The Devil You Know

Epilogue

At the bus station, Lucy bought the next ticket available with a reckless disregard for the direction it would take her in, her lips set in steely determination. Now that she wasn't a fugitive, the idea of starting a new life was less frightening, but leaving behind everything she knew was never going to be easy, and it frightened her; letting her past die behind her like it had never been. She blinked, reproaching herself fiercely. It was the future that she needed to concentrate on.

Clutching her ticket in sweaty fingers, she stepped out into the muggy sunlight. The Winchesters were waiting, leaning against their car; all their masks back up after the events of a few nights ago. They still looked pale, and Dean was supporting most of his weight against the Impala's hood, but both faces were impassive.

'Are you going to be ok?' Sam asked her, pulling his eyebrows together in a sort of sympathetic frown.

Lucy thought it was an ironic question, considering he'd told her with such great certainty that she would be ok, not so long ago. She nodded, though, her throat too dry for argument.

'Take care of yourselves, okay?' she told them, when she'd found her voice. They nodded indifferently, so she elaborated, determined to make them understand what she was trying to say. 'I mean it. Yourselves – not just each other.'

Dean had the grace to look vaguely sheepish, and Sam nodded thoughtfully, meeting her narrowed eyes.

A reflective silence fell, broken by the rumble and hiss of a coach pulling up and braking in front of the building. 'Guess that's my bus,' Lucy muttered, failing to keep the tremble out of her voice.

'Hey -,' Dean began, catching her damp eyes in an open stare. 'You're going to be fine. You dealt pretty well with everything so far.'

She nodded gratefully. 'I know… it's just not easy.'

She chewed her lip, fixing her eyes on the asphalt briefly, and then pulling herself together with an almost physical effort. 'Okay… I better go. Thanks… thanks for everything.'

'Thanks for your help,' Sam replied softly, sincerely.

'Good luck,' Dean added.

She turned and walked purposefully across the parking lot. She didn't look back at them until the coach was moving, and then she strained her neck, watching them fade through her own hazy reflection in the grimy window pane until they had disappeared entirely and the Impala was just a darker black smudge on the dark road.

The Winchesters were an enigma to her. Despite spending the most intense hours of her life in their company, she still knew little about them. That is – she knew them, at least, to some extent, but she knew nothing about them: where they came from, what they did, why they kept equipment for blood transfusions in their distinctive car. One thing was certain: even if – as seemed likely – even if she never saw them again, they would leave a lasting impression.

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As dusk gathered, the thunderstorm tension which had been building in the air over the last humid days was released in a deluge. Sam stood at the window, watching silvery droplets trace shaky pathways down the outside of the glass.

Cross-legged on the bed behind him, Dean, in turn, watched Sam. He knew he hadn't handled this last hunt very well, knew shutting Sam out of the fight had been cruel, but he knew too that, as long as Sam was okay, it would be alright, in the long term. Knew he could live through whatever he had to with his little brother there to ground him.

Knew, too, though, that Sam was still pissed at him.

'Sam?' he said, hesitantly. Sam twitched at the sound of his voice, but didn't turn round. He fixed his eyes resolutely on the blurred rain-streaked parking lot. 'Look, Sam, I'm sorry I locked you in the closet. What else do you want me to say?'

Sam chewed his lip. He appreciated Dean's effort, but his brother was missing the point. 'It's not that,' he croaked, sneaking a glance at Dean's earnest expression on his reflection in the glass.

'Then what?' Dean demanded, frustrated. A pang flashed across his midsection, and he winced, cradling his ribs absently with one hand. Sam caught the action in the window, and winced in sympathy.

'I get why you didn't tell me you were wounded, Dean…' Sam began. It was hard to push the words out, but he'd be a hypocrite if he refused to talk about his feelings, after all the times he'd been angry at Dean for keeping his emotions to himself.

'You do?' Dean asked, genuinely surprised. He couldn't explain to himself why he'd hidden the injury from Sam; he could only remember a state of pain and shock, and clinging desperately to the idea that he had to protect Sam from that pain. It had been irrational, yes, but few people were rational when they had seeping wounds in their stomachs. 'I get that you're pissed at me, Sam…'

'I'm not!' Sam burst out, slamming one palm against the window.

Dean frowned. 'You're… not?' he asked, confused. 'Attacking the window kinda suggests "pissed", Sammy…'

Sam sighed, resting his forehead against the cool glass. 'I just… do you remember me yelling at you for getting hurt all the time? I said that to you, and then you got stabbed… I know why you didn't tell me. I'm sorry I put you in that position, Dean. I was being selfish.'

'Oh, come on, Sammy. Anyone'd think you like feeling guilty, the way you do this to yourself,' Dean told him harshly, glaring at his brother's back. 'None of what happened was your fault.'

'No… but I dealt with it badly,' Sam muttered.

'There's not really a good way to deal with all that, Sam… but, look we did alright. We're both fine.'

'You nearly weren't.'

'But I'm fine. Doesn't matter what nearly happened. It didn't happen,' Dean said flatly, turning wide open eyes on the back of Sam's head. Sam said nothing. 'Okay?' Dean asked, and watched Sam's head bob in a vague nod.

Sam let out a shaky sigh, half turning to meet Dean's eyes. 'Just look after yourself, alright,' he said eventually. 'Got enough stress to last us awhile.'

Dean gave him a mock salute. 'Point taken.'

'And I'm still going to get you back for the closet.'

They exchanged smirks, and the atmosphere relaxed. Sam turned back to the window and looked thoughtfully at the rain. His lips quirked as a sudden thought occurred to him.

'I think they call that pathetic fallacy,' he murmured.

Dean gave him a sideways look. He wasn't going to rise to that. It was clearly one of Sam's 'college' words, but they could usually be worked out from context, denying Sam the satisfaction of explaining them. He waited. After a beat, Sam turned to look at him, grinning. 'Storm's broke.'

Dean frowned. 'Thought we'd agreed that the storm was done with, at least for now.'

'No, I mean… it's like the tension went out of the air,' he explained, his thoughtful expression dissolving when Dean laughed at him.

'Now I'm worried. It scares me when you start waxing poetic.'

Sam groaned, and left the window to flop on the vacant bed, reaching for the TV remote. Dean's eyes remained fixed on the window, and he watched a bright raindrop pick up speed as it wavered down the grimy pain.

'Storm's broke,' he echoed, under his breath.

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Complete! God, I thought it would never end. ; )

I'm vaguely planning to write the pre-series situation I mentioned last chapter in which Sam has to take charge for the first time. Don't hold your breath, though… you know it sometimes takes me a while to get my act together!

Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed this story, especially those who have sent multiple reviews. I've been crazy busy recently, and this story would never have reached a conclusion without the support and encouragement from those few people.