Ah, I'm so happy to see new readers and reviewers as well as those who started from the beginning! Thank you so much for all the positive feedback and I'm glad you're enjoying the story. I like to see suggestions and know that I read and remember them ;) please continue to provide your feedback and I'll try to get a few more chapters in this week.
It had been an entire two months since the hotel in bumfuck nowhere, and Emily had managed to stay (mostly) out of trouble since then. There'd been one or two rouge incidents where her temper had gotten the better of her with Dean and she'd found herself with a sore butt and wounded pride, but Sam had managed to wiggle back into her good graces pretty quickly and he hadn't raised a hand to her since that day. It helped that they were in overdrive now, since that hunt the boys had seemed to remember that they were supposed to be training her and so that's what they'd done. Emily was constantly aching, new muscles she'd never used were being put into play, and she both hated it and loved it all at once. She'd always been a runner, mostly born from boredom and the fact that she was good at it, but fighting and shooting were not in her repertoire, and that's where they placed the most focus. After a month, she'd become a decent shot, even though she hated the feel of the gun in her hand, hated the reminder of what they were and what they did, but she understood the necessity and she took the praise when she got a good shot in where she could. Hand to hand combat, however, was not her strong suit, and she was getting very sick of having her ass handed to her every time Dean popped into her doorway holding out the offending gloves and a smug smile to go with it. Two months of this had really begun to piss her off.
"I don't understand why I have to do this," Emily grunted as she found herself on her back for the millionth time that day. She pushed up on her elbows to glare at Dean. She was breathing hard, her legs hurt and her arms hurt and her stomach hurt. Really, there wasn't a thing on her that didn't hurt. "I have never in my life had to fight anything. I don't need to fight. I don't want to fight."
She gave him the same whiney speech every time they did this and Dean rolled his eyes in response, extending his hand down to help her up. "You have to be able to defend yourself, Em," he told her as patiently as he could through gritted teeth. But she just pouted at him, starting to unwrap the gloves from her hands to shove them back into his. "Wait, we're not done yet-"
"Yes we are," she cut him off, going to retrieve her water bottle from the other side of the room. "I'm tired Dean, I want to take a bath. And drink an entire bottle of wine." She couldn't quite pull herself out of the funky mood she was in, she'd been feeling it for the last week solid, and it was slowly starting to dawn on her that it was that itch again. That feeling of being trapped. Being stuck. Being forced into a hole that she wasn't able to get out of, with nothing but two boys for company. She was becoming restless and she was aching to get out, to go somewhere, or do something that wasn't fighting with Dean or reading up on spells with Sam, or watching mindless TV all day because that's all there was here. "Can we call it? I'm not getting any better at this, in fact, I think I'm getting worse." She couldn't pull the bitterness from her tone when she said the words, finally turning to look at him again. "Fighting isn't my thing. Shooting isn't my thing."
"Well what is your thing?" The annoyance in Dean's voice couldn't be contained any longer as he stalked towards her, yanking the water bottle from her hand to take his own long drink, ignoring her look of disdain at sharing with him. He swallowed and handed it back with a snide, "you don't fight, you don't shoot, you don't know anything about demons, so what have you done for the last twenty years? Sat around and watched your daddy take everyone out for you? Charmed the monsters to death?" He was sneering again, and Emily felt the tension between them growing to a head.
Unable to contain her own anger, she spat out, "I kept my dad safe, you motherfucker, for 20 fucking years I kept my dad safe and I didn't have to lift one fucking finger to do it."
What was she saying? Why was she telling him this? Emily angrily twisted the cap back onto the water bottle, shoving it into Dean's chest so hard that he was forced back a step. "If you'd let me even go to one fucking hunt you'd see, but oh no, I'm "too delicate," her voice was mocking, air quoting Sam with a snort of derision. "I'm stronger then either of you, and you don't even care. You're so wrapped up in this idea of what it means to be a hunter that you're completely ignoring Castiel's orders and continuing to try to force me to be something I'm not!" He looked shocked at those words, and even a little guilt crept into his eyes as she spoke, both of them knowing exactly what she meant. It hadn't been three weeks since the angel had appeared from nowhere to ask Dean and Sam why they had not been bringing Emily to their hunts. He hadn't even let them respond before he'd disappeared again.
She spun around on her heel and stomped from the room, angrily tossing the water bottle into the garbage can on the way out. She knew Dean would probably chase her down, he'd probably yell at her for how she was acting, then spank her like the caveman he was. But it wouldn't make her feel any different. This had to end she couldn't keep doing this day in and day out. She slammed her bedroom door shut and went into the bathroom to start a bath for herself, locking the door behind her. She didn't hear Dean following, but it didn't mean he wouldn't, so better safe than sorry. The scent of lavender began to fill the air as she poured in her favorite epsom salt blend and some bubble bath, and she took in a deep calming breath. Before long, she'd made short work of her clothing and sank into the hot water, sighing with relief. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the hard lip of the tub, letting herself get lost in her thoughts. She'd asked the boys to take her to Seattle, and they'd shut her down immediately. It hadn't been long enough, whatever had killed her father could have easily set traps, could still be there, waiting, knowing, and Emily had protested that she didn't care, she could take on whatever it was, and that's when Dean had laughed and ended the convo with no further discussion. Emily had seethed quietly the rest of the day, but didn't argue. It wasn't worth it. If she had learned anything about the Winchesters, it was that they didn't change their minds. Not easily anyway. And no amount of her pleading or charm would work on them.
But now? Now, sitting in the bath stewing, Emily began to plan. It was time. She had played their games for long enough, she'd kept herself in check, she'd learned what she could from them, and it was time to move on. Dean kept the keys to baby stashed in the pocket of his ever present leather jacket. Depending on what he was doing, it was left in his room, or at the table, or on the couch, or wherever he thought to toss it at the moment, and today? Today it was hanging on his chair in the dining room. She'd pack her duffle with the essentials she needed to survive on her onw for awhile, and she'd leave them a couple grand for letting her "borrow" baby. They'd eventually catch up to her, but given a good enough headstart, she'd at least be able to make it Seattle before them and do what needed to be done. With any luck, they'd lose her scent for good. She felt a small pang at that thought, regardless of how she'd gotten here and what they did, she had gotten pretty attached to the handsome brother's. Sam was probably the only friend she'd ever made that had lasted more then a few weeks, and Dean? Well Dean was Dean. A father, a brother, a friend, really nice eye candy all in one. But, she reminded herself firmly, they were not really her family. They were not really her friends. They were a means to an end.
She'd soaked long enough, her fingers had begun to wrinkle at that point, so she quickly washed herself and ran the razor over her legs and underarms, not sure when her next shower would be possible. Then she let the water out of the tub and got out, patting herself dry. She went through her normal routine, but this time she put her toiletries back into the little baggies she'd unpacked them from when she'd gotten here. She hung her towel on the back of the door and stepped out into her small room again, so lost in her thoughts that she didn't even notice the man sitting on her bed at first. She had been pulling on her panties and a sleep shirt when he spoke, and it startled her so badly that she had actually jumped in the air, whirling around with a look of pure terror in her eyes.
"You are making a mistake child," there was no lust in his eyes, or embarrassment, or any shred of emotion at all as Emily found her bearings, still clutching her chest as if her heart were about to leap right out of it.
"Jesus fuck Cass!" Her heart was pounding and she suddenly glared at the angel in front of her, her hands going to her hips in pure anger. "Do you make it a habit to sneak up on naked women you perv?" His expression didn't change, he just cocked his head to the side and said simply,
"Your naked form does not interest me. But your actions do. And you are making a mistake." He repeated the words patiently, as if he were talking to a very small child. His voice was so odd, soothing but clipped, unassuming and judgement free. He furrowed his brow slightly though as Emily brought her arms back down to her sides and went to sit next to him, running a hand through her hair.
"Well what am I supposed to do? Keep sitting around here until I die? Cass, come on, they aren't following God's orders either, so why should I?"
"You were meant to stay with them," he said simply. "To protect them. To have protection. You have chosen not to share with them what you are, God does not mind. Your free will is your own. I am here only to warn you that you are meant to stay and you have decided to go. They will find you. If other's do not before them."
And then he was gone again, and Emily let out an exasperated sigh and looked to the ceiling to yell "oh thanks SO MUCH!" before the door opened again and Dean was there, looking confused. "Was that Cass?"
"Nope," Emily stood and straightened out the long tee shirt she was wearing, giving him a shrug. "Stubbed my toe."
Without another word, she brushed past him and headed to the kitchen to make the boys their last homecooked meal. Whatever God planned, that was fine and dandy, but Emily wasn't going to be swayed. She had her mission and she was going to fulfill it, not waste her life sitting around a bunker getting her ass handed to her by Dean Winchester.
The bunker was quiet when Emily's alarm buzzed at her, waking her from her fitful sleep. She'd gone to bed right after dinner, telling the boy's that she had a headache from earlier and wanted to sleep it off. They hadn't argued, in fact they'd fussed a little over her, which had certainly not helped her guilt any. But she had to shove those feelings down, deep down, and she did, like a switch. She'd get as much sleep as she could and then she'd go in the wee hours of the morning, way before they'd awake and find her gone. 2 AM, the phone blinked at her and she yawned, stretching her body out and then moving quickly. Her bag was packed already, her clothes and her toiletries were stowed safely in the duffle, money in the bottom of it, and she stripped her sleep shirt off, folding it neatly and placing it on top of the dresser. They could have it. She redressed in a pair of high waisted, tight black jeans and a pretty cropped white lace top, her white converse on her feet as she tested the noise. Good, they were quiet. She slung her bag over her shoulder and eased the door open, listening for any sound of the boys moving around, but there was nothing. Just silence. Creeping down the hall on her tip toes, she passed Sam's room, then Dean's, pausing in front of each to say a silent goodbye before she had made it to the dining room and found the golden ticket. She put her bag down for a second and quietly pulled Dean's jacket off the back of the chair, slipping it over her shoulders. She'd already made the decision to take it, her own reminder of the boys and she inhaled the scent of his cologne deeply, feeling warmth spread through her body as she did so. It was big, but luckily the look was trendy and she didn't really care anyway. Feeling for the keys in the pocket, she smiled and slung her bag back up and that was that. The door was tricky, they had so many locks that it took her a good ten minutes to get them all quietly undone, but they didn't appear. Her heart was beating in her throat as she opened the door and slipped out, closing it with a quiet 'click' behind her. Freedom.
The duffle was tossed haphazardly in the back and she was in Baby in no time, the keys in the ignition and the hard part behind her. As the engine roared to life, Emily adjusted the seat to her height and threw it in reverse. The drive to Seattle would take her 30 hours, her plan was to drive as far as she could before needing to stop to rest, and by that time, she'd be well out of the boy's range.
What she hadn't counted on, however, was the noise of the engine waking the two brother's in the house.
"Sam, she's gone!" Dean roared from the bedroom, sleep still in his eyes, as he tore into the dining room, looking frantically for his jacket. It was gone. She was gone. Her room was empty, her bed was made, and his jacket with his keys was gone. "That fucking BITCH!" He roared, throwing the door open. The car was gone, his baby was gone, she was gone. "Sam, call Bobby, or Ellen, whoever's closer to us right now, and see if they gotta car we can borrow. Looks like we've got a trip ahead of us."
He was going to kill her.