Chapter 6

Then:

"I don't even know how to hunt," I add, "I'm only going to get in your way." After vacillating for a few moments, Dean finally nods and Sam squeezes my shoulder.

"C'mon, Air." He hesitates before meeting Dean's eyes. "Take care of yourself, Dean."

"You, too, Sammy." Dean stays where he is and watches us walk towards the abandoned car beside the Impala. Within a few moments, Sam had hotwired it - I realize soon after he begins that there's no point in scolding him, even though I feel horribly guilty - and we get inside. I wave to Dean from the passenger seat and he simply lifts his hand in return.

Sam's expression is drawn and exhausted, but I jump into the tale of how Castiel and I had attempted to search for God and ended up making fun of each other instead, and soon Sam's laughing harder than he had in all the time I've known him.

Now:

Sam and I settle into a small town named Garber, Oklahoma, after a day straight of driving. The first thing Sam does is get us some new cellphones and fake identities, something I take forever to get used to. Sam is now Keith Richardson and I'm Cindy Richardson, his younger sister. He snickers at my horrified face when he hands me my new driver's license, explaining that it only seemed fitting to give me another Disney princess's name and then promptly dodging the punch I throw at his arm.

Sam gets a job as a busboy at a local bar and I find a job at the bookstore next to it, taking inventory and handling purchases. We use most of our wages to pay for a few weeks in advance for the motel we're staying at, and we settle into a routine, something I had feared I would never get back to.

It's still got its weird moments, though, like when I catch Sam laying down a salt line every night. He shrugs at me when I give him a strange look the first night and simply says, "Just to be safe." I take his word for it and leave him to it.

Other times, I see Sam staring at the wall morosely, his chin in his hands and his expression miserable. When this happens, I do what any good friend would do and throw crumpled pieces of paper - complete with terrible doodles and caricatures - at him until he snaps out of it and bitchfaces at me.

I consider that to be a sign of success.

Every now and then, Bobby calls while I'm at the bookstore and informs me of current ongoings. He doesn't mention Dean during his updates, and I'm glad he doesn't. Honestly, I'm angry with Dean, at how he's pushed Sam away and turned his brother into a self-hating introvert, and I tell Bobby as such a week after we've set up our lives in Garber.

"I ain't happy with Dean any more than you are," he admits with a sigh, "But, kid, you have to admit Sam screwed up, too."

"But he's sorry," I huff as I stack children's books back on the shelves after the store closes. The children are incredibly messy, leaving picture books scattered all over the floor after they're done skimming through them. "It's not as if Sam doesn't regret what he did, he's practically killing himself with guilt every day."

I don't mention the nightmares; those are Sam's personal business. I hear him tossing and turning, murmuring half-consciously about burning and bright light and "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" over and over. He wakes up with a strangled gasp after a few minutes of this and once in a while, I feel his fingers card through my hair shakily, as if he's confirming that I'm still alive.

If I pretend to be asleep and grab his hand to keep him from leaving my side, Sam doesn't call me out on it.

"Look, maybe some time away from Dean will do him some good," Bobby suggests, drawing me back to the conversation.

"It's time with me instead," I tell him dryly, "I'll be surprised if he's not in a straight-jacket by the time you and Dean see him again."

Bobby snorts. "I'll agree with you there. Listen, I gotta go, I'm expecting a call from another hunter. Give Sam my best."

"I will. Take care, Bobby." I hang up and go back to stacking the shelves. When my shift's over, I clock out and head next door to the bar, as I do every day. Thankfully, Sam's modified my age to twenty-one rather than eighteen on my fake driver's license, so I'm allowed in. My mom would have a heart-attack if she saw me now.

"Hey, Keith," I call as I enter the bar. Sam raises a hand in greeting, smiling, before going back to slicing lemons dutifully. I grab the barstool closest to him. "Kids are evil."

"Storytime?" Sam asks with a wry chuckle, wiping his forehead free of sweat.

"Storytime," I confirm before adding, "One of them tried to attack me with scissors. He claimed that if he cut off a finger, he could super-glue it back on." I shudder. "Three-year-olds should not be that creepy."

Sam pauses in his lemon-slicing to give me a sympathetic pat to the shoulder before returning to work.

"Now you're just patronizing me," I scold him and he rolls his eyes at me goodnaturedly.

"You're gonna have to order something if you want to stay here, y'know." The bar is strict on not letting family and friends stick around, but within the week that we've been here, we've found out that they don't mind so long as I actually order drinks. Not feeling comfortable with alcohol, I stick with soda most of the time.

"Coke?" Sam obediently fetches me a glass of Coke and I pass him two dollars for it. With a grin, he accepts the money and then sticks one of the lemon wedges he's cut onto the rim of my glass. I stick my tongue out at him in return.

"You two are adorable," a waitress around Sam's age laughs as she passes us. Her nametag reads "Lindsey," and I see the way her eyes linger on Sam before she disappears into the back. Sam sees me raise my eyebrow and turns pink.

"Don't try too hard, Casanova," I tease him, propping my chin on my palm.

"Shut up." Sam reaches over the bar to take a half-hearted swing at me and I dodge it with a laugh before settling down to drink my Coke slowly and allowing Sam to get back to work. He finishes cutting lemons and moves on to cleaning the bar with a damp rag. He nudges my arms off the bar counter in order to wipe it down and catches my pensive expression. "Hey. What's on your mind?" I shrug wordlessly. "Don't give me that." He pokes my arm with a soap-covered finger. "What's up?" When I don't reply, he prompts, "Missing home?"

That's not quite it. Sam's not the only one having strange dreams, although I guess I can't classify mine as scary, just weird. The setting changes every time; one night, it's a simple black void, another, it's a beach, and another is the park Castiel and I had visited. Yet in each one, I see the man I had seen in the park, with his odd brown-gold hair and golden eyes. He stares at me silently and every time I ask his name, he doesn't respond, his lips curving upwards almost sadly as he watches me.

I can't tell Sam that, though, so I fiddle with the lemon wedge on my glass before nodding in response to his question. "A bit. Nothing I can't handle." Now that I think about it, I suppose I do feel a little homesick. It's bizarre that I've settled into a domestic life in this strange undomestic world, when back home, I have no idea what's happening. Do people miss me? Do they even know I'm gone?

Sam sighs and wipes his hands dry on another cloth before clasping my shoulder. "We'll get you home, Cindy." I almost forget that we're using fake names, but choose to ignore it in favor of placing my hand over his and squeezing his fingers gratefully.

"I know." He pats my shoulder before returning to wiping down the bar. My mood lifts when he tells me a story about an earlier customer who had stumbled in, already relatively drunk, and demanded more alcohol while rambling about pink elephants and pretty flowers. The story has me entertained for the next half-hour, at which point Sam takes off his apron and hangs it on a hook before timestamping his card.

"C'mon, let's go." He calls a goodbye to Lindsey and I tease him for it all the way back to the motel. He grabs me in a headlock until I plead mercy, laughing as he releases me and tugs me against his side with an arm around my shoulders.

"You make an okay big brother," I tell him, giggling, and he stops in his tracks, looking at me with something unreadable in his expression. For a moment, I'm worried I've offended him somehow.

Finally, he cracks a smile, even though he still looks like he's going to cry any second, and squeezes me closer. "Thanks."

Sam's nightmare that night is much worse than the previous few. He's shaking as he jolts out of bed and I hear him shut the bathroom door behind him. The sink faucet runs for a few minutes before shutting off. I turn over to face the door and shut my eyes, opening them slightly as the door opens. In the light of the bathroom, I can see Sam's face dripping with either water or tears, which he wipes on a handtowel near the bathroom door before shutting off the light and returning to bed. He sits down on the bed and stares at the wall for a long time. His shoulders tremble suddenly and he bows his head, dropping it into his hands.

Deciding it's time to make a move, I get out of my own bed and sit down next to him. Sam doesn't say a word, but silently wraps one arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his side.

I place my arms around his waist and murmur, "It's okay," which is a mistake, because that makes Sam shudder even more, tightening his grip on me as something warm and wet trickles down the back of my neck. Not wanting to see him cry, I press my face into his chest and hug him as hard as I can until his silent sobs cease. With a quiet sniffle, he pulls back to swipe his arm across his eyes.

"Thanks, Air," he says hoarsely and I nod into his chest. I had half-expected him to be made of rock, with all the muscle he has, but he's actually warm and comfortable. Without meaning to, I fall asleep against him.

I dream of the golden-eyed man again, this time in a place surrounded by soft clouds and shining lights. I vaguely wonder if it's Heaven, and I ask the man that. He nods silently. "Why don't you ever talk to me?" I demand in frustration. The man pauses, hurt flashing across his face briefly, and then shrugs. It's the least robotic response I've gotten out of him, and my irritation abates just based on that. Sensing my relaxation, the man relaxes too, a smile tinged with sadness tugging at his lips.

I wake up in the morning with Sam half-curled around me, his cheek pillowed against the top of my head and his arms wrapped protectively around me. For the first time all week, he looks peaceful in his sleep, and I shamelessly snuggle closer and fall asleep again.

It doesn't stop Sam from kicking me out of bed an hour later to get ready for work, though. Jerk.

My shift at the bookstore runs late that night and I don't make it to the bar until the end of Sam's shift. By then, three men are already at a table, talking to Sam quietly.

"Keith?" I approach them warily and Sam gives me a strained smile.

"Don't worry, they're friends of Bobby's." I relax slightly, but still shuffle closer to Sam nervously as the hunters study me.

"She the kid Bobby mentioned?" one of them asks and Sam nods.

"She's not in the life, so I wouldn't recommend getting her to help on the hunt." He smiles wryly and the hunters look at each other, as if they're already judging the best way to kill me. I swallow and stand behind Sam's chair so that I can hide behind him easily.

"Well, anyway, we could really use all hands on deck here," the other hunter suggests and Sam shakes his head.

"I know you could. But I can't. I'm sorry."

"Why not?"

"It's personal." Sam's tone is sharp.

"Look, man, what baggage is so heavy it can't be stowed away for the freaking Apocalypse?" Sam tenses and I place a hand on the back of his shoulder lightly. He looks up at me before glancing back at the hunters.

"Like I said-"

"You're sorry, yeah. Heard you the first time." The other hunter sounds bitter.

"Suit yourself. More for us," his partner replies cheerfully.

The third hunter finally grins as well. "Yeah. Beers are on you when we get back."

Sam relaxes and smiles. "Good luck." The hunters get up and leave the bar and I allow myself to relax at last. Sam squeezes my hand as he gets up from the table. "Friends of Bobby's," he repeats to me quietly, "Those were Tim, Reggie, and Steve."

"They creep me out," I tell him honestly and he quirks a smile.

"Most hunters would do that."

"So your parents were drunk when they named you and you shoot Bambi?" Lindsey teases as she walks up to us and I roll my eyes, patting Sam on the shoulder.

"See you at home, Romeo." Sam shoves me lightly and I make my way out the door, laughing.

Halfway back to the motel, I receive a text from Sam.

Dinner with Lindsey. Don't wait up.

Grinning, I type back a response.

'Dinner?' Is that what they're calling it these days?

He replies eloquently.

Screw you.

I laugh and pocket my phone before ducking into a nearby diner to grab dinner for myself. I get a veggie burger and take it back to the motel room, where I eat it before calling Bobby to let him know that those three hunter friends of his are creepy as hell.

He snorts at my description. "Kid, if every hunter was all sunshine and rainbows, I'd be even more creeped out. That's just how these guys are."

"Still. They looked like they wanted to shoot me in the head just 'cause I knew about hunting, but wasn't a hunter myself."

"Unfortunately, that ain't uncommon. Look, just hang tight. Soon as this case is done, they'll be gone and you and Sam can get your lives back on track. Okay?" Reluctantly, I agree and we hang up.

I steal Sam's laptop to browse the Internet and read up on the news, which send me for a loop. I hadn't known about the fire hailing nearby, or the other signs of the freaking Apocalypse that are now staring me in the face. It sickens me to my stomach that Sam and I have just walked away from this, but I can't force Sam back into hunting. I know I'm certainly not ready to defend myself if it came down to that.

I place the laptop back into Sam's bag and straighten up when something heavy crashes into the back of my head. I drop like a sack of potatoes and everything grows dark.

My head is aching horribly, and that's the first thing that registers in my mind as I slowly wake up.

"Wha-?" A calloused hand slaps over my mouth and I scream against it, fully alert now as I struggle against whoever's holding me.

"Quiet, kid." I recognize that voice as one of the hunters who had talked to Sam earlier today. Reggie, maybe? A knife is pressed to my throat and I flinch, falling silent. The hands push me forward through a door and a bell chimes. We're at the bar, and I can see Sam standing near one of the tables, another of the hunters - Tim - in front of him. Lindsey is handcuffed to the bar and gagged, her eyes wide with horror.

Sam's hazel eyes flick to me and widen. "Ariel!" He takes a step forward, but Reggie - or whoever it is - presses the blade closer to my neck.

"Sam, what's happening?" I demand desperately as I struggle again, but the knife nicks my skin and a drop of blood trickles down my neck. I freeze.

"Just take it easy," Sam tries to negotiate with the hunters, his tone a little too calm, "Put the knife down." Reggie obeys, but still holds my shoulders in a bruising grip. "It's true," Sam says quietly at last, "What the demons said, it's all true."

"Keep going," Tim orders.

"Why?" Sam's eyes narrow as he turns his glare on Tim. "You gonna hate me any less? Am I gonna hate myself any less? What do you want?" Something in my chest twists at how broken he sounds.

"I want to hear you say it."

Sam looks at me once more before squaring his shoulders and admitting, "I did it. I started the Apocalypse."

"Sam-" I begin weakly, but Reggie covers my mouth again as Tim pulls out a glass tube full of red liquid. I recognize it after a moment as blood.

"What is that?" Sam is staring at it.

"What do you think it is? It's go juice, Sammy-boy." It's not just blood, I realize with growing horror. It's demon blood.

"Get that away from me." Sam takes a step back, but bumps into the table behind him.

"Away from you? This is for you. Hell if that demon wasn't right as rain. Down the hatch, son." Tim takes a threatening step forward.

"You're insane." I have to agree there.

"Here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna drink this, Hulk out, and you're gonna waste every one of the demon scum that killed my best friend." That explains where the third hunter had gone. "Or they both die." Reggie's hand moves from my mouth to my throat and I realize that this guy could easily snap my neck if he chooses.

"You wouldn't do that," Sam says, not sounding convinced.

"It's funny how watching your best friend die changes that. Come on, you know you want it, Sam. Just reach out and take it." Suddenly, Tim charges Sam, who hasn't been expecting it, and throws him into the pool table. I scream, as does Lindsey through her gag, as Tim uncorks the tube and pours the demon blood into Sam's half-open mouth before holding it closed so that Sam can't spit it out.

Reggie's grasp on my throat tightens as I struggle even harder, and I see black spots across my vision. Still, I don't stop squirming and screaming for Sam, when suddenly the tight grasp on me is released. I collapse to the floor, gasping and rubbing at my now-bruised throat, as Sam charges past me, grabbing Reggie and slamming his head into the bar. Reggie collapses, unconscious, to the floor, while Tim scrambles up, his face covered in blood that isn't his own. Sam had spat out the demon blood into Tim's face.

The realization sends such relief through me that I sink back against the bar, allowing myself to gasp for breath as Sam takes Reggie's knife and holds it up to Tim's throat. He looks back at me and Lindsey, both of us probably pale with terror, and drops the knife, throwing Tim over to a stirring Reggie.

"Go." The hunters help each other up and stumble towards the door.

"Don't think we won't be back," Tim snarls over his shoulder.

"Don't think I won't be here," Sam says coldly in return. When the door finally closes behind them, Sam picks the lock on Lindsey's cuffs and ungags her. Shaking and wide-eyed, she looks between the two of us before bolting out the door.

"So much for your date, huh?" I rasp weakly and Sam smiles faintly as he kneels down beside me.

"Yeah, well." He doesn't offer more of a reason than that, choosing to check my throat and wincing in sympathy. "Looks like it hurts."

"I'm okay," I lie and he helps me to my feet, scanning me for any other injuries. When his examination's complete, he yanks me into the tightest hug I've ever received, pressing his face into my hair. It would be comical that he has to bend slightly to reach the top of my head, but I'm trembling so much that I don't care as I squeeze him back until my arms go numb from the pressure.

"I'm sorry," he mutters against the top of my head.

"Shut up," I retort tiredly; it's not his fault the hunters had turned on us. He strokes my hair gently and I lean into the touch, closing my eyes. "Can we please just go home now?"

He nods, even though I can't see it, and presses a kiss to the top of my head. "Yeah. Yeah, we can go home."

He holds me tightly against his side all the way back to the motel.

So the epic story of Sam and Ariel's big adventure on their own is mostly over. Obviously, there's still a little more, which will overlap with the events of The End in the next chapter.

It's difficult trying to branch out from the episodes, so if I do appear to be simply quoting the episode, warn me. I tend to be reading the transcript while I type these chapters.

Review, or Dean will not be a happy camper.