she had trouble dealing with so she tried to forget with alcohol. He couldn't say he blamed her, he knew the feeling. Dean's death had been hard for him and there had been more than one night when he had numbed the pain with whiskey.

He found her in his room, waiting for him to come back with food. The sight that greeted him when he walked in hadn't been a pleasant one and he was worried for a moment at the blood on her hands.

"I cut myself," she told him numbly, tears streaming down her cheeks as she stared at her hands. There was broken glass on the floor. "My cup broke and I tried to pick it up and it cut me." She was saying it like she couldn't comprehend why the glass would be so mean as to slice into her skin and bring her even more pain than she already felt.

Sam sighed and set down the food before going to the closet and retrieving a dust pan and a broom. He swept the glass up and threw it out while Rae cried silently on the bed. Then he cleaned her hands and bandaged them.

"Why couldn't we save her?" she asked Sam.

"You can't save everyone," was his response.

"But she was so young," her voice shook slightly as she wept. "It's not fair."

Sam leaned down in front of her and moved her hair from her face in a moment of rare compassion.

"Life isn't always fair." He told her softly. "You tried. It wasn't your fault." She stared at him for a moment before hiccupping and nodding.

"I love you," she said. The way she said it seemed resigned and empty as if she knew that she would never have him. But even though her tone wasn't filled with longing or hope, the words still hit him like knives and he brought his hand away from her face as if it were on fire.

He stood up quickly and walked away, not even considering whether he felt the same or not. All he could think about was Dean. Dean was his top priority and nothing, even love, could get in the way of him finding the Trickster and reversing what he had done.

He meant to tell her that but he never got the chance, seeing as how she was asleep when he returned. He left her and spelt in her room that night, not wanting to disturb her.

In the morning she woke up with a headache and no recollection of the night before.

Good, Sam thought, it's better that way.

Bobby had found the Trickster.

At least that's what he said when he left a message. Sam wasn't going to let Rae come but she had insisted, saying that she would never see him again if Bobby was right about this. Finally Sam agreed but he warned her to stay out of his way.

Bobby was down on one knee, preparing a ritual when they entered the room he had told them to meet him in. He turned around as soon as he heard their footsteps, his gun aimed at Rae's heart. He held it there for a moment before spotting Sam and dropping it, opting to go hug him instead.

"Good to see you boy," he said, patting Sam's back. "Who's this?" he nodded towards Rae once he had let go of Sam.

"I'm Rae," she stuck out her hand. "You must be Bobby. I've heard great things." He looked at her warily but shook her hand anyways.

"Why are we here Bobby?" Sam asked, looking around the dingy room.

"This is the last place, for sure, the Trickster worked his magic." Bobby answered.

"So?" Rae said, picking up a knife and examining it before placing it down again.

"So, you want this thing?" Sam nodded. "I found a summoning ritual to bring the Trickster here."

"What do we need?" Sam wanted to know.

"Blood."

"How much?" It was Rae's turn to talk.

Bobby turned to her. "Ritual says near a gallon. It's got to be fresh, too." She looked alarmed.

"Where are we going to get that?" Bobby shrugged.

"I don't know but it's got to be tonight, or not for another 50 years."

"Then let's go get it," Sam headed towards the door. Rae gaped at him.

"Sam!" She yelped in a somewhat scolding tone. "You can't just go and bleed someone dry! You save people!"

"Watch me."

It was Bobby who spoke next and his voice was quiet.

"You break my heart kid."

"What?" Sam turned around to look at him.

"I'm not gonna let you murder an innocent man." And there was such an authoritive tone in his voice that Sam almost believed him. Almost.

"Neither am I." Rae added. Sam ignored her and walked towards Bobby.

"Then why'd you bring me here?" He challenged.

"Why?" Bobby repeated as if the answer were obvious. "Cause it was the only way you'd see me. Cause I'm trying to knock some sense into you. Because I thought you'd back down from killing a man."

"Well you thought wrong."

"Sam," Rae began, her voice soft and soothing.

"Shut up Rae!" Sam snapped, losing his patience.

"No you shut up Sam!" She yelled and it surprised both men so much that they jumped. "I want you to get Dean back but I'm not going to let you sell your soul, give up all you are, to do it! And I'm especially not going to let you kill an innocent person!" She handed him the knife and when she spoke next her tone was quiet. "You can kill me."

"Wha-no!" Sam dropped the knife and stepped away from it as if it were poisonous. Bobby just gazed at them curiously. "I'm not going to kill you!"

"I'm not going to let you kill anyone else!" She walked towards him, her eyes sad, until she was inches from him, pressing a stake she had gotten off the floor into his hand. "It's me or you'll have to find another option."

"Maybe not," Bobby interjected. They both turned to him. "If you want your brother back so badly," he got on his knees. "Then fine."

Sam's eyes widened. "Bobby-"

"Just do it son. You and Dean are the closest thing I have to family. Its better me than a civilian or her," he nodded towards Rae who wore an expression of complete and utter shock. "I want to do this." He assured him.

"You're crazy, Bobby. I'm not killing you." Sam began to back away from him as well.

"Oh. Now I'm the crazy one. Look, Sam. I'm old. I'm coming near the end of my trail. But you can keep fighting, saving folk. But you need your brother. So let me give him back to you." He gazed up at Sam. "Trust me."

"Okay," Sam agreed tears in his eyes. Rae looked at him, horror covering all her features.

"Good," Bobby said, turning his back to Sam and closing his eyes. "Just do it quickly."

"Yeah, okay, Bobby. But you want to know why?" He put the stake through Bobby's back and Rae screamed. "Because you're not Bobby."

"What have you done?!" Rae gasped, running to the body, checking for a pulse.

"It's not him," Sam assured her, even though he was beginning to feel a bit anxious himself.

That is, until the body disappeared and the stake flew up and across the room. Sam and Rae both turned to where the stake had flown and found it in the hands of the Trickster.

"You're right. I was just screwing with you. Pretty good, though, Sam. Smart. Let me tell ya, whoever said Dean was the dysfunctional one has never seen you with a sharp object in your hands." He laughed. "Holy "full metal jacket.""

"Bring him back," Sam said, his voice emotional.

"Who? Dean? Didn't my girl send you the flowers? Dean's dead. He ain't coming back. His soul's downstairs doing the hellfire rumba as we speak."

"You little-" Rae started towards him but Sam held her back.

"Just take us back to that Tuesday - Or Wednesday. When it all started, please. We won't come after you. I swear." He was near tears now. He needed Dean back. Without Dean he was nothing. The Trickster needed to bring him back. He needed to.

"You swear?" The Trickster looked slightly more interested than he had a moment before.

"Yes."

"I don't know. Even if I could..."

"You can and you know it, you scumbag." Rae snarled. The Trickster's eyes flashed dangerously before he looked back at Sam.

"But that don't mean I should. Sam, there's a lesson here that I've been trying to drill into that freakish, cro-magnon skull of yours."

"Lesson?" Sam looked surprised. "What lesson?"

"This obsession to save Dean; the way you two keep sacrificing yourselves for each other. Nothing good comes out of it; just blood and pain. Dean's your weakness. The bad guys know it, too. He's gonna be the death of you, Sam. Sometimes you just got to let people go."

"He's my brother," was all Sam said.

"Yep." The Trickster agreed. "And like it or not, this is what life's gonna be like without him." His eyes rested on Rae. "Only probably without such a pretty little sidekick." Rae clenched her jaw but didn't say anything for Sam's sake.

"Please," Sam begged. "Just...please."

The Trickster rolled his eyes. "I swear, it's like talking to a brick wall. Okay, look. This all stopped being fun months ago. You're Travis Bickel in a skirt, pal. I'm over it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rae asked worriedly.

"That's for me to know and you to find out." The Trickster said with a wink before snapping his fingers.

The last thing Sam remembered before waking up was Rae screaming his name.

I never got to tell her how I felt, Sam realized in the car while Dean was headbanging to some rock song. He took a shaky breath. She'll never know I loved her.

Love it? Hate it? PLEASE REVIEW! It would mean so much to me. Please tell me what you think!

Update: There is a sequel up due to popular demand (as mentioned above) called Ghosts Of Our Past. Check it out!

Thanks,

~Liliana