AUTHOR'S NOTE: Some of you have asked about people's ages- Zan is 10 years old. This AU takes place in season 1 of Supernatural, so Sam is 22 and Dean is 26. Zan's sister Iz died when she was 4 years old and Zan was 7 years old.

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I woke up hearing Mr. Winchester scolding Sam and Dean. "I told you not to stay out late, I told you my plans for today, and I wake up at 3 AM and you're still not back?"

I rolled over, remembering that I was in the sofa bed. Dean was sitting up on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, and Sam was standing by the dresser, holding clothes in his hands.

"Five miles, get started," Mr. Winchester said sternly.

"Dad, come on," Dean raised his head and looked at his dad. His hair was disheveled and he looked tired.

"A run will clear your head and get your blood flowing. Would you rather I treat you like a kid, and warm your butt?"

"Yeah, like that will fix it," Sam scoffed.

"Watch your mouth, Samuel. And you'll recall I rarely had to tan you for the same thing twice, so I think you learned from it," Mr. Winchester retorted sternly.

Sam sent Mr. Winchester a glare and went into the bathroom, shutting the door hard.

I sat up, and Mr. Winchester turned to me. "Good, you're up. We're going to get a late start because these two decided to act like they're in high school and stay out all night partying," he gestured at Dean, who grimaced.

Sam came out of the bathroom wearing sweats and began to stretch, and Dean went into the bathroom after getting clothes out of his duffle.

I walked over to my duffle and began to look through it to get some clothes. I pulled out the pink shirt with the kittens on it and a long sleeved shirt, and a pair of jeans.

"Hey, Zan," Sam said quietly.

"Make sure you hydrate," Mr. Winchester said gruffly.

I turned my back to them and quickly got dressed, pulling a flannel on overtop of the shirts. When Dean came out, he looked at me and grinned. "You're starting to layer your clothes like a hunter. What do you think, do I need a shirt like this, Sammy?"

Sam turned and looked at my shirt, shaking his head and laughing. "It looks cute on her. On you, not so much."

"Oh c'mon, I'd look good in pink," Dean joked.

"All right, quit smart mouthing and get a move on," Mr. Winchester said.

Sam and Dean left the room, and Mr. Winchester closed up the sofa bed and set about cleaning the room up.

"I'm going to be organizing things in the trunk," he told me.

I sat on the sofa and colored in the geometric shape coloring book, concentrating on trying to finish the page I had started the other day. The shapes were small and it took a long time to color every single one, and I had picked a lot of colors to use.

The door opened and Mr. Winchester came in with a gust of cold air. I got startled, and had been reaching over to pull a crayon out of the box. My hand hit the box and it tipped over and fell to the floor, scattering crayons all over.

I panicked. "Sorry!" I dove for the crayons, banging my arm on the edge of the table. "M' sorry, I'll clean it up!" Tears filled my eyes as I tried to rub my arm and also scoop the crayons into a pile.

Mr. Winchester came over to me and went down on one knee next to the table. "It's okay, I'll help you," he said.

I barely registered what he said to me, all I could think about was the times that Iz and me had been coloring, and Dad had been pacing around and tripped over the crayons on the floor, or bumped into the table and spilled them.

He had yelled at us for being in the way and making a mess, and then he had hit me because he'd said it was my fault. I was the oldest so it was my job to not make a mess. And one time he had stomped on a bunch of the crayons and broke them, which made Iz scream. He had hit her too, that time, and she hadn't been able to stop crying, and when Mom had come back to the room she had had a huge argument with Dad. They had gone outside and stood by the truck and I was still able to hear them. Afterwards Mom had come inside and held both of us and Dad hadn't come back until much later that night.

"Hey," Mr. Winchester put his hand on top of mine, "What's wrong? Why are you crying? You spilled your crayons, that's nothing to get upset about."

I gasped when he reached out to me and flinched a little when he touched me. "Please d-don't, m'sorry, it was a accident," I whispered.

He frowned a little. "Please don't what?" he said, "Do you think- are you expecting to be punished for knocking your crayons onto the floor?"

He let go of me and I swiped at my eyes, trying not to let the tears fall.

He sighed. Then he said, "Zan, look at me."

I glanced up at him quickly, but I couldn't keep looking at him. He didn't look angry though, just concerned.

"All right, look," he said, "I said this last night and I'm going to say it again. No-one is going to treat you like your father did, all right? I'm not going to take you on hunts or use you to lure anything or—or yell and—hit you like he did."

"Was my fault," I said dully.

He sighed again. "Well, that's-" he stopped, "Just know that it's not going to be the way that it was, all right?"

I nodded slightly, and we both started to pick up the crayons together. I put them on the table, but he put the ones he picked up in the box.

"How come you're not putting them in the box?" he asked me.

I felt myself blushing. "I gotta sort them by color," I said quietly, "Iz did that with stuff and now I hafta do it."

"Oh. Well...can I help you?"

"Uh, sure, I guess, if you want," I moved over to the coffee table and sat back on the sofa.

He scooted over on the floor to the opposite side of the table, and watched as I dumped the box out. He helped me move the crayons into piles.

"When the boys were little kids they rarely colored," he told me.

"Why not?" I asked.

"They were both too busy moving around and playing," he said, "especially Dean. You couldn't get that kid to sit still for anything. Making him sit in time out was the worst thing you could do," he chuckled and shook his head, "when they got older they did color for school projects, but when they were kids it was all super heroes and Matchbox cars and Legos and constant motion."

I picked up the blues and greens and slid them into the box.

"What, uh, what kinds of things did you and your sister play with?" he asked.

I shrugged. "We lost everything after I started kindergarten. We got kicked out of our place and hadda go on the road and there wasn't a lotta room for toys. Mom used to make us little animals out of paper- organini?"

"You mean origami?"

"Yeah, that's it. She could make shapes too, little boxes and stuff. An' we'd play with that."

The door opened and Sam and Dean came in, looking all sweaty. Their faces were red from the cold.

Mr. Winchester stood up. "I brought you in some water, make sure you drink it all," he said, gruff again, "I'm going to run out and grab some breakfast. Be ready to go when I get back."

"Yes sir," Sam and Dean said.

Sam saw what I was doing. "Re-organizing your crayons?" he asked.

"I, uh, spilled them," I said, blushing again.

"Oh," he came over and looked at the page I had been working on. "That's really nice, I like the color combinations," he commented.

I glanced up at him. "Thanks." I continued to sort and put the crayons away.

Dean showered first while Sam stretched. When Dean was finished, he packed up his duffle, and then came over to sit on the sofa and watch me color.

"I always thought coloring was boring when I was a little kid," he said, "I'd rather have been playing with stuff."

Mr. Winchester came back in as Sam came out of the bathroom.

"I got breakfast sandwiches," he told us, "No fresh fruit, sorry Sam." He also had a drink tray with large coffees and a bottle of orange juice.

"The juice is yours, Zan," he told me.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

He pulled out a sandwich and looked at the wrapper. "Sausage, egg, and cheese?" he held it out to me.

"Does someone else want it?" I looked over at Dean.

"There's plenty more, take it," Mr. Winchester said.

I took it. "Thanks," I said, and unwrapped it.

We took the food in the car, and and Dean followed Mr. Winchester onto the highway.

Once he had finished eating, Dean crumpled his third sandwich wrapper and stuffed it into the paper bag.

"Okay Zan, this is for you," he said over his shoulder, and leaned forward, sliding a tape into the radio. A few seconds later, "Break on Through" by The Doors started to play.

"I know The Doors is your favorite band," he said, "and I didn't have any, so I found a tape of their greatest hits when we were shopping."

"Thanks!" I said, smiling at him.

"Finally, something else besides the greatest hits of mullet rock," Sam said.

Dean turned the music up, and said loudly, "Sorry, I can't hear you, the music's too loud."

Sam rolled his eyes and turned to face the window.

Being on the road with Sam and Dean reminded me of being with Iz. They were grownups, but still young enough that they kinda acted like kids sometimes. Dean would do things on purpose to annoy Sam, like turn the music up loud and sing loudly, or Sam would be trying to look at a map and Dean would make the car swerve so that Sam would have trouble reading it. They would bicker and argue about things, but it was usually good-natured, or it would end up getting silly. They made me laugh sometimes.

It was a good distraction from what I was feeling inside. I sat there looking out the window and all of a sudden I felt sad and guilty. I felt like I had done something wrong.

I remembered finding the amulet in my bag when I first got to the Harvelle's- if only I had said something about it at the time, then Bill and my father would be alive. If I had let the men look in my bags when Solomon LeStrange was there, things would have gone differently. It was my fault that they were dead, and now Ellen and Jo and probably Ash all hated me. They were the only people in the world who had seemed to really like me, and I had gone and gotten Bill Harvelle killed, a huge fuck up. That's all I did anyways according to my father.

It seemed like we drove for hours.

"How you holdin' up, kiddo?" Dean caught my eyes in the rear view mirror.

"Okay," I replied.

He glanced at Sam. "She's so quiet, I almost forgot she was back there!"

"You getting hungry? Need to use the restroom?" Sam turned his head to look back at me.

I shook my head.

Sam glanced at Dean and I saw him shrug slightly. "Hey, you want to play a game?" Sam turned back to me again.

"What kind of game?" I asked.

"Well, you look at all the cars driving by and see how many license plates from different states you can find. Whoever has the most states by the time you stop wins," he explained.

"I see a Pennsylvania plate," Dean commented.

"Oh, uh, okay," I said. I didn't know if Ellen had told them about my reading problem or not.

"You want to try?" Sam asked.

"Uh, sure," I said.

He got out a notebook and opened it.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Keeping track of how many we each see," he said, writing something down, "Okay, you look and tell me what you can find."

I looked out my window. "Um, I see, uh, Ne—neb-rak-" I stopped, "I don't know all the states," I told him.

"That's okay, just read off the names."

I blushed, and then looked down at the floor.

"Was that Nebraska?" he asked.

"Sure," I agreed.

"Okay, I see...Vermont. Geez, what are they doing all the way out here?" he glanced back at me, "Can you find another one?"

I stared out the window, trying to see the license plates. "Uh, I see, Miss-Miss- Miss-is-pippi?" I couldn't remember how to say it.

Sam was looking out the window too. "Which car?"

"The maroon van," I said.

"Oh, that says Missouri," Sam glanced back at me, and I blushed again. "What's wrong?" he asked.

I sank down in the seat. "Nothin'," I said, "Don't want to play any more."

Sam turned his body. "Why not? There's so many cars-"

" 'Cause I just don't okay?" I burst out, "I can't- I'm not good at it!"

"Sam," Dean said, poking at him, and he shook his head when Sam looked at him. "Leave it," he said, his voice a little deeper, "You remember, what Ellen-"

I sat forward, suddenly angry. "Did she say I'm fucking stupid? 'Cause I am! I can't read good, okay! I'm a dummy and all I do is fuck up on hunts an- and get people killed!" I was shouting by now, and I started to cry.

Embarrassed, I pulled my knees up in front of me and curled up in a ball, wrapping my arms around my legs and burying my head on my knees. Tears started to pour down my cheeks.

"Hey," I felt a hand on the back of my head, "Hey, you don't- you're not-" Sam sighed, "You're not dumb just because you have problems reading. I forgot- Ellen told us you probably have dyslexia, and I forgot. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have suggested we play that game, and I'm sorry, okay?"

"And listen, kid, you're not a fuck up, and you didn't get anyone killed," Dean said, "Zan. You listening?"

I raised my head. "If I had said something when I first saw that necklace it would have gone different and then- they'd still be al-"

"You can't know that," Dean shook his head and glanced back at me, "What happened? Not your fault, kiddo. Not your fault at all."

"I mess up everything all the time. He said so," I whispered, trying to make myself stop crying.

"Well, it sounds like he did quite a bit of messing up too," Dean said in an angry tone.

"Dean," Sam said.

"He shouldn't have taken the amulet in the first place! What the hell, you walk up and steal an amulet from a powerful guy like LeStrange and don't expect a little karma to be reaped on your ass? And you know what people said about him-"

"Dean," Sam said in a stronger voice, shaking his head.

I wiped my sleeve across my face. "What'd they say?" I asked.

"Nothing," Sam said, "Let's drop it."

"Your dad...wasn't a popular guy," Dean said.

"Geez, Dean why do you have to push things?" Sam asked angrily.

"I know that," I said, "Nobody liked him and he said that was fine 'cause he didn't like nobody."

Dean scoffed and shook his head. "Hunters are solitary, we all know that, but they also talk to each other and help each other out. It's how information gets passed around and more lives get saved. He wasn't interested in doing anything except carrying out his own little crusade."

"The same could be said about- other people we know," Sam said.

Dean turned to him angrily. "Shut the hell up, Sam! No, Dad doesn't 'play well with others' but he's always been willing to share information and he does have a network of people that he works with and relies on!"

"Okay, okay, point taken, geez," Sam raised his hand.

"Don't fight," I pleaded, "Don't yell at each other," I felt tears come to my eyes again. I felt bad that they were arguing over my father, over that which was my fault.

"We're okay, kid," Dean looked at me in the mirror, "Brothers argue sometimes, ya know? Especially when the younger one is being a little bitch," he shoved Sam's shoulder.

"Piss off, jerk," Sam said, but there was no heat in his voice, and a moment later they grinned at each other. I felt relieved.

The phone rang, and Dean answered it. "Hey, Dad," he said, "How's it- okay. Yeah that's fine. Next exit- 143B? Meet at the Exxon, will do, seeya."

He disconnected the call and glanced at Sam. "Pit stop coming up."

Dean pulled the car into a gas station that had a convenience store attached. He parked on the side of the building, on the end. There was a small grassy area across from the parking spaces with picnic tables, and several people were sitting there and milling around.

Sam, Dean and I got out of the car. Sam's phone rang as he came around the car, and he stood there looking at Dean as he talked.

"You need to use the rest room?" Dean asked me.

Sam motioned to Dean with his head, and they stepped away from the car. "Stay right there," Dean said to me.

I turned around, looking around at everything and how busy it was. And then I saw her.

A little girl with blond curly hair was with the group of people who were at the picnic tables. A breeze blew and her hair moved just the way it used to when my sister was little.

It had to be Iz.

I walked over to the people- she was walking away, with her back to me. I reached her and leaned down, turning her and picking her up, setting her on my hip.

"Isabella! Iz!" I said happily.

It wasn't her.

Curious brown eyes looked up at me instead of Iz's blue ones. It was a little boy. He was wearing a blue shirt with a dump truck on the front. His cheeks were full of something and he waved half a banana at me and said, " 'Nana?" He offered it to me, chewing.

"Oh," I said.

A woman came over to us. "Micah?" she said, and I heard fear in her voice. She came up to me and pulled the little boy out of my arms.

"Who are you?" she demanded, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Oh," I said again, "I thought it was-"

"Well I don't care who you thought it was, you don't just walk around picking up random people's babies!" she snapped.

I felt a hand on my arm and turned my head. Dean was standing next to me.

"I'm sorry-" I started to say, feeling shocked.

"Mister, you better teach your kid some boundaries and manners!" the woman retorted, "You're lucky I don't call the police!"

"Sorry, ma'am," Dean said placatingly. He pulled me away, walking us back towards the car, and I started to cry. I felt sad and lost, and then I felt embarrassed.

"What was that, Zan?" he asked from between clenched teeth.

"Sorry," I said, "I thought it was my sister! I'm sorry! He had the same curls that she used to have, and I thought-" I started to cry harder.

Sam had come over to us and was looking at me questioningly.

"Okay, we need to beat it, she's talking to a cop. C'mon, Zan, get in the car," Dean said quickly. We climbed into the car, and Dean pulled out of the space.

"Call Dad, tell him we'll find another place to stop," Dean told Sam, "I'm gonna get out of the immediate area in case they try to look for us."

I pulled my legs up in front of me and wrapped my arms around them, resting my head on my knees, and wept.