"You gotta get the lights in here fixed," Eddie told her, dropping a wrench on the counter.

South glared at him and quickly tossed the wrench in his toolbox and wiped down the counter. "They just started that recently. Thatcher says it's the wiring."

Eddie sighed. "Right. Well, at any rate, these taps shouldn't give you any trouble tonight."

"Thanks, Eddie. Bill us, all right?"

"Yeah, yeah," the handyman said with a smile. "See you around, South."

She waved goodbye, then preceded to clean the counter again. She went to work loading the taps, knowing she would have some happy customers to have them up and running again. The night before, there had nearly been a riot in the bar when she announced they weren't working and Eddie wouldn't be able to make it out until the next day. The longnecks had flown off the shelf faster than she could re-stock – long and short, it was not pretty.

John Thatcher, the bar's owner, came in while South was busying herself with re-stocking the longnecks. Rob, the cook, was busy making them lunch in the kitchen. Thatcher sat down at the window table and pulled out his paperwork.

That's about how it went every day. South would come in, make sure everything in the bar was ready for the day, do the deposit from the night before – the usual manager stuff. Rob would come in early and make lunch, then the three of them would sit and eat and have an informal meeting about the goings-on at Thatcher's Bar & Grill.

"What's the word today, South?" Thatcher asked.

South took a sip of her soda. "Lights are still flickering, but Eddie said he'll check the wiring next time he's in. Taps are up and running. We should be set for tonight."

"Working on some new stuff in the kitchen," Rob added in. "Might sling it to a couple of the regulars tonight, see what they think."

Thatcher chewed away at his hamburger in the way old men do, making sure it was good and soft before he swallowed it down. "You kids are good kids. I don't worry about the place while you're here."

South smiled at Rob then turned back to her lunch. Thatcher told them that at least once a week, but it always made her feel good. She didn't have much left, and as far as family went, Thatcher and Rob were pretty much it.

After lunch, she excused herself back to her small studio apartment for a nap before the bar opened. Rob walked her down the street to her place, promising to be there when she came back to open in a few hours.

She unlocked the door and pushed her flip flops off her feet as she locked it behind her. She went to the kitchen for a glass of water and gulped it down before heading to her bedroom at the back of the apartment.

Her bathroom was tucked into one corner of the bedroom, with no windows. Always with an irrational fear of peeping toms, South had particularly enjoyed that trait of the studio apartment. She flipped on the lights so she could see her face in the mirror; the lights flickered before coming on all the way.

"Goodness, it's like it's following me around," she mumbled to herself as she splashed water on her face.

.&.

Sam Winchester studied the map while his brother navigated them along the highway. This last hunt had been intense; the both of them were banged up and bruised from it. Although they had been successful, he decided maybe they needed a break.

"I'm not finding anything worth looking at," Sam sighed. "Let's keep on this heading. There's a town that'll come up soon, we can get a room for the night and check things out in the morning."

"Really? There's nothing?" Dean frowned. "There's got to be something."

"Look, I know you run on energy from this stuff, but some of us normal, not-so-twisted humans have to sleep."

Dean pushed his lips into a firm line before nodding. "Yeah, all right. How much longer till the exit?"

"We're about forty-five minutes out."

"Good. I could use the sleep."

Sam snorted. His brother would check into the hotel with him, then find the nearest bar. Sleep wouldn't find Dean Winchester until the alcohol induced it.

And Sam was exactly right, although he chose to join his brother this time. Thatcher's Bar & Grill was decently-lit and the smell coming from the kitchen was enough to entice them to order from the menu along with their drinks. They were waiting for their food to come when the lights flickered.

The brothers exchanged a glance and looked around. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and no one else seemed to think twice about the flickering lights.

"Were you yanking my chain when you said there wasn't much?" Dean asked. "Is there a case here you didn't think I'd want to take?"

Sam shook his head. "No, I swear."

"That was weird though, right? The lights flickering?"

"Don't worry about it," a woman said, carrying a heavy tray on her shoulder. "Marie is busy so I'm delivering your order before I get back behind the bar."

Dean studied the woman carefully. She had to be mid-to-late-twenties, petite with brown hair. Her voice was different but familiar; it was the eyes that really got him – a murky purple, as though they had been a brilliant violet at some point and were then tainted with gray.

"South?"

She stopped what she was doing after setting Sam's food in front of him. After looking up from her task, her jaw went slack and her eyes grew wide with recognition.

"Sam? Dean?" South stuttered out. "What are you doing here?"

"Having a hamburger and a beer," Sam answered. "God, South, how long has it been?"

"Yes, South, how long has it been?" Dean echoed in a smug tone. He crossed his arms over his chest and sat back in his seat.

Her countenance went from shocked to angry. Clearly everything had come back to her from the last time they saw each other. She set Dean's plate in front of him and leaned the tray against the table before stepping forward and clocking Dean in the jaw so hard that he fell from his chair to all fours on the floor.

"Enjoy your hamburger, you ass," she hissed. "Good to see you, Sam."

She picked up the tray and headed back behind the bar. The cook came out and seemed to ask her what was wrong. Dean and Sam both watched as she just shook her head and continued on to fill her orders.

.&.

Marie helped South dry glasses as the last of the customers left the bar. Last call had been a while ago, but South liked to make sure everyone had a safe ride home before she closed the place down. Rob was taking out the trash, and once he was done, they would all leave for the night.

"So, you gonna tell me about that guy?"

"What guy," South replied so flatly, it didn't even sound like a question.

"C'mon, South. The one you punched."

"Nothing to tell."

"Obviously, because it's so like you to just go around decking strangers." Marie rolled her eyes. "He was cute. So was his brother."

"Yeah, well, Sam's not so bad. Dean though, he's an idiot. Plain and simple."

"All right. Tell me when you're ready. Can't force it out of you."

South chuckled. "Now that sounds like me. Grab your purse, let's get out of here."

The girls waited for Rob to lock the door, then they all headed their separate ways.

"South!"

She stopped walking and let out a deep breath. She knew that voice. "What?"

Dean was there, leaning against the building. He stepped towards her; she felt a pang of guilt at his split, swollen lip.

"You're really still mad at me? After ten years?" Dean pressed.

South let out a deep breath. "You broke my heart, you humiliated me, and then you just disappeared. I'm sorry that's not really something that a girl gets over."

"I wrote you a letter and apologized. If I could have gotten to you –"

South held up a hand to stop him. "We really don't need to re-hash it. What's done is done and whether I'm over it or not – I should be, I guess. Did you put ice on that lip?"

"I put a cold pint glass on it," he replied, then motioned to the Impala. "Sammy and I were hoping you could point us in the direction of a motel."

"You guys don't need to stay in a motel. Come on, we'll go to my place."

She shook her head when Sam gave Dean the 'I told you so' look. She lead them to her apartment building and unlocked the door to head up the stairs to the second floor.

"It's not much," she warned. "Just a studio. Haven't needed much more room than that for God knows how long."

She pushed open the door and switched on the light, letting them go in front of her. South brought up the rear, locking the door behind her. She set her bag down and kicked off her shoes before going to the closet.

The lights flickered as she yelled from the bedroom. "Sam, you've got to be taller than your father was, I'll let you have the bed. I'll sleep on the couch, and Dean can sleep on this air mattress."

She returned with the air mattress and the small device that aired it up. Before she could return to the closet for extra bedding, she noted the look on the brothers' faces.

"What?" she frowned.

"The lights," Dean spoke up. "They were flickering at the bar, too."

South rolled her eyes. "Please. My dad was a hunter – if the flickering lights meant something, I'm sure I'd have picked up on it by now. Thatcher said a lot of the wiring in town is old and probably needs re-done. This building was built about the same time as the bar, so that's my guess."

Dean and Sam didn't look convinced. South ignored their concern and went about blowing up the air mattress. Dean offered to take over, so South went with Sam to get him set up in the bedroom.

"How long ago was it?" Sam asked. "The accident, I mean. Your parents."

South cleared her throat as she changed from jeans to sweats before gathering the throw blanket and an extra pillow from the bed. "Not too long after you all left. Almost eleven years."

"I'm sorry we weren't there. I don't have to explain to you why," Sam said quietly.

"No, you don't. I get it." She swallowed hard. "You know it wasn't an accident, right?"

"South, you don't know that …" Sam replied in an effort to ease her mind.

"Except that all the signs were there. No skid marks, a nearly dead tree that literally came out of nowhere. No bodies left afterwards."

"Did you see it coming?"

This was all part of South's life she hadn't talked about in at least half the time her parents had been gone. She had learned better. "Sleep good, Sam. Help yourself to whatever you need."

.&.

Dean had the mattress aired up, pillows situated, and was flipping through the channels when South returned to the living room. She took one look at him, dropped her pillow and blanket on the couch, and headed for the kitchen. She returned a minute or so later with a bag of ice wrapped in a towel.

He didn't complain when she settled next to him, holding the ice against his swollen, cut lip. Dean for once kept his mouth shut; not that he could with the ice on his mouth. He thought maybe this time it was better to let her do the talking.

"I'm sorry I punched you," South finally said after a few minutes.

Dean took the ice from her hand and held it in his lap. "I probably deserved it."

"I didn't say you didn't deserve it. Said I was sorry I did it."

Dean looked at her all-too-familiar face. "You haven't changed in eleven years, you know that?"

South chuckled; he could tell her feelings toward him were warming again. "You look older. But I'm guessing you're not much more mature than you were then."

"You're probably right about that," he agreed with a smile. "And I'm guessing you're more mature than Sammy and I put together – and he's pretty damn mature."

South shrugged. "We get by however we can, I guess."

He ventured to reach out and play with the end of her hair. "I don't know how I got by without you."

"Come on, Dean. That was a long time ago, and you were the one who disappeared." She pulled away from him and moved to the couch. "Let's not forget that."

"You want to fight about this again?" Dean asked, frustration filling his tone.

"We've never fought about it before," South snapped back. "You weren't around for that. You left, my parents died. You didn't even come to the funeral, Dean! I was alone. I had no family but them left, and when I thought the Winchesters were going to come riding in on their white horses and save me, you were all gone. My God, at least Sam and your dad called, though – what did I get from you? Nothing. Not a damn thing."

"Don't act like I was just out there living it up all these years. You know what my life is like!" he argued back.

South shook her head. "I'm done talking about it. You and I could go round and round about I, and neither of us would be wrong or right. That's all there is: you left, I was alone. Maybe someday I'll punch you again and be over it, I don't know. For right now, you're still a dick. Put that ice back on your face and try not to leave the TV on."

She rolled over after that, facing away from him. Dean knew there was nothing he could do or say to make her feel differently – or to even talk to him at that point – so he put the ice back on his face and rested his free hand behind his head.

.&.

Several hours later, before the sun came up, they were all sleeping peacefully. The apartment was dark, except for the television set, which Dean had not turned off before he fell asleep.

Though none of them noticed, the picture on the screen flickered, just like the lights had done in the bar and in the apartment. Outside the door, a man, strange to the town, stopped, leaned his ear against the door, and smiled an evil, satisfied grin.

A/N: I'm a newbie Supernatural fan, but had to get this story out of my head and onto the page! Hope it doesn't turn out too terrible. I'm only into season two, so I don't know how many other characters from the show will appear. Thanks for reading!