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It had been weeks. Weeks since the accident. Weeks since my entire family had been rolled away on stretchers to the helicopter sitting on stand-by, ready to fly us to whatever nearby hospital existed. Weeks since Sam and I sat in silent rotation at our brother's and father's bedsides. Weeks since Dean landed on his death bed. Again. It was weeks since my father, John Winchester, died... and weeks since a bottle of alcohol wasn't sitting in front of me at some point throughout the day.

We were still in Sioux Falls, staying with Bobby for the time being. If you could call it "staying". Most days I simply slept there, before waking up while the sky was still black, making and drinking a pot of coffee – and then making a second pot for Bobby. I'd kiss his cheek and tell him I was going for a "run". What I really did was I walked through and to the edge of town – where I'd reach the same spot every day. I'd sit on a rock, hidden out of sight, and I would watch the sun rise and wake the world around me. Thousands of thoughts would consume me while the sky shifted from gray, to pink, to purple and beyond. Once my skin would start to feel warm, I'd get up and finally begin my way back.

There was a bar a few miles away from Bobby's; far enough away that I knew my brothers would most likely go to one of the closer ones. It was definitely populated enough that I knew Bobby would rather be possessed than around that may other living, breathing humans. Each morning I would lean up against the rough exterior wall, smoke a cigarette, and wait for Webby to arrive and unlock the door. Like clockwork, the early morning commute would come, and with it, Webby would round the corner from parking his motorcycle. He would great me with a smile and I'd respond by passing him the remaining half of my cigarette and we would stand in silence, leaning next to each other until he would flick the filter next to each other until he would flick the filter into the road and then unlock the door.

I don't remember exactly how it started, but one morning I found myself opening blinds, setting stools on the ground, starting the jukebox, and assisting with other opening duties while Webby balanced the whatevers, started the grills, ovens, and added or changed the oil in the fryers. Just like every other morning, he would put a plate of food in front of me as I poured coffee into what I decided would be "his" mug; then the two of us would sit down together and eat.

Today, just like many other days before, my face twisted at the surprise sharp taste that invaded my taste buds after I'd take a bite of my omelet.

"What is in here?" I questioned while half-forcing myself to swallow the eggs.

Webby didn't meet my eyes as he poked around his own food. "Sun-dried tomatoes, mushrooms, spinach, feta –"

Poking my fork at him in the air, I cut him off. "That's it. Feta."

"Goat cheese," he informed me with a raised brow.

"Dammit, Web," I huffed, dropping my fork and grabbing my coffee. "How many times do I have to ask you stop using me as a guinea pig for your cooking experiments? You're ruining food."

With a roll of his eyes, he leaned back against the wall of the booth. "How many times do I have to remind you that you can't live off bread and potatoes alone?"

I narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest. "I could be living off eggs, but you just tried to stuff me with goat."

I smirked as Webby choked on his hash browns at my comment. Once he was able to compose himself, he watched curiously as I poked around at my food. "Do you really not like it?" he sighed, a bit of defeat and hurt pride showing in his eyes.

Skeptically, and now feeling guilty, I filled my fork with another chunk of egg and slowly put it in my mouth. Taking my time to chew and actually attempting to taste the flavors, I finally glared at him. "Dammit," I groaned. "It's freaking delicious."

Laughing, he began to enjoy his breakfast once more. "It always is," he spoke before laughing again while I flung hash browns at him.

We would continue our breakfast, discussing the day before, the plans for that evening, and memories from years ago. Every day I grew more and more thankful that I'd met him in school. Sure, I had the girls, Leah, Kate, and Sadie...and I loved them; but they were like me. Never in one place for too long, hard to get a hold of, and even harder to see. Webby had managed to be a constant since I was a preteen; something I'd been secretly thanking him for every day. Once our plates were scrapped clean and our mugs were empty, we would finally continue getting ready to open. I would take the dishes in the back to wash them and Webby would unlock and prop open the door, ready to finally start the day.

It was still at least another forty-five minutes before Joe, our daily first customer, would show up and claim his spot at the bar for the eight hours he would be there. As the day would drift by, the small handful of employees would arrive and take over helping the customer that would filter in and out the entire day. It was around 6:00 pm that the bar would become full. Overwhelmingly so.

Between the dinner rush and the end-of-day shift drinkers, we would become crowded to the point of nonstop working. it wasn't something we couldn't keep with or handle; just enough to keep us on our toes. As with every other night though, the minute it was 8:00, Webby and I would bicker back and forth about me getting out from behind the bar, and becoming a customer for the rest of the evening.

"Becca, you've already been here for over twelve hours. I can't pay you and stay in business if you don't stop working," he would argue, taking every item I picked up away from me.

I put my hands on my hips and glared at him. "I told you that you didn't have to pay me."

Which was true. Webby was there for me the night we burned my dad's body. He listened to every complaint, wiped every tear, gave too many hugs, and immediately he offered me comfort and friendship. In fact, he even offered me to come and hang out with at his bar to pass the time. That led to me hanging out with more and more each day, leading to our current argument.

"Yes, I do. Especially for how much you help me out. But everyone is gonna start thinking you're sleeping with the boss, especially with amount of overtime you get on your checks," he explained while helping customers, not missing a beat or faltering in the slightest. Popping my hip and crossing my arms, I stared at him. "What?"

"I am sleeping with the boss," I reminded him.

He continued to help the large number of customers at the bar as he both side-eyed me and smirked.

Everyone here knew we were sleeping together. Employee and regular customer wise at least. But anyway, that's right, y'all. Your girl finally had the sexy time. Did the dirty dirty. The hibbity dibbity. Popped the cherry. Filled the donut. Put creamer in the coffee. Whatever you dirty folks would like to call it. That night, where I ran into Webby and bawled a lake sized stain onto his shirt; where he took me to his bar to listen to me talk; where he didn't work behind the bar but instead sat with me and actually cared. He was a friend, a confidant; the only one I felt connected to or interested in at all. That constant in my life was something I quickly began to crave and Webby once again did not disappoint. He did apologize a million times the next day for what he felt was taking advantage of my emotional distress. Even though I kept telling him that I did not agree and that I saw it as him comforting me – giving me something, compassion and love, that I didn't realize I'd been wanting so badly; he continued to argue with me. We argued about it so much that we ended up finding our legs wrapped together and chests heaving up and down numerous times following. We just never found a reason to stop.

Finally turning to face me, Webby placed his hands on my arms and walked me backwards towards the end of the bar, where the counter was lifted and resting against the wall. "Regardless of what or who you are sleeping with, which by the way – my memory foam mattress is starting to forget you – you are officially off work. So, please. Go sit down and let me serve you a drink," he smiled before placing a gentle kiss on my forehead and lowering the counter door back down.

Groaning, I slowly made my way, you may call it stomping, over to the other side to face Webby, ordering a beer.

Bringing my glass to my lips and turning around on my stool, my eyes searched the crowd in front of me. I was pretty drunk, but I was still positive of a few things. One. It was eight o'clock when Webby forced me to finally stop working. Two. It was not eight o'clock anymore, but it wasn't two, either. I didn't know what time it was, but it was later. Finally, I was completely positive that Sioux Falls, South Dakota, was filled with more people that I ever remembered being in the town. I may not have lived here my whole life, but I definitely spent a lot of time growing up here. I recognized some faces from school; others I recognized from arguing with a million times at one of the stores in town, where I had to continuously remind them that Bobby Singer was a better human than they would ever know, and that if he had to save their lives – that they better pray he doesn't think twice about it.

Joe was long gone for the day, but there were still a few regulars in the place. There was a group of construction workers who came in together and sat for hours a couple evenings every week. They were friendly, funny, and louder than most people I'd ever met. They also tipped really well; probably because I was their favorite, but who knows. There were the few business men who came in with their suit jackets on, but slowly lost them as well as their ties as the clock ticked on. They would order a handful of shots; laugh about numbers and equations and problems I would never come to understand – but they were happy. They never gave me a hard time, and were actually weirdly the most fun to be around. The gaggle of women who always dressed way too up just for some shared apps and blended drinks were cackling at their regular table, their voices carrying over many others. They got drunk easily. Not that I can really talk since I'm not exactly one to be able to put away a lot of alcohol, but they were annoying. Telling jokes that only they thought were funny, teasing in ways they thought were playful, and more regular housewife antics that made anyone want to kick a kneecap. Plus. They tipped all the employees like crap.

I spun around quickly when my eyes caught the next person. Muttering obscenities below my breath, I finished my beer and then "unintentionally" set it on the counter harder and louder than usual. I was praying that they hadn't seen me like I did them. They were definitely someone I didn't want to have to deal with. Not after a good day like today. Even less on a bad day. They were a cocky, self-absorbed, hard-headed, asshole. They fought against anything someone said, unless they thought it was a good idea. They would talk at you like you were a child; treat you like you were beneath them, and question everything you did if they felt you weren't "up to snuff". I caught Webby's eyes when he came to use the taps beside me. I shoved my glass towards him and frowned when I felt someone ask the person next to me if they could sit in their seat. Webby eyed the seat stealer before placing my beer in front of me and then asking what they wanted. Filling another glass with the same thing I had, he plopped a coaster and the glass down before stating the price and taking the offered credit card.

Sighing, I brought my beer to my lips, never allowing my eyes to look anywhere but forward. I sipped slowly, trying to make it look like talking to me wouldn't be possibly. Leave it to my new neighbor not to care, though. I heard them make a pleased sound after a large swallow of beer before setting their glass down and placing their arms in front of them on the bar, intertwining their fingers together. "So, this is where you've been hidin', huh?" they asked, turning their head to look at me.

I finally took the glass away from my lips and hung my head. "Didn't see you coming this far into town, just for a beer."

"Overheard about this place from a couple people at the store. Figured I should check it out since it was on the way. Plus. It's just far enough away from the junkyard that no one would think to look for you here."

"Why are you here, Dean?" I finally huffed before turning and facing him. "Did you need something? Getting tired of Sam's heart-to-hearts? Bobby run out of booze for the week? What is it?"

Dean watched my face with a hard look. "Oh, forgive me for wondering where my sister runs away to every damn day, for hours on end, who doesn't care to pick up her phone or answer texts. What are you doing here, Becca?"

I nodded my head to Chris as she refilled my glass and placed it in front of me once more. I rolled my eyes as I saw her look Dean up and down, muttering to myself as I began to take a drink. "Didn't think I needed to give you my daily itinerary, seeing as I'm home most nights and Bobby says goodbye the next morning. If you wanted to know I was okay, you could have just asked him."

"I shouldn't have to ask him. You should know how to pick up a damn phone."

"You should know how to take a damn hint," I snapped, drawing the attention of a few people over to us. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and calmed myself. This was not the place to start another argument with Dean. Webby had done too much for me lately that I would not disrespect him, his employees, or his customers like that. If Dean wanted have this talk, then we would be having it outside. Webby came near us to put some cash in the register before I managed to get his attention. "Hold our seats and watch our beers? Gonna go have a smoke." Nodding his head, he removed his pack from where he would keep it under the bar and passed it over to me with a smile. I thanked him silently before turning and moving through the crowd towards the door.

Once we were outside, I walked towards the corner of the block a few feet from the building to avoid those standing outside. I figured this wouldn't exactly be a conversation that would need to be shared with the masses. Once I stopped moving, I took out a cigarette and brought it to my lips, cupping my hands around the end to be able to keep a flame to light it. Inhaling the first hit, I dropped my shoulders and closed my eyes when Dean was immediately questioning my hidden habit – like I knew he would.

"You smoke now?" he asked, clearly upset and giving me a sense that he didn't approve. "Since when?"

"Since I remembered my life goal of getting black lungs and pissing you off at the same time. What are you doing here, Dean?" I questioned with a hard tone.

He turned on his feet to face me, a tongue in his cheek. "I'm wondering what the hell seems to be so god damn exciting that you can't manage to spend more than three hours at Bobby's with your family." I saw him get ready to start speaking once more but stopped and rolled his eyes when someone came up to us and called my name.

"Hey, Bec," Joel greeted, holding out an envelope to me. "Here's your check. Wanted to get it to you before I closed up shop for the night."

"Thanks," I smiled, taking it from him and stuffing it in my pocket without a second thought. "You made sure to work the books in your favor, right?"

Joel chuckled before turning to walk away. "You and John have most of it covered, but I gotta make sure you guys still need me for something. The only way I can make a living as an accountant outside of tax season. You have a good night, Becca."

I waved before bringing my cigarette to my lips once more, suddenly remembering that Dean was there when he cleared his throat and brought me to face him once more. "You got a job now, too?" he indicated to my pocket with a nod of his head.

Grimacing due to the daily argument I had with Webby, I only nodded my head while taking another drag of my cigarette. "Wasn't really a choice. Boss kinda forced me to take the pay for helping him out.:

"That the John that guy was talking about? the one you apparently have most of it covered with?"

"Webby, yeah."

Realization dawned on his face. "You're working with Webby? John Webster?" Running his hand over his face and then bending down to place his hands on his knees, he seemed out of breath as I nodded. "What the hell have you been doing? You got some kids or something I don't know about?"

I rolled my eyes before finishing my cigarette and then flicking it into the street beside us. "Still haven't really told me why you're here, Dean," I reminded him, sticking my hands in my pockets and then staring at him.

He let out a large huff of air and straightened himself up. "You need to come back to the junkyard, Bec. Sam and I are getting ready to get back on the road. Baby's fixed and Bobby is sick of having us around. We need to start hunting again, helping people. We can't just keep sitting around doing nothing."

Blinking a couple times, I just stared at him. "First of all, I am a delight and Bobby loves having me around, so don't give me that bullshit. If anything, he's just sick of you being there. And I'm doing just fine the way things are right now. Got busy days, things occupying my time, friends filling the voids, and a paycheck I don't even want, lining my pockets. Just because you and Sam are ready to go fillet Frankenstein doesn't mean I'm down. So, thanks, but no thanks. Just go without me."

His eyes were round with my answer. I know he didn't expect me to turn down going back to my normal every day routine as quickly as I just did; but I was. I didn't want to do it anymore. Not right now. I was too wrapped up in avoiding my feelings, trying to push through emptiness, and pretending that I too, was capable of doing regular day to day type shit. I may be living a mundane type of existence right now, but at least that mundane existence did little to remind me of all the things that made it hard to breathe – like being at Bobby's and around my brothers did.

Dean chuckled a bit before catching my now questioning eyes. "Excuse me?"

"I mean it. Go without me. I'm not ready to go rolling around in the Mobile Motel 6 just yet; and I'm definitely not ready to deal with the scripts of "Heart to Heart Connection" that I'm sure Sam has come up with. So, you guys go ahead. Send me a postcard. I'll miss ya. But if we're good here, I should probably get back in there. Webby will fight me on it, but he could probably use the help getting the placed closed up for the night. Plus, I was promised mozzarella sticks earlier, and I'm thinking my dinner ticket is up."

Without waiting for a response, I spun on my heel and made my way towards the front door, the confidence and surge of adrenaline fighting for hold over my body. I prayed that the way Dean's yell from the corner made me jump wasn't obvious, but I pressed on, not wanting to look back to see what kind of angry look he held. The heat seemed to swallow me up the second that the door closed behind me. The lights were on overhead, and the music was off – signaling that it was officially last call and that people either needed to chug or get the hell out. I wove through the throngs of people, keeping my eyes straight as I heard Dean's voice still calling for me and getting closer as he did so. I managed to reach the bar and immediately got Webby's attention by doing so.

"Get this place empty. Now!" I bit, urgency and a slight panic in my voice.

His eyes widened but he didn't falter in his movements. Grabbing the megaphone from under the counter, he quickly clicked it on and shouted into the air. "All right. That's it. Everyone out. Got some technical issues going on and we need the premises cleared, now! Let's go!"

I worked my way around the bar and then behind it, passing Webby as he ushered everyone out, confusion on all their faces. Pushing them forward and chastising the complainers, he finally got the last customer out, told the employees to head through the back door, and locked the deadbolt before turning around.

Dean stood alone in the center of the floor, facing me over the bar where I was leaned back, coat still on, and hands still stuck in the pockets. Our eyes didn't move from the lock they had on each other. Both our tongues stuck tightly in our cheeks; jaws tightened; glares deepening; and anger consuming. Webby's eyes bounced between us as he finally came towards us from the front door.

"Hey, Bec, you, okay?" he questioned, studying Dean as though he couldn't quite put his finger on how he knew the man still standing in his bar.

My eyes didn't move as I responded. "I'm okay, Web. Just surprised at Dean's ego making him think that he's above you requesting he vacates the premise. I don't know what he thinks makes him so special."

Snapping his fingers, Webby smiled before finally approaching Dean. "I knew it! Dean Winchester, holy cow, man. It's been years. How you doing?" he greeted enthusiastically. Holding out a hand for Dean to shake, he didn't even seem upset that Dean failed to acknowledge the gesture and only spoke in a monotone voice.

"Yeah. Didn't realize you owned the place. Thanks for giving Becca the job, by the way. Sorry it's short notice, but we're gonna be heading out soon, so I just came to remind her to give her two weeks."

"He means they're gonna be heading out soon. I'm not planning on going anywhere. Thinking I'm gonna stay in Sioux Falls much longer than I originally planned."

Webby seemed to finally be consumed by the tension between the siblings in front of him. He rubbed his fingers on the back of his neck and side. "All right. I'm gonna go start shutting down the kitchen and closing up. Lemme know if you need anything, all right?" he requested, watching me heavily, as though I was able to shoot him a silent message.

Nodding my head, the grimace held on my face as Webby set the megaphone down and then went around the wall towards the kitchen where I heard the water turn on in the sink.

"Should probably get going, Dean. You don't really see like the sweep and mop type. Probably get real bored," I snipped, crossing one leg over the other as I leaned on the counter behind me.

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere. We need to talk, and you need to come back to Bobby's," he bit while finally moving forward, the normal angry and challenging look on his face.

I removed my coat and placed it behind me on the counter. "I got things I need to do here, and I actually have plans for after. If I have time tomorrow maybe I'll stop by. Otherwise, like I said, postcards should do just fine."

Dean's voice hit the bark I had been waiting for, and I heard the spray of the hose in the kitchen jolt out of the rhythm, meaning that Webby had heard it, too. "I said we are going back to Bobby's and we are hitting the road again, real soon. So, I would suggest you come with me and get your things packed so we can be gone by sunrise."

I placed my hands beside me, palms grabbing the counter. "Maybe you didn't hear me. I have plans. Go ahead on without me. Maybe I'll catch you if you stop in on your way out of town. Everyone knows where to find me – oh... wait. You didn't. Huh. Wonder why that is."

His fist landed on the counter with a sound that echoed around the now empty building. "God dammit, Becca, listen –"

"No, you listen!" I cut him off briskly and pushed myself away from the counter. Stepping forward and almost leaning so that we were damn near nose-to-nose, I continued. "I said I'm not coming with you. I'm not going back out on the god damn road, pretending that everything is fine, when in reality it's all just shit. Is your best friend down in hell, because she sacrificed herself for people she cared about? No. Because Sam is your best friend, and he's probably at Bobby's nose in a damn book right now. Did you struggle to understand why your sibling was dying in front of you and there was nothing you could do to stop it? No. That was Sam and me. For days. Trying to come up with answers. Only for Dad to offer up his own damn life so you could go ahead and continue to have one. Did Dad tell you that that you may have to kill both of your siblings? One because he may go dark side and one because what's dead is supposed to stay dead? I doubt it. No. You just get to continue to sit back and be saved, while the rest of us get to watch everyone we care about either die or walk the tight rope of dead or alive; and I'm tired of it. I'm tired of crying, over you, over Sam, over Dad... I'm tired of feeling like the second I get whatever I'm looking for, or some kind of grip on reality it's all just ripped out from under me and I'm shoved into some new kind of shit that I didn't even ask for. I'm tired of digging myself out of pain and suffering and anger and hate, and I'm done. I'm done with it all. Give me one good reason to follow you back out there, onto the road that continues to just drag us around, spitting us out like roadkill every other day."

He may have heard what I said, but I don't think he was listening to me at all. His face only continued to harden and his eyes continued to darken, signaling to me that he was just pushing every emotion below his surface so he didn't have to accept or acknowledge its reality. "Look. We hunt. It's what we do. And unless we get off our asses and stop moping around, there are lots of people out there that are going to die every single day unless we help them. And that includes you."

"Yeah? And what is it exactly that we did to stop Dad from dying? Or Leah? Or any other person that has slipped through our fingers, only to still end up buried six feet in the ground, salted, burned, or fed to the demons who crave them? What about those people, Dean? Face it. We don't do shit. He did. He saved people. He saved us. And now he's gone because he saved you."

"You don't think I know that," his voice ripped through the air with a force I'd only heard a few times in my life. "You don't think I know that he traded his life for me? That this is all my fault? I didn't ask to be saved, Becca, so don't stand there and act like I had any choice in this," he demanded with a finger pointed in my direction. His face was red from the anger that he had been holding in since the hospital. The vein on his neck was throbbing and his eyes were stormy with an anger I had never seen. "I didn't ask him to die, damn it, and I sure as hell didn't ask him to sacrifice himself."

"I didn't see you trying to find any way to stop or change it either," I immediately bit. "As soon as you were released and they gave us the body, you took us to Bobby's and then you started fixing that stupid car. That's all you cared about. Was making sure that damn Impala was up and running so that you could go and show Dad just how much it meant that he gave himself up for you. That you are so damn thankful that you are already willing to just take the chance of dying again. How many chances you need Dean? Four? Five? You gonna keep going until all of us are gone just to save you?"

The silence that overtook that bar was deafening. My chest was heaving, heart pounding, breath shaky. I hadn't realized I had been holding those feelings in and I definitely did not expect those words to come out. The second I felt them leave my tongue I knew what I had done. I had just hurt Dean in a way I never thought I could... a way I never imagined myself to be capable of doing. The look on his face was indescribable and it shattered my heart, knowing that I caused that pain and upset. Any friendship I thought that I had with my brother in the past was completely erased from existence. We may be siblings but beyond that we no longer had any kind of relationship.

My throat was dry as I tried to swallow. While my heart threw itself heavily against my ribcage, my brain repeatedly screamed at me to apologize and tell him that I didn't mean it. Tell him that I was just hurt and angry and struggling with everything around me, taking it all out on him. Fling myself at his feet and beg him to forgive me. My brain continued to scream these things at me but my mouth forgot how to form words. I felt pale. As though every ounce of blood had disappeared and I was now comparable to Casper's skin tone. Dean's jaw ticked and I saw his nostrils flare. I know he was expecting me to take back my words and lower my guard and the wall I'd created recently. He was waiting for me to backdown and agree to come back with him to Bobby's like the young kid he still considered me to be.

Except I wasn't that kid anymore.

A gentle noise from the doorway to my left drew all attention. "I think this is gonna be a while yet before I get everything here cleaned up and ready. Are you still planning on helping tonight, Bec, or are you heading out?" Webby was leaning against the frame, intently watching the scene in front of him. I knew the question was posed to put a full stop at the end of whatever choice I made; whether Dean liked it or not. His arms were crossed over his chest and his eyes were steadying me. He didn't have to say anything for me to know that he was on high alert.

"Yeah. I'm good, Web. I'm just walking Dean out and locking up behind him," I answered, my eyes not leaving my brother's gaze. My lids lowered with confidence and dared him to go further – knowing that we were being watched and that Webby wouldn't hesitate to step in as soon as he felt necessary. Thankfully for me, I knew that he would find that opportunity to appear miles before I would ever ask him.

Dean swallowed and I swear his jaw cracked with the anger and tension behind it. An angered smirk played across his lips as he inhaled and then tipped his head. "Fine, you wanna play it that way, that's fine. Just know this. Sam and I are leaving tomorrow, and if you aren't there and in the backseat; I'm not turning around to come get you."

Pushing myself off of the counter and going around the bar, I nodded my head as I led him towards the door. I waited until he was completely through the frame and facing me before I spoke. "I wouldn't bother. You'll just waste the gas idling." I hesitated for the shortest second, contemplating telling him goodbye, even trying to bring myself to apologize – but I didn't. I simply closed and locked the door before turning around and allowing the tears to finally fall from my closed eyes.

I was surprised at how quickly the wall across from me went from being shrouded in darkness back to being the white it normally was. Once I'd rolled over, Webby's arm securely wrapped around me, I don't think I ever even blinked. I just laid there. Silent. Unmoving. Probably not even breathing. My mind didn't even race like it normally did. Instead, all I focused on was the same damn line, over and over again.

And now he's gone because he saved you.

Everything else beyond those eight words escaped me. I didn't feel anything except numbness. I didn't accept anything except emptiness. All that existed inside of me at this moment, and since that moment, were the words, and now he's gone because he saved you.

My phone had rung enough times that eventually I turned it to silent, watching the orange light in the corner continue to blink after each time the screen would go black after another ignored call. I don't know what Dean told Sam, but I'm sure it wasn't everything. He probably just threw the door to Bobby's open, downed a beer, and broke something along the way before stomping out and kicking something rusted. Sam had probably gone down to the bar only to try and break in, in an attempt to find me and talk. Thank the gods that Webby rented the upstairs apartment out to an employee and no longer lived there.

I was surprised that the cold wind that whipped around us on the bike last night didn't seem to really faze me. I had expected it to give me goosebumps, cause me to shiver and pull myself closer to Webby. I even expected myself to ask him for his jacket – but none of that happened. I sat there, my fingers barely ghosting his sides, feeling as though I wasn't even there, completely oblivious to the world around me. I hadn't even noticed we were parked until his hand patted against my, drawing me from my single thought.

Silently I followed him through the hall and to the bedroom, nodding at the appropriate questions, shaking my head at others. I hadn't met his eyes since the fight with Dean and I knew he was concerned. I could hear it in his voice. I saw it in his eyes when he grabbed my chin, forcing me to face him while he tucked some hair behind my ear. If you asked me now what his questions were, I couldn't tell you. I didn't remember. I remember that the emotion in his eyes reminded me of the emotion in Deans and I felt my heart and soul harden and go colder at the fact.

Eventually I saw it was Bobby's name across my screen, and while I was ignoring my brothers, I couldn't bring myself to ignore the cranky old man I loved. He listened to me, told me I was being an idiot, and then also told me that I was welcome to come stay with him for as long as I wanted. Beyond that, he let me know that my brothers had to pass by the bar as it was on the only road leading out of town in the direction they were looking to go. I forced myself not to ask, but I was struggling to know what Sam had all been told. I had questions. So many questions that I wanted answers for. I wanted to know their thoughts, their intentions, their real feelings on the matter. I needed to know if they felt like I did about everything going on around us, or if they really didn't care. It was as thought I was craving the information like an obsessed ex who was still in love with the guy who broke her heart.

The clock on the bed side table next to my phone was still blinking 11:29 from the night before after we had come back to find that the power had shut off at some point throughout the day. I barely registered anything that occurred after sitting on the bed, facing the same wall I was facing now. I vaguely remember Webby's hand on my thigh, kissing my head as he got up to go to the shower, and the slow movements I made as I removed my jacket, pants, shoes and bra before laying down beneath the covers. He'd come back, not saying anything, just coming to lay behind me and wrap an arm around my waist. We laid there silently, neither of us wanting or needing anything more. I liked that about Webby. There was some sort of unspoken bond we had, where we could just be together, without having to do anything else. We could sit in silence, in conversation, in anything – and be content. It wasn't until Webby's phone started beeping that I finally felt myself breathe.

He tightened his hold on me, humming out a yawn, and then stretching. Patting my thigh, he removed himself from the bed and stumbled his way into the bathroom, going about his morning routine. At some point I ended up at his kitchen table, a cup of coffee in front of me, and a worried Webby leaning against the sink, watching me over his own mug.

"How many calls did you end up getting last night?"

I shrugged, never having actually bothering to look and see the notifications that I was sure were piled higher than the trees outside. "I didn't really want to see, you know?"

Webby nodded, sipping his warm drink. "You sure you don't want me to take you over there? Make it before they head out?"

My eyes met his quickly, silently telling him that I was sure. More than anything, I could not give Dean the satisfaction of thinking he was still my boss. I was stubborn. God was I stubborn. I would not allow another person to think they had any say over the decisions I would make from now on. Dean Winchester may be my older brother, but I would be damned if he was going to continue to think that he could bark commands at me. This challenge that we gave each other would come to show us both as winners and losers, and neither of us were going to be the first to back down.

"I'm just gonna go get ready real quick so we can head to the bar. I'm sure I've already made you late," I spoke, standing from the chair and standing in front of him. "I'll try to be quick."

Webby grabbed my wrist before I was out of reach. "Hey," he responded, making sure to grab my gaze as he pulled me back towards him. "I can keep the place closed for the day, it's not a big deal. Trust me."

"Your employees need money."

"Then my employees can run the place without me if necessary. I wanna make sure you're okay."

A smile spread across my face before standing up on my toes and placing a soft kiss to his cheek. "I'm okay. Thank you."

As with everything else, this entire morning was different from the routine I had become accustomed to. No, I hadn't gone back to Bobby's after spending time with Webby. I hadn't closed the door behind me, pausing to hear all of the snores stop in response, hesitating almost instinctively at the sound. I didn't wake up within a few hours before walking through town to watch the sunrise. Instead, I rode on the back of Webby's bike and walked with him to the front of the bar, each of use taking out our cigarettes and leaning against the wall. I could feel his close eye never leave me, especially after continuing to reject the opportunity of being taken back to the salvage yard. What Webby didn't understand, with the kindness and genuine care he kept pouring on me, was that there was nothing that would make me decide to turn around and run to my brothers with a tail tucked between my legs. I was finally putting myself ahead of them, and more than Dean, I needed to see this through.

I was no longer looking at a clock, but I knew the time was passing quicker now than when I wanted to. Webby had already gone inside and was preparing everything for the day ahead while I was instead on my third cigarette; allowing it to slowly burn down while I simply held it. The sun was rising higher over the buildings and trees in the distance and I could already see Joe a few blocks down, on his way to the corner store to grab a cigar and piece of fruit. He would finish his excuse of a breakfast right as he walked in, throwing its remains into the trash behind the bar. The cigar would be tucked behind his ear, waiting until the feeling was "just right" to smoke it. Usually that meant once he had finally started to feel anything other than sober.

With Joe closing in, that meant it was almost time to open. Dean never gave me a specific time, but I knew he would be itching to leave as soon as possible. It was when Joe stepped next to me and began to speak that I was finally able to hear the roar of the Impala. It was blocks away, maybe even still a mile or so out. Regardless, it was definitely the sound of the only place I had ever considered to really be my home. Joe stopped as the sound got louder, the roar giving off the menacing demand of attention that it needed. I brought my cigarette to my lips as I saw the Impala turn a corner and start towards the bar. I didn't answer Joe's questions about the incoming vehicle beyond simple words – my eyes now locked onto the black monster that was stopped directly in front of me at the stop sign across the street.

Dean didn't look away from me, and I could feel the anger behind his eyes from where I was standing. I noticed myself lean instinctively towards Webby as he came to stand beside me and my heart was suddenly strained when I watched recognition cross Sam's face. Dean hadn't told Sam; at least not everything. I could tell from the way that my twin spoke and through his gestures, showing that he and Dean were not on the same page, and possibly not even in the same book. Dean's mouth never opened to respond, though. Instead, I saw his hand clench and unclench a few times in an attempt to regrip the wheel – as though it was the situation or our lives instead – and he was trying to strangle both it and me. I can't say for sure whether Dean's jaw was tightening or not, but based on my experiences, it was probably close to breaking. For how long I'd been standing there, unblinking, all I could hear was the engine as it consumed me – as though it was calling me to come back. Back to everything and the only thing I really knew.

When the engine finally revved, like a yell from my father himself, giving the loud command as it owned the streets beneath it – I watched my brother finally nod his head. Then he drove away. Past the bar. Past the ash of my cigarette finally falling off as the filter failed to hold any further flame or heat. Past the definite nail in the coffin that was now my relationship with my brothers.

The Impala crested the hill and was out of sight almost immediately; the sound going with it. For such a loud and demanding noise, the air around me was now heavy and empty. I flicked the filter beneath my foot before rubbing it into the cement with the toe of my boot. Pushing off the wall, I ignored both men beside me as they rang out with different questions. I had no answers to give them. I had no thoughts to entertain.

I was only sure of one thing from this point forward. I, Becca Winchester, may have two older brothers, but it was decided. From this moment on, I no longer had any family.

To my lovely little readers,

Thank you. Thank you so much for hanging on and waiting for me. I know. It has been literal years. So much has happened. I've gotten in relationships, I'm a mom now. I am a full grown adult, doing adulting things. I have done road trips and breakups and moving and crying and therapy and just a lot. It's been a lot. And I have missed this. So much.

I cannot express my apologies enough for the wait in my finally starting season two. I'm actually restarting the entire series on Netflix right now, and I will admit, I never really watched beyond like...season 12? I don't remember. I wasn't and am still not ready to fully admit it's gone and over, and I really don't wanna give into that reality.

But I digress. I am back. Ish. Slowly. I've already started chapter two for this season as well as worked out a timeline and ideal chapter run through for this season. I know that each episode was broken into many chapters for the last season, but I'm hoping each episode will only be one chapter for this season. I will not be covering every episode and I'm hoping to have a few fully original chapters in there.

Please be patient with me. It has been so long since I have written anything, and I'm trying to get my groove back. We can do it together, guys.

As always, shout out to my babes: sweetkiwi604 for being my beautiful editor and helper. I adore you, love.

I love you.

Thank you.

I have never forgotten you.

Please. Continue to have faith.