A/N: This is the second part of the 3-part story. It will be shorter than part 1 and fits between cannon events.

- 2

Chapter 15

The relentless heat of the late-July sun hung like a heavy blanket over Singer Auto Salvage, displaying itself as a thin layer of blurry haze outlining the stacks of rusty cars. Bobby sat at his kitchen table nursing an equally warm glass of scotch, his shoulders slumped and beads of sweat lining his brow. He watched a housefly land on the sticky rim of his glass but couldn't be bothered enough to lift an arm to swat it away. It was barely noon and he was already on his fourth drink but if routine was any indication, he was just getting started.

On this day, however, his usual routine of attempting to drink away thoughts of Dean Winchester roasting in Hell was interrupted when a soft knock sounded at his front door. He ignored it at first, cursing that he hadn't replaced his guard dog when the demon Meg had killed him a couple of years ago and hoping whoever it was would just go away.

A low growl actually escaped his lips when a second, much louder series of knocks rattled his front door but he rose wearily to his feet and straightened his trucker's cap as he shuffled his way over to answer it. He yanked it open with a scowl and a bad-tempered "What do you want?" and his eyes narrowed in suspicion at what he found.

Standing on his porch was a girl in her mid-twenties, a slim brunette in denim shorts and a t-shirt. She was pretty in the way-too-skinny way of today's youth, the kind of girl a certain Dean Winchester wouldn't have missed a beat in trying to sweet talk into his bed. Bobby felt a sharp pain in his chest when the thought of the man he had loved like a son passed through his head and he cleared his throat loudly, trying to dispel the image of a cocky, grinning, alive Dean.

"Bobby Singer?" she asked without even flinching at his gruff greeting.

"Who wants to know?" he fired back, trying his best to sound civil. He wasn't so far gone to completely forget his manners in the presence of a woman, after all.

"My name's Natasha," she answered politely, her eyes squinting against the bright sun.

"And?" Bobby didn't budge. He didn't recognize the girl or the name.

"Can I come in?"

His scowl returned and his hunter instincts kicked in. "You got car trouble or something, honey?" he asked suspiciously, peering past her to see a red piece-of-crap Pontiac Fiero at the bottom of his steps.

"No," she answered and he couldn't help but detect a hint of apprehension in her next statement. "I'm here to find out about Dean Winchester," she said quietly, phrasing it almost as a question.

A flicker of recognition suddenly hit Bobby as he studied the girl standing on his porch. Her brown eyes had filled with sadness at the mention of Dean's name and he now remembered something Sam had told him in the last week before the Hellhounds had come for Dean. The younger Winchester had explained that his brother had fallen for the hunter-gal that had been travelling with them for a couple of months and that he had broken it off with her shortly before his year was up, having apparently lost hope that Sam and Bobby would be able to save him and wanting to spare her the knowledge of his fate. The mechanic's memory was slightly clouded by the three whiskeys he'd just polished off but he was fairly certain that girl's name had been Natasha.

His first instinct was to send her away. Renewed anguish struck him at the reminder of Dean, the pain of seeing the boy lying still and bloody in Sam's arms still far too fresh. It had been almost two months but he could still feel the cold, spring rain on his face from the day he and Sam had dug the grave in that Illinois field and he still heard the crippling grief in Sam's voice in the few words the kid had spoken before he'd disappeared altogether. Bobby didn't want to talk about Dean and he definitely didn't want to see first hand what Dean had missed out on.

But he couldn't bring himself to tell her to leave or even to just close the door on her and get back to his daily ritual of whiskey and woe. Dean's death had left him with an emptiness inside, a void so deep it ached from the moment he woke up to when he managed to drink himself to oblivion every night. He found himself inviting her in, guiding her to his kitchen as if having her here could somehow provide kind of renewed connection to the dead hunter.

As was customary when anyone entered the older hunter's home, he offered her a beer secretly doused with holy water. She declined politely as she lowered herself on one of the chairs at his kitchen table, her eyes sweeping the house and taking note of the giant heptogram, the piles of old books and the dozens of empty liquor bottles littering the rooms. To her credit, she didn't seem spooked or weirded out by the state of his home as most visitors did these days. Not that he had many visitors.

Since the beer was turned down, Bobby handed her a holy-water tainted soda instead, not saying a word until she cracked the bottle open and took a long sip. Satisfied she wasn't a demon, he sank into his usual chair across the table and let out a long sigh. "So what can I do for you?" he asked her, curling his fingers around his whiskey glass again.

"I know Sam and Dean," she started, holding his gaze. "I met a hunter in Texas yesterday who said…" her voice hitched, "…he said that he heard Dean Winchester was dead."

Her eyes were dark and soft and pleading for Bobby to tell her that it wasn't true, that Dean was still alive. He felt a lump forming in his throat as she looked at him for an answer and found himself desperately not wanting to give it to her. He knew the effect Dean could have on the people around him, even if the stubborn kid had been too blind to see it for himself. He was sure there was a string of broken hearts across the country and back but this one…this one Dean had loved in return. Sam had been so sure of it.

"It's true," he said simply, his face impassive but his eyes gentle. "He's gone."

He saw her jaw tighten and her shoulders stiffen but she never moved and never said a word. Bobby didn't say anything either but got up and retrieved a glass from his cabinet, placing it gently down on the table. He poured a stiff measure of whisky and slid the glass over towards her. He noticed her hands were trembling but she managed a weak smile as she picked up the glass and downed the whisky in one shot. He refilled her glass and took a big swallow of his own drink.

"What happened?" she asked him, her voice strained but steady.

"What'd you hear?" he questioned, not wanting to tell her anything Dean hadn't wanted her to know.

"Well, the hunter I met said Dean had traded his soul with a demon for Sam's life and Hellhounds came for him a couple of months ago," she managed. "I tried to call Sam but his number's been disconnected and then I remembered they used to talk about you a lot…" she trailed off.

Bobby sighed again. "Well, that's pretty much all there is to tell," he shrugged.

She closed her eyes and bit her lip. "So he's in Hell?" Now her voice was shaky and Bobby was suddenly terrified she was about to lose it in the middle of his kitchen.

He just nodded. Sam had mentioned she was a hunter and Bobby wondered how much she knew about demon deals and Hell. He felt a quick pang of guilt as it occurred to him the Winchesters had asked him four months ago to search for some age-old vamp named Diego that was stalking the girl but he hadn't even given the subject a second thought since Dean had died. He made a mental note to rectify that situation – it was the least he could do for Dean. It wasn't like the kid had ever asked him for much.

They sat in silence for a good ten to fifteen minutes. Bobby topped up her glass three more times and his own twice before she finally spoke again.

"I need to talk to Sam," she declared finally with a good measure of resolve. "How can I get a hold of him?"

Bobby shrugged again. "Damned if I know," he said, shaking his head. "Kid don't wanna be found. He vanished into the wind a few days after we buried Dean."

She looked up sharply. "You buried him? No salt and burn?"

The mechanic nodded. He hadn't approved of the dumb-ass move but Sam had insisted and Bobby hadn't had the heart to refuse him.

"Where?" she demanded.

"Were what?"

"Where's he buried?"

Bobby figured the information couldn't hurt Dean any and might make moving on a little easier on her if she got to say goodbye so he told her how to get to the remote field in Illinois with the simple wooden cross placed in the center a small cluster of trees.

She got up to leave, thanking him briskly but he stopped her before she made it two steps away from the kitchen table.

"Hey!" he groused, beckoning her back. "I can't be lettin' you drive on outta here after pumpin' ya full of whisky. Sit back down and I'll fix ya somethin' to eat to wash it down."

She didn't look particularly comfortable with staying but Bobby had a no-nonsense kind of tone when he barked an order and she sat back down with a wary look on her face. Bobby got the feeling she wasn't the sharing-caring type and would rather be alone in her grief right now but he was suddenly overcome with the urge to get to know this girl a bit before he let her go. She represented a little piece of Dean he hadn't seen and he desperately wanted any piece of Dean he could get at this point. Anything to fill that void inside of him because alcohol just wasn't doing the damn job.

"So," he began as he moved over to his fridge, sounding almost cheerful in his effort to put her at ease. "You were in Texas yesterday? You musta drove all night then."

She simply nodded at him as he slapped a loaf of bread on the counter and rummaged for something edible to put on it. He kept right on talking. "I heard you almost sliced Dean's neck open first time you met those Winchester boys," he said. "That the truth?"

"Yes, sir," she answered, giving him half a smile. "Stubborn ass refused to admit it though."

For the first time in two months, Bobby felt the corners of his mouth turning upwards.

"Yep, that sounds like Dean alright."

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Sam hit a deep rut as he made his way down the rough track to Dean's field and winced at the sharp jolt the Impala received as a result.

Dean's field.

He wasn't sure when his mind had started calling it that. He hadn't been back here since the rainy day he and Bobby had put his brother into that wooden box and left him here to rot. Except Dean wasn't here. Sam woke up every day with the acute and painful realization that Dean wasn't resting eternally in some peaceful field near Pontiac, Illinois. Dean was in Hell.

It had been two months. Granted, there weren't two months of memories to accompany the time since his brother had died because Sam had spent most of it drunk and angry and trying to forget, but two months had passed all the same. He was still drinking heavily but Ruby showing up had made a difference and he had actually managed to pull himself somewhat together. He had put an end to the string of foolhardy, brash, and basically suicidal attempts he had been making to get Dean out of the pit and was focusing more on something that he was certain would prove less futile – killing Lilith.

He still had every intention of saving Dean but he had become a willing and even eager pupil as Ruby tried to teach him how to put his physic abilities to good use. Even if they didn't end up helping him to save Dean, they would surely come in handy when he finally tracked down that Lilith bitch and ended her. She was the reason he was alone, the reason he had this hole inside where his brother used to be, the reason Dean was suffering through God-knows what degree of torment in the pit. Yes, tearing Lilith to pieces was going to be fun and he found himself thinking about that moment more and more with each day that passed, the seething anger building up inside of him with every hour he was awake.

He pulled over and cut the Impala's engine at the end of the trail, feeling briefly guilty about driving the rough road much faster than his brother would have in the classic beauty. His attention, however, was fixed on the empty car that was already there – an old, beat-up Fiero. Dean's field was in the middle of nowhere so what the hell was another car doing here? Friggin' rednecks were probably using it for target practice.

He climbed the fence and strolled over to the cluster of trees at the far end, feeling an unidentifiable tension gripping his heart tighter and tighter as he approached. He realized he was dreading seeing that makeshift cross and wasn't sure what had made him decide to return to the field today. Perhaps it was just the first day in two months he hadn't started off with a shot of whiskey. Or maybe it was the voice inside him that he was trying to ignore, the one telling him what he was doing with Ruby was wrong, that it was changing him and he needed to be reminded of who he used to be, the Sam his brother had loved. Could be that he just wanted to punish himself some more, give himself a fresh reminder of exactly what he had lost the day the Hellhounds came. Or perhaps he just needed some renewed inspiration to find Lilith and destroy her using any means necessary, including taking sips of demon blood from Ruby's arm. Whatever the reason, he found himself here.

He stopped short when he reached the edge of the trees, his hunter's instincts alerting him before he actually saw anyone. He peered warily into the clearing before him. There was someone there – someone sitting on the ground in front of Dean's grave. He wondered fleetingly if it was Bobby because nobody else knew where Dean was but he realized right away the figure was too small to be the burly mechanic and recognized it Tasha.

He remained where he was for a moment, watching unnoticed in silence, unaware of the fact that he was holding his breath until his heart began to thump so loudly in protest that it hurt. She was silent but from his vantage point behind her, he could see her shoulders were shaking as she sat cross-legged three feet in front of the wooden cross and he knew right away she was crying.

He hadn't seen her in almost three months. Not since the day Dean had done her the favor of lying to her and sending her away so she wouldn't have to go through the pain that Sam was now enduring. Sam's heart skipped a beat with pity for it was apparent by her grief and her mere presence here that she had found out after all. He tried to make his feet walk his body forward but they just didn't seem to want to move. A thousand thoughts ran through his brain at the prospect of seeing her again and he wasn't sure if he really really wanted to or really really didn't.

If he was being honest, he'd hardly thought about her since the day Dean's deal had come due as he had been completely swallowed in his own grief and anger, not to mention a good mix of whiskey, rum, and vodka. But watching her now as she sat crying all alone, he realized he badly wanted to comfort her and it was only partly to do with the fact that his brother would have wanted him to.

He finally swallowed his apprehension and rustled some leaves with his foot to subtly warn her of his approach. The ruse worked and she spun around, her hand moving to the waistline of her jeans where Sam knew there was a knife and maybe even a gun tucked under the hem of her t-shirt. He stepped forward out of the tree line with a halfhearted smile, holding his hands in the air.

Her eyes widened in recognition and she cried out as she jumped to her feet. "Sam! Oh my God, Sam!"

The next thing he knew she had her arms wrapped around his neck so tightly he could hardly breathe and gasping sobs intermingled with what sounded like giggles were tickling his neck. He had an easy eight inches of height advantage so he hunched over to return the hug, not really sure yet if she was laughing or crying. Her face had been tear-streaked when she had first turned around but she definitely seemed happy to see him.

They stood wrapped in a tight embrace in the clearing for what Sam thought seemed like a long but entirely wonderful time. He realized it had been a while since he had experienced any emotion other than grief and anger and the emptiness and ugliness of his life the past two months seemed to dissipate just a tiny little bit with every second he held her soft, warm body in his arms. The way she was clinging to him was refreshing, giving him a feeling of being needed, of friendship and compassion and softness and something other than anger and thoughts of revenge. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed this, how alone and cut off he'd been lately.

She finally pulled away and he could see her eyes were still watering but she was smiling up at him.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly. "I didn't know I'd find you here." She gestured behind her towards the grave. "I just….I just found out…" she trailed off, turning back to Sam with a heartbreakingly sorrowful expression in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Sam. Are you okay?"

Sam gave her a reassuring smile. He hadn't cried since the day his brother had been ripped to shreds and putting on a brave face now came as second nature to him. "I'm alright," he said softly. "How'd you find out?"

"I'm a hunter, Sam," she admonished. "Hunters talk. Did you really think I'd never hear about the one who made a crossroads deal to save his little brother?"

Sam shrugged apologetically. In hindsight, they should have known. With the surprising exception of the Winchesters, Tasha had made a lifelong habit of not forming lasting bonds so that Diego couldn't go after friends to find out her whereabouts. But she did run into to other hunters and like she said, hunters talk.

"You here to see…Dean?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"I'll leave you alone, then" she offered with a glance back at the cross. "But uh, Sam? Would you mind if I waited for you at the car? Maybe we could catch up a little?"

Sam surprised himself with the next words that came out of his mouth. "You don't have to go," he told her. "You loved him too. Stay."

She hesitated but when he took the few steps forward to put himself before the cross, he found her next to him. She sat on the grass and pulled his arm down until he was sitting next to her. Sam glanced over at her awkwardly and was just starting to regret his invitation when she started talking.

"Hey Dean," she said casually to the two pieces of wood in front of them. "Look who I found."

Sam chuckled uncomfortably. "Yeah," he said apologetically. "It's been a while."

"Can you tell me what happened?" Tasha asked suddenly, no longer addressing the cross.

Sam's eyes widened with apprehension. He hadn't talked about the day Dean had died to anyone. Ruby had been helping him get through the pain and the grief but mostly by distraction. They would talk about Lilith and demons and Sam's powers and then they usually ended up just fucking. She didn't ask about Dean much. Talking about Dean was painful and Sam preferred to avoid it whenever possible.

But Tasha deserved to know and what she deserved really mattered to Sam. He couldn't deny he had cared about her when she had been traveling with him and Dean. Maybe a little too much. He remembered being really confused the last couple of days she was with them, after the time they had all had sex in the Impala's back seat. He'd even thought he was in love with her. Maybe that had just been because she was the only girl he'd ever spent any real time with besides Jessica and it had been a case of a lack of options or maybe it had been real. He couldn't be sure now; the memories were slightly foggy and it all seemed like such a long time ago. A lifetime ago.

He told her everything. He started talking hesitantly but before long the words just seemed to come tumbling out. He told her the whole story about Yellow-Eyes and the other psychic kids and Jake killing him and Dean making the deal. He told her about Ruby but left out the part that Ruby had reappeared since Dean's death because her reaction to the decision to befriend a demon was less than favorable. Apparently she held the same blind distrust in anything demon that Dean had. He told her why his brother had ended things with her and that Dean had made Sam promise to keep looking for Diego.

"I'm sorry," he whispered guiltily. "I haven't done much digging on the Diego front recently."

"I wouldn't expect you to," she immediately let him off the hook. "Diego's the last thing on my mind right now too." She hooked her arm in his. "Were you there?" she asked quietly. "When it happened?"

Sam nodded.

"I'm so sorry, Sam," she repeated.

He sighed and told her about the day Dean's year was up. He recounted how they had found out Lilith was the one with his contract but she had escaped and the Hellhounds killed Dean. He repeated what his brother's last words of instruction to Sam had been, to keep hunting and explained to Tasha that he was doing exactly that.

By the time he finished, tears were freely coursing down his face. She was leaning on his shoulder, her brown eyes newly wet with fresh tears of her own. He finished speaking but it wasn't until he sniffed that he realized he was crying and he wiped the streaks hastily away with the back of his hand.

They sat in silence for a long time until he felt her fingers graze his neck. He looked down to see her sliding Dean's amulet up and out from under his t-shirt and wondered how'd she had known it was there. He didn't say anything and she held it carefully in her hands for a moment, studying it before dropping it back down and pressing it onto his chest with her hand.

"He should be wearing that," Sam croaked. "I should have saved him. I told him I'd save him."

She shook her head. "You did all you could, Sam," she disagreed. "Besides, you know how he was. He'd do the same thing over again if he got another chance. This isn't your fault. Lilith and Yellow-Eyes killed him, not you."

Sam didn't reply, not in the least convinced she was right. He looked up and realized the sun had all but disappeared below the horizon and darkness was approaching quickly. He pulled his arm free of her grasp and moved to get up. "We should get going," he said.

She didn't argue and stood up with him. They both gave the cross a long, lingering look before moving out of the clearing and back through the trees. They were halfway back through the field to the cars before Sam thought to ask where she was staying.

"I don't have a place. I'll probably just head back to Texas," she shrugged.

"It's late to start a drive that long," he pointed out. "Why don't you stick around 'til morning? I got a room in Pontiac."

He was caught unawares at how badly he didn't want her to leave just yet. Her presence had somehow reminded him of things he'd somehow forgotten, things about Dean but also things about himself. The way he used to be before Dean had died and before he had started fucking a demon and drinking demon blood and thinking of nothing but taking his revenge on Lilith. She was a connection to the way he used to be and he suddenly came to realize he wasn't as ready to throw that Sam away as he had thought.

He gave her a pleading look and she smiled at him and nodded. "No girl can resist those puppy dog eyes of yours, Sam Winchester," she laughed as she climbed the fence and slid a key into the Fiero's door. "Alright, I'll follow you back to town but the pizza's on me tonight."

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A/N: Hope you all enjoyed. They'll be starting the mission to save Dean in the next chapter so the action will pick up soon. Would love to know what you thought and if I got Bobby right, so don't be shy to leave a review :)