I never thought I'd say it, but the kids had been my solace for the past few days. Ella and I hadn't really talked since our fight, and, since I didn't really know anyone in Abbeville nor have anything else to do, I stuck to babysitting my niece and nephews. Surprisingly, I was pretty good at it. The twins really liked me, and Lee was a generally content and quiet baby, so my job was easy.

The only thing that had thrown me was when Johnny had called me "G." I understood, of course, that kids had a harder time saying full words and that the twins wouldn't know how I felt about that nickname, but it still caught me off-guard.

"G? G? G, whassa matter?" Johnny asked me worriedly, placing his tiny hand on my knee. Lee squirmed in my arms, picking up on my unease, and that finally snapped me out of it. "What'd I do?" Johnny continued, and I could tell he was fighting the urge to cry.

"Nothing, kid!" I assured him hurriedly. "I'm sorry; I overreacted. I don't really get called 'G' anymore."

"Am I in trouble?"

"No, no, you're fine! It's okay!" I smiled at the boy, trying to mask my lingering discomfort. "You're not in trouble. I'm sorry." The next words left my mouth without my permission: "Keep calling me G. I'll get used to it." That time, I shocked myself. What the hell? Did I really just say that? I bit my lip as I tried to sort through my emotions. …And I think I really meant it. I mean, it is easier for them. And "G" is just a natural shortening of my already shortened name…and it's easier to use monosyllabic nicknames, anyway. Plus, they're just kids. It's not like I'm about to let Ella and the Winchesters start calling me that.

Once I'd calmed myself down, I resumed rocking back and forth in the chair in the nursery, and I smiled as Lee's eyes slid closed once more and his cute little snores started up again. Right when I was finally completely relaxed, my phone vibrated, and I resisted the urge to groan. I carefully reached into my back pocket, trying my hardest not to jostle the now-sleeping baby, and I checked the notification on the front of the screen.

Modern cell phones were still weird to me, especially since they could do pretty much the exact same thing as a regular computer and the internet just kind of naturally came with them. I did find them useful for cases, however. I'd been playing around with the internet and looking for any kind of job nearby when I'd discovered how to set my phone to alert me of any deaths that showed up in the news within a five hour drive from Abbeville. For the past few days, I'd been getting notifications about elderly people dying in their sleep, but this one was different. It said that, the day before, a pile of unspecified innards had been found next to a river about half an hour out of town off a road that was semi-famous for disappearances. Using DNA from the remains, the cops had identified it as a local college girl, and, apparently, she wasn't the first to have gone missing in that area—she was just the first to have sort of turned up again.

Sounds like a kelpie. Good. That's super fresh in my mind. Should be a piece of cake. And a solo hunt is definitely what I need right now. I looked down at the baby in my arms. I'll wait until he's had time to get all deep-sleepy; then I'll pack my bags and go. I can just leave Ella a note, right? I'd really rather not talk to her. I know she'll try to stop me from going out on my own, but she can't leave her kids—and I don't want her to come—and there's no way I'm waiting around for the Winchesters to get back. People are dying, and I don't need their help, anyway.

My mind was made up, so I waited patiently until I was sure that Lee was fast asleep, laid him down in his crib, placed a quick kiss on Johnny's and Sami's heads, then hurried back to Sam's room to pack. I'm gonna have to steal Greg's car, I realized. There's no way I can get there on my own, and I don't have the patience for hitchhiking. Ugh, Ella's not gonna be happy about that. At least the Winchesters should be back soon, so she won't be totally stranded here. Plus, this'll probably take me two or three days at the most, and, if it takes more than that, I deserve to be eaten by that kelpie.

At first I'd been scared that I wouldn't have any weapons and would have to scrounge up some silver bullets on my own, but, after rummaging through every piece of furniture in the room, I finally found a box of silver bullets and the pistol to match in the top drawer of the night stand. Paranoid much, Sammy? I shoved the gun in the waistband of my jeans after checking that it was loaded; then I tossed the extra bullets into my bag and headed for the door.

I'd noticed my first day here that there was a small marker-board right beside the front door, and I'd figured that it was for messages like the one that I was about to write. I scribbled a quick note to Ella, telling her that I'd be back in a few days and not to worry; then, after checking to see that she was still napping on the couch where I'd last seen her, I quietly shut the front door behind me, jumped into Greg's Impala, and sped off.

~Supernatural~Supernatural~Supernatural~

"So who was the missing girl?" I asked the young Stateburg policeman.

"Her name was Jane McCollum. She was, uh…she was my cousin's best friend," he replied sadly, and I wondered if there was a little more to that story. "Known each other since preschool. Town like this, we kinda know everyone. Hell, I used to babysit 'em both when I was in high school."

I nodded in understanding. "Did your cousin go to school with Jane?"

"They were roommates. Have been for three years."

"So that makes them juniors, right? At USC, I'm guessing?" I'd done my research on the town right after checking into my hotel two hours before, so most of the information I'd gathered about Stateburg, South Carolina was pretty fresh in my mind—including the fact that it was less than an hour from Columbia, the capitol of South Carolina and home to the Carolina Gamecocks college football team. Apparently, that was some kind of a big deal, for even the police officer had a USC mug sitting on his desk.

"Yeah, Columbia's not too far from here, so a lot of the local kids end up goin' there. I'm an alumnus, myself." Which would further explain the mug.

"Um, would you mind giving me your cousin's name? I just need to ask her a few questions, make sure there's no one she knows that would've hurt Jane."

The officer nodded quickly. "Yeah, yeah, sorry. Kirsten Williams. That's her. She's home for the weekend, lives at 124 Fort Sullivan Circle. Phil and Mary—her parents—they're probably there, too."

"Thanks, Officer…" I looked at his nametag for the first time, and I could've kicked myself for being so oblivious. "…Williams. Of course. Sorry."

He shrugged. "Phil's my first cousin. If you wouldn't mind, tell 'em Brian says hey, alright?"

"Gotcha. Thanks again." I turned away, but Officer Williams called me back.

"Hey, Detective Jones?" he said slowly, and I raised my eyebrows at him. "Ya got any idea what'd do that to a girl? Just gut her and leave her intestines behind?"

I blinked rapidly, trying not to show my shock. Intestines? But kelpies leave livers. So do each uisge. Ugh. Back to the drawing board, I guess. "No, I don't. I'm sorry."

"There's some sick people out in this world, Detective," Williams said, casting his eyes toward the ground. "If ya find 'em, give 'em an extra kick for me, ya hear?"

"I'll find whoever did this, Officer," I promised sincerely. "And I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."

"I'd go out there with ya if I could," he said, looking a little uncomfortable for some reason, "but, uh, I got lots of paperwork to do after Janie's murder and all. But gimme a call if ya need me for anythin'. And thanks."

I forced a kind smile. "Just doing my job." Before he could say anything else, I swept out of the police station and hurried back to Greg's car. "Ah, fuck, I need a drink," I muttered to myself before sliding into the driver's side. "But, first, I gotta visit Kirsten Williams."

My phone rang as I was pulling out of the parking lot, and I rolled my eyes at Ella's name on the caller ID. She started firing questions at me before I could so much as tell her hello. "What the hell d'ya think you're doin'?" her loud, Southern twang blared in my ear. "You're not ready to hunt on your own, and ya know it! Just 'cause we're fightin' doesn't mean ya gotta go off and be all stupid! Where the hell are ya, anyway? 'Cause I'm comin' down there just as soon as I find a goddamn babysitter! I cannot believe you, Gari! I thought ya had more sense than—"

"I'm not telling you where I am, Elle, because you don't need to come after me," I interrupted. "It's one tiny little hunt, something to help me clear my head and get back in the saddle without the Winchesters there as training wheels."

"You're bein' so stupid!" she ranted. "If this is about our fight, then—"

"Only a little, okay? Like I said, I just need to clear my head so when I get back, we can talk instead of yell. I wasn't ready to talk yet, and I think this hunt might help. I need to get back into the swing of things, into normal hunts—not demons and angels and prophets and gods. I need to save people again, Ella," I said pleadingly. "After what we let happen to Kevin and his mom… I just gotta make sure I can still save someone."

She was quiet on the other line, so quiet that I thought I'd dropped her call for a minute. When she finally spoke, she was soft and sad. "Okay, sis, I get it. I don't like it, but I get it. Just know that, even with what happened to the Trans, ya can still save people. They're both still alive, and that's gotta count for somethin', right?"

"You didn't see Mrs. Tran, Elle," I said, remembering the vacant look on the older woman's face. "It was like she'd been lobotomized. I dunno how anyone can come back from that, and it's our fault for not keeping a better eye on her and her son in the first place. And now we don't even know where they are—Crowley could have Kevin again, for all we know. But since I've got no leads on him, I'm gonna do what I do best and kill some fucking monsters."

"Okay," she said reluctantly. "Like I said, I get it. Just get back safe, alright? And, uh… I'm sorry, Gari. I really didn't mean to—"

"We'll talk when we get back," I broke in again. "This is an in-person conversation. I'll be back in a few days, and we can fight more then."

She snorted into the phone. "Yeah, sure. So where'd ya say ya are again?"

"Uh-uh. You're not coming out here. I'll tell you about it when I'm done. I'll see you soon, Elle." Then, before she could protest, I hung up on her.

Alright. 124 Fort Sullivan Circle. Let's do this. I put the car into gear and headed off to find Kirsten Williams. It took me ten minutes to get there, and I parked in front of a big, white, two-story house, kind of like the old plantation houses I'd seen back in Abbeville. These guys must be loaded. Wonder why the hell they chose to live here, of all places.

After straightening my pencil skirt and making sure my hair was still smoothed back into its sleek ponytail, I approached the front door. A man in his fifties opened the door before I could even lift my hand to knock, and I gave him an awkward grin. "Detective Jones?" he said, and I nodded slowly, feeling a little confused. "Brian—uh, Officer Williams called and told me you were coming," he explained.

Oh… "Well, that was nice of him," I replied.

"We try to keep tabs on our family 'round here." Phil Williams' voice was a little too harsh when he said that, and I wondered if maybe the reason Officer Williams hadn't followed me out here was because of some family argument.

"That's great; it makes my job easier. May I come in?"

"Oh, yes, of course!" Mr. Williams stepped to the side and let me in; then he closed the door behind me and led me into a lavishly furnished living room that looked like it had never been touched. I bet they have maids. Like, at least two. "Can I get ya anythin' to drink? Lemonade, sweet tea…?"

I shook my head and smiled politely. "I'd just like to talk to your daughter, if you don't mind."

"Yes, right… I'll go get her." I nodded at him, and he scampered off. A minute later, he came back into the living room with his wife and daughter in tow. I stood up as he introduced us. "This is my wife, Mary, and my daughter, Kirsten. We'll answer any questions ya have."

"Actually, I'd like to talk to Kirsten alone," I informed him.

Phil and Mary shared a look while Kirsten kept her eyes on the ground. "Detective Jones," Mary said, "we'd really feel better if we could stay with her. She's been through a lot, y'know, and she's not really feelin' all that well, bless her heart."

"I understand, Mrs. Williams; I really do. But for me to do my job properly, I have to talk to Kirsten alone. She's a legal adult and doesn't have to have the two of you there with her in situations like this." I glanced at Kirsten, who was still staring at the floor. "Of course, if she wants you to stay and promises to be completely honest, I suppose I can—"

"No!" Kirsten's head shot up at that, and she blanched as she realized her outburst. "I mean…uh, no. It's fine."

"Now, just wait a minute!" Phil said angrily. "You're already scarin' her, see? She doesn't needa be alone with ya!"

Okay, nice and patient was never my forte. "Listen, Phil—can I call you Phil?" I continued before he could stop me. "Your daughter can maybe help me solve the murder case of her best friend, which can in turn help me solve the murder cases that have been turning your little town into even more of a waste of space than it was before. Now, if there's something she doesn't want the two of you to know but thinks it will help me, she needs to not be afraid to say it. So that means that you two can wait ten short little minutes while your daughter and I have a little chat. Got a problem with that?"

Mary stared at me bewilderedly while Phil gaped at me like a fish. "Well, I never," Mary said with her hand clutched to her chest, but that didn't stop her from walking away. "C'mon, Phil. We're clearly not welcome here."

"Clearly," I agreed, and Phil glared at me as he walked out of the room. I turned back to Kirsten to see that she was suppressing a grin. When she met my eye, however, she withdrew back in on herself and sank into one of the many armchairs in the room. "I'm sorry I had to be rude to your parents," I said as I sat down across from her. Then I shrugged. "Well, actually I'm not. I'm here to get my job done, and the quicker I can do that, the better."

A fleeting grin crossed Kirsten's face again, and she nodded. "I get it. They're always in the way, anyway. Been that way since I was little. What d'ya wanna know?"

"Whatever it is that you're afraid to say in front of them."

"Oh," she frowned. "That." I waited as patiently as I could for her to speak; I could tell that whatever she was going to say had to be bothering her, and I didn't want to scare her into not talking. "Me and Janie've been neck-and-neck for the smartest in our grade since middle school," she said finally. "She beat me by less than half a point to be valedictorian, but she's got stage fright real bad, so I made the speech. She thought it was a good compromise, 'specially since I'd been writing valedictorian speeches since fifth grade." A sad smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "She always called me a nerd, but she never meant it 'cause she knew she was just as bad as me." I gave her a soft smile in return, hoping to encourage her to continue. "So, naturally, we both made it into the Honors College at USC…and then we both dropped out. We decided we didn't really care all that much 'bout our grades as long as we graduated—what's that sayin'? 'C's get degrees?'—so we lied to our parents and used our free time to hit up the local bars, like college kids do, y'know?"

"Do they still think you're in the Honors College?" I asked, and she shook her head.

"Brian—Officer Williams—he told 'em right after he found Janie. He'd been keepin' our secret—he's always been like a brother to me, and I think he wanted to be a little more to Janie—but, once she turned up dead, he spilled the beans. Course, they got mad at him instead of me—I think they knew for a while, but they don't like thinkin' I can do any wrong. I'm their golden child, and that's all they want me to be. They still dunno what we were doin' instead of goin' to class, and I don't think they wanna know. Janie's parents cut her off and moved across the country soon as we went to college—they never got on real well, and I kinda think she was relieved to see 'em go—I haven't even heard from 'em since we got the news. Don't even know where they are. I think that's part of the reason she dropped out, though: she kept up her grades all those years to try to gain her parents' approval, so when they moved away, she just…gave up. She got real bad into drugs her freshman year, but I helped her through it and we just did a lot of drinkin' and stuff after that."

"You're sure she stopped doing drugs?"

Kirsten nodded. "Positive. She wanted me to help her—even made me do a sweep of our room every now and then." She almost laughed. "She was so determined 'bout everythin'…includin' goin' after guys."

"What d'you mean?"

"She went through boys real fast—not sayin' that it was a bad thing—she'd always been a flirt; she just actually went through with all her flirtin' after we went to USC. If she set her sights on someone, she was gonna get him. The latest one was a new bartender that just started at Group Therapy 'bout a month ago, said his parents were from Scotland or somethin' like that but he'd been livin' in the States since he was five and didn't even have an accent anymore. He was real pretty, kinda model-lookin', and he was real nice, too, but he dressed different than the college boys, and that's one of the things that drew Janie to him—she hated all the frat boys' clothes. She had a thing about how people dressed. He was older, too, maybe late twenties?"

Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner! "And what was this guy's name?"

"Niles somethin'." She shrugged. "Can't remember his last name. It was weird, though—Scottish, I guess."

"Anything else you can think of?" I pressed. "Strange vibes you got off Niles, weird behavior from Jane, anything like that?"

"Niles was real nice—he's the one who told the police she was missin'. He noticed before me. Some friend I am," she said miserably.

"So he was with her the night she disappeared?"

Kirsten shrugged again. "I-I dunno. I hadn't really seen her in 'bout a week." She refused to meet my eye, and I knew that there was something she wasn't telling me.

"Kirsten, you can tell me anything," I said gently, placing a reassuring hand on her knee. "I need to know whatever it is you're keeping from me so that I can catch whoever did this."

"I think she was on drugs again," Kirsten mumbled finally. "I found a bag of pills under her bed—she still had me keep up the room sweep even after two years—and she walked in right when I found 'em. She freaked out, started screamin' at me for goin' through her stuff and actin' like her mom and she said she didn't even know why she was friends with me in the first place when I treated her like a kid and then she grabbed some clothes and left and—and then B-Brian called me and—" She broke off as she suppressed a sob. "The last thing I said to her was that I treated her like a kid 'cause she acted like one and that I was tired of tryin' to help her out. I went online that night and posted an ad for a sublease 'cause I didn't wanna live with her anymore. A-and now I c-can't 'cause s-she's—" Kirsten pressed a hand to her mouth as she continued to cry, and I patted her knee awkwardly. "I-I'm sorry," she sniffled after a minute. "I don't think it really sank in until just now. I haven't really cried yet and… I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize, Kirsten," I assured her. "Thank you for telling me all of this, and I'm sorry for your loss."

She nodded and gave me a teary-eyed smile. "Thanks, Detective Jones."

~Supernatural~Supernatural~Supernatural~

Columbia, South Carolina was quickly becoming my least favorite place. The traffic was awful, the parking was over-priced, and the entire city was about fifteen degrees warmer than the rest of the state because of all of the pavement. Seriously, I'd been in the city for an hour and hadn't seen one unpaved area the whole time. After spending way too much time on finding a parking spot and way too much money on paying for it, I was finally walking through the door of Group Therapy, the bar where this Niles guy apparently worked. I was there at five o'clock on a Thursday, so the place was pretty dead, which actually helped me a little. There were maybe six people total in the entire place, including the lone bartender—a group of four college kids sat at a table in the corner, while an older guy nursed what looked like a tonic and gin at the end of the bar.

I slid onto a bar stool a few seats down from the older guy and waited patiently for the bartender to turn around, wondering if this was Niles. When he finally looked up, I knew instantly why Jane McCollum had gone for him. I'd thought Sam and Dean were gorgeous—and they were—but this guy could almost compete. He had sandy blond hair swept back into an effortlessly messy bun at the nape of his neck (Ella told me that it had become increasingly popular for guys to wear buns nowadays, but this guy was the first one I'd seen that could pull it off) and his clear blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he met my gaze and smiled a dimpled grin. I blinked a few times to snap myself out of it and forced a semi-stern expression back on my face.

"What can I get for you, sweetheart?" the guy said in a strangely accent-free voice: no Southern or Scottish, despite where he lived now and his supposed origins.

I crossed my arms up on the counter and raised my eyebrows at him, unimpressed by the stereotypical pet name. "Are you Niles?" I asked, getting straight to business.

"That I am," he said with a grin. "Niles Pottinger, at your service. And you are?"

"Jessica Jones," I replied, and I flashed my fake badge at him. "Detective Jessica Jones."

"Ah." His grin faded slightly. "How can I help you, Detective? Is this about Jane?"

"It is. I'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind." I shrugged and amended myself. "Well, I'm going to ask you a few questions regardless. It really doesn't matter if you mind."

"Anything I can do to help. What would you like to know?"

"I heard that you were the one who found what was left of her body."

"I-I didn't know it was her at first, not until the DNA tests came back. I was just out for my morning run when I saw…her." He made a face, looking troubled at the memory.

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"The night before. We were, uh… I guess you could say we were seeing each other? We had been meeting up for about a week. She came to me that night and said she and Kirsten—her roommate—they got in a fight and she needed a place to stay. I tried to calm her down and she ran off. And then the next morning, well…" He frowned. "You know the rest."

"And how would you say your relationship with Jane was?"

He scoffed then gave me an apologetic look when he realized how that came across. "I wouldn't say it was a relationship. We were just having sex. She didn't ever act like she wanted anything more, and I was happy with it. I've been with a few girls since moving here, and all of them tried to pressure me into something I didn't want. Janie was different. She just wanted to have a good time."

I nodded—I understood Jane all too well. Before Greg had died, I was in that stage, too. And before I had died—at least, before my memory was wiped—I'd gotten a little reckless while wanting to have a "good time." Thankfully, dying had almost seemed to get me past that phase. "So your name's unique," I said conversationally. "Definitely not American. Where are you from?"

"My parents are from Orkney," he replied. "It's off the coast of Scotland—totally different accent and culture, though, which no one seems to realize. We moved to America when I was five, so my accent faded. And we've moved all over the place since. I rarely ever stay in a place more than a few months at a time since I've stopped living with them—this is just my most recent stop." Niles gave me a knowing look. "I'd say you can relate to that."

I forced a hopefully convincing smile. "Yeah, well, the job never lets me stay in one place for too long. Work is never over, y'know?"

"Not even for one night?" he asked. "Let me get you a drink—on the house." I couldn't tell if he was being flirty or just being nice, but, either way, a drink sounded great. "What would you like?"

"Your strongest whiskey," I answered seriously.

"As a shot?"

I laughed derisively. "I'd say gimme the bottle if I didn't think you'd judge me."

"Well, aren't you a tough one?" he joked, letting out a strangely musical laugh of his own as he grabbed a bottle and a glass. I noticed an odd-looking bracelet braided around his wrist; it looked like it was made of some sort of weed, but I figured it had to be hemp or something like that. I made a mental note to ask him about it later as I tried not to check him out while he had his back turned to me.

Right as he was pushing the glass toward me, my phone vibrated in my jacket pocket, signaling a text message. "Sam's on his way to you," the message said, and I saw that it was from Dean. "Tried to stop him. Hard to fight him & Ella at the same time. Thought you should know."

I sighed and dropped my head into my hand. "Is there a problem, sweetheart?" Niles asked me curiously.

I turned back the glass of whiskey and gulped it down quickly, letting out a breath as the welcome burn hit my throat. "Looks like I was right: work is never over. I've got a lead on Jane. Thanks for your cooperation," I told him. "And your whiskey. Don't skip town yet—I may have more questions depending on how this goes."

"Whatever you say, sweetheart," Niles said. "I hope you find whoever did this and make them pay."

"You and me both."

~Supernatural~Supernatural~Supernatural~

I had debated switching hotels, but I knew that Sam would find me regardless. He didn't get to be one of the best hunters in the business for no reason. I bet he used that necklace I gave Ella. I frowned down at the one around my neck. If I'm gonna be going off on my own, I've gotta remember to get rid of this thing.

Instead, I just went back to my hotel and changed out of my professional clothes. I took a shower while I waited for Sam, and I still had time to get dressed, tie my hair up in a messy bun, and start researching water spirits that left intestines behind instead of livers. I'd ventured deep into the internet and finally found a few leads when I heard something that sounded like a lock-pick rustling around in the lock on my door.

I rolled my eyes and unlocked the door; then I propped up against the doorframe and fixed Sam with an exasperated expression as I opened the door for him. "Y'know, breaking and entering is illegal," I said. "And I'm a fake detective. I could send you to jail."

Sam shrugged guiltily as he straightened up. "Sorry, I didn't know you were here."

I nodded my head at Greg's Impala, which could be clearly seen from my room. "Right."

He sighed. "Alright, I just didn't think you'd let me in if you knew it was me."

"Dean gave me a heads-up," I told him. "I already knew you were coming, no matter how much it annoyed me. I figured I should just put up with it."

"Of course he told you." Sam shook his head. "Why didn't you run?"

"I'm not gonna leave this town while there are still innocent people dying—how I feel about you doesn't change that," I said firmly. "I'm gonna do my job regardless."

"Huh. Okay."

I raised my eyebrows at him. "That's it?"

"Yeah?"

"Huh. Okay," I copied him, and it was his turn to roll his eyes.

"Alright, get it off your chest," he said. "Just c'mon, lemme have it."

"I've got nothing to say to you," I told him.

"Riiight."

"No, really, 'cause if I wanna get this job done, I can't say shit to you 'cause then I'll go into rage mode for a couple of hours and we'll get nowhere."

"Okay, see, now that makes sense."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "The more you talk to me, the harder it is to stop myself from yelling. So I'm gonna tell you what I've learned so far since you decided not to stalk me until after most of the work was done, and then we're gonna find out what the fuck this thing is and kill it so I can get away from you. But, y'know, that probably won't work, since you'll probably just get Ella to track me down again."

He watched me silently, as if waiting for an explosion, and, of course, that caused one to happen. "Seriously, Sam, what the fuck?! Why d'you think I went off on my own?! Did you think I wanted you to follow me?! Seriously, what part of that 'I can handle it' note I left for Ella did not make sense to you?! Let me clear it up for you now so this won't happen again: I do not want to be around you. I do not want to be around your brother, or even Ella right now, for that matter—oh, and, by the way, thanks for telling me that I was a demon blood junkie and my body looks like a volleyball net because of some weird-ass detox that drained me of my powers; that was really nice of you—" Sam's eyes grew wide with fear at those words, which gave me a sick sort of satisfaction. "—so, seriously, why won't you just leave me the fuck alone?!"

"Look, Gari, I was gonna tell you about the demon blood," he said desperately, taking one step toward me and causing me to take two steps back. "I really was; I just didn't—"

"Didn't think I could handle it?!" I guessed. "Well, y'know, it kinda sucked figuring it out for myself once Ella practically screamed at me that I was a fucking monster!"

He shook his head quickly. "No, you know she didn't say that. Out of everyone, Ella's the last person who would ever call you a monster, no matter what you did." A guilty look crossed his face so fleetingly that I might have imagined it, and then he continued. "And, yeah, okay, you're right: I didn't think you could handle it, especially not after how big of a blow finding out about Crowley was to you. I was gonna tell you; I just wanted to give you time to get used to everything first. And then you kissed me and freaked out and started avoiding me, so I couldn't tell you."

My face flushed as he brought up the kiss. "Look, I'm sorry about that, okay?" I muttered. "I shouldn't have done that; I was upset and just wanted comfort, and I shouldn't have taken it from you."

"Gari, you know I don't mind; you know that's what I'm here for. All I wanna do is help you through this." When I met his gaze, I could see in his eyes that he really meant it. He really wanted nothing more than to help me. No, help her, I thought suddenly. He wants nothing more than to help his Gari, the person he wants me to be.

Or is that really it? Is he really just such a compassionate person that he doesn't care? But the way he looks at me…it's like he thinks that I still know him, even though I don't. I know he doesn't mean to put this pressure on me, but I can't handle it. There are so many expectations from him and Dean and Ella, and I'm still just a broken shell of what I used to be before Greg died. I haven't had time to adjust, and I don't know if I can with him constantly around and worrying about me. I don't wanna be alone, but I don't wanna deal with the stress of trying to be someone I'm not.

"Look, I'm trying to get used to you; I really am," I said finally, feeling obligated to give some sort of explanation for my behavior but not knowing exactly how to get all of my thoughts out. "But you're still a stranger to me. You're still just another random guy, and you still keep thinking or maybe hoping that I'm the same person you knew when I'm not."

A look of confusion crossed Sam's face. "What d'you mean?"

"The way you look at me, the way you treat me—like I'm someone else and not just this shattered, lost little girl—it's bullshit!" I exclaimed. "Because I am shattered, I am lost! I'm still mourning a death that happened eleven years ago and I'm trying to atone for things I can't remember and I just don't think I can ever get past it!"

"That doesn't matter," Sam promised. "I can help you through it—I can do whatever you need me to do."

"No, that's not—" I broke off with a groan of frustration, and I ran my hands through my hair. "I'm not her, Sam; I'm never gonna be her! You keep hoping that something's gonna click and I'm gonna be her again, but it's not gonna happen!"

"I don't care about that—you're still you; you're still a part of this family whether you like it or not, and I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable or something, but nothing's gonna change that. Gari, I lo—I care about you a lot," he amended, a panicked look in his eyes at the word he'd almost said, "whether or not you remember it, and I wanna be here for you."

He kept looking at me with that earnest, sad, puppy-eyed expression and it was making me sick. He cared too much—he didn't understand—I couldn't deal with it any longer. "I'm not yours, Sam!" I exploded, and the lights in the room shattered, plunging us into near-darkness. He didn't even flinch, and that infuriated me even more. "You keep looking at me like a kicked puppy and speaking all soft and sweet and trying to protect me and I can't take it anymore!" I ranted. "I am not yours! I don't love you—hell, I don't even know you—so you need to back the fuck off!"

I was expecting quiet submission—from what I'd learned about Sam so far, he usually took a calmer and more rational approach, especially when it came to dealing with me. I was surprised and almost pleased, however, when anger flashed across his face and his eyes narrowed, their hazel color deepening to a dark brown. For once, he was going to fight back.

"You think I don't know that?!" he snapped. "Gari, that's literally all I can think about! You don't remember me—you don't even really like me—and I dunno how the hell to deal with that! I can't keep up with anything you do—you're completely fine one minute, and the next you're freaking out and—and blowing up light bulbs! You're worse than you were the first time we met, and I dunno what to do, okay?! I wanna help you—not because I want things to go back to the way they were, but I'm not gonna pretend I don't—but because I'm worried about you! We're all worried about you! You're miserable, you're in pain, and I hate seeing you like this!" The fire slowly faded from his eyes, and he dropped his gaze, looking ashamed of his outburst. "I just wanna help," he said quietly.

A surge of sympathy and regret rose up in me, and I groaned again and covered my face with my hands. "I don't like feeling like this," I mumbled, and I wasn't totally sure I'd meant to say that out loud.

He hesitated a moment then asked, "Feeling like what?"

"Like—like everything," I said vaguely. He didn't speak, and the words flowed out of my mouth against my will. "I don't like feeling bad for you," I said, my face still in my hands. "I don't like feeling sorry when I'm mean. I don't like feeling out-of-place all the time or like I'm gonna explode if I stay around anyone for more than a few hours. I don't like feeling miserable twenty-four/seven or like Greg died a year ago when it was really eleven years ago." I let out a deep, long breath. "And I hate that I'm getting attached to you, that I can't fucking hate you no matter how hard I try." I looked up at him then, and I couldn't read the expression on his face.

"Why d'you wanna hate me so much?" he asked finally, sounding more curious than offended. I could feel my wall sliding back into place, and I could tell he'd sensed it, too, for he hurriedly said, "I just wanna understand what you're going through. I promise I'll back off if you answer."

I sighed in defeat. "I don't like getting attached," I said, and the look on his face begged for an explanation. "I've loved two people my entire life," I continued. "One of them died, and I still can't get over it. If something happens to Ella…" I shook my head rapidly—I didn't even want to think about it. "And I can't do that again. The more people I care about, the easier it is to hurt me. I keep pushing you away because…" I trailed off, unwilling to say more, but his wide, pleading eyes spurred me on. "Because I know how easy it would be for me to get attached to you, and I don't wanna risk it. I can't risk it, Sam—I-I just can't. I can't go through this again." I didn't know why I was trying so hard to defend myself—there was no judgment in his eyes, just understanding and acceptance and sadness. "I can't handle the pain again."

He took a step toward me, and, since it seemed almost subconscious this time, I resisted the urge to back away. "Isn't it worth it, though?" he said quietly.

I frowned and shook my head. "No, it's not—how could anything be worth that?!"

"So you'd rather never have met Greg and Ella?"

"No, I—" I stopped myself, unsure of what to say.

"Gari, you knew him for four whole years," Sam said. "He saved your life, and you saved his. You'd really give that up?"

"I-I…ugh." I hid my face again, trying to hold back tears. I'm not gonna cry. I'm not gonna cry. Not again. Not in front of him.

"And what about Ella?" he pressed. "She's your sister. D'you really wish you'd never met her?" He wrapped his fingers around my wrists and gently pulled my hands away from my face. He kept his hold on my wrists as he gazed down at me. "Well? Do you?"

"N-no," I said at last, staring down at our hands. "No. I don't."

"Then how can you say that it's not worth it?"

I looked up at him then, and I was surprised at how close he was. If I lifted up on my toes, our lips would just touch. He'd wrap his arms around me and hold me there, and I'd forget all of my worries and doubts for a while. My eyes flicked up to his nervously, and they were warm and full of what I thought might be love.

With a jolt, I came back to my senses, and I pried my hands out of his grasp. "I'm sorry, Sam," I said softly, and a part of me meant it. "But I can't risk it." I chanced a look at his face one more time before hurrying out of the hotel room, and I could feel his defeated and heartbroken gaze follow me out the door.