Holy crap, I'm so sorry! It's been so long! I want to thank you guys for all the comments, they have seriously been motivating. I've just been suffering from writer's block, as well as having no time. School has been a bitch lately, and taking 20 hours, in retrospect, was a mistake, haha. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, I really wasn't happy with it, but I figured something out for you was better than having you guys waiting on your toes!
So I hope you guys enjoy the nearly 5k chapter!

This has also been posted on AO3 with the same name!

Waking up, it felt as if you were emerging for air for the first time after spending a week underwater. Instead, it was only a few hours and the early rays of sunshine were gleaming in your face through Bobby's shabby curtains.

Blinking through the light, you rubbed at your eyes and sighed softly. You weren't sure if what happened was a dream, or if it was real, but something was distracting you from your train of thought. In the background, you could hear hushed argument, and judging from the vibe, there was a lot of denial and self-doubt—something you weren't so unfamiliar with.

"Why me? If there is a God out there, why would he give a crap about me?"

You could feel your face contort in desperation. Never in your life have you once understood why Dean thought the way that he did.

Sure, he was a dick at times, but he was one of the most caring, more selfless individuals that you have known in your short lifetime.

"Hey."

Startled, you look up to see Sam awkwardly hanging around the door frame. That was the first thing he had said to you in the past 3 days, and honestly it hurt. It hurt a lot.

You could feel the tension thick in the air, and before you could open your mouth to respond similarly, the man turns on his heel and walks out the door.

Your mood is positively deflated now and now your chest hurts for a different reason. Sam couldn't stand to be near you, but you missed him with everything you were. But if Sam wanted space, you would respect his wishes.

Pulling your legs off the side of the couch, you stand and shuffle to the other room where Dean and Bobby were researching, and without a word, you sit and pull a book towards you. Despite not knowing what to read on, you kept reading.

Odd looks and few words were exchanged over the course of an hour, until you hear the familiar purr of the Impala outside. Bobby and Dean stand up and rush over to the door, you following close behind.

Dean turns around last minute as you walk through the threshold and stops you with both hands on your shoulder.

"I need you to stay here and hold down the fort, okay Sweetheart?"

"But—"

"No but's, (Y/N). You're still too weak, and this might be big."

Reluctantly, you nod. Dean slaps a kiss on your forehead and then rushes down to the Impala, Bobby waiting in his car.

You watch the dirt kick back as they drive off before going back in and going back to research.

Hours pass when you hear it.

Creak.

Eyes shooting up, you look around your surroundings.

Nothing.

Creak.

Standing up quietly, you look around for a weapon. Fireplace.

Iron pick, great.

You walk through the threshold into the kitchen where you're met with a ghastly couple, old and aged and weathered away. Their face, their clothes and their bodies are all burnt and left in rags, but you're on the ready; that is until they speak.

"Who are you?"

"What's the matter, sweetheart? Don't you recognize your Mommy and Daddy?" Eyes wide, you swing at their apparitions just in time for your phone to start ringing.

You watch wide-eyed as the ghosts dissipate into a wisp of smoke, vaguely aware of the ringing in the background. Shaking yourself out of you shock, you hurry your way to the den where your phone lay.

Pressing the answer button, you frantically call out who was on the other side.

"De! De!?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa Sweetheart. What's the matter?"

"I saw them! I saw them. But how!? They're dead!" You could hear Dean cursing into the phone.

"Okay, (Y/N). Calm down, and tell me what happened. But first, are you in the den?"

You nod your head, too shaken up to speak, despite the fact that Dean cannot see you.

"I need you to use your words for me, baby girl. Can you do that?"

"Y-yes. Yes, I'm in the den. But, De—"

"No buts, (Y/N). I need you to go to the cabinet next to Bobby's desk, bottom left drawer. There should be a container of salt. You know the drill."

You rush over, making sure to keep the doors closed, quickly finding the can of salt and going over the cracks of the surrounding doors, making sure to not leave a break in the line.

After the doors were sealed, you picked up your phone somehow abandoned on the ground in the frenzy.

"(Y/N)! (Y/N)!" Dean screamed through the speakers.

"I'm here. I just salted the doors, De. But why are they here? How did they find me!?"

"(Y/N)…" A voice called out in creepy sing-song. "You can't stay in there forever. We will make you pay." You whimpered when you saw the door shake on its locks, the sound of pounding on the other side travelling through the wood and the cracks.

"After all, you're the reason why we're dead!"

You could feel all the pain and the hatred coming from the ghosts in the other room. Your heart felt like it was about to burst, but you never voiced your pleas to your parents. The only thing you wanted to do right now was to curl up and to ignore the world around you. And right then, you did just that. Blocking the world out around you, dropping and ignoring the sound of Dean's voice through your phone, you sat in the corner by the fireplace and covered your ears, waiting for the Winchesters to come and save your ass. Again.

Everything was a blur after that.

Witnesses, Cas called it. Well, according to Dean anyway. You hadn't seen the Angel since that night in the barn (sadly). Regardless, Dean said that the Angel came to him in a dream and explained as to why you all were left without the angelic assistance.

"Bigger things afoot," Dean imitated with the gruff voice making you giggle into your hand.

Your giggles cease the moment the eldest brother explains the coming of the Apocalypse. The End of Times. The Witnesses were just another key, a seal, working towards releasing Lucifer from his cage.

All you know is that you knew shit was going to hit the fan.

You refuse to talk about that night, continuing on like the signs of the imminent Apocalypse didn't exist.

Things were spiraling out of control for you, but you trekked on, refusing to let yourself succumb to the pain in your heart over the absent Angel, especially when he seemed to give Dean relentless attention.

Sam and Dean tried getting you to come out to the hunts they were on, but you kindly refused. You didn't want to tell anyone, but you felt your powers getting stronger and more out of control, so you decided to hole up in Bobby's.

You helped in research when you can, but slowly reverted back to your old ways before Dean came back. Similarly, you screened the brothers' phone calls, answering once in a while to let them know you were alive, but generally letting them leave a voicemail that you may or may not listen to.

Dean was allegedly sent back in time (it all happened so fast) to the time and reason of his, as well as Sam's, mother's death. A demon deal made with Azazel for the life of John Winchester and a night alone in the nursery of one Sam Winchester.

You're kind of glad that you didn't go all Back to the Future on your life.

Dean calls one night, concern and heartbreak etched into his voice. From what? You don't know. He catches you up on the Rugaru that you missed out on, but the other half of the voicemail is what catches you.

"(Y/N)… it's Sammy. He's… He's not doing so good and… agh, never mind. Forget I said anything… Hope you're taking care of yourself, baby girl." Click.

You're glad you miss out on their next hunt. After all, you were still considered underage when it came down to the restrictions of drinking and Oktoberfest. You still couldn't help but giggle a little when you listened to Sam and Dean arguing over the voicemail over who got wrecked by Dracula and who didn't.

It had been about a week and a half after the Witnesses when Bobby came stumbling through the iron doors of the panic room.

"Dean. He's in trouble." You drop whatever it is you're doing and rush through the door, ignoring your wobbling knees and the rush of blood going straight to your head.

The drive goes by quickly, but you just barely stop yourself from running out of the still-moving car and into Sam's arms. Of course he wouldn't want you near him, especially with Dean so close to death.

You quietly ask Bobby for his keys, making an excuse to go watch after Dean, to which he agrees. Once out of the car, you look up to see Sam standing from his spot on Baby, approaching closely to Bobby's and trying his hardest to ignore you. Pain amplifies your chest, and you feel a force suspending from the spot where you were standing.

Sam's eyes snap to yours when an old, empty beer bottle shatters near your feet.

Ignoring the tears, you push passed him, your shoulder knocking into his elbows sticking out from his hands in his pockets.

Quickly climbing into Bobby's car, you wait for his trunk to slam shut before you quickly shift the gears to reverse out and then forward, leaving the Impala out of your sight.

You couldn't bear another awkward moment next to the man who you used to think of as a brother.

Eventually, the ghost sickness that was plaguing the eldest Winchester was lifted and the first thing Dean did was grip you tight. No words were needed.

Halloween was approaching and fast. You stuck with the brothers, at Dean's request of course, but things were not any less awkward. They knew, as well as you, that your powers were getting out of control again. Every time Sam made you upset, lightbulbs would shatter and windows would crack. To avoid any other catastrophes, you were working on cooling off by taking walks around the block whenever need.

If he wasn't going to try, you don't want it. You don't need it.

You walked back into the motel after a particularly bad moment with Sam only to see the brothers packing their things.

"De…?" You whispered, "What's going on?" He looked up from shoving his toiletry bag and a folded shirt into his bag.

"Caught wind of a case not too far from here. Guy dies by razor blades." Eyebrow arched, you retorted with, "People die from razors all the time."

"Not from coughing them up."

"Oh…" Quietly, you sigh as you head over to the couch where your duffle bag lied, packing everything you own, which wasn't much.

Climbing into the Impala, you shoved in your earplugs and watched the road pass by you as the Impala flew further into the realms of bum-fuck-nowhere.

Once you reach the Wallace's house, Sam and Dean act as FBI, as usual. You act as an intern, learning the ways of the force, and as you listen into the interview, Dean finds a hex bag.

Witches, figures.

Turned out that whoever you were dealing with was working some serious magic.

Another one bites the dust. A high school cheerleader trying to bob for apples ended up the one bobbing in the water. Drowned with major signs of burns on her face and neck, it was as if someone scalded her with boiling water.

Sam found another hex bag within the couch cushions.

Samhain, obviously. Whatever witch was terrorizing the streets knew what they were doing. Three sacrificial offerings over the course of three days, all so they can see Samhain's pretty, little face again after spending eternity in the pit.

Naturally, the day of the summoning, which only occurs every 600 years, happened to land on Halloween. Naturally.

You and Sam were left on research duty while Dean stuffed himself with candy and staked out the Wallace's home.

Ding, ding, ding. We've got ourselves a lucky winner.

Tracy, the cute, slutty cheerleader. Once Dean comes back from recon, information gets hashed out, and within minutes, the boys were ready to go out again, but wordlessly, you were left in the motel.

Crack. There goes the TV.

Hours go by, silent and uneventful minus the pangs of emotions and thoughts that bombarded you every chance they got.

Not the mention the little adventure the couple upstairs had an hour prior.

You shuddered at the thought. You never wanted to experience that again.

A strange sound filled the air that made you sit still in your seat, unmoving as you silently went for your handgun. You could feel your Mark burning through your shirt, not knowing why.

"Don't bother," a deep voice fills the air. You twirl out of your seat, gun aimed at the two figures in your sight.

"Castiel," you breathe. The man—no, Angel—barely spared you a glance. A sharp pain struck your heart, but you ignored it. You dropped your hand, leaving the gun limp by your side.

"What do you want?" The dark skinned man, who you presumed was an angel also, was faced towards the window, but his voice echoed throughout the room.

"Bite your tongue, girl. It's not any of your concern." You step back, fear and something sparking through you. At that moment, you could hear the jingling of keys coming from the front door.

"Who are you!?" Sam comes barging in, gun at the ready. Dean comes following quickly, stopping Sam from firing.

"It's Castiel," he explains. "The angel." He mentions not knowing the fifth figure standing in the room.

"Hello, Sam." Your Mark itched, and you felt a twinge of sadness that it wasn't your name coming out of his mouth. He has yet to acknowledge your presence.

You were used to it, anyways.

You shoved the gun into the band of your jeans behind your back, rolling your eyes as Sam stuttered, apologizing for threatening the angel. He steps forward, making sure to side step out of your way before holding out his hand for a shake.

You slowly walk away to stand off to the side, shaking slightly for reasons unknown to you.

The men talk amongst themselves, about the witch and Samhain.

Apparently she had her eyes on the boys, too. How? You didn't know. Your eyes go wide as Castiel lifts a hex bag, explaining that it was in the walls of your room.

"Surely one, or all of you, would be dead."

I wish it worked, you thought to yourself. You ignored the sudden attention coming from the blue-eyed angel, as his eyes snap to the side and gaze right into yours.

Still, you silently back up off to the side, listening as the brothers, Castiel, and Uriel, you learned his name was, argued between the destruction of the city, as well as the death of the witch.

Your head starts to hurt, they talk too much and everything was getting to you, filling you again with the feelings that you tried so hard to run from.

Without realizing it, you were squatting on the floor, hair gripped tight in your hands and you hummed quietly under your breath.

The lightbulb on one of the bedside tables shattered. So, quickly, you got up and walked out the door, Samhain, Seals, Lucifer and the Hunt be damned.

If Uriel was going to bomb the place, let him. You would gladly go with the rest of the town.

You bundle yourself up in the thin hoodie you were wearing, oblivious to the elements outside until you stepped out. Walking the short block towards the park, you sat down on one of the swings and sighed, kind of regretting your childish tantrum and walking out.

Not moments later did you feel the shift in the air as well as the rustling of what you assumed were wings. You startle a little when you look in the corner of your peripheral, absently scratching at your ribs.

"You're cold." The burning of your Mark causes a shiver to run through your whole body, warming you up slightly.

"What do you want, Castiel?" You bite, but the angel seemed unfazed.

"Your powers are getting stronger," he states.

"What an astute observation. What does it matter to you?"

"Surely you do not believe that Heaven would be so unkind as to ignore your… situation, given Sam Winchester's history?" You scoff in turn.

"I don't know what I believe in. I just want it to stop." You rub at your temples, willing the oncoming headache to go away. "If you're just going to rub my Demon blood in my face, then just go away. I don't need to know that I'm another failure," you sigh.

"Ah," you hiss as you scratch at your burning mark.

"What's wrong with your ribs?" You side-eye the Angel, deflect his question with one of your own.

"So what's the sitch, Feathers?" You try your utmost best to not react to that puppy head tilt of his. "What's the happening with Chuckles and the Winchesters?"

"They've decided. Tonight, they will try to save the rising of Samhain." You nod solemnly, figuring that was what the brothers would decide.

The pair of you sit in your swings in silence, both just looking out at the sparse kids littered around the jungle gyms. A few minutes pass when you hear the telltale rumble of the Impala. Sam's eyes drag over you from behind the glass window while Dean was preoccupied with the task at hand. They drive on by. You, left unnoticed.

Your heart still aches at the thought of Sam hating your very existence. Even though you two are more similar in ways that anyone else can say otherwise, he still looked at you like the piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

Sighing to yourself, your gaze goes down back to your own worn boots. You were going to have to go shopping again sometime soon.

"Your relationship with Sam will get better, (Y/N)." Looking at Castiel, you scowled.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Angel" you spat. "Keep your beak out of my business." With a kick, you were out of the swing and making your way down to the lake where you saw signs pointing towards. It was one thing to have issues with Sam, it's another thing when a fairy from Heaven makes it public.

Kicking a rock to the bank, you look out at the water. You finally allow the tears you've been holding back for so long to fall as you look out at the peaceful surface.

Peaceful, heh. Something that had long since been gone from your grasp.

Time passes, as you watch the sun set across the horizon. You were sat on a giant alone with your thoughts when you heard the quickly-becoming-familiar noise of wings. You felt and quickly ignored the fluttering in your chest, keeping yourself composed.

"What do you want, Feathers?" You turn your head to see both Uriel with Castiel standing off by the grass line.

"It's time, (Y/N). I suggest you make haste to the crypts at the local cemetery."

"Why?" You scoffed. "So I can be useless to the Winchesters once again? No, thank you."

You felt a charge in the air, a thick tension as Castiel's voice boomed into your very soul.

"The Winchesters care deeply for you. Are you really going to be a foolish, petty child and leave them in danger?"

"Don't get all righteous with you, you dick! It's not like they need me."

"They're your brothers." You guffawed at that statement.

"Tell them that. They could give a rat's ass about me, so fuck off." At this point, the two of you were face-to-face, ready to attack.

"Leave the mud monkey, Castiel. She obviously does not know where her loyalties lie, let alone her priorities." With a flap of his wings, Uriel was gone.

"Listen to Chuckles, Asstiel. Leave me alone." Your mark burned with a vengeance, but you ignored the stupid thing.

Before you could turn around, Castiel brought up two fingers and placed them to your forehead.

You lurched forward, feeling a displacement of the ground when you found yourself in a dank mausoleum. Music and voices brought your attention to a cellar with a bunch of kids drinking and smoking.

Confused, you stepped in to see them dancing and not caring in the world that a random individual stumbled through. You tried to ask someone where you were, if they weren't startled at first, when they heard the sound of heavy footsteps.

You turn around to see a man covered in blood, pale skin and eerie, yellow eyes. Either there was something wrong, or that dude had an amazing costume.

But, the evil that was coming off of him in waves terrorized you to the very core.

"Mr. Harding? I mean, Don?" You watch in terror as the man slowly closes the door in on the confined space. You can feel the air leaving your lungs, the walls coming in closer to you, and your chest begins to feel heavy.

"Don. You, uh… locked us in." The boy tried budging the door, only to come up with nothing. You can feel the panic rise from every individual in the room, your head was spinning, and the walls were shaking. Literally.

Cracks appear throughout the epitaphs, gnarled, decaying arms reaching out and grabbing at the young ones.

The fear running through your body, as well as the children amps up your hunter mode and you back all the kids away from the walls, pulling out the gun from your waistband, silently thanking God that you hadn't forgotten about it.

You raised your arm and shot at one of them, screams echoing through the graves as you hear two distinct, familiar voices.

"(Y/N)!" You look behind your shoulder to see Dean and Sam running down the stairs.

"Help them!" Sam goes running off after Don, who you assumed now to be Samhain.

"Sweetheart!?"

"Dean! Help them out!"

"Stand back!" You could feel some individuals grabbing onto your shirt, scared with the turn of events. You couldn't really blame them.

Two shots rang through the air, and Dean swung the doors open, ushering the teenagers out. You stayed your ground and fired at any incoming zombies.

"Go on, come on! Get out! Move!" Dean stepped forward, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you behind him.

The two of you watch as the marble plates fall from their spots, dead ancestors crawling their way out of their graves. Dean pulls off his backpack, reaching in to dig out silver stakes and you follow his lead.

Undead after undead, you manage to kill several, until one flickers in and out. A ghost. It was time for Plan B: torching the place down.

The two of you managed to start a fire, then you followed Dean to where he thought Sam was. You were a few steps behind, managing to run into Dean's solid back as he stopped suddenly. Looking around his shoulder, your heart dropped.

Sam was using demonic powers.

The Evil that was surging throughout the room, you couldn't tell if it was from Samhain or from Sam, but it didn't matter to you now.

You were betrayed.

Taking one step back, two, then another, you couldn't bear to be in the room as him. So, you ran and ran.

"(Y/N)!" Dean's voice echoed through the corridors, but you ignored it as tears filled your eyes.

How could Sam do that to you? You couldn't care less anymore.

The hotel was far, but you managed to get there right before hearing the rumble of the Impala not far behind. You were tired, you ached, and your chest heaved as your eyes burned with a far larger amount of tears than you've already shed. But you didn't have the energy for that, nor did you want to waste it on someone as vile and cruel as Sam Winchester.

"(Y/N)!" You were making your way inside the room, picking up things that you could find were yours. There was no way you could stay with them now.

"Baby girl, can you just stop and think about this?" Dean came up behind you as you were shoving things into your bag. He tugged at your arm and you turned around, pulling yourself away. You didn't want to be anywhere near the two of them.

"Get off of me," you growled. "There's nothing to think about, Dean. You knew. You knew and you never told me." The waves of guilt and regret were rolling off of Dean, and looking over his shoulder, you saw Sam step through the door frame, gaze on the floor.

"How could you do this to me? Both of you? And Sam, you bastard." You stood your ground, but it was getting harder with every passing second. "This whole time, I thought it was me doing something wrong. But it clearly wasn't."

"You don't know what you're talking about" he retorted. The flame in your very belly ignited full force.

"Excuse me!?" You stepped forward, making yourself look and feel taller than you actually were. Next to the Moose, you were still tiny, but you lifted your nose and glared right into his eyes.

"Who are you to tell me whether or not I know? I watched you, Samuel Winchester. And after all that bullshit with Dean? You still want to sit there and tell me I don't know?" You shoved him as hard as you could.

"Dean died!" You stepped forward and swung with a left hook, Sam flinching back at the blow. "He fucking died and I needed you the most!" Right hook. "Instead you dropped me off at Bobby and treated me like a freak for something I couldn't control." Left hook. "I wanted to die every single day because of this, but you still—you left me to die like a fucking dog." You swung once more, tears streaming down and your voice hoarse from your cries.

Sam stood back to his full height, brushing off the blood from his busted lip with the back of his hand, you felt the shame coming from Sam, but it didn't deter you.

"That's not even a fraction of a percent of what you deserve, Winchester."

"I couldn't control my powers, but that night. I saw how much you hated me at that moment. The fear that ran through you because of my curse, and I can't erase it from my mind. But this whole time, you've been using your powers like some God given talent. Powers you can control. You're a fucking hypocrite Sam, and I feel so sorry for you. This whole time you were scared of what I was, but now I know. You're just scared of becoming what I am. Scared, alone. I can't even walk out without fearing the world, looking-glass self and all. I'm not the freak, Sam. You are."

Pounding came from the wall of the adjoining room next door, and you could hear the faint voice yelling something about not being the only one trying to sleep. Any other circumstance, you would've laughed, but with the rushing in your ears, you ignored it. You focused all your hatred and your animosity towards the man in front of you, but you barely just held back the force field.

If anything, Sam was probably immune to it or some shit like that.

"In retrospect, all you and I ever had was a shared childhood. That's it. It makes me wonder if any of it was ever real." You scoffed. "I know I will never be one of you." You could feel your voice about to crack, but you carried on. "You used to be my big brother, but you broke my heart and now we're nothing. We're through."

Screw everything else. You weren't going to go on a search for the rest of your stuff, so you turned towards the bed and heaved your bag onto your shoulder. Dean stood there, dumbfounded at what just happened, but he understood.

You were leaving, and there was nothing either of the boys could do about it unless God intervened.

Storming off to the door, you swung it wide open to run face first into a trench coat-clad Angel. Before you could shove him out of the way, Castiel placed his hand on your cheek. Your limbs stopped working, and your eyes began to roll as you fell into the darkness.

Figures.

Whoo, that was hard. I hope and thank you guys for understanding that I've been very busy lately, and struggling with putting my thoughts on paper, so I don't want to say I will update soon and give you false hope.
But thank you for your Comments, they really do mean a lot to me!