Thank you everyone who has been following me! I've been trying to write as fast as possible, and it's been going great so far.

I know a lot of you have been concerned about the angst and the build up, but don't worry. I know it's taking a while, but like I said, it's a canon compliance, so I'm trying to follow up on the timeline as close as possible.

But, don't worry!

Castiel, our friendly neighborhood Angel, will be coming soon!

Anyways, here's a chapter as my thanks, so enjoy!

All mistakes are mine and mine alone, and I do not own SPN!


The boys find a way to discharge you from the hospital under their care, and you leave the day after the fallout, going out to pick up your car from the motel and head out to a storage unit to store her.

Collecting your bag and a few choice weapons, you pat the roof of your personal version of Baby and close the door behind you. Dean pops open the trunk and you take the extra effort to walk around him, throwing your stuff in the trunk before rounding back again to sit behind Sam.

In the past 6 months, you never believed that you would be back with the boys, riding cross country in the only place you've really called your home. You kept quiet, buzzing with an energy that you couldn't describe, realizing in that moment that this was actually happening.

It wasn't going to be easy, obviously, and you knew it was going to be hard on you. I mean, honestly. You were ready to let go of everything, but the two brothers somehow dug their claws into you tight and dragged you back into their world.

It was kind of infuriating.

But, figuring as how Dean had a little over 3 months left, you would tag along once more. You owed him that much at least.

The first hunt together involved a mystery spot in Florida, and a missing blogger who debunks tourist traps such as that.

The first morning after, Sam looks a little strung out. He asks you if you had any weird dreams, but you shake your head.

He apologizes, saying he had one but chooses to ignore it.

"Clowns or midgets?"

You roll your eyes as Sam scoffs, tying up your boots and grabbing your jacket before leaving the motel room in a hurry.

You tried to limit the amount of time you spend in the room with him.

In the diner, you opt to sit next to Moose, foregoing breakfast for a cup of juice and a morning of staring out the window.

You catch snippets of the conversation, something about déjà vu, and you turn your neck at the right moment, watching Sam catch the bottle of hot sauce.

Impressive.

After breakfast, the three of you walk down the sidewalk, still talking about the mystery spot. You stop to pet a dog, looking up at Dean's voice, as he looks back and says something before he gets thrown into the air by a car.

You and Sam scream out loud, calling out loud as you watch Dean bleed out.

It wasn't even his time, yet.

You shoot up from the couch, Asia playing on the radio. You turn to look at Sam's bewildered expression. In an instant, your dream dissipates into a faded thought.

You shrug and continue with your routine, washing up, stringing up your boots and rushing out the door with your jacket in hand.

There's a strange sensation when you walk into the diner, Sam freaking out about something so strong, it's knocking hard on your walls.

Conversations pass as you look out the window, sipping your juice.

You walk down the street, something so familiar, and you watch Sam stop Dean from crossing the road before a crazed old man shoots out into the main road with his jalopy of a car.

Sam interrogates the owner of the mystery spot, nothing strange going on, so you decide to head back to the hotel.

You ask Sam something on the way, Dean turns to look and for that split moment, a desk falls and crushes Dean Winchester.

You wake up.

Every day, you hear the same conversation, it comes back to you little by little.

Sam is going haywire mentally, and the guilt is weighing you down every time you wake up, but you never mention it to him.

The dream becomes more and more real and you realize that Sam wasn't lying.

A time loop, he calls it.

And each time Dean dies, it's your fault.

Electrocutions, poisonous tacos because you didn't want that one, freak shower accidents because you forgot to rinse off the soap, archery mishaps, bird maulings, dog attacks, axe mutilations, every possible possibility, and every time you remember more and more.

And it all boils down to one thing. Dean dies, Sam lives, you're left with the guilt.

It's all your fault, it's all your fault, it's all your fault.

The constant mantra in your head is enough to make you insane.

It isn't until one Tuesday that the man on the counter has strawberry syrup.

In the 100+ days that you recall, not once had he not have maple syrup, and at that realization, you wake up to Asia one last time.

Sam figured it out, cornering the man from the counter, stake flush against his chest.

"A trickster," he calls him.

The man's face shifts, and you remember that smirk vividly.

"The janitor..."

You listen in to the dialogue between Sam and the trickster.

"So this is fun for you? Killing Dean over and over again?

"One, yes. It is fun. And two? This is so not about killing Dean. This joke is on you two, Sam. Watching your brother die, every day? Forever?"

"You son of a bitch." Sam snarls at the demigod.

When his gaze shifts towards you, you're caught by surprise.

"And you, bucko. It was never supposed to go the way it did, but you just have to accept fate. Accept the fact that Dean-o over here is dying because of something you had no control over, and that's not something you can ever change. How long will it take for you two to realize? You can't save your brother. No matter what.

"You're an Empath, (Y/N). Use your mojo on me to see if I'm lying."

You shut your eyes, projecting your wall outwards and shutting down, ignoring the words being exchanged, ignoring the snap of his fingers and the change in scenery.

That split second, you felt it. The truth along with an infinite power coming from the Trickster.

It felt like you'd been rammed by an 18 Wheeler, which is saying something because you actually know the feeling.

The brothers are still sleeping into the early hours of Wednesday, and you can't handle the heavy feeling.

Your suspicions were confirmed by a damn Trickster, but you weren't having any of it.

Shoving your arms into your jacket, feet into your boots, you check your pockets for the rectangular cartridge.

Quietly, you sneak out into the dawn, sitting your butt down with your back against the tail of the Impala. You pull your knees up as you pull out a cigarette and light it up at your lips.

You grimace at the first inhale, knowing it was a disgusting habit, but it somewhat got you through the past 6 months.

You silently watch the sun rise, the wisp of smoke rising from the end of the cigarette catching your gaze.

It was a bad idea to come back, you think.

Still chilly outside, you shove your hands in your pockets, ignoring the chill from the ground. You faintly hear the freak out the boys are having inside the hotel, but you decide to smoke another one.

Dean finds his way out, startled and relieved to find you outside by yourself.

His eyes flick from the stick hanging from your fingers to your face of exhaustion. You looked unrested, eyes rimmed with dark, baggy circles. It was as if he was looking at you from a new perspective.

You looked older than you were, as if the weight of the world was multiplied on your shoulders. But he was proud of you. You kept your head held high, and you took shit from no one, despite the change in the dynamic of your relationship.

It still broke his heart.

Clearing his throat, Dean looked down at his toes, before looking up through his lashes.

"Those things will kill you, you know that?"

You took one more inhalation of the cigarette, even though there was still half, eyeing the tip while blowing out the smoke before throwing it across the parking lot.

You suddenly lost your craving.

Pushing up, you swiped off any dirt from the bottom of your pajamas and attempt to walk around the man.

Dean steps out in front of you, causing you to run into his solid chest head-on. Stumbling back, you rub at the top of your head.

"Ow. Excuse me."

You could practically hear the Winchester's eye roll.

"You can't always run away from me, (Y/N). The same way you can't run or hide away from a problem, or a hunt?"

Scowling at Dean, you attempt to take another step around him, only to be thwarted again.

"Get out of my way, Dean."

Your walls were up, but your mind and heart was filling up with unnecessary stress, yet again.

Quickly digging into your pockets, you pull out another cigarette and light it at your mouth. You never smoked this much at once, but your so-called brother was keeping you on edge.

Before your first inhale, Dean rips the cigarette from your mouth and tosses it into the wind all while keeping his eyes on you.

"What the fuck, De!?"

Before you can protest anymore, Dean was pulling you into his arms, ignoring your flailing.

"Get off of me!"

"It's not your fault, (Y/N)!" You attempted to pull away even more, only to have Dean doubling his efforts to reel you back in.

"It was never your fault, and I'm sorry that I blamed you. For it, for everything. I'm sorry for being the shittiest brother that anyone could ask for. And I'm sorry that you have to deal with this, but I need you to listen to me." Pulling you back at arm's length, Dean ducked to look you straight in the eyes.

"It is not your fault, (Y/N). Do I wish things were different? Sure. But if I could do this all over again, I would do it the same exact way. I would never want to see you in my position, and it would break my heart to see you become a Hellhound chew toy."

Tears ran down your face as you listened to Dean's plea. Even your wall wasn't strong enough to withstand Dean Winchester's emotions.

"Fuck what the Trickster said. You might not be a Winchester by name, but you are still family. You got that? Even if I was going to die tomorrow, you're still my baby sister. Okay, sweetheart?"

You let out a tiny sob, only to have it absorbed into the canvas jacket that Dean was wearing.

"You and your stupid martyr complex," you huff in amusement.

"I could say the same for you," Dean retorts. You could hear the tiny smile in his voice before feeling a firm set of lips on your crown.

"Could you go and get ready, baby girl?" He sounded hesitant calling you a pet name, but without your protest he continued. "We're rolling out in 15." You nod, quickly wrapping your arms around his waist before quickly running off to your hotel room.

The second you step through the doorway, you hear a loud gunshot and you feel a sharp pain in your chest. Looking down, there's no blood.

"Dean," you gasp. Sammy runs out the door before you can turn around, and there on the floor is Dean Winchester, dying from a gunshot wound to the chest.

You drop onto the floor, curling inwards and pulling your legs up with your arms wrapped around.

It happened. Again.

Over the next six months, you found yourself more and more distant from Sam. It wasn't on your part, but you could feel Sam hollowing out. The pain dissipated into anger, rage, and then nothing. The thirst for revenge was the one thing driving Sam on autopilot.

The first month, he dropped you off at Bobby's before driving off on his own crusade. You helped Bobby as much as you can, but the amount of buzz coming off from Bobby was enough to drive you mad.

One day you get a call, Sam's name flashing across the screen.

"Hello, Sam?"

"(Y/N)... I found him." The voice cuts off with a click, then with a buzz your phone flashes a text with coordinates.

"Bobby! How do you summon a Trickster!?"

You can't remember driving down to the beat up house, but finally seeing Sam for the first time in a while, you embraced him.

For a moment you were brought back to that moment when Dean closed himself off from you the night Sam died.

You looked at the floor, all the materials for the summoning ritual were present except...

"What are you missing?" You turn to look at Sam, but his face is set in a frighteningly blank expression.

"Blood. At least a gallon, and fresh." You furrowed your eyebrows.

"You're willing to bleed a person dry? An innocent?" You could hear the click in his jaw before you see it, taut and firm.

"It's either now or in the next 50 years, and I'm not taking my chances, (Y/N)!" You reel back from the emotions pouring from the brother. He was like a frightened animal, forced to back up into the corner until he lashes out.

He stinks of rage and fear, reeks of it.

"I can't let you do that, Sam."

"Then why did you bring me here?" Your face scrunched in confusion.

"I didn't call you anything, Sam. You called me!"

"I didn't—"

"Regardless, Sam. I will not let you go and murder someone in cold blood! If anyone has to die, then kill me."

Pulling out a knife from your thigh strap, you suspend the knife across, hilt towards Sam.

"Are you fucking crazy? No!" You sigh heavily. Tired of all of this, of everything.

"If it's anyone's fault, it's mine. I would rather die than another civvie, that way you can finally get your brother back."

You turn around at his nod, kneeling and waiting for the inevitable, except it's not a knife sticking through your chest. It's a stake.

"You're not (Y/N)." Sam grits out.

You breathe in deep, trying to get air into your punctured lung as tears prickle in your eyes. You're in shock, but you fall forward and lay there, eyes fixed on Sam. Smiling slightly, you try to convey that you don't blame him.

Darkness blurs around the edge of your vision, until you close your eyes and succumb to it.

"Finally," you breathe out.


Oh nooo. Oh gosh, what am I doing with my life?

I hope you guys enjoyed it, I wasn't sure about this chapter, but I didn't want to post everything I've written out for you all at once.

But don't worry, cliffhanger or no, you ask and you shall receive.

However, I don't know how long until my next update, so don't stand on your toes for too long bbs :D

Anyways, Favorites and Comments are most appreciated!

Thanks again, peace out, bitches!