Song Remains the Same

by R. W. Winters

For Alex Winchester, normal has never been in the equation. Mute since the nursery fire, she grew up on the road chasing ghosts with her brothers and father. When her voice is inexplicably restored and the angel Castiel appears claiming to be her guardian, both of their lives change forever in ways that Heaven and Earth never expected. Castiel/OFC. Sisfic - S4-9 - Alternate Ending.

117. Reality Check

Song Remains the Same

Chapter 117 / Reality Check

"Bran thought about it. 'Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?'
'That is the only time a man can be brave,' his father told him."
- George R.R. Martin

---

A Year and A Half Ago

Sam had only gone to that bar to escape his quiet hotel room and the sadness he couldn't seem to outrun.

He hadn't intended to talk to a soul or to trouble anyone. His plan had been to get a drink and just try and feel less alone with his sadness.

...And then he'd noticed this tall, leggy girl with the sweet face. She was out of her element, and it had been easy for him to see. Even though she looked the part of Vegas tourist party girl, Sam had immediately seen past the shield. Maybe it was so many years of reading people, maybe he just identified with her because that wasn't really his scene either… but he'd run off the loser trying to bother her, they'd struck up a talk, the attraction had been mutual, the connection had been there, one thing led to another… and now here they were: in his hotel room, tangled together and breathless, having just gone all the way.

He didn't do this much and was quite honestly pretty surprised at himself and even more surprised at her—he hadn't figured her for the type who would go for hooking up with a guy just a couple hours after meeting. He halfway suspected that maybe he was the exception to what was normal for her—and that made him think he might be different. Special, even. Not a bad way to feel.

Either way, he and Annaliese were both sweaty and tired and feeling extremely good. Sam looked down at her where she laid in his arms—and she was messy-haired, flushed, breathless, with a shy and secretive expression on her face. She was worn out, blissfully so. He felt the exact same way. He rolled off of her finally but they stayed close, laying on their sides facing each other, arms loosely wrapped. Neither of them said anything… but it was a silence that was comfortable.

It had been awhile for Sam since he'd been with someone—and even longer since it had meant something. With Ruby, it had always been about dominance and anger and frustration. It had always felt sickeningly wrong and dark and twisted which had been part of the appeal—but he'd always felt like total shit afterwards. Sam didn't even count (or like to think about) the string of women he'd been with when he had been soulless. That hadn't been him who slept with those women… not really. The last girl who had really meant something had been Madison… and that had been what felt like an entire lifetime ago.

This with Annaliese… this had been more important than maybe he even realized at the time. She had reminded him that he hadn't entirely lost who he was. That he still had some level of redemptive quality to himself. That someone like this small-town American girl would still want to be with him. That he could still give someone happiness and that he could be left feeling amazed and amazing. He felt like a person for the first time in a long time, and that feeling itself was irreplaceable for him. But the constant guilt tempered his flush of positive feelings: He wasn't the guy Annaliese thought he was—and he was regretting the FBI cover story. But for that moment, he just clung to the way she gazed at him and he let himself feel okay for once in his life because he needed it so badly.

He chanced a smile at her and his voice stayed whisper-soft. "You okay?"

She nodded ever so slightly, and she had the most heartbreakingly sweet vulnerability to her that Sam just couldn't get over. "Yeah," she whispered back. "I'm…" she suddenly grinned and was so fucking beautiful. Flushing all over again she giggled, unable to come up with words.

Sam felt himself grinning lopsidedly back, and it was like puppy love. He couldn't help it—he was sort of in awe of what had happened between them, too. Of how this shy and stuttering girl had turned into a little bit of a wild woman in bed. Wild, but submissive at the same time and looking to him to call the shots, two things Sam really liked. "That was… so good," he breathed out honestly. "You're amazing."

The compliments visibly embarrassed her and pleased her at the same time. Sam watched her face, unable to look away. Of all the places to meet a girl like this—Vegas? It was ironic but it was also incredibly encouraging because he'd spent so long thinking the kind of girl he liked wasn't even real. That Jess had been the last of her kind. Not that Annaliese was exactly like Jess or something—Jess had been confident and extremely well-adjusted and Annaliese wasn't quite like that—she was obviously a little bumbling and paranoid, but she had this kindhearted, pure nature to her below her neuroses. And that was what Sam was drawn in to. He could tell that once she felt safe, she would be a different person altogether. Their conversation at the bar floated through his mind again. She was intelligent, attractive, humble, unassuming, nerdy, real... every bit the type of girl Sam thought maybe he could see himself with long term. If his life had been a normal one.

Just then, Annaliese's little smile fell. Her face changed to worry, like she'd thought of something all of the sudden. "Wait. Are… are you a… a hooker?"

Sam's eyebrows shot up his forehead. Was she… joking? "…What?"

She looked dead serious. Sam was pretty flabbergasted but after thinking about it for a couple seconds, he could see her angle. Vegas—sin city—some guy swooping in out of the blue to assist—then mind-blowing sex. Sam wasn't sure if he should laugh or be offended that she thought he was maybe a gigolo. "Uh… no. Not a male prostitute," he said in doubtful humor. He looked at her with growing near-concern. "You really find it that hard to believe I'd wanna be with you?"

She had said she didn't ever do 'this.' But still. Did she really think the only reason he'd want to be with her was because he was looking for a paycheck? Did she not see how beautiful she was? "Y-you're just so... hot," she mumbled. It was Sam's turn to feel put on the spot and flattered.

"I dunno about that," he said, scoffing off the compliment to her surprise. "But look at you. You're... gorgeous," he said earnestly, once again feeling a surge of flutters and shyness. A pleased, bashful little smile showed on her face. "And smart," Sam continued. "Interesting." The self-conscious smile began to play on his lips. "And really damn sexy. I mean…" he gave her a significant look. Demure without trying to be, she cast her eyes downward and bit her lip just slightly as she fidgeted and blushed at his comments—and that little action had all of Sam's focus for a few seconds. She had this innocence to her that made him want to protect her. From dangers like himself. It kind of terrified him to think about his track record and what had happened to every girl he'd ever cared about. Those worries had flashed through his mind before they'd even kissed, but… Sam had somewhat selfishly needed what he'd found here. Warmth, acceptance, connection, understanding, release. To touch and be touched. To feel like part of something close to love just for a little while. And the thought that it was Vegas and they'd probably never see each other had told him it was okay, maybe, just this once.

Guilty over his more selfish musing, Sam hesitated. "Did you… like everything?" he asked, even though he was pretty sure she had. "Was it good for you?"

Annaliese looked like she was about to turn into a tomato, but she smiled the entire time. "Didn't you hear the sounds I made?" she whispered cheekily.

Sam felt his self-confidence surge again. "Everyone heard them," he teased because she had been really loud at a couple points.

At first, she didn't realize it was a joke… her eyes popped a little wider—then when he laughed, she softened and realized, then joined in with a rueful laugh of her own. Sam was so used to people who were hard and double-edged and cut-throat. And Annaliese was the total opposite. A cute little jumpy mouse. With dimples. Her skittish side made him want to keep her safe but tease her all at the same time.

After a moment, Sam saw how she looked at his left pectoral muscle a few times. "What's your tattoo?" she finally asked, curiosity faintly coloring her tone.

The anti-demon possession ward. A mark that defined his entire life. The truth about who he was and how dark he got inside. Sam's happiness quickly ebbed and he lied. "It's… a music thing," he fibbed, feeling uncomfortable. "Obscure college band logo from college."

"It looks almost pagan or Satanic in design," Annaliese commented thoughtfully, touching it with soft fingertips.

Sam's stomach sank a bit, and he looked for a way to shift the subject. "Hey, what's that?" he asked, pretending to notice something around her belly button. When she looked, he booped her nose, which made her start, then laugh.

They grinned at each other and her smile was seriously the best. Sam wanted to touch one of her dimples, and he did. Their eyes met, and his smile fell. Struck by a bittersweet pang, Sam realized that at that current moment—just for right then—it almost felt like they were a couple. Just joking around and sharing a laugh and being content to be with each other. Sam couldn't remember the last time someone had smiled at him like that. He traced his hand up her arm and wanted to make sure she never regretted him. Those shy, guarded eyes of hers met his and the smallest, most coquettish smile appeared. He just wanted to feel her against him all night. A warm body, a brief escape from himself, something beautiful in the midst of his painful existence. Hoping she would let him, he leaned in again, searching her eyes. She melted against him bonelessly, and their lips met again for a kiss that was chaste, sweet, and lingering.

For the rest of that night, they forgot their individual problems and needless to say didn't get much sleep.

But when Sam got up to go to the bathroom in the dead of night, she slipped out. And when he returned to an empty room and vacant bed, his heart fell completely. Maybe out of stupidity, he went down the hall looking for her in case she'd just stepped out for whatever reason. And Becky Rosen, tricky wench that she was, was waiting for him there with a love potion and intentions of marriage. That is another story entirely.

However, Sam would spend quite a lot of time afterwards thinking about, remembering, and wondering about Annaliese. It hurt a little, because there'd just been this spark to their interactions he hadn't felt in a lifetime. A spark that constantly made him wonder. But he knew it was kidding himself to dwell there.

He knew he would probably never see her again.

But then… when he least expected to… he did.

---

Present Day

Fast forward a year and a half after Vegas. Nothing much had changed for Annaliese (more commonly known as Molly), who was consistent, predictable, and self-admittedly pretty boring. But Sam had been through Hell. Literally. Lucifer hallucinations almost destroyed his existence as they had crippled him and reduced him to a shell. Bobby died and life spiraled further into darker and darker shadows. Then Purgatory. Alex's subsequent death. And Sam's utter failure to stand by his family and come through for them. Because of everything that had happened, he was not doing well at all. He was depressed, guilty, and beaten down; left questioning himself at the deepest levels because of his choice to sit life out in favor of being with Amelia and a dog. He still laid awake night after night trying to remember his reasons and motivations. But that time of his life felt dreamlike and foggy.

After Dean came back, Sam had thrown himself into a desperate and fruitless effort to get back into Purgatory and find Alex, whose death he couldn't accept. Maybe it was just the wretched guilt that had left him incapable of swallowing reality down. But now, several weeks later, he no longer could truly believe she still lived. There seemed to be no way into Purgatory (Zip had proved to be a dead end) and Dean insisted that even if she had been alive in there… she wouldn't still be. It just wasn't possible to survive in there alone for long. So, Sam forced himself to stop hanging all his hopes on the sliver of a chance that his twin might still be out there. He accepted reality in all its agonizing cruelty and unfair, heart-wrenching glory and he resigned himself to do what he could do to save people. He owed a debt to the world and to his sister's memory. And so life carried on, but it wasn't like it had been before. It was missing a certain person who shared Sam's eye color and birthday.

After meeting their grandfather a couple weeks back, the brothers (plus Jamie) had gone and found the Men of Letters bunker and in it, a wealth of knowledge. A treasure trove of collected information on all kinds of supernatural lore. That place was utterly astounding. It was huge and fortified against all kinds of paranormal threats, stocked with everything needed for human survival. Basically it was like a bomb shelter for hunters and it had more secrets and hidden features to it than was possible to catalog. Sam thought that if Alex had been with them, he would have been ecstatic to find that place. Geeking out and doing cartwheels up and down the hallways. But instead, he just felt so… sad. He just wished she'd made it and could have been there too. Because he saw the bunker for what it was becoming: their home. And what was home without their sister? Hauntingly empty and sort of meaningless. A constant reminder of what was lost. For Sam, anyway.

Dean had claimed a bedroom and set it up as his own, decorating with some family pictures and weapons. Jamie stayed with him in that room and at any given time her lacy underwear and bras might be littering surfaces and floors. Dean loved that, of course. Sam had taken up residence in a bedroom a couple doors down from Dean but hadn't done anything in the way of making it his own. Across the hall from where the brothers had settled in there was the room that Sam knew Alex would have picked. It had a small skylight over the bed and a built-in bookshelf and a small bathroom of its own. He knew she would have taken that room the first time he saw it, and every time Sam passed the door to that room, he wished his sister was alive and could be her typical slob self in that little space. She'd never had a place of her own or a home—this would have been it. Sometimes when Sam found her stuff mixed in with his (one of her old paperbacks, a pocketknife, an old old band t-shirt), he took it and put it in that room neatly. Somehow, it felt like he was visiting a memorial whenever he went into that room.

The brothers didn't discuss their sister. Sam spent a lot of time feeling too afraid to broach the subject. Dean's constant passive aggressive comments that implied Sam's disloyalty and weakness of character were hurtful enough for him. He guessed that it was too painful for Dean to open up about, and he understood. So, Alex's loss haunted them and they never spoke about that heavy cloud hanging over both their heads. They mourned on their own and in silence, and it only made the pain worse.

Dean had been filling his time, surprisingly, with voracious reading. He parked himself with stacks of books in the library of the bunker and read and read and read. His motivation was Jamie and getting her out of her soul deal. He had no problem talking about how he was bound and determined to see that happen. He had a 'do or die' mentality about it and it began to seem half-possible. There was a huge amount of demon lore on the shelves of the bunker, some things they'd never heard about before. So, Dean plowed through the pages and Sam did his best to help out as an effort to distract himself and maybe earn back some of his brother's good graces.

Jamie was a different story—she didn't seem too present even though she was there at the bunker all the time with them. She was doubtful and wary about Dean's dedication to getting her out of her deal, but she put her best foot forward and usually acted like everything was fine. Sam sensed that there was a lot going on underneath the surface with her. Sam had even come across her crying alone a couple times. Each time Sam found her like that, she'd asked him not to tell Dean. And Sam had sadly agreed each time and offered to talk. Jamie had refused every time.

Anyway. Sam had always gotten an earful from Dean about how he was a 'nerd' and a 'bookworm' but even Sam was tired of all the reading and research after about a week. And with stir-crazy Jamie trying to find any excuse to get out of the bunker, when they heard about the rabbi bursting into flame just a couple towns over from where they were, Sam and James jumped on the opportunity… and Dean was the only one who had dragged his feet about going. Since starting their investigation, they'd uncovered some sort of Nazi necromancer conspiracy and, oh yeah… Sam had unwittingly run into Molly of all people which had knocked him off balance for sure. He'd asked her to coffee just for some closure… or maybe because he needed to know if they still had something… but then that plan had fallen through because she got stuck at work and he got tangled up in the ever-complicating hunt.

It wasn't in the cards, Sam had reasoned. He should leave well-enough alone.

Yet here they were together again... just not the way he'd wanted.

Sam was about to pass out as he clutched a hand to his injured neck and Molly was tucked underneath one of his arms, struggling to help him move. They raced through the dark library. Behind them somewhere in the shadows, one of the Nazi necromancers pursued. Dizzy and close to unconsciousness thanks to the poison-spell dart that had sunk into his neck only a couple of moments ago, Sam had to use every ounce of willpower to try and stay conscious long enough to get help. Especially because it wasn't just his life on the line now.

They crashed into the side of the staircase and on watery legs, Sam began stumbling. He probably would have fallen if it wasn't for Molly holding onto him so tight. She was being dragged along but also keeping him from collapsing. Just barely, though. "Help!" Sam gasped. The world was going dark and he couldn't see much, but he saw Dean shoot up to his feet from where he'd been idly sitting at the bottom of the stairs. Beyond him, Aaron Bass (the deceased rabbi's grandson), his golem, and Jamie had been standing around waiting. They hadn't anticipated facing danger and in hindsight, that was a rookie mistake. "N-necromancer!" Sam managed, trying to warn them of the impending danger. And then he collapsed on the middle landing even as his brother bounded up toward him.

Fallen down in tandem with Sam's heavy shape, Molly was beside herself and out of breath, panicking and horrified. Sam's neck boasted a huge, unnaturally purple bruise cloud that spread bigger and bigger even as his skin faded grayer and grayer. Her mind was screaming in dumb panic and she didn't know what to do—CPR? Suck the poison out like with a snake bite? Scream and cry because she had no other options? The man who Sam had called to reached them and grabbed hold of Sam roughly. "Crap!" he exclaimed in dismay at Sam's condition, then looked at Molly with a demanding, urgent, scary face. "What happened to him?!" He seemed like the kind of person who might attack you if you said the wrong thing to him.

She shook her head rapidly, trying to find words. Then a soft whistling sound shot through the air and somewhere nearby, a man's startled cry announced more foul play: "Aah!"

Wide-eyed, Molly's head whirled and she gaped in renewed horror. A young Jewish man was staring down at his own chest with bulging eyes. A single dart, like the one that had hurt Sam, was lodged in the middle of his torso and he fell over onto the floor and went still. Beside him a woman with blonde hair and what could only be called intense features suddenly dodged to the side and just missed getting hit with another whistling dart. Then she did something Molly was confounded by: she lifted her hand out with the palm flat and proclaimed, "Evasto!"

Like CGI Molly had seen in movies, a crackling sphere of energy shot out from the woman's hand and launched at the top of the stairs where the darts had come from. But as the energy mass hit a bookshelf and obliterated it—all that could be seen of the assailant was a coattail as he turned and fled back into the shadows. Molly stared in shock at the injured bookshelf, then at the intimidating blonde woman, then at Sam's purple neck. What is happening?! She couldn't have seen what she just seen! This couldn't be happening! It was impossible!

Beside Molly, the disgruntled guy with the short hair snapped at the large figure who stood behind the blonde woman. "Hey, big guy, they're both gonna die unless we get whoever cast the spell!"

Molly's mouth dropped open. The huge man—he could be called a giant—ran past them up the stairs, and he was really too big and too oddly built to be normal—the stairs shook under his thudding steps. But Molly had fixated on two words the man beside her had said. "Die? Spell?!" she asked, then began to really lose her crap as panic sent her screaming into the outer atmosphere. "Die? DIE?!" No, no no no—Sam couldn't die, she had to call 911 or something!

"Lady, pipe down!" the guy who was bent over Sam snapped, and that's when Molly realized he had a handgun out. She shrank back fearfully. Who were these people?! She had imagined the FBI much differently. Were they even FBI at all? As the woman with the blonde hair sprinted upstairs after the huge man with footsteps like thunder, the guy with the gun got bent out of shape. "Jamie—James! Stop!" When she didn't, he got increasingly perturbed and stood up, cocking his gun irritably. "Fucking hell," he muttered, then began to follow after her with a backward, "Stay here!" at Molly.

No problem. She couldn't have moved if you had paid her a million dollars. Really, it was a wonder she hadn't peed herself or fainted. Her heart raced so fast she thought she might pass out and her head was woozy. With puffing shallow breaths, she looked down at Sam, who was by all appearances already dead. She touched the skin of his forehead and he was cold. "Sam?" she whispered. No response. Her stomach lurched and her throat was filled with glue and she felt tears spring into her eyes. "Sam!" she cried out, like yelling at him would do something. She heard an inordinate amount of crashing and yells upstairs and she clutched Sam uselessly, huddling on the landing defenselessly with her backpack uncomfortable across her shoulders and sweat gathering on her forehead as she took out her phone with a shaking hand and dialed 911. They needed an ambulance, the police, something! Then before she could hit call, she realized something. It had gone suddenly and eerily silent upstairs. She stared up into the darkness at the top of the staircase, her own racing breath loud in her ears. And then without warning, a man in a suit flew over herself and Sam and crashed against a far wall then fell down in a crumpled heap on the main floor.

Molly winced and gasped and realized she was without a place to hide and was doubly terrified when the man stood up slowly. He limped toward the stairs and held his dart blower at his side. Sharp, knowing eyes bored into hers. "You have the ledger," he said breathily, obviously injured. His voice was heavily accented and distinctly Germanic. He extended a hand in a 'give' motion. "Give it to me or join the rest of them in death."

She stared at him, frozen solid. What ledger?! He began to walk toward her again and she began to back up and freak out and she dropped her phone and realized she was dead meat. And then when the man got to the bottom stair, a loud bang rang out and a red dot appeared on the man's forehead. A little ribbon of red ran out of the dot and he fell over with a shocked look on his face and then Molly screamed because that wasn't a dot it was a bullet hole and that was blood! She clapped her hands over her mouth and backed herself further into the landing corner as her breaths started to come dizzyingly hard and fast.

Walking down the stairs with a distinctly irritated look on his face, the guy with the gun pulled a dart out of his cheek and made a face as he tucked his pistol into his waistband like he did it all the time. "Hey, hey, hey, come on!" he said when Molly kept freaking out. "It's just a dead guy, take a chill pill will ya?" Following him, the blonde woman was rubbing her arm with a grimace like she'd sustained an injury. Just a dead guy?! Molly was having a small mental breakdown or panic attack, or maybe both as the man knelt down beside Sam, who was stirring and then gasping in a deep breath and abruptly sitting up. "Sam? You good?" The man with the short hair sounded worried and concerned.

Sam looked dazed and held a hand to his perfectly-fine neck. "Y-yeah. I—I feel kinda weird…" he said, then looked over at Molly, who was breathing hard and noisy as her hands remained clapped over her mouth. Sam's face showed immediate concern and he forgot himself. "Molly, you okay?"

She was not okay. And anyone with eyes would know it.

"…That's Molly?" the other man asked like he thought it was a joke, then he pulled a confused, offended face. "Dude, no."

Sam shot him an irritated look and brushed him aside, making a beeline for Molly and then grabbing her by the upper arms. She just started to wheeze harder when he did that and he looked worried. "Whoa, just focus on breathing a little slower, okay? You're okay now." She cowered back from Sam, unsure about what had just happened and trying to understand.

What is happening?!

WHAT—IS—HAPPENING?!

The huge man with steps like thunder moved past, and Molly stared with bugging eyes. His hands were the size of frying pans, he looked about seven feet tall, his chest was as thick around as a tree trunk, and he didn't look like he should be real. Down on the ground floor, the blonde woman crouched beside the unconscious Jewish man and yanked the dart out of his stomach and he began to breathe again then groan as he came to. And at the foot of the stairs, blood was beginning to pool underneath the dead man.

This was the library. It was for reading books and doing research and being nice and sensible and quiet! And there had just been a murder…?! It all abruptly sent Molly through the proverbial roof. "What is happening?!" she shrieked loudly, then realized she knew what was happening: she was drugged. Tripping on something. Had to be. The question was, how had drugs gotten into her system? Contact high, maybe? But she didn't even know what marijuana smelled like, much less the harder stuff. She abruptly felt weak and drained. "Ohh this is… haa, ah…" she swallowed feebly and stared off at nothing as her stomach churned, then she tried to stand up. "I… need to go throw up a little bit," she squeaked out. When she managed to get to her feet, she avoided eye contact with anyone and wobbled down the stairs, all the while leaning heavily against the stair railing and clutching herself to it like a frightened old lady. When she reached the bottom stair, she found that she couldn't stand unsupported so she remained there, clutching on as her heavy book bag slouched off of her unevenly.

Sam had followed and even though he'd just been dead or something, he seemed to have it way more together than she did. "Just sit down, you're too rattled to walk right now," he insisted, guiding her down to sit on the bottom stair. She gave no protest, but she really did think she might puke.

Beside Sam, the mean looking one was impatient. "Sam, we gotta vamoose," he said gruffly.

Sam shot the other man a hard glance. "Dean, gimme a minute." It seemed like there was tension between them.

The other man—Dean, Sam had called him—was indignant. "Come on, man, there might be more of these freakazoid Nazi necromancers around! You really wanna wait around for them to show?"

Molly stared in confounded horror. "Nazi necromancers? Wh—wha…?" She began to really lose her composure, breathing hard and fast to the point of hyperventilating. She had no control—her body felt like it was pressing in on itself and filled with scorching, numbing pain that took away her lungs and burst every blood vessel and closed her throat tight. Sam looked more and more worried—and even the Dean guy did too as her breaths got puffier and puffier—but the two of them were too close and making things worse and she tried to push Sam away a little but her hands were like useless jelly and she couldn't speak anymore. Her vision was even beginning to warp and waver and the overall feeling was like being trapped in a burning building—she literally couldn't get away from what was happening to her. It was fear, the rawest and most gripping kind. She hadn't had an attack like this in years, and it terrified her. Sam and Dean were like two huge walls closing in on her, and Molly just wanted some space but they loomed without stopping.

And then the blonde woman appeared behind them and pulled them both away by a shoulder, giving them short lecturing glances in turn. "Guys, the girl's having a panic attack, Jesus, just let her breathe."

Molly shook her head, trying to appear more together than she actually was, then put her head in her hands and breathed into her knees. The worst part of these anxiety attacks was having them in front of other people. The embarrassment was the kind she could never live down. "No, I'm not—a panic attack—" she gasped out weakly, "I just—there is a dead guy and a—a giant and guns… in my library!" she looked up at them and panted like she'd just run a mile at full speed. "And Sam, the purple neck and her—the hand thing she did, that's not possible, right?" She suddenly laughed with a half-crazed look in her eyes and began muttering to herself in German. Her laugh turned into a sobbing sound and she hugged her knees like a child might to self-soothe.

Sam's FBI partner or whoever he was, Dean, looked at her like she'd grown elephant ears. "So is one of the side effects of a breakdown suddenly spouting German?" he asked in a distinctly rude tone.

Sam ignored everything and carefully crouched down with Molly, studiously keeping himself from invading her space too much. "Just breathe, Molly, okay?" His hands were soothing on either side of her knees and she bowed her head down, shut her eyes, and did what he said: just breathed. Sam encouraged her, and it embarrassed her until the end of time especially to know everyone was watching. "In and out, good, just like that." Molly tried. "Just breathe, nice and steady," he continued soothingly.

Molly's body was crippled by confusion and the panic that went along with it. "Please—someone—tell me—what—is—hap—en—ing…" she managed in a hiccuping voice. If she could just understand. If someone would tell her how all these bizarre things somehow made real-world sense and weren't as crazy as they appeared.

Sam's earnest and worried face stayed steady. "I need you to calm down first, okay? Can you do that?" He nodded as she made a concerted effort to breathe in and out steadily through her mouth. "Good, good," he encouraged, nodding and waiting. Not for the first time, Molly miserably reflected on how nice he was. How good. Finally, when she was a little less frantic, he chanced a smile through the concern. "You okay? Not gonna pass out on me?" She tried to smile too like he was but couldn't quite. Sam seemed to decide she'd calmed down enough to be informed and he gestured at the guy standing nearby with crossed arms and a sullen expression. "Molly, this is my brother Dean."

Dean threw a brief, impatient glance her way. "Yeah hi."

Molly was startled for sure. That was Sam's brother? Maybe she wasn't good at reading people right away, but this Dean guy seemed… not nice. And Sam was the nicest. They didn't even look that much alike, not really. Sam tried to explain to her, and she struggled to pay attention. "Molly, listen. Me and Dean and Jamie… we're hunters."

Jamie—that was the blonde girl? Probably their sister. The one she remembered Sam mentioning. Molly frowned. "L-like… deer hunters?" she asked, confused by what Sam was telling her.

Sam looked misunderstood and a little embarrassed. "No, uh—no. Not deer hunters." His face worked oddly and he tried to sound like what he was saying was really normal and everyday. "Uh—evil hunters."

At Molly's expression at that statement, Dean chuckled derisively. "Really making this sound legit, Sammy."

Sam ignored his brother in favor of telling Molly the following with what seemed to be very genuine intent: "Ghosts, werewolves, demons… it's all real. And we hunt it down and kill it."

Molly stared. Then blinked. And then felt incredibly mad. Was this some kind of joke? Where were the hidden cameras? How stupid did they think she was, anyway?! "You can't kill what's already dead!" she protested angrily. "Or what isn't real…!" She abruptly began to tear up because so close by, the 'dead guy' was still in place—obviously he was an actor. "This really isn't funny! Warum versucht ihr mich zu verarschen?!" she demanded, wondering what she had done to deserve this cruel, traumatic joke. They were probably all laughing at her expense and she hadn't felt so sick or scared ever.

Dean had a prissy little expression on his face and he watched Molly lurch to her feet and proceed to kick the dead guy in the side. "Oh good, more nonsensical German," he muttered.

When the corpse did not budge underneath her swift and hard kick (she thought he would yelp and the joke would be ruined), Molly's anger fell and she backed up a little. From that angle, she could see the exit wound in the back of his head and smell the unmistakable tang of human blood. She gave a soft little whimpering sound and stumbled back as her knees gave out. It was all real. Sam caught her and helped her sit down into one of the chairs at a nearby reading table. He sat beside her and tried to catch her blank, stunned gaze. "Molly, listen—please—I am one hundred percent dead serious right now. About everything. Okay?" Sam paused and seemed highly regretful. "I'm sorry you had to find out like this. I'm sorry you had to find out at all, but… I promise. You gotta trust me. This isn't some kind of practical joke."

Molly stared at him with a falling expression. "Werewolves?" she asked in a whisper. "Demons?" She had spent her whole life as an agnostic leaning toward atheism… and if demons were real, that sort of tore apart her entire life philosophy. She wanted to beg him to please stop kidding around. To stop it, because she didn't seem to have much choice but to believe and she really didn't want to. She'd seen that blonde girl create some kind of supernatural energy ball with just a word from her mouth. That giant man with the steps like thunder didn't look entirely human. And Sam was looking at her sorrowfully, like he didn't enjoy having to break it to her.

"Demons, angels, vampires, poltergeists, ghosts, you name it, we got it and it sucks," Dean interjected from nearby. He sounded sarcastic and jaded and bored, three things Molly felt defeated by. Ghosts? Angels? Vampires!? She didn't think she would have believed him ever in a million years. He seemed like a jerk. But Sam, who she trusted a little, who she felt connected to… he looked grim, silently confirming the statement.

Molly shook her head blankly, refusing to believe even though it felt a little futile at this point. "No. No…" she said weakly, trying to find a rational explanation. "Someone slipped drugs into my… into my…" she trailed off because she knew no one had slipped drugs into anything.

Dean gave a short barking laugh. "Yeah if you knew half the things we did you'd wish you were tripping."

Molly hung onto what she knew of the corporeal world. "It's not…" she started, "if it were real, we'd know," she protested. "People would know."

"A few do," Sam said, his tone immensely understanding of her just like his gaze. "But… most people don't want the stuff out there to be real. Ignorance is bliss or something like that, I guess."

Molly looked into his hazel eyes and tried very hard to put together this puzzle that had been thrown at her. "So y-you're not an FBI agent."

A sheepish, half-ashamed smile crossed his face. "Not so much."

"Just plays one on TV," Dean joked.

Molly abruptly felt another surge of inner defiance. She couldn't believe it. "No, no…" she begged. "Come on. Guys." She looked around for someone to tell her 'just kidding, haha!' But everyone just looked sorry for her.

The Jewish guy piped up quietly. "Apparently it's all true. I just found out, too. Recently. Heh." Molly looked at him blankly.

Sam was gentle and sensitive. "I know it's a lot to take in," he said in a quiet voice meant just for her benefit.

"A lot to take in?" she repeated, her dazed eyes drifting to his. "It goes against everything I ever believed my whole life...!"

"I understand that," Sam said earnestly. "I do."

Molly sat there feeling small. The world was suddenly beyond her comprehension, and she'd struggled to understand it before this. Where did it leave her now? She thought of all the ghost legends she'd laughed at in years past. And now… if what these people were telling her was true… that meant those urban legends had roots in terrible, bloody truth. Her mind spun, trying to find a place for this world-shattering information. Demons, ghosts, angels, vampires… she already lived in a scary enough world. Now it was a lot scarier.

Molly wondered if she'd ever be able to sleep in her life ever again. But she didn't want these people to know how scared she was. In fact, she had noticed how her freakout had sort of monopolized the entire moment and she was, you guessed it, embarrassed by that fact.

Nearby, Dean and the blonde girl had set to examining the corpse like they did it every day—searching his pockets and squinting at a ring he wore and checking out the dart blower he had. Molly tried to put on a brave face and stop being the baby who needed extra looking after. She looked at the blonde girl and drew the only conclusion she knew to. "So… t-that's your sister?" she asked Sam, trying to avoid hearing more about monsters and demons.

Sam's eyebrows moved in together and he immediately looked very confused, saddened, and a little upset. "What, her?" The way he asked said 'no' without him having to say anything at all. But he still did. "No." He hesitated somberly. "No uh… my sister Alex she uh… she passed away kind of recently."

There was a lot of raw pain there hidden behind the way he tried to say it so factually. Molly felt incredibly bad for her mistake. "Oh. I—I'm so so sorry," she whispered, kicking herself for saying the wrong thing and making Sam sad. How terrible.

He didn't respond to her condolence. "That's Jamie," he said of the blonde. "She's a witch and also Dean's…" he gave a soft exasperated laugh and halfway rolled his eyes, "I don't even know what."

"Babysitter," Jamie wisecracked over the top of the corpse she was crouched over. She had a low, powerful kind of voice.

Dean sent a little suggestive smirk Jamie's way like he thought he was funny. "That's kinda hot."

Jamie gave him quite a look. "Shut up," she muttered, but there seemed to be a little affection hidden there.

"Not what you were saying last night, babe," Dean murmured in that same self-satisfied, suggestive way. But the look Jamie gave him immediately sobered him and he looked appropriately apologetic. "I'm so sorry, ma'am. Please don't hex me." She rolled her eyes and hid a smile at his choice of words and it was hard to tell if he was deadpan teasing her or totally serious.

"A witch?" Molly asked sort of breathlessly. She was immediately thinking of the Hocus Pocus sort and blurted out what she realized was an extremely offensive question one second after she asked. "Where's your weird mole and pointy hat?"

Jamie stood up—Molly shrank a little—please don't turn me into a toad. But Jamie seemed approachable when she addressed Molly. "Must have left them with my broomstick back at the giant cauldron I live in," she joked.

Dean apparently saw an opportunity for another punch line. "Her weird mole's on her—" he abruptly stopped mid-sentence, yelping before he made a face at Jamie. "Ouch!" he exclaimed indignantly.

She gave him a cool, challenging look.

"Jesus Christ," he complained, rubbing a hand on his butt cheek like he was suddenly sore there. "You're lucky I like you."

Jamie looked like she'd had a private victory. "Mm," she commented offhandedly.

Molly wasn't sure how to react but made a mental note that she shouldn't anger either the witch lady or her grumpy gun-wielding boyfriend. More cautious than before, Molly looked at the Jewish guy who was accompanied by the giant guy. "And… who's…. who are they?" she asked, especially interested in the huge man with hands like small boulders.

"That's Aaron. Rabbi Bass's grandson. And his… his clay man."

Molly's mouth dropped open. "…Clay man?" she asked almost reverently. "Like the… the Hebrew legend?"

Although everyone looked surprised, Aaron asked first: "You know about that?"

Molly smiled weakly and shrugged. She was more than just a bit staggered to hear that something she'd read about in books and written off as folklore was reality. "Just call me the encyclopedia of random information," she said, not sure if she should be embarrassed or proud.

"Great, another nerd," Dean muttered offhandedly, and Molly was immediately wounded at the insult. But he wasn't even paying attention. He was squinting into the ceiling. "This place have security?"

Having a hard time finding an answer because she felt so insulted, Molly was aghast at how he took no notice. "Cameras, yeah…"

Dean nodded and gestured to Jamie. "We'll wipe the footage." He sent a command to the clay man—who was also known as a golem. "You, big guy. Take the stiff out to the car but do not put him in the seats, you hear me? Trunk." Dean left, Jamie following.

"I hear you," the golem replied in a growl, and his voice was deeper than deep and incredibly scary. He sounded like he didn't take kindly to Dean's command, either, and gave Aaron an unhappy side glance before he picked up the dead guy and began to carry him out.

Molly watched with wide eyes as Aaron followed the golem out. She stared at the blood stain which was still shining and wet. "W-why?" she asked Sam. "Why wipe the cameras and… and take the dead guy?"

Sam was grim. "Standard procedure."

"Standard procedure for what?" Molly asked. She was completely out of her element and finding understanding for a single thing that was currently happening. "Shouldn't you call the police?"

Sam shook his head, and it looked like he'd heard that exact question a hundred times. "Police don't know what to do with this kind of stuff," he said. At Molly's immediate look of protest, he added more before she could speak. "Trust me. They do more harm than good. It sucks, but it's fact."

Molly wanted to argue, but… Sam was the one who apparently did this 'hunting' thing. Not her. He knew more than she did and even though she wanted to say 'just let the police handle it and get me outta here,' she guessed that wasn't an option. She swallowed thickly. "A-are people after you?" she asked in a whisper, jumping to the next logical step.

"It's not Monday if someone isn't after us," Sam joked feebly, but Molly couldn't laugh. Uncomfortable, Sam cleared his throat and tried to be more serious. "We're dealing with a cult of Nazi necromancers, so… uh, yeah. There's more of them after us."

Molly's face was testament to her inner feelings of woe, fear, and failure to know how to deal. "I... need to sit down," she whispered, mind spinning with thoughts of death and bad guys and impending doom.

Sam's incredibly handsome face showed hesitant amused confusion. "You… are sitting down."

Molly looked down and around at herself with a slack face. "Oh. Yeah I am." She was sitting with numb limbs in a library chair and how had she forgotten that? "I'm sorry, this is just… not what… I thought was gonna happen today?" she said in a highly unsure, low-power voice. Her turning stomach was making her feel like she was on a boat. "I really do wanna throw up now please," she managed, holding a hand to her abdomen and wishing this wasn't real.

Sam stood and helped her stand too, probably to guide her to the bathroom, she didn't know. "Here we go, up on our feet…"

She pushed him away with a gentle arm when she realized how damsel-in-distress she was being. "No, actually, I—I think I'm okay," she said, deciding to gather herself together. Molly swallowed her queasiness down and tried to be mind over matter.

"You sure?" Sam asked, and he looked a little wary of going far from her.

Molly just gave him a look since she was all out of words for the moment.

Sam hesitated, then wet his lips. "Hey um, the reason we were here in the first place… we're looking for the last manuscript the rabbi was after? The night he caught fire. Do you happen to know where it is by any chance?"

Molly was about to say no but then she realized yes—and she actually had it with her. She let her heavy book bag finally fall off her shoulders and onto the table they were beside. She pulled out the old leather ledger. "Right here," she said cautiously, wondering at its significance. "Why?"

"That's the book the Thule—what those Nazi guys are after," Sam said, and Molly's eyes flew wide and she let go of the book, dropping it on the floor and jumping back from it like it might be contagious. Sam had another one of those grins on his face like he thought she was cute, amusing, and confusing all at once. "I mean it won't bite you," he said, then stooped and picked it up, beginning to look through. His brow furrowed and Molly watched him, hanging on breathlessly. What could be in there that these crazy dart-blowing Nazi guys were after? "Hmm," Sam commented, and he sounded a little put out. "All German." He glanced at her, abruptly got an idea, and Molly knew what that idea was and was trying to think up a million excuses before he could even ask her. But he beat her to the punch. "Look, Molly, I know this is traumatic for you but do you think you could… come along with us and help us translate this thing?" Molly squirmed internally, and a little outwardly, too. She had such a hard time saying no outright and he was so polite… "It would really help," he added, and his earnest tone and solicitous gaze and kind presence basically had her completely screwed. She couldn't turn him down.

But she had to know. "Is there… danger?"

Sam was grave. "We have to assume yes." Molly's stomach plunged to the depths of Hades with the weight of the fear that statement inspired inside of her. And then he added in something that made her blood tingle and breath shorter, but not unpleasantly so. "I'll make sure you're safe."

Molly worried the inside of her lip, trying to find a way to say no and get herself to safety. But her library was bloody and half of the upstairs level was destroyed. She didn't think she could escape what was happening… which was the scariest part. "D-do you have a gun, too?" she asked in a whisper. She hated guns. But, maybe she didn't hate them anymore if they could kill monsters and ghosts or werewolves and crap. What an identity crisis she was having at the moment…

Sam nodded tensely. "Yeah. I do." He paused and looked into her eyes relentlessly then gave her his word. "I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

Underneath his intense eyes and staunch promise, Molly found it within herself to muster a nod and a puny, "Okay."

---

Thirty Minutes Later

Outside of town and far down a remote back road, Molly stood outside of the Winchester's car and watched, transfixed in horror as Sam, Dean, and Jamie dug a shallow grave close by then tossed the dead man down into it like he was nothing but a sack of potatoes. Then they doused him in gasoline and lit him on fire. It was like something out of a horror film and Molly was newly horrified after just finally calming down. None of them looked bothered by the dead guy on fire. Dean looked slightly bored, Jamie distracted, and Sam terse. Molly watched, waiting for one of them to look even remotely sad or disturbed about what was happening. But none of them did.

Even Aaron, still seated in the car, looked pretty astonished at what was happening.

While Dean and Jamie stayed corpse-side as it burned bright in the deep night darkness, Sam came over to Molly. She felt scared of him in that moment, unsure of who this tall stranger was. It was in that moment she remembered how very intimate she'd been with him and while she had never really regretted that one night before, she regretted it now. Who was he? Did he kill with the ease his brother had today? Was Sam going to kidnap her and force her to read German things for this 'hunting' business for the rest of all time? Her mind spun with scary scenarios and panic. Molly was petrified, and who wouldn't be? She was on a back road with a newly-dead cell phone and a bunch of violent strangers who killed people in libraries. No one knew where she was. She briefly contemplated making a run for it. But she remained rooted to the spot, sick in the stomach and scared to a state of frozen limbs. Sam—big, tall, imposing—got to her and looked worried at her obviously-distressed posture and expression. "You okay?" he asked doubtfully.

No. She was not. She wanted to cry, and was, a little bit. She managed to shake her head no while she tried to control her face. "How is this normal for you?" she asked tearfully. "How are you just standing there?" She'd never felt so traumatized in her entire life and everyone else was just acting as though this was regularly scheduled programing. She threw a hand out at the fire nearby for emphasis. "That's a person burning!"

Sam wasn't really very affected by her passionate little rant. "Yes, a person—who was a murderer," he reminded firmly. "A Nazi. He wasn't a good guy." Molly fidgeted underneath his calm reason and Sam drove the point home. "He tried to kill us, remember? And he would have if the golem didn't get him and Dean didn't shoot him."

That was all true enough as far as she knew. But it didn't make this any less shocking to experience.

Sam looked at her with an expression that was impossible to describe. And it was at that exact moment that Molly caught a whiff of something she'd never smelled before: burning human flesh. And it was way too much. She clapped her hands over her mouth, lurched over to the end of the Impala, held herself there with a palm down against the cold metal car body… and puked everywhere.

---

Later

Throwing up around people: humiliating.

Having the guy who owned the car you got some vomit onto giving you the murder eyes for what you did: scary.

Being lucky enough to have someone there who reassured you and laughed it off and told his brother to take it down a notch: priceless.

Molly still felt vaguely ill and thought she might have a couple more good pukes left in her, but for the time being she was holding steady. While she'd been kind of convinced Sam was an axe-murderer psychopath for a minute there, she'd changed her mind when she'd thrown up and cried and he'd been compassionate and kind, just like he had been in Vegas. He'd found a bottle of water for her to rinse her mouth with and a towel to clean up with, and he hadn't once looked at her like she was a loser or stupid. His brother was a different story but even Jamie had told him to 'fuck off, moron, the kid's scared.' On the car ride to the motel they were currently in, Jamie had proceeded to tell Molly about one of the first 'hunts' her uncle had taken her along to. It involved a teenage Jamie holding it together as they faced down some vengeful spirits… then throwing up all over her uncle's shoes when it was over from the adrenaline and fear she'd felt at the time. The story ended with how her uncle kept the shoes and washed them off, but the stomach acid splatters stayed there forever, reminding Jamie of that embarrassing moment. Molly decided she liked Jamie after that.

It was hours and hours after the fact and Molly had been reading through the ledger front to back, making notes and getting a general summary of the contents together. Dean and Jamie (or 'James' as he apparently called her) had left a little while ago to 'wash the car.' The way Sam had looked at them indicated he really doubted that was all they were going to do. But he'd said nothing and hovered around nervously in the background as Molly put on her reading glasses and set to work with that book the Thule were after. Aaron and his golem stayed around too, and it made for a very long awkward silence. Several hours, in fact. Molly tried not to think about it. Just read.

At a certain point, Aaron went to go use the bathroom and Sam and Molly were left alone, well, save the golem who basically said nothing and just paced back and forth like a storm cloud while looking scary. At a certain point, Molly looked up at Sam, who had his jacket off and flannel sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He had been watching her while trying to look like he wasn't watching, but that time, she caught him. With her glasses on and her frumpy outfit plus her meltdowns, she felt like he was seeing the realest version of Molly Ziegler there was. And she was seeing this Sam Winchester for who he really was, too. She had sensed a deep sadness to him before in Vegas but would never have guessed this life of his was maybe the reason why. She wondered if it had all been on purpose. If he'd seduced her with that FBI schtick or something. If he looked at her like she was a real person at all. Her instincts said he was who he had presented himself to be, but she wasn't sure if she trusted her instincts anymore.

"Were you gonna tell me?" she asked finally, thinking of the coffee date they were supposed to have had.

Sam hesitated and he looked pretty somber and mournful. "About my life? What I really do?" He took a second, flattened his mouth into a thin line, and shrugged. He looked a little uncomfortable. Like this wasn't what he'd pictured, either. "Not really." He tried a weak smile. "Didn't want you to think I was nuts." If he meant that, Molly could appreciate the fact. "Didn't think you should be involved, either," he said, and his face fell. "Too late for that now, huh?"

Yeah. Definitely. But it was nice of him to feel that way, anyway.

The motel room door opened at that moment and in came Dean with a tray of coffees. "Caffeine for all, and to all a good night!" he joked, only Molly didn't really get it.

He handed one to Sam, who asked what Molly was thinking: "Where's Jamie?"

Aaron came out of the bathroom just then. "Getting us some breakfast," Dean said, then plunked down a gas-station cup of joe in front of Molly, who started a little at the loud sound. "All right, Pukey. What's the scat?"

Avoiding eye contact and ten degrees less comfortable at Dean's return, Molly missed what he'd asked, exactly. "It's a singing style used in vocal jazz music."

Dean, who'd just handed a coffee to Aaron, gave Molly a 'really?' look. "No, I mean what's the book?"

Molly tugged at her shirt sleeve nervously. "Oh." Pay more attention so you don't look so dumb geez. "It's a log book from a Nazi compound in Belarus," she said, glancing over the thick volume grimly. "It was run by these, uh, Thule people. They seemed to be a sect of the Nazi party. A cult, from what I can tell." She peeked up and was surprised to see how not only Dean but everyone else in the room hung on to every word she said. Like she was important and useful. Immediately put on the spot, she said nothing else.

When her silence remained, Dean prompted her. "So what's it say?"

Right. Molly's eyes skimmed over her notes and she felt vaguely ill at the contents. "It… details experiments that were forcibly performed on the camp's population," she reluctantly. "Magical experiments, from the… the descriptions…"

"More horrible than words," came a deep, deep voice. The golem. His solemn interjection surprised everyone.

Sam, who'd sat down at the table across from Molly looked at the golem with careful, studious eyes. "You were there, weren't you? At the camp?"

The golem nodded once. "I was made in the ghetto of Vitsyebsk to tear that hell down. I broke its walls, its men. The commandant burnt the place to ash around me." He breathed out grimly. "I ended the nightmare. Or so I thought." He growled. "The Thule. A blemish on humanity and an enemy of the people. I will end them if it is the last thing I do."

Molly swallowed and then caught eyes with Sam, then Aaron. "What's his name, anyway?" she whispered, trying to avoid being heard by the golem.

Aaron blinked twice. "Who, the golem? Uh… I don't think he has a name," he said like he'd never thought of it before. "Uh, you have a name, clay man?"

The golem was completely deadpan. "What would I need a name for?" he asked, his severe gaze on Molly. She felt herself shrinking smaller and smaller under his ruthless eyes.

Dean had sat down in one of the side chairs and had his arms crossed and an easy smirk on his lips. "So name him."

Molly frowned. He seemed to be talking to her. "Me?" she asked, confused at who he was addressing.

"Yeah, Twiggy," Dean said, seeming a fraction amused. "Name him."

Under pressure, Molly tried to be quick-witted and answer so that the silence didn't get too unbearable. "Um… Ted?"

Dean pulled a face. "Ted?"

"I dunno, you said to name him!" Molly replied in a flabbergasted voice.

The golem was deadly serious. "I accept. It is a good name." He nodded to her once. "Thank you, girl."

Molly was a shade sullen. "It's Molly. And you're… welcome," she muttered.

Sam graciously pulled the attention off her of. "Okay, um, Ted. W-what does it mean when—when you keep telling Aaron to take charge?"

The golem—Ted—turned an unhappy gaze onto Aaron. "The boy would know... if he could consult the pages."

"Pages?" Dean sounded totally stumped. "What pages?"

Clearly embarrassed, Aaron began to explain sheepishly. "When I was—when I was bar mitzvahed, my—my grandfather gave me this little old book. It was in Hebrew. It was like an owner's manual for a golem…"

Dean looked satisfied. "Okay. Great. Get that, then."

Aaron cleared his throat, scratched at his neck briefly. "I—I can't, exactly. When I went to high school, I sort of... drifted. I started getting off the academic track, and, uh, I kind of, um... I kind of smoked it."

Molly's jaw dropped as Ted confirmed it: "The boy smoked the pages."

It was like sacrilege. "You smoked a book?" Molly asked, beside herself to imagine a priceless cultural relic being used for recreational drug use!

Aaron was defensive even though he clearly regretted his choices. "They were these thin, vellum-y pages! I mean, it was perfect for rolling! Look, they were driving instructions for a clay man. Okay? It was nonsense. Right?!" Everyone in the room was giving him pretty unsympathetic looks. Aaron faltered. "I mean… I... okay. All right. Look, I'm sorry, okay?" He looked at Ted pleadingly. "Why can't you just tell me what I don't know?!"

The golem abruptly slammed his fists down onto the table way too close to Molly and she yelped and jumped back in her chair. "It's not my place to guide the rabbi, to teach the teacher! It's not my place! Yifalchunbee!" And with that he stalked off to pace near the motel window. Everyone was shaken.

"Ted needs to take it down a notch," Sam said sort of nervously.

"Yeah that's not exactly comforting," Dean added in. "Heh."

Molly held onto the ledger with white knuckles, her heart beating really fast. Sam cleared his throat. "So, uh… sorry Molly. What else did you figure out?"

Molly tried to push her nervousness aside. It wasn't easy, and she kept glancing up at Ted in between reading. "Um… well, the ledger says the experiments the, uh, Thule were conducting… they were trying to… reanimate… people? So they were using Jews and gypsies as… as their Guinea pigs." She was no longer distracted by Ted, but instead saddened and disgusted. The people who endured these atrocities had truly been through horrific, unimaginable things. Many of them had been killed only to be brought back and then killed again. The log book recounted a lot of failed experiments where the subjects had come back to life but had been missing senses or were in constant pain. Many of the women and children were raped by the Thule while dead and alive for 'entertainment' and 'humor.' And they had starved some people to death to see if they 'came back' hungry as well. Sam was right… these were truly evil people. "It's horrible," she whispered. "I thought the history books were bad enough as it was," she murmured softly, eyes scanning the beautiful German writing that recorded such vile things. "Never mind this."

A heavy silence followed. One Dean looked a little uncomfortable with. "So the purpose of the experiments was…?" he asked.

Molly glanced at Sam, who looked more sensitive and intuitive to her thoughts. "To bring members of the Thule back to life," she relayed. "They were trying to find a way to be immortal and carry on the Nazi agenda, from what I can gather. And um… this last page? It's a list of every dead Thule who was successfully reanimated." She heard what she was saying and was utterly exhausted by it and sat back in her chair with bad posture. "This is just crazy…" she whispered mostly to herself. Immortality was possible? And Nazis were trying to rebuild some kind of army to continue the unspeakable genocide? It couldn't be allowed. And now that she knew about it, she somehow felt like she had to do something about it. Who else would? She was now looking at Sam and Dean in new light. This was… heroic. Incredibly scary. And necessary. But the danger and stacked odds left her with a burning question: why would anyone choose to do what they did?

Dean got up and rounded the table to stand behind her and look over her shoulder at all her notes. "How many of these guys are still walkin' and talkin'?"

Molly turned to the last page where a handful of names—less than ten—remained. "Just a few," she said. "And you killed one just a little bit ago, so… this many minus one."

Aaron was silent and stone-faced. "This is why they killed my grandfather?" he asked, incredibly sad. "Because what, they don't want this book out in public or something?"

Molly wanted to cry again. "Innocents dead because of words on a page," she murmured softly, thinking of Rabbi Bass. She supposed he was perhaps looking for a way to fight the Thule and undermine them, and she suddenly liked that sassy old man even more than she had at first.

Dean leaned over her shoulder a little more, squinting. "Anything in there on how to kill it?"

Molly leaned away from him a little. "Kill what? A person who's been reanimated?" she asked. "Yeah, here." She turned to the page she remembered and re-read it, her finger skimming under the relevant text. "Um… headshot or—ah. Decapitation." She wanted to puke again.

Dean saw it, too. "Squeamish, huh?" he asked, seeming to find her reactions amusing and lame. "Better get over that soon if you're gonna kick it with us."

Molly didn't really hear him. She was leaned close to the page, reading a part she had forgotten about. "But it says here… 'if the body is not burned within twelve hours of death, the person will rise again.'" So that burning thing they'd done had been necessary.

"Nazi bastards," Dean commented darkly. He was digging through some food items and pulled out a crinkling plastic package. "Hey, Top Model. You want some beef jerky?"

"I'm vegetarian," she said meekly.

Dean looked at her like she was insane. "On purpose? Sucks to be you." He muttered this next part loud enough that everyone knew he meant for it to be hurt: "No wonder she's so skinny."

Molly just felt more and more embarrassed. "C-can I go now?" she asked quietly, looking to Sam for the answer. "Sorry, it's just… you guys could have used an internet translator for this, you don't need me."

Dean laughed as he tore the bag of jerky open. "But googlefish doesn't have your peckish charm, Bambie," he said in a distinctly sarcastic voice.

"It's babelfish, and why do you keep calling me names?" she asked, red-faced. "My name is Molly."

Sam looked deeply apologetic. "It's kinda just what he does."

"That's right, Twinkle Toes," Dean confirmed.

Molly stood and began to gather her things, deciding she didn't need their permission to go. "I'm supposed to be at work in like an hour," she said, because the library would open at eight and she needed to be there at seven to clock in and it would probably take like thirty minutes to walk across town. "I really need to go." Back to her life and away from this.

Sam stood too. He looked faintly alarmed at her sudden announcement. "You haven't slept, though, are you sure you can?" he asked, then added in something she hadn't thought of: "They've probably got the place locked down like a crime scene anyway. You should stay."

Molly avoided his gaze. Even if the library were closed, she just had to get out of here and away from them, to be honest. "I can't miss work," she insisted, thinking about how her life could take a very bad turn into irredeemable paths if she wasn't careful. "I can't get fired."

Sam seemed bound and determined to keep asking questions. "Well… you want me to walk you there?" he asked, showing himself as thoughtful yet again. Normally Molly would say yes because walking alone across a part of the city she wasn't super familiar with was nerve-wracking. But after the night she'd had, the walk seemed totally doable. A piece of cake, honestly. She began to leave the room, backing her way out and trying to appear fine. Instead, she looked shifty and a little crazy. "No, no. I'm okay. I'm fine. I'm good. It's cool. No problem. Uh—" she backed into a side table and keys fell off. "Oops." She reached the door and made her escape with a muttered, "Bye everyone."

"Goodbye little one," the golem said.

Sam had drifted after her and tried to get in a couple last words as she rapidly made her exit. "Hey, call me if you need anything…!"

She closed the door behind her even as she said, "Yup."

It was cold outside and Molly let out a shaky breath and just walked in case they were watching through the window. Look normal. Look fine. Get a few blocks away and then freak out.

And then she heard the motel room door open and she shut her eyes and groaned internally. "Hey wait!" She turned grudgingly. Sam was hurrying after her and she was very unsure about looking at him or even talking to him. He looked a little unsure, too. "I uh—look, we really appreciate your help," he said when he got to her.

Molly nodded, put her mouth in a thin line, and tried again to escape. "Yeah, well—okay. See you later." She turned and walked away, feeling rude and terrible and stupid the entire time. But unlike every other day that had ever existed in her life… she didn't care at all about the fact.

Behind her, Sam sounded a little upset. "Molly…"

She whirled desperately. "What, Sam?!" She had to fight not to cry because today had been the worst day of her entire life and she just needed to be alone and get away from this hunting stuff to the safety of what was familiar. "I just want to go back to my life and forget this ever happened!" she exclaimed tearfully. "I saw a man die today! And I learned that everything scary that wasn't supposed to be real is actually, probably real!" She wished Sam wasn't such a nice guy and that she'd never gone to Vegas and that she hadn't gone to work yesterday and that she could un-know what she now knew. Eyes stinging and voice falling to a bare whisper, she made her last plea. "Please, just… just leave me alone."

Sam's jaw tightened, his eyes held deep sadness and hurt, but he nodded and said nothing. He let her walk away. She did so as quickly as possible, unrealistically believing that if she got away from the Winchesters, she would get away from the paranormal world, too.

---

Sam went back into the motel room and his conflict was written all over his face. He hated that he'd done this to someone. Spoiled her worldview and been there to see her witness a murder… that kind of stuff did things to people. Molly was too tenderhearted for all of this. Sam was defeated. It felt like he'd lost something, and he didn't think he could justify feeling that way, but he still did. When he noticed the judgmental look on his brother's face as he entered the motel room, Sam got defensive. "What?"

"Seriously, Sam?" Dean asked, then scoffed as he took a bite out of the Hot Pocket he'd just heated up. He spit it back out. "Ah!—Ish hot!" he complained, blew on it for a couple seconds, then shoved the disgusting thing back into his mouth and chewed loudly through the cheesy mess. "I swear you got the weirdest taste in chicks man," he said, then raised his eyebrows significantly as he swallowed his first burning mouthful. "You tap that?"

Sam was not in the mood for this shit. "Dean."

"I mean I guess if you're into the jumpy co-ed book-nerd vibe with the frumpy clothes and the dorky glasses—"

"Stop, Dean!" Sam exclaimed. He was already on edge. He didn't need this.

"What?" Dean challenged. He lowered his voice a little. "Come on Sam, I wasn't born yesterday. Was this before or after the Amelia whoever? How many chicks are there, anyway?"

Sam wanted to fucking sock his brother in the jaw. "Just back off Dean," he said harshly, because Dean had no idea what he was saying. "I don't wanna hear it from you, especially not after you've been dragging your girlfriend around with us everywhere!" Maybe he shouldn't have said that. Dean immediately looked like he was about to start something over that, but Sam forced a cold smile. "Look, I just wouldn't worry if I were you. Molly's definitely not interested anymore after all this, so… just let it go, okay?"

In a terrible mood, Sam shook his head and went over to the table to study Molly's notes and Dean took another bite of his food and watched him with dark eyes. "Touchy."

Aaron remained totally quiet, the awkward third wheel in the room for the moment.

---

Later That Day

For someone who had just had their entire life turned upside down, Molly really thought she was doing very well and not giving herself away. Mr. Jones had been the first one into the library and found the crime scene, called the police, all that. So when Molly got there around seven fifteen (exhausted, sleep-deprived, hungry, at her emotional wit's end), she'd been able to act appropriately shocked at the 'unexplained' blood and destruction that riddled the library. The police questioned her since she had been the last person out of the library on last night's shift. She somehow held it together and pretended she knew nothing of what had happened. She now understood the security camera wipe and was glad for it. The police took a couple hours to investigate and rope off the parts of the library that might contain evidence and the library did not open at its regular time.

While they waited, Molly scavenged the internet for more on the Thule (she found nothing), about golems, and about what 'yifalchunbee' meant. Funny how she'd wanted to escape from all that and here she was researching it voraciously. She searched 'Sam Winchester' last and found some pretty disturbing things. He was wanted by the FBI for a long list of things. Him and his brother both. And according to public record, he was also dead after he and Dean went on a killing spree. She wasn't sure what to think, but definitely knew she'd be looking over her shoulder for the rest of her life and wondering if a ghost or werewolf were stalking her steps.

Mr. Jones finally wrapped up with the police and and said that it was time to open the library. He got Molly to help him move a giant old rug over the blood stain ('until a cleaning crew can deal with this') and he told her to tell patrons who asked that the destroyed bookshelves upstairs was because of an earthquake. Molly thought no one in their right mind would buy that story, but she said okay. And then life resumed normalcy and Molly had never been so glad about it either. But it wasn't to stay that way. Around two in the afternoon, she glanced up when the main doors opened and did a double-take she quickly hid. Two men who looked distinctly shady and old-world in the way they were dressed were coming in and as they passed, she thought she caught a couple of German words. Oh no.

With frozen blood and a pounding heart, Molly almost called Sam right then and there. But she might be mistaken. It could be nothing, right? The two men went upstairs and Molly cursed herself for this, but did it anyway: She took some books that needed to be re-shelved, tucking them under her arm, and she followed the two men at a safe distance, pretending to be oblivious to what they were doing and diligently working at re-shelving books. In reality, she was randomly sticking volumes into places they didn't go so that she could spy, more or less. She listened hard and caught a quiet conversation just a few shelves down.

"Are you sure he's been murdered?" the first man hissed in a whisper. Molly's stomach lurched. He was speaking in German.

The second man sounded contemplative and he also spoke in German. "Torvald was killed here, but perhaps not by a man. I'd know more, but his ghost was forced to depart before it could tell me. They knew enough to burn his remains. A worthy opponent, perhaps…" he paused and traced a gloved finger across the dented shelf. Molly watched through the shelves anxiously.

"Eckhart, is it blood?" the first man asked—again, in German.

"No," the man named Eckhart replied. "Clay. I think I know what is going on here. Torvald kills the Initiative's last rabbi, and now the Golem of Vitsyebsk kills him." He sighed and shook his head. "No no… this will not do, will it?" He chuckled, and it was so sinister. Molly stuck the last book she'd had onto the shelf and hurried away, breathing shallowly in panic. She needed to warn Sam.

She went to the elevator area, which was private and quiet. Pulling out her phone, she dialed Sam and pushed the 'down' button on the elevator panel several quick times and peered around anxiously. She didn't see the men anywhere. Her heart raced as the ringing continued in her ear. Pick up, pick up!

On the other end, Sam sounded surprised to hear from her. "Molly? Hey, what's—"

She interrupted him with a torrent of panicked, hissed whispers. "Sam, there's some creepy German guys here talking about Ted and the Thule, what do I do?!"

Sam immediately sounded like he knew what to do. "Just stay calm," he said firmly and urgently. "How many?"

Molly shut her eyes, trying to calm her dizzy head down. "Two? That I saw." Somehow, just Sam's voice comforted her. He sounded strong and brave and experienced… three things she was not.

"Okay, just go somewhere safe and lock yourself in there," Sam said. "We'll be there in like two minutes." A long pause. "Molly?"

She wasn't the one holding the phone anymore. Eckhart smiled at the scared girl who his associate now held against his chest with one hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. "I'm afraid that Fräulein Molly cannot come to the phone right now," he said pleasantly into the phone, his English heavily accented by a German lilt. And from there, he made his demands, threatened Molly's life, then hung up on Sam completely.

---

Molly watched the Nazis with wide, frantic eyes. They had threatened her, saying that if she did not empty the library of patrons without alerting them to their presence, they would kill her family and her as well. So, she had done the only thing she could think of: pulled the fire alarm and made a nervous announcement over the intercom: "um, the building is on fire, everyone please leave. Thank you." Everyone but Mr. Jones, who had promptly been knocked out violently by Eckhart, was now gone and she'd locked the doors like she'd been told. She was alone with these scary men, and thought she might vomit again.

Eckhart, a very handsome blond German man, smiled at Molly lengthily as she stood nervously in front of him at the circulation desk. He'd just turned the fire alarm off and seemed pleased. "Very good, Geliebte," he said, and the term of endearment made Molly's skin crawl. "Now that we have this magnificent place all to ourselves, I must ask you a question. Do you not know, meine liebling, that it is rude to eavesdrop?" He waited with a deceptively kind smile on his face as he held his hands crisply clasped behind his back.

Molly wanted to stay alive and therefore didn't say what she really wanted to say (something along the lines of go jump into a volcano you racist, murdering swine). "I'm… sorry?" she asked nervously, preparing herself for a young and horrible death.

Eckhart chuckled and turned to his imposing, dark-haired companion. "Isn't she sweet, Adler? A young rose." Molly's stomach turned and squelched. She very much disliked the way they were looking at her and thought fast for a way to escape from them for even just a moment.

It was worth a shot. She fidgeted a little, and realized all of her dignity, however little there was to begin with, was totally gone. "I… I have to go to the restroom please." She hesitated, then tried a meekly-spoken lie to dissuade them. "I'm on my period."

The Nazis were both immediately less interested. Eckhart even scrunched his nose at her and waved slightly like he was repelled.

Adler grabbed Molly by the crook of her elbow and roughly propelled her to the washroom and then warned her against trying anything. She meekly nodded and promised not to and he laughed and called her a good girl, pinching her cheek. And Molly fumed inside even as fear knotted her stomach. If Sam were here, he'd punch you in the frickin' face. Molly went into the privacy of the restroom and ran a sink to cover up the sound of her quietly opening the lady's lockers where her purse was. She found the pepper spray she kept in there and swallowed. She'd never used it before, but had carried it ever since getting her own place. With shaking, sweaty hands, Molly stuck the pepper spray up her shirt and then into the side of her bra then waited twenty agonizing seconds and flushed a toilet, then waited ten more and shut off the sink and left the bathroom even though she just wanted to hide in there forever. But cooperation seemed alluring. She thought if she did what they asked, maybe everything would just somehow be okay.

As Adler pulled her back to the lobby and circulation desk, Molly's heart jumped. Sam, Dean, and Jamie were all there, and all had handguns out and seemed to be at a standoff with Eckhart, who had no weapon, only a wicked smile. Molly panicked. What if everyone died here today? Eckhart motioned to an emotionally-distressed Molly with a nod of the head and he addressed Sam. "See?" he was asking. "Here she is, no need to be upset, my friend. Now. Let us put the weapons away and conduct this matter as gentlemen."

Sam's grip on his gun only tightened and he didn't let Eckhart out from under the line of fire. "Not until you let her go," he said darkly.

"I will let her go… when you give me the ledger," Eckhart replied serenely and patronizingly.

At that moment, the sliding glass doors of the library shattered as the golem burst in, seemingly impervious to the gunshots that Adler began to fire into his chest. Molly's ears were stunned by the close-range gunfire and she screamed and ducked away, even as Adler held her tight with his free arm. Ted looked enraged and he charged Eckhart like a bull. "Eckhart, I will destroy you!" he roared.

Eckhart stood his ground, raised a hand, and shouted something in Latin—inexplicably, Ted stopped a couple steps away from him and remained frozen, like he'd been paused. Immediately, Eckhart said some other spell and from his hand came a blast of power—it visibly blew through Dean, Sam, and Jamie, knocking them back and sending their weapons flying. When they were on the ground, Molly got the distinct impression that they were stuck there because they didn't move yet they struggled against some invisible hold. And Eckhart proved himself a fearful opponent when he winked at Jamie and said 'shh,' disabling her from uttering a counter-spell or something. Having just incapacitated two men, a witch, and a super-powered golem, Eckhart chuckled almost gleefully then sauntered up to the golem and held his hand out under Ted's mouth. "I command you by the covenant of your makers—Clay of Adam, surrender your bond onto me." A small scroll dropped out of the golem's mouth and Eckhart took it and smiled. Ted remained unmoving like a statue, his mouth gaping open and gaze glassy and dead.

Molly's eyes widened fractionally—after her reading today, she realized what was going to happen. Eckhart was going to take possession of the golem, and therefore be able to control him and use him for his own means. Adler still held her tight and Molly's ear hurt, her blood sugar was low. She felt the pepper spray digging into her side. She was the only one who could do something! That realization sent her into new panic and she looked at Sam in the eye. He was struggling and grunting but stuck on the floor. Eckhart looked at the scroll and then at the Winchesters, oblivious to Molly's rising need to do something.

"Where is the Golem's rabbi, pray tell? He's been woken, but no one has taken possession of him. How curious." Eckhart seemed superior and he taunted his captive audience. "You write your name on the scroll. That's how you... yifalchunbee." He shook his head, tutting in good humor. "A shame. Ah, Schwachkopf." He clasped his hands behind his back, scroll and all, in no hurry to do anything. Instead, he looked down at the hunters, who all looked ready (but sadly unable) to kill. "Now that you have tried your brilliant plan on me and seen failure, let us attempt the reasonable route. I have something you want. And you have something I want. Give me the ledger and you can have this girl." He smiled generously, as if he were offering a kindness. "No blood need be shed!"

Dean scoffed, glaring daggers. "Buddy, you act like this is our first rodeo. The second you get that book, you ice us. No thank you."

"Ah, ye of little faith!" Eckhart chuckled, not bothered in the least. "Well. I'll have the ledger either way. And vengeance, too." He shook his finger at them. "You will suffer for killing Torvald. Or… perhaps she will." He turned his gaze onto Molly and then Sam and Molly's insides shrank and shriveled. "I see how you keep looking at her. Does she mean something to you, this one?" He sauntered over to Molly, who was held in Adler's iron grip. Eckhart smiled obligingly and traced the back of his gloved hand down the side of her cheek. "Fine Aryan blood… so young, so innocent, so afraid…"

On the floor, Sam was close to losing it. "If you touch her I swear to God—"

Eckhart turned to Sam leisurely, enjoying the reaction. "What, boy? You swear what?"

Well, it had been nice being alive while it lasted. She just hoped someone would find her cat and care for him after she died here today. Molly felt like an opportunity might not come again and if she didn't do something they would all die and these Nazi villains would be free to rebuild their ranks and kill more people and she couldn't just stand there and be the ineffectual useless librarian. So she did it before she could think anything through further: Reached her hand up her shirt, yanked out the sweaty pepper spray, and let out a terrified sound as she let Adler have it. When Eckhart whirled at the screams, he got a face-full of burning pepper too. He screamed and clapped her hands over his face and simultaneously, Sam, Dean, and Jamie were all released from their invisible holds and Molly fell over from the shove Adler blindly gave her.

Maybe it was because Eckhart was a necromancer or immortal, but the pepper spray only seemed to enrage him—while Adler fell over and writhed around on the floor, Eckhart loomed over Molly with red eyes and gritted teeth. Molly shrank back, the object of his wrath and he yanked her up by her shirt, raising his hand into her face like he was about to cast a spell. And then a shot rang out and his eyes lost their life as blood flew out of the side of his head in a small shower. His hands went loose and he fell over as Molly squeaked and stood on shaky legs and heard another gunshot. Eckhart had been shot in the side of the head and Adler too. Molly looked at the source of the gunshots and it was Sam. Severe and deadly and gaunt. When she realized it was over, at least for now, Molly slumped and began to cry. More dead people in her library. More blood. Would there be more of these Nazis? Would she ever be safe a day in her life again? It was too much and she dropped the pepper spray, staggered over a few steps to the waste bin, and threw up again as she sagged over the puke she'd just spewed.

"Hey, hey, it's over," came a familiar voice. She felt Sam putting an arm around her and helping her stand and she spit and cried and shook her head no. She didn't think this would ever be over. Not really.

Nearby, Dean sounded grim. "The cops'll be here soon after those gunshots. We gotta get these stiffs barbecued fast."

Still crying and not even caring anymore, Molly swiped at her mouth with the back of a hand and then stumbled over to Eckhart's corpse as everyone watched in confusion. They didn't know what she was doing, but she did. She stooped and almost fell as she snatched up the scroll as the tears continued to fall. She stuck the scroll back in Ted's mouth and then pushed his chin up, closing his mouth back. The golem unfroze. "H-he can h-help," Molly blubbered, miserable and thinking about the smell of burning human flesh and how she would never be able to view her library the same way ever again. She leaned heavily against the counter, feeling like her life was over as she knew it.

Sam looked at Dean and Jamie and hesitated. "You guys got this?" he asked.

He got two nods and left them and Ted to take care of the bodies. He got Molly's things for her and then guided her out of the library.

---

That Evening

While Dean and Jamie took care of the bodies and then returned the golem to Aaron with how to yifalchunbee, Molly had cried as Sam walked her down the street at to a private park bench that was shaded and off the beaten path. There he'd calmed her down and told her she had probably saved their lives but she hadn't really heard him—just launched herself at him and cried all her fear and anxiety and trauma for a long time. Sam hugged her and told her he was so sorry, that it would be okay. Stuff like that.

Finally, when she calmed down he insisted on getting her some water and crackers so they went to the local grocery store and sat in the little café area there. Sam had then opened up and told her the truth about his life. About his mom dying, his dad's quest for revenge, and life on the road. Alex's mutism, Sam's distaste for the hunting life, his longing for normal. A basic summary of his life. But he didn't tell her about the apocalypse or the Lucifer stuff or Amelia or being soulless or drinking demon blood. But Molly still got the picture and understood him when it was all said and done. Sam had lived an incredibly sad, hard life and she understood after that. When he finally finished explaining, she was exhausted from just hearing about it and wanted to go home. But Sam said she needed to do something first. Then took her to a nearby tattoo parlor.

He said he couldn't let her be at risk. That it was just in case. That he insisted. So as much as she loathed it, she went under the needle. Sam held her hand and the tattoo artist thought they were a couple. Dean had called Sam up during and said that the golem, now having Aaron as his rabbi (scroll official and all) had been given the commandment to hunt down and wipe out the rest of the Thule. So essentially, the matter was closed. It was over.

After Molly got the anti-possession tattoo on her side where it could be concealed easiest, Sam walked her to her apartment complex in twilight. Molly had a pinched expression on her face and beside her, Sam worried as they moved up yet another sidewalk. He knew it was a lot to take in, for anyone. But he thought it was more for her. He'd understood from the first time he laid eyes on this girl that she had a harder time with things than many others did.

"You okay?" he finally asked. She hadn't said much, especially since going to the tattoo shop. "I know it's… traumatic. And today was a lot for you." He paused and thought about the plot twist he'd never seen coming. When she whipped out that pepper spray, he thought they had all misjudged her a little bit. "But you were also kind of… awesome," he said, trying a little laugh to brighten the mood.

Molly had an ill expression on her face. "I don't feel awesome," she said. "I… just wanna be sick again." She touched the side of her ribcage with miserable fingers where ink had permanently marked her. "I hate tattoos." She sounded so defeated and Sam was guilty.

"I'm so sorry, Molly," he said, and not for the first time. He meant it, too. "For getting you involved in all this."

Molly was forlorn. "How am I supposed to ever sleep again?"

Sam cracked a lame joke, only it wasn't a joke. "Sleeping pills."

Molly looked at him with teary eyes. She let out a shuddering breath and looked around her city with newly wary eyes. Like around every corner there might be a ghost or a demon or some other monster. "How are you not like… constantly petrified?"

Sam's expression twitched as he tried not to look as grim as he felt. "I mean, I am. A lot of the time. Most of the time. But I just… I dunno. Keep going."

Molly stopped walking and looked at him with confused eyes. "Why?"

Sam stopped when she did. He'd told her so much about his life earlier in that cafe. Enough that she knew he struggled with staying in this life sometimes. Guilt was probably his most primary motivation, honestly. But he didn't want to say that. "Not many other people out there to take care of what needs taking care of," he hedged. "So… I gotta do what I can about the problem. Not just sit by and let bad things happen." What a fucking hypocrite. He'd sat by and let his brother and sister hang loose in the wind and here he was trying to make himself sound semi-decent.

Molly was looking at him like she thought he was something special. "You're… really brave," she said quietly.

It felt like a knife in the gut to hear her say that and mean it. His voice wavered and he fought to cover up his dismay with a weak smile. "Yeah, no… I'm, I'm not."

Molly saw it though. "What's wrong?"

Sam had a tough time not responding to her honestly. "Just… no one's said anything good about me in awhile," he admitted. "Been through a lot lately," he continued quietly and flatly. "And sometimes I just don't know who I am anymore I guess."

Molly was very somber and that's when Sam noticed that her more edgy, frantic, jumpy side seemed to have diminished altogether. Maybe it was what had happened today, maybe it was that she was too tired to muster up the anxiety, maybe she was getting used to him enough to not be nervous the entire time. "Yeah," she reflected softly, eyes off to the side in thought. "When you're a kid, you feel like you're gonna grow up and be this person who has everything together and… well, maybe that just isn't reality." Her face worked oddly and he could quite literally see her thinking about what she'd found out today about the supernatural. Her faded blue eyes came back to his. "What if you never figure things out, you know?"

"Yeah," he said honestly. "I know." There didn't seem to be anything else to say on the topic and a little deflated at the morose subject matter, Molly drew in a breath and then began walking again. For a minute or two, neither said anything. Sam had told her quite a lot today, but there was something still nagging at him. Something they hadn't even acknowledged once. And the closer they got to her apartment, the greater chance that he wouldn't get to ask at all. He cleared his throat and tried to sound less desperate than he was. "Do you… wanna talk about it?" he asked, then at her wary side glance, he clarified sort of clumsily. "Like, about what happened with us? In Vegas, I mean." Her face showed immediate anxiety and Sam tried to be sensitive to her. "I kinda think you don't want to, but… I mean we can if you need to."

For a long moment, she said nothing and he almost thought she was silently saying no, she didn't want to talk about it. And then, without looking at him, she asked, "Was it real?"

Sam frowned mildly. "What do you mean?"

Molly looked semi-frustrated with how to word herself. "I mean… why did it happen?"

Sam breathed in deeply and reminded himself that he'd opened the subject and he couldn't back out now. "Because I liked you," he admitted honestly. "And I—I needed someone." He looked at her sidelong as they continued to walk. "I didn't plan on it if that's what you mean. I was pretty shocked when you asked… to go back to my room with me." He still couldn't quite believe that night they'd had.

Molly reacted predictably: by becoming visibly embarrassed. "Yeah," she replied, a red color creeping up her neck as she dodged his eyes. "I sorta surprised myself." She gave a nervous little weak laugh and scratched the back of her neck. "And I haven't, uh—been with—since—" she withered and stopped talking. "Never mind."

Sam didn't miss what she'd been saying though: she hadn't been with anyone since him. His chest pulled and his emotions were intense because of that statement. That had been a year and a half ago and for whatever reason he'd been her last. It made him want her again. Well, made him want her more than he already had. Watching her reading that ledger last night with the cute little thick-rimmed glasses and the studious frown stuck in his memory. She was so quiet and sweet and yet she kind of had balls as he'd seen today with the pepper spray. He'd been attracted to her in Vegas, but seeing her for who she really was attracted him even more. He really liked her and shouldn't, but still did.

"Why'd you tell me you were FBI?" she asked quietly, startling him out of his thoughts.

"Panic, I guess," he said self-consciously. "And I uh… kinda wanted to impress you."

Molly didn't look anything but glum. "Do you tell all the girls that stuff?"

Sam made a slight face. "You must have me confused with my brother." She didn't understand what he meant and Sam was forced to explain. "I uh—I don't do the one night stand thing a lot. Honestly. It's just not me." Now, he'd had a long string of meaningless sex with strangers during his soulless year, but that didn't count. Not totally. Sam didn't want Molly to know all of his darker deeds, because he knew she would never go for him if she knew everything he'd really done and been through. She probably wouldn't go for him now. Sam smiled ruefully. "When I came back into the room and you were gone… I gotta say. You uh—kinda broke my heart a little, Ziegler." He tried to say it jokingly, but she just looked really sad.

"Sorry," she apologized, then quickly dodged saying more about that. Sam was left to wonder, like he always had, why she left. "So you guys just… do this all the time?" she asked, switching subjects uncomfortably. "And no one pays you? You guys just do it… because you're compelled to make the world a better place?"

Sam shrugged. "Basically, yeah."

Molly was thinking hard. "So you're… a hero."

He balked. "Wh—" Quickly, he began to deny it. "No, I don't think so."

Molly smiled to herself, a sad and tainted little expression. "That's how I know you're one. You don't think you are."

Sam shook his head, suffering internally. "I wish I could say that I was one of the good guys. But I've messed up more than anything else. I know I've done some good things and saved some lives but… I feel like I just let down the people who depend on me. I wasn't there for my sister and now she's…" he almost choked. "Gone." He drew in a shaking breath. "I disappoint people. I disappoint myself." He could have gone on forever but realized he was dragging Molly into his grief and she didn't need that weight in her life. "Sorry," he apologized sheepishly. "You don't wanna hear this."

She studied him sidelong. "It's okay," she said, and meant it too.

Sam looked at her for a long moment as they walked and wished he could tell more of what she was thinking. And he had to know, so again, he went there, cautiously. "Do you… do you regret it? What we did?"

Molly looked regretful for sure. But then relayed why. "I regret running off..."

A ray of hope poked into the darkness inside and Sam felt a little breathless. "Why did you?" he asked, hoping she would tell him and help him understand. "Was it me? Something I said or did?"

Molly was highly uncomfortable and reluctant, but did reply to him after a long, struggling silence. "No. I was just… I was just scared. And you were a stranger. And if I fell asleep, maybe you'd murder me."

Sam felt himself grinning despite everything. "Ah. Yeah. Forgot to tell you I'm an axe-murderer."

Her joke aside, she thought. "I mostly ran off just 'cause… I just wanted to save myself the trouble of whatever might happen in the morning and I didn't think you would… would care if I left." She was the picture of discomfort as she stared off ahead of herself. "It was just a one night stand. No feelings involved."

Sam felt a little stung and surprised by her words. "That what it was to you?" he asked after a couple of stunned seconds.

His tone had her looking at him with veiled, confused, maybe hopeful eyes. "W-was it something else to you?"

Sam could have lied. But something in him said out with it. "I mean… honestly? A little, yeah." He was being modest. There had been a lot of feelings involved.

Molly looked a little intimidated. She fidgeted her hands and her cheeks were red and she began to scrub at her neck with her hand. She stopped and looked at the apartment complex they stood in front of. "So um… this is… my building."

It was small and looked more like a college dorms than anything else, but Sam nodded, understanding that their awkward little exchange was at an end. That this was where they went separate ways again. He didn't push the issue because he knew she probably wanted him gone like yesterday. "All right. I guess this is goodbye, then." She made no reply. She was staring at the building with a dread-filled gaze. Sam tried to see what she was seeing, but didn't think he got it. "What is it?"

Molly wet her lips and squinted at the building then looked at Sam hesitantly. "I'm… kinda scared to go in." Sam understood. She'd just found out about how dark the world was and now was facing the thought of being alone. The sun was setting and the world would be dark soon. And that was one of the worst times to be alone when you knew about the supernatural.

"You know most people go their entire lives without running into anything paranormal at all," Sam said, which was the honest truth. Hopefully the Nazis today would be her last encounter. When Molly only looked extremely doubtful and afraid to go into her own building, Sam made a decision. "Tell you what. I'll come in with you, make sure it's safe."

Molly was about to say thank you and then became flustered. "Oh—I'm—I'm not trying to—to like—you know—uh—get you into my apartment—or anything—"

Sam smiled. "I know," he soothed. He wasn't going to try anything, either. She could relax.

Molly led Sam up the stairs outside of the building to her apartment and unlocked the door, let them in, flicked on the lights, and then called out softly. "Neville! Here kitty kitty!" A fluffy white cat with a grumpy face and a dented ear poked his head out of a small doorway at the back of the tiny apartment—but when the feline saw that Molly was not alone, he immediately darted away back into the room he'd been in. "Dumb cat," Molly muttered affectionately.

"Neville, huh?" Sam asked, shrugging his jacket off and looking around Molly's home as he shut the door behind himself.

"The true hero of the books, arguably," Molly offered a little uncomfortably, standing there and looking around her dwelling with nervous eyes. It was weird that Sam from Vegas was there in her place. He made the already-small place seem even smaller. He was so tall and big. He took in the bookshelves she had crammed into the tiny living room, the books lined underneath the breakfast bar area, the little rag-tag artwork collection that dotted free space on the walls, the little plants that were potted and perched at random places, the tiny two-person couch with the Mexican-style blanket tossed across it. The itty-bitty kitchen, the framed Atwood quote on the wall: 'In the end, we'll all become stories.'

Sam let his jacket drape across the couch since it was right there when you first walked in. "Nice place," he said earnestly, seeming to like the shoebox space.

Molly watched him closely, more interested in other information. "Is it… haunted?" she asked tightly, worried that maybe everywhere was haunted and that she'd really and truly never sleep again.

Sam smiled at her, and his smile had a calming effect. "Pretty sure it's not, but I'll check."

"Thanks," Molly said, relieved that she didn't have to be here alone. However, she felt her stale mouth and greasy hair and sweaty underarms keenly and needed to wash off the day. "I… I need a shower, is—can you just stay until after that?" she asked. Asking him to stay was mortifying but she had seen too many horror movies where the girl got killed in the shower.

"No problem," Sam said, and he set to work looking at her windows and sniffing the air and Molly thought that was a little weird but… he did know what he was doing. So she didn't question it. She showered, careful not to get her new tattoo very wet. The area stung and when she caught sight of it in the mirror, she wanted to cry. But it was a safety measure, so… she guessed she had to accept it. Anyway, it was on the side of her rib cage, a place hardly anyone ever saw. After drying off and dressing in some leggings, socks, and an oversized sweater, Molly combed her hair and decided she looked like the least sexy girl who had ever existed. But at least she was clean now and had washed her mouth out and no longer tasted stale vomit.

She steeled herself to be around handsome, smart, capable Sam again and tried not to think of how much she paled in comparison when she opened the bathroom door. Sam glanced up from where he waited on the couch. He'd been glancing through one of her coffee table books. "Good news," he greeted, setting the book down. "No ghosts, no demons."

Molly tried to think of a way to get him to stay a little longer because she still felt terrified of being alone. "That's great. Um, so, uh—do you want some tea? I'll make some tea."

She gave him no choice and set to work in the minuscule kitchen and after a minute, Sam cleared his throat. "So you… live here alone?" he asked. "No roommate? No boyfriend?"

Molly avoided his gaze. He should know no boyfriend after she'd told him he'd been her last. "Neither," she admitted, glancing around her little home. "I know it's tiny and sort of falling apart, but… it's mine, so… I like it."

Sam stood up, walked over, and leaned across the breakfast bar, watching as she put two teabags into mugs. "I do too."

Molly realized something about him. "I guess you don't have a home," she said, remembering how he'd said 'life on the road' which probably meant no real house or anything.

"Haven't. Not for awhile," Sam said. "But uh—found this place nearby actually. It's like a little fortress. We've been hunkered down there a week now. It's got thousands of books on ancient lore. Think you'd like it, actually."

Molly felt the smallest smile on her face. "Me? Books?" He returned the smile. The kettle began to whistle and Molly poured boiling water into their mugs.

Sam walked along one of her bookshelves… the one where Molly had every single Margaret Atwood book in existence lined up alphabetically. "So. You weren't kidding about Atwood."

Molly felt pleasant, warm surprise. "You have a really good memory," she said, because they'd talked about that back in Vegas. He really paid attention.

"About some things," Sam said softly, unreadable. Immediately, Molly was thinking about some very specific things between them that made her temperature tick upward.

Clearing her throat, Molly picked up the steaming mugs of steeping tea and carried them all the five steps into the living room and set them onto the coffee table and sat down, watched Sam as he came to sit beside her. It was totally surreal. "I… I really didn't think I'd ever see you again," she said, still in awe. "Then you walked into the library and…" she trailed off, out of words.

Sam smiled tightly. "Here we are."

"Yup," Molly confirmed, went silent for a tense moment, then suddenly blurted out: "Would you stay with me?" At Sam's look of slight confusion, she quickly tried to explain herself. "I mean, in the apartment, not—in my bed or something—oh geez, I'm not propositioning you." She then kicked herself in the brain mentally because what if one thing led to another, she wouldn't be against that. "Uh—and I'm not not propositioning you," she said breathlessly, making her foot-in-mouth moment more and more pronounced every second. Sam had this funny little laughing grin on his face and she rubbed one of her own arms self-consciously and tried to make herself sound less idiotic. "I'm just too scared to go to sleep and I know we don't really know each other but—I dunno, we sort of do and I don't have anyone I could call—"

Sam cut her off evenly. "I'll tell Dean to head back without me."

Molly stared, relief washing over her like the tide. "Really?"

"Yeah," Sam said, then nodded at the chess set that was stashed underneath the coffee table. He became distinctly playful. "Maybe we can see if you're as good at chess as I am."

Molly felt her smile mirroring his. "Chess club champion," she announced, still forever-proud of that title.

Sam's smile grew a mite challenging. "Me too."

Molly felt her smile growing and her eyebrows raising. Challenge accepted.

They played chess and the next hour or so and forgot the day, ghosts, evil, everything else. Just talked, played, and were normal together. Sam won once, Molly won twice, then she got too tired to keep going and they watched reruns of Friends. One second, Ross was ranting to Monica about something, the next, Molly realized she was being laid down into her bed and it was totally silent. "What's…?" she asked, confused and disoriented. She sat up from where she'd been laying, holding herself onto her elbows. "Did I fall asleep?" She recognized her dim bedroom and blinked, seeing Sam sitting there beside her. He seemed to be in the middle of trying to put her blanket on her.

"Yeah," he said, a little teasingly. "You did. Snored a little, too."

Her eyes went saucer-wide. "Oh my god!"

He grinned, finding her distress adorable. "It was pretty cute, honestly," he said.

He kept looking at her like he thought she was pretty and she was both completely flattered and mystified. "Do you need glasses or something?" she asked in a confused whisper. Did he really, honestly like her?

Sam's reply was a little too serious, making the moment intense. "I can see just fine."

Translation: you're pretty. You're cute. And Molly wilted like a flower in the sun because of how intense he was. She wanted him to kiss her so badly. The moment felt right. They were close in the darkness, moonlight giving enough light that she could see his face and eyes and how—maybe she was imagining it—he looked like he was thinking of kissing her, too. And then she realized he was leaning closer and before she could even realized what was happening, he did it. He kissed her softly on the mouth. Maybe it was supposed to just be a single, gentle, goodnight kiss. But Molly grabbed the back of his head and kissed him harder before he could pull away and he made a soft sound and responded to her with incredible quickness, taking hold of her and touching her face and neck as she pressed downward into her pillow. His body was warm and solid over hers, his mouth opened, the kiss deepened, and Molly gave a soft whimper. And then Sam abruptly pulled away with a twisted expression. Breathing heavily, he shook his head with a pained expression. "This—I can't." He got up and walked away to a respectable distance, leaving her on the bed to sit up and watch him with a confused, hurt expression. "Every girl I've ever cared about is dead, Molly," he said in a wavering voice, looking at her with heaving shoulders and huge amounts of regret. "Anyone I was ever really… with… isn't here anymore. You… you're… I can't let that happen." At the expression on her face, he looked torn up. "I'm not trying to hurt your feelings or reject you, please don't take it that way."

Molly swallowed a hugely disappointed lump down, feeling embarrassed and cold without him close, awkward as she laid there on her forearms.

Sam hesitated and then admitted something that felt incredibly personal and intimate. "You're exactly the kind of girl I pictured myself ending up with if I'm being honest." He clenched his jaw and shook his head and Molly felt like she could have cried. Me? "But I don't get that," Sam said in sickening grimness. "I don't get to have a normal life. A girlfriend, a relationship…" He shook his head again, more resolutely this time. "If being involved with me to whatever extent got you hurt, I couldn't forgive myself. So I can't."

Molly slowly put her legs over the side of the bed and looked at Sam, whose story she had heard today and whose pain she identified with. He seemed so lost and lonely and it broke her heart. "Are you okay Sam?" she asked, every ounce of honest worry audible in her unguarded voice.

He gave the saddest little laugh and the slightest shake of his head. He took a heavy couple of empty seconds to reply. "I haven't been okay in a long time."

Those words just broke her somehow. Molly stood up and despite her fears of being rejected or of him turning her away, she went over and hugged him, just knowing he'd push her away and tell her to stop. But he didn't. She felt him resisting for a half a second, then he gave in and put his arms around her, hugged her hard, held her, and shuddered silently. Was he… crying? She didn't know, she just held on and turned her head and kissed his neck once. How long had it been since someone hugged him? Since someone had cared? His arms tightened and she held on, so upset on his behalf that she could have cried, too. She hated seeing anyone cry. Much less a man she cared about.

When Sam's breathing grew steadier after half a minute, he drew back and they looked at each other, he swallowed and spoke in an impossibly soft voice. "Molly…" he sounded a little choked up and there were tears streaking his cheeks. "We're just two lonely people who are about to make a mistake." A mistake. That was probably what it would be and she knew that. Sam was dangerous. Molly didn't do risks. She didn't gamble or take chances. But here she was deciding to throw caution to the wind. Sam saw that in her eyes and shook his head no, begged her almost. "Tell me to leave," he pleaded softly, implying that she had the power in this situation. But Molly couldn't do what he asked.

Here, in the secret darkness of her bedroom, in the unbroken quiet, she wanted him. She shook her head no faintly. "I don't want you to leave," she whispered. "I want you to stay."

Her words had an immediate and visible effect on him. He started fighting himself—it was written all over his face—but he lost his own private war and took hold of her, kissing her hard and deep and passionate. In a way that had her floundering to keep up and stumbling backwards as he crowded her toward the bed. Pretty soon the cat scampered out of hiding from under the bed as the boxspring began to give telltale creaks and soft moans broke through the darkness.

For Sam, it was a stolen night he didn't deserve but also something he really needed and couldn't deny himself. He slept with Molly and it was incredibly intense and vulnerable and open, fueled by very strong emotions. Sam felt guilty and conflicted afterward. He questioned his motivations and inner strength afterward even as he simultaneously wondered if there were any small way this could work. If somehow he could keep seeing Molly and keep her separate and safe from the darkness that always followed him. He liked her. He really, really liked her. He liked how she made him remember the Sam he used to be, he loved how she made him feel. But he also felt like Dean was right about him: that all it took was a pretty face to take him away from his responsibilities. In the stillest hours of the night after Molly had fallen asleep on him, Sam wished he could do so many things differently. He dreaded facing Dean when daylight came and hearing how selfish of a person he was. He recognized the hypocrisy but accepted it because Sam felt so guilt-ridden over Purgatory, Amelia, and everything that went with it.

But for that night, he allowed himself some happiness between the constant internal self-shaming. He traced fingers through her messy hair as she slept on him. He studied her peaceful face and wondered if they would have met if he'd stayed in Lawrence and had a normal life.

Meanwhile, Jamie and Dean had the bunker to themselves and two guesses what they did. Dean pulled the Impala up and gave her a naughty little side eye and shit-eating grin then said, "you thinkin' what I am? We should do it on the table in the library room."

Jamie rolled her eyes and got out and Dean thought she wasn't up for it. Then she turned around a few steps away from the car and threw her arms wide in exasperation and asked if he was gonna come 'do this thing' or not then flashed him a promising little teasing smile. Dean missed it because she hid it so well, but Jamie was struggling. She didn't tell him how she was nearly out of time. Or how they had a daughter out in the world who was a few tender months old now. Instead, they did exactly what Dean had wanted and fucked on the grand table in the bunker library. Awhile afterward, when he asked her why she was being so quiet she said it was because she felt like she was getting sick. He ordered her to bed—his bed—and she went, but not without a few "tell me what to do again and I'll cut you" type comments. Once she was there, Dean did things he'd never admit to doing: he rubbed her feet and stuck some of his big socks on her then brought her some hot tea and NyQuil. All without being asked. She seemed bothered by his thoughtfulness and was uncharacteristically meek. After awhile, Dean climbed into bed with her and pulled her against him like a little spoon and he had no idea the expression on her face showed every bit of her inner turmoil. He just thought she felt ill. When in reality, she knew exactly how long she had left—less than two weeks. Less than two weeks. She had promised herself to ignore the ticking clock and go out on a high of enjoying time with Dean and saving as many people as she could... but she was beginning to feel unable to avoid the terror that stalked her.

Meanwhile, Castiel continued to wander earth aimlessly and suffer from larger and larger memory gaps. He didn't remember Naomi, nor Alex, nor the reality of the situation. He forgot every time he remembered and it was a vicious cycle that seemed like it could continue forever. In his mind, he was alone and depressed and consigned to sadness eternal because he was convinced that Alex was dead and gone.

And in Heaven—forgotten and devoid of her memories and her voice—a girl waited. What for, she didn't know. After all, for reasons she didn't fathom, she knew next to nothing. Her mind was empty. Nothing remained in there. Not her name, not where she had come from, not who she was. But she did know—or rather felt, instinctively—that she wasn't supposed to be there in that place with all the glowing soulless white lights and the sterile clean walls and the silent, watchful people in business wear.

She wondered about the man she had seen in the tan trench coat. When she had seen him, he'd had wings. Like an angel. And eyes bluer than any blue that could ever be conceived of. He had seemed to know her, but she didn't think she knew him. He'd seemed so upset, too, and trying to get to her. And she didn't know why.