[A/N Hi again guys! *sheepish* I'm so sorry it's taken me so long… But I hope this is ok :) Please, please tell me what you think! Could I have some opinions on where ya'll think this could go? (I have general ideas but at this point they are completely malleable) Or have you gotten a feel for the story yet? Is it gaining legitimate traction? Let me know!]

Chapter 7

Sam could feel that Lea was shaken up. He knew. Being called a freak had become normal during his stint as a demon blood junkie: it was a second hand insult at this point. It had lost its shock factor for him when he had started believing it. He was sure Lea was suffering, a myriad of complications, occurrences, and situations multiplying on her mind in a frighteningly consistent pattern. It was difficult to imagine her reacting as drastically as he had. It was just as difficult to consider her a flight risk while he wanted to badly to help her.

Sam had discovered long ago that it was more beneficial to do the more difficult thing if it was what was going to make the situation turn out ok, than to do the empathetic thing, which he so badly wanted to do. He wanted to befriend her. That was something he craved selfishly, desperately, and he had denied himself for a long time. As much as he wished for friendship, however, he tried to prepare to take a more practical approach. It was always a possibility, and he needed to be equipped.

This sucked.

He found himself wondering what precisely she could do. As far as emotional breakdowns went, he felt comfortable ruling it out as a possibility. He felt that she was solid, healthy enough emotionally to work through grief, and perhaps (likely enough) depression. Striking out on her own because of guilt was plausible, but more dangerous than he could imagine. While he could use his own powers, she would be seen more as a tool, and that was terrifying.

Sam's thoughts continued drifting back to Dean's voice, distorted over voicemail. It had pushed him over the edge, when shit had started going down, truly, before the apocolypse. Something like that wouldn't turn Lea. It would break her.

He hated himself for assuming that he knew so much about her. They weren't that close... Yet?

He glanced over at Lea, who had her eyes closed, taking deep, full breaths.

Back at the bunker, Sam asked Lea to carry the groceries in while he went to find Dean. She didn't take her glasses off, and Oscar pressed lightly to her side to lead her forward.

Sam noticed, but didn't say anything. Instead he waved at Dean to step out of the kitchen and finish up a conversation he was in the midst of on the phone.

"What's up?" Dean said.

"Run in at the market. Couple of hunters. Passenger window's shot."

"Dammit.." Dean grumbled. "Otherwise ok?"

"Yeah. This is getting harder on her."

"You don't have to tell me that, man. So, plans? Got anything figured out yet?"

"I don't know. Do you think Cas can fix her?"

"I asked. He said he can't reverse what happened without a full out ritual, and all of what's-dick's-face's work was destroyed entirely. What we have is such a rough recipe that anything he tried to come up with from that might somehow make it worse."

"We'll think of something then."

Lea walked in at that moment, holding a mug in one hand and the other looking as if it was grasped at Oscar. "Hay, guys. I- um. I made some more coffee. Hope that's ok."

"Thanks for breakfast," Dean answered.

"Oh, no problem!"

"That reminds me. I found our glasses, so no more tripping over shaggy here." Dean went back over to the table and picked them up, handing a pair to Sam.

"Thank you guys." Her voice was a lot more quiet. The boys put their glasses on.

The hound beside Lea stood about at her ribcage. The air folded around it, writhing, and gave it a smoky grey appearance. Its fur looked knotted with its musculature, like tree roots boiled and stirred liked spaghetti. Its eyes glowed a dim blue and matched Lea's, instead of the vicious red they were accustomed to.

"Well then, Scooby." Dean commented. Sam knelt down and beckoned it over. Lea gave Oscar a nudge and turned to where she thought Dean was.

"Listen, Dean, I'm so sorry, but the window - "

"Not your fault. I've had to fix baby up enough, it's not that complicated anymore. Don't worry about it." He met her eyes firmly, with strange flashbacks to a younger brother those days before his guilt turned self destructive. "Maybe you could help me fix it?" Her mouth dropped open a little and he figured that was the right call.

"I.. what - I mean. On that? Work on a 1967 Chevy Impala? Well. Yes."

"Hell yeah," Dean answered, laughing. There was a thumping noise from where Sam and Oscar were, where Sam had caught a spot behind his chin, and his leg was bouncing on the floor. Lea cracked a smile.

"Guys.. I don't know how I'm going to pay ya'll back for this." She began.

"No, Lea -" Sam began.

"Sam, I'm serious. You're the only people who could do anything for me, and you've done it. You're doing it. Can I pay you back somehow?"

"You can keep making breakfast like that." Dean suggested instantly. Sam smacked him.

"Listen. You don't really owe us anything, but if you want, you can stay around. Help out if you want it to count as rent or something. We do research and check up on things going around. I'm trying to make up a new archive of the books here. If you're interested."

"Yeah, I can do that. I just.. I need to get on my feet, you know? Thank you guys." She couldn't go back to her family, of course. To put them in this danger was unthinkable. At the moment, however, the need to keep them safe trumped the homesick feeling permeating the edges of her consciousness.

Later in the evening, after assessing the damages to the Impala, Dean was walking back through the bunker to the kitchen. Sam and Lea were sitting at one of the large tables, in silence, both bent over thick books. He was pretty sure one of them had sneezed earlier, due to the dust. They would deny it, probably. He grinned.

It had been a while since Sam had had someone. A long time, actually. There really hadn't been anyone consistently, since Jess. No one who could just sit in silence, companionable silence, with him. Dean knew that. He didn't recognize it often, but thinking of Benny, Cas, and even Charlie made him sit back and realize that Sam didn't have companionship anymore. Lea was going to be as good for them as they were trying to be for her, because as much as he loved his brother, life sucked without anyone else around.

He could see the independence in her, the struggle of having "Freeloader" metaphorically spray painted on her forehead. She was proud - the good kind - and hardworking, determined, practical. He could see that. She didn't want to acknowledge that she was still a kid, though. In a lot of ways she wasn't anymore. Dean got that. If there was one thing he knew, however, it was that knowing you can't be a kid anymore doesn't mean you stop being one. That was something John never got. It was something Dean would deliberately get when he was with Lea.

He leaned against the counter, untouched coffee cradled in his hands. A while ago he had stopped spiking it, but his hands shook sometimes. With Lea here, being underage, maybe it'd give him incentive to throw the rest out. He really didn't need it anymore.

Dean took the glasses out of his back pocket and slipped them on before heading back into the main room with the other two. "Alright guys, ideas?"

They both jumped, startled, and Oscar rolled his eyes up lazily to watch him. He wondered if the hound's eyes meant anything.

"Ideas about what?" Lea asked.

"What to do. Those friendly neighborhood hunters you ran into earlier aren't going to disappear, and aren't going to be the only ones. I figure you've got as much right to decide what we need to do about it as the rest of us." Dean responded.

"Oh," She answered, looking a little uncomfortable. Sam sat back, and they watched her expression harden to a decisive set. "I don't know, but I already told Sam. I'm not a killer, and neither is Oscar. I'm staying away from all that. If that makes this situation more difficult, I'm sorry. If I'm overreacting, I'm sorry. But I'm not fueling their fire and I'm not changing like that."

They both nodded. "We respect that," Sam said. "This life isn't for everyone."

"But you've gotta get this." Dean continued. "You and the hound might not be killers, but we are. It sucks sometimes but to survive in this life there are things you've gotta be willing to do. It gets dirty. We handle it."

They couldn't decipher how she felt about it. Sam almost asked if she would take her glasses off, but decided against it. "You guys are the experts. I trust you." She finally said. It was a simple enough answer. Sam and Dean both fully understood its implications.

Things could get violent, but they started hoping it wouldn't. Lea had seen enough of that.

"Well," Dean said, clapping his hands. "Why don't I scrounge up some dinner?"