"What the hell d'you mean, 'not again?!'" I said angrily.

"This was how you reacted the first time we met," Sam explained patiently. I noticed that he didn't look too bothered by my outburst, and that both confused and annoyed me. My fucking hand is on fire—he should be taking me pretty fucking seriously!

Dean, on the other hand, had the appropriate reaction. He took a wary step back, his eyes on my hand, and said, "Yeah, it sucked. You broke my damn nose." Sam chuckled at the memory, but he quickly stopped as Dean glared at him.

"Look," Sam said, his voice gentle and nonthreatening. "Can we at least talk about this before you burn us at the stake?"

I glared up at him, about to yell some more, but then I heard Greg's voice in my head: Everyone's got their own story, G. Even monsters. Sometimes, ya just gotta listen. I let out a deep breath and gave a reluctant nod.

Sam risked a small smile as Dean said, "You wanna put out your hand now or…?"

Annoyance sparked in me again, causing the flames to flare a little higher. "You wanna shut up for five seconds?" Sam hissed at his brother. "You didn't help the first time, and you're not helping now!"

Dean looked like he was about to argue; then he seemed to see his brother's point. "Okay. Sorry. Just—just ignore me."

"Easier said than done," I muttered. "You're extremely obnoxious."

"I…really can't argue with that."

"So is it alright if we talk?" Sam pressed again. "Will you listen to us? Maybe if we fill you in on everything we've been through, you'll…hopefully not hate us so much."

"Okay, yeah, fine, whatever," I said irritably.

"Um, would you, uh…" He swallowed a little nervously and looked pointedly at my hand. "Would you mind?"

I grimaced, and a shameful blush rushed up my neck. "I, uh—I can't," I admitted. "I'm not so great at controlling it. I was working on it before Gr—" I stopped abruptly, my eyes widening in fear of what I'd almost said.

Sam nodded in understanding, seeming to know exactly what I was talking about. "Okay. That's fine. What can I do to help?" He started to reach for my other hand then seemed to think better of it and quickly straightened his arm by his side. I looked up at him curiously, and he blushed and avoided my eyes.

"Honestly?" I said slowly. "Um, running it under water has really been the only thing that works all the time."

"Are you serious?" Dean chuckled. "Wow, that's—" He broke off as both Sam and I glared at him, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. "That's—that's unfortunate," he finished lamely.

I rolled my eyes as Sam walked over to the sink and turned the water on. I followed him over and stuck my hand under the flow of water, giving a sigh of relief as the flames dissipated almost instantly. "Does it hurt?" Sam asked quietly.

"It kinda just…tickles," I said with a shrug. "I mean, as long as I'm controlling it, anyway. If it touches something else and then gets back on me, it feels like normal fire. Like, I set one of our hotel rooms on fire one time—that hurt. I also ruined my favorite Rolling Stones shirt." Sam grinned at me, and I had to resist the urge to return it. Stop it! Stop liking him! He's not your friend; he can't be trusted!

His grin faded at the harsh look on my face, and he shifted uncomfortably on his feet and shoved his hands in his pockets. "So, uh, d'you wanna go sit down or—"

"No," I interrupted brusquely. "I want you to plead your case. Tell me why I shouldn't kill you and your brother. Tell me how you're different from your asshole of a father."

"I don't get it," Dean said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. "You got this problem with us 'cause our dad killed Ella's dad—you think it passes on genetically or somethin'?" I narrowed my eyes at him, wondering where he was going with this. "'Cause, if that's the case, shouldn't we be a little more wary of you?"

"Dean…" Sam warned, watching me carefully.

"No, really, I need to know. I've been wonderin' this since the first time we met. How come you get to judge us for what our dad did, but the fact that your dad abused you and you ended up burnin' him alive never comes into play?"

I didn't realize I'd lunged at Dean until I was pressed up against Sam's chest, throwing punches that had no chance of hitting the older Winchester. "You son of a bitch!" I snarled. "I swear to God, I'll—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey, Gari, calm down!" Sam urged, not even wincing when one of my fists struck him instead. "He's an asshole, okay? He shouldn't have said that." Sam shot his brother an incredulous and angry look, and Dean at least had the decency to look a little embarrassed. "He's an asshole. Just ignore him. Please."

I finally stopped fighting Sam, and I shoved him off of me roughly. "Don't touch me again," I said stiffly, and I quickly glanced away, unwilling to see the hurt on his ever-so-emotional face. I turned instead to his brother, who, to my immense pleasure, looked a little scared. "Don't you ever bring that up again," I growled, "or I swear I'll kill you."

Dean's naturally defiant nature—something I'd already picked up on—spurred him to fight back. "Yeah, not like I haven't heard that one before," he said offhandedly with a roll of his eyes. "Guess what, sweetheart? I'm still right here."

I moved forward again, and again Sam intercepted me. "Your hand," he said, and I felt the familiar tickling sensation and sighed as I saw the flames. He glanced at his brother. "You wanna give us a minute? And then never talk again?"

The older Winchester finally seemed to have lost his anger, and something akin to regret showed on his face. He looked at me apologetically and said, "Look, I'm sorry; I was outta line; I don't know why I said—"

"Dean," Sam interrupted firmly. "Just give us a minute." Dean pressed his lips together and nodded once before walking out of the kitchen. "You okay?" Sam asked me quietly.

"Why the hell do you care?" I snapped.

He gazed at me for a long moment with the most heartbreaking expression I'd ever seen. Talk about puppy eyes. A giant Winchester should not be this fucking beautiful. He crossed over to the sink again, and I joined him. "You know why," he mumbled, staring at my hand as the fire died down, "don't you?"

I frowned as I dried off my hand; then I reached into my pocket and pulled out the creased and faded picture. "I've got a pretty good guess," I said as he took the picture from me and observed it with a sad smile on his face.

"This was right after I got my soul back," he said, still looking at the picture. "Ella made sure it cut off her stomach since she was pregnant at the time. It wasn't that hard to do—she's, what, like five-foot-two, and I'm—"

"The Jolly Green Giant?" I supplied, unable to help the teasing grin on my face.

"Oh, ha, ha," he said sarcastically. "Like I haven't heard that one before."

"What about 'sexy Goliath?'" I asked, and his eyebrows shot up his forehead. "It's what I thought when you kissed me."

He laughed at that, and it was a warm, wonderful sound that was apparently contagious, for I started laughing, too. "No, you got me there. That's a first."

I stopped laughing as something he'd said earlier finally sank in. "Wait a second—did you say you lost your soul?!"

Sam sighed. "It's a long story."

"One of many, I'm guessing."

"You have no idea."

"I'd like to," I admitted. "Uh, I-I'd like to know—to hear some of the long stories." He blinked in surprise. "Look, I'm not saying I'm cool with you, and I'm definitely not cool with your brother—"

"Understandable."

"—but you two and Ella are apparently the only people I know. I can't just totally alienate you—at least, not until Ella gets back. No promises after that."

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Okay. I can work with that."

"And, hey, even if I decide I utterly despise you in the long run, I'm still up for the occasional hookup."

His face turned beet red. "Y-you what?!"

I shrugged, enjoying watching him freak out probably more than I should have. "What can I say? You're an excellent kisser." The weird montage that had happened when he kissed me the first time flashed through my head again, and I wondered what it meant. I couldn't pretend that I had my powers all figured out, but that was something that had definitely never happened before, and I wasn't a big fan of it potentially happening again.

"I—uh—I-I'm not—uh, okay," he stuttered out.

I gave him a mock pout. "Aw, is that a no or…?" He shoved his hand in his pockets and ducked his head, refusing to answer, and I laughed. "I'll take it as a maybe."

"Look, uh, can we just—just go into the living room and maybe actually try to talk?" he practically pleaded, looking like he was resisting the urge to run from the room.

"Sure, Sammy," I said good-naturedly, and I wondered how long this mood would last before I flipped the switch again—Probably until Dean opens his mouth. "Whatever you say." Sam's head shot up then, and I frowned in confusion. "What?"

"Y-you called me Sammy," he said, and, as explanations went, that was pretty lacking.

I raised my eyebrows at him. "Is that a bad thing? Should I not do that?"

"No, no, it's, uh…it's nothing. It's not important."

"Alrighty, then…" I followed him as he walked out of the kitchen. "Let's see how this goes."

"I'm sorry," Dean said as soon as I walked in the living room. "Really. I shouldn't have said what I said. I got mad. You kinda bring that out in me." I didn't reply; instead choosing to see what he'd say if I just watched him. He didn't disappoint. "Well, we, uh, we bring it out in each other. We fight all the time. Even after you stopped hatin' us, we're always annoyed about somethin'."

"I totally see why I hang around you now," I said scathingly, sitting on the yellow and blue plaid loveseat. Sam looked like he wanted to join me, but he seemed to think better of it and instead sat down in the recliner not occupied by Dean.

"See, that's what I meant!" Dean said, nodding eagerly. "Always at each other's throats."

At about that time, there was a loud crash as the front door swung open and collided with the wall, and a mess of strawberry blonde curls threw itself on top of me. "OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGod," its owner cried as she strangled the life out of me. "Ican'tbelieveyou'rebackohmyGodyou'rereallyback!"

"C-can't b-breathe!" I choked out. I could've sworn my ribs were cracking.

Ella finally released me, and she pulled back to stare at me, her big sapphire blue eyes brimming with tears and her cheeks red, meaning she was about to start bawling. "I-I can't believe—h-how'd ya—is it r-really—oh, my G-God—I-I j-just—"

This time I was the one to instigate the hug. I wrapped my arms around her and buried my face into her curls as I fought the urge to cry. "I'm so glad I found you," I whispered, hoping to stop my voice from shaking. "When I woke up, I…I was so scared. I thought something happened to you, too."

"Nothin' happened to me," she assured me, her voice thick with tears. "I'm okay. You're okay. You're back. Oh, my God, you're back."

"Elle, where are the kids?" Dean asked, and I could tell that he was reluctant to break up our moment.

"With Jess," she replied as she pulled away from me. "Just for a few more hours. I was plannin' on kickin' your brother out and us doin' somethin' special, but…" She looked back at me and gave me a watery grin. "But that can wait."

I beamed back at her. Suddenly, everything felt right again. I'd died and come back with ten years of my memories missing, and none of that mattered because I was with Ella, and we'd figure out whatever happened together. "I can't believe you have kids!" I said happily. "Three kids! What the hell?"

Ella's smile faded slowly. "What d'ya mean?" she asked confusedly. "Gari, ya know I got three kids. Hell, I was about to pop when ya—"

"Yeah, Elle, about that…" Dean broke in, looking uncomfortable. He glanced at his brother, obviously hoping Sam would explain.

The younger Winchester rose to the occasion, of course. "Elle, she, uh—she doesn't remember any of that," he said softly, as though hoping to break it to her gently.

"I-I don't understand," Ella said slowly.

"She's back, yeah, but she doesn't remember the past ten years. She woke up thinking it was 2003," he explained.

"Gari, what…?" She looked at me with wide eyes, as if waiting for me to say that we were just playing a joke.

"It's true, Elle," I nodded. "Last thing I remember was that kelpie in Michigan."

Her eyes got even wider, if that was possible. "B-but that was before—" She broke off abruptly, looking scared, and I frowned in confusion.

I opened my mouth to ask what she meant, but Sam beat me to it. "Before what, Elle?"

She shook her head rapidly. "It's nothin'. Never mind."

"Ella?"

"No, no, I was wrong. Got my timelines mixed up. It's been ten years, y'know." She shrugged and smiled, but I could tell that it was forced. She'd never been a good liar, but I decided to play along. I didn't want to get into some stupid argument with her the moment I saw her again. I glanced out of the corner of my eye at Sam, and I realized he'd noticed that she was lying, too. But, like me, he didn't question her. "Ya couldn'ta mentioned that in your text?" Ella said accusingly to Dean, and he shrugged apologetically. "So, uh, what time'd ya get back?" she asked me.

I shrugged. "Few hours ago, maybe. Why d'you have to live so far away from downtown? I had to get a ride from one of your coworkers."

"Alice, I'm guessin'?" I nodded. "Yeah, she's sweet." She frowned suddenly. "Why were ya downtown?"

"Well, that's where you buried me. I had to dig my way out."

She let out a small gasp, and her eyes filled with tears again. "Oh, my God, I didn't think about—oh, are ya okay? That had to've been awful!"

"Not somethin' I'd wanna do again," Dean muttered, and I spun to face him. "I went to Hell," he supplied at the look on my face. Then he gestured to his brother. "We both did. Separate times, though."

I turned back to Sam. "Was that before or after you lost your soul?"

"Before. I lost my soul because of Hell."

Dean nodded. "And then he went a little off the rails once we got it back."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Well, I'm sorry it was kinda hard to stay sane while hallucinating Lucifer."

"I'm so confused…" I muttered.

"Don't worry; we'll give you a play-by-play," Dean said. "So, first—"

"Why don't we give her the Supernatural books and start from there?" Sam suggested.

"Huh, yeah, that'd probably be better."

"They're books about us," Sam explained to me. "Me and Dean—it was before we met you and Ella."

I shook my head slowly. "Now I'm even more confused."

"You still got her copies in your room?" Dean asked his brother, and Sam nodded once. Dean got up and headed out of the living room.

"My copies?" I echoed.

"You bought them all when I went to Hell," Sam said. "They're a little old and battered—you read them a lot."

"O-oh. Okay."

Ella put her hand on my shoulder. "Ya doin' alright?" she asked worriedly.

"…I'm a little overwhelmed," I said honestly.

"Alright!" Dean said as he sat back down in his recliner. He tossed me a worn out paperback. "Everything you need to know starts there."

My eyes widened as I stared down at the cover. Two shirtless, muscular men in blue jeans were pulling romance novel poses in front of a black '67 Impala. I recognized Dean instantly—he was the shorter of the two, and his hair was the proper length. The man who was supposed to be Sam, however, had Fabio hair that was dramatically blowing in the wind. I snorted with laughter, and, when I looked up at Sam, I knew he could tell what I was laughing at. "It looks just like you, Sammy," I said with a smirk.

Again, calling him that seemed to catch him off-guard, and Dean shot him a curious and maybe even concerned look. "Oh, shut up," Sam said with a playful roll of his eyes.

"You gonna make me?" I teased, and he blushed and looked away. I stared back down at the cover. "He really called the first book 'Pilot?' It's not like it's a TV show or anything."

"Yeah, Chuck's got some cheesy titles and some even cheesier writing," Dean said with a nod, finally tearing his eyes away from his brother. "Also, they're borderline erotica. I'm full-frontal."

I made a face. "I'll be sure to skip those parts, then. How many books are there?"

"Uh…around sixty?"

"Excuse me?"

"They're short and crappy—it's not like it's all that time consuming."

"So, what, you've read them?"

He scoffed. "No, thanks. I lived all that crap—no chance I'm gonna read about it."

I looked at Sam and Ella. "What about you two?"

"I'm about halfway through season two," Ella said. "They're split up into seasons—also like a TV show."

"Sam?"

"I've read a few."

It didn't seem like he was going to elaborate, so I simply nodded. "Okay… I'll put that on my to-do list."

A small, awkward silence passed, but Ella soon broke it. "So who's hungry?"

"I had cookies earlier," I said, glancing at Sam, "so I'm alright." The younger Winchester blushed again, and, this time, Ella noticed it. She narrowed her eyes as she looked between the two of us, but she surprisingly kept quiet.

"I'll go into town," Sam volunteered. "And Dean can come with me." Dean looked like he wanted to protest, but Sam quickly said, "You two need some time to catch up." He smiled at Ella and glanced nervously at me as Dean heaved a sigh.

"Chinese?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, China Kitchen," Ella nodded. "Get me my usual."

"Got it. And, Gari, I'm guessin' vegetable lo mein and as many fried doughnuts as I can carry?"

I blinked, surprised that he knew that. "Y-yeah," I mumbled. "Thanks."

"Be back soon." He leaned over and kissed the top of Ella's head, and she giggled and swatted him away when he messed up her hair. The Winchesters walked out of the house, and I heard a car rev up and pull out of the driveway.

"This is so weird," I said, shaking my head.

"Which part?" Ella asked wryly.

"You getting impregnated by a Winchester three times is pretty high up on that list."

"Two times," she corrected. "Sami and Johnny are twins."

"Sami…" I said slowly. "After Sam?"

She nodded. "I had 'em the year he died. Samantha Janine and Jonathan Gregory. It's not like we're married or anythin', so we couldn't really decide on what their last names were gonna be. I think we're just gonna hyphenate now: the Harken-Winchesters."

"And Jonathan?" I said, though I already knew the answer.

She frowned and looked away. "I thought it was right," she said. "Dean loved his dad. They had problems, but he loved him. I got Gregory, so I figured it was fair."

"I don't understand, Elle. How did this happen?"

"Well, when a mommy and daddy love each other very much—"

I narrowed my eyes at her. "Ella. C'mon. Be serious."

"They're not like him, Gari," she said quietly. "We thought they were. We wanted to believe they were—you, 'specially. But they're not. I love 'em both so much—and you did, too, even if ya don't remember it. They're our boys, sis. Plain and simple."

"I-I can't just accept that," I said, shaking my head slowly. "I-I don't see how—we said we'd—he just died last year," I managed finally, struggling to speak around the lump in my throat.

Ella's eyes filled with tears. "No, he didn't," she murmured. "I know it feels like it, but it's been ten years. So much has happened—he wouldn't want ya to hold a grudge for him."

"You cancelled his phone," I accused, hoping that anger would rule out sadness, but the two just seemed to merge and make it worse. "We said we'd never cancel it, and you did."

"We did," she said. "It took us a whole other year to do it, but we did. We weren't healthy—you weren't healthy. Ya called it every day. Even after my werewolf obsession died down, ya still kept callin' that number. We had to cancel it."

I didn't know what to say to that—I remembered her werewolf obsession very clearly, and if I'd been worse than that, I could almost understand. I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. "Everything feels so strange," I whispered. "You're you, but you're not. You're different—you've got kids and a sorta-husband and a house… You're balanced. Normal."

"Oh, sweetie, if ya think this is me balanced—" She broke off as I sniffled loudly and stubbornly blinked back tears. "Y'know, it's okay to cry," she said gently. "Ya've been through a lot today—comin' back to life and not rememberin' anythin'. That's enough to make anyone cry."

"N-no, I…I haven't," I said, hiding my face. "Not since Greg."

"Well, newsflash: that ended just about as soon as you stopped mindlessly hatin' Sam," she said matter-of-factly.

The almost harshness of her voice startled me out of my moping, and I frowned at her. "What's going on?" I asked. "With us? Sam and me?"

"That's what I wanna know," she said with a nod. "I thought ya hated him, but you're flirtin' even more than ya did the first time ya met."

"He thought I was me me when I first showed up," I said, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. "And he sorta swept me off my feet." She raised her eyebrows in confusion. "He kissed me. Like, full-on romance novel kiss, with his hands tangled in my hair and his tongue—" I gave a sheepish laugh and ducked my head.

"So it was good then, huh?" she said with a grin. "All passionate and everythin'?"

"He was vigorous, Ella," I nodded. "Very vigorous."

Ella laughed so hard she snorted, and I couldn't help but laugh with her. God, I missed her so much. It feels like I've been away from her for years. "And ya actually let him?" she asked once she stopped laughing.

"Hey, if the hottest guy you've ever seen comes up and kisses you, are you really gonna push him away?"

She got a dreamy look on her face, and I knew she was thinking of Dean. "Nope," she said. "Not a chance."

"I mean, I finally came back to my senses and shoved him off me, but it was great while it lasted. And teasing him is just too fun. Have you seen the way he blushes? It's fricking adorable, and it pisses me off."

"That's the Gari I know and love," she said appreciatively.

"But, uh, when he kissed me…" I trailed off uncomfortably. From what I remembered, we didn't talk about my powers that much. I knew that it had always upset her when she couldn't help me understand something that was happening to me. But, right then, I just needed to talk to her. "When he kissed me, I saw something."

"Fireworks?" she guessed jokingly.

"No, uh…it was like one of those montages in the movies, but sped up, a-and in every scene, it was, uh…it was us. Him and me. A-and it wasn't just seeing it; it was feeling it, too. There were so many emotions—desperation was really prominent."

"Y'all did have a lot of near-death experiences together. I imagine y'all were usually pretty desperate to get it on."

I slapped her arm as a blush crept up my neck. "Oh, shut up." I frowned and stared down at my knees. "So we were that serious, then?" I asked hesitantly.

"Ya must've noticed y'all share a room," she said reasonably. "And I'm guessin' ya found the picture I put in your pocket. And—" She looked like she wanted to say something else but thought better of it. I wondered what it was, but then I figured that anything she was withholding was something I would find out later—she was probably trying to stop me from getting too overwhelmed.

"Was I really that happy?" I asked, thinking back to the picture. Sam had left it on the kitchen counter, and I couldn't decide if I wanted to go get it or not. It was weird seeing myself that way and not remembering any of it.

"When ya could be," she said with a nod. "Y'all made it work. Last year was the happiest I'd ever seen ya, and Sam was crazy for over half of that."

"What d'you—oh. Hallucinating Lucifer, right?" She nodded. "Oh, man. Did we really get caught up in the Winchester family drama?"

Ella laughed. "Unfortunately. But we helped stop the Apocalypse, and that's gotta count for somethin', right?"

"Wait, like, capital-A Apocalypse? Like, biblical?"

"Ugh, God, I keep forgettin' ya don't know. I don't wanna tell ya anythin' too insane—Sam was right: the books are a good way to get ya into everythin' without it bein' all batshit."

"I'll take your word for it. So what's the third one?"

"Huh?"

"The third kid. What's its name?"

"Oh, uh…" She shrugged, her cheeks turning red. "Robert Lee," she said at last.

"You're one letter away from being a Confederate general," I pointed out.

She let out a snort of laughter. "Sam said you'd be sure to bring it up, and he was right."

"He really knows me that well?"

"Sometimes I think he knows ya better than I do," she admitted. "Don't tell him I said that, though. Those Winchesters don't need an ego boost. 'Specially not the oldest one."

I frowned and switched the subject back to Robert Lee. "So what d'you call him? Robert? Rob? Bobby?"

"Lee," she said, and she watched me as if waiting for a reaction.

"You wanna explain the names?"

"Robert was from Bobby Singer—he died last year, and we were all real close. He was kinda like the boys' second dad. And, uh, kinda like yours, too."

"I don't believe that," I said stubbornly. "No one could replace Greg."

"He didn't; that's not what I'm sayin'," she said, sounding frustrated. "Y'all were just really close. Ya only had a good dad four years of your life, Gari. Bobby just gave ya a little extra time to be looked after. And, really, he raised those boys. If they're like anyone at all, they're like him. And that should be reassurin' 'cause Bobby Singer's one of the best people who's ever lived."

I fell silent, unsure of how to reply. "And, uh, and Lee?" I said finally.

"Haven't ya guessed yet?" she said with a watery smile.

It suddenly hit me. "Wait—for me?!"

She nodded earnestly. "Last year, ya joked about how I should name a kid after ya. Figured I might as well do it. Plus, again, you were dead, so… I'm sure ya've noticed the trend in the names by now."

I nodded. "A little morbid, don't you think?"

"How else are they gonna be remembered?"

I was saved from having to think of an answer by the Winchesters entering the house again, laden with Chinese food and beer. "Alright, ladies, stop talkin' about me," Dean joked as he and Sam started passing out the food. "So did you get her up to speed on anything good?" he asked Ella. He bypassed the chopsticks and went for the fork, which he immediately used to start shoveling food in his mouth as though he hadn't eaten in years.

"Baby names," Ella said, and I mentally thanked her for not talking about my near-breakdown. "And how good of a kisser Sam is."

The younger Winchester had just taken a bite of fried rice, and he coughed roughly as he choked on it. His face was red again, but I couldn't tell if it was more from embarrassment or almost choking to death. "Can we not talk about that anymore?" he asked hoarsely, and Dean laughed.

"Nah, Sammy—you did it, you gotta suffer the consequences." Dean shrugged. "It could be worse—she could've been sayin' you're a bad kisser."

At first, I was moderately comfortable eating with the Winchesters. But the longer dinner wore on, the antsier I got. Why am I with them? Why can't it just be Ella and me? They're strangers; they don't belong with us. And they're Winchesters—we shouldn't even be near them. They act so normal, and it's driving me insane. They act like they know me, like I'm their friend—how can they know me? How could I have let myself become their friend? We said we'd never get attached. We said we'd always keep going. I can't do this. I can't sit here and pretend I'm normal and—

"Gari?" Sam said worriedly, breaking me out of my thoughts, and it was then that I realized that I was standing up. My lo mein was splattered on the floor, and Dean and Ella were watching me with concerned gazes.

"I-I need some air," I said lamely. "I'll clean that up," I told Ella, "i-in a minute." I rushed out of the house, breaking into a run as I hit the driveway. I'd never been someone to run on a daily basis—I figured I got enough of a workout hunting monsters—but, sometimes, especially in the year since Greg had died, the best way to clear my head was to just run as far away from civilization as I could and let my powers go free.

Being in as small of a town as Abbeville, it didn't take too long to get away from civilization. I pushed my way through a clump of trees and entered a clearing. I walked to the very center, stretched my arms out to the sides, and screamed as loud as I could. Thunder and lightning crashed around me, and freezing cold rain poured down heavily, soaking me to the bone. I sank to my knees and buried my head in my hands, and I finally let myself cry. For the first time, I cried for me. I cried for the fact that I'd died; I cried for the fact that I'd come back. I cried for the fact that I could at once remember nothing about the past ten years but so much about the year before that. I cried for feeling so out-of-place, for being covered in scars, for being told to give up the grudge that had kept me going for what felt like centuries.

And, finally, I couldn't cry anymore.

My tears stopped, but the rain kept going. Only then did I realize how cold I was, and I ran my hands up and down my arms in an attempt to warm myself. C'mon, rain, I thought agitatedly. You can stop now! But the storm continued, and I heaved a defeated sigh as I got back to my feet. I'd run for at least fifteen minutes before finding the clearing, and I dreaded having to make the trek back. I pushed back through the trees and walked along the side of the road, wishing I knew how to teleport and also that I'd brought a rain jacket. It looks like it hit the whole town, I realized, and I couldn't help being impressed. That's the biggest it's ever been.

Just then, I saw headlights up ahead, and I waved my hands frantically. Hopefully it's a kind stranger and not a creepy dude in a van. I changed my mind and started wishing for the van as John Winchester's Impala stopped right in front of me and Sam got out. "Of c-course it's you," I huffed, rolling my eyes. I noticed how my voice shook from the cold, and I hated it.

"Are you okay?" he asked me. He seemed completely oblivious to the rain. "Here, take my jacket." Before I had time to protest, he had slipped off his jacket and put it around my shoulders. It was actually a lot warmer, but I wasn't going to tell him that. "C'mon, let's go back home." I silently followed him to the car and got into the passenger side. "Did you do this?" he asked, and I nodded. "Wow. I always forget how powerful you are."

"W-why'd you come after me?" I asked rudely, but he didn't seem to mind.

"Are you still cold?" he said instead, and he must have taken the sound of my teeth chattering as a yes, for he cranked up the heat and glanced at me worriedly. I let out a happy sigh as the heat hit me, and I sank deeper into his jacket. It smelled like old books and alcohol and Irish Spring body wash, and, as I closed my eyes, memories assaulted me again.

A jumble of images flew by, and they would've seemed totally random if not for the smell that accompanied them. I was sleeping curled up to a pillow; there was a jacket around my shoulders; I shuffled around in a large plaid shirt; and then there was Sam—hugging me, holding me, laying beside me with his arm around my waist and my head on his chest.

I let out a gasp as those final images hit, and Sam looked over at me again. "What's wrong?" he asked urgently.

"N-nothing," I lied, and I wasn't sure if my voice was shaking from the cold or from what I'd seen. "J-just cold."

"When we get back, we'll get you into some dry clothes, okay?"

"Y-you're such a m-mother hen," I grumbled.

Something flashed over his face, the same thing that happened when I'd called him Sammy, and his hands tightened on the steering wheel. I wondered what that was—was I insulting him somehow? Or was it something else? I wanted to ask him, but I didn't know how, and the extremely stubborn side of me refused to give in to the urge to talk to him again.

When we pulled up into the driveway, I saw that Greg's Impala was gone. "W-where—?"

"They went to get the kids and Riot," Sam told me.

"W-who's Riot?"

"Our dog. He goes everywhere with Sami and Johnny."

"I'm m-more of a c-cat person," I said, though I didn't know why that was important. We got out of the car, and he came and pulled his jacket up over my head to shield me from the rain as we hurried inside.

"I never would've guessed," he said, and he sounded almost bitter. Then I realized it was pain in his voice, and I frowned. "C'mon." He led me down the hall and into what used to be our room. Instead of going through the chest of drawers for my clothes, he pulled a flannel shirt out of the closet and handed it to me. "What?" he said at the look on my face. "You don't own a single long-sleeved shirt. You have like twenty t-shirts and tank tops and one leather jacket. You really think those are gonna get you warm?" I supposed I saw his point. I shrugged out of his jacket and pulled my shirt over my head then tossed it on the floor. He was blushing again, looking pointedly at the ground. "W-what are you—?"

"N-not like you haven't seen me naked before, i-is it?" I challenged. In all honesty, I just didn't care anymore. I'd never been shy about my body in the first place, and I didn't see why I should start feeling that way now, even if I was all scarred.

"I, uh, I just thought you'd have on a bra," he said lamely, and he covered his eyes as I stripped off my jeans.

"Uh, n-no, not g-generally," I replied with a roll of my eyes. "Wait, d-does that mean I s-start wearing b-bras in the future?" I groaned. I decided to be kind and put on Sam's shirt before I took off my underwear. He was right—it was extremely warm. It was grey plaid, and it fell about a third of the way down my thighs. I quickly tied my wet hair up in a bun before it could soak the shirt. I rummaged around in my underwear drawer and turned back to Sam when I was done. "Y-you can stop b-being a b-baby now," I told him, and he removed his hands from his face.

"I'm not the one who ran off and caused a thunderstorm," he said shortly, and I was surprised at the attitude. He'd been so gentle and careful with me since I'd gotten back, and I'd been getting tired of it. This, however, was refreshing. I bent down to grab his jacket, looking forward to the warmth and the smell, but he beat me to it. Our hands touched as he handed me the jacket, and I drew back quickly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to touch you," he said, and this time, he was definitely bitter.

I pulled the jacket tight around me and struggled with the zipper. "T-that's more like it," I said approvingly. "I-I've been a total b-b-b—" I broke off as a particularly violent shiver shook me. He pushed my hands away and zipped up the jacket then rubbed his hands over my arms.

"Better?" he asked, and I noticed that his voice had softened again at my almost apology.

I closed my eyes and nodded slowly. "Mhm," I sighed contently as I started heating up again.

"Gari, I, uh…"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry if I made you feel, um…pressured in any way—I didn't mean to, really; I just…it's good to have you back."

I opened my eyes then, and I noticed he was regarding me with that puppy-eyed expression I'd seen earlier. "You didn't," I promised him.

"Not even when I kissed you?" He played it as a joke, but I could tell that he was seriously worried.

"Not even then." I bit my lip, feeling hesitant for some reason—this wasn't a feeling I was used to. "Not even if you did it again," I said softly.

My hesitation was mirrored on his face as his eyes flickered down to my lips and he swallowed roughly. "I know it's weird knowing that we, uh, that we were together," he said somewhat distractedly as I licked my lips, purposely drawing focus. "And I-I really don't want you to feel obligated to, uh, to even like me…"

"I'd like you a hell of a lot better if you'd make your move."

That did the trick. His mouth crushed against mine, all hunger and desperation and desire, and I went along with it, enjoying the passion and the way he held me to him. He fumbled at the elastic in my hair, and he ran his hands through the damp strands once he'd finally succeeded. I stopped touching him briefly to unzip his jacket and I tossed it into a corner of the room—I was definitely getting warm enough now. His hands ran down my back and under my legs, and he hitched me up around his waist before carrying me over to the bed. He dropped down, looming over me, and I rolled us to where I was straddling him.

"I can't promise you—" I said in between all the kissing and the moaning "—that I'm gonna like you in the morning."

"I don't care," he all but growled, and his voice sent shivers down my spine.

"Well, now that—" I gasped as his mouth trailed to my neck "—that's settled…"

My hands trailed down to the fly of his jeans, and my fingers had just slipped inside when he stopped me. His hands wrapped around my wrists, and he sat up, pushing me back. "I can't," he said, shaking his head. "It's not fair of me to—"

"The last I checked, I was the one telling you to kiss me again," I interrupted. "Don't you think I would've stopped you if I'd wanted to? Unless…" I frowned as he looked away. "Unless you stopped me for you. You did, didn't you?"

"You don't like me," Sam said quietly. "You said it yourself. You don't even remember me. I can't—not like this. I thought that I could, but I can't."

I was so shocked by his honesty that I couldn't think of anything witty to say. "Huh. Okay. That's a first. But, hey, if you're not into it, you're not into it."

"Gari, no," he said, picking up on the slight offense I'd tried to hide in my voice. "No, that's not it. It's not you; it's—"

"Except that it is me. And I get it. I'm not the me you know. It's cool, Sam. It's totally cool."

"Gari—"

"So, uh, I'm really tired," I said, conveniently yawning right then, "long day and all. Are there only two bedrooms in this dollhouse?"

"And the nursery," Sam said, seeming to have given up on his excuses—which were totally valid; the rejection just hurt a little more than I'd expected it to. "They're talking about adding onto the house when the twins start getting bigger."

"Right. Smart." I pulled my hair back up in a bun and climbed off the bed. "So, uh, I'm gonna go now—the couch is calling my name."

"No, no, take the bed," he insisted, also standing up.

"And make the giant take the small couch? Can you even fit on it?"

"You've been lying in a grave for a year—you deserve a good mattress."

I couldn't believe we were starting to argue about sleeping arrangements. "Alright, fine," I gave in. "So which one's my pillow?"

The weird look—which I'd now decided was a form of sadness—crossed his face again, and I sighed. He grabbed a pillow seemingly at random and pointed to the remaining one. "That one," he said. "Mind if I take the quilt?" I shook my head, and he grabbed the quilt at the foot of the bed.

"D'you, uh…d'you want your shirt back?" I asked him. "I'm warm now, so…"

"You're fine," he said. "I'll get it back later."

He turned to go, but I called him back. "Sam?" He looked over his shoulder at me. "You should know that I was being honest: I really don't know if I'll like you in the morning. In fact, I kinda doubt it." I didn't know why I felt the need to warn him—maybe it was the panic that had been building in my brain again from the moment his lips touched mine a second time.

He didn't seem to know what to say to that. "Lemme know if you need anything," he told me; then he walked out and shut the door, leaving me all alone in the unfamiliar room we used to share.