Don't Pull This Thread - Part 8 of 8

Summary: It's the end, but who wins and who loses?

Warnings: alcoholism, death, angst, canon type violence.

W/C: 7k.

Notes: There are 2 endings. Ending 2 needed to happen to make Sharing Dean Winchester work. So you can decide which one you prefer.😋

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Amelia Richardson, OFC, other needed OC's.

Pairing: back to being in denial Sam x OFC, Sam x Amelia.

Beta: deanwinchesterswitch / all mistakes belong to me, before I knew better.

Two Months after part 7.

Lexie POV.

I wake up in my bed in the apartment I shared with Sam and Dean while my broken ribs healed, which makes no sense because I fell asleep in a motel room in Delaware.

Sam's flannel shirt. The one he said I could keep if I promised not to run away without saying goodbye. That makes less sense than the room I'm in. That shirt is tucked firmly away in my trunk and has been for two months because it physically hurts too much to see it, to smell him.

Sam's clothes are thrown over the chair in the corner of the room, so I guess he's around here somewhere. He will know what's going on. I make my way to the kitchen, and Sam's there. He has his back to me, sweatpants hugging his hips, t-shirt clinging to his arms, he's making grilled cheese sandwiches. But there is no sound, no sizzle of the hot pan, no clink as he opens the fridge to get orange juice; I can't smell anything either. I should be able to smell the cheese, frying bread, freshly brewed coffee.

I'm aware now that I'm not really here, that if I call out to Sam, he won't hear me or respond.

A pretty woman with shoulder-length brunette hair and crystal-like eyes is sitting at the table. She has a warm, friendly smile, and I know she can see me. I'm not afraid of her though my skin tingles which tells me I probably should be.

"Hi," she says. Her voice is light, calming, and sweet. I find myself somehow drawn to her, so I sit down across from her. "I'm Tessa."

"Hi, Tessa," I smile politely.

"Do you know where you are?"

I nod, I know I'm in my apartment, but I also know I'm not there. Sam is still silently making grilled cheese sandwiches.

Then the realization grinds into my brain like a hangover. I got back from Scotland six, maybe seven weeks ago. I found the witch, Sarai. I caught her, tried to get her to reverse the spell, but she wouldn't; she was more afraid of Zak than me.

She told me Zak had made her bind her own life to that of a small child. Zak knew if I ever caught up with Sarai, I wouldn't sacrifice another life for my own selfish gain. After three days of torturing her, I was convinced that Sarai had also been a victim of Zak's dark desires. I let her go, only to watch her slit her own throat. The guilt and remorse she felt must have been too much, but her death only passed her guilt to me. Knowing a family had lost a child, essentially because of me, was more than I could handle.

I'd tried calling Sam, I desperately needed him, but he didn't answer and never called me back. I had intentions of returning to The Roadhouse; I needed help to know if Sarai's death meant the end of the binding spell, but I stopped over in Delaware for the night, and I haven't left.

I am in a motel in Delaware, star-fishing on my stomach on the rock-hard bed, surrounded by empty whiskey, vodka, and tequila bottles. "I'm dead, right?"

Tessa seems relieved that she doesn't have to explain it to me. "Yes."

"Reaper?" I ask. Tessa nods curtly and smiles. Sam enters my view, placing orange juice on the table, and my breath catches in my throat. "Sam isn't-"

"Sam is fine," Tessa assures me. "I just thought seeing something familiar may make the transition easier."

Relief fills me. Then the tears come, I'm dead. I failed at everything. I survey Sam moving around the kitchen. I didn't kill Zak; I didn't get Sam to forgive me; I didn't get to thank Ellen, Jo, and Ash. I'll never get to tell Bobby I'm sorry I ditched him or the reason why. I'll never see Dean's dumbass, smug smirk again. I'll never hear Sam laugh or call me a nerd ever again. I have no one to blame. I drank myself into an early grave.

"I can move us somewhere else if you would like?" Tessa suggests.

"Can I see myself?"

"Are you sure?"

I nod, and in the same movement, I'm standing at the foot of the bed, looking at my dead body. I look like I'm sleeping, except there is no rise and fall to my chest. I'm too still. "How long have I been gone?"

"Three minutes."

"Wow, you found me fast."

Tessa shrugs, "I was in the neighborhood."

She watches me as I scrutinize myself. "Was this always my end? Was this my destiny?"

I'm probably better off not knowing; it would probably be easier if this were always the way I was supposed to die. Heartbroken over Sam Winchester, unfilled revenge plans, unsaid words, then fall asleep in a drunken stupor to never wake again. I can think of worse ways to go.

Tessa shakes her head slowly, "no, it was an accident. You drank too much, forgot how many sleeping pills you had taken."

I puff out a long breath. "I have so much unfinished business."

Tessa regards me sympathetically. "Everyone feels the same. Although, it's more true in your case than in others. If it makes you feel any better, you can tick one thing off your list."

I frown at her. I'm dead; how can I tick anything off any list?

"The spell is broken," she points down to my lifeless body. "You are no longer bound to that creature. Sarai broke the spell."

Tessa is right; it gives me some comfort, but I guess it doesn't matter now that I'm dead.

There is a long, heavy silence. Then I have no choice but to accept my fate. It's time to move on. I look hopefully at Tessa. "Will I see my family?"

I can't quite read her expression. I think she looks proud, almost elated. "Tell Dean I said hi."

I jolt up and find myself in the bathtub, freezing cold water blasting me from the pulsing shower. The pressure is so hard I think it might peel my skin off. My eyes focus, and I wipe some of the gushing water from my eyes to see Dean. He's sitting back on his heels, a tear from each eye sliding down his freckled cheeks.

"Tessa says hi," I relay the message that's fresh in my mind. He angrily wipes his face. "Dean-" the venomous glare in his eyes cuts me off.

"Can you stand?" he asks, climbing to his feet.

I slowly nod my head and take his offered hands to help me stand in the bath. He waits a minute, determining if I'm able to stand on my own two feet without assistance. When he decides I'm steady enough, his voice booms around the room.

"Take a friggin' shower. I'll be back."

With that, he's out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him. I've never known him to be this angry, I've never heard that tone directed toward me, and it's terrifying.

I strip off the drenched tank top and shorts I'm wearing, then change the water setting, making it hot enough to wash away the stench of alcohol and make my skin feel raw. As I start conditioning my hair, the motel door slams shut. I guess Dean has left.

When I feel that I am as clean as I am going to get, my stomach starts a hungry chatter, so I shut off the water and wrap myself in a somewhat clean-looking towel, leaving my hair to drip onto my shoulders.

I step out of the bathroom to find the curtains open, sunshine pouring in, the crack of the window allowing a gentle breeze to blow through. The floor is clear of all the alcohol bottles that were there yesterday. A pair of clean grey sweatpants, bra, panties, and tank top are laid out on the freshly made bed.

I take the clothes to the bathroom to dress, in case Dean decides to come back before I'm dressed. If he's coming back, I hope he's coming back. What if Sam is with him? I can't deal with seeing Sam right now.

I get dressed, brush my teeth, and dry my hair. When I exit the bathroom again, Dean is sitting at the small table by the window eating a burger and fries. He doesn't look at me, just continues focusing on his food.

He nods toward the burger and fries in front of the other chair. "Food's probably cold by now."

I sit down and dig into the food without a word. The anger radiates off him in waves. If I had a knife- if I knew where any of my weapons were - I could slice a chunk of his anger from the air and eat it like a piece of pie.

I'm afraid to look at him. I don't need to look at him to see the disappointment and hurt in his hazel eyes; I can feel it. If I look at him, I fear I might choke on the fries I'm eating with the fury blazing in his eyes.

We both finish our food without talking. I'm on edge the whole time, thinking Sam is going to spring through the door any second. Each passing second he doesn't, I become less anxious about it happening and more upset that he isn't here too.

I haven't spoken to Sam since we slept together. I waited three days before I tried calling him, but he never picked up. I sent messages and e-mailed him, but I never got a response. I kept all communication light and friendly, not mentioning anything about our last meeting. I hoped we could go back to being friends, which I expressed to Sam in my messages, but I had well and truly broken us. Things were never going to be the same again.

I lost the man I loved and my best friend.

I focus on my milkshake, picking at the corner of the paper cup, and Dean visibly inhales and exhales before he speaks. "You saw Tessa?"

I meet his eyes, nodding, "I was with her before you woke me up."

"Woke you up?" He challenges, his brow raised. "You get that you were dead, right?"

I do understand I was dead, but now I'm not; he saved me. I test the water with a joke. "Guess I'm an honorary Winchester now that I've been brought back from the dead."

"It's not a badge of honor to strive for." He sneers at me, "you're a sitting duck here too. You've been here too long. You know better."

Dean is scolding me, telling me off as if I were Sam, and I couldn't be happier. It means at least one Winchester still cares about me.

"Not exactly in the right frame of mind."

"I can see that," he gives me a sly grin, "not enough room for the two of us in the brooding drinking ourselves into oblivion wagon, sweetheart."

He called me sweetheart; his anger is ebbing. I manage a small, genuine smile and sigh, relieved he's not angry enough to ship me off to Bobby's demon prison for the foreseeable future. "Where's- Does Sam-"

I can't finish the question. I know why Sam isn't here. I crushed him, so it doesn't matter where he is or what he knows. I collect the burger wrappers and tidy up.

Dean continues my inquiry for me, "Does Sam know I'm here, or does Sam know you drank yourself to death because of him?"

I shrug and throw the trash away, "both?"

"Yes, he knows I'm here," Dean explains, turning in his chair to look at me. "We were working a job with Garth when Ellen called, said Ash had a lead on you. I left Sam with Garth and hauled ass here."

I lean against the counter's edge of the small kitchenette and stare off into the distance with Sam's face clear in my mind. I wonder if Sam put up any resistance about Dean coming to find me. Did Sam want to come, or have I broken him enough that he no longer cares?

"Let's get out of here," Dean suggests standing up. "No offense but it really does smell like someone died in here!"

I laugh wholeheartedly, and the sound is foreign to me. I don't remember the last time I laughed.

Dean drove nine hours straight to get to me, so he needed to stretch his legs and didn't want to drive anywhere just yet. It's early afternoon, and the sun is shining, so we walk, briefly stopping at a small diner to get some coffee to go. It makes it easier to talk, being shoulder-to-shoulder with him rather than having to face him.

He told me he called Sam when he went to get food. Dean didn't tell him I was dead. Instead, he told Sam I was sleeping off a bender, and it took him throwing me in the shower to wake me. He didn't say if Sam was relieved or expressed any sort of emotion about my well-being, and I don't ask.

By the time I have updated Dean on the events of Scotland, we've found our way to a small park. Dying, not properly eating for a few weeks, and still having enough alcohol in my system to be way over the legal limit has me exhausted by the time we find a bench.

I sip my coffee, and we watch the world pass by for a minute. "I broke the spell," I tell him nonchalantly. "Well, at least I think I have."

He twists on the bench so that he's facing me. "You could have led with that," he chides, pushing my leg playfully.

"Tessa said when Sarai died, the spell broke. Does that sound right to you?"

Dean shrugs with a small frown as he thinks it over. "It makes sense; kill the witch, spell breaks."

We sit in silent contemplation. Lost in thought, I forget my coffee, and it goes cold in my hand. I shiver as the sun hides behind the clouds. Dean takes my cold coffee and drops them both in the trashcan a few feet away.

He extends a hand to me, and I take it standing up. "Thank you, Dean. I'm sorry I-"

He cuts me off, holding a hand up. "Stop!" He has that brotherly advice expression, and his tone is serious; he's giving me an order. "I don't need you to be sorry," he says, shaking his head. "I need you to fight, you hear me?" He puts his hands on my shoulders, holding me in place.

Not that I could go anywhere, even if I wanted to. His fixated gaze is enough to hold me on the spot. I do hear him, loud and clear. The concern and affection in his eyes shock me into the realization that even though I lost my family, I've gained one as well.

I lost my siblings, Tyler and Cody, but I gained Dean and Jo. I lost my Dad, but I inherited Bobby. I lost my Mom, but I found Ellen. Ash is the crazy cousin everyone loves but can only tolerate in small doses. Then there's Sam. Family is deeper than blood; it's love, understanding, sacrifice.

Dean's eyes hold mine, and I don't ever want to let him down again. I don't ever want to see the look of disappointment in his eyes because of my actions.

"I need you to get off your ass, quit the pity party, and fight!" His deep voice vibrates through me. "You find that son of a bitch, and you call me because I want to be there when you slice that fucker's head off. You hear me?"

The first time he asked was rhetorical; this time, he wants an answer. I nod enthusiastically, "yes, I hear you. But it hurts Dean, what I did to Sam, it physically hurts. It's not something I can stitch up, take a couple of painkillers for, and then rest for a few days." I sigh, exhausted. "I tried that, and it didn't quite work out," I grin and wink at him.

Dean rolls his eyes, shaking his head with a funny smirk. "Too soon," he jokes. We share a beat of silence. "Lex, you're on the last corner before the finish line, and all you have to do is put the pedal to the metal. Then you drag your ass to my brother, and you make him forgive you."

I yank the hunter into a hug. I shake my head against his neck, chuckling, "you couldn't even manage one motivational speech without mentioning my ass, twice!"

I feel him shrug his shoulders as he reminds me, "remember who you're talking to, sweetheart."

A Year and a Half Later

Zak leers over me, mouth full of teeth, practically drooling at the prospect of biting me. I scramble back on my hands, my face flush with exertion from our fight. The handle of the knife is still protruding from the outside of my right thigh; the blade is so deeply embedded in my flesh it's scraping the bone. My back hits a wall, and Zak kneels over me immediately. I recoil into the wall, expose my neck a fraction, to give him a sense of security, and simultaneously pull the needle from my boot, flip the plastic lid off and plunge the dead man's blood into his neck.

His mouth grazes my neck, skin breaks, and then he collapses on top of me. He's unconscious by the time his head lands in my lap.

I waste no time getting to my feet, it hurts like a bitch, but I can deal with the pain later. I find my machete amongst the decapitated vamp bodies and return to his limp form. The squelch of his head disengaging from his body is the sweetest sound I have ever heard.

I catch my breath, staring down at his head before taking my phone from my pocket and snapping a picture. It's not a sight I want to forget. Maybe that picture can wipe the horrifying last images of my family and Wyatt from my mind.

It's over. It's finally over. There's movement behind me, and then I hear Garth, "what did I miss?"

Thank god he's not dead. "Nothing and everything as always, Garth."

I sit on the hood of my car and stitch my leg. The cut is deep and painful, but the bleeding stopped, so no major arteries have been hit. I can tentatively move it, but the muscle burns when I do. I'll probably limp for the rest of my life.

Garth has collected four of the nine bodies by the time I've patched myself up, so I help him with the others and load them onto the pyre he's already made.

He gives me the honor of lighting the fire, and I sit on the hood of my car, watching the bodies as they are reduced to ash. I call Dean's number for the millionth time in a month. I don't expect an answer or a callback.

"This is Dean's other, other, other phone. If you have this number, you need serious help, so leave a message, and I'll hit you back."

"Dean, it's impolite not to call a girl back." I take a deep breath and smell the beautiful toxic burning air. "It's over. You missed all the fun. I'm done, and I need to speak to you about that delivery of your brother. I prefer yellow bows, just an FYI." Dean promised to deliver Sam wrapped with a bow once I was done killing Zak. I take another deep breath, "call me, please."

The tables turned for me when Zak found out the binding spell had been broken. I became the hunter and not the hunted. It took a long while, but with the help of the hunting community, I tracked him down, and here I am with Garth, burning his body.

I desperately want to tell Sam and Dean about it, but I don't know where they are. No one has heard from the Winchesters for a year.

The number I have forDean is the only one that's still working. All of Sam's numbers were disconnected about a year ago, according to Garth. I never rang Sam's number. I had to finish the job before I went back to him.

I kept in contact with Dean as much as possible after he saved my life in Delaware. I know they were fighting Leviathans, Dick Roman. Dean's numbers went dark about six months after Sam's. Dean's mailboxes filled up fast, and then the phone company cut them off.

Ellen, Jo, Ash, Frank, and Bobby are gone. I've done everything I can to try and find Dean and Sam, including making a Crossroads deal. I wanted to know what happened to them, where they were; the demon showed up but refused to make any deal. Crowley showed up shortly after and told me in no uncertain terms I was wasting my time and all demons were under strict instructions to not give me any information or face his wrath.

I'm not even sure Crowley knows what happened to them.

So now it seems like it's just me, Garth, and a handful of hunters. Garth hands me a beer, and we toast to the fire. "Thanks for the assist, Garth."

"Anytime, darling." he smiles happily, sliding up next to me. "So what now?"

"Sam," I tell him without hesitation. Sam has always been the answer to that question, what do I do after I've killed Zak? My answer has remained the same; I find Sam, make him forgive me, then spend the rest of my life showing him how much I love him.

The day after I killed Zak, Garth leaves, and I decide to take a week off. I need time to process that it's finally all over, that Zak is gone. Plus, my leg needs time to heal before embarking on any long drives across the country. I've spent three days in the motel, watching crappy television and getting takeout delivered to my door so I didn't have to walk too far. By day four, I'm going stir crazy. I needed to get out, see some actual human beings.

The walk to the bar is slow and strenuous; my leg feels like it is on fire by the time I sit at a table. After I take my time to thoroughly enjoy a chicken burger, I challenge two fiftyish looking Dads to a game of pool at the back of the bar. A three hundred dollar first round goes to me, then they go for double or nothing. It's easy money; I can't lose.

Five shots into our second game, I sense eyes on me. I know I'm being stalked. It's too apparent, and I'll give myself away if I immediately look up and start surveying the crowded bar. I keep my attention on the game. I tick off the members of Zak's pack in my head, viewing each kill in my mind, seeing each face burn to ash. Garth and I killed them all, I'm positive we did, and it's unlikely there are two evil things in the same town at the same time.

Hank, the better one of my two opponents, walks to the other end of the table to take his shot. It's the perfect opportunity to casually scan the bar behind him. No one is a threat in the immediate vicinity; no one is watching me.

My eyes travel to the end of the bar, the best position to view the entire room; at the same table where I sat earlier to eat my dinner sits Sam Winchester. He's gawking at me like I've got two heads.

"Keep the money," I tell my adversaries, throwing my cue on the table and starting to limp toward Sam. I keep my eyes locked on him. I'm twenty feet away when a pretty woman with black curly hair wearing medical scrubs approaches him.

I halt and watch him kiss her happily in greeting, then turn her round to lead her out of the bar, his arm affectionately on her shoulder, her smiling up at him like a lovestruck teenager. I catch his eye again, and when I take a step toward him, he shakes his head subtly at me.

He must be working a case. I'll blow his cover if I talk to him. I count sixty seconds in my head when the door closes behind them and then rush out as fast as I can on my bum leg. I'm quick enough to see the Impala's tail lights as the driver brakes to take the corner at the end of the street.

Sam POV

Amelia called to tell me she had an emergency walk-in and that she was going to be late. I was uneasy in the house alone; I can't explain why. I just had to get out. I send Amelia a text while I'm driving to the bar to tell her to come there when she's done, and she can drive us home.

I sit at my usual table, scrolling through the news on my phone, when I hear her whole-hearted laugh across the room. I realize I'm totally off my game. I never once swept the bar when I came in; I didn't check for potential threats. If I did, I would have seen her sooner.

Lexie Walker is playing pool with two middle-aged dads. She's laughing with the taller of the two as they shake their heads at the guy who just took a shot. It must have been a really bad shot.

Her face is bruised, her left eye black, her right jawline is purple turning yellow, she limps around the table on her right leg to take her turn, and she has three long red lines on her neck. However, she's smiling; she looks happy. She's genuinely enjoying herself, and she seems lighter, free.

I see the moment she feels my eyes on her. She subconsciously rubs the scar on her wrist that Zak left; it's a tell she has when she's nervous. She waits a few minutes before she sweeps the room, waits until it looks natural and not forced.

Her blue eyes land on mine, and the air leaves the room. She barely hesitates before she puts her cue down and makes her way over to me.

Lexie moves slower than usual, whatever injury she has to her leg reduces her speed, and I can see the pain pinch her brow as she tries to move faster, weaving through the tables.

Amelia is suddenly in front of me; I didn't even see her come in. I kiss her hello, then turn her around, leading her out of the bar, telling her I've missed her and just want to sit on the couch and catch up on Game Of Thrones.

I look over Amelia at Lexie and subtly shake my head to stop her from following me.

"You okay, baby?" Amelia asks me half an hour later when we're settled on the sofa. "You've been a little distant since I picked you up."

I half-smile and nervously adjust myself in the seat. "Yeah, I'm good, just tired." I place a kiss on her head, and we both focus on the tv.

As the episode nears the end, I feel Amelia relax against my side. She's fallen asleep. I allow myself to release a long breath. Lexie is here in Kermit, Texas, and I ran away from her. Why is she here? I haven't seen her in almost two years, haven't spoken to her in just as long. Not since The Roadhouse, I put her out of my mind. Dean and Cas disappeared, and I quit.

I thought about calling her, tracking her down, and telling her what happened with Dick Roman. I was so lost in my internal debate that I hit a dog, now known as Riot.

Riot raises his head and looks toward the front door two seconds before the doorbell chimes through the house. I hold my breath, and Amelia wakes up groggily. "Who the hell is that at this hour?"

I jump up and walk briskly to the door, opening it to see Lexie staring back at me. Neither of us moves. Do I hug her? Do I not hug her? How do I feel right now? Apart from panicked and ashamed because I'm going to have to tell her what happened.

"Lexie?" Amelia questions from behind me.

Amelia knows about Lexie; she found a photo of her one day, and I had to explain. I told her Lexie was my best friend, how we met at Stanford, that we lived together for a while with Dean, and then Lexie took off to explore the world. It's not a complete lie, I guess.

Amelia pulls Lexie's focus from me, and she shakes her head like she's shaking off a bad memory, "hi, hi. I'm sorry to barge in, but–"

Amelia motions her in, "come in," she tells her, smiling enthusiastically. Lexie crosses the threshold hesitantly, looking up at me. I hold my arms out, and we hug. It's awkward and forced because we're both nervous, but what else are friends supposed to do? Lexie doesn't know what Amelia knows about me, so she's taking my lead and covering my ass in the process.

I introduce the two ladies officially, and then we make our way to the living room. We situate ourselves in the lounge, Amelia and I on the couch, Lexie on the armchair. Riot has taken a liking to Lexie, resting his head on her lap while she scratches his ears.

"Are you okay?" Amelia asks, concerned seeing Lexie's bruised face and earlier pained walk.

Lexie sighs like it's no big deal, "trouble with an ex-boyfriend," she explains, meeting my eyes. "But it's taken care of; he won't be hurting me or anyone else again."

I smile proudly at her; she did it. Zak is dead. There's a long silence, but before it gets awkward, I ask, "how did you find me?"

"Honestly," Lexie begins a slight blush to her cheeks, "I'm in town visiting said, ex-boyfriend. I couldn't sleep, so I've been driving around, and I saw the Impala in the driveway."

Lexie POV

"I'm in town visiting said, ex-boyfriend. I couldn't sleep, so I've been driving around, and I saw the Impala in the driveway."

Translation - I followed Zak here because he knew where Sam was. Zak was going to use Sam as bait to lure me out or use Sam's seemingly perfect happy life to hurt me. I found him before he could cause any damage, and I sliced off his head. I saw you in the bar, and I have been driving the streets for the last two hours looking for the car.

"Speaking of, where's the sullen, cocky owner of said car?"

Sam and Amelia share a disconcerting look, and she reaches to take his hand. I want to slice her head off and watch it roll across the pristine cream carpet, watch her blood splatter the walls of their home. Home - Sam has made a home.

Sam clearing his throat brings me back to the room. "Lex, Dean is gone."

"Gone where?"

"He died," Sam says matter of factly. "Almost a year now."

My lips move, I feel them moving, but only air passes them. Words escape me; thoughts evade me. Dean is dead, and Sam is playing house with some random chick. I mentally kick myself; this isn't Sam. He's a demon or a shapeshifter; I should have run the tests.

I have to get out of here. I have to leave without raising suspicion. Seeing Sam, or whatever creature this is that looks like Sam, has thrown me for a loop. I've completely lost my focus, let my guard down. I've walked into a strange house with no weapons and no backup.

"Are you okay?" Amelia questions standing up and stepping around Sam's large legs. "I'll get you a drink."

I spring to my feet and jar my bad leg. "No, no," I call after her. "I'm fine, I just - I should leave."

I hobble my way around the coffee table, heading for the door. "Lex, wait," Sam follows after me.

I walk as fast as my damaged leg will allow me without breaking into a run. I make it out the door without being attacked, and then I run to my car.

"Pick up, Garth, pick up!" I groan into the ringing phone. I throw clothes haphazardly into my bag, gliding around the room, collecting my belongings, and packing them away.

Whatever creature Sam is, if he has his memories, he will be able to find me. I need to get out of town, formulate a plan and come back. Garth's voicemail picks up my third call, and I hang up without leaving a message.

I pick my now full bag up from the bed, slide my gun into the waistband of my jeans and put my cell phone in my jacket pocket before heading for the door. I almost collide with Sam as I step out.

I drop my bag and pull my gun. Sam's hands are in the air immediately, "Whoa, whoa! Lex, it's me."

"Bullshit!" I growl cocking my gun.

"Lex, please. I promise it's me." he lowers his arms and pulls the collar of his shirt away to show me his anti-possession tattoo is still intact. I waiver and drop my gun from pointing at his chest to his leg. "Let's go inside, and you can run every test."

I back up against my better judgment but keep my gun trained on him as he follows me into the room. He uses my holy water to splash his face with no reaction. He cuts his arm with my silver blade, and apart from the hiss of pain as the blade slices his skin, he has no reaction.

"Now, can you put down the gun?" he questions, raising his brow.

I shake my head, "No. Because now I'm pissed that you are actually you, and you didn't call me to tell me about Dean!"

"I can explain."

"So let me get this straight," I start after Sam gives me a summary of the last year and a half events. "You killed Dick Roman, Dean and Cas went poof, you ran over a dog, quit hunting, and are now living the Apple Pie life with a veterinarian?"

Sam nods his head, "pretty much."

"Did you even look for Dean?"

His downcast eyes answer the question for me. "He disappeared with Cas, so I figured that wherever they are, they're together."

"And if where they are, is Hell? Or Heaven? Neither are safe places to be for either of them!"

"I don't know, Lex," Sam groans frustratedly, standing up from the table. "I found an out, and I took it."

I sit at the table and watch him as he runs his hands through his hair, pacing slowly. I don't know this person, he looks like Sam, smells like him, has the same mannerisms, sounds just like him, but I don't know him.

The Sam Winchester I know would literally move heaven and hell to find his brother, making stupid, reckless, life-endangering decisions to find out what happened. Instead, this Sam Winchester has settled into a mundane life with a dog; and it suits him.

"Sam," my mouth goes dry, and I have to swallow three times before I can speak. "Are you happy?"

He turns slowly to look at me, dropping his arms to his sides. "I think I'm as close to it as I'll ever be."

My stomach twists, and my vision blurs. I put my elbows on the table and bury my face in my hands to hide my tears. This is not how our reunion was supposed to go. I expected there would be happy tears, angry words, and a lot of apologizing on my part. I never expected there would be my sad tears, deep, meaningful words, and the only apology would be Sam's for not calling me and telling me about Dean.

I want to confess to being in love with Sam, admit that I pushed him away to save him. I have always been and will always be profoundly, irrevocably, in love with him. I want to tell him he didn't just cross my mind from time to time but that he took up residence there. He set up a home in my head, and he was always there at the forefront of my thoughts no matter what I was doing. I lived with him in the fantasy as often as I could. I dreamt about him more nights than not. I cried myself to sleep regularly, craving his touch. I wrote him letters that I never sent.

However, I cannot tell him any of that now. I cannot utter a single word of the scenario that I have played over and over on a loop in my head, practiced in front of a mirror, because he is as close to happy as he thinks he will ever be.

I wipe my hands down my face, get up on shaky legs, and pick my bag up.

I grip the door handle before Sam asks, "Where are you going?"

"To find Dean," I explain, over my shoulder.

I owe it to Dean to look for him. Regardless of where Sam thinks he is, I need to find out for sure. Sam can keep his life; I will find his brother. I will bring Dean back from wherever he is, and Sam can continue to find his happiness.

Ending One

Sam POV

"To find Dean."

I stare at the space she was just occupying. I can't let her go; I don't want to lose her again. I run out and slam her car door shut after she's thrown her bag into the back seat. She turns her back to me and walks a few steps away. She's crying, her shoulders heaving as she snivels in the air between sobs.

I rush to stand in front of her, stopping her with my hands on her shoulders. "Stop, wait, please."

She shrugs my hands off of her but doesn't move. "Wait for what, Sam?"

"I need to think about this, to process."

"No, you don't. You made up your mind," she tells me, swiping the tears off her cheeks. "You decided to get out; it's a good thing. I'm not going to let you ruin that."

I really look at her, at all her bruises, the glisten of tears on her face, the motion of her shoulders as she tries her hardest not to cry again. I trace a tear as it runs from her eye and crushes it between her lips. I'm envious of the tear that gets to caress her lips.

"Sam, I need to say something; otherwise, I'll never forgive myself, and I'll understand if it makes you hate me."

I don't say anything; I'm scared of what she's going to say. My palms sweat, and I feel sick. She's going to say goodbye, I know it. She's going to tell me that this is the end of the line, and I'm never going to see her again. I don't want that; I can't deal with that. I throw caution to the wind, and I lean in and press my lips against hers.

The last time I kissed Lexie, in her bed at The Roadhouse, I didn't know it was the last time. I didn't know I was kissing her goodbye. We had just made love for the first time. I was the happiest I've ever been; then she told me she wasn't in love with me. She said she didn't feel the way I did, and I left. I never spoke to her again because I was broken; I was a mess. She wasn't some habit I could spend ninety days detoxing from, I had to sever all contact, and that's what I did.

Now she's standing right in front of me again, valiantly going off to save my brother, and that severance wasn't enough to bury my feelings, only hide them in a lockbox in my head.

Now I can feel her skin as I gently cup her face because I'm aware she's bruised from her fight with Zak. I can taste her; beer, whiskey, and salty tears, that lockbox has sprung wide open, and I don't care if she doesn't love me because I love her. Lexie runs her hands across my stomach and rests her hands on my hips, tiptoeing to get as high as she can to kiss me deeper.

We both lose our breaths and pull apart at the same time. Lexie still has her eyes closed, and I study her while she catches her breath. Her eyes dart under the lids, almost like she's dreaming.

I realize I shouldn't have kissed her; it was wrong of me to do it. I drop my hands and go to take a step back, but her hands grip my hips. She opens her eyes slowly, smiling deliciously at me, "don't even think about moving, dork."

I feel the dumb, dorky grin in my soul as I lean in and kiss her again. She wriggles out of my kiss, gasping, "wait, wait, I need to tell you something."

She takes a step back and waits until she knows she has my full attention. I don't think my heart can take another rejection from her, so I drop my gaze and don't look up until she demands I look at her. "I'm in love with you, Sam. I pushed you away to save you, and that's the hardest thing I've ever had to do. It hurts more than any physical injury; it killed a part of me to do it. I have always and will always be profoundly, irrevocably, in love with you."

The tears in my eyes make her swim in my vision, and I take a step toward her. I want to kiss her, but she moves back again, holding her hand up, letting me know she's not finished.

"You believed me so easily, so quickly when I told you I didn't love you because you never felt you deserved to be loved. I know you think you're damaged goods, that you're cursed because everyone around you dies, but Sam Winchester, I have been in love with you since the day I met you, and I'm still standing. Can you forgive me?"

My answer is a passionate, all-consuming, intoxicating kiss. I push her against her car, and she yelps as I lean in and put too much of my weight on her wounded leg. "I'm sorry, sorry."

She takes a few short, shallow breaths and tells me she's fine. I stay pressed against her timidly. Now that I have her, I'm not willing to let her go. I pepper her neck with kisses, not because I want it to go any further right now but because I want to feel her skin against mine.

Lexie's pain subsides, and her breathing returns to normal. I stand straight and look at her. "What now?" she asks, searching my face.

"We go find Dean," I tell her with a nod before kissing her again.

Ending Two

Lexie POV

I throw my bag onto the back of the seat, and when I look up, Sam is standing in front of the car watching me, arms folded over his chest. I stand poised with one leg in the car, but I can't leave without knowing, without telling Sam how I feel, without giving him all the information so he can make the right decision for him.

I walk back to him but keep a small distance between us, "Sam, I need to say something; otherwise, I'll never forgive myself. I'll understand if it makes you hate me."

I wait until he meets my eyes and then take a deep breath. "I'm in love with you, Sam. I pushed you away to save you, and that's the hardest thing I've ever had to do. It hurts more than any physical injury; it killed a part of me to do it. I have always and will always be profoundly, irrevocably, in love with you."

I'm talking too fast because I'm nervous and scared he's going to hate me for putting this on him now when he's found something outside of the darkness. But now that I'm saying it, I can't stop, I have to tell him everything.

"You believed me so easily, so quickly when I told you I didn't love you because you never felt you deserved to be loved. I know you think you're damaged goods, that you're cursed because everyone around you dies, but Sam Winchester, I have been in love with you since the day I met you, and I'm still standing. Can you forgive me?"

Sam drops his eyes and shuffles from one foot to the other. "I forgive you."

I don't want to ruin what he has. I don't want to take anything away from him, and I know I have no right to ask, but I'm going to ask anyway. I exhale slowly, "Come with me, leave her, be with me, and we'll find Dean together."

Sam's eyes meet mine, and I find the courage to hold his gaze even though I know his tears aren't happy, relieved tears that I'm finally saying the words he's wanted me to say for so long. His tears are pity tears for me because he's made up his mind, he's over me, and he's not coming with me. I know it before he says the words, "I'm sorry, Lex," He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, I can't come with you."

He takes a step toward me. He wants to comfort me, but I take a step back, holding a hand up to stop him. "Take care of yourself, Sam."

I turn and march back to my car, Sam calls my name, but he doesn't pursue me.