Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its characters belong to The CW and Eric Kripke.

Suggested Songs:

- "Another Day" by Wings

- "Kozmic Blues" by Janis Joplin

- "Ride On" by AC/DC

Chapter Ten: Part Two

The year passed slowly, hunt after hunt, motel after motel. Somehow, along the way, she went back into machine mode. Although, this time, she didn't work with other hunters if she came across them. Only left town to find her own case. It was easier that way. She didn't think much these days, just the primal need for strategizing during hunts. She still had nightmares, but somehow they were more vivid now. She was getting four hours of shuteye every couple days generally, but she was learning to adapt.

After leaving her short stint with the Winchesters, she expected to feel sadder. But she just felt hollow in a way. Lost. It wasn't to say there weren't jobs out there for her, in fact she noticed a spike in demon possessions the past few months. But now it was different. She didn't feel the same kind of satisfaction after saving someone. Her intentions felt different; it was more just out of anger and bitterness. It was making her a better hunter, she knew, so she turned off any reservations that might have crept into her mind about it.

Melissa was halfway out of a Chicago following a particularly gruesome vamp hunt when she stopped at some roadside diner. It was nearly four in the afternoon and the place was deserted. She was feeling a little adventurous, and took a chance on the place's cherry pie. It was not bad, considering she had at first been a little concerned that some of the elderly waitress' cigarette ash might have fallen into her slice.

She checked her other, other cell phone, not expecting much. But she found yet another voicemail from Bobby singer. It had been over a year, but he still occasionally called, offering her a case. She never called back. He was too close to the boys, and she had honestly no idea what would happen if she ever saw them again. It was too much of a risk to see them, as if her life was risk free somehow now. Sam had called a couple times at first, saying that she could come back and it would be alright. But Melissa knew the truth. She could never come back, and Dean never called.

There had been several men since their night together. Mostly just young men with leather jackets and tattoos from the bars. None of them ever wore flannel, though. She knew it wasn't helping, but everyone deserved a little fun sometimes. Even if they were borderline murderers. At least that's what she told herself.

"You okay?" the raspy voice of the the overly made up, rotund waitress broke her from her thoughts. She had just been staring at her phone, going over blurry nights with men whose names and faces were now mostly forgotten. She cleared her throat awkwardly and faked a smile at the sweet but oddly intimidating old woman.

"Oh, yeah, sorry, just...thinking," she said slowly.

The woman just nodded and offered her more black coffee. Melissa shook her head and paid the check before making the short trek to her car through the frigid January afternoon, the winter sun just setting. She sighed and relaxed once she made it to truck, revving up the engine and sitting for a minute as the heat comforted her. She caught a glance of herself in the rearview mirror and sighed.

Even she was disgusted by how run down she looked, ad she could only imagine what other people must think. She finally gathered her courage and began listening to the message, expecting something like a siren in Jericho or a vetala in Seattle. Instead, it was something a little different.

"Alright, listen up," Bobby barked through the phone, his voice ragged around the edges. She followed his instructions, subconsciously straightening her posture as if she was getting scolded by him in person. Bobby did have a way of getting people's attention quickly.

"Melissa, you're a damn adult so I don't know why you've been acting like a kid for the past year, but I need you to stop the pity party for your pisspoor problems. I don't give a damn where you are, but you need to get your ass to my house. We need you, and I don't need anyone dying because you've wasted over a year of your life feelin' sorry for yourself. If I don't see you by the end of this week, so help me God, I will hunt you down and drag you up to Sioux Falls myself. You may be good, but I got about a lifetime of hunting experience on you, and I'm not fuckin' around."

The message ended abruptly, leaving Melissa speechless in the wake of the gruff hunter's rant. She didn't know how to feel. Sad? Pissed? She thought it over for only a second before peeling out of the parking lot, making her way out of the crowded city. She didn't think about things so much lately, and this choice was no exception. It was a gut instinct to go back to Sioux Falls, especially when Bobby sounded like that. It was almost like the morning he called her when Dean was in the coma. It was angry for sure, but in some ways it also seemed more desperate and tired. He just sounded so weary and she hadn't a clue why. She didn't often visit hunter bars anymore, and she didn't listen to the whispers.

But she owed Bobby her life. More than once. If he needed help the way she now knew he did, regardless of the Winchesters, she would come help him. It was just that simple.

. . .

"Melissa? You called Melissa?!" Dean yelled at Bobby gruffly.

"Dammit, Dean, you got four months left! It's all hands on deck right now," Bobby shouted back from his place leaning against his cluttered desk. Dean was across the living room, near the door frame for the kitchen. Sam sat awkwardly in between them on the lumpy old couch. He sat stiffly, his eyes jerking back and forth as Dean and Bobby fired shots at each other.

"Not all hands."

Bobby sighed heavily, scratching at his reddish beard. "Dean, I get it, alright? She hurt your feelings; hell, maybe she even broke your heart, I don't know."

Dean scoffed dismissively at this, but Bobby paid this no mind as he continued.

"But Melissa is family, and we all know it."

Dean only rolled his tired eyes, then sulked into the kitchen to grab a beer. Bobby blew out a defeated breath and bowed his head.

"Ummm," Sam cleared his throat uncomfortably. "What time do ya think she'll get here?"

"Well…" Bobby looked up at Sam and shuffled behind his desk. "The voicemail said she left Chicago last night...so any minute now. Still doesn't know exactly why I called."

"And she's just gonna come anyway?"

Bobby shrugged, cracking open some random lore book. "That's Melissa for ya."

Dean heard this in the kitchen and snorted bitterly, but no one heard him.

"Alright," Sam said, heaving a big breath, a rubbing at his temples. His shoulders and his chest were heavy with worry these days. Dean was gonna go to hell because of him. "Well, a fresh set of eyes never hurt."

. . .

She just drove straight through. The whole twenty hours, stopping at only two or three gas stations along the way. Still, she didn't think. Only drove. She was only comforted by the loud purr of the engine, and the raw voices of Mick Jagger and Janis Joplin screaming through the speakers. They felt like the right artists for the moment. She didn't know exactly why. A sickly pit settled in her stomach as she drove up to Singer Auto, remembering the brisk winter morning that she ran out on Dean. Remembering the regret the next day, but knowing she could never go back. It felt so surreal to be breaking her promise to herself, but the gut instinct that she had to come help Bobby was too strong. She couldn't have stayed away.

Before, she'd never really had to knock. It was almost like all four of them lived there. This time she hesitated a little, then knocked confidently on the worn wooden door, the rusty screen of the other door resting against her back. Fake it till you make it, she thought to herself uneasily. She heard heavy footfalls and heated voices behind the door.

"Just wait a sec-" she heard Sam plead, but he was cut off as Dean opened the door.

Immediately she could see the age in his eyes. He looked so tired. His arms were crossed defensively across his broad chest, glowering at her. His jaw was set tightly as he stared her down, and it seemed as though he wasn't going to speak first. Both Sam and Bobby were shadows in the hallway behind Dean, frozen as they watched the tense scene unfold.

"Hi," Melissa greeted lamely. She didn't know what else to say. She honestly wasn't expecting this level of aggression if she ever saw him again. She also didn't expect Dean to be the one opening the door.

"Hi Melissa," he returned coldly, adding a curt nod. She shifted uncomfortably and waited a moment, just in case he had anything else to say to her, before she spoke again.

"Can I...c-come in?" she asked tentatively, knowing she had given herself away with her stutter.

Dean smirked a little at the familiar quirk, but did his best to keep his lukewarm demeanor. "It ain't my house. Better ask Bobby."

He turned back to find Sam and Bobby with slightly bewildered looks.

"Oh, um...yeah Mel...you can come in," Bobby said, trying to regain his composure.

"Thanks," she replied, sliding past Dean, who was still reluctant to move from his place guarding the door.

"Hey Melissa," Sam greeted warmly. It made Melissa sigh unconsciously in relief. They didn't all hate her. "Long time."

"Yeah…" she said. "Sorry about that." She cringed a little. She knew that they all knew what had happened between her and Dean. It made her cheeks burn in shame, and it was almost worse that the year old events were going unspoken by Dean.

They migrated to the kitchen, and Melissa felt slightly claustrophobic as all their eyes were on her. She stayed standing as the rest of them got comfortable at the kitchen table, nursing beers. She glanced around the room. It was exactly the same as she remembered it. She tried to avoid looking to the couch in the living room. A shiver rolled through her as she remembered that morning one winter ago. She lingered in the doorway, leaning up against the frame, afraid to get too near any of them.

There was a charged silence before Melissa took the initiative.

"So…" she started, crossing her leather-clad arms defiantly. Fake it till you make it, she repeated in her head. "What's the trouble in paradise this time?"

Dean clenched his jaw and let his eyes roam over her. She looked terrible. Her face was gaunt and haggard, even paler than he remembered. He couldn't imagine how much weight she had lost. She looked like a skeleton. Her hair was a little shorter, coming just past her shoulders. Noticing this, he remembered the way he had run his hands through her hair that night. The way she had seemed to know everything that made him tick without needing to ask, and how he felt watching her fall asleep in his arms.

But now, he knew how foolish the hope he had felt was. He woke up alone that morning, shivering a little under the old quilt. At first, he thought they'd been tracked down somehow, and she'd been taken by a demon or some other monster. But then, he searched the outside, nearing screaming himself hoarse as he called to her. Her truck was gone. And that was all he needed to know what had happened.

He would have cried, but he was Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester didn't love anyone, so he couldn't be heartbroken. Instead, he sat at the kitchen table and drank a full fifth of whiskey. And as Bobby and Sammy returned that night, he drunkenly explained the situation. He buried whatever sadness he may have felt, and let his anger bubble to the surface. As he relayed the weekend events to them, his intoxicated rage only grew, and it ended with him smashing his tumbler in the sink. The morning after, he woke up with some tall blonde from some bar he didn't remember meeting.

Sam had seen the change in Dean immediately. The whiskey and the women were back, but now he just seemed angrier. Sam didn't remember the last time he had seen Dean so wrecked, and he wondered if this was the Dean from after he'd gone to Stanford. The Dean who thought he was completely alone. But maybe it was even worse. Besides Cassie, Sam had never seen Dean act so in love with a woman, and with Melissa, Sam knew it was even more. And Dean had gotten a particularly bitter taste of his own medicine. Melissa had loved him and left him. Seeing Lisa a few months back had definitely helped Dean, but he was still pining for Melissa. Sometimes he even said her name in his sleep, on the rare nights when he was out for long enough to start dreaming.

It was Bobby who answered Melissa, relaying all the information from the past fourteen months. He was winded by the end, and Melissa was overwhelmed. It was quite a lot to swallow. Sam got stabbed, they shot Yellow Eyes, they opened the door to hell (which explained the uptick in possessions over the past few months,) and they set John free from hell. She stood with her hand over her mouth and his eyes wide. She took a heavy breath.

"Well...it's a good thing that dickhead yellow eyes is gone...and John's free….how are you, Sam?" she asked, glancing at the taller Winchester brother. "Y'know...with the stabbing and everything."

"Oh um...I'm good. I'm fine," he said with a little quirk of his mouth and a nod. He gave Dean a nervous look but didn't say anything more.

"Yeah...so that's about it…" Bobby said, finishing his beer.

"Okay well," she said, pacing around a little. "Where does calling me come in?"

"Oh…" Bobby said, looking down and clearing his throat. "I think you and Dean should have a moment alone."

"What? No," Dean perked up from his drink, annoyed.

Sam and Bobby were already getting up and walking out the back door.

"Guys, why-" Melissa started.

"Just...talk," Sam told her, cutting her off as she took his final steps out the door. He slammed it shut behind him and Melissa felt a little flabbergasted. The visit had already been odd and awkward enough, but the abrupt departure of Sam and Bobby only made it weirder.

"Okay, what the hell is going on?" she demanded as Dean walked over to her.

"I don't know, Melissa. What the hell is going on? Why'd you come here?" he asked, nearly yelling already. He brushed past her into the living room and leaned against Bobby's desk. He waited for Melissa to follow and give him an answer.

"Because Bobby called me. Why the fuck else?" she asked, her voice calm but the anger building inside her. She knew she was still in the wrong, but she couldn't help her kneejerk response of aggression. She was a hunter, after all.

"I don't know, we've called you asking for help a hell of a lot more than just this time," he shot back.

"You," she spat, pointing a thin finger at him. "Never called."

"Neither did you!"

Melissa felt like all the air had been knocked out of her. She never should have come. She turned around, running her hair harshly through her dark hair. She stood facing the stairwell, fighting the tears she felt welling up in her eyes.

"Why didn't you stay?" Dean asked in a smaller voice. She turned back to him, her hands starting to shake. He was slouched slightly, watching her with thoughtful eyes. She almost smiled seeing him standing there in his t-shirt and jeans, his protection amulet hanging from his neck. Always with the simple pleasures, she thought. In that moment, she truly almost didn't remember why she left him.

"I don't know I just…" she sighed, then met his eyes confidently. "Why am I here Dean? What's going on?"

He deflated a little and looked away from her, starting to pace as well. "Y'know how Sammy got stabbed?"

"Yeah…"

"It was bad, Mel...it was real bad. He...his spinal chord...he died, okay?" Dean admitted, his voice strained. He could still hardly think about that night without completely breaking down. The way it felt on that rainy evening as Sammy died in his arms. His Sammy.

Melissa's eyes were wide and her mouth hung agape.

"And I couldn't do it…"

She shook her head slowly, her expression remaining stunned. "What did you do, Dean?"

He only shook his head sadly in response. Then, he looked back at her and set his face in a stony expression, still trying to seem strong. "I would do it again."

She clenched her jaw, almost stalking towards him. Dean looked at her in surprise, being reminded of the animalistic walk she had when she was possessed. She got near his face, and he almost recoiled at her fiery eyes.

"How long do you have left?" she nearly growled. It looked as though they were having an old Western showdown. Tumbleweeds could practically be seen rolling through as they stood across from each other in the middle of the dusty room.

"Four months," he responded, a rasp in his quiet voice.

"Four?!" she yelled. It was the shortest demon deal she'd ever heard of.

"You sold your soul?!" she shouted at him, then shoved him hard in the chest. "What the fuck were you thinking, asshat?!"

She shoved him again and he stumbled into the desk behind him. He didn't respond, only watched her as she blew off her steam. His eyes were glassy but Melissa barely noticed. She was still reeling. She stepped back from him, the padding of her old boots cutting through the tense silence.

"I'm sorry," she said finally, then turned around without another word. She practically sprinted out the creaky old door, slamming it hard behind her. Dean halfheartedly went after her, but if there was one thing the past year had taught him, if Melissa didn't want to be found, she wouldn't. She drove peeled out of the salvage yard, dust forming in clouds in the wake of her tires. He couldn't make her stay. No matter how much he needed her to.

. . .

The truck could reach 110, but at 80 the engine was practically screaming. The wind howled through Melissa's open windows, and she would have shivered violently in the frigid night air, but the whiskey was making her feel very flushed. Motörhead raged through the speakers and Melissa couldn't remember the last time she felt so angry. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this much of anything at all. She pulled clumsily into Singer Auto and sighed. She had to stay, she knew. She just needed a little alcohol to prepare herself first. The one thing she loved about South Dakota, hardly any of the bars would cut you off.

She almost didn't notice her breath blowing out in clouds before her as she tried to find her way to the house. She didn't know when the hundreds of cars in the yard had started to look like a maze, and she didn't know why she had parked so far away. Her head swam with drunken exhaustion, but she didn't really feel tired at all. Just angry. Dean was gonna die. Not just die. He was gonna go to hell. It almost made Melissa want to go and make her own deal. She had pretty much killed her sister, after all. Maybe she deserved it. Maybe she was already destined for downstairs.

Eventually, somehow, she found her way to the old house. She dropped her keys on her way to the porch and tripped trying to pick them up. She fell hard on her ass, then started laughing maniacally. Her head was spinning.

"Melissa?" she heard from somewhere in front of her. Her breath caught in her throat and the laughter stopped. Immediately, she tried to go for her gun. Her sloppy attempts were fruitless.

"Hey, it's just me," she looked up and saw Dean sitting on the rickety wooden step of the porch, outlined only softly in the dim moonlight. It was probably past one in the morning.

"Oh," she said flatly, then slowly got to her feet. She almost tripped again, and Dean wanted to help her, but he was reluctant to get close. She eventually got to the porch and sat down hard beside him, letting out a heavy sigh.

"You're drunk," he stated, and couldn't help the small smirk that spread across his lips. Sure, he'd seen her a little tipsy, but never sloshed like this.

"And you're an asshat," she slurred back.

"Yeah, you're not wrong," he sighed, taking a swig of his beer. Melissa tried to grab it from his hands, but the attempt was weak in her drunken state. "Easy, killer. No more booze tonight, alright?"

"Did you drive here?" he asked tentatively.

"Yessir…" she slurred, very Southern.

Dean sighed. "You can't drive like this. Next time I'll be your DD. I guess I owe you...actually I think I owe you twice right?"

She snorted and laughed a little. "You don't owe me anything," she mumbled, then yawned and rested her head in her hands. "What are you doing out here?"

"I dunno," he shook his head a little. "Just thinkin.'"

She took a few deep breaths of the freezing air and her teeth chattered a little.

"Dammit, Missy," Dean said, not so mad at her anymore. He took off his own leather jacket and draped it around her. She was only in a t-shirt and jeans. "Did you lose your jacket?"

"I don't know," she said, looking up at the stars. "Maybe I drank that too."

Dean chuckled as she hiccuped. "You gonna throw up?"

"No…" she said, not very sure herself. "I'll be alright...you should have your jacket back." She tried to take it off but he only put an arm around her to warm her up. He doubted she felt it judging by her flushed cheeks, but her lips were tinged blue.

"Stop...just...take it for now," he told her. She laughed sloppily.

"Man...I told myself I would never take your jacket," she said.

"When'd you tell yourself that?"

"The night you told me you loved me," she replied casually. Dean's face fell. "But it's okay," Melissa continued. "I love you too."

"No, you're drunk," he corrected, not believing.

"No...but…." she put her head in her hands again and heaved a breath. "I didn't want to...I'm really sorry, Dean. I wanted to stay...but Allen died and I couldn't…"

She stopped, choking up a little. Being drunk always put her on a little bit of an emotional rollercoaster. "It was so hard...after he left...and I thought I couldn't do it again. And now you might go to hell...and Dean I just…"

He looked away from her, his cheeks reddening slightly in shame. He knew he should have given her more credit. In a way, he'd been as selfish as her about the whole thing. He had refused to see her side.

Tears started rolling slowly down Melissa's rosy cheeks and Dean rubbed up and down her arm. "Hey, no...it's okay, darlin.' Just calm down. You're gonna be fine."

"But I want you to be fine," she sniffed, her voice strained. It broke Dean's heart seeing her that way. They sat in silence for a little while, and her breathing slowed after a few minutes.

"I miss my sister," she blurted out, lifting her head to study the faint shine of chrome on the tires of the car in front of them. "I see you and Sam sometimes...and I just miss Rosie. I should have saved her."

Dean ignored the last part, wanting to keep her from crying again. "Her name was Rosie?"

"I never told you?"

He shook his head.

"Oh," she said, then turned back to him. She dimly thought of how much she missed his eyes. She threw her arms around his neck impulsively, surprising him. Eventually, he returned it. He forgot how much he missed this; the nights when they just got to talk. He could feel her heart beating fast in her chest and wrapped his arms around her tighter, half making up for the year they'd lost, and half to calm her shaking body.

"I'm sorry I left…" she whispered huskily.

"It's okay."

"No, it's not," she sighed shakily, her forehead resting on his shoulder. Their arms were now just wrapped loosely around each other. Melissa started to feel sleepy. "I was just...scared."

She was drunk beyond the point of feeling embarrassed or vulnerable, making confessions the sober version of herself would have never uttered out loud.

"I know, honey," he said, rubbing small circles on her back. He bit his lip, feeling immensely guilty for all the crap he had given her earlier, and that he never called. "I know."

She pulled back a little bit from him, in a last attempt not to pass out. "I am so drunk," she said, bursting out in jolly laughter. Dean couldn't help but join her, even after the somber conversation. "I'm Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds."

She smiled goofily and then laid her head down on his shoulder again. He continued to rub her back and laughed a little. "Sure you are, Missy."

Melissa focused on her breathing, relaxing more than she had in a year. She forgot the way Dean smelled like old leather and gunpowder. In and out, she repeated in her head.

It only took another moment of silence for Dean to realize she was asleep, lying on him limply. He smiled softly, remembering their ride in the the Impala as she fell asleep to Pink Floyd. He kissed her dark hair and hugged her a little tighter before hoisting her into his arms and bringing her into the house. He let her take the couch that night.

Author's Note: Alright, chapter ten is done! Yay!

PLEASE review and let me know what you thought! Feedback is pretty much my favorite thing.

Again, thank you to Kathleen Winchester for your reviews! They are always greatly appreciated!

Thank you for reading!

Peace and love.