A/N Right. So, obviously, when I say that I'll try to get out more chapters, I don't generally mean that I'll do it after three whole months. Problem is, I've got a lot of WIPs that I can only update when I have time, because they're not my top priority in the whole posting schedule. I'd rather work on one-shots and my main stories. That said, I did really love the idea for this fic, and I was always planning to continue it. It might be ages before I can update it again with a new chapter, but I promise that it'll happen.

Here's how this is going to work. This starts off post 8x23, and it's pretty much going to be much more detailed account of everything that's going down in chapter one, with more backstory and explanations. This chapter is set a couple of months after Sacrifice. I'm not giving anything more away now. Enjoy! :) ~Sammy

Fine to climb a mountain

"Are you sure that you're alright?"

"Yes, Dean. I'm fine."

"Cause if you're not then we can just head back and-"

"Dean. I'm fine, okay?"

"Yeah. I'm sure you are Sammy. 'Cause being thrown into a freaking headstone by a pissed off ghost is just so beneficial to your health, right?"

Sam rolled her eyes and prayed (as useless as that was nowadays) for patience. "You already tested for a concussion, Dean. I'm okay. Bruised, but okay."

Dean huffed out a breath. "Yeah, but, that doesn't mean that we've gotta go to a bar. We've got beer at the bunker, if you want to celebrate a successful hunt or whatever the hell this is. Can't we just drive back?"

Sam slammed the trunk shut and turned to her brother, and incredulous look plastered across her face. "Wait, hold on a sec. You don't want to go to a bar. You?"

Dean shifted, and his expression was twisted into an uncomfortable grimace. "Well, we said we'd be back soon, and Kevin might have something new, and Cas'll be worried if we get back late and you know how much he worries, and-"

"Dean." Sam cut through her brother's rambling. "We said we'd be back when we were done working, Kevin said he'd call if he found anything, and Cas-"

Sam paused for a moment, and stared at Dean for half a second before suddenly bursting into laughter. "Oh God. This is about Cas, isn't it? You're worried."

Dean looked, if possible, even more uncomfortable. "'Course I'm worried. The guy's only been human for a couple of months now; he's still pretty much hopeless at everything. What if there's an emergency and he can't contact us. What if he burns down my kitchen?"

"Just shut up, would you? Cas knows not to burn down your kitchen. He doesn't have a freaking death wish. Besides, I talked to him, and he was the one who suggested that we go hit up a bar. He was saying something about translating a Persian text and not wanting to be disturbed."

Dean still looked ready to protest, so Sam pulled out her final resort. Puppy-dog eyes time. "Come on, Dean. I haven't been anywhere except the bunker in months. You put me on lockdown as soon as we got back. I'm bored. Please?"

Let it never be put down on record that Dean Winchester was a sucker for his little sister's puppy-dog eyes, but Sam swore that he was smiling a bit as he slid behind the wheel amid half-hearted grumbles.

The bar was a familiar sight of low voices, whiskey stained wooden bars, and the occasional crack and rattle of the pool table scattered around the warm room; and Dean almost melted into his jacket. He practically bounced over to the bar, and somehow charmed a couple of beers and a slip of paper that was definitely decorated with a phone number off of the very flattered bartender. Sam couldn't hold back the smirk, and Dean shot her a playful glare, and smacked her lightly across the back of her head. Of course, it wasn't so much a smack as his fingers simply brushing against her hair; Dean was nothing but gentle for the past couple of months. Sam pulled a beer out of Dean's hand, ignoring her brother's disapproving huff.

("Woah. No beer for you, Sammy."

"But I'm okay now."

"Yeah, well you're also two steps away from passing out, so let's lay back on the alcohol for now, okay?"

"I'm thirty, Dean, I can handle a damn beer."

"Sam, you were freaking dying two weeks ago."

"…"

"Just, humor me, okay?"

"Fine."

"Sam…"

"I said fine, Dean, let it go.")

She took a small sip before sighing and picking at the label, tracing patterns through the condensation on the bottle. Sam watched as Dean easily slipped his way into a game with nothing more than a self-deprecating smile and a few cocky words. He turned back when nobody was watching, and gave Sam a big over-emphasized grin (because that's what Sam expected from him). Sam rolled her eyes (because that's what Dean expected from her) and went back to tearing the beer label to shreds.

Sam played with a strip of the torn label, the paper sliding through her fingers, and she had to hold back a grimace at how skeletal her hand looked ("But it's better than it was Sammy. You'll get better, I promise. I'll find a way to fix this."). An itch slowly inched its way up her throat, and before she knew what was happening, a coughing fit overtook her, clawing its way through her chest, air scraping against her lungs in all the wrong ways. At least there's no blood this time.

Dean was looking over, worry flooding his features, pool game forgotten. Sam waited until breathing no longer felt like being force fed woodchips before looking up and giving Dean the best smile she could muster up, no matter how weak and watery it was. He took half a step towards her, but she shook her head and waved him back to the table. She was alright, no need for her mama-bear big brother to freak out.

Sam glared at Dean until he turned back to the pool table, once again falling back into his happy banter; but she could feel his gaze burn into her back every few minutes, and she sighed again.

She took another sip of her now-warm beer and hummed to herself, some random tune she'd heard over and over from the Impala's stereo. It was a slow song, soft and comforting.

"I'd forgotten how much I liked your voice, kiddo."

Sam twisted around (too fast, she was still a bit dizzy) and simply stared.

Finally, she gasped out a reply, "Gabriel. You're supposed to be dead."

A/N Hey. C'mon. You started this story knowing that Gabriel was gonna show up. So techincally, this ain't a cliffhanger. Right? Let me know what you thought! More updates in the near or distant future! (FYI- Reviews will probably make it quicker.) Smile. :) ~sammy