A/N: Welcome to chapter 2! Not much to say except that I hope you enjoy!

Choices

Half of Faith was expecting Sam and Dean to be gone by the time she woke up. She didn't know them from Adam, but it seemed like their MO.

And maybe they would have been, had Faith not risen with the sun. Well, it was less of a peaceful waking than it was a violent jolt, the whispers of a nightmare disappearing like smoke from her memory. She was left only with a racing heart and the coppery taste of blood in her mouth.

It wasn't like in books, when the character woke up and it took time for the memories to filter through the haze of sleep. Faith opened her eyes and recalled the night before with perfect, horrible clarity. For a long few minutes she simply stared up at the poorly painted ceiling, letting her thundering pulse slow and trying to keep the grief from sweeping her under its current.

Sam was asleep in the bed to her right, turned away from her but snoring ever so slightly. Faith sat up in bed to see Dean laid on an uncomfortable-looking couch, knees and neck bent at an awkward angle, mouth hanging open in sleep.

She was silent as a mouse as her feet hit the scratchy carpet, sliding soundlessly out of the bed. Neither brother stirred from their sleep, though Faith was sure she caught sight of the barrel of a gun poking out from underneath Sam's pillow. She made sure to be extra quiet as she lifted the throw someone had placed over her while she slept, wrapping it around her shoulders like a cape.

The door didn't creak as she opened it, but Faith wasn't really surprised she hadn't woken the brothers. Living how she had in the past, a young Faith had long ago learned how to stay silent and unnoticed like her life depended on it. In some cases, it had. It'd been a long time since she'd lived that life, but as if it were muscle memory she slipped like smoke through the crack in the door.

The sun wasn't quite risen yet, the world a peaceful shade of grey. She'd always been an early riser – another symptom of poor living conditions as a kid – but she'd grown to love the early mornings. There was something about the quiet potential of it. A world still asleep, with no idea of what was to come. An endless infinity of possibilities.

Realising it was the first dawn she would ever spend without Nate was like a knife to the heart, but Faith swallowed back the agony of the thought and stared out into the small garden on the opposite side of the motel's driveway.

Were the two brothers back inside that room telling the truth? Was the mythical supernatural actually reality? And were there people who hunted it? Protected people from the things that went bump in the night? If they were telling the truth – and she strongly suspected they were – then the world was a much scarier place than even she'd ever believed.

Faith thought over everything Sam and Dean had told her the night before. There had been a ghost haunting their apartment building, but despite that, there was still a chance it was something else that had tortured and killed her boyfriend. But what else was there, besides ghosts?

She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she was going to find out. She knew now – knew the truth of this dark, terrible world – and there was no going back. Nate was all she'd had; he'd given her a reason to build a whole life up from the dust. He'd given her a reason to live, rather than to just survive.

And knowing that whatever killed him was still out there, free and able to kill again, and again and again… It made her want to retch. She pulled the thin blanket tighter around her body, ignoring how the freezing concrete made her bare, cut up feet feel like they were on fire. The icy dawn air pierced right into her brain when she inhaled, but she let the feeling wake her up, clear her mind. She let it cleanse her like fire.

She'd lost lives before, had them blow away like a scent on the wind. Foster homes that hadn't ended up working out; less-than-legal jobs for various people in various cities that had gone bad; people she'd thought she could trust, but had ended up using and throwing her away instead.

But none of those losses had ever hurt so much as this one did now. All of those losses had been for the best, had forged her into who she was meant to be. But this one? This one would forge nothing out of her; it would do nothing but break.

The sun was just barely peeking up over the horizon when the door behind her creaked open. Faith went rigid at the sound, not breathing as whichever brother it was stepped out beside her, pulling on his jacket as he did.

"You're not cold?" asked a gravelly voice, and she knew without looking that it was Dean. "Jesus, you're not even wearing any shoes."

"Yeah, well, all the shoes I own are now ash in some pit where a building used to be."

Dean didn't seem to know how to respond to that, so he said nothing, and Faith felt an unwelcome stab of guilt. Dean didn't deserve her bitter, smart-ass comments. He'd saved her, and then gone over and above even that, letting her take his bed for the night when he'd had no obligation to at all.

Sighing, Faith let them stand in silence for a few long minutes. A light mist was creeping around the parking lot of the motel, and Faith imagined it curling around her feet and pulling her into its arms, swallowing her whole. She'd like to be mist, the thought. She'd like to be nothing at all.

"If it wasn't the serial-killer ghost that killed Nate, what was it?" she asked, the first to break the tense quiet.

She heard Dean's shoes squeak as he shifted his weight backwards. "I don't know," he said, and she believed him. "It could have been anything," he continued, voice quiet in the dawning day. The sun broke over the horizon and sunshine like golden warmth shone down on them. Faith narrowed her eyes against the glare but didn't move.

"It could have been anything," she echoed, because somehow she'd heard everything he hadn't said. "But you don't think it was."

Dean took a moment to gather his thoughts. "I think it was meant as a message for you."

He said it tentatively, like he thought she might explode at the words. Instead she just remained staring into the sunshine, hardly moving a muscle. "The curse dies with you," she murmured, repeating the message that had been drawn on the wall in her boyfriend's blood. As if she could ever forget it – the words would be seared onto her brain until the day she died. "What does it mean?"

"I have no idea."

Faith finally turned away from the approaching day. Dean's green eyes were lit like fire in the golden light of dawn, the look on his face serious. "You didn't just bring me back here out of the goodness of your heart, did you?" she asked knowingly.

Dean had the decency to look chagrinned. "That message means you're still in danger," he said quietly, taking a small step closer as if to make sure nobody else would hear – even though they were probably the only people awake in the whole motel. He added, "I couldn't just let you wander off to your own execution."

"Or worse," she finished grimly.

Dean let out a heavy sigh, nodding in grim agreement. "Or worse."

She took a deep breath, letting the painfully cold air clear the last of the fog from her brain. "I want to find the thing that killed Nate," she said firmly. Dean was shocked by the words, rearing back in surprise. Maybe it was the words themselves, or maybe the venom with which she spat them. "I want to find it, and I want to make it pay."

Dean turned his face away, hiding his expression. But Faith didn't mind, she'd already returned her stare to the sunrise, letting its new heat fill her every cell. "You're not a hunter, Faith," Dean finally said, voice no longer like the babbling of a creek, but rather the crack of two stones struck together.

Faith didn't even bat an eye. "I could be."

But Dean was already shaking his head. "This isn't the sort of life you want." When she opened her mouth to argue, Dean powered forwards. "I know you're angry, and you're grieving. But if you let it, that grief will eat away at you until there is nothing – nothing – but the job left in your life. Believe me," he added with a hint of old bitterness, "I've seen it happen before."

"You don't know that will happen to me-"

"I know exactly what will happen to you," Dean snapped, turning on her with a wild look in his eye. It was such a 180 from the calm, self-deprecating guy from a minute ago that Faith sucked in a sharp breath, peering at him in surprise. "You're normal right now, Faith. You've got a life. Don't even think about throwing it away to become this."

Faith had no idea what to say, struck by the unexpected reaction. She stared at him, tugging the blanket tighter around her shoulders in a cold imitation of one of Nate's hugs.

"Swear to me you won't do this," Dean said, brow furrowed, his breathing unsteady.

Faith swallowed around the lump that had reappeared in her throat. "I can't promise you that, Dean," she told him, not quite apologetic, but maybe something close. "I won't."

Dean reached up to run his fingers through his hair, expression turned hard with frustration. "You don't understand," he said. "You've known about all this for, what, five minutes? You have no idea what this life is like. You have no idea what you'd be giving up."

"I don't have anything to give up," she snapped back. "I'm alone. This now? This quest for answers and vengeance? This is all I have left."

"Don't say that!" Dean shouted. She shifted away from him in surprise, and he seemed to realise he was getting unnecessarily heated. Running another hand through his hair, he turned away from her. "I'm gonna go grab some coffee," he muttered, pulling his keys from his pocket and crossing the parking lot to his car.

The engine purred like a cat as he started the car and drove away without looking back. Stunned beyond words by the unexpected reaction, Faith stared after him in shock, the blanket slack in her grip.

"He's only trying to help you," came Sam's voice. She flinched, spinning to find him behind her. She hadn't even heard him open the door. Sam's face was drawn with that same sympathy from the night before, but this time she didn't appreciate it – she just wanted it to go away.

"Are you going to tell me to drop this, too?" she asked him bitterly.

Sam considered her quietly, silent for so long she began to wonder if he was going to say anything at all. Finally, when he did speak, it was to ask the unexpected. "Why do you want to do this, Faith? Really?"

Tears prickled her eyes – they weren't of grief or sadness, but rather frustration. "I have nothing left," she blurted. Sam stared back, patient, even as he eyes burned. "I have nothing. I come from nothing. I work at a twenty-four-hour diner, and the only person – the only goddamn person – I had in my life was Nate. He was it. He was all I had. Without him, I'm…"

She struggled to find the words for what she wanted to say.

"I grew up on the streets," she confessed, turning back to the rising sun so she didn't have to look at Sam – this literal stranger – as she bared her soul. "I was a common thief until I was twenty-one. That's when I met Nate, and he saw something in me…something that made me feel like more than just a pickpocket with a smart mouth. And I built a life with him…or rather, around him. That whole life, it was all for him."

She swallowed and lifted a hand, running it through her dark hair.

"When I say I have nothing to go back to, I'm not being dramatic. With Nate gone, with that apartment burned to cinders… I've got nothing going for me except my quick fingers and the fact I can pick locks. Not exactly a marketable skillset."

Sam listened patiently, and when she stopped to breathe he asked, "Where were your parents?"

She shrugged and kept her stinging eyes on the brightening sky. "Never knew them. My dad died before I was born, and my mom died before I was old enough to remember what she even looked like. It's…it's just me."

"Well," said Sam wryly, "you've already got the social life of a hunter."

This time it was Faith who said nothing. Sam continued to watch her, thinking carefully about something. She'd never wanted to read minds more than in that moment, just to know what he was thinking about her – whether he thought her an idealistic dreamer with a score to settle, or someone who could actually pull this off, one day.

"My brother and I, we're sort of on a…mission," he told her eventually.

Faith nearly smiled, but instead just settled for saying, "Okay, Frodo."

A smirk flickered to life then died just as quickly on Sam's lips. "What I'm saying is that Dean and I can't help you."

Her throat went tight. "So you're just gonna go?" she asked, eyes dropping to her toes, which were beginning to go so numb she half worried they might fall off. "Leave me here?"

"Of course not," said Sam quickly. She glanced up hopefully. "We can't teach you, is what I mean. And, look – I'm not endorsing this lifestyle, I'm really not – but the fact is, if you've got something coming after you, so you've gotta be protected. Or at the very least, know how to protect yourself."

"So?"

"So, I think I know someone who can help." Faith said nothing, staring expectantly, and Sam ran a hand down the long length of his jaw. "His name's Bobby Singer. We haven't seen him in years, but he knows everything there is to know about hunting, and he's got his ear to the ground. Knows more hunters than I ever will. He's your best shot at learning enough to keep yourself safe."

"I don't want to keep myself safe," she said point-blank. "I want to figure out what killed Nate and drive a knife through its heart."

She expected Sam to react the same way Dean had, but instead he nodded solemnly. "Believe me when I say that I know what you're feeling," he began. She opened her mouth to argue but he spoke over her. "My girlfriend died. She was killed by…something…and now the only thing I care about is finding that thing and ending it."

Faith stared at him, suddenly realising that maybe it hadn't been sympathy she'd been seeing in his eyes all this time, but rather empathy. An understanding that few could share, but somehow he did.

She also sensed he didn't want to talk about this at length. He'd told her what she needed to know to understand, but now he begged her with his eyes not to press the issue. She was too kind to deny him. "This Bobby guy – you trust him?" she asked gruffly.

"Do you trust me?" Sam countered.

The look she sent him was thick with skepticism. "Well, I don't seem to have many other options, do I?" Sam chuckled, but Faith couldn't find it in herself to laugh with him. "Where's this guy live, anyway."

"Just outside of Sioux Falls, South Dakota."

It was quite a distance, and Faith winced, mentally counting the cash she'd managed to grab before everything went to hell, wondering if it was enough for a last-minute flight to South Dakota. "Well, I think I have enough cash on me to book a flight-"

Sam stopped her with a shake of his head. "Don't worry about it. Dean and I are heading out west for a job. If you don't mind putting up with gas-station food and listening to Dean's favourite five cassette tapes on repeat, you can come with us."

Faith stared at him with laser-like focus, as though she might be able to see through his skull to the truth in the brain beneath. "Why are you helping me?" she demanded, thinking there had to be some kind of ulterior motive. In her experience, people weren't so kind unless they had something to gain.

Sam shrugged. "You need help. That's what we do. Saving people; hunting things – it's the family business. We can't in good conscience leave you here alone, especially not with whatever's coming after you. We might as well take you out back and shoot you ourselves."

And finally, despite the hell of a night and shitty morning she'd been through, laughter bubbled up from Faith's chest. Perhaps it was a little more hysterical than amused, but it was probably better than nothing. She pressed a hand over her mouth as she giggled, eyes filled with tears. She sniffled, the laughter trailing off into nothing as she lifted a hand and wiped at her eyes. Sam politely pretended not to notice, and she liked him a little more for it.

"You hungry?" he asked suddenly.

She didn't feel like eating, but her stomach felt hollow and sore, and she knew despite her lack of appetite that her body needed food. "I could eat."

He waved her back into their room, gesturing for her to get dressed. Disappearing into the bathroom, Faith changed into the only pair of jeans she'd managed to grab in her panic and a deep crimson jacket. But the sight of that colour against her skin was too familiar, reminding her of last night, watching Nate's blood wash off her body and swirl down the drain. She tossed it back into the bag and pulled out a grey, knitted sweater instead.

There were a few holes in the fabric, and it hung loose off one shoulder, but it was warm enough, so it would have to do. She threw her unbrushed hair up into a lazy knot, then stuffed a small handful of crumpled cash into her jeans' pocket before limping her way back out into the main room. Sam was digging in a duffle bag for something, and somehow the absence of Dean was impossible to ignore.

She felt bad for driving him away – had she reacted too harshly? Sam said he was only trying to protect her… But then again, he went overboard with his reaction, too. There was no need to shout, or get angry at someone who was only trying to understand. She felt anger well up in her chest, a sort of bitterness towards Dean for his poor reaction. She didn't deserve that. Not now; not today.

"Here," said Sam, holding up a pair of plain black flip flops. "I'd offer you some sneakers, but something tells me we're not the same size," he chuckled quietly.

She took them, thanking him quietly. They were huge on her, but by design able to stay on her feet despite their size. The rubber was soft against her sore, bandaged feet, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she and Sam left the motel room.

"There's a diner around the block," Sam told her. "Can you walk?"

"I'll be fine," she assured him as they began to walk. Halfway there, they passed an old thrift shop. The doors were shut and the light was off, but the sign on the door said it was opening in an hour.

Sam noticed her focus. "We'll stop on the way back so you can grab some shoes, and anything else you didn't manage to grab, before…" he trailed off uncertainly.

Pain lurched, sharp and unavoidable, but she nodded calmly, as though her heart wasn't torn in two. "That'd be great. Thanks."

The diner wasn't the one she worked at – or, used to, at least – for which she was glad. The last thing she needed was coming face to face with her asshole boss after everything else. Her new plan was to disappear into the night. She'd be missing out on grabbing her last week's paycheck, but it was a sacrifice she was more than willing to make.

She followed Sam into the diner, sighing happily at the rush of warmth from the central heating.

They grabbed a booth in the very furthest corner of the diner, away from all the other patrons, and a waitress was there before they could even settle into their seats. "What'll it be?"

"Coffee and the oatmeal and fruit for me, thanks," said Sam with only a brief glance at the menu.

Faith took a quick glance at the menu. "Er, can I have the banana waffles? And a coffee, too."

"Sure thing," said the waitress without looking up from her notepad. "It'll be right out."

Then she was gone, leaving Sam and Faith alone in their corner booth, secluded from any curious ears. "What did you mean earlier," began Sam while Faith fiddled awkwardly with the little packets of sugar stacked to the side, "when you said you were a common thief?"

Faith was tired in the way that sank down into your very bones themselves, making your body feel too heavy to carry around with you, even though you had to keep doing it anyway. But there was no time to wallow. She didn't get to rest. Not now. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

"I was a pickpocket," she shrugged. "Had to do something to get by, and it's not like I had an education to fall back on. So I hung round the fancy areas of whatever town I was in at the time and stole my way to a decent meal every night."

Sam looked torn between shocked and amused. "You?"

"I don't look the type?"

He shook his head. "Honestly, no."

The waitress reappeared, a pot of coffee held in one hand. They both fell silent and sat back as she poured their cups, but before she could leave, Faith reached for her hand, holding it briefly in thanks. There wasn't much in this life she was good at – but this one thing? She was practically a natural. It was like she'd been born knowing how to steal.

"Thank you," she said sweetly, catching the waitress' gaze and attempting a smile that wrenched painfully at her insides. "You have no idea how desperately I need this coffee."

The waitress blinked, then smiled in bemusement. "It's no problem, dear," she said, pulling away and heading for the counter.

Sam stared at Faith with a raised brow, as if to ask, "What in the hell was that all about?"

Faith just held up the delicate metal ring she'd gotten off the waitress' finger. It had no diamonds or stones, so she didn't imagine it was worth very much. Not worth keeping, at the very least. Sam's jaw dropped open a little before he frowned in stern disapproval.

"Oh, don't have a stroke over it," she drawled. "I'll give it back. It was just to prove a point."

Sam looked intrigued. "You can steal anything?"

"Anything."

"Hm," he hummed. "That could come in handy."

"How do you get by, then?" she asked, because it was easier to keep talking, even if it was idle chatter, than it was to sit in silence and remember how everything she'd had yesterday was now little more than ash swept away by the breeze. "I don't imagine hunting ghosts is, er, lucrative."

Sam chuckled. "Now, not really. But it, uh, it helps when you don't have any bills to pay." She arched a brow, taking a deep sip of coffee. But not even the warmth of the liquid could keep the deep chill from her bones. "That's the hunter's way; a life on the road. We don't have a house, any permanent address. Hell, Dean and I spend as many nights in the Impala as we do in motel beds."

She knew what that was like, and so the thought of having to do it again brought her no panic. She'd survived once, she could do it again.

"So how're we paying for this meal, then?" she asked. "Are we about to dine and dash?"

"No," Sam huffed, pulling out his wallet and handing over a shiny gold card. She took it from him, scanning the details on its face.

"Carl Fleming," she read aloud, then looked up at him with raised brows. "Credit card scams?"

He snatched the card back. "Better than pickpocketing. More reliable, too."

"Lacks a certain finesse," she teased. Sam chuckled again. She wanted to laugh with him, shoot back a quip and keep things light, but just as she realised she was actually beginning to enjoy herself, images of dark red covering her skin and damning words written in blood on her bedroom wall flashed through her head.

Guilt hit her like a train, and the beginnings of a smile died suddenly on her lips. She returned her attention to the sugar packets she was toying with, staring at them like they might talk back and tell her this wasn't her fault – even though, somehow, she knew that wasn't true.

"It's okay to smile, you know?" said Sam gently.

"He's dead," she murmured, that ball of emotion reappearing in her throat. "Nate's dead, and I'm sitting in a diner, drinking coffee with the guy who robbed his corpse."

Sam's eyebrows shot upwards in surprise, and Faith sighed.

"I didn't mean… I'm thankful that you grabbed the ring," she said, her attention flitting to the ring she could feel in the pocket of her jeans. Its edge was cutting into her leg – her jeans a size too tight to begin with – but she didn't mind the feeling. It was a reminder that it was still there. "Really, I am. It's all I have of him, now."

Sam was quiet for a few beats, politely letting her feign fascination with the sugar packets. "How long were you two…?" he asked after awhile.

"Three years," she told him. This time she managed to smile for real, but it was a sad, grim thing. "That's a new record for me. Historically speaking, I don't tend to choose to be with the…the good guy."

"So, you like bad boys?" Sam asked playfully, a friendly smile on his face.

Faith's smile died. "Doesn't every stupid young girl?"

Sam chuckled again and let the fade into silence once more.

The waitress returned with their food, and Faith was relieved for it. "Excuse me, is this yours?" she innocently asked the waitress before the woman could leave, holding up the ring for her to see.

Her eyes went wide, and Faith handed it over, watching the woman's relief as she slipped it back onto her finger. "I had no idea I'd even lost it. Thank you," she said gratefully.

Faith waved away her gratitude and sent her on her way, tucking into her food with an enthusiasm even she couldn't have predicted.

"So, tell me more," she said as they ate.

Sam glanced up from his boring, fruity oatmeal. "About stupid young girls?"

She rolled her eyes, ignoring the pang in her gut when she realised she was enjoying herself again – which was, of course, Not Allowed.

"About hunting," she said instead. "About this world I'm suddenly painfully aware exists. If there are ghosts, what else is out there?" Sam hesitated, and she looked up again with frustration. "I'm not going to snap, Sam. If something's really coming after me, I deserve to know what it might be."

And even he couldn't argue with that. "Well, there's not much that isn't real, to be honest."

"Vampires," she said.

Dean snorted. "Real, but rare."

Her eyebrows shot upwards in surprise. "Werewolves."

"Also real, but also rare."

"Mermaids."

He snorted again. "No. Sirens are a thing, though. But they're nothing like the ones you read about in popular fiction." Faith said nothing, taking a bite of her waffles and pretending like it wasn't ash on her tongue. "To be honest, Faith, you could pick any myth from history, and it's probably rooted in some form of fact."

She gulped down some coffee, trying to clear the furrow from her brow.

"The world's even scarier than you can imagine," Sam continued calmly, "and this isn't an easy path. Knowing about all this…it takes its toll. Dean was right about one thing; you're normal. You're not in it like we are. Not yet. You can still get out."

Faith didn't bother acknowledging that comment. "Well, if all the bad things are real, there's at least gotta be all the good things too, right? Fairies, unicorns, angels?"

Sam's smile was sad. "No. I mean, there's no definitive proof – but my family's been doing this pretty much since I was born, and I've never heard of any."

"Well, how do you know angels don't exist? You can't know everything."

"You're right," he agreed. "We don't know for sure. I like to believe – well, sometimes I pray."

Faith chewed on a piece of banana, assessing Sam carefully. "Like, to God?"

"God, or angels," he nodded. "Just anyone who might be listening, I suppose. It helps me to feel…not so alone all the time."

She frowned. "But you have Dean."

"Yeah," said Sam, and left it at that.

"Since you were born, huh?" Faith asked after some time had passed. "What kind of parent lets their kid hunt werewolves?"

Sam sighed. "Our story…" he hesitated, as if not knowing what to say. "It's complicated."

She shrugged, "So explain it."

"I have a feeling your story's complicated, too."

She shrugged again. "You already know my parents died, and that I spent most of my youth on the streets. Not sure what else you need to know."

At that, he seemed to wilt a little bit. He pushed a strawberry around in circles for awhile, and Faith just ate her own meal in silence, waiting for him to break.

"Our mom died when I was six months old. She was killed by…something. Something bad. Dad went…kind of insane. Ever since that night, all he's wanted to do was kill that thing. For a long time, I resented it – I couldn't understand. But now, after Jess…"

"Your girlfriend?" she pressed tentatively.

Sam nodded once. "I get it, is what I'm saying. The need for vengeance. To put it to rest, once and for all. It's all I can think about, some days. Killing that thing."

There was a strange darkness over him all of a sudden. Faith watched him, taking in the shadows in his eyes and the way he was hunched over himself, as if it might protect him from the darkness within. She thought she understood, but in reality, she probably hadn't even brushed the surface.

"Well, at least you had your dad, right?" she finally said, some instinct telling her to try to bring Sam out of his sudden funk. "If we're comparing shitty childhoods, I think I might have you beat."

Sam looked up from his bland oatmeal, and Faith practically saw the shadows lift, like clouds clearing away after a hurricane. "You think so?" he asked, amusement tugging at his mouth.

She picked up her fork. "We'll compare properly one day, shall we?"

She wondered if he knew what that was – not a piece of playful bait dangled before him, but a nonchalant request for the promise of a future. That they would survive this – that she would survive, and they would live to talk another day. If he did realise, he gave no indication, smiling to himself and gently shaking his head.

Faith sipped her own coffee, and they returned to their meals. She tried not to think about Dean as she ate. She wondered why he was so quick to snap at her, and why Sam had the patience to listen and try to understand, but his brother couldn't stomach it. She understood that he didn't think this life was for her – but he also didn't have the authority to make such a decision.

Faith had never been very tolerant of people trying to make her decisions for her. Nobody owned her but her, and what right did Dean have to tell her what was best? He barely knew her. He didn't know what she'd been through – hadn't cared enough to ask.

Her frustration must have shown on her face, because as they finished up their meals and were left sipping at what remained of their coffees, Sam spoke up. "Try not to hold this against him," he said quietly. She looked up from her coffee with a frown. "Dean, I mean. He really was just trying to protect you."

Faith frowned. "He thinks I can't do this."

"No," Sam disagreed, "he just thinks you shouldn't."

Faith said nothing, staring into the dark depths of her coffee as if it held the answers she sought.

"He knows better than anyone the kind of toll this life can take," Sam continued gently. "But what he doesn't understand is that driving force, that need for retribution; to put the thing that killed your loved one in the ground."

"But you do."

Sam nodded once. "I do."

Sam paid for their meals, telling her that this one was on Carl Fleming. Some part of Faith wanted to smile, but her face wouldn't cooperate. They stepped back out into the icy chill of the early Maryland morning, and Faith pulled her jacket tighter around her body, her breath fogging in front of her face.

"How long is the trip from here to Sioux Falls?" she asked Sam as they set out along the pavement, heading in the direction of that thrift shop they'd passed.

"About twenty-one hours, if we drive straight through," he told her, hands tucked into the deep pockets of his jeans. "We'll probably stop at a motel on the way, though. If it was up to Dean, we probably wouldn't take any rest breaks, but I'd rather not drive through the night."

The thrift store was just opening as they arrived, and the old lady behind the register smiled at them kindly as they shuffled into the store, out of the bitter cold. Faith left Sam by the men's jeans, where he was halfheartedly thumbing through the options, and went straight to the women's shoes rack.

She managed to find a pair of relatively new sneakers in her size, comfortable and durable, hopefully enough to last her a good long while. She stopped by the lingerie section where she picked up a few safe-looking underthings, then grabbed a couple extra teeshirts and another sweater before heading for the counter, where Sam was purchasing an old Zippo lighter with some sort of engraving on the front.

"You wouldn't believe how many of these things we go through," he told her as he shuffled aside to let her pay for her clothes. Beside the register was a small array of brand-new, packaged toiletries. Realising she had none of her own, she hastily piled a toothbrush, toothpaste, women's deodorant and a pack of tampons onto her haul. Sam looked respectfully away, and were Faith not such a raw, gaping wound, she might have rolled her eyes.

She paid with the cash still tucked in pocket, and ten minutes after arriving they were heading back to the motel.

The Impala was already back in its place, meaning Dean had returned from wherever he'd run off to. Faith couldn't deny the nerves that itched under her skin at the thought of coming face to face with Dean. And she didn't have any time to figure out how to react.

Sam made some sort of coded knock on the door before unlocking it, and when they slipped inside it was to find Dean sat at the small table, halfheartedly flipping through what looked like an old journal.

"Hey," he greeted them woodenly. "Where'd you go?"

"Breakfast," said Sam shortly.

Dean's eyes went to their hands, empty but for the plastic bag full of clothes in Faith's hand. "And you didn't bring me anything?" he asked in a whine. "Not even a donut?"

"Jerks don't deserve donuts," said Sam with a perfectly straight face. Faith pressed her lips into a flat line to smother the small smile threatening to bloom at the sight of Dean's genuine surprise. "You nearly ready? We've got a long drive to Bobby's place."

Dean blinked. "Bobby's place?"

It was suddenly readily apparent that the two brothers needed a moment alone to get on the same page, so Faith turned to Sam, holding out her hand expectantly. "Why don't I go check us out while you two load the car?" she offered.

Sam pulled the credit card from his wallet automatically, but then glanced down at it with a frown. "You're clearly not Carl."

"No," she agreed. "I'm his wife, Daphne."

Sam couldn't find fault in her plan, so he obediently handed over the card. Faith left them with a vague wave, giving them space to talk while she made her way towards the office at the front of the complex.

She paused outside the door, leaning back against the dirty wall and letting herself breathe. She wasn't entirely certain Dean would agree to Sam's plan to take her to this Bobby guy's place. What would she do if he didn't? Would she just have to find her own way there, and just hope he took her in when she arrived? Or would she just have to go off into the world, starting over again from scratch, only this time, instead of building a normal life, she would be teaching herself the true ways of the world – the one that hid in the shadows and howled at the moon.

She stared up at the sky, which was now a rich blue dotted with fluffy clouds. The air was still icy, burning her lungs when she breathed it in, but it was a calming kind of cool. The sort that helped clear your head almost as well as a shot of straight whiskey. It reminded her she was alive.

But remembering she was alive only reminded her that Nate was dead, and pain lanced through her body like a blade. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and gathered up all her dangerous thoughts into a ball, scrunching them together like a piece of paper she was going to throw away. Then she threw it inside a drawer in the back of her head, slammed it shut, and locked it with a key.

She just had to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. She'd get nowhere if she broke down now; if she remembered the ruby colour of Nate's blood or the threatening message left smeared on her bedroom wall. She needed to just focus on getting through this moment, here. And then the next and the next. Otherwise she'd drown right here, on dry land.

With a final, deep breath, Faith pushed open the door and stepped inside the small front office of the motel. It was warmer inside the office, but not by much. Clearly they were stingy with their use of the central heating.

An older lady was sat behind the desk inside. She had salt-and-pepper hair and a pair of sunglasses slung low on her nose. She seemed to be asleep – or more likely passed out drunk, seeing as the whole room reeked of booze and…was that sulphur?

"Um, excuse me, ma'am?" asked Faith when the woman didn't react to her approach. She must have been really out of it. "I'm Daphne Fleming, checking out on behalf of my husband and brother-in-law?"

The woman still didn't react, staring straight at her without moving. A sliver of ice trickled down the length of Faith's spine, and she realised suddenly that something was very, very wrong. But this woman – what if she was hurt? What if she needed a doctor? The least she could do was check.

"Ma'am?" she asked, reaching over the desk and gently nudging the woman on the shoulder. Her body collapsed in on itself and the sunglasses toppled off her face, revealing two eyes staring back at her, glazed and unseeing. Faith flinched away, realising now that the angle of her head didn't just mean she was asleep, but that her neck had been snapped. "Jesus Christ!"

"Not quite," said a voice from behind her. Faith whipped around with a yelp to find a tall man stood there, clad in a fancy suit and tie, with an American flag pin stuck to his lapel and an ugly sneer on his face. None of that was important, however, compared to the fact that his eyes were completely black. From one corner to the other of each one, it was nothing but deep, endless onyx.

Faith stepped backwards until her spine hit the sharp jut of the counter, forcing her to a stop. The not-man smiled – a twisted, ugly thing – and pulled a large dagger from his pocket like a normal businessman might pull free a business card.

"We've been waiting a long time to find you, Child of War," he said, leering at her in a way that made her skin crawl with warning. The pounding of her heart was thunderous in her ears, and the air in the room felt too thin to breathe, like she stood at a summit, threatening to collapse over the edge. "You can't hide from us anymore," he snarled, a hungry look to his sharp face.

Her hands grappled behind her – for what, Faith wasn't entirely sure – but they blindly found a long, thin object. She grabbed it and acted purely on instinct born from her youth. She leapt at the black-eyed not-man and thrust the object she'd lifted – a ballpoint pen – straight into his inky eye.

He cried out in a combination of shock and pain, but Faith didn't give him any time to recover. She brought up her knee, driving it right between his legs. He collapsed to the floor and she reached for the knife he still held only to slice open her hand on its extended blade. She cussed loudly and kicked him clumsily in the hand. The knife fell to the floor and clattered into the corner. She didn't wait around to see if he'd find it again.

Faith gripped Sam's fake credit card in her free hand – now covered in the not-human's blood – and bolted for the door. She tripped out into the frigid winter air, eyes wide and burning with panic as she sprinted her way down the long stretch of pavement that led to their motel room.

She found Dean half bent over in the Impala's trunk, and his name ripped from her throat in a scream. He shot upwards so suddenly that he smacked his head against the deck lid. Gripping his skull with a scowl, he turned to look at her in annoyance that instantly melted into concern when he saw her frightened and splattered with blood.

Moving so fast she barely registered the movement, Dean pulled a gun from his belt, cocking it and holding it out in front of him. She nearly tripped twice in the stupid flip-flops she'd yet to change out of, but she reached Dean and threw herself desperately behind him.

"Black eyes! Lady's dead! He has a knife!" she shouted, the warnings as scattered and disjointed as her thoughts. The door to the office burst open and the hulking form of the suited not-man stumbled towards them, fury written into his twisted face, a blue pen poking out from one of those inhuman eyes.

Dean lifted his gun and fired one, twice, thrice. All three shots embedded in the man's chest, and yet he still kept coming. Faith was sure that was it, that this not-man was going to keep coming at them and nothing would stop it and did she even believe in heaven and if she did was she good enough to get in and-?

Sam appeared from nowhere, what looked like a large bowie knife held in hand. He swung it towards the thing, sinking the blade into the hilt in the not-man's neck. The sound was wet and grotesque, and the not-man let out a choking sound that quickly morphed into a scream. Faith watched, her eyes wide with horror, as the thing tipped back its head, opened its mouth, and expelled a giant cloud of thick black smoke.

It lasted a short eternity, the smoke pouring and pouring from the man's throat. Then the cloud was gone, escaping down a nearby drain pipe like some sad, sewer-dwelling thing. Faith watched as the man's eyes went from onyx to clear blue. They shone bright with relief that quickly slid into fear, then terror, then finally they glazed over entirely and he collapsed, lifeless, to the ground.

Faith could do nothing but stare at the bloodied husk that had once been a man, gripping the edge of Dean's car to steady herself. The body lay prone on the ground, a small lake of blood spreading around it, staining the gravel a ruby red.

"A demon?" asked Sam casually, as though it were any other Thursday morning. "What's it doing here?"

"No clue," grunted Dean, before turning to look at Faith, who felt like she might be sick. "Good job with the pen," he added, shooting her a thumbs-up that absolutely did not feel like an appropriate response to what she'd just witnessed.

If there was any doubt that what the two of them had told her was true, it was absolutely, unequivocally gone. This was real; her reality was now and forever changed. Demons were real, and for some reason, they wanted her dead.

"Did it say anything to you?" Dean asked as Sam reached down to pull the bowie knife from the demon's throat with a wet squelching noise, then tossed it into the back of the Impala without even stopping to clean off the blood. She gaped at them in mounting horror. "It could be important," Dean added.

"I doubt that went unnoticed, Dean," said Sam just as Faith saw several of the curtains lining the yard flutter and shift. They'd been seen; the only thing that could actually make this hellscape of a situation any worse. "We need to get out of here before the five-oh show up."

"Everything out of the room?"

Sam nodded, and then as one they slid into the Impala. Faith was left standing out in the open like an idiot, gaping down at the dead body, the smell of sulphur sharp in her nose.

"Bueller," barked Dean from out of the window of the Impala. "Get in the car, would you?"

Reverting once again to autopilot, Faith did as she was told, sliding into the back seat. She'd barely shut her door behind her before Dean was peeling out of the parking lot. They made their way swiftly – but not suspiciously quickly – towards the freeway that would take them west.

Faith spied her black garbage bag of belongings on the back seat next to her and reached for it. Just pressing a hand to the shiny black material brought her comfort, and she wondered how she could have fucked up so badly in life to the point where a garbage bag full of clothes and cash had become her most treasured object in this world.

"So," said Sam, turning to look at her over the back of the seat. "What'd the demon say to you?"

Faith tried hard to clear her mind and remember what the thing had said before it'd attacked her. "Um, that he'd been waiting a long time to find me… And that I couldn't hide from them anymore," she relayed, because it seemed important, even as her hands shook from the force of her panic. Sam and Dean exchanged a look. "Do – I mean, um – that was a demon?" she asked numbly.

Sam nodded once.

"Is that what killed Nate?" she asked, barely able to force the words out around her swollen tongue and burning throat. She could still smell sulphur – it was all she could smell. The sharp scent reminded her of something, though she wasn't sure what. It was like there was something she was forgetting, a memory she hadn't thought about in so long that it had begun to fade from her mind, like the after-image of the sun in her eyes.

Sam and Dean exchanged another look. "Maybe. Might not have been that specific one, though," said Dean. She noticed he kept checking his mirrors, probably to keep an eye out for cops, or anyone who appeared to be following them. Faith tried not to think about how they were in these sorts of situations so often that such a thing was second nature.

"Will the cops come after us?" she asked after a few minutes of tense silence.

"We'll be long gone by the time they even start looking," Dean assured her. "And we'll stop soon to change the license plates."

She swallowed. "Was that…murder?"

Sam was the one to answer, turning in his seat to look at her properly. "They're not human, Faith," he reminded her gently. "They're demons. They're from Hell."

"But that cloud of smoke…" she said, trying to make sense of it in her head.

Sam hesitated in his answer, and to her surprise, it was Dean who picked up the slack. "It was a demon possessing a human," he said, the words edged with steel. "The only way to get rid of the demon was to kill its human host. But from the look of him, he was well on his way to the grave anyway. All we did was speed up the process a little."

So it was a murder. Perhaps a mercy killing, but still a killing. Faith wasn't sure what to make of that, turning her stare out the window to watch the houses fly by. They were in a suburban area of Baltimore, all picket fences and nuclear families. Faith wondered what they'd do if they knew where the three of them had just come from, or about the small arsenal they had stashed in the Impala's trunk.

"It was a monster, and it was going to kill you, first. It was an impossible decision, but one we still had to make," Dean said, seeming to sense her lingering guilt. "That's all this life is, kid," he added gruffly, despite the fact there couldn't have been more than two or three years age difference between them. "A never ending list of impossible choices that spell the difference between life and death. But you still have to choose."

Faith said nothing for a long few minutes. No music played from the stereo, and there was no chatter between the brothers. The only sounds filling the car were the hum and purr of the engine and the steady thumping to Faith's own pulse in her ears.

"What do they want with me?" she eventually wondered, because the question was eating her alive inside. If these demons wanted her for some reason, was that reason enough to leave her a message in blood? Was she the reason Nate was dead?

Sam looked over his shoulder but didn't speak. He didn't have answers for her, and he seemed to sense she wasn't interested in shallow platitudes.

"We don't know," Dean was the one to speak, voice rough like gravel where that cooling body now lay. "But we're gonna find out."

They were silent after that, driving straight into the early afternoon until finally Faith had to ask if they could pull over somewhere with a bathroom. Dean said he needed gas anyways, pulling into an older style gas station on the highway, so off the beaten path it practically looked abandoned. They all climbed from the car, and Faith was more than relieved to stretch her legs.

Before she could leave for the bathroom, Dean stopped her with a hand on her elbow. She looked up with a furrowed brow, but he only held out a large knife, the kind that made her think of Bear Grylls and skinning animals for their warm pelts. Her mouth went dry. "I don't know how to use it."

Dean smirked. "You handled that pen well enough. It's the same basic principle. Aim and stab."

She gingerly took the knife, holding it up to the light and watching the sun bounce off its polished blade. "Aim and stab," she echoed like she were memorising for a test. Dean smirked again and waved her away.

Once she was done in the bathroom, she slipped into the store itself, buying a Gatorade for herself then after a moment grabbing two more, in case the guys wanted one, too. She also bought a whole bunch of beef jerky and a few chocolate bars for good measure. When she appeared back out at the Impala, Sam was leant against the back of the car while Dean screwed a new license plate into place.

"Heads up!" she called. They lifted their heads just in time to catch the Gatorades she threw their way. Dean held his up gratefully before cracking it open and downing half the bottle. Sam just smiled in quiet thanks. "What're we talking about?" she asked, because she figured that being silent and sullen all day was helping no one.

"You," said Dean point-blank. Sam looked like he wanted to drop his face into his palms in exasperation. Faith's only response was to raise her eyebrows in question.

Sam sighed and worked on damage control. "We're talking about how you want to learn to hunt-"

"Which, for the record, is a terrible idea," interjected Dean.

Indignation was like a drug, making her confident about something she had no business being smug about. She barely knew the first thing about hunting, and yet with Dean treating her like she was a little girl wanting to play with the big kids, she puffed up with righteousness.

"You think I can't do it?" she demanded.

Dean had the look of someone who knew with absolute certainty that he was walking into a trap, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out how to avoid it. "I think the way you screamed when Sam killed that demon says a lot about what you can and can't handle," Dean told her honestly.

"It was my first murder," she replied, snide and sharp. "Cut me a little slack."

"There are things in this life that are miles worse than that-"

"What, exactly, is your problem with me?" she demanded hotly. The blunt question seemed to take them both by surprise, and Dean glanced at Sam as though his brother might step in and help, but all Sam did was throw back a mouthful of his Gatorade and take a few leisurely steps away from the conflict, leaving them to their argument.

Dean glared at his brother a moment before turning his attention back to Faith with a sigh. "I don't have a problem with you, Bueller."

Faith stepped around him and threw her small bag of snacks into the back seat through the open window, then rested her hip against the Impala's door, crossed her arms, and stared up at him stubbornly. "You sure as hell have something stuck up your ass, and I want to know what it is now, before we get in this car for another twelve-hundred miles of uncomfortable silence."

Dean rubbed a hand over the spot between his eyes like she was giving him a headache, but she didn't particularly care. Arms crossed, head tilted right back so she could glare him in the eye, she pinned him with the stare that Nate had always said would scare the hat off Freddy Krueger.

Finally Dean let out a breath and admitted, "I think you're making a mistake."

"And what mistake is that?"

"Going to Bobby's to learn about hunting. To even be here with us at all. This life – it's not an easy one. You don't deserve it, and I mean that in the kindest possible way," he added when he saw fire catch in her eyes.

Her teeth ground together with such force, she was surprise they didn't turn to dust. "Tell me what I should do differently, Dean."

He paused, running a hand through his short hair. "I don't know," he confessed. "Get on a plane. Go live in Europe, or Australia. Somewhere the things searching for you won't think to look. Then…then maybe you might have a shot."

"So, in your opinion, my options are to cower here or to go cower somewhere slightly more exotic," she deadpanned. "Forgive me if I'm not thrilled with my choices."

"What'd I tell you?" he asked. "This way of life is full of hard choices, and this is the easiest of them all. Don't go down this path."

"You don't know me, Dean," she reminded him. "You don't know what I can or can't handle."

"But to do this – all of this – just for revenge-"

"Is my goddamn choice," she finished heatedly. "You don't get to make the decision for me."

"Look, I was raised into this, and the reality of it? It's not glamorous, or fun, or rewarding. It's hard, and painful, and messy. You deserve better."

"I decide what I deserve."

She watched as Dean smothered a curse and turned away from her, gripping his hair like he might pull it out in pure frustration. There was something about him in that moment – a defeated quality to the glint of his forest green eyes – that made her frown.

"Why do you do it, Dean?" she demanded, and he looked back at her helplessly. "If you hate it so much, why in the hell are you even here?"

"I don't…I don't hate it," he insisted, though it wasn't terribly convincing.

"Well then, why don't I tell you why I'm doing it," she said flatly, not a request but a demand. Dean opened his mouth to stop her, but she spoke stubbornly over him. "I have no family. I have no friends; no home; no job; no money but for the little cash I have with me. All I had – all I ever had – was Nate. And now he's gone, and somehow it's my fault, and it doesn't matter that I wasn't the one to pull the trigger. This is my mess, and I don't know what kind of woman you think I am, but the truth is, I'm a woman who cleans up her own goddamn messes. So whatever this is – some sad attempt to protect me, or to guide me to a better path – fucking drop it. I have nothing left, and nothing left to lose. So I'm doing this, and if you're going to make it difficult for me, then I'm going to make the next twenty hours a living hell for you."

Dean seemed utterly speechless, staring at her with wide eyes as he processed everything she'd just thrown at him. Over his shoulder, Sam was now grinning broadly, and when she caught his eye he even went so far as to shoot her a thumbs-up of approval.

Attention back on Dean, she watched as he worked through what she'd just said. Their eyes locked like two bulls in a fight, catching and holding. Dean wanted to keep arguing, she could tell. He wanted to shout some sense into her, maybe scare her off with even more killing. But staring into her eyes, she watched as he seemed to come to the correct conclusion that she wasn't going to be so easily cowed.

Slowly but surely, his broad shoulders folded, and Faith knew she'd won. "I can't stop you, can I?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

Her smile was a twisted thing. "I'm doing this with or without your help, Dean."

He heaved a sigh. "Well," he huffed, "I guess the least I can do is make sure you don't go getting yourself killed."

"Truly a ringing endorsement," she said dryly. Dean arched a single eyebrow, and slowly but surely a smile spread across his full lips. Faith stared at him, refusing to be the first to break, until finally Dean looked away and shook his head in muted amusement.

"Okay then," he said decisively. "To Bobby's it is."

This time, when they made the trek west, it was to the soundtrack of AC/DC and easy conversation about nothing in particular. The open, gaping wound in Faith's chest never stopped aching, and she felt like the pain was going to swallow her whole. But something about driving down the open road, listening to Sam and Dean bicker about what to eat for lunch – it was a soothing, like a balm to her wound.

She didn't think the pain would ever go away, but for the first time since Nate had died, she felt like she might at the very least survive it.


It was twilight when they pulled into a run-down motel only a few minutes off the main highway. This time Sam went in to deal with the front desk – for which Faith was grateful – while she and Dean dragged their bags out of the car.

They stood in the chill of the evening, the air between them nowhere near as awkward as it had been before, but certainly not coming easily. She wished she knew what to say to make things simple between them. But Faith had never been very good with smalltalk. Dean, it seemed, had the same problem.

"We made good time," he said as they waited for Sam to reappear with their room key, the words so profanely awkward, like a bad actor reading lines from a worse script. "If we get an early start, we'll be at Bobby's by dinnertime."

She said nothing, letting the words drift between them. When she spoke, it was without much thought behind the words. "Could you…" she trailed off, suddenly unsure.

"What?" he pressed.

"Well, you'll be…leaving me with Bobby, won't you?" she said what she'd been thinking all day. She didn't know Bobby, who he was or even how the brothers knew him. The only thing she did know was that he was an older hunter who could get her to where she needed to be.

Dean shifted where he stood. "We can't train you while we're on the road. It's too dangerous, and you could hurt yourself and one of us – it's really best you learn what you need to with Bobby-"

"I wasn't going to ask to stay with you, Dean," she assured him, even while her heart ached to do just that. Maybe it was just some weird form of damsel syndrome, or maybe it was just fear over the unknown of Bobby, but she truly didn't want to leave Sam and Dean. She felt safe with them, despite not knowing them from Adam. She supposed it was just a feeling in her gut, urging her to put her trust in them; because somehow she knew they were worthy of it.

But if leaving them meant learning what she could about this new world, learning what these demons wanted with her and why, and exactly how to stop them… Then she knew leaving their net of subconscious safety was a sacrifice she was just going to have to make.

Clearing her throat, she told Dean aloud, "I was just going to ask if you could tell me about him – this guy whose doorstep you're going to be dumping me on."

Dean's expression twisted, but she couldn't quite read the emotion in it. Like an unfathomable depth, she thought she might get lost if she tried. But then the expression was gone anyway, replaced by an even, unbothered expression, making her wonder whether she hadn't imagined it entirely.

"Well, to be honest, we haven't seen him in a few years," he admitted, kicking idly at a pebble beneath his boot. "Longer for Sammy than me, but…still a while. I think he's going to be – well, surprised would be an understatement."

"But he'll definitely take me in, won't he?" she asked, undeniably anxious. "What if we get there and he kicks me to the curb?"

"Bobby?" Dean asked around a laugh. "Never. He'd take you in even if it wasn't a favour to us."

"And how d'you know him?"

Sam returned then, waving them towards room three. They hefted their bags into their arms and followed him into a dark room that smelt unexpectedly of boiled beets.

"Well, we've known him most of our lives," Dean told her. "Our dad met him when we were young and he used to watch us sometimes, while Dad was off on dangerous hunts."

"And he's…nice?"

It sounded so juvenile, said aloud. As though that mattered, in comparison to everything else happening in the world. What should it matter if this guy was nice; it wasn't in any way relevant. To her relief, however, Dean didn't point it out.

"He's a gruff, cranky old bastard," he told her with a faint grin that melted into nothing as he caught her eye. "You'll get along great," he added, warmer than before.

Somehow, Faith wasn't comforted. When Dean left to grab food, Sam found an old movie playing on TV for them to watch. Faith was relieved to kick off her shoes and climb onto the second bed, letting herself relax for the first time in hours. Some part of her watched the door anxiously, half expecting another demon to burst through the wood and slit her throat while laughing – but the rest of her was tired and sad, and honestly, being dead would probably be a nice break from all this pain she had gathered like a ball in her chest.

"Bobby's a really great guy," Sam said so suddenly that she started, turning away from the screen in surprise. He had a furrow in his brow, and she lifted the remote, turning down the volume enough to hear him speak. "He was…he was the first person to make me believe I could have a life outside of this whole thing. He was the only one who supported me going to college."

Faith blinked. "You went to college?"

He nodded, and she felt like the appropriate response was to smile, so she forced her lips into something resembling a grin. She wasn't sure it convinced him, but maybe the point wasn't to make him believe she meant it, but rather just to go through the motions until it began to feel real again.

"Look at you, fancy pants," she teased Sam quietly, that false smile still hovering unsurely on her lips.

She was trying to be her old self – the girl who teased and goaded everyone around her, who sometimes took it too far, but always made amends when she did. She'd always had a smart mouth; when they first met, Nate had likened it to armour. Like she wrapped the banter and jibes around herself as if to protect her heart from harm. She'd called him a sap and they'd gotten more ice cream and that had been the end of it.

But that was a long time ago now; an entirely different life. "Were you in a fraternity?" she asked Sam slyly. "Be honest."

"I wasn't in a fraternity," he rolled his eyes.

"What'd you study? No, let me guess," she smirked, telling herself it was real. "Pre-med? Ugh, tell me you weren't pre-med."

"I was pre-law."

"Ugh, that's so much worse."

Sam laughed, but there was a pain in his eyes that she couldn't help but notice. She took a bite of the jerky she was snacking on, thinking for a moment, planning her next words carefully.

"You said 'were'," she said softly. The old movie played on in the background, some old western that Sam had mentioned was a favourite of Dean's. She could hear stereotypical gunslinger music coming from the tinny speakers. "What happened?"

Sam was quiet for so long, she wasn't even sure he'd heard. But then he said, "Remember when I said I had a girlfriend, and she died?"

Faith nodded silently, giving him the space to come forwards on his own.

"Well, that was only a few months ago. It happened suddenly, and it was my fault. So I left and came back on the road with Dean." He said it so simply. As if it wasn't one of the most traumatic things that could happen to a person.

Faith watched him from the corner of her eye, cataloguing his hunched shoulders and drawn expression. "What killed her?" she asked, because he hadn't given her specifics, and she knew it wasn't anything natural that had done it. It was something much worse.

A shudder wracked through him, but she was kind enough to ignore it. "A demon," he said, so hoarse and pained that she thought there had to be plenty more to the story that he wasn't saying.

Her expression was quietly curious while Sam seemed to contemplate whether or not to explain, and he met her stare. She peered back imploringly, asking him to be honest with her. To tell her the truth – because he could trust her, even if he didn't know it yet. She'd certainly put enough of her trust in them, over the past few days.

With a sigh, Sam relented, telling Faith first about what happened twenty-two years ago on a quiet street in Lawrence, Kansas. How his mom had died, killed in a fire by a demon with yellow eyes, and how his dad had been obsessively hunting the damned thing ever since. He told her what happened a few months before Christmas, when Dean had reappeared in his life because their father had gone MIA on a hunt, and how it had ended with his girlfriend, Jessica, dying in the same way as his mother, and how the two brothers had left, going on the road and searching for their missing father ever since.

When he was finally finished, she thought he looked exhausted, and sad, and so very young. She wasn't sure what made her say it, but when her mouth opened, what came out was, "What was Jessica like?"

Sam's eyes widened in surprise, but to her relief, the question didn't seem to make him angry.

"She was…full of light, and…and supportive even when I didn't want her to be…and she always had gummy bears on her for some reason. She just had this obsession with them. We'd be out and she'd have no bag with her, then suddenly she's producing this bag of gummy bears as if she'd had them stuffed down her bra."

When he laughed wetly, Faith chuckled with him. "She sounds beautiful, Sam."

Sam nodded, his eyes distant and clouded with memories. "She was." He sniffled, then turned to look at her with eyes a little clearer than before. "What about Nathan? Tell me about him."

Faith's throat went uncomfortably tight, like she were having an allergic reaction to the question itself. It took her a moment to gather herself enough to say, "I dunno if I'm ready to talk about him yet…"

"It helps," he insisted. She looked up in surprise. "It hurts like hell, but…it helps."

Faith steeled herself. "Nate…he always saw the good in people. Even when it wasn't there to see. And he was kind, always giving money to street performers, even when it was his last dollar. I hated when he would do that, but he always said, 'they're letting themselves be vulnerable in front of the whole world, why shouldn't I reward them for it?'" she laughed, finding her own eyes suddenly wet. "He made the world's best hot cocoa, and after a long day, he would rub my feet just because he knew they were aching without me even having to say anything."

Sam was smiling, too, and she wondered if this was what it was like to have a friend. Not a boyfriend, like Nate, but rather a true, platonic friend. It had been so long since she'd had anyone she could call a friend; if she ever could at all. She hadn't been the best and forging and holding onto relationships, not even as a kid. After all this time, she just assumed she was better off alone.

"How'd you two meet?" Sam asked curiously.

She laughed, the sudden sound unexpected enough that Sam jumped. "Sorry, it's just…" she laughed again, a touch hysterical, "it's a funny story."

"Tell me."

Rolling her lips into her mouth, Faith forced the words out around the lump in her throat that felt like her heart had swelled up into her mouth. "I stole his wallet," she finally confessed.

Sam's eyes went round in surprise, and she laughed again.

"I told you I was a pickpocket back then, and he was such an easy mark – so trusting. So I took his wallet, then at the end of the day when I was taking stock of my haul, I found a note where a photo would be. It read 'If stolen, buy yourself something nice and then please return cards to…'and then he's written in his address."

Sam was grinning, and Faith realised the tears she'd been unable to shed for days were coming in force now, trailing down her cheeks even as she laughed. "And so you took it back?" he asked, amused.

"Well, the note was just so damn polite," she chuckled. "I think I loved him then. Without even knowing him. Anyway, he invited me in, made us some of that amazing hot cocoa, and I was just…gone. I had no chance."

"It sounds fairytale," said Sam softly, a little sappy, but in the best possible way.

"It was, a little," she admitted. "If the princess was a petty thief and the prince worked as a glass-blower."

Sam was still smiling when he said, gently, "I'm really sorry he's gone, Faith."

She swallowed around that painful lump in her throat. "Me too," she sniffled and wiped at her leaking eyes. "And I'm sorry about Jessica. I think I would have liked to know her."

"Yeah," he said, and left it at that.

Dean walked in then, a big bag of takeout cradled like a baby in the crook of his arm. "All right, I got everything on the list – even the stupid vegan option for you, Sammy, you giant-" his mutterings cut off when he caught sight of them both, sitting facing each other on their beds, her cheeks wet with tears. He looked accusingly at Sam. "What did you do, Sam? Jesus."

"No, Dean," Faith laughed and wiped at her face a little more. "It's fine, we were just talking about … about the people we miss. Thanks for getting the food. Did you get extra-"

"Extra spicy pad Thai, yes ma'am," he nodded. He still looked worried, but then he caught sight of the movie playing on the TV in the background and his concern melted away. "No way, is that A Fistful of Dollars? Sammy, turn it up."

Sam had been right. It had hurt like hell to talk about Nate, but now that she had…she did feel better. It was like she'd had to remind herself he'd been real, that he'd existed and that who she'd been while with him had existed, too. She could only hope she was strong enough to stay that person, and not to fall back into old habits.

She didn't want to ruin what precious little she had left.


A/N: Alright, this should give you an idea of the story so far. Thoughts? I'd love to hear what you're thinking! The next chapter will come in a week! I'm thinking Friday as an upload day? What works best for people? Also probably putting this up elsewhere, in case you see it up somewhere else too.

In the next chapter: Faith meets Bobby, and they come to learn some startling revelations about her distant past – a past which seems to have finally caught up with her.