"What'd you kick me for?"

"Because you were bein' a dick. You don't have to be so harsh, couldn't you see that girl is barely hangin' on?"

Well at least they'd waited until Amy was out of earshot to start up again. They'd managed to get through lunch without sniping at each other and Amy had been pleasant company, and moderately informative, if a little on the quiet side. ...so had Skye, for that matter. Aside from getting Amy to talk, she hadn't said a word the entire time.

"I was not harsh. Sam, was I harsh?"

Falling behind as they headed across the street and up the block, Sam tucked his hands into his pockets, trying to keep the grin off his face as he watched the disastrous duo in front of him bicker. Seriously, just get a room already. Hell, he'd gladly pony up for the condoms. With a shrug, Sam nodded slowly in Skye's direction, "Sorry, she's right, you were a little harsh."

"...man, you are no help."

Rolling his eyes, Sam shifted his attention to the huffy brunette making mocking faces at his brother. The more he saw the two interact, the more he was coming to agree with the Voodoo Priestess, they really did deserve each other. Now if only they could communicate in something other than sarcasm.

Still, the girl had done well considering she was effectively being thrown into the deep end here, and Sam was always willing to give credit where credit was due, "Hey, Skye, you did pretty good with Amy. ...is Empire really a town?"

"Thanks, Sam, I appreciate that, and yes. Population of about four thousand." Half-turning to glance back at him, Skye smiled the kind of smile that made him think that maybe there was a fairly nice young woman under all the snark. Of course, if she actually turned out to be as sweet and smart as Sam thought she might, then Dean was in some serious trouble. ...if he wasn't already.

"How do you know that?"

"Dude, she's an even bigger nerd than you are. She knows the most bizarre, useless, random bullshit." Stepping up onto the curb, Dean glanced up the street toward the Impala before turning back to look at his brother, gesturing to the girl next to him that was now throwing glares in his direction, "I now know more about geese than I ever wanted to-"

"-they are feathery balls of rage and evil and should be wiped out of existence-"

"-never heard so much fowl language in my life."

From the look on Dean's face, you'd have thought he never heard a girl laugh at one of his stupid jokes before. It was somewhere between 'astonished dumbass' and 'kid at Christmas that is also an astonished dumbass', like maybe he hadn't even known Christmas was a thing. Sam was willing to bet dollars to donuts it was the first time that Dean had gotten anything beyond a grudging chuckle out of this particular girl.

"It wasn't that funny."

"Dude, fuck you, I'm hilarious."


Stopping on the sidewalk in front of the Impala, Skye turned, squinting into the sunlight that picked out the red in her dark hair and turned cool brown eyes to burnished copper. Great, now I'm waxing poetic. The fuck… Hands in his pockets, she leaned against the front bumper and stifled a yawn, looking full and warm and drowsy and was that a smile?

"So, what now?"

Perching on the hood next to her, Sam propped the heels of his brown boots on the bumper, elbows on his knees as he smiled over at the girl in what Dean sincerely hoped was a purely platonic kind of way. Because Sam had a girlfriend. Yeah. That was the reason. "Now we'll probably head over to the library and check out the local legends, starting with the woman Amy mentioned-"

"But first you're gonna take this-" Leaning against the car next to Skye, Dean interrupted Sam, producing a handful of cash he'd dug out of his wallet. It wasn't much, but it was enough to get what she needed. Ignoring the confused look on her face, he nodded in the direction of the storefront directly in front of the car, "-and go in there."

"What? ...why?"

Looking over at the windows in front of them, Dean contemplated the words 'Vintage Values' and 'second-hand' and 'thrift store' painted in giant red letters on the glass, obscuring the racks and shelves of assorted clothing behind them. Slowly turning back to Skye, he raised a brow, "...seriously?"

"What I think my brother is trying to say is that, if you're going to be running around with us, maybe you should be dressed more appropriately."

Opening her mouth to refuse, no doubt about to spout off something obnoxious about not wanting his help or his charity or some other such bullshit, Dean cut her off, "No, what I'm trying to say is maybe if you were more comfortable, you wouldn't be such a raging bitch."

...or here's to hoping, anyway.


Sitting on the back bumper, Sam watched the comings and goings of small-town life happening around him. After about the twentieth one, they were all the same, just running together after a while. He'd spent almost eighteen years living on the road with Dean and their Dad before he'd gotten out, night after night at one bad motel room after another. It surprised him to find that he kind of missed it.

Dean, though, Dean took to it like a fish to water. Always followed their Dad's orders, always did what he was told, never looking ahead to the future because he never expected to have one. It was no way to live, but Dean reveled in it. Or at least he used to, these days maybe not so much.

Looking up at the familiar tread of Dean's footsteps on asphalt as he returned from an impromptu trip down the block, Sam smiled and raised a brow at the blue and white plastic bag in his hand, "What did you get?"

"None of your business." Setting the bag down on the trunk, Dean hopped up to sit next to it, his heels on the bumper. Glancing over his shoulder at the storefront behind them, he made a face and checked the clunky piece of black plastic on his wrist. "She's still in there?"

"It's only been twenty minutes, cut her some slack." Snagging a handle, Sam pulled the bag over and took a peak, spotting, among other things, what looked an awful lot like a short stack of CDs. Was that 'The Best of the 90s'? "What is all that?"

"Man, you are nosy as fuck, you know that?" Slugging Sam in the shoulder, Dean grabbed the bag back, giving Sam a good glare. Not a particularly effective glare, but not bad. "It's a discman, if you must know."

"Isn't that sweet." And fast. Feeding the girl was one thing, and even the new clothes were necessary, but this? Since when did Dean randomly give someone gifts? Since never, that's when. What an interesting development. Inwardly, Sam pulled a Mr. Burns, rubbing his hands together gleefully. Outwardly he just smiled, "Are you trying to do something nice for Skye?"

"Just tryin' to keep her the fuck off my radio." Sitting with his elbows on his knees, Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, a flush of color creeping up the back of his neck. Clearing his throat, he pressed his lips together into a tight smile, looking up to meet Sam's eyes. "Girl has no taste."

"You do know I know when you're lying, right?"

"Shut up, no you don't." Yes, Sam really did. Had since he was ten, so he wasn't quite sure who Dean was trying to fool here. Shoving the bag clear across the trunk and as far away from the both of them as he could, Dean waived off the entire conversation, turning serious. "Can I ask you a question?"

"What's on your mind?"

Running a hand through his hair, Dean leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees. Sam watched him take the time to find the right words as he glanced toward the storefront. Dean wasn't exactly known for fancy prose, but he could be surprisingly perceptive and usually got his point across. "When she introduced herself back at your place, did Skye shake your hand? Or Jessica's?"

Well, that wasn't anything anywhere close to what Sam had expected. Why was that even a question? With a shrug, Sam thought about it for a second before shaking his head, raising a brow in Dean's direction, "No, I don't think she did. Why?"

If Dean didn't quit chewing on the inside of his cheek, he was going to end up biting a hole right through it. "...because at first I thought it was just me but I'm startin' to think I was wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean she's skittish, shies away from people. She'll go out of her way to avoid touching anyone or even coming close. If she gets close to you, it's fine, but if you get too close to her…" Well, Sam hadn't been wrong about how closely Dean had been watching her but apparently it wasn't all for the reasons he'd assumed. Dean was concerned. Now wasn't that cute.

"She flinches when you move too fast or raise your voice and I have never met anyone that talks about themselves as little as she does. Man, I don't even know her last name." That was decidedly less cute and Sam really didn't like the implication. Looked like Dean really didn't either. 'Concerned' may have been an understatement.

Spreading his hands, Dean contemplated the cracked asphalt below his feet for a long minute before he continued, "You should have seen her apartment, Sam, a cheap motel is an upgrade. One room, no furniture, just a mattress on the floor, a radio, and a metric shit-ton of books and you've seen her clothes. She's got exactly one other outfit and a bag of toiletries and that's it."

"You think maybe she's a runaway or something?" Not a great thought, but if she really was legal, it wouldn't make any difference. If she was lying about her age, though, that could be a problem. For several reasons. "Rough home life?"

"I don't know, maybe? I mean, she took remarkably little convincing to run off with some strange man in a shiny car, but I'd say that last part is pretty definite."

"So, what, you think maybe you misjudged her and maybe she's not a total bitch after all?"

"Oh, she's still a bitch." Even Sam could admit that, but how much of that bitchiness was in direct reaction to Dean's? He wasn't exactly being the most pleasant of traveling companions and Skye had been nothing but friendly to Sam and sincerely sweet with Amy. "...but she's kind of cute, I'll give her that, and she's not stupid."

"So you going to admit that you're attracted to her yet?"

"Dammit, Sam, will you stop that? She's just a kid, she shouldn't even be here, and as soon as we find Dad he's gonna help me break that stupid bitch's curse and we can send her packing. Until then, it's best to just avoid complications."

Maybe it was just the way those two looked at each other when they thought the other wasn't looking, or maybe it was something else, but Sam couldn't shake the feeling that it was already far too late for that and maybe had been since the second Skyler had stumbled into that back alley in New Orleans.

Straightening up from where he leaned against the trunk next to Dean, Sam turned at the sound of the door to the thrift shop opening behind them. Smile widening as he watched Skye step off the curb, Sam smothered a giggle as he clapped Dean on the shoulder, turning him so Dean could take a look for himself, "...I don't know, Dean, she looks pretty grown to me."


If he'd stopped to give it any thought at all, Dean wouldn't have figured that a simple change in wardrobe could make any kind of real difference. Of course, he'd been known to be wrong on occasion. Lots of them, actually, but who's counting? I should have kept her in her old clothes.

The too-baggy jeans had been replaced with low-rise faded blue denim that outlined legs longer than they had any right to be. She was only two feet tall, for fucks sake, so where the hell had those come from? Her shirt wasn't any better, a black tank-top with 'I'm Not Trying To Be Difficult It Just Comes Naturally' scrawled in white across a chest he was trying real hard not to stare at.

If the Universe had been fair, she'd have been some overweight thirty-five-year-old housewife with no sense of humor and the IQ of a football, but no, apparently the Universe wanted him to suffer and she had to be built like that. ...because Goddamn.

"Not bad, Midget." Pushing himself away from the car, Sam left Dean sitting there with his mouth open, though hopefully only in the figurative sense. If he actually started to drool, he'd never live it down and would ultimately end up shooting himself in the head to end the misery of what Sam would put him through. Better to avoid all that by not looking like a dumbstruck asshole. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done.

It didn't help at all that Sam was getting her to spin for him so he could get a good look and Dean knew it wasn't for Sam's benefit. To be fair, until that moment, Dean hadn't even noticed the denim jacket or the black biker boots that were almost identical to his own. How did she even find those in her size? And where was his… Oh, there was his jacket. Tossed onto the hood of the car next to a leather knapsack that Dean could only assume was stuffed with more clothes that he wasn't going to like. Yeah, sure you don't. Deep breaths, Dean. Deep breaths.

"Seriously, Skye, you look great. Doesn't she, Dean?"

'Great' didn't begin to cover it. Fantastic might, but it still lacked something. Hot as hell seemed to be about as close as his admittedly distracted brain could get right that second. Not that he could say any of that, or even think it loudly to himself, but it was definitely getting warmer out here.

Hands in his pockets, Dean leaned a hip against the side of the car, trying to work with thoughts that had turned as thick as mud, and just about as unhygienic. No complications, remember? Unsticking his jaw, Dean avoided looking directly at her or Sam as he finally managed a sentence, "You look...better."

"Thanks, Sam. And hey, check this out…" Whether she was ignoring him or just hadn't heard him, Dean wasn't really sure and he wasn't about to ask. For the first time since they'd met, she was excited about something, bouncing up onto her toes and beaming at them as she held her 'new' denim jacket open to show the colorful lining. "It's a Marvel Comics print! How cool is that?"

"That's adorable." Chuckling, Sam glanced back at him, meeting his eyes and flashing him a smile that Dean didn't particularly like before Sam turned back to Skyler and gestured to the plastic bag on the trunk, "And speaking of adorable, Dean got you a present."

Were all brother's this much of a pain in the ass or was Dean just lucky? Someday Dean was going to shank Sam right in the thigh and when asked why, Dean could present a long list of moments just like this one and he was confident there wasn't a jury in the world that wouldn't find it justified.

That got her attention. Confusion furrowing her brow, Skye turned to Dean as if she hadn't quite understood what Sam had said, "He… what?"

"I didn't-It's not-" Grabbing the bag, Dean forced himself to take the two steps that closed the distance between them. Sparing Sam a dark look, Dean shoved the bag into Skye's arms. "I'm just sick of Taylor Swift is all."

"Sure you are." Chuckling, Sam clapped a hand on Dean's shoulder before hastily retreating at the look Dean shot him. "And on that note, I'll be in the car."

Ignoring Sam as he skirted around them and climbed in the passenger seat, Dean tried to get a handle on the prickle of anxiety that was currently trying to worm its way up out of his stomach. You'd think nobody's ever given her a present before. ...not that that's what it was. Because it wasn't. He was just trying to keep her away from his radio and if it just happened to earn him a brownie point or two, all the better, right? After all, they were going to be stuck together for God knew how long and they might as well try to be civil. Maybe even friendly. That was perfectly reasonable. Mature even. And totally the reason he'd done it.

And if she'd actually say something, that'd be great. Instead she was just standing there, the CDs in one hand and the bag in the other, looking for all the world like she'd been smacked in the back of the head. Had he actually knocked her speechless? Definitely a first. Maybe he'd have to buy her stuff more often, just to get her to shut up. "It's not that big a deal, Skye."

Tucking the cases back in the bag, Skye set it on the hood of the car before turning back toward him. Wrapping her arms around herself, she looked at Dean for a long moment before she finally spoke, "Why are you being nice to me, Dean?" Not for the first time, he wished she were easier to read, that the prickly facade would crack just the littlest bit.

"Maybe I'm just a nice guy."

"No, you're not." And there was that look again. He'd give quite a bit to know exactly what was going on in her head right that minute. Before he could say anything else, she smiled, one corner of her lips quirking up just enough to qualify, "A good man, maybe, but definitely not a nice guy."

What the hell did that mean? Wait, did she just say she thought he was a good man? Pushing that aside for now, Dean cleared his throat, trying out a half-smile of his own, "Do you at least like the stupid thing?"

"It's not stupid." And for just a second, Dean got his wish, getting a glimpse of the girl hiding behind the bitch. Her dark brown eyes turned to warm honey as she looked up at him with the most appealing smile he'd ever seen. "Thank you, Dean."

"...you're welcome."

I am in so much trouble.