A/N: Aight, sooooo... I kinda took some time away from writing. Y'all may have not noticed, I dunno. I did so because I wanted to finish my internship, and spend some time enjoying it. I had such a good time, y'all, omg. But I'm back now. I'm still in school, but have lots of time to write in between classes. I'm gonna try to still post on weekends (today being an exception, cuz I just wanted to get this chapter out so bad). I hope y'all are still up for this wacky adventure, cuz shits about to go down.

Thanks for the continued support, guys!


Empty.

She had read novels where authors described the protagonist at their lowest as feeling empty. They sank into themselves, having nothing else to hang onto, not even hope. Hope seemed like an urban legend, one that brave preteens were certain was real and go off in search for that pure hope. But adults know better. It's child's play. A treasure hunt with no reward. Just a giant "X" in place of closure.

Frankie didn't know about any of that, but she did know one thing for certain: the hope she once had was as good as gone.

That optimism that once defined her – that gave her strength to pursue John, that gave her the perseverance to follow her brothers into any and all danger they faced – was weakened beyond repair. Her optimism was on life support, and it was her decision on whether or not to pull the plug.

She smoothed her palms over her thighs as she sat on the end of her mattress. Her cheeks were dressed up in pink shades with a sticky film of dried tears that would pull at her skin if she had the energy to muster a simple frown.

Her little chat with Gabriel left her cast out in a riptide of despair. This being, the one that was supposed to protect her and guide her on her destiny, informed her of the horrid truth.

She wasn't important.

It wouldn't be such a big deal if she hadn't placed so much on her purpose. That was her token into the war. That was her biggest playing card and it was rendered useless in the span of a five minute conversation with an archangel. Using her "importance" to her advantage was her way to save the world. No matter what, it would help her bring down Heaven and maybe even Hell!

But now she knew the wounding truth. No one was coming for her. No one wanted her. Sam and Dean probably thought she was far too much to handle and were possibly in the other room that very second trying to come up with the calmest way to tell her that they were taking her back to Alabama.

At that point… it didn't seem like such a bad idea.

Almost every decision she made since she first hopped into the Impala led to nothing but pain in either her or others. Every decision she made ended in misery. Eventually it had to stop.

Gabriel had one request for her, only one. He wanted her to leave her family and see the world, to do everything she ever wanted to do before she was inevitably killed in the crossfires of the Apocalypse. The only problem was that she didn't want to do anything but right her wrongs, but that came with a price she couldn't afford.

Sam and Dean would never work together as long as she was in-between them, Castiel would focus more on her brothers without having that damn promise to protect her tying him down, and Bobby… well she was sure his life would be better off without her around somehow. She knew that the only way to fix anything – even for a short while – was to remove her from the picture, no matter what that meant for her.

She had to come to terms with the fact that she was too much to handle. She was toxic, and that was a whole other burden she had to drag along with her. She felt as though she were Jacob Marley from The Christmas Carol, tugging her swathing, laden chains up a sheer hill. What she wouldn't give to strangle herself with those chains…

Her hands slithered up her arms, a tight grip pulling them into her body. Her shoulders curved forward, her head lowering into the pitiful ball she encased herself in.

She needed to sacrifice everything she desired to make the lives of those she loved better. This was her destiny. If not appointed by God, she'd make it so herself.

Three solid knocks at the door capsized her heart. She wasn't ready to talk to her brothers. She'd never be, but if she was ever going to shrug off the suffocating weights from her soul, she would have to suck it up and face the wrath to come.

She sniffed and coughed to clear her voice from its quaking rasp. "Come in."

As the door opened, she wiped her cheeks on the strap of her tank top, resulting in nothing but irritating her already red skin. She blinked to air dry her eyelashes before lifting her gaze to the man shutting the door.

"Hello, Frankie," Castiel somberly greeted, his stern gaze the exact same as it was the last time she saw him.

A hot cloud flared in Frankie's chest at the first glimpse of him. The sight of his stretching trench coat sent a jolt to her heart and moistened her eyes once more. "Castiel!" she squeaked, launching herself off of the bed and bolting to the angel. She all but tackled him as she wrapped her arms around his midsection, the impact causing him to stumble back. Her throat squawked when she tried to speak. Collecting herself, she pressed her cheek to his chest, her eyes squeezing shut. "You have no idea how good it is to see you."

Frankie felt her insides curdling. The way she ended things with Castiel before they went into the paper mill crushed her already crippled soul. She blamed so much on him, and she turned out to be wrong. She accused him of lying to her, of deceiving her, when all he had ever done was help her when he didn't need to. She abused him, whether he knew it or not. But that didn't matter. Because she knew, and she hated herself for every condemning word she spat at him.

Hands sank onto her shoulders. For a brief moment, she felt a long-awaited relief for any sort of reciprocation to her embrace, but that diluted joy faded when Castiel pushed against her, tearing her away from his body. She glanced up, fearing what she would see, but there were no pestered glares or tired scowls. His head was tilted, eyes squinting in confusion as his pupils flitted over her.

"Your face."

Frankie was overcome with mixed feelings of relief and disappointment. "Yeah," she exhaled, taking a few steps out of his bubble. She idly brushed her freshly healed cheek with cold fingers. "Yeah, I know."

"What happened?"

Frankie pressed her lips into a tight smile as she turned away from him. She crossed her arms over her chest. "You could say I… I was 'touched by an angel,'" she humorlessly quipped.

Castiel's eyes squinted the slightest bit more, puzzled for a mere second before his head straightened, a cold splash of realization washing over his face. His curious eyes flashed an alarmed glower as his shoulders broadened in a premature attack position. "Gabriel," he growled.

Cold panic trickled down Frankie's spine. She didn't want him tearing the place to shreds looking for the archangel. She held up her hands, slowly approaching him as he frantically threw his gaze around the room. "I-it's okay! He didn't hurt me."

"He could have." He ignored her soothing approach and stepped passed her, scrutinizing the empty bathroom. "He could've killed you if he wanted."

Frankie's eyes sank to the carpeted floor. She hugged her arms tighter as she less than gracefully lowered herself onto her bed. "Wish he had…," she whispered.

She had no intent of Castiel hearing her somber remark, yet he had. He turned his head, pointing his now concerned gaze at her slouching form. But if he had any significant thoughts about her words, they remained behind his lips.

"What did he want?" he asked, stepping back into the main room. Frankie peered up at him.

Their last conversation made the most recent events very hard to recount. How do you tell someone that they were right all along and to just ignore the hurtful things you said to them? How do you mend a relationship you were so ready to toss into the mud?

No longer able to keep her eyes in his, Frankie stared down at her ripped and fraying jeans as the memories of her angelic encounter returned to her mind. "Gabriel, uh… he came by to tell me a couple things."

"What things?"

She couldn't hold herself up anymore. Gabriel's bombshell was a parasitic disease that ate away at every muscle, every nerve, until she couldn't hold herself together. She leaned forward, bringing a single hand to her lolling head. She swallowed thickly, the gagging flavor of defeat lining every taste bud.

"I'm… not important."

There was a moment that was so quiet and engulfed by silence that Frankie could have sworn Castiel up and left her alone.

"What?" he finally voiced.

Frankie slowly shrugged, unsure of what else to do. "I mean, I was. At one point. But Gabriel… he said the angels've forgotten about me. He said there's no use for me now that Sam and Dean are holding out for so long." She drilled her fingers into her eye sockets, trying and failing to relieve the gnawing pain behind them. "It doesn't matter if I live or die. Explains why no angels have come to my rescue. Except you."

Frankie opened her eyes and pointed them to the angel. He was looking somewhere lost to the world as he processed her words. At her silence, his eyes slowly made their way into hers. They still looked lost.

"Castiel, trying to describe how sorry I am is… it's a losing battle. I can't even begin to thank you for… everything. And I've been so ungrateful. I don't deserve your kindness. I don't deserve your patience." Her eyes found the carpet again. "I don't deserve you," she breathily spoke, voice barely above a whisper. The world went dark as she closed her eyes. A rather large piece of her wished to just dissolve into the air, ceasing to exist.

"I'm not gunna hold you to your promise. You have absolutely no reason to keep protecting me. I'm not worth it after all." Her eyes reopened, filling her sight with the wretched light of an unforgiving world. She looked to Castiel. He had not torn his eyes away from her.

"I release you, Castiel," her throat croaked.

Castiel was uncannily still. He was like a Polaroid photograph. Frankie was unsure for a moment whether or not he was a hallucination and was ready to smack him if he remained quiet.

"Perhaps Gabriel was lying," he finally said.

Frankie shook her head, lightly gesturing her hands to herself. "Why would he? What would he have to gain? He didn't have to tell me this. He almost sounded like he thought he was doing me some sorta favor. Like I'd want to know this."

Castiel looked to the floor as he walked to the other side of the room. "It doesn't make sense."

"Hey, you're telling me," Frankie scoffed.

"They can't just ignore your soul's brand. It was placed there by God Himself."

"Well… you heard Gabriel. God isn't really around anymore. And with the other angels having their hands full with the Apocalypse, there's not much room left for little ol' me."

Castiel clenched and relaxed his hands over and over again, his face as stony and still as a gargoyle's. "Your purpose." He turned his head to Frankie. "Did Gabriel tell you what it was?"

The girl shook her head as softly as she spoke. "No."

"Then there's still a chance it can be used to our advantage."

Frankie sat straighter on the bed, her brows furrowing at his words. "No, there's not. Heaven wants nothing to do with me. Hell, they might just kill me off if it meant getting a message across to Sam and Dean."

Castiel twisted his entire body to face her, gesturing with a contradicting hand. "You're not to be harmed."

Frankie sighed. It was a nice thought, but it wasn't like anybody was really keeping track of that rule. "I dunno, man. Maybe it's just best if we forget this was ever a thing."

"What do you mean?"

"Like, maybe," Frankie shrugged her shoulders, "we should just pretend none of this happened. The angels aren't gunna come for me, so what's the point?"

Castiel glanced out the window, watching for something unseen through the glass. "The angels may be willing to forget your name without any struggle, but I wouldn't consider that an option for the demons." He turned his head back to the girl. "That demon knows what we believed: that Heaven has plans for you. And she has no doubt informed Lucifer of this. They won't simply forget, so we can't."

Frankie lowered her head, linking trembling fingers together. "You've got a good point there. Damn her."

Castiel's voice softened as he stepped closer to her. "That is why we need your brothers' help. I'm weak and you're inexperienced with supernatural conflict."

Frankie straightened her shoulders. "I wouldn't say inexperience. I've gone against my fair share of monsters."

"Be that as it may, you can't face Lucifer by yourself."

Frankie humorlessly laughed. "Who says I'm facing him by myself? I'd like to stay as far away from that guy as possible."

Castiel stared knowingly down at her. "That is why your place is with Sam and Dean. Not by yourself."

The girl rubbed the tip of her thumb against her fingernails, thinking about her brothers. "I've already come to terms with the inevitable. I'm gunna tell them everything tomorrow. I just…," she shook her head, a long sigh brushing passed her lips. She lifted her eyes, meeting Castiel's. "What do- what do you think they'll… y'know, think? Or say?" Her eyes sank along with her heart. "Am I even gunna have brothers after this?"

"Of course you will. Why would you think that?"

"Oh, I dunno. Maybe 'cause I lied to them all this time about selling my soul? I promised Dean I would never make a deal. And then I go and leave them only to get tangled up with demons and angels! And I never told them about the Heaven brand!" Her fingers slithered through her hair and grasped her strands tightly. "Mistake after mistake. Lie after lie. They don't need all this on top of the end of the goddamn world. That's why I think that, Castiel."

She used to be so simple. Frankie Pearce was a quiet outcast, sickly and reclusive. When you saw her in town, you waved and smiled because you knew her life was short, and you wanted her final memories to have happy faces in them. When you both ended up in a grocery store aisle, you asked about her mom and gave your good wishes. Then you kept walking, because that was all you could do. She wouldn't allow you to treat her any other way. Not like there was any more to her.

Now, when you see her walking down the street, you stay on the other side of the road. You don't initiate conversation, because if you do, you'll get a sour attitude and a nasty glare. Don't ask her anything, because any answer you get will be a lie to cover her own ass in whatever way she could. Don't get close to her, because you can faintly smell her pungent self-loathing. She had truly become an unpleasant person.

"I cannot say that they won't be angry." She closed her eyes against Castiel's words. "In fact, they may very well be furious. But eventually, they do find it in themselves to forgive those that deserve forgiveness. Sam and Dean will be angry for some time. Their trust won't be easy to regain, but if it's something you truly seek, then you can earn it."

Frankie grinded the inner lining of her cheek against her molars. Her head sank, a jolt of pain stabbing her heart with every throb. "It's not their trust that I want. Believe me, I sank that ship long ago."

Castiel tilted his head, looking at her with that curious gaze of his. "Then what is it that you want?"

Small bobbles of tears sat at the brim of her eyelids. She sucked in a shaky breath. "I just wanna make things right. I wanna die their sister. Not their burden." Her throat hardened, tightening like a twisted rope. "I just wanna mean something to them."

The world dimmed as Castiel stepped closer to her, casting his towering shadow over her hunched form. His voice was low and soft, holding a comfort that she desperately needed.

"You have a very clouded idea of your brothers. Sam and Dean wouldn't have traveled all this way if you didn't mean something to them. What exactly they think of you, that's for them to explain, but you seem to believe that you are a crumb in their world when that is untrue."

His words acted like a phantom hand that caressed her cheek and lifted her chin to look him in the eye.

"Family means everything to the Winchesters. And you are their family, Frankie. They won't cast you out for your mistakes, but rather try to prevent you from making new ones." Castiel placed a hand on her shoulder. His palm sent a surge of comfort down her back. "Don't be too quick to dismiss their understanding. They've made their fair share of mistakes as well." He pressed his lips together, brows crinkling. "And… so have I. Yet the Winchesters still find it in themselves to pardon me for those mistakes. After all my faults, I still mean something to those boys. And you mean something to them, too." There was a small twinkle in his eyes, a tiny sorrowful spark as he stared down at the girl. "As well as myself."

Frankie's wet lips stretched into an unstable smile. Leave it to him to cradle her hope and slap a bandage on it.

When she went in for a hug this time, she didn't knock him off balance. She softly encased his midsection with her arms and pressed her cheek to his chest. She didn't care if he didn't reciprocate the gesture. In the end it didn't matter. All that mattered in the world to her was that he was there, right there in that motel room. She had someone to hold onto, to keep her smile ahead of her and her scowl to Heaven.

All that mattered was that she wasn't alone.

"Thanks, Cas."


Frankie found it strange that she was able to sleep after her rather traumatic few days, but she chalked it up to a mixture of Gabriel's unwarranted healing powers and Castiel's invigorating pep talk. Nonetheless, the next day had arrived and she knew exactly what was in store. Somehow, though, she felt a little more prepared for what was to come.

Oddly enough, the loud banging on the door came around noon. She was surprised, to say the least, that her brothers had allowed her to sleep in, but she was grateful for the extra hours of rest.

Castiel was gone when she awoke, but that was for the best. The night before, they agreed that Frankie should have the chance to explain things for herself, and if she needed any help at all he would only be a prayer away.

When she answered the door, she knew right away what Dean would notice. He stilled, brows diving for his nose as his eyes narrowed on her. "Your face," he plainly spoke. Frankie nodded her head with a knowing sigh.

"I'll explain."

He opened his mouth to speak. His head tilted slightly as he observed her smooth, freckled cheeks and gleaming eyes, no longer sunken and hollow. He seemed more taken aback than she would have expected, but it hit her that it was the first time in months that he saw her completely unmarked and healthy. Well… healthy from the outside perspective.

No words spoken, he led her to the next room over where Sam waited patiently with his arms crossed. He stood at the far side of the room, next to the bathroom, and had the very same reaction Dean did at first glance of the girl.

"Your face," he uttered, voice nearly identical to his brother's earlier remark.

Dean held up a single hand with a passive nod. "She'll explain." He turned to Frankie and motioned his head to the end of one of the beds. "Sit." Frankie did as she was told.

The room was quiet, unsurprisingly. With so much to say, what could be said? For a few long, unbearably awkward moments, Frankie stared up to her scowling brothers standing with their arms crossed and faces brooding. She simply sat on the bed, her fingers tapping restlessly on her thighs.

"So. How've y'all been?" she finally spat out. They were, of course, unamused at her nonchalantly attitude and lowered their chins with identical raised brows. She sighed, averting her eyes as she made the first dive into the conversation that had been haunting her for weeks. "Where do you want me to start?"

"You can start here," Sam answered, reaching into his pocket. He took out a piece of crumpled paper and tossed it onto her lap. Frankie stared down at the very note that informed them of her disappearance. "Why'd you ditch?"

The note looked the same as it had back in Montana, save for the new wrinkles. It even had the smudged pencil marks from a tear that plopped onto the corner. She swallowed down the conflicting emotions with a thick gulp. "I think this explains everything," she coolly spoke, gesturing to the note with an idle finger.

"This doesn't explain half of what needs to be explained," Dean grunted. "What 'dangers' are following you? Does it have anything to do with how beat up you were?"

Time was up. Frankie was as ready as she'd ever be. She had to be. But all the while she still felt the boiling in her stomach that made her want to lurch its contents onto the carpet.

Her lips parted with an unstable inhale. "I've gained quite the reputation. Demons are trying to get ahold of me. One succeeded."

A moment of pause resonated around the four walls.

"What?" her brothers exclaimed.

"Succeeded how?" Sam fervently asked.

Her tapping fingers found each other like magnets laid out on a table. "One caught me. Y'all actually know her. Uh, she was the one who nearly killed Bobby."

They stilled for a moment as they tried to recall who she was referring to, but it only took a moment. Dean rolled his head along with his eyes as a sigh raced out of his mouth. "Meg. Great." Frankie preferred it when she didn't know the demon's name. "What did she want?"

Frankie scraped her thumbnails under each other as she remembered every haunting detail of the encounter. "She wanted to take me to Lucifer."

"W-What?!" Sam sputtered. "What does Lucifer want with you?"

That was a good question. Frankie wished she knew the answer. "Well… when she possessed me-"

"Possessed you?!" Sam and Dean shouted together.

She nodded as she licked her lips. "When she possessed me, she found out everything about me. She found out I was your sister and somehow figured ol' Lucy would wanna know that info."

Her eyes clouded over as she saw the face of that man. The flowing blood from his neck filled her vision. The carpet suddenly appeared red. Her feet squished against the floor.

"She… made me kill an innocent man. Just so she could call Lucifer." Her head softly shook. "I didn't know his name… I just…"

Her eyes were too unfocused to see the change in her brothers' faces. Their scolding eyes morphed into looks of abrupt worry. The sight of their sister so affected by her demonic encounter brought out aching sympathy in Sam's gut and rage in Dean's.

She blinked hard, squeezing her eyes until white spots speckled behind her eyelids. She sniffed hard and rolled her shoulders as she returned to the business at hand. "He seemed really interested in my relation to y'all."

Dean's head roll made a second appearance. "Great. So now we have that to worry about."

Sam's brows, empathetically furrowed, shaded curious eyes. "So, how'd you escape?"

Frankie's breath did not sill on her own accord.

"Yeah. How did you escape?" Dean echoed.

As mildly ready as she had been, there was no way to prepare herself for the next moment. She was done lying, and she was going to tell them the truth. She could accept that they wouldn't like it, but the thought of damaging their relationship with Cas rattled her bones.

Her lungs burned with lack of air, and she filled them only to exhale the words that wanted to stay glued to the lining of her throat. "Castiel saved me."

As expected, silence was the first to speak. All she had to stifle the flaming of her chest were the faces of her brothers. Sam was still, if not slightly confused, but Dean…

His eyes had evened out at the mention of the angel. The glare that was strategically positioned there collapsed, leaving behind a look of shock that she hadn't expected of her brother.

"Cas?" he huffed, his voice less sturdy than before.

"How'd he know where to find you?" Sam asked, pressing her further.

Frankie's other fingers joined in with scraping nails under nails. "I prayed to him. He came spiraling into the rescue and beamed us outta there before Lucifer made his grand entrance."

Sam's eyes had been pointing to seemingly nowhere, but his brain was far from lost. He had been doing the math in his head and knew things weren't adding up. "Frankie…," he slowly spoke, "how long ago was this?"

"Just the other day. Like two days ago."

Dean's shocked look intensified, his even eyes hardening. "Two days. As in two days? Forty-eight hours?"

Frankie, a little confused, nodded. "Yeah."

Dean nodded as well, yet his held a cynical origin. "Sonnuva bitch," he grunted, rubbing his mouth.

Frankie looked between her brothers. "What?"

Sam sighed and stepped forward as Dean huffed behind him. "We've been trying to find you since you left. Cas said he couldn't track you down."

"And now you're saying he saved your ass from Satan and didn't report back to us?" the latter snapped.

Frankie could tell that things were unraveling too fast. She didn't want Cas to become a black stain on her story. "Well… you guys were gone for days. We went out looking for y'all the moment we escaped."

There was that ping, that jagged, piercing pain in her heart that signaled a lie passing her lips. Like a truth-telling kidney stone. She couldn't take the pain anymore. She had to get that thing out before it killed her.

"Well… okay. That's not entirely true. When Castiel zapped us away, he collapsed. He was unconscious."

"What?" Sam blurted.

"Why?" Dean grumbled.

"From what I can gather, his powers are depleting every day. He's getting weaker." Frankie lowered her eyes as a different pain pinged in her chest. This one came from the thought of Castiel working himself to death. She just got to a good place with him. She didn't want to lose him. "If he keeps pressing forward at a hundred percent, he's gunna run himself into the ground."

"You seem really worried for him." Frankie glanced up to Sam's curious eyes.

"Especially since you've only met him, what? Twice?" Dean added, equally curious.

Frankie gulped and forced herself to sit a little straighter. "I'm done keeping this hidden. I haven't been alone all this time. Castiel's been making sure I've been safe."

Sam's brows shot up, his jaw slightly dropping. "What?"

"He made a promise to protect me and wouldn't let me take off without checking up on me every day."

Dean turned away, his jaw tightening with rising anger. "You've gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me."

There was that worry again. He wouldn't be a black stain. "He was just trying to keep me safe."

"And look what happened!" Sam shouted, pointedly gesturing to her. "How could he let you get possessed if he was keeping tabs on you?!"

Frankie defensively held up her hands. "Okay, look. That was my fault. I got myself in trouble and Cas bailed me out. He's been nothing but helpful to me since he made that promise."

Sam tried to contain himself before he spoke, unlike Dean who had his back to the other two in the room, mumbling incoherent grumblings to himself. "Why'd he make that promise in the first place? Why's he so concerned with your safety?"

Frankie's lips had just parted before her tongue went limp. What was the point of telling them about the brand if it wasn't going to even matter in the grand scheme of things? The angels weren't going to come for her, and even if demons tried to get her it was going to be because she was a Winchester, not a super important human in Heaven's plans. It was just easier for everybody to forget about it. Heaven had a head start, anyway.

"It doesn't matter anymore."

Dean quickly turned around and stepped up to Frankie, causing her to lean back in surprise. Off to the side, Sam's phone lightly chimed. "I wanna know why he made that promise" Dean's voice was aggressive and commanding. It was scary, but Frankie found herself almost missing that tone. "You've been keeping way too much to yourself, and I wanna know why you've been keeping this from us."

Frankie inhaled deeply through her nose. He was right. The truth had to come out. And though she was terrified of what they would think, a part of the hope that still existed within her hoped they could find a way to help her. God, she wished they could.

"Okay, look-"

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed.

"What?!" Dean snapped, slightly moving his head in his brother's direction.

"I just got a message from Chuck!"

After a brief moment, his head turned all the way to Sam. "Chuck?"

Sam was staring worriedly down at the illuminated screen of his cellphone. "He's in danger. 'Life or death situation'!"

Dean abandoned his dictating stance over Frankie to stride over to Sam. "Lemme see," he grunted, gazing at the message sent by someone unknown to Frankie. "Vermillion, Ohio."

Sam looked to Dean. "That's only, like, thirty minutes from here."

Dean was already reaching for his keys. "Twenty in my car." He was halfway to the door when Sam spoke again.

"What about Frankie?"

Dean's feet stuck to the ground like it was made of tar. He took in a breath and then turned his head to the girl on the bed. Frankie stared back at her brothers, wanting to do nothing but make things easier for them – and for her.

"Look, I wanna avoid trouble as much as possible. You guys go on. I'll head back to Bobby's." She smiled sadly. "'Bout time I gave that ol' grouch a visit."

"No way." Frankie's brows narrowed at Dean. "We're not letting you outta our sight. You're coming with us."

She thought that was a terrible idea, but she wasn't about to argue with him.

Sam seemed to read her thoughts. He took a step towards her and softened his voice as much as he could. "If it's true that demons are out for your head, the safest place is with us." Despite his irritation at her recent decisions, he held his hand out to her. "C'mon."

Frankie stared down at his outstretched palm. Even though she wanted to embrace her brothers after being away from them for so long, she still felt the gut-wrenching need to shy away from Sam's hand.

She had so much time to work her feelings towards him out, but all that time to herself simply made her forget about being anxious around him. The sight of blood dripping from his chin still showed up in her nightmares. His demonic voice inside the panic room still echoed from deep within her psyche. She remembered what he did with those hands. He's the reason Lucifer knows about her and wants demons to bring her to him, and well… who wouldn't feel unease towards someone like that?

But, like her disagreement with Dean's choice, there was no room to argue. She'd have to fight through those feelings just like everything else. If she could.

She took his hand and he lifted her from the bed. She disconnected their hands the first moment she could. Sam gathered their bags in one swoop as Frankie followed Dean towards the door. Before they left, however, Dean looked her dead in the eyes, giving her an intense look he made sure she wouldn't forget.

"We'll finish this later."


The only times the Impala went under sixty-five were at stop signs, what few were on the backroads to Vermillion. Dean was booking it to this ever-mysterious Chuck fellow. All the while, they argued back and forth over what could possibly cause trouble for their accomplice.

Frankie was at first annoyed to hear them arguing again, but she soon realized that this spat was unlike the last few she encountered. It sounded more like the first time she heard them arguing, way back when she took her first ride in the Impala.

God, that felt so long ago. She had been through so much since that night. Ghouls, demons, a blood-sucking brother – she could fill an entire shelf of books on her experiences, but she'd sooner arrange for a bullet to visit her frontal lobe than to dissect those memories.

The Impala sped passed an ornate sign that read "Welcome to The Pineview Hotel" that was a complete blur to Frankie. Dean quickly turned the car along the path leading up to an old yet elegant dark wood house. Frankie leaned hard to the side as the Impala whipped back and forth until she reached a small parking lot.

Dean expertly eased her into park, and the moment he twisted her key out of the ignition, he and Sam were opening their doors and stepping out of the car. Frankie was sure they wanted her to stay behind, but they didn't say anything to her, so she decided to take advantage of that and followed them passed the other cars in the lot.

Frankie noticed the same moment Dean did. They both stopped in front a line of cars, all seemingly identical. All '67 Chevy Impalas.

Frankie had seen for herself at the markets in Alabama and the superstores across her travels how unoriginal drivers were on their choices of vehicles. She had seen Honda after Honda and three Pontiacs of the same model in a row, but this was simply uncanny.

"Dean. C'mon," Sam rushed, bringing his siblings out of their identical trances. Dean and Frankie followed Sam as he hurried towards a pacing man at the foot of a small staircase that led to the entrance of the building. "Chuck! There you are."

Frankie caught her first glimpse of this Chuck they were talking so much about. She didn't know what she was expecting, but it wasn't what she got. Honestly, she was underwhelmed.

He was smaller than she imagined – about as tall as herself. He was thin and frail looking. She could easily take him in a brawl, no question. His brown hair was unkempt and slick with sweat. It looked as if he had tried to comb it, but he raked his fingers through it too many times. His beard, while trimmed, appeared uneven in places and rushed. He exuded stress. Overall, she wasn't impressed.

He pointed alarmed eyes at the two men. "Guys?" he squeaked in a small voice. His eyes then flicked over to her. In an instant, his brows narrowed, and his now stunned eyes bore into her. Frankie was visibly taken aback by the quick look of unease –or was it panic – in his face at the sight of her.

"What's going on?" Dean asked, slightly panting from the jog over. The man's eyes tore away from her and focused on her brother.

"Uh, nothing. Y'know, just, um…" The three stilled, confused. He didn't sound like he was in danger. "I'm just kinda hangin'- w-what're you guys doing here?"

"You told us to come," Dean pressingly answered.

The man's face blanked. "Uh, no I didn't."

"Yeah, you did, you texted me," Sam uttered in an increasingly annoyed voice. "This address, uh, 'life or death situation', any of this ringin' a bell?"

Chuck tensely shook his head. "No, I-I-I didn't send you a text."

"We booked it all the way here!" Dean shouted, quickly growing irritated at the squirrely man.

"I'm sorry! I-I don't understand what could…" Chuck paused, realization slowly switching his face from baffled to frustrated. "Oh no."

"What?" Dean gruffly grunted, already fed up with the man's lack of peril.

The front doors of the building clanged open. "Sam?!" a shrill voice squealed. Sam, Dean, Frankie, and Chuck all gazed to the top of the steps where an excitable girl – barely able to contain herself – practically drooled at the very sight of the one she called. "You made it!" Her squeaking voice made Frankie wince.

The girl hurried down the stairs to stand in front of Sam, her eyes as wide as an owl's, boring so deep into his that Frankie was sure they would pop out of her skull.

"Oh, uh…," Sam muttered, "Becky, right?"

Her excited face dropped. "Oh… you remembered," she spoke, flattered at the mention of her name. "You've been thinking about me."

Frankie – despite all the screwed-up situations they had been through – had never seen Sam so uncomfortable. "I…"

"It's okay! I can't get you outta my head either."

Frankie couldn't hold it in. She had to puff out the smallest chuckle. It was funny! Seeing someone go beyond gaga for him was something she wouldn't have been able to picture had Dean simply explained the scene.

That small huff of a laugh was heard by the girl, and she flicked her bulging eyes over to Frankie. But those bulging eyes lost their excitement. They gained shock.

Just like Chuck, the girl – Becky – looked at her with a strange expression of unease, like they had seen a ghost. "Oh…," she spoke, her voice thankfully lower-pitched. "Oh, you must be Frankie! Them I expected, but you…"

Frankie froze. Who in the hell was this chick? How did she know who she was? Did Sam and Dean talk about her? Frankie softly shook her head, not sure what to say with Becky looking at her with those protrusive eyes.

But there was something else to those eyes. Not only were they astonished to see her, but they held something darker. Not evil, but… sad. Mournful almost. Which confused Frankie a hell of a lot more.

"I-I gotta say, I'm glad to finally meet you." Becky held out a stiff hand, all the while staring at her with those huge eyes. Frankie felt uneasy looking into them, like she could read her thoughts or something, but didn't want to seem weird and shook her hand. Becky's arm then stilled, those eyes taking a turn for the puzzled. They flicked over to Chuck, and then flicked back to her. "But… how're you-"

"Um, did you take my phone?" Chuck interrupted, now getting increasingly irritated at the girl.

Becky threw her weird attitude over her shoulder, forgetting it instantly, as she whipped her head over to Chuck. "I just borrowed it. From your pants."

Chuck sighed, shaking his head. "Becky-"

"What? They're gonna wanna see it!" the girl chuckled, her excitement filling her face once again.

"See what?" Sam, Dean, and Frankie muttered in unison.

"Oh my God, I love it when they talk at the same time!" Becky squealed.

Frankie made the judgment that she didn't like Becky. And she didn't like all the confusing shit she was spouting out. Frankie felt like the last one to get the joke, but the equally confused faces on her brothers made her feel like she wasn't alone in all this bull.

The front doors opened again, and this time the person coming out seemed a lot more normal. "Hey, Chuck!" A man on the larger side in a pastel yellow shirt and holding a clipboard waved the small man into the building. "C'mon, pal, it's showtime!" Becky excitably followed to man inside.

Chuck turned to the three standing across from him. His laden face told them enough that something was definitely wrong. "Guys, I'm sorry…" he shook his head, "for everything." He walked up the steps while grumbling under his breath.

Sam, Dean, and Frankie each shared puzzled looks before following the group into the building. They walked through the doors and were instantly hit with the sound of muffled folk rock playing throughout the spacious lobby of the hotel. Their first glimpses into the mildly crowded room were interrupted by a man, also on the larger side, holding a glass of alcohol chuckling lively as he approached the group.

"Hey, 'Dean'! Lookin' good!" He proceeded to strut away before Dean grunted in confused annoyance.

"Who the hell are you?"

The man turned around, a bemused smile on his freckled face. "Uh, I'm Dean, too," he answered, gesturing to his outfit – a black shirt under a blue button up under a leather jacket, just like what Dean was wearing. He scoffed and turned to walk away. "Duh."

Dean turned to Sam, his face scrunched in bewilderment before it flared into a panicked stare at an approaching person behind him. Sam and Frankie turned to see a man in a mask, crafted to look like skin or some gross material stitched together, holding a scythe. Sam had a similar look of fright at the costume while Frankie stared at the small tufts of hay that stuck out from under his shirt. He was obviously some sort of scarecrow.

"Uh oh, it's Sam and Dean. I'm in trouble now!" the man jokingly remarked. "Have fun you two." The scarecrow then teasingly growled as he pretended to slash at them with his scythe and then carried on with his day.

Obviously freaked out with the first thirty seconds of entering the building, Dean turned to Sam, gesturing with a frazzled hand. "What?" he uneasily grunted.

They gazed around the room. It was adorned with colorful characters in every corner. Bloody ghosts, killer clowns, guys in mullets and trucker hats with cheap store-bought beards, and leather jackets everywhere. It seemed like your usual fall festival and Frankie thought nothing of it.

That is until she noticed a man behind some sort of merchandise stand with black eyes. Pitch black eyes. Just like a demon's. Except he wasn't slashing throats or torturing patrons. He was selling books and mugs with '67 Impalas on them.

She suddenly felt like she was in a very bad place.

"Becky…?" Sam uttered, surely feeling the same way she did. "What is this?"

"It's awesome! A 'Supernatural' convention. The first ever," she ardently declared.

They couldn't believe what they were witnessing. This was unlike anything they had experienced before, and they had been through a lot. This was definitely going into Frankie's hypothetical book collection.

Even after Becky left to join the other patrons, Sam, Dean, and Frankie continued to flick their eyes around the room. Ghosts, vampires, demons… hell, even angels made the cut! A girl with a long red wig and store-bought glittery angel wings held a conversation with a thin dude adorning a mullet and an open flannel shirt, exposing his bird-like chest.

Frankie somehow felt like the odd one out here. What the hell, and how the hell?

"Guys…?" she piped up, turning her attention to a Bobby look-a-like. "What the hell?"

"Yup," Sam said with a nod of his head.

"Mind fillin' me in on what I'm missin' here?" She pointed her questioning eyes to Dean. "Who's Chuck?" She looked around her before lowering her voice. "Is he an angel?"

"No. Thank God," Dean scoffed.

Sam sighed before gently touching Frankie's shoulder. She repressed the urge to jerk away from him. He led her over to a secluded corner, Dean following closely.

Now away from potential eavesdroppers, Sam leaned close to Frankie. "Chuck's a… a Prophet of the Lord."

Frankie jerked her head back in disbelief. Of all the things she expected, that wasn't even on the list. "Prophet? Those still exist?"

"Unfortunately," Dean deadpanned. He grimaced at one of his look-a-likes ordering a Cosmopolitan from the bar on the other side of the room.

Sam continued to explain what was unraveling in front of them, his voice taking on a very uncomfortable tone. "Chuck is the author of 'Supernatural.' A novel series about our lives."

Frankie's eyes bulged, not unlike the girl's she met a few minutes ago. "Beg pardon?" She threw her eyes back over to the merch stand where piles of books were displayed, all with the title printed in large lettering on the cover. On one book, there were two men holding exaggerated weapons, one of the men being shirtless like a romance novel character.

And then it clicked. It came to her like a vision from That's So Raven. She remembered seeing one of those books a long time ago when she was living at Bobby's house. Well, technically at that point she was still a patient and they were waiting for her to heal. Time really does melt away when one is in peril. But more importantly: that was a book about her brothers lives?!

Dean picked up on the explanation with a grumbling voice. "They're supposed to be the 'Winchester Gospel' someday. Now it's some geeky, pretty boy book series." He tiredly gestured to a nerdy looking guy with bright yellow contacts. "And now it's… this."

The guy handed a drink to a tan-skinned girl dressed in a dark yellow plaid shirt and a denim jacket. Frankie wondered which character from their lives she could be dressed as.

She realized who she was much too slowly.

The girl who she had never seen before that moment was dressed in the very same way that Frankie did. Flannel button up and denim jacket. She even had the same sneakers that she uses! But maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe she was supposed to be someone else. It wasn't like her usual outfit was original or unique.

The girl brushed her shoulder-length black hair behind her ear. Or rather, behind an exaggerated prosthetic ear that displayed an obvious bite mark where the lobe would have been.

Frankie took a deep inhale as she held her hands up defensively against a brewing freak-out. "Okay, this has officially reached Twilight Zone levels of surreal." She shook her head as she watched the girl dressed as her laugh at an unheard joke. "How am I even a character?! I just met y'all."

"Yeah," Dean growled, narrowing his sights on Chuck across the room. "That's a damn good point."

The three made a move towards the squirrelly man, but just as they made it halfway to him, the heavyset announcer with the clipboard ushered all the costumed guests into a large room. Grumbling at their missed chance to tear Chuck a new one, the trio decided to fall in behind the crowd and enter the room with them.

The room was nothing too special – aside from the large cardboard Devil's Trap displaying "First Annual SUPERNATURAL CONNVENTION" in bold lettering, acting as the backdrop to a tiny stage. About a dozen rows of chairs were sectioned in front of the small platform. Leather-clad patrons were rushing to claim the seats closest to the front while Sam, Dean, Frankie, and Becky elected to stand in the back of the room.

A lively murmur resonated around the room as they waited eagerly for the festivities to begin, all the while the three Winchesters in the back judged each and every one of them. Frankie, however, eventually found the attendee dressed as her. She wondered why anyone would ever pick her to dress up as. They could dress as an angel or a demon. They could dress up as Sam or Dean if they wanted. But she chose Frankie. The real Frankie didn't take her eyes off the girl, even when the hefty overseer walked onto the stage to stand in front of the microphone.

"Welcome to the first annual 'Supernatural' Convention! At three forty-five in the Magnolia Room, we have the panel 'Frightened Little Boy: The Secret Life of Dean.' And at four thirty, there's the 'Homoerotic Subtext of Supernatural.'" Frankie and Dean reacted in unison, both dipping their heads and raising their eyebrows in disbelief, while Sam furrowed his brows over crossed arms. "Oh! And of course, The Big Hunt starts at seven PM sharp!"

The room then erupted into a chorus of applause. Sam, Dean, and Frankie watched in baffled awe as the people went nuts over something completely unknown to them.

"Okay, but, right now-!" the man announced, trying to calm the cheering crowd, "right now I'd like to introduce the man himself. The creator and the writer of the 'Supernatural' books, the one, the only, Carver Edlund!"

The crowd ignited again in thunderous applause as Chuck nervously strutted onto the stage. Frankie could practically see him shaking from the back of the room. Chuck paced himself, awkwardly stepping closer and closer to centerstage until his quaking chuckle-filled voice spurt into the microphone, filling the room with a quick burst of shrieking feedback.

"Uh, okay," he mumbled, "good. This isn't nearly as awkward as I…" He cleared his throat as he wafted his hand in front of his mouth. "Dry mouth…" He stepped over to a small table set up on the stage with bottles of water waiting for him. He snatched a bottle and twisted off the cap before practically drowning himself. With one hand on the microphone and the other squeezing the plastic bottle, Chuck gulped and gulped and gulped, the sound of his quenching throat thudding through the speakers. Frankie wanted to facepalm from secondhand embarrassment.

Finally, Chuck's thirst was satisfied, and he sheepishly turned to his audience. "Okay," he whispered to himself. He cleared his throat and slightly raised his voice. "So, I guess, uh… questions?"

In an instant, every hand, save for those in the back, shot up into the air, begging for Chuck to call on them. Chuck gaped at the sea of hands, visibly overwhelmed. "Um… you?" He pointed to random guest in the crowd.

A man stood from his seat, very tall and thin with a receding hairline. "Hey, Mr. Edlund! Uh, big fan! Wow…" Chuck nodded with a forced smile. "Okay, I was just wondering, uh, where'd you come up with Sam and Dean in the first place?"

Chuck's eyes flicked to Sam and Dean in the back. Frankie could see the fear in his eyes. Her brothers tilted their head with a pestered, expecting gaze. Frankie simply squinted her eyes, wondering how he came to know so much about them – as well as herself.

"Oh, uh… I, uh… it just… came to me," he stuttered with a shrug. He tried to cover up his anxiety with a chuckle and a quick nod. Dean pursed his lips and nodded along with him, obviously displeased with his answer.

The hands rose in the air again, fervently shaking to gather Chuck's attention. "Okay, uh… yeah, the, uh," Chuck pointed to the hand that bore a plastic pirate's hook, "Hookman."

A man dressed in all black with a large hat on stood to his feet and spoke with a thick German accent. "Ah, ja. Vhy in every fight scene, Sam und Dean are haffing zheir gun or knife knocked avay by zhe bad guy? Why don't zhey keep it on some kind of bungee?"

Frankie tilted her head. It wasn't a bad idea.

"I, uh, yeah, I-I-I really don't know-"

"Ja, follow up," he interrupted, holding his hook-hand next to his head, "uh, vhy can't Sam und Dean be telling zhat Ruby is evil? I mean she is clearly manipulating Sam into some kind of moral lapse. It's obvious, nein?"

"Hey!" Becky shouted, marching her way to his row, scowling the entire trip over. "If you don't like the books, don't read 'em, Fritz!"

Frankie's eyes widened. She was starting to kind of fear Becky.

"Okay, okay, just, uh," Chuck stammered. He held his hands up to calm down Becky and the pretentious patron. Frankie was beginning to feel uneasy amidst all the chaos around her. She couldn't imagine what was going through Chuck's head. "Okay. It's okay. So, uh, next question?" Once again, the many hands flew up, gaining an overwhelmed groan from the anxious writer. "Uh, yeah, you," he said, pointing to another random face among many others.

A casual-looking guy stood up, wearing a jacket that looked a lot like Sam's. "Yeah, at the end of the last book, Lucifer rais-"

"Hey, hey! No spoilers!" a guest wearing an FBI suit waved a hand at the guy. "Some of us haven't finished it yet!"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, let's avoid spoilers. Please," Chuck insisted. His eyes flicked over to Sam, Dean, and Frankie. Though, when she really looked into his eyes, she noticed they were pointing at her, not the three of them. She blinked into a puzzled stare, but he had turned his attention back to the guy with the question. He nodded, wanting him to continue.

"Okay, uh… the end of the last book was… really cool!" He dumbly chuckled to his friend before returning to the question. "So, uh, what happens next?" His curly hair friend, dressed as Dean, stood up beside him.

"Yeah! Can you give us a hint?"

Chuck looked like he was backed up in a corner. Between the expecting patrons and Sam and Dean's impaling glares, there was no way that he could stand to make himself look natural and not in peril.

"Uh… I-I can't give you a hint, no." A soft chorus of disappointed moans hummed through the crowd. "B-But… I can tell you that you'll find out for yourselves very soon." Everyone's heads perked up, smiles slowly bleeding onto their faces. All except the Winchester trio. Frankie lifted an eyebrow. "The next book will be on shelves next month."

The room exploded with roaring cheers and pounding applause. Becky bounced with joy as superfans praised the Heavens for the news.

Sam and Dean struggled to mask their growing rage. Sam looked to his brother, his jaw tense with pent up anger. Dean could only scowl at Chuck. Frankie, however, simply marveled at the thought of anyone being so excited to wait a whole month for book. Then again, the book was about her brothers' lives. They were filled with more excitement than she could handle.

The introduction panel ended shortly after. The crowd dispersed into the lobby to continue shopping, enjoy comically themed drinks, and wait for the next panel to begin. Among the slight chaos of the many guests leaving the room, Chuck had a chance to escape to avoid running into the two angry hunters. Little did he know, they wouldn't give up so easily.

Frankie followed behind her brothers as they searched the room. Finally, they found him. He brought over two tall, yellow-colored drinks with pineapple wedges to Becky, who was sitting towards the center of the room. Sam and Dean shared a look before strutting over to them, Frankie following closely behind.

"Oh, hi, Sam!" Becky excitedly greeted as the three approached them. Chuck despondently gazed at Becky for reasons Frankie didn't really care about.

"'Scuse us," Dean gruffly greeted. "In case you haven't noticed, our plates are kinda full, okay? Finding the Colt, hunting the Devil, we don't have time for this crap!"

Frankie narrowed her eyes. The Colt?

"Hey, I-I didn't call you!"

"He means the books, Chuck," Sam sighed. "Why have you been publishing more books?"

"Um, for food and shelter?"

Dean leaned down to the man, his voice low and dangerous. "Who gave you the rights to our life story?"

"An archangel! And I didn't want it!"

Frankie's eyes faintly widened. She tilted her head at Chuck. He had ties to an archangel, too? Castiel did mention that they have brands on their souls, much like hers. Did that connect them in some way?

"Well, deal's off, okay?" Sam commanded. "No more books. Our lives are not for public consumption."

Chuck took in a deep breath, turning to the girl sitting next to him. "Um, Becky, could you excuse us for just a second?"

Becky nodded with those golf balls she called eyes. "Uh huh."

Chuck led Sam and Dean to an offset room to have a word with them. Frankie stayed behind, standing awkwardly next to Becky as she quietly sipped on her yellow drink.

Frankie kept her eyes on the corner where her brothers disappeared to. She wished she went with them. Now that she knew Chuck had affiliations with archangels, she wanted to know more about him. Which one was tethered to him? Did his archangel visit him often? Did it tell him about her? Is that how she's in the books? She had so many questions that she wanted to ask him, but she knew enough that the conversation didn't welcome her.

Her rambling thoughts slowed when a disruptive ruckus sounded behind her. It sounded like an argument. Or maybe a struggle? Narrowing her brows, she turned around to find out what was making such a distracting racket.

Her doppelganger was sitting at the bar, and she looked very uncomfortable. Two dudes, much bigger than her, dressed as Sam and Dean towered over her.

"Hey. Pipsqueak. I'm not gonna tell you again," the scraggly, redheaded Dean spat.

"Yeah, we said move," the Sam lisped through his braces.

Frankie turned all the way around, further narrowing her brows as she spectated the scene.

"Screw off. I was here first," the Frankie look-alike growled.

"Look at this bar," the ginger Dean grunted, pointing down at the other filled seats. "This bar is for hunters only. Monsters and villains sit over there." He pointed to a small space by the window where the ghosts, vampires, and evil clowns sat.

Frankie's twin turned in her seat to glare at the Dean-poster. "Frankie isn't a villain." Her head snapped over to the Sam look-alike. "She's not a monster either."

"She sure as heck doesn't help anybody," Sam's twin grumbled.

"Um, did you even read the last book?"

"Yeah. We did," Dean's doppelganger scoffed. "And if you read the last book, why would you dress up as the worst character?"

Frankie – the real Frankie – recoiled against that remark. Her, the worst character? Surely not.

But then again…

"I like her character. It's not my fault that I can actually grasp basic character development."

"You sayin' I can't?" Dean-poster grunted, shoving her shoulder. The real Frankie's defenses activated, her muscles tensing up.

"It doesn't take a genius to know that Sam and Dean woulda gotten to Lucifer way sooner if Frankie hadn't existed," Sam-poster hissed, saliva spraying onto the helpless Frankie look-alike's face.

"Th-That's not true!" she sputtered, her lips quivering under the evil glares of the brutes.

"Go on and cry, Pipsqueak," the Dean-poster chuckled.

"Really suits the character," Sam poster chided.

That was it for Frankie. No one was going to insult her and make an innocent girl cry.

She marched over to the bar, fists clenched and a prominent scowl pointed at the two assholes dressed like her brothers. "Hey!" she shouted. Their heads snapped over to her. "She said 'screw off.' I suggest you take her advice."

Dean-poster chuckled, wiggling his head in a mocking gesture. "Okay, 'Frankie.'" Still chuckling, the bigger man stepped forward, now towering over her. His face split into a challenging smirk. "And what're you gonna do if I don't?"

Frankie's scowl deepened, her eyes growing dangerously sharp. "I'd like to start rearranging that disgusting mug you dare call a face, Dickweed."

His face fell. A few tickled coos emanated from the few onlookers to the exchange. Frankie didn't tear her eyes away from the Dean-poster.

He furrowed his brows, his smirk resurfacing, though dimmer. "Really, Frankie? You're gonna hit me? What about 'rule number one?' Huh?"

Frankie's eyes blanked. That was in the books? She supposed it made sense, but she wondered how much else these guys knew about her.

"Rule number one states that I should always listen to Dean. Not that I can't permanently imprint my knuckles in his face." Her quick wit caught him off guard. He tried to find something intimidating to come back with as the small crowd around them snickered at her remark.

"Y-Yeah, well… I'll print my knuckles on your face, Frankie."

God, that was lame. This whole guy was lame. Frankie rolled her eyes, and she tightened her fists, ready to sink them in his bulbous nose.

Sam-poster stepped forward as well, putting a hand on his friend's chest. "C'mon, guys. A fight's not necessary." Frankie winced at the spit spraying through his braces. "Just let it go."

"Yeah, let it go, Frankie," Dean-poster sneered. He gave a quick glance to his friend. "Go read a book or fold some clothes or something. We're just trying to have fun."

Frankie widened her eyes with an exaggerated smile. She nodded her head as if she perfectly understood their logic. "Right! Fun. That's why we're all here, right?" she said, gesturing to everyone around her. She got a few nods, but mostly blank stares. She turned back to Dean-poster with impish eyes. "So, uh," she continued, shrugging her shoulders, "y'know, while we're all having fun…"

Dean-poster was completely caught off guard when Frankie's fist smacked his nose with startling speed. If one had blinked, they would only have seen Dean-poster recoil in pain, holding his nose. He let out a pathetic whimper, plugging his nostril with his fingertips.

Frankie smiled, tilting her head with a hum. "Now that's good ol' fashioned fun right there."

"Oh, I'm bleeding. I'm bleeding!"

"You're not bleeding," his friend assured.

Dean-poster pointed a pained glare at Frankie. "Geez! What's your problem, lady?!"

"You," she answered, not missing a beat. "Now you gunna stay here and bitch, or should I go for your throat next?"

The blundering duo backed away, Dean-poster still plugging his dry nose and Sam-poster leading him away from the bar.

Frankie was so caught up with glowering them away from the bar that she didn't notice the small applause that she gained. She wouldn't have thanked them even if she noticed.

She turned around, finding her look-alike still sitting in her spot. Her shining green eyes were wide and filled with wonder and awe. Frankie, though she felt very awkward under her enchanted gaze, spared a small smile to the girl.

"You okay?"

Frankie's twin blinked, snapping out of a trance. She slowly nodded. "Yeah… wow… that was… so cool!"

Frankie shrugged, unsure of what else to do. "Thanks."

"A-And thanks so much! I could… I would never be able to do that. You're… amazing!" Frankie puffed out a small laugh. "H-Here! Let me get you a drink."

"Oh, no. That's not necessary."

"Sure, it is! How often do I get to buy the real Frankie a drink?"

Frankie froze. Her blood went cold. She had been recognized. She wasn't told that she should keep a low profile, but for her safety she should have been more careful. Any one of these geeks could be a real demon.

"I mean, wow! You look just like how I always imagined her. Eh, well, with a little shorter hair you would. And that punch! I swear you could, like, play her in a 'Supernatural' movie."

Frankie silently exhaled in relief. It was a joke. The cat was still deep in the bag.

She forced a smile as she sat down next to the girl. "You think so?"

"Oh, totally." She called a bartender over. "One yellow-eyed cooler, please."

The bartender brought over the same tall drink that Chuck and Becky were drinking before. She thanked the man behind the bar and the Frankie look-alike before taking a sip. She hummed and raised her brows. It was surprisingly delicious.

"So… can I ask you something?" Frankie's twin asked. She turned her head over to the girl.

"Yeah. Shoot."

Her twin's eyes moved from hers to her ear that poked out from behind her hair. "How in the hell did you get your ear to look like that?"

Frankie's chest squeezed. Ice ran through her veins. Her hand lifted to paw at her previously injured ear only to find that it was still injured.

No, that wasn't possible. Gabriel healed her! He couldn't have just left her ear chewed up! But it seemed he did. That fucking, two-faced bastard!

Rage pumped through her heart with every throb, but before her face could convey the anger she felt, her eyes snapped back to her expecting twin. She didn't know it was real, and she would never know. She at least had control over that.

She took in a deep breath and shoved a smile onto her face. "I looked up a tutorial online." It seemed to satisfy her.

Frankie continued to sip her drink to hide her irate frown towards Gabriel. Her twin took a gulp of her own drink of what appeared to be whisky. The girl was starting to act more like Frankie than Frankie was.

She was amused, to say the least, that anyone would want to dress and act like her. Her eyes traced her entire outfit. If her denim jacket had a few holes and tears it would look exactly like hers. And poking out from the back of her jeans was her very own machete. Clearly papier-mâché with the symbols drawn on with a sharpie marker.

Frankie smiled to herself. It was kinda cool to have her own twin. It was almost like she was famous.

Her face fell when she realized what she was famous for.

Her eyes flicked back up to the girl's profile. "Can I ask you something?"

Her twin turned her head over to her. After swallowing her mouthful of whisky and wincing, she spoke in an eager voice. "Absolutely!"

Frankie chewed the inside of her lip as she mulled over her next words. "You're a big fan of the books, right?"

The girl let out a chuckle. "Yeah. When Mr. Edlund isn't taking forever in between publish dates I am."

Frankie faked an agreeing laugh. She still had to keep the low profile of a regular patron. "So, um… you're a fan of Frankie's character, huh?"

"Oh, yeah. Definitely. We're a small bunch. Which is why I'm glad to see you here!" Her round face stretched as a wide grin appeared on her cheeks. "It's nice to see her getting the respect she deserves."

A small smile spawned in Frankie's face. "Really?"

"Yeah! People here just don't appreciate her like they should. They're always saying the surface level crap. 'Frankie's not needed,' 'Frankie causes too much trouble,' 'Frankie has terrible judgment,' 'Edlund made a mistake writing her'…"

Frankie felt her heart sag. It was as if a magnet was in her stomach, pulling it down with every example she gave.

They… really didn't like her. The others really thought those things about her. Which, she couldn't really blame them. She didn't exactly exude the traits of a hero like her brothers. Yet, the girl in front of her gave her unique sympathy.

"Why?" she asked. "What is it about Frankie that you like?"

The girl lightheartedly rolled her eyes and groaned with enthusiasm. "Where do I begin? Okay, well, I guess the first thing I liked about her was that… well…," suddenly, the girl's boisterous eyes saddened. "I never got to know my dad either. My mom left him before I was born, and… he got into a bad accident when I was nine before I could meet him."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Frankie consoled. And she truly was. She knew what that was like. The girl even knew about it. Just not that it was really her.

"It's cool," she shrugged off. "I guess I could relate to her. And then, she shook off the shock of finding out she had three half-brothers and took on that ghoul even though she never met a monster before! She coulda died right there in Minnesota, but she didn't care 'cause she would do anything to save her new brother and his mom!"

As horrible as she felt for realizing it, she had forgotten about Adam again. She never did find out what happened to him. Was he okay?

"And I love that she's a cryptozoologist! That's something he hasn't really touched on. I just wished she used her knowledge a bit more. I feel like it went to waste."

"Well, as it turns out, thunderbirds and peryton aren't as prominent as ghosts and demons," Frankie sighed. The girl found that funny instead of factual and chuckled in Frankie's face. Frankie simply smiled through her laughter. "What else do you like about her?"

The girl looked off into the distance with a smile. "I dunno. She's just so… real. Y'know? She felt like a real person. A friend. She's… smart. And supportive. And caring. Some say she cared too much. Even I think so, but I don't think it's a bad thing, y'know? Sam and Dean need someone to care that much about them. They're too busy pushing each other away that they don't realize how much else they're pushing away. Frankie was there to… to bring them together. To give them someone they can push and shove and shout at, but always have her by their side. She was forgiving. Even when she ran away, she didn't really leave them, y'know?"

Frankie stared blankly at the girl. Her eyes may have looked unresponsive, but inside was a different story. Her guts curdled and tingled. She didn't even know if it was a good feeling or a bad one. All she knew was that she seemed to be looking at her life all wrong.

"Oh, one of my favorite scenes from this last book was when they were looking for her and the Impala stopped at a gas station and Sam was getting snacks, but Dean didn't go inside. He walked to the edge of this lake as the sun was going down – kinda like how he and Frankie did when they were in Alabama – and he had her note in his hands. And he just read it over and over again until he got so mad at himself that he crushed it in his fist and almost threw it into the water, but he just couldn't. Because that was the only piece of her that he could hold onto until he got her back." The girl wafted her eyes. "Ugh, tears! I cried for, like, ten straight minutes."

Frankie's heart cracked. "Mad at himself?"

The girl looked back at Frankie with a raised brow. "Well, yeah! He was never really mad at her. He felt like her taking off was his fault. He pushed her too far and he felt like he failed her as a mentor and as a brother. All he wanted was to get her back so that he could right his wrong and treat her more like a sister than a student."

Frankie's throat shrank as the girl's words hit her ears. Did she really mean that much to Dean? Enough to track her down, not to punish her, but to undo his toxic treatment of her? The tightness of her throat choked her, tears bubbling at the bottom of her eyelids.

"Didn't you read the book?! That was a huge part of the later chapters! Dean realizing that he was treating her like John treated him and doing whatever he could to change that!" The girl's face turned towards her drink, her expression turning somber. "Just wished he got the message across before it was too late."

Frankie's brows furrowed. "Too late?' she muttered, but her voice was muffled by the folk-rock thrumming through the lobby.

The girl knocked back the rest of her drink and turned back to Frankie, leaning her elbow on the bar. "So, I went on and on about what I like about her. Why do you like Frankie?"

She thought about that question. And she thought about the girl, and the words she shared. She thought about how much more she knew about her than she did. And she thought about what it truly was that she liked about herself.

She smiled and shook her head. "I don't." Her twin's face fell. "I think she's more trouble than she's worth. I think that Sam and Dean coulda done way better if she never got involved." Her smiled widened. "But I dunno. After talkin' to you… maybe I should reconsider." The girl's face broke out into a bright, contagious grin.

A voice called from the other side of the room. "Carls! C'mon!" Frankie and her twin looked over to see a girl wearing a short black wig and adorning a tan trench coat. Oh God, Cas got roped into this, too.

"Ugh, that's my friend. I gotta go," the girl sighed. "It was so great talking to you. And thanks a million, again!" As she stood from her stool and walked past her, she placed a hand on Frankie's shoulder, sending her a kind smile. "I think you should reconsider. Seems like you've got her all wrong." She walked off, leaving Frankie alone at the bar.

She gazed into the curvy glass of her tall drink. Her morphed reflection blinked back at her. Her smile widened, a ghost of a laugh whispering passed her lips. It truly was a bazaar interaction, but it left her with a lot to think over. Notably, how one person's different perspective of her could reignite something she thought died months ago.


The day went on and eventually turned to evening. Frankie noticed fairly quickly that her brothers were absent from the festivities. For a good while, she thought they might have taken off without her. She tried to look out a window to search for the Impala, but she found twelve of them parked outside.

She ultimately knew they wouldn't leave her. Not after her misadventure without them. It was strange enough that they left her alone in the building, but she chocked it up to confusion in the mess of the place.

To fill in time before reuniting, Frankie people-watched in the lobby. She observed the different kinds of people that were attending the convention. She wondered if any of them liked her as much as that one girl did. Though, when a Bobby walked by her with a scowl pointed her way, she put a big, bold "X" over that thought.

There were only so many sour looks she could get before her mind dipped into a dark place. So, to fill in the rest of the night, she attended the different panels that the convention offered. Needless to say, there was a lot more homoerotic subtext in her brothers' lives than she ever wanted to know about.

Frankie then found herself bored in the middle of the lobby. She leaned against a beam with her arms crossed, growing agitated by the minute. Where were Sam and Dean? She hadn't had a glimpse of them since they walked off to talk to Chuck. Every time she thought she saw them it was another imposter in MacGyver jackets.

She rested her head against the beam as she scanned the room. She huffed when she still didn't see any familiar faces, but that changed when her eyes landed on the bar. Becky and Chuck sat on stools next to each other. They certainly weren't the liveliest couple. Becky was tapping her fingers on her curvy glass with a bored frown, and Chuck was basked in an anxiously flunking gloom. Frankie found it sadly funny.

Becky excused herself with a strained grin. Chuck nodded with a forced smile, but she didn't notice. Once she was out of sight, Chuck's face fell, a huffy sigh shooting out from his throat.

Frankie shook her head, feeling pity for the piteous man. She felt secondhand embarrassment just looking at him all alone at the bar. So, since she had nothing better to do, she walked over to the bar.

"Well. You sure do throw quite the shindig."

Chuck flinched mid-sip of his drink. He glanced up, shock in his bright blue eyes. He was seemingly surprised that she was the one to approach him. He pulled a timid smile. "Thanks. To be honest, this was my publisher's idea. And Becky pressured me into it. I'm not really…," he eyed a passing guest with black eyes, "comfortable with all of this."

Frankie nodded, finding the two bullies chatting across the room. "Ditto. This's the first time I had a conversation with myself that didn't take place in my head. Not really a fan." Her eyes flicked back down to Chuck. She pulled a fake smile as she set herself down in Becky's seat. "Just realized this's the first time we're actually talking one-on-one. Not the most ideal place for introductions, but might as well start now." She held out her hand. "Frankie Pearce."

Chuck smiled with a tense huff of a chuckle. "Chuck Shurley." Frankie looked into his eyes long enough to see the mild appreciative glint turn dark. His eyes clouded over with a somber haze. Frankie narrowed her brows at the strange look in them, as well as the fact that they were still holding hands without shaking. "S-Sorry, it's just…," he sputtered, taking his hand back. His entire face appeared to wilt. His laden eyes bore deep into her own. "The last time I saw you…"

Frankie lifted a single brow. Saw her? They just met. How could he…?

And then she remembered who she was talking to. Her face leveled, an understanding nod bobbing her head. "Right. Prophet." She looked his form up and down. "This's the first time I've ever met a Prophet of the Lord." She puffed out a befuddled chuckle. "Not really sure what to say."

Chuck attempted to shove away his solemn aura in exchange for an awkward one. He tightly smiled at her. "You can say anything. I'm just an ordinary guy."

Frankie raised both eyebrows, her smile stretching into a smirk. "That writes about monster hunters stopping the Apocalypse and saving the world, all of which just so happening to be true."

Chuck's chuckle was a little more genuine than the last. He shrugged with a bashful grin. "Write what you know, I guess."

Frankie continued to stare at the man, puzzled. This guy seemed barely able to handle himself in a crowded room. Yet he was what passed as a Prophet of the Lord nowadays? He truly was a mystery. As were his abilities to know about her without them previously meeting.

Narrowing her eyes, Frankie rotated towards him on her stool. "So how does this all work?" Chuck furrowed his eyebrows at her. Frankie gestured flimsily around her. "How do you write about our lives?"

"Oh. Uh, well… I get visions." Chuck curled his fingers into a loose fist, tapping it on the counter as his voice got higher with growing discomfort. "Usually starts with a headache, then I drown myself in alcohol 'til I pass out. I get these… really vivid dreams, and when I wake up," he swept his arm out towards the festivities before them, "I turn it into this. Seems more impressive than it actually is."

Frankie switched her gaze from an evil clown to Chuck. She rubbed her canine teeth together as she pondered over the question on her tongue. "So… you know all about me?" Chuck pressed his lips together and nodded. "How much?"

His eyes widened as he sighed. He linked his fingers together with one of his elbows resting on the bar. "Well, uh… I know you were born in Hollis County, Alabama on November twenty-second, nineteen eighty-seven. A rainy Sunday afternoon."

"Oh sure, start with the boring facts," Frankie humorously huffed.

Chuck exhaled a laugh. His wide smile told her that he was relaxing a bit. Thank God. "Okay, uh, well… I know that when you were six you slipped in the bathtub. Chipped one of your baby teeth."

Frankie's eyes bulged, her jaw slightly slacking. "You know about that?"

"Yeah." He pointed to his teeth as he grinned. "Front left tooth, chipped in a clean diagonal angle."

Frankie nodded with an astonished scoffed. "Okay, yeah. You're legit."

Feeling cocky, Chuck added, "And I know about Miss Teedles."

Frankie's eyes sharpened into daggers. "Then you should know that we don't talk about Miss Teedles." Though her voice harbored a steely edge, her tone was playful. Chuck snickered, causing her to follow along. "Anything else from my childhood you wanna reveal?"

Chuck's chuckling died down. His jaunty grin dimmed, fading until only a dismal frown was left. His eyes darted to the floor. They averted her own. He averted his eyes. That was never a good sign in her experience.

"I, uh…," he muttered. His voice took on a grave tone. "I know about the accident in ninety-nine. When you were twelve."

Frankie's head pulsed with a dull headache. Tendrils of fear slithered along the walls of her chest, polluting her breath with heavy dread. The distant sound of honking horns and screaming called from the dark abyss in her skull.

Her glare was not filled with humor anymore. "We don't talk about that either." Chuck sank into himself, muttering a soft apology as she composed herself. She stole her neighbor's glass of whisky without them noticing and inhaled a gulp. "So, you know pretty much everything then," she pressed on.

Chuck timidly nodded. "Pretty much."

The suffocating tendrils remained, though they throbbed when her mind raced to yet another traumatizing event.

"So… you know. About my soul."

Chuck's throat bobbed with a gulp. "Yeah. I do." He looked out to the distance, yet he stared at nothing. "'Sympathy For the Devil,' chapter twenty. You sell your soul to a crossroads demon for ten years of health."

Frankie's chest involuntarily squeezed out a sigh. Great. Another person knew of her sin. In fact, since that was in the book, everyone in the room knew about it. That is, except for Sam and Dean – at least she hoped they didn't. Not yet.

But his answer didn't completely answer her question.

She nodded at nothing. "And the other thing?"

Chuck's brows narrowed, his eyes darting back to her. "What other thing?"

It was Frankie's turn to narrow her brows and dart her eyes. She stared blankly at the man. "The other thing about my soul. The brand? The one like yours?"

Chuck continued to stare at her, wordless. His blue eyes shined with confusion, his pupils switching between her two honey irises. For too long, it seemed, he sat in silence.

"No, I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean."

Frankie froze. "What- you're serious? You're a Prophet. You speak for God. How do you not know about this?"

Chuck's eyes bore into her own. "I never wrote that into the books. I didn't even get that in a vision." His eyes squinted with a leery emotion that she could not decipher. "What brand?"

Frankie didn't like this. If he knew every other detail about her life, why did he not know this one? It was a pretty damn big plot point in her life, was it not?!

Had Gabriel not popped in and told her the truth the night before, it would have cemented the theory that Cas made everything up.

But he didn't. It was real. And that was why the new development made her guts feel like they weighed a thousand pounds.

"Well, uh…," she stammered, "apparently, Heaven originally had plans for me. They marked my soul. Supposed to be a 'human to be protected.' Like you. Got my own archangel and everything." She sighed, looking to the floor. "But then the Apocalypse started going on longer than expected and… guess they don't really need me after all."

As Frankie snatched the drink of her oblivious neighbor, Chuck leaned forward with a baffled stutter. "Who-who told you about this?"

"Cas," she nonchalantly answered before taking a gulp. "Yeah, it wouldn't really be something to worry about – in fact I should be boundin' off the walls – but a demon found out about it and… she's surely gunna tell Lucifer. That's if she hasn't already." Frankie shoved down the overbearing weight of her collapsing world and leaned back with a wide, forced grin. "So, who knows how long I've got? Might as well live it up while I can." She lifted her neighbor's drink into the air and knocked back the rest just as he was noticing that his beverage went missing.

Chuck sucked in a heavy breath. His eyes were filled with a gaudy shade of torment. Something within him tortured his soul, and that added to the many things she was worrying about. "Frankie, um… I-"

"Hey, Chuck." Chuck and Frankie turned to see the heavyset curator of the convention. "I'm setting up for your next panel. Could you give me a hand with this outline, pal?"

Frankie wanted to flick the guy off. She wanted to shout at him to leave them alone and for Chuck to continue what he was going to tell her. Whatever it was had to be important!

But Chuck just gave her a guilty look and stood from his stool. He walked off with the heavier man, leaving Frankie alone at the bar.

How could Chuck not know about her brand? That took a huge chunk out of her life, didn't it? Sure, it was a fairly new development, and sure, it didn't matter in the long run, but it was still a big part of her. Maybe Heaven elected to not include that in his visions. Yeah, that was probably what happened.

But then… that look her gave her… that tormented, ominous gaze… She saw a sliver of it when they first met eyes outside the building. And even Becky showed a similar sign of that expression. No, things were not feeling right at all.

Her eyes darted to the side and landed on the table with books on it. To the far right of the table was the latest book, Sympathy For the Devil. She was in that book. Chuck said so himself. And her twin had mentioned her running away, which meant her latest problems were inscribed within the pages.

There was something very wrong going on, and the answer was in that book.

A loud thump sounded as the bar vibrated. Frankie threw her eyes to the other end of the bar where someone had slapped the counter.

Her eyes widened when she finally found her brothers. Dean patted a thin man's shoulder as he and Sam began walking away. A larger man sitting beside the thin one turned and spoke to them.

"Hey." Her brothers turned to look at him. "How did you know how to do all that?"

"We, um," Sam spoke. He shrugged and gave a small smirk. "We read the books." They turned back around and left the two at the bar.

It seemed like her brothers had a little adventure. Great. They went off and no doubt had a fun time while she figured out that everybody hated her and that her brand wasn't even important enough to make it into the damn story.

She swallowed her bitterness as Sam and Dean approached Chuck and the curator while they went over the preparations for the next panel.

"Hey, Chuck," Dean called, gaining the smaller man's attention. "Good luck with the, uh, 'Supernatural' books. And screw you very much." Though he was surely expecting it, Chuck looked wounded from the remark.

Sam turned towards the door and headed that way as Dean turned towards the bar, locking eyes with Frankie. He beckoned her with a swipe of his hand. "Let's go."

Frankie hesitated. Her eyes flicked over to the table of books. She couldn't leave without figuring out what the hell was going on. But the pressing gaze that Dean shrouded her with overpowered her aching need to know. And hell, who knew? Maybe she didn't want to know anyway…

She begrudgingly stood up from the stool and walked behind Dean as he and Sam headed for the door. Frankie glued her eyes on the latest book, never tearing her gaze away from it as they approached the door.

They pushed against the double doors but were met with a rattling of the hinges. They door didn't open. They tried to push harder, but it still wouldn't open. They tried to pull despite the bold "push" instructions on the handle to no avail, and Dean even tried to unlock the already unlocked door.

They turned around, looking back into the lobby with furrowed brows and suspicion in their eyes. "That's weird," Dean guardedly noted.

"Definitely," Sam confirmed.

Frankie rounded them and tried to open the doors herself, but was met with the same result. "Um, guys? What's going on?" Sam and Dean glanced at each other, hidden meaning in their steely eyes. "Guys?"

Finally, they turned around and lowered their voice. "We gotta go check something out," Dean spoke, seriousness lining his voice. "Stay down here and keep your eyes sharp. We'll be right back."

Frankie wasn't deaf to the small hint of urgency in his words. She switched her gaze between his green eyes, searching for any clue as to what the hell was going on. Despite her curiosity, she nodded. They immediately turned and headed into the many different areas of the hotel.

Frankie was beginning to feel more not right than before. But she didn't have time to dwell on her own feelings. Dean gave her an order. Stay there and keep her eyes sharp. But… what was she supposed to look out for?

The people must be in danger. What else could it be? Sam and Dean going missing, having an adventure with their own set of twins, the doors mysteriously jamming, the urgency in their attitudes… there was danger within the walls.

Great. A case just dropped into their laps. Frankie already swore herself off hunting. Why did it seem to find her now?

Frankie decided that the best thing to do was to not panic and do as she was told. If there was danger, she had to protect the convention's guests. She stepped further into the lobby to scope out the crowd.

And then she noticed them filtering into the same room they held the introduction panel in. Frankie cursed under her breath. Well, she couldn't protect them from out there where there was no one around. She had to go where the people went.

Frankie was the last to walk into the room. She took on her previous position of standing in the back of the room. She crossed her arms and kept her eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary.

This panel was more boring than the others. Chuck stood on stage, his voice trembling through the mic, and went on and on about his past and his "inspiration" for the books. Frankie now knew it was all bullshit. None of this was his own invention. He just put it to paper.

Chuck's speech turned into a motivational lecture about how you, too, can write a book series if you only believe in yourself and other crap that middle-aged pretentious pricks spit out. It was around that time that he seemed to notice some members of the crowd dozing off. He shuffled his feet awkwardly on the stage and cleared his throat.

"So, yeah, uh… questions?"

Just like the last panel in that room, hands shot into the air and waved for him to pick on them. He went doe eyed as he clutched the mic stand like it was his lifeline.

Frankie just about dozed off as well as various patrons threw their oddly specific questions at the writer. Questions including characters known as Azazel and Ash and Bela and Rufus murmured throughout the room. Adam's name even popped up once, and Frankie forced herself to tune out the rest of the questions until the dull ach from that name went away.

"Well, guys, uh, I guess we're-we're outta time, so…," Chuck awkwardly stammered into his mic. Frankie's tired eyes snapped open when she noticed Sam hurriedly making his way to the stage. "Thank you for your incredibly probing and rigorous questions, and have a good- hey." Just as Sam reached him, Dean appeared next to Frankie. He placed a hand on her shoulder and whispered into her ear the same moment Sam whispered into Chuck's.

"There's killer ghost kids in the building."

"What?! Holy crap!" Chuck shouted for the both of them. Sam covered the mic with his hand as he spoke quietly to Chuck. Frankie, on the other hand, could only gawk at Dean in silence.

"I know," her brother added. "But this's life or death, okay? You gotta keep everyone in here safe. You got it?" Frankie nodded her head, but her jaw remained slack. "You remember what to do?"

"Salt the doors and keep iron close," she answered, not missing a beat. Dean patted her shoulder, and for a quick moment, there was a tiny smile in the corner of his mouth.

"Atta girl."

Sam walked off the stage, leaving Chuck small and alone with hundreds of eyes on him. "'Kay, so, uh… good news. Uh, I got much more to tell you. I guess," he tensely announced with a strained smile and nod of his head. "It's awesome."

Sam made his way to the back with Frankie as Dean headed to the lobby to round up everyone who was left, including bellhops, maids, and the manager.

Sam approached his sister with an edgy disposition. "He tell you what's going on?"

Frankie nodded her head and watched as Dean closed the doors behind him. "Yeah. Don't worry. I'll handle things in here."

Sam nodded, a tight half smile on his face. "I know you will." Frankie looked at his smile. Her head wanted her to smile back, but her heart refused to let her.

Frankie began salting the doors as Sam and Dean mumbled over details about the apparent ghost kids. They seemed to come to a conclusion about something and brought a girl dressed as a ghostly woman over to them. Frankie heard enough of the mumbling to figure out that they wanted her to lure the kids out.

Though Frankie had sworn off hunting, she couldn't deny the deep longing to help her brothers with the ghosts. This was what she trained for. This was what cost her many nights of good sleep because she was studying for moments exactly like the one she was in.

But her decisions lately cost her the chance to act on her training. She was destructive and impulsive. Best to just keep to the books and put away the machete.

As they figured things out, two guests, the same ones they talked to at the bar, walked up to them. The heavier of the two with the subpar goatee spoke first.

"We wanna help."

Dean turned to Sam, lowering his voice. "Just give her the puppy dog thing, okay?" Sam huffed and turned back to the ghost lady as Dean addressed their doppelgangers. "Guys, no."

The thinner and taller one stepped closer to Dean. "Why not?"

"Because this isn't make-believe."

The guy dressed as Dean held up a hand. "Look, we know. We're not nuts. We're freakin' terrified."

"Yeah, but if-if all these people are seriously in trouble," the Sam spoke up, "we gotta do something."

The real Dean shook his head. "Why?" he tersely asked.

"Because," his twin answered. His brows were narrowed in confusion, perplexed at Dean's lack of understanding. "That's what Sam and Dean would do."

After some quiet contemplation, Dean nodded with a huff.

Frankie tried not to find offense that they would take two dudes who had no idea about the real world of monsters and hunting with them instead of her. She tried and failed.

'Frankie, you idiot,' she scolded herself. 'You gotta stop making shit about you, you fuckin' bitch.'

She was right. Staying with the people was the best place for her.

Sam, Dean, Sam, and Dean left the room to go take care of the ghost children, leaving Frankie to watch over their potential victims. Chuck carried on, talking about anything and everything that came to mind. After every sentence or two, a hand would shoot up and he would call on them. He tried whatever he could to keep them seated and safe.

Frankie's eyes darted around the room, keeping her sight sharp. She scanned the room over and over and made sure to check the salt lines were clear and unbroken. The fate of the room depended on her, and she wouldn't let her brothers down again.

"Uh, yes. You?" Chuck said, pointing to a guest in the crowd.

"Yeah. Uh, I have a question about the last book? I just wanted to know, what's the purpose for Frankie's character?"

Frankie's eyes flicked over to a Sam in the crowd.

"U-Uh," Chuck stuttered into the mic. "What do you- what do you mean?"

"Yeah, I'm just a little confused, 'cause, like, she doesn't really do a lot? She's just kinda there a lot of the time?"

Another guest, dressed as Bobby, addressed the question, half-raising her hand before speaking. "Why have her in the first place?"

Frankie glared at her.

"Were you trying to reach out to the female demographic? 'Cause you could've just stuck with Jo if you wanted a female hunter."

The first guest spoke again. "And you never really went anywhere with her selling her soul. There's was a lot of lost potential there."

Suddenly, Frankie's twin made herself known. She stood from her seat, scowling at the two critics in the crowd. "You're not looking at her character! She doesn't have to destroy a vamp nest or exorcize a demon to be an interesting character!"

A guy with gray face paint made to look like a ghost piped up from his seat. "But she's not an interesting character, though."

Frankie's double whipped around and stabbed him with a glower. "Says you!"

"No, he's right," the girl dressed as Bobby chimed in. "What exactly does she do that's so profound?"

"Besides the ending. I mean, that's fine," the first guy added.

"Even then," Bobby's double interjected, "it was unjustified. Sure, it made sense for her character, but it didn't need to happen."

"And how would you have acted in that situation?!" Frankie's twin shouted.

"U-Uh, okay. Okay, let's calm down, guys," Chucked failingly soothed.

"Well, I would've done what I was told. Yet again, Frankie disobeyed Dean and got herself in trouble! And because of that, she puts them in the worst possible position!"

"But that's her character! She takes charge and does what she thinks is best!" her twin vouched.

"Guys!" Chuck tried again.

"But what she thinks is best isn't what's best!" the first guy exclaimed.

The ghost dude shot up from his seat, glaring at her twin. "Yeah, the only good thing she did for anyone was get herself killed!"

An icy, jagged thorn pierced through Frankie's chest. A dull ring buzzed in her brain, instantly making her dizzy. She lost all control of her muscles, her jaw slacking, her shoulders drooping. Had she not been up against a wall, she would have fallen on her back.

What… did he just say?

The room erupted into a roar of disgruntled guests. They fumed, practically foaming at the mouth, at the spoiler that just spouted from the ghost dude's mouth.

What did he just say?!

She… dies? She dies at the end?

No. No, it couldn't be true. She still had time. She had ten years. She couldn't die. Not yet!

Her eyes felt like they weighed a hundred pounds as she lifted them to look at Chuck. His eyes were locked onto her, his own jaw suspended.

No. It couldn't be true.

Frankie's felt like she was surrounded by molasses. She turned her head to an offset stand where all his books were on display.

Her eyes narrowed on Sympathy For the Devil.

She couldn't feel the pounding of her feet as she ran across the room, and she couldn't feel the rapid beating of her heart, but the pain there was proof enough that it was still inside her.

She rammed into the stand, nearly toppling it over, as she snatched the latest book.

"Frankie!"

She hurriedly opened the book, tearing pages as she frantically flipped to the end.

"Frankie, Frankie, Frankie! What're you doing?" Chuck sputtered over the thunderous crowd.

His words fell on deaf ears. Her eyes darted over little black letters, stretching lines and paragraph and paragraph and paragraph. Page after page after page after page, looking for her ultimate demise.

The book slapped shut. Chuck's hands held the book closed, refusing to let it budge from his grasp.

"You don't wanna do that."

Frankie's doe-eyes melted away, leaving nothing but a heartless glower pointed at the man. "No, I really fuckin' do!"

Chuck tried and failed for a soothing smile. "Fr-Frankie, you know h-how in shows and movies they always tell you, uh, no one should know too much about their own destiny? W-Well, cliché as it sounds, heh, it's true."

Frankie thrust her scowl in his face, causing him to lean back in fear. "I was just informed that a prophet has predicted my death, and it's in this book."

Chuck's eyes were bathed in a grave gloom. "Trust me. You don't wanna know."

"Yes. I do."

"No! You can't know about your own fate!"

"But everyone else can?!"

Chuck looked down, shaking his head. "I'm so stupid. You aren't supposed to know about this."

"Well, your first mistake was putting it in a goddamn book! Revealing the future, Chuck? Really?! Now the world knows what happens to me in the end, and it hasn't even happened yet!"

Chuck cracked a depreciating grin. "Well, not the world. A couple thousand readers. And that's being generous." Frankie's piercing glare quickly shut him up. "S-Sorry."

"Gimme the book, Chuck. I've gotta prevent my death."

The man gave a soulful sigh. His head lifted, his eyes connecting with hers. There was sorrow in those blue irises. "Do you even want to?"

Frankie recoiled. Of course she wanted to! She didn't want to die!

"What kinda fuckin' question is that?"

Chuck pressed his lips together as he released the book. "I know how you think. What you think of. I wrote it. You keep telling yourself that you should die for your brothers' sake. That you wanna go out a hero. You wanna die for them. Because they mean everything to you."

Frankie's fingers twitched against the book's cover. Her disdainfully quirked lip softened.

"I can't let you know about how you die. And, believe me, you don't wanna know. It's not the prettiest way to go." Frankie's breath hitched. Her head began to reel with possible outcomes. "But I can tell you… Frankie, you don't die in vain. Forget what those guys said. You do die a hero. And if… I don't know it'll happen, but if you try to change the future, that might not happen. You understand?"

"Yeah. It might not happen. Because I won't die in the first place!"

Chuck was beginning to get irritated. He raked his hand through his tousled brown hair. "Sam and Dean have tried to change the future. They read the books, too. They tried to do the opposite of what was written." Chuck's eyes were filled with solemnity. "It didn't work. Every time, it righted itself out. What's written won't be changed. Fate will find some way to kill you."

Frankie's breath slowly seeped out from her lungs until there was nothing left. It couldn't be true. I just couldn't be.

But it was.

The prophesy was written in stone. And paper. There really was no way to prevent it, was there?

But Chuck brought up a valid point. Her future looked bleaker than bleak. She had nothing ahead of her but an angry family and a horrific death by hellhounds. This way, she didn't have to go through that. She could live out the rest of her days with her brothers, standing beside them. Standing tall beside them. She would go out a hero if – and when – it killed her.

She gazed at the man with suddenly wet cheeks. "When?" she asked, her voice cracking.

Chuck sighed, his eyes downcast. "Thursday."

Frankie face paled. Her heart deflated like an opened balloon.

Three days? She only had three days left?

Suddenly, she didn't want to die. Knowing her time was almost up, that by Friday she would be drinking her own blood in teacups with demons in Hell, she wanted to cling to her pathetic life. But there was no stopping the inevitable.

Chuck glanced over Frankie's shoulder, the color draining from his face. "Uh, excuse me!" he shouted. Frankie turned around to see the manager of the hotel walking towards the door. "U-Uh, you really can't leave! Please, sir." The manager sneered at him, clearly fed up with the arguing of the nerds around him and reached for the handle. "Don't open that door!"

He opened the door, breaking the salt line. Before he could take a step out of the room, a ghost made its presence known. A child sporting a wicked grin unveiled a butcher knife. He glared desirously at the manager's scalp.

Frankie watched in slight horror as Chuck grasped a spare mic stand and sprinted over to the door. He arched the stand and struck the ghost boy before he could slay the manager, causing him to go up in smoke. The manager backpaddled as fast as he could as Chuck slammed the door shut.

"I said no one leaves, dammit! Now, somebody salt this door."

Amidst the chaos in the room, Frankie wondered if Sam and Dean were having as much a horrible time as she was.


By morning, the ghosts were dead to the world, and everyone was evacuated from the building. Police cars and an ambulance were waiting out front. Apparently, someone got scalped after all. Oh well. Everyone died eventually.

And in Frankie's case, she kicked the bucket on Thursday.

She stood by herself against the hotel, her arms crossed and tightly hugging her body. Sam was talking to Chuck and Becky, who now appeared to have grown close. Dean was in front of the entrance to the hotel, chatting with those two fans that helped them take down the ghosts. But Frankie… Frankie only had herself to talk to.

Her and the knowledge that she was about to go to Hell.

How the hell was she supposed to tell them? How do you tell someone you love, who is fighting so hard to keep you safe and alive, that you won't make it to the weekend?

God… she did love them. Despite everything – the arguing, the grueling training, the chaos, the despair, the disappointment – she loved her brothers. She wasn't ready to say goodbye. She wasn't even ready to tell them about her soul! And now, spilling her secrets might very well be the last thing she does before she bites the dust.

She was determined to not make that so. She didn't want them to remember her for her mistakes. She had to make the rest of her life count. She had an eternity to spend in flames. Might as well bring some good memories down with her.

Sam beckoned Frankie over. It took a moment of concentration to get her legs moving again. As she passed the now happy couple, she glared at Chuck. He ducked his head and averted his eyes.

She followed Sam to the Impala where Dean was grinning to himself. "You okay?" Sam asked his brother, rounding the car to the passenger side.

Dean nodded his head. "Yeah, you know, I think I'm good."

Frankie opened the back door and ducked inside without a word. At least one of them was.

The Impala soon sped off. Sam and Dean regaled their ghostly adventure in the hotel to a silent Frankie staring out the window.