A/N: Thanks again for all the great feedback, guys! I'm having so much fun writing this and it really helps to know that people are enjoying it. So anyways, here's Interlude Part Two--I've been working on it for a long time, still not sure I'm entirely happy with it, but ah well. This update was due, and I hope it works out. I must admit it was really interesting/amusing/fun for me to explore Delia's personality--I had the best time writing her dream sequence, as well as her interactions with Sam. Oh, and on a total tangent, episode 2x20? Yeah, I officially loved it and consequently have been spazzing about if for the last 48-hours. Go Kripke. You do alternate realities/Dean wishes sooo much better than I ever could.
As for this fic, the next chapter might take a couple of weeks--I've got a big AP test coming up as well as a major IB English essay, so I think I'm gonna have to take a very short, self-imposed hiatus so I don't fail anything. As always, thank you so much for reading and please review!
ooo
Interlude, Part Two:
What Sisters Are For
The bar is crowded and smoky and she's already won like five hundred dollars, and dammit if Sam isn't being a pain in the ass.
"Who's this?" the guy asks, eyeing Sam up and down in a way Delia doesn't exactly appreciate. What was this punk's name again—Allan? Anthony?
"This here is my kid sister, Sammy," Delia says, narrowing her eyes at her sister and nodding curtly, her patented signal for, "Beat it, princess; I'm earning your lunch money." Sam, typical little brat, ignores the signal, merely raising an eyebrow at her older sister. "Sammy, this is…um, Aaron."
"Zach, actually," the guy corrects, though he seems a little too drunk to really care if she remembers his name or not. "Nice to meet you, Sammy." Sam looks faintly ill.
"Yeah, you too." A pause as Sam's eyes narrow at Delia, judgment darkening her usually gentle gaze. "Enjoying yourself, Dee?" God, does Little Miss Morality want them to starve or something?
"Zach was just teaching me how to play pool, Sam," Delia announces pointedly, making an effort to giggle. "I'll be done in a sec, okay?"
"She's a real natural," Zach informs Sam, as though this is big news.
"I'll just bet," Sam says sourly. "Look, Dee, we've been here half the night. I'm tired of watching you learn to play poker, throw darts, drink shots, and shoot pool—can we just freaking go already?"
"Hey, Zach." Delia turns sharply, smiling endearingly up at him. "Would you mind getting us a couple drinks? Please?"
"No problem, sweetheart." He pushes off of the pool table, leans in close to her. "Maybe after this we can finish this game somewhere more…private."
"Oh, don't think that's getting you off the hook," Delia says lightly. "I haven't forgotten our little bet. I win three, you pay up, cold cash."
"I can make it worth your while." The guy's breath reeks of stale alcohol. He leans in even closer, so his lips are just brushing her ear. "Two hundred more if we take the pool game to my place."
"Is that so?" Delia smiles, just enough to mask her internal disgust. "We'll see. After you get the drinks, that is." Zach smirks, then turns, moving slowly towards the bar.
"Okay, so what's got your panties in a twist tonight, Samantha?" Delia demands as she turns to face her little sister. "You got a problem with earning money?"
"Delia, you're practically whoring yourself," Sam spits. "And the way you…God, how many guys have you hustled tonight? Ten? Fifteen?"
"Seventeen, including this one." Delia shrugs. "Do you have a point?"
"It's disgusting," Sam announces. "You're better than this, Delia, and I'm sick and tired of watching you sell yourself short. We could do actual work, you know—it doesn't have to be cheating innocent guys out of their money in shitty bars and credit card scams and—"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, back up there for a minute, sweetheart." Delia advances on her sister, anger tensing her shoulders, clenching her fists. Sammy, at around 5'11, has three inches on her—but Delia never lets her forget who the big sister is. "Don't you judge me. We got enough to deal with when we're annihilating the undead—hustling is easy, and hustling fucking works. I can earn us enough to pay for a room for a week, to get us three square meals a day, to get a gallon of gas, and I can do it in one night. You wanna live honest, you pay the price." Delia takes yet another step closer. "And sorry there, Sammy, but living honest means we don't have enough to so much as buy a pack of Ho-Hos, never mind a shower or a clean bed. I dunno about you, but this works for me."
"I know why you do this," Sam says quietly. "You just scare me, is all."
"Scare you." Delia laughs shortly. "Because I take innocent people's money? They're not that angelic, Samantha. If you knew half the things that came out of some of these bastard's mouths—"
"No," Sam cuts her off. "It's not that."
"Then what is it?"
"You're just good at it," she says simply. "Way too freaking good at it, actually. And I'm scared you're going to forget that you have more potential than batting your eyelashes at some jackass in a bar."
"I don't need you to watch out for me, Sam," Delia says softly. "I can take care of myself."
Sam laughs then, mockingly almost.
"Yeah, Delia, sure you can. Dad would be so proud, wouldn't he?"
Sam's slammed up against the wall in a split second; even Delia's surprised at how fast she moves.
"You wanna make this personal, little sister, you go right on ahead," Delia hisses through gritted teeth, her fists clenching Sam's shoulders, "but don't you dare bring Dad into this. Not you."
The silence that follows seems to echo throughout the bar; Sam looks half-angry, half-ashamed (but not sorry), and Delia feels like shit.
Even as she turns to stalk away, she can feel the old, bitter anger, the sadness, rising in her, making her miss Dad so much it aches.
The thing about all of it, she thinks angrily as she stomps outside, is that Sam is right, of course Sam's right. Damn college girl, too smart for her own good.
She's especially right, Delia acknowledges bitterly, about Dad.
Because if Dad could see her now…well, it'd break his heart, really.
So maybe Dee's a little more reckless than usual lately. What of it? She can knock any loser who thinks he can mess with her flat in two seconds, easy. She's no little girl—Sam of all people should remember that.
And speaking of losers, that Zach guy is probably back. Might as well go and finish what she started (though she won't take him up on the offer to go back to his place; even Delia Winchester has some virtue left). She turns to go, and almost runs smack into some wide-eyed chick with a serene smile plastered across her face.
"Delia," she says softly. "Hello."
"Uh, do I know you?" Delia asks, frowning as the air around the chick brightens, as the grim, dirty cement of the city and the noise of the bar fades and a cool breeze lifts Delia's hair.
"No," the chick says simply. "But do not let it trouble you. I am merely here to warn you that you will not wake up where you went to sleep."
"Right." Delia rolls her eyes. "Look, I don't swing that way, so…Hey! Hey, where are we?" Suddenly, they are standing on a green, fog-covered hill top beside a weathered well, and the chick is humming a little to herself.
"You are a hunter, Delia Winchester," she says as though nothing out of the ordinary has occurred. "You handle things that would break others—destroy them, even—with remarkable ease. You must remember that, when you awake."
"What do you mean?" Delia feels worried now as she eyes the chick, dread settling on her shoulders like a weight. "Are you…are you a witch?" she adds suspiciously, nodding at the unmistakable aura that still brightens the air.
"I was," the chick responds. "You will come to know me as Selena."
"And what are you doing here, Selena?"
"Sam will have to explain that one to you," Selena says, nodding as she crosses to stand on the opposite side of the well. "I will tell you what I have told others before you: embrace the change. And now, I must go."
"What?" Delia yelps. "Wait just a minute—"
"Good-bye, Delia," Selena calls softly, her voice fading. "Good luck."
"No—just—" Delia lunges for Selena, reaching out to stop her, but her fingers touch only air, fumble with nothing. "…the hell?" Delia mutters, staring at the spot Selena was just standing in. "This is just way too messed up." It's true. Delia's dreams are rarely surreal; they're mostly memories or matter-of-fact hunts, like salt-and-burning or something. It's not common that people pop in and out with no explanation.
Striding irritably over to the well for some reason, she gazes down into the water, admiring the cool, darkness of it, the way it shimmers softly in the light. As she peers at it, a flicker of movement catches her eye—and all at once, it's like she's looking down from the ceiling or something (though she's not pinned to it, or on fire for that matter) watching as Sammy puts a pistol to some guy's head, sees the same guy sitting with Sam at McDonald's, then slinging her over his shoulder as she shakes, in the throes of a vision.
"Sam!" Delia yells, reaching down to try to touch her sister, to protect her. The panic that's coursing through her isn't logical but it continues to overwhelm her as she feels herself leaving the dream, swimming up through the fog of sleep to consciousness.
"Sammy," Delia repeats softly, even as the world begins to shift into focus. "Hold on, Sammy."
--
Delia blinks slowly as she wakes, turning over onto her stomach for a moment and briefly pressing her face into the pillow.
Please, please, please, she thinks inexplicably. Please, God, oh please.
Slowly, she pushes herself up, chancing a glance around, then immediately relaxes.
So it was just a dream after all.
The motel room is the exact same one she went to sleep in the night before; she's even in the exact same bed. Her gaze drifts over to Sam's bed, and as usual the covers are pulled up almost all the way over her head, just a tuft of dark hair peeking out.
"Good," Delia mutters triumphantly. "This means I get first shower!"
Sammy is usually the earlier riser, but Delia's not about to let a good opportunity slip by. Yawning, she slips out of bed and into the bathroom and starts the water, checking around for her shampoo.
Huh. She could have sworn she left it there yesterday…but oh well. Sam probably used it or something, knowing her.
Delia likes long showers, and it's rare she gets enough time for a really good one, so this is kind of a luxury as far as she's concerned. She spends maybe twenty, twenty-five minutes today, softly singing a little AC/DC and taking extra time to scrub her hair. When she steps out of the shower, she towels her hair off, wraps the other towel around her, and heads back to the bedroom to grab a change of clothes.
She opens the door, takes one look into the room, and—dammit, she can't help it okay?—screams her head off.
Sitting on Sam's bed is some freaky-tall guy, who looks up from Sam's laptop and promptly screams right back.
"Ah!" Delia chokes, moving to stumble back into the bathroom and then, thinking of better of it, grabs the nearest gun (sitting on top of the TV) and aims. "Who the hell are you?"
"Look, calm down," the guy says, standing slowly and raising his huge hands like, 'Hey, I come in peace' or something. Jesus, he's even taller than I thought!
"Calm down? Calm down?" Delia's so pissed she can hardly remember to keep clutching the towel around her. "That's real funny there, dude. Just tell me what you've done with my sister and then maybe I won't shoot you full of silver, got it?" The guy blinks, then grins a little.
"Okay, this is going to sound weird," he says, "but I think I am your sister."
"What?" Delia demands, frowning a little, then shakes her head and holds the gun out a little steadier. "Cute," she mutters. "Real fuckin' cute. Didn't your mother ever teach you not to play head-games with a girl when she's aiming a gun at your head?"
"I'm not playing head-games," he says impatiently. "My name's Sam Winchester, okay?"
"I'm warning you!" Delia cocks the gun, narrowing her eyes. "If you don't tell me what—"
"Your birthday is January 24th!" the guy yells, looking desperate. "You call me Sammy even when I tell you not to! You drive a 1967 Impala and hum Metallica when you get nervous and you can dig up a grave in fifteen minutes flat, ten if you're under pressure."
Delia stares.
"And you know this how?" she demands at long last.
"Because," the guy says, "I'm Sam. Same person, different packaging, okay?" Cautiously, Delia takes a few steps forward, crossing the room to stand face to face with him. She looks him up and down, gun still aimed carefully at him, then stares purposefully into his eyes, knowing she'll find any answers she might require there.
Holy crap.
"Sammy?" she whispers, eyes wide. "Jesus Christ."
She stalks back across the room, setting down the gun and swallowing.
"Hey, it's okay," Sam assures her. "Really, I'll explain everything in a minute, all right? Why don't you get dressed?"
"Sure," Delia says after a moment, because what else can she do? "Do you know where my stuff is?"
"Not here," Sam sighs. "Uh…well, I have a feeling your normal clothes won't fit."
"My normal clothes?"
"Uh—crap." He runs a hand through his wavy, familiar hair. "Okay…you have your own pajamas, right?" Delia nods, confused. "Wear the pants," Sam suggests, roots through a duffle, then tosses her an oversized Led Zeppelin shirt.
"Okay, what the—?"
"Just get dressed," Sam repeats, his voice very steady and very calm. "I promise, I'll tell you what's going on."
"Fine," Delia snaps, spinning on her heel angrily.
"Wait!" Sam calls as she starts to slam the bathroom door. She turns to glare at him, and he smiles endearingly, dimples flashing in a creepily familiar fashion. "What's your name?" he asks gently.
"Delia," she says quietly after a moment. "But you mostly call me Dee."
Then she shuts the door firmly with a snap.
--
"This," Delia announces, "is freakin' weird."
"That's what I keep hearing," Sam sighs. "I know it's a crazy story."
"Nah, actually I can totally see this happening." Delia winces. "I just can't believe there's a male version of me! What's his name again?"
"Dean," Sam says quietly.
"Dean." Delia nods approvingly. "Excellent name. He a good big brother?"
"The best," Sam says, chuckling a little. "Even if he is a pain in the ass."
"Whoa there, sweetheart," Delia snorts. "Younger siblings are always more annoying. That's just the hard, cold facts."
"Not so," Sam counters. "We're not as bossy. I'm sure the female Sam would agree."
"Sure she would," Delia laughs. "But that hardly counts. Like you said, you're the same person, which is actually kinda freaky." Sam hoots with laughter.
"Not nearly as freaky as the female version of Dean," he says, smiling widely. "Boy, when he gets back, I am never letting him live this one down."
"Well," Delia sniffs, offended on Dean's behalf, "aren't you the little bitch."
Sam laughs, delighted.
"God, it's so good to frigging have you back," he says happily. "I mean, you're not a guy, but it's definitely his personality in there."
"I'm more of a girl than you think," Dee warns. "Just wait until we go out for breakfast or something. You'll see."
"Right."
"So." Delia leans in seriously, chin propped in hands, green eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Let's talk business, shall we, Sammy? How close are you to figuring out how to stop the curse?"
"Not close at all." Sam winces. "I called Ash and everything, but he's got nothin'."
"Ash." Delia's eyes widen. "Wait, everyone's gender is swapped?"
"What?"
"Well, I know an Ashleigh," Dee says, snorting disbelievingly. "I don't even want to imagine her in guy form."
"He's an incredibly strung-out genius," Sam says helpfully.
"So—Jesus, don't tell me—Joe and Eli are…?"
"Jo and Ellen." Sam laughs. "Jo being short for Joanna." Delia laughs outright.
"Hah, we'll see how Joe likes that one when I tell him." She looks fondly amused.
"But yeah, anyways, Ash is still looking," Sam continues. "And the other you and I didn't find anything much at the library yesterday except that my Dean is most likely getting shuffled around from alternate universe to alternate universe."
"The other me?" Dee is interested. "What was I like?"
"Well, you were a guy and your name was still Dean." Sam pauses, looks uncomfortable. "He got the normal life," he says softly. "You know. White-picket fence. Mom and Dad alive. Two extra siblings. I…I was supposed to be getting married."
"Whoa." Delia stares down at her hands, listening to the silence that fills the room. "You okay, Sammy?"
"Of course I am," Sam says gruffly, pulling away in a way Delia's Sam never does. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"It's just…Look, do you want to talk about it or something?" Delia is feeling so sad, both for herself and her little sister—brother?—that she doesn't really notice when Sam stares at her, brow furrowed. "It's just that…I know it must have been rough, trying to handle all that on your own, without somebody there to look out for you, too. And hearing that somewhere Mom and Dad are…alive—"
"Uh, I'm fine," Sam repeats, frown deepening. "I…look, let's just go get breakfast, all right? Then maybe I can call Ash again and see if anything's come up."
"Right then," Delia agrees, then frowns. "Sammy, since when do you not want to talk about something?"
"Dee," he says quietly, looking up to meet her gaze, "since when do you do chick-flick moments?"
--
The diner they walk to is one Sam insists they've been to before; it has some freaking weird Greek name, and the waitress seems real friendly.
A little too friendly, actually.
"Oh, darlin', isn't it nice to see you again!" she cries, leaning down to pour a little more coffee into Sam's already nearly full cup. Delia coughs pointedly, staring at her completely empty one, but the waitress—Erika, wasn't it?—ignores her. "Where'd that partner of yours get to?"
"Business trip," Sam explains, dimples flashing. "He'll be back in a couple days, then we're heading out."
"I see." The waitress raises an eyebrow at Dee. "And who's this?"
"My sister," Sam says. "Uh, I'd like scrambled eggs and bacon, please."
"Sure thing, darlin'."
"I'll have the pancakes," Delia announces, smirking up at the waitress. "Please and thank you, darlin'." The waitress looks vaguely annoyed, sniffs haughtily, and saunters off, shooting a parting all-together too suggestive glance back at Sam.
"What'd you do that for?" Sam asks. "She's nice."
"And totally in to you," Delia says, revolted. "Come on. You can do way better."
"Are you serious?" Sam snorts. "Usually, you'd be throwing either me or yourself at her." Delia looks disgusted.
"Please. I have standards."
"If you say so," Sam manages, choking on a laugh.
"Cute," Delia mutters. "Absolutely adorable."
"So." Sam takes a sip of his coffee, looking thoughtful. "What do you think we should do today?"
"Well, what about talking to some of the other victims again?" Delia suggests. "You said the one kid talks."
"We couldn't get anything out of him about what happened during the curse," Sam sighs. "He must have been bound not to talk about it because he started suffocating."
"What about that Kristen chick?"
"She's not talking at all, remember?"
"Well, I don't care," Dee announces. "I say we go see her."
"The curse will affect her the same way as Derek," Sam points out.
"Derek talked, Sam," Delia says, grinning slyly. "This girl can't, or won't, right?"
"Right."
"So what if she writes it out?"
"Whoa." Sam's eyes widen as he stares at Delia. "Dude. I never even thought of that!"
"That's why I'm the big sister," Delia says smugly. At that moment, Erika returns, Sam's food steaming cheerily and looking pretty decent, as far as small-town diner food goes.
"Scrambled eggs," the waitress announces, setting Sam's plate down on—Christ, is that lace doily? "And fresh coffee," she adds, once again filling Sam's cup to the brim.
"Thanks." Sam's huge smile is ridiculously adorable and Delia has to roll her eyes. Naturally. The kid has looks and that sweet, sensitive thing every girl goes for and hell if it's not gonna get old fast, watching him obliviously charm anything that looks at him sideways.
"Here," the waitress says brusquely, practically throwing Delia's plate at her. She then tosses a half-full pitcher of maple syrup down onto the table and stocks off before Delia can so much as yell, Coffee!
"I can tell we're just going to be the best of friends, me and Erika," Delia sighs, making an effort to un-stick the pitcher from the table and slowly drizzle out some syrup onto her pancakes.
"Well, it's your own fault," Sam says unsympathetically. "Eat up fast. We have to make a stop back at the room to figure out some sort of disguise that'll get us into the hospital to see Kristen."
"And you think I'm bossier than you?" Delia clucks her tongue. "Control freak." Sam scowls as Dee happily stabs a piece of pancake, takes a bite, and promptly winces.
"What?"
"It's cold," Delia mutters sullenly. "And burnt! Man. Nothing says 'go to hell' like an overcooked, under-heated pancake, you know what I'm saying?"
--
"I don't understand," Mrs. Montero says tearfully. "Is there something else wrong with Kristen?"
"Mrs. Montero," Sam says gently, "this is a psychiatric analysis. We're just looking to see if there's anything else we can do."
"But she's gone through this a million times."
"We're specialists," Delia says, smiling endearingly. "We've been called in on a consult. No guarantees, but we think we might be able to help your daughter." Mrs. Montero stares from one of them to the other, then, without a word, nods once.
"She's awake," the wan-looking woman offers softly. "But she won't talk."
"Not a problem," Sam assures her. "With luck, this shouldn't take too long. Please, wait outside."
"What could have happened to her?" the woman murmurs fretfully. "I just don't understand." Delia lays a comforting arm across the woman's shoulders, smiles sadly.
"Neither do I, Mrs. Montero, but I promise you, I'll try to fix it," she says softly. "My partner and I will do all we can."
"Thank you." The woman bows her head, blinking back tears. Sam grins a little at Delia, then nods to the door. Quietly, they take their leave, slipping inside the hospital room and taking in the surroundings.
The room holds a single twin-bed, several beeping machines, translucent bags of IV fluid, and a horribly emaciated shell of a girl, staring listlessly off into space.
"Kristen?" Sam asks softly. "Hi. I'm Sam. We're here to help, okay?"
No response, not even any indication the girl realizes they're there.
"Kristen," Delia tries. "We know. About the curse. About…about Selena." Sam frowns over at her, eyes questioning, but stops almost immediately when Kristen turns her head, a flicker of surprise in her half-closed eyes.
"We know you don't feel like talking," Sam says softly. "You're very sick, and we understand. But…we want to break the curse. It's—it's been cast on my brother, too." He starts to hold out the pen and paper, is about to ask her if she'd mind writing something—anything—down for them when Kristen's eyes flicker to Delia, and very softly she whispers, in a voice hoarse from disuse,
"You're one of them." For a moment, both Sam and Delia are so surprised, they simply stare at her before Delia asks,
"Who?"
"The Others," the girl says softly.
Sam and Delia stare some more.
"No," Kristen whispers, a dark, haunted look creeping across her face. "You're not real. Not here."
"No, I guess I'm not," Delia agrees. "But we really are trying to help you. I want to go home, you know."
"Kristen, why haven't you been talking?" Sam asks. "Why are you letting yourself…"
"Die?" Kristen rasps, then coughs harshly. "They think I'm insane…I don't blame them. But I can't break it, I don't know how. I'm not doing this on purpose."
"Is it the witch?" Delia asks, frowning. "Is she the one who's doing this?"
"It's not her," Kristen manages. "It's the curse."
"She cast the curse," Sam says. "That means she's to blame."
"No." Kristen coughs again, this time weaker. "The curse was never supposed to be like this. It's not her fault." Her breath comes in shallow gasps now, sweat beads on her forehead. "Don't drink the water," she murmurs suddenly. "Set the words on fire."
"Sam," Delia whispers, her eyes narrowed at Kristen, "she's delusional."
"No I'm not," Kristen slurs.
"Oh God." Sam presses a hand to her forehead. "Holy—she's burning up!" He jumps to his feet, rushes to the door.
"The things I saw." Kristen's voice is even more unintelligible, deep, almost as if she were hypnotized . "I could have been different. I was supposed to be. Now the curse will claim the most important thing to me."
Even though Sam is yelling for a doctor and Delia can hear footsteps, she leans down and whispers,
"What?"
"Life," Kristen breathes, and then her eyes roll back into her head and the heart monitor goes haywire.
--
"We have to do something, Sammy," Delia insists on the ride back to the motel. "That poor kid almost died."
"I know." Sam's knuckles are almost white as he grips the steering wheel.
"This could happen to me," Delia whispers. "To the Dean here, when he gets back."
"I know."
"What the hell is going on?" Delia asks, all panic, all worry. "This isn't a routine type of curse, Sam!"
"I'm figuring that out fine on my own, thanks." Sam's voice rises a little, his hands tighten on the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white. "I don't get this at all, Delia."
"Man, I wish I could stay here for more than one day," Delia mutters, sliding down in the seat, arms folded across her stomach. "I really don't like the idea of leaving you here to deal with this alone." Sam's eyes dart to her.
"What about your Sam?"
"She'd be fine," Delia says, though it doesn't come out quite as confident as she would like. "But anyways, I guess I have no say in the matter, huh?"
"No, I guess not," Sam agrees with a sigh.
They get to the motel, head back to the room, and then Sam hits the internet and Delia hits Dad's journal, looking for something, anything that will give them a way to break the curse. Sam's already done research and Selena was burned at the stake—and, here's the weird part, salted too. Her spirit should definitely not be hanging around, and the fact that it is really bothers them both.
Like, a lot.
More research, no results, and they're both angry and anxious, and surprisingly it makes the hours pass by quicker.
They eat lunch at some point, but both are too tired for dinner.
"So," Sam says at long last, when he's propped up in bed, looking worn out, eyes glazed over from reading from the computer all day, "I gotta ask you a question."
"Sure." Delia's back in her pajamas, and back in the bed. At this point, she's just staring up at the ceiling, wishing she didn't have to sleep so she could find a way to help the Dean here, help the kid at the hospital.
"You're pretty much like the Dean I know here," Sam says, "except for one thing. You…you don't hold back on the emotional stuff, do you?"
"Comes from being a girl, I guess," Delia muses after a moment. "I'm a heart-on-my-sleeve kinda gal."
"That's not quite it, though." Sam's voice's is puzzled. "Dean is like, unusually adverse to sharing feelings. It's hard to get him to even admit he's in pain when there's blood soaking his entire shirt or something."
"Hm." Dee shrugs, shaking her head. "I don't know. I just…it's never really bothered me. I don't open up to strangers easy, but Dad always raised me to not be afraid to feel. Said it would destroy me if I kept hunting and kept everything bottled up."
"What?" Sam looks up from the laptop, squints at Delia. "Dad said that?"
"Sure," Delia says. "He was big on touchy-feely stuff, ya know?"
"John Winchester?" Sam snorts. "Very funny, Delia."
"John?" Now Delia's the one who's frowning. "His name was Michael."
"Michael?" Sam appears to be at a complete loss at this point. "What the hell?"
"Beats me." At this point, Delia has become to tired to care. "Maybe it's some weird part of the curse."
"And Mom's name was Mary, right?" Sam asks desperately. "Right?"
"Jane," Delia yawns, now rolling over onto her side.
"I hate this curse," Sam decides, flipping the laptop closed. "With a passion."
Delia chuckles.
"Good night, Sammy. Do me a favor and don't scare the crap out of the other versions of me who come popping up, got it?"
"I'll try not to."
"'Do, or not do,'" Delia quotes sleepily. "There is no try.'"
"Yeah, yeah. Go to bed, Yoda."
Delia lifts her head with some difficulty and manages, in between yawns to look pointedly at Sam and say,
"Bitch."
"Jerk," Sam responds, and grins a bit. "Thanks for your help today, Dee. Seriously, it meant a lot."
"Good luck with breaking the curse," Delia sighs as she reaches over to turn off the light. "And dude. Enough with the chick-flick moments."
Sam laughs appreciatively, and she knows that by being even more of a smart-ass than usual she's doing a good thing for this little brother of hers, the one that exists only here. It makes him feel like his brother's still there, somewhere, like he hasn't lost him yet.
Well, anyways, Delia thinks as she drifts off to sleep, that's what big sisters are for.
When she walks back to the bar, fighting her way through the crowds, Zach is gone and Sam is standing there with the drinks, looking sheepish.
"Dee," she says at once, "I'm sorry."
"No, you're not," Delia sighs. "You're right. That's what pisses me off so much."
"It's just…I shouldn't have thrown that thing about Dad at you like I did," Sam says softly, staring down at her feet. "That wasn't fair."
"Maybe not." Delia eyes her abashed little sister, then shrugs. "Okay, you're right again. It wasn't, and I'm still kinda pissed about it."
"I don't blame you." Sammy sighs, staring down at her hands. "I just…I worry about you. I don't want you to end up hurt or…"
"I can shoot a moving target blindfolded," Dee cuts in. "I know three different ways to exorcise a demon, I dig up graves almost weekly, and I have two different knives on me and usually one gun at all times. You think I can't protect myself from some pervert?"
"It's stupid, I know," Sam says softly. "I don't mean to underestimate you. It just feels like you're getting yourself in too deep."
"I know my limits. I'm just trying to keep you well-rested and well-fed, Sammy-girl." Dee gives her sister an affectionate pat on the shoulder. "Don't sweat it, okay? I'll ease up a little on the flirting—it just tends to make it easier to convince them I don't know jack-shit." Sam smiles a little and Delia glances around. "Where'd Zach go?"
"I finished your pool game," Sam explains sheepishly. "And then once he'd paid up, I told him to get lost."
"Aw, he wasn't so bad," Delia chuckles, but grins anyways.
"Well, he wasn't good enough for you." Sam smiles back. "I don't care if you weren't going to do anything with him; he was still a loser."
"What a good little sister you are," Delia declares, cuffing Sam on the back of the head. "Always lookin' out for my well-being and stuff."
"Hey," Sam says, and her smile widens still, "it's what sisters are for, after all."
