"Maya." Dean breathed, his heart thudding in his chest. He pulled her into a tight embrace as soon as she opened the hotel room door, breathing in the smell of her hair and relishing how tightly her arms squeezed his waist. He kept his arms around her for longer than normal, his hand resting in the small of her back, the warmth of her skin finding his through her shirt.

She eventually pulled away, and turned her attention to Sam. He watched her embrace him like he was her brother, his heartbeat settling, his breath slowing.

"Fancy seeing you here," she smiled warmly, but her face was tired.

"You're alright?" Dean asked, brow furrowed.

"I'm fine. I slept for about an hour, seems like it was enough."

"It wasn't enough," he smirked, and she gave him a playful slap on the arm.

"You two can talk. I hope you made a pit stop on the way down here."

Dean looked sheepish. "We, uh, we switched."

"Unbelievable. Sleep. Now. Both of you."

Sam cocked his head. "You don't wanna go?"

"I'm not suicidal, no way am I getting in a car with either of you until you've slept. Then we eat. Then we go."

She looked at them so fiercely that neither of them dared to retort. Sam and Maya took the twin beds, Dean hauled up on the couch under the spare blankets. He lay there, crumpled up on the floral couch, willing sleep to come, but it didn't. Sam's snores didn't take long to arrive, gentle but ceaseless, and he heard a shuffle from the bed closest to him.

"I thought you'd gone."

Maya's voice sounded, quiet but awake, from the bed. "I know."

"We looked for you, I promise you we did."

"I know."

If Maya said anything else he didn't hear, but the warm embrace of sleep finally found its way to him, and when he woke up, it was light.

I sat in the back of the Impala, legs curled under me, my eyes fixed on the moving landscape passing by us. I felt okay in myself, but there was anxiety niggling at me when I thought about Kushiel. Did he mean what he said about hurting Sam and Dean? Would Cas be punished?

"…saw a diner just up the road- hey? You with us, Angel?"

My eyes snapped to Dean. "Huh? What? Sorry…"

"I said 'we should get some food, I saw a diner a little up the road on the way down', you hungry?"

"Uh. Yeah, I could eat."

Sam turned to me, concern set in his features. "You okay? You seem a little… spaced out."

I tried a smile. "I'm okay, just…tired. You know I'm a bad passenger."

He didn't look convinced, but didn't press. The car swerved into the car park of a brightly lit diner and we headed inside.

"Okay… so, the Spring Hill case: what are we gonna do about it?" I sipped the coffee that had been poured as soon as our asses touched our seats.

The brothers shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

"What?" My eyes narrowed.

"That… that was a trap." Sam muttered.

"A trap? How do you know?"

"Because it had to be." Dean lifted the coffee cup to his mouth. "They can't track us, we're warded, so how did they know we'd be here? They sent us here, that's how. We shoulda seen it."

"Dean, there's no way we could have seen this coming," I said gently, setting a hand on his arm. "We'd heard nothing from them, nothing. It'd been months."

"Exactly."

We sat in silence while we ate, my appetite insatiable from days of cheap pastries and limp sandwiches. My eyes kept finding their way to Dean's face, set tightly in a permanent frown, softening only when he caught my eyes on his. I wanted nothing more than to get back to the bunker, to make light of all this, to speak to Dean alone. In his eyes this was his fault, something he felt he should have predicted- I could see it in his face. I wanted to reach out to him there and then, to hold him the way he held me when I opened the hotel room door, but I couldn't help but think it wouldn't be welcomed.

He watched her breathe a deep sigh of relief as she stepped out of the Impala, back on Kansas ground. A smile lingered on her lips as she helped Sam pull some bags out of the trunk, as she followed him down the metal staircase, as she slipped into the shower room to clean up. Dean smiled too, but it didn't reach his eyes. For the whole journey home, even when he was talking and laughing with Maya and Sam, there was something gnawing at him, making him restless. His leg would bounce as he sat at their table in a diner, his fingers would drum on the steering wheel as he drove. This was his fault, and Maya shouldn't be here. He stood in the library, watching Sam disappear toward the kitchen, then turned on his heel and headed out the door.

"Another."

"Don't you think you've had enough, handsome?"

"Another."

The blonde disappeared and returned a few seconds later with a fresh tumbler. Dean downed it in one, feeling the burn in his throat and his chest, soothing the ache he felt there. He held up the glass.

"What's a handsome guy like you doing in a dive like this all by yourself?" The barmaid gave him a coquettish smile, resting her palms on the bar. His eyes fell to her chest, her Henley shirt unbuttoned one too many. She smiled again.

"I get out of here in a half hour," she was close enough to him that he could smell the remnants of her sickly sweet perfume- it made his head spin.

"Another,"

The barmaid scoffed, but took his glass nonetheless. A year ago, he'd have jumped at the chance, flirted a little, made her feel pretty. Now, the thought of her made him feel queasy, made him feel like he was doing something wrong, like he was betraying someone, a thought that had pretty much the same effect. When he looked at that barmaid, golden skin, long blonde hair, lacy red bra peeping through her shirt, all he could think about was the fact that she wasn't someone else. She had blonde hair, not auburn; she was too tall, way too tall, and her perfume was too sweet. He willed his mind to think of anything but her - he didn't understand why she kept finding her way into his brain. She couldn't be with them, she couldn't, she wasn't safe. She couldn't die on his watch; he'd never forgive himself. She'd be better off without them. A fresh glass was set down in front of him and he knocked it back like a reflex. He'd have to tell her, he thought. He'd have to.

Dean's vision was unfocused now, his head was spinning. He knew he'd had too much to drink, he felt the nausea in the pit of his stomach. As he tried to stand, something barrelled into his back, knocking him toward the bar. He whirled around, the nausea rising. He wheeled round to face whoever had been stupid enough to touch him tonight. The nausea subsided again, replaced by drunken anger that spread through his body and reddened his face.
He found himself lunging towards the culprit, his shoulder knocking him to the floor, fist meeting his face so hard his knuckles stung. He felt someone behind him, arms locked around his chest, trying to pull him off; his focus shifted. Dean's elbow struck his face and the man staggered back into the crowd, only to be pushed back into the ring again. The crowd was cheering; if it was a fight they wanted, a fight they would get. He was being circled, his opponent was huge; he wasn't sure how he'd even managed to knock him backwards. He may have been strong, but Dean was quicker. He threw the first punch, but the guy barely staggered. Instead he threw himself at Dean, who sidestepped out of the way and let him careen into the crowd again. The hunter's resolve faltered a little, and he staggered a little as the big guy turned to face him once more. This time, he wasn't so quick, and the force of the man's fist was enough to knock him on his back. It was followed by a kick to the stomach, which left him curled on his side. A boot hit his ribs and rolled him onto his back, a fist met his face. Dean smiled, relishing the pain. You deserve this, he thought, you deserve this.

"Dean!" A familiar voice wiped the smile from his face. "Dean!" He closed his eyes and let the pain wash over him, the throbbing in his ribs, the sting of the open cuts on his face.

"Get off, get off!" He heard her scrambling around beside him, but his eyes stayed shut. There was a crack of splitting wood and the bar fell silent. Her hand found his and she urged him up; he didn't protest. The smell of tobacco and vanilla mingled with iron and salt as an arm snaked around his back and a small body took most of his weight. He opened his eyes to the warm rain falling outside and his legs gave out.