I have a question for you all: Who is the absolute worst person? Is it me? If you said, 'Duh!', you're right! I can't BELIEVE how much time has passed since my last update, and from the very, very, very bottom of my heart, I am so sorry. No excuses (outside of the usual, of course, busy, busy, busy). Thank you so much to those who've read in my extended absence, and some good news (hopefully), for everyone!

1) I am DONE with my school career in just 2.5 weeks (after which I'll be spending all my not writing time looking for work...but still, less tedious than homework. Maybe. Probably not. Ugh. Young life.), which means I'll have more time to write things!

2) As a HUGE apology to all, and as a even HUGER gesture of gratitude for putting up with me, I'm uploading two chapters, right now, TONIGHT (not tomorrow, not next week, not ASAP-NOW). Two extra long chapters, back to back. Please read and love me again. =)

3) I've had most of the next few chapters written for over a year. They need a ton of editing, but I really, really, really want them out of the way by the beginning of break. I know, I know, you've all come to stop trusting me when I say that now, and you are totally right. Buuuuut you know what helps? Comments reminding me (re: forcing me) to get off my butt and work!

SO. Please, read and enjoy, and if you wouldn't mind, review! I love reviews, and also all of you! Thanks again for dealing with me. I am the absolute WORST, I know. But you are all my favorites.

Happy Easter!

Still not mine.

Hearts,

CA

Two hours later, when the theater was empty, and the only car left in the parking lot was his, after he'd sent Mary, Carmen, Sam, and Jess on to make sure the restaurant held their reservation, because they were already twenty minutes late, Dean conned his way past the lingering hands cleaning up after the recital ('Oh, I'm a dancer, I just forgot my stuff…Yeah, I've been told I have a dancer's body'), found his way into the only dressing room that still had a light on, and pushed open the door.

She was sitting alone on the floor, with a half packed sports bag in front of her—it was, Dean realized, the same one the real Lily had brought with her from school. How had he'd never noticed with was pink before?

The Lily on the floor didn't even look up at him, though he could hear the scowl in her voice. That, at least, hadn't changed.

"Did you really just walk into your sister's dressing room without knocking?"

He couldn't help but smirk. "Well, you might have been dead."

Now she did look up, sour expression caught by the many vanity mirrors lining the small room. "What." Her voice was hard and flat and cool as stone.

"We've been calling you for half an hour."

She canted her head to one side, raising and eyebrow. "Crazy thing about walls," she said, "they're pretty solid. Makes it hard to hear people calling your name."

Dean rolled his eyes and strode to the vanity behind her head and picked up her phone—also the same, though less scuffed and dented than he remembered.

"Crazy thing about phones," he said, flipping open to the home screen: 8 missed calls. "You have one. They're good for talking through walls."

"What do you want?"

"Want? Mom said you were the one who wanted to go to dinner with everyone after your show. So why're you still hiding out here?"

"That wasn't an answer."

"Neither was that."

She huffed and turned back to her half-packed gym bag. "Forget it. I'm…I'm just packing up my stuff. I'll meet you guys there."

"What, you gonna fly?"

"I'll hire a cab."

"That's a waste. Just come with me."

"I'm not done here! I just said that."

"So, I'll wait. Better yet, here—" He crouched abruptly to help her dump her stuff in her bag. And even staring at the floor, he didn't miss her flinch away. He smirked in sudden understanding.

"You're hurt."

"I'm fine."

"You only say you're fine when you're hurt. When you fell onstage. You hurt yourself, didn't you?"

"That's stupid." Without looking at him, she tugged a water bottle and granola bar from his hands and shoved them into her bag. "Look, just give me a minute and—"

"Get up," he interrupted, half smug, half concerned.

"What?"

"Stand up," Dean said again, taking her bag—her excuse—from her and slinging it over his shoulder. "Prove it."

Now she scowled, going from confused and furtive to outright hostility. "No."

"Why not?" he said. He meant it as a challenge. The Lily he knew would have done it just to prove him wrong…

…but this Lily was more intent on chewing him out. "Why not? Because I don't owe you anything, Dean, let alone an answer. Give me my bag and get out."

"Or," he taunted. "You can come take your bag. The Lily I know would—"

That, it seemed, was enough to put her over the edge. "The Lily you know? The Lily you know? What the hell makes you think you know me at all?"

Dean felt the smug grin drop from his face with an almost audible thud. Lily's gym bag followed not far after, falling from limp fingers. He blinked. It was the one answer he hadn't been expecting—and the only one he should have expected, after everything he'd heard today. Lily caught sight of his expression—dumbfounded. Wounded, maybe—and laughed mirthlessly.

"Oh, bravo, two thumbs way up. Who knew my brother was such a great actor? Not me, of course, that would require seeing him once in a damn while."

Dean stood there, gaping like a fish. He shouldn't have been surprised. Not after the way Sam had talked about Lily, the way Mary had scolded him for almost missing her show. He'd been feeling that same oppressive guilt all day, albeit blessedly numbed by the pleasure of seeing his mother alive, knowing his father had died peacefully, and not to save his oldest son's life. Knowing his brother's truest love had never been stolen from him, and that Lily was happy to dance. But he'd also known, must have known the whole time, that even perfection wasn't perfect.

Lily glared up at him from where she sat, disgusted, it would seem, with his silence. "Get out, Dean. I'll find my own way to dinner. I've been doing it for twenty years. Why stop now?"

"W—Lily, wait. I—"

His words only set her off further.

"Why, Dean? Why? Give me one reason why I should do anything you say? What have you ever done for me? What, drove me to school as a kid? Only when it was convenient for you, and when there wasn't another girl in the car, and only if you had forgotten to pick me up the night before. Why start being genial now? Is it guilt? Are you sorry you walked out in the middle of the only performance of mine you been to since I was six? Sorry you messed up my whole future? Sorry you—"

"Yes." He spoke without thinking, and yet as soon as he said it, he knew it was true. For both Lilys.

This one, though, scoffed contemptuously. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, I'm…sorry for ruining your future." The words came easier now, as if they'd been waiting there just under the surface for twenty years. He wasn't conscious of forming any sentences. He just wanted to make amends. "More than you can possibly understand, Lily. I'm…I'm your big brother, but you've been taking care of Sammy and me your whole life. It's not fair to you, especially when we can just pretend you don't exist. Me, I'm so wrapped up in my own life here, even if it is perfect, I—"

"I said I'm fine, Dean," she interrupted suddenly, bringing him back to himself. She had gone back to staring at her gym bag, but he could see through a mass of dark hair that even her scalp was bright red. "I'm almost done."

"Me, too," he said gently, kneeling in front of her. "Can I finish? Can I at least see your ankle? Did you hurt it when you—"

"It's not my ankle." Her voice had lost its fire, but she still couldn't look at him. She'd packed and unpacked the same water bottle three times, he'd noticed.

"What?"

"It's…not my ankle. I'm not hurt."

"Lily, give it up already, you—"

"That's not what I mean, Dean. I'm serious. I'm not hurt." She raised her eyes to him, her face still flushed, but defiant, and stood. "See? I'm fine."

He looked at her suspiciously. "So, you've just been sitting here for forty-five minutes because…"

She swallowed and looked away from him for the briefest of moments. Then her eyes flicked back to his and she mumbled something.

"Didn't quite catch that, Lil."

"I said…I said I didn't want to have to see you. But not," she added quickly, "like you're thinking. Or at least, not anymore. I…was embarrassed."

"What, because you fell?"

"No. I mean, sort of. Not because I fell. Because you left. I…thought you…didn't like it, or something. I dunno. Maybe you don't, and that's okay, honest, you're your own person, you can like or not like whatever you want—"

Dean threw his hands up. "Lily, slow down. You're running a mile a minute here."

Lily grit her teeth, and, staring at her hands, said, "It's just…how could I walk out there and talk to you, knowing you don't…you're not…"

"Not what?"

"Not…proud of me." She spat these last words out like they burned her tongue. "It's stupid, I know. I mean, you're not Dad. You and Sam, you have your own lives, and that's great. I'm on my way to having my own, too. I just never get to see you anymore, and I thought maybe…if you came to this, and liked it, maybe…maybe you'd stay. Not forever. But for dinner. Maybe."

Eyes on the floor, and Dean too stunned to speak, Lily flushed a deeper shade of red and dropped to her knees to repack her bag with a new fervor. That complete, she stood abruptly and made to move past him, staring with a single-minded fixation at the hallway behind him. It was then he remembered himself and grabbed her arm, stopping her short. She glanced at him briefly without really meeting his eyes.

"Wait."

"I said it's fine. It's fine, Dean. It's stupid. Petty. Forget I said anything."

"Lily. Stop. Look at me."

Now she did look, her expression a strange combination of humiliation, defiance, and failed nonchalance. She tried to laugh. "What, Dean? What can you say to make me forget what I said? There's nothing, is there? Nothing you can do—"

"Nothing you can do to make me less proud of you, Lil. Nothing you can do to make me forget about you. And nothing you can do—nothing—to make me not love you."

She didn't move from where she stood, though the embarrassment and confusion slid off her face to be replaced by a perfectly blank mask as she studied his eyes. Then he was the one flushing red. "Um…Lily?" He was almost caught off guard when she dropped her bag again and threw her arms around him. He didn't hesitate to hug back.

"This is such a chick moment, Dean," she said after a few moments, voce muffled by his jacket.

He laughed out loud. "It better be worth it, kid."

But the voice that answered was not Lily's.

"So sweet, I've got a tooth ache."

Dean reacted on instinct, simultaneously whirling to face the threat while shoving Lily safely behind him, and for the briefest of moments, a strangely familiar face loomed from the semi-darkness, gray-skinned, and tattooed with glowing blue ink.

And then the 'threat' was Sam, and Lily was not content to stay where she was. In one fluid movement, she kicked her gym bag aside, stepped around Dean and right up to Sam, and said, "And if you want to keep that tooth, you'll shut up and walk, Sammy."

"It's Sam, Lil."

"Lily."

"Whatever."

"Whatever."

And just like that, the moment was gone. Lily was stalking moodily toward the door, Sam was looking smug and irritated, and Dean was left blinking in their midst.

"Wait…what?"

He didn't get an answer, and he hadn't expected one, but he did need a second to sort through the last ten seconds.

Sam—who must have come back, or just never left—had showed up and taunted Lily, because that was apparently just what they did now. Only his voice had been dripping with so much patronizing sarcasm, Dean hadn't even recognized him. Because it had been Sam who'd spoken. Of course it was Sam. Who else—what else—could it be? Dean had seen a phantom shape in the dark for a moment, but he'd imagined it, because this was his dream world, and in his dream world, his biggest problem was arguing siblings.

And what a problem it was. It was like this new Lily had never let her guard down. She was back to huffing and puffing and reliving all those teen angst years Dean had never gotten to witness. And Sam was being Sam—the Sam Dean recognized as Hungry Sam, meaning he was going to be kind of a dick. Though that generally didn't mean taking it out on Lily.

But now both of them were heading for the parking lot, so Dean followed, attempting to mediate. Lily's threat had been empty and superficial, but even so, it wasn't something the real Lily ever would have said to Sammy. Not without laughing afterward.

"Sammy—er, Sam, I thought you went ahead with Mom and the girls?"

Sam let out an exasperated sigh. "I did. Until we were half way there, and Mom realized she had the keys to your hunk 'o' junk." Sam raised a fist over his shoulders without turning around and opened his hand to let Dean's keys dangle from his thumb.

Dean caught up and retrieved them. "Mom was carrying my—wait, what do you mean 'hunk-o-junk'?"

Sam smirked. "C'mon, Dean, I get it's sentimental and all, but that thing's been past its trade-in date for years."

Dean chose to ignore the dig, since this wasn't the real Sammy—or Sam—he was dealing with, and instead asked, "So, how'd you get here if the others are still at the restaurant."

Sam shrugged. "Cab."

"What is it with you two and taxiing everywhere?"

"It's what you do when you're alone. Can we just go?" Lily was halfway back to the Impala at the far end of the parking lot, and all the way back to her new pouty persona. Dean swallowed a sigh. Maybe he'd just imagined the last ten minutes.

"Yeah, yeah, fine. C'mon, Sammy."

For years afterward, Dean would swear a millennium had passed in the time between blinking at Sam, then turning to look at Lily. Only it wasn't Lily. Because, all at once, there was another figure blocking his way. A figure in a long black coat, pale skin, glowing blue eyes, and tattoos on his hands, face, and arms.

The figure also had a gun pointed at Sam's forehead.

Dean immediately recognized the figure from the hallway minutes before—and from a hunt years ago, in the life that was so different from this one. How could this thing—a djinn, he knew now, and then everything made sense—be here?

"It's not fair." He'd said the words before realizing it. All around him, things seemed to have screeched to a deafening halt. But not the djinn. He had not even known they could speak.

"You had to push, didn't you?"

"Dean?" This was Sam, who'd gone rigid next to him. Seconds. Just seconds had passed, and yet everything had changed.

"It's okay, Sammy." It was a lie. It was the furthest thing from okay. But somehow, that didn't matter now. What mattered was getting New Sam and New Lily far away. They wouldn't understand, wouldn't even know what they were dealing with, and it would spell trouble, or worse if they didn't move—soon. "Listen, Sam. I want you to go get Lily and get out of here. I'm right behind you."

"So, what, I'm supposed to leave you here with Crazy Eyes?" Sam's voice was even, but Dean could feel him shaking. "Dude, he's got a gun."

"I can handle him." Dean kept his eyes trained on the djinn. On the gun pointed at Sam. "You gotta take Lily and run, Sam. You gotta trust me."

It was then Lily realized that they were in trouble. He could hear her across the parking lot: "Dean? Sam? What—?" She was still half-obscured from his view. He wondered if this Lily had panic attacks, too.

"Stay there, Lily. It's alright. Get in the car and call the police."

"She can try. It won't work," said the djinn, as Lily screamed back, "Dean, the door is locked. I can't get in. I didn't do it. I didn't lock the door, it locked itself, it—"

"Just stay there, Lily. It'll be okay. Stay there. He doesn't want you. He wants me." And now Dean was shaking, too, with fear and rage. "Okay? You creepy bastard, you want me. Let them go."

"I was perfectly willing to, Dean Winchester." The gray-blue thing sneered in an ugly way, inching the gun closer to Sammy's forehead. Dean felt sick and frozen to the spot. "You could have had all this. Everything you ever wanted, your dearest, truest wish—your mother, alive. But it wasn't enough. You had to push."

"I don't know what—"

"You should have left things where they were. You knew there was no way to fix things with Sam and Lily. Wasn't it enough that they were both alive and well? And still, you dragged them into this—into your true life."

"What is he talking about, Dean? Who is this guy?" Dean knew that tone of voice. He'd heard it countless times before when innocents came into contact with the supernatural. Sam was figuring things out. Dammit, Sammy. Always too smart for your own good.

Dean shook his head. "I don't want them in this. Let them go, and I'll do whatever you want."

The next several seconds happened in the blink of an eye. From over the djinn's shoulder, there was suddenly a flash of pink as the entire weight of Lily's sports bag came crashing down on his head. The strap caught around his neck, and Lily pulled—hard.

If the djinn had been human, he would have been at least momentarily strangled. It would have bought Dean enough time to disarm him, and kill him for threatening Sam.

But the djinn wasn't human. The djinn was the creator of Dean's dream world, and the djinn knew his handiwork. Without taking the gun off Sammy, it twisted one mottled hand over its head, grabbed a thick handle of Lily's bag, and yanked back.

Lily half somersaulted through the air to land at his feet, panting, but scowling more with frustration than fear.

The djinn blinked as if he hadn't even noticed the disturbance, then looked down at Lily, then Dean.

"Funny, how little changes in the grand scheme, isn't it? I can take your sister out of your world, but, well…you know what they say."

Dean didn't answer, and didn't look away from the djinn as he asked, "Lily. You alright?"

"Fine. I already called the police, freak. They're on their way. Leave my brothers alone." Dean would have laughed if he hadn't felt like crying. The djinn was right. Mary was alive, and his siblings were at each other's throats, but Lily was still…Lily.

But the djinn only smiled. "Well, I don't like a liar. But I admire your gusto. So…wish granted." And then he turned the gun on her.

Dean stiffened, but before he could do anything, Sam tackled the djinn. To his credit, both figures were on the ground before Sam suddenly went limp. Lily screamed and crawled to his side as the djinn straightened again, no worse for wear.

"Alright, Dean Winchester. If you want to keep your perfect life, you make me a deal, and you do it now."

Dean's head was spinning. Ten minutes ago, he'd just fixed perfection with his sister on a musty dressing room floor. Now, there was a djinn unlike any he'd met before—how many used guns, let alone spoke?—and everything was spiraling out of control.

"Lily? What's up with Sam?"

"He's bleeding." Her voice was half tears, half rage. "It's a head wound, Dean, we gotta call an ambulance."

"I know, Lil. Just stay calm. Just stay calm for me, okay?"

"I'm running out of patience, Dean," the djinn sang in a sing-song voice. "What'll it be? Your perfect?" It cocked the gun. "Or mine?"

"What is it?" Dean said finally, broken and desperate. "What do you want me to do?"

Now the djinn smiled lavishly, passed the gun to his other hand, and held it out to Dean…grip first. "I want you to choose."