Hi everyone! This chapter isn't my best (or longest), but I just wanted to get something out before I let too much time pass. I'm honestly just waiting for a way to skip a year or so in the story and start writing from a little before the beginning of the series. I hope it's not just me, but I love episodic fics, and I'll probably end up using the transcripts quite extensively. But then again, I often veer from my planned path. lol. ANYWAY, I'm rambling now. Enjoy! [[oh, and p.s. I love comments! positive, negative, suggestions, how you'd like to see the story go, etcccc]]

Chapter Three.

She chewed absently on some ice as she watched Dean throw his cell phone through the crack in the backseat window.

It'd been nearly three days since she found out she had a brother, and damn if they'd had a decent conversation since then. Though she was the biggest introvert she'd ever encountered, awkward silences always made her spew out nonsensical phrases. So, after uttering a few embarrassing statements, she had forced herself to keep quiet, focusing instead on picking away at her bandages.

At least he didn't seem to be pissed off anymore – not like he had been the first night, and definitely not like he'd been during the first message he left for John.

She wrinkled her nose and slurped up the last of her water, hoping the waitress would take note and come running with refills. John Winchester. It was weird. Sometimes she'd think of him as her dad, sometimes she'd speak of him as her dad, but behind it all, he was still just plain old John Winchester, absent father – to all of his children, apparently – and hunter extraordinaire.

She raised her eyebrow as she watched Dean turn up his never-before-seen charm on the waitress. Turns out the waitress was too busy to notice her empty glass. Figures.

It was odd having someone around – especially an older, self-assigned authority figure. If he hadn't been around to force her to stay in bed for the past few days, she never would have. So, okay, fine, maybe having an authority figure around was a good idea.

She was never really close to her mother. Never did much together except cook and eat, but that seemed like enough. Her mother was always busy working, and when she wasn't working, she was cleaning. And when Annabel wasn't at school, she was holed up in the library or walking around town by herself. Perhaps it wasn't the storybook life everyone wanted, but they were content. What else did parents do with their kids anyway?

Sometimes she wondered if something was wrong with her. If it weren't for the countless times she'd cried during movies, she'd assume she was missing some critical emotion gene. If there is such a thing, anyway. Maybe she just didn't like people. Animals were fine, and she was pretty sure she loved her daggers – and hell, she cried during movies. Movies. Not just the really sad ones either.

Pathetic.

"Had enough water?" Dean asked wryly, slipping into the seat he'd vacated minutes ago.

"You got her number?" she returned, raising her eyebrow.

He shot her a "what do you take me for" look and tapped his pocket with more of a smile than she'd ever seen from him. Actually, it was more of a grin. A debauched grin.

She rolled her eyes, spooned up some of the ice left in the bottom of the glass, and chewed. "So he didn't pick up?"

"He never does," Dean replied, eyes hardening for a split second.

True. Sometimes it seemed like it was easier to get in touch with God. And that was obviously impossible, because, at least in her mind, there was no such thing. It wasn't even because of all the ghosts and terrible things she'd seen. She just didn't believe. Everything she'd done for herself was exactly that. The results of her own actions – or actions of others. Sure, she was probably humbler and more modest than the average person, but hey, credit where credit's due. Anyway, even if heaven and hell were real, there never really was a question as to where she'd end up. So why even bother?

"Look, I know you don't like me – and that's fine. We can just go about living our own lives like these past few days never happened," she said, hoping the awkwardness that she felt didn't show. The truth was, she didn't want to part ways, not really. Though she'd be the first to say she preferred being by herself, sometimes people just get lonely. And it'd be lovely to have a tall muscular guy on the road with her, because honestly, Backwoods, USA could get really, really fucking creepy. Not to mention the shady roadside motels which she had no choice but to stay in. But men aren't the only ones with pride.

It took Dean a moment to respond. It was only a few seconds, but a whole slew of emotions passed through his features. He finally settled on a determined scowl. "Sorry, can't do that."

"Why the hell not?" she countered, though relieved. She couldn't understand the man – he clearly didn't want to be here, and yet he wouldn't leave. Talk about a major sense of duty.

"Because now that I know you exist, I can't let you run around by yourself. Hell, you're not even legal," he replied with what could almost pass as a scoff.

"Your apple pie," the waitress smiled down at Dean, setting a slice of pie the size of an average-sized face in front of him. "Enjoy."

He grinned. "Oh, I will. Trust me."

"Would you like more water?"

"Yes please," Annabel responded, still frowning over Dean's comment.

As soon as their waitress filled her glass, Annabel turned to him and scowled. "It's not my fault I look like a kid, all right? So quit it."

"Well, sorry to break it to you, Anna, but you are young," he replied, tipping his fork towards her, a piece of pie crust stuck on the prongs.

"Don't call me that."

He shrugged. "What should I call you then? Since it seems like we're going to be stuck with each other for a while, and Annabel's irritating to say all the time. It's either Anna, or Belle. Somehow I don't see you as the latter."

She huffed, but didn't argue. He certainly was being talkative today, and she wasn't about to ruin his seemingly good mood over something so trivial. "Why are we stuck with each other?"

"Like I said, I can't let you run around by yourself anymore," he replied reluctantly. "Dad would be pissed otherwise."

"You really don't have to play the older brother. I've pretty much been by myself my whole life. I don't need –"

"Where was your mom?" Dean asked, mouth full of pie.

"Working, busy."

"Oh. Well, regardless. You've clearly been doing fine by yourself. So fine that you had to call me seventeen times asking for help."

She could feel her face warm. "Yeah, well, if you picked up the first time, I wouldn't have had to call so many times."

She felt like they were a pair of bickering children. It didn't do much to support her "I am not young" argument.

"Right," Dean smirked, knowing he had her where he wanted her. "You've got to stop drinking so much water though," he said as she once again resorted to chomping on the remaining ice. "Don't think that I'm going to stop my car every half-hour so you could go to the bathroom."

"Your car?"

He lifted his eyebrow. "You think I'm going to be seen in yours?"

"There is nothing wrong with my car."

"It's an old Volkswagen," he intoned, as though the very word implied it was crap.

"John bought it for me."

"Well, his taste has clearly gone downhill since the last time I saw him," Dean said lightly.

They sat in silence as he finished off his pie. She busied herself with pilfering his glass of water. And even though he didn't acknowledge it, he definitely noticed. There's really no such thing as an unobservant hunter. Unless you count the dead ones.

"This is going to suck, isn't it?"

He glanced at her, wiping at his mouth with the napkin. "It doesn't have to. We work together. Plus, it's always smarter to hunt in twos." He must have noticed the face she made, because he added, "As you clearly demonstrated a few days ago."

"It was the first time in years," she replied, wrinkling her forehead. "Since we're capable of having something of a normal conversation now, you're going to have to stop throwing that in my face all the time."

He ignored her. Pointedly.

"Okay, fine," she snapped, finishing up his – now her – glass of water.

"Pushover."

"What?"

"I said, you want some pie?"

After lunch, Dean had set about selling her car - without her full consent, but nothing ever seemed to deter him from doing what he wanted. Except, of course, if there were lives at stake, or if his dad put his foot down.

He wanted to leave the battered old thing in the motel parking lot, but figured he might as well try and get some money for it. Turns out there were plenty of teenagers willing to shell out their entire savings for anything on four wheels. It felt strange, receiving money for something relatively legal. Dean didn't like it.

He also didn't like the fact that he had to, once again, be the big brother. Though she clearly gave him a way out back in the diner – and though he certainly wanted to take her up on it – he couldn't. It just wasn't him to shirk off responsibilities like that – thanks Dad.

Over the last few days, it crossed his mind that maybe he missed being a big brother. Maybe he missed having someone looking up to him – or maybe he just missed having the responsibility of making sure someone else was all right all the time. Missing something was different from liking something, right?

Okay, so maybe he was just plain sadistic.

He felt like he was falling back into the comfortable niche he'd carved up for himself years before. Willingly.

God, he groaned, next thing you know, I'll be the stay-at-home dad.

Really, though, she wasn't that bad. There was really nothing he could do about the situation – other than be thankful that she was past the whole teenage angst period, because no matter how sadistic he thought himself to be, dealing with an angsty Sammy was more than he could take. And girls. Girls were far worse.

Dean dug his cell phone out of his pocket, and sat in the front seat, thinking. It wasn't the first time in the last few days that he considered calling his brother. He would want to know. Well, maybe he really wouldn't, but he would. It was weird logic.

Ok, he thought, if I call and he doesn't pick up, then I've already done my part. Not my fault he never answers his goddamn phone.

His hesitation irritated the fuck out of him, but who the hell tells someone that his father had another kid with someone else. Over the phone?

He pressed speed dial #2 - #1 being his dad, but seeing as how neither of them every seemed to pick up, he should just do away with speed dial – and waited. Sure enough, Hey, it's Sam. I'm not around right now, but leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as possible! Yeah, right, Dean scoffed. ASAP my ass. He didn't stay on the line long enough to hear the beep.

"Ready to go," Annabel announced, sticking her head through the open window before she pulled the door open. She stashed her backpack under her feet, and settled into the passenger seat, watching him expectantly.

"What?"

"You look out of it."

"I'm not out of it," he replied as he started the car. "You sure you don't want to sit in the back?"

"I'm short. I don't need much space."

"Don't let me hear you complaining then."

She lifted her left eyebrow, accepting his not-so-silent challenge.

"And don't even think about touching the radio," he warned, turning onto the road that would eventually lead them to the interstate.