And here it is! The last chapter of Reincarnated! But don't cry my cupcakes, there shall be a squeal!

There's a bit of a monologue at the end; it covered a bunch of stuff that got a little skipped over and sets up the next installment (which is as of yet unnamed).

Keep an eye out for the next one, I'm not sure when it will be up.

;) Thanks for sticking with me for one hundred and thirty chapters

~Christianne

Nikki POV

It was hot.

I was in a pair of cotton shorts and a t-shirt, and I was sweating so much my hair was sticking to my face. I had my hands over my ears as I stumbled around the metal platform; there was so much screaming. My bare feet hurt from walking on the platform; it was make of that industrial stuff with the diamonds punched out.

I tripped, and my midsection hit a rough, searing hot metal bar. I had my eyes open now, and I felt like throwing up.

It was black and red, fire that burned so hot it could melt bone. Each humid breath I took brought in more air that tasted and smelled like blood.

The smell of blood got even stronger, and I whimpered. I leaned heavier on the railing as blood poured from the four long wounds on my midsection. The lesser ones on my upper arm and cheek leaked blood too, but the pain was centered around my midsection.

I slid to the ground, and began to curl in on myself as my blood dripped through the diamonds on the floor beneath me, and made sick sizzling noises as it hit the hot surfaces below.

Someone stepped behind me, and I looked up. I choked on air and pushed myself back as they took a slow, weak step towards me.

"Dean." I breathed, eyes wide as I looked up at him. There was blood spattered and smeared on his face, massive gashes in his chest. His organs were in the wrong places and some were dangling out.

He looked down at me with the same look as before he died. Terrified. His lips were parted slightly, and his face matched the terrified look his eyes held, but also looked terribly betrayed. When he spoke, his voice was rough and thick; it wavered at the end. What he spoke hurt more than the massive gashes that cut through the soft skin and muscle of my stomach.

"Why'd you let go, Nik?"

I shot up in bed with a sharp gasp.

My chest rose and fell quickly with each gasping breath. I raked my hair back with one hand, and the other grasped the pendants of Chris's necklace. It was still dark outside. The green numbers on my clock said 4:09 am.

It'd been a 12 days since Dean died. And every time I fell asleep I had the same dream; he looked too scared and hurt that I let go.

I swung my legs out of my bed and cracked my neck as I stood up. I kicked around the floor, trying to find a sweatshirt, as my other used the hair tie on my wrist to throw my hair up. I pressed a hand to my side.

Sam had stitched up my gashes before we buried Dean; with some of the fishing line the father used and a needle from the mother's sewing kit. I looked like a real hunter now; four badass scars that reached from one side of my stomach and curved up to my ribcage on the other side.

I felt the string of a hoodie with my toe, and reached down for it. The moment I had it my hand, I paused and began to gnaw on my lip. I balled the hoodie up and held it under my chin.

A few months ago, I complained about it being cold in a motel room. Dean threw a dirty sweatshirt at me; he didn't realize I'd wear it, let alone keep it.

After I pulled the massive navy blue sweatshirt over my head, I played with the strings a little and put my hands in the pockets. I frowned, and pulled out the small, square metal object that was a shock of cold against my fingers. I squinted at it in the light, and smiled when I identified it.

I flipped it right side up, used my thumb to flip the top off, then press down. A small flame flickered out of the Zippo, and I smiled at it.

Dean forgot a lighter in the pocket of his sweatshirt.

I walked out of my room, past Sam's closed door, and down the stairs. I played with the bottom hem of his sweatshirt, which fell just past my shorts, as I walked into the kitchen.

I flicked on the light, and lazily turned on the coffee maker.

There was a note taped to the fridge door. I picked up the corner of it as I read it.

"Going to Illinois with Rufus for a fang. Man the phones. Back in three days. Bobby." I read off. I frowned, and turned away from the note. "Wonderful."

Whatever that light was back in Indiana, it was the one thing that could apparently break the fall-out-of-love cocktail's spell. I was back to giving Sam googly eyes and blushing when his hand grazed mine. The real shitty part was that Sam hadn't really been Sam since we buried Dean. He didn't say a whole lot, and what he did was emotionless and vague.

I used to, for entertainment, watch Sam's eyes; how the flowing specks of blue, green and gold changed in the light. But weren't anything to look at now. They were dead and flat.

I sat myself down at the kitchen table, next to the row of phones like I had every morning. I had my coffee with extra sugar and a bowl of Lucky Charms. I was facing away from the stairs; if I faced them, I'd be staring at them waiting for Sam to walk down.

Around eight Sam wandered down. He didn't say anything; he saw the note on the fridge and got a cup of coffee. He sat across from me, staring into space.

"Found this in the pocket." I said, putting the Zippo on the table.

Sam stared at it briefly, then stood up. "Just keep it."

I heard him walk out the door, and the Impala start and drive off.

Great. Now I was alone.

A phone rang.

I looked at the label, and picked up the phone. I didn't care what Bobby said; I was going to say whatever I wanted.

I flicked the Zippo and watched the flame as I spoke.

"Agent Adler's office...I'm sorry, he's out of town for his granddaughter's violin recital. It's amazing, you know; 13 years old, totally blind and can play Shahrizad like it was nobody's business."

I was pacing around Bobby's house nervously. Sam left at eight this morning. Since then, he hadn't called or texted, and everyone I called thought he was here. I called him over and over again, but he still didn't pick up.

I was switching between all the TV and radio stations that reported the news; I don't know what I was looking for exactly. A body, a car chase...Just something.

I was about to call Bobby again when the door in the kitchen opened. I was in the kitchen before the screen closed.

"Sam!" I yelled, throwing the phone down. "Where the hell have you been?"

He just blinked at me. "Out."

My eyes narrowed as I watched Sam's normally swift, articulate frame act lanky and awkward as he stumbled around to the table.

"Oh my God-Are you drunk?" I asked him, taking a step closer.

"Yup." Sam said, lazily grabbing the half-drank bottle of bourbon Bobby left on the table; right next to the salt, pepper and ketchup. It was kinda funny to see all six-foot-four of Sam struggle with the twist top of the bottle.

I grabbed it away from him and threw it in the fridge; maybe it'd be too complicated for Drunk Sam to open. "Where the hell have you been all day?"

"Around." Sam slurred, standing up.

"Do you have any idea how worried I've been all day?" I half-yelled at him. Sam just stared down at me wordlessly.

"Seriously Sam! I mean, I get it, alright? You miss Dean. I miss him too!" I gave his chest a little shove. "But you have to snap out of this-"

One of Sam's hands grabbed the back of my head and the other grabbed my waist. He swooped down to kiss me as he walked me back into the wall of Bobby's kitchen. I let out a little squeak at first, I mean, it wasn't like I was expecting this. But then Sam's hands moved to hold both sides of my face, angling it that perfect way and I managed to get a soft grip on his arms.

He wasn't wasting any time; his tongue was in my mouth before I could even make the first move.

I remembered the kiss in the scrap yard, when he was possessed by Meg. It was similar to that, only he didn't seem so demanding now; he didn't force my own tongue into submission like last time. There was a reason for that.

I could taste at least three different types of alcohol.

I forced my head to the side, but he seemed just fine with biting and kissing his way down my neck. "Sam." I muttered, trying to get his attention. He just grunted.

"Sa-Eep!"

Sam boldly reach up and groped my breast through my clothes. I was mentally scolding myself for not wearing a bra today. In my defense; I didn't think I'd be getting felt up today, and I was wearing a hoodie and a thermal shirt so you couldn't tell.

"Sam stop it!" I managed to get out while Sam bit my lower lip, pulling it back and letting his teeth drag over it. He made that little grunt again, and reached in between us to fiddle with the button on my jeans.

I didn't try to speak again.

I pulled my hand back and slapped Sam across the face. He made this little sound that was half surprised and half hurt. I put two hands in the middle of his chest and pushed him as hard as I could.

Drunk Sam stumbled back into the table across the kitchen and caught onto it with both hands.

It was pretty quiet for a few seconds.

"Nikki-" Sam started, his voice thick.

"Go upstairs Sam." I said flatly, my eyes keeping contact with the window over the sink.

"Nik-"

"Go upstairs Sam." I repeated.

I didn't watch as Sam slowly trudged upstairs. My eyes closed when his door shut.

I slowly slid down the wall, and covered my head with my arms.

Sam and I kissed once. I personally didn't count it, I mean, he was possessed.

I guess we'd kissed twice now, and I didn't think I'd count this one either.

Sam was drunk enough for him to stumble around, and he'd probably regret it in the morning.

Dean's Zippo from the sweatshirt was still on the table. I smiled a little.

"You were right, you know...We are damn dysfunctional."

I was on Bobby's porch watching the sunset. It'd been 15 hours since Sam's drunken entrance, and I hadn't talked to him. I'd planted by butt behind Bobby's desk with a stack of books a foot high and only went to the kitchen when I heard Sam upstairs.

I heard the boards of the porch creak behind me. "Sam." I said simply. I was sitting on the railing of the porch; I swung my legs over it and hopped down to the ground.

"I wanna talk Nik." He said, walking towards the railing I hopped off of.

"Go ahead Sam," I turned around, to face him, crossing my arms. "Talk."

He worked his jaw and looked at the ground briefly. "I'm sorry, Nik."

I just turned back around. "It's fine."

"No, Nikki, you told me to stop and I didn't. That's not fine." Sam insisted.

I snorted and turned to face him. "Sam I'm more than capable stopping your groping. I could have made your head boil and explode on your shoulders. It's fine. Let it go."

"No!" He half-yelled as he came down the porch steps. "No, Nikki, I will not let it go!"

"You were drunk Sam!" I matched his volume as I spoke. "You didn't know what you were doing!"

"I did, actually." Sam corrected me, his voice at a more normal volume. He was pretty close to me now. "I knew exactly what I was doing."

My eyes narrowed. "You did." I stated skeptically.

"Yeah," Sam said, his fingers twitched at his side. "I mean, it's all kinda blurry, but I knew what I was doing."

I took one step towards Sam, got on my tip toes and gently rested them on Sam's neck, threading my fingers through the soft, lengthy hair. My gaze flicked up to his briefly before they shut, and I pressed my lips to his.

It was much more gentle than it was last night; Sam's large, warm hands rested on my waist. They pulled me a little closer, which I didn't mind. They slowly slid under my t-shirt and seared into my back, which I didn't mind either.

I grabbed a little tighter at his hair and let out a low groan in his mouth, which Sam appeared to really enjoy.

His hand slid higher up my back and grasped my bra clasp. Not like he was going to undo it; he wrapped it up in his fist and pressed it to my back.

I gave a breathy gasp against Sam's mouth, and he took advantage of it by pushing his tongue in my mouth again.

"Sam," I said softly around his lips, moving my hands to gently press against his chest. He, reluctantly, pulled back just enough to let me speak. He kept the hand around my bra clasp and the other on my hip. "Sam why are you doing this?" I whispered.

I couldn't look at him. I kept my eyes heavily lidded and unfocused. I watched his lips, a little pinker than normal, move.

"Doing what?"

I slowly looked up at him, and ever-so-slightly pressed barely half an inch closer to him. His jaw clenched; that barely half an inch may as well have been a dirty hooker-worthy grind. We were that close to each other.

"Dean told me what you did." He said in the same low, quiet tone. "The fall-out-of-love cocktail."

I felt an embarrassed blush burn up my cheeks. "It's gone...That-That light wiped it out."

Sam hunched down to rest his forehead against mine. "Good."

I ever so slowly looked up at Sam, and I removed my hands from his chest even slower. A year ago I would have literally killed to be in this position with Sam. But Dean was dead. Everything was different; Sam was unstable, emotionally impulsive and vulnerable. He was me when I met him.

Sam began trailing wet, slow kisses from my temple, down my cheek, over my jaw and around my neck. He wound a hand through my hair and tilted to my head to the side, giving him a little more room.

"Don't." I said, unmoving.

He released his grip on my hair, and loosened the hold on my hip. I dropped down from my tiptoes and Sam straightened up a little. It was so unfair; even in the dark his kaleidoscope eyes were smoldering and bright.

"Just...why?" Sam asked after some heavy, awkward, tension-filled silence.

I bit back any shy feelings and looked into his unfairly beautiful eyes. "Cause it'd mean more to me than it would to you."

Sam frowned in thought, and his eyebrows turned up slightly. "So...So you-you actually do-"

"How'duh you know?" I asked, trying to be a little more witty and sarcastic; more like myself. I glanced up at him, and I knew we were thinking the same thing; Dean.

He raised his big, warm hands up to my face. They cupped my jaw and stroked my cheekbones as Sam gently pulled me closer. I closed my eyes again and let out a shaky little breath. "It wouldn't mean more to you than me."

My eyes snapped open and my heart broke out in a sprint. "You-You l-"

"I think I'm starting to." Sam cut me off.

Well, that was the end of shy for me.

I went back onto my tip-toes and grabbed onto his hair again. Sam's hands were...everywhere. They were holding my hips, in my hair, on my butt, holding the back of my neck, under the back of my shirt...I lost track after a while and just went with it.

After using a quite measurable amount of strength, I got Sam's face away from my own. "Hey," I said, getting his full attention. "Bedroom." Sam's eyes darkened, and I took that as yes.

My plan was to, very slowly, let go of Sam, trailing my hands over whatever body part they were over, and take his hand. I'd then pull him into the house, giving a sexy swing to my hips, and playfully swat his hands away when he reach out to touch me.

That didn't happen though.

Sam grabbed under my butt and hoisted me up. My legs were around his waist and my arms were around his neck. As we clashed teeth and tongues, Sam blindly walked towards Bobby's porch. He made it up the steps fine, keeping both hands on my upper thighs, but rammed my back into the doorjamb.

"Sorry," he mumbled against my lips. I giggled and gave his neck a hard nip, making his grip falter. I slid down his hips until my feet were on the floor.

"How 'bout you let me walk." I said, still giggling, I grabbed his hand and towed him to the stairs.

The mood between us changed; it was intense and hot just a few minutes ago, but now it was playful and intimate. Sam gave my butt a semi-hard swat halfway up the stairs; I squealed and spun around. I gave him a shove, but he grabbed me and spun me around to press me to the wall.

While he ran his hands down my body, I thought it only fair that I get to do the same. The flannel was in my way, so I grabbed the collar and pulled it in two directions. Sam pulled back abruptly, and stared down at me with wide eyes. I began giggling again. "What?" I asked.

Sam shook his head, shrugging out of his shirt and flailing his left hand until it came off and flew over the staircase. "God you're so hot right now." He got out. Sam picked me up again after that little statement, and took advantage of my head being thrown back in laughter.

I let Sam lead me to the room he had claimed a few weeks ago, or to mine; I didn't really care.

My sweatshirt was halfway down my arms, Sam leaned back to yank his shirt over his head. I sighed as I finally got to run my hands down his firm, muscled chest. You really could just lick it.

Once Sam's shirt had successfully been thrown haphazardly to one side, he once again locked our lips and worked at the bottom of my t-shirt. As he pulled it up and over my bust, he apparently didn't realize our heads were in the way. It got caught on our chins, and this time we both laughed.

We fell on the bed and in between grabbing each other's hair, faces and chests Sam grabbed something from the nightstand and threw it at the door. As soon as it clicked shut, Sam turned us so I was on my back, and he hovered over me.

For just a few seconds, as Sam hovered over me, I did all I could to memorize this moment. How the heat from Sam's bare chest felt over me. How even though some of his movements were rough and dirty, he was careful to keep his big, heavy body off my smaller frame. The different ways he touched me; mostly it was either lighter grazes with his palm, or deeper, harder presses with his fingers. How he mumbled my name under his breath, and how he seemed to like to press his forehead against mine.

Almost everything was falling apart; at least Sam and I were building something.

The next morning, I woke up sore, happy and satisfied.

In my hazy, happy morning mind I recalled moments from last night and ended up giggling. Sex always made me giggly; not sure why, never really questioned it.

I rolled over in the worn, soft sheets, planning to see if Sam was up to round...uh...fooling around in the morning. Only, Sam wasn't there. There was just a big, empty lukewarm place right behind me from where he had been laying.

I sat up, letting the clovers fall down my chest; I made Sam find my bra last night, and with what I offered in exchange, he didn't mind. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and looked around; we had been in his bedroom.

I stretched my arms over my head, enjoying the cracks that came from my neck and back. When I put my hands down, I brushed over my ribs; there was some light bruising there. I didn't mind really; Percy, the gay demon I dated who didn't even like sex with me gave me worse.

After last night, I had a whole new view of Sam. He was rough and dominant in the act, which wasn't my preferred method. I didn't notice the bruises. Sam had brushed over them six or seven times, but I thought he was tracing random patterns. His head was on my chest and I was playing with his hair, after a dozen or so times, I looked down at what he was tracing. Being the idiot that I am, I poked one of the darker ones and winced. Sam pressed slow, gentle, lingering kisses over every bruise (and then some). I think he started to say 'I'm sorry' but I gave him a sharp swat on the top of his head.

I stepped out of the bed and winced; even my feet were even sore. I'd been on my tiptoes for quite a while, and then there was some excessive toe-curling later in the night. I leaned down and grabbed Sam's button up from the floor. I pulled the big, worn out flannel over my shoulders, and reveled in the smell. I brought the cuffs up to my face and inhaled deeply. It was a woodsy, manly smell that wrapped around my brain in a protective hug. There was a little bit of the stark clean laundromat soap smell in there too.

I spun on my heels as I buttoned up the shirt, which fell past my butt. There was a dusty, unused mirror over a dresser; I looked like I just had sex. My hair was messier than it normally was when I woke up, and my lips were still a little swollen. My brown eyes were brighter than they had been in a long time, and my cheeks were a little pink. I had a skip in my step when I walked and I couldn't keep a lip-biting smile off my face.

The part that really shocked me, was that I looked happy.

"Hey Sam?" I called as I pushed the door open. The floor was cold under my bare feet. I was gnawing on my lip, debating on if I wanted to put it out there or not.

"Sam?" I called again, heading down the stairs. "You know, there's no more Lucky Charms...We could go out for breakfast."

Still no response.

I walked to the kitchen, expecting to see him half asleep at the table. Instead, I found a cup of coffee on the table. I smiled and grabbed it. As I took a drink, I noticed the folded paper that had been under it. I held the mug to my chest with one of my flannel-knuckled-covered hands; it wasn't hot anymore, but it was still pretty warm. I used the other hand to open up the note.

The first time I read it my brows furrowed.

The second time I read it I put my coffee down on the table.

The third time I read it I felt a lump grow in my throat.

The fourth time I read it I registered the distinctive creak of the Impala's door.

I was halfway done with my fifth read when I heard the engine start.

I ran towards the front of the house. I tripped twice over discarded books, and got a nasty cut on my forehead.

When I finally made it to the front porch and down into the dirt, the Impala had already peeled out of the salvage yard.

"Oh you asshole!" I yelled out at the dust the car left behind. I raised my hands to my hair, even the one with the note.

I felt hot tears burn in my eyes, so I pinched them shut.

I think I'm starting too.

Those stupid words had given me hope.

Hope that he'd see me as a woman who could be his partner in everything instead of the chick who sometimes wears t-shirts that are a little too low cut with tight jeans and combat boots. Hope that we could hold hands and get burgers together. Hope that I could wear his shirts to bed every night. Hope that I could make him waffles in the morning after a hard hunt. Hope that Sam would surprise me with a movie date in the middle of some random town, and we'd just make the whole time.

Hope that we could be a we.

Omniscient POV

It actually hurt to watch.

Nikki in front of Bobby Singer's house, barefoot and in just a too-big shirt. She wasn't that.

When Gabriel couldn't take it anymore, he appeared behind her (without her knowing) and gently touched the back of her curly head. Unconscious, Nikki fell back into the waiting Archangel. He caught her easily, and hoisted her into his arms.

"What are you doing?"

Gabe rolled his eyes, and glanced towards the man in the plain t-shirt, which spoke about legalizing pot, and ripped jeans.

"You know, it doesn't count as permission if the vessel is stoned." Gabriel said, chuckling.

"Wilbur Turner has never been stoned." Castiel, the angel possessing the pot head, spoke. "It is my understanding that stoning is not practiced in the United States of America, of which Wilbur has been a citizen of his whole life."

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Sure. Whatever. Here." He dropped Nikki in Castiel's arms, and leaned down to pick up the note that had fallen from her hand.

He read it once, and gave a cynical laugh.

Nikki-

I have to get my brother back. I have a few things to do. I'm sorry.

About what I said last night, I'm not starting too. I already do.

I'll call you in a few weeks.

-Sam

Gabriel crumpled the note up in his hands, and threw it over his shoulder. It was on fire before it the the ground. "Ok, that's done," he said, frowning at the little pile of ash.

"Give her back." He said, turning to Castiel with his arms open. The lesser angel just blinked. Gabriel raised an eyebrow.

"I have orders." The blonde pot-head possessed by an angel said in response. "I am to bring her to the desert where she can be trained."

Gabriel took one slow, deep breath and looked back at Castiel with bright, glowing eyes. "That's not your true vessel, little brother. Now, I don't wanna fight you over Nikki, but I will. And you can bet your sweet white plumage that I will win."

Castiel blinked, and tipped his vessel's head back. The bright, glowing blue of his grace escape the vessel. Gabriel quickly caught Nikki, and let pot-head Willy fall to the dirt. He snapped his fingers and Willy was back in Oklahoma. He snapped his fingers again, and he was in the bedroom of a New Haven, Connecticut apartment.

Gabriel snapped his fingers again, and she was in some nice, Versace-made, pink silk pajamas. He tucked the girl in, and sat next to her in bed.

Brows furrowed, he reached out and stroked his hand over her dark, curly hair.

"You look just like your mother." He sighed, moving her curls back and stroking her cheek with his thumb.

"I told you I'm not your father...I wish I was your father." Gabriel admitted. "I-I should be your father."

The Archangel continued talking even though he knew Nikki couldn't hear him. He'd never told anyone this; and it happened thousands of years before Christ walked the Earth.

"She-...Aelia thinks I'm your father...I couldn't make myself tell her what happened." He paused and turned towards the sleeping Nikki a little more.

"See, angel can't just walk around on Earth; they need vessels. I still considered myself a part of the family when I met her, I had duties in Heaven. So I would have to leave her for periods of time. It'd freak her out if I had a different body each time I saw her-humans are weird about crap like that-and I tried to keep my vessel safe...

"They began to see a fraction of what I saw in her," Gabriel continued, looking sadly at Nikki. "But they interpreted it wrong...Your mother was special Nikki; she had Heaven in her veins even though no one in her whole family had met an angel. It was...It was magical. She could see my wings and feel my halo...She was my enigma, my strange little human who could understand Enochian and I loved her with everything I was...Everything I am.

"But my family didn't see her as an enigma, they saw her as a weapon. The more time I spent with her, the more she seemed to understand about me; the more of my grace she was exposed to.

Gabriel clenched his jaw; it'd been a few thousand years, but the anger still burned in him like it happened a few hours ago.

"I was in Heaven...He took my vessel..." Gabriel stood up and paced around the bedroom. "We were brothers!" He hissed, his hands shaking.

"He-He was my brother and what he did to her-" He cut himself off and closed his eyes. He leaned on the desk across the room. "He wanted a weapon. You're a weapon to him. And Aelia was just a tool used to get you!"

"I saw her the day after and she said she thought I'd be gentler." Gabriel scoffed. "She thought it was me and I couldn't tell her it wasn't...

"I acted like your dad," Gabriel reasoned. "After a while it wasn't really an act. Boy did I get my ass whooped for that. It was worth it though…We were a family."

He paused and walked closer to Nikki, and squatted down next to her. Gabriel again raised his hand up to stroke her hair.

"You're dad wants you back, Caelia." He said, stroking her cheek with his thumb. Blonde hair began to bleed over the dark ebony. All memories about Nikki Blake were filed away and put behind a wall Gabriel put in her mind. He implanted memories of a life she was worthy of having in their place, and removed his hand.

He pressed an affectionate, almost brotherly kiss to Nikki's forehead.

"And I'll be on top of a Christmas tree before I lose you again."