To be on the receiving end of a telltale phone call.

To weed through the halls of a once wished for career, a settlement.

To mourn.

And perhaps things would have been different had she joined alongside and rode into battle with them. Now a mocking of her own failure lay before her. Sam couldn't get much out over the receiver. All she came to know was that a semi-truck hit the three of them on a backroad. John and Sam were granted mainly unharmed. Well, unharmed in comparison to Dean - who now took residence in another hospital bed, cuts marring his face, and body unnaturally frail.

"Do you want some coffee?" Allie took rest at Sam's side, loving palm resting gently over his shoulder while the other held out a cup to him. Maybe upon ulterior circumstances, the fear in her would win out and physical affection would hide away, but the nurse, the true Alice Smith, came out instead.

Sam nodded gratefully, his eyes never leaving the unconscious form of his brother lying motionless in the bed as he took the offering. "Thank you," his voice cracked with emotion as he reached out a trembling hand to take hers in a tight grip. It felt like they were constantly losing. The demon had won again. Being mortal meant fighting against all odds. The deck was stacked against them, but they couldn't quit and play a different game. They had to finish the mission. Now Dean…

Sam couldn't bring himself to speak the words. Coma. A goddamn coma! How humorlessly funny! Less than a year ago they brought Dean to a shoddy faith healer after a heart attack, and now they were back.

Only the good die young.

Allie had been on the goose chase with them for nearly a year. Given the timeline, that meant she knew Dean for almost two. Time flew by between hunts. They were always on the road, or at her dad's. In fact, even the past three months of little contact added to their relationship. Whatever anger resided in her prior fell to the wayside upon the sight of Dean hooked up to various machines, unresponsive.

"One day we won't be betting on losing dogs anymore, Sam." She offered in an attempt to comfort him. "Dean is strong. He's a... fuckin' stubborn jackass." Her tone, unmistakably affectionate, bit the quiet air. "He'll pull through. It'll be okay. It's going to be fine." She turned to look down at Sam, smile weak, but present.

Sam managed a small nod in return. "Thanks, Allie," he whispered. He knew she was trying to reassure him, but the fear and worry were like an anchor weighing down on his chest, making it difficult for any hope or optimism to take root. "I know you're right," he finally admitted reluctantly. "He always does," but did he? With the faith healer… he brought Dean, and found the 'fix'. Now there were fewer and fewer options. If Sam pulled that shit a second time…

No point in bringing Dean back if it resulted in having him angry forever. Resentful. But maybe…

The idea of finding a cure, yet again, took seed inside Sam's cranium. With what they did there was always an answer. If that meant getting desperate…

Allie didn't know whether to offer a witty retort, back off, or attempt to comfort him more intensely. She was alone when her mother died of cancer. No one comforted her. The world kept on turning. No matter how many times she prayed for it to stop.

Through that experience came the thought of nursing, of helping others in the same pain.

She opted to perform multiple doors. "At least you still have me, right? Although the blonde dies first in all the horror movies so... may wanna second guess yourself." Okay. Poor attempt at a joke but she was trying. Even if she wasn't in the mood.

Next up? Comfort.

The same hand that rested atop his shoulder rubbed, massaging very gentle strokes into his collarbone with her thumb. "Sam, no matter what happens, I'm here," she swallowed with preemptive grief at the thought of what could soon befall them. If it did happen, they would do it together. This time there would be no splitting up, no fighting.

Allie realized at that moment that she was dedicated wholeheartedly to the Winchesters, for better, or for worse.

"He knows," somehow Allie had the inherent knowledge that Dean was not simply racing to his casket without paying mind to them, or the great beyond. "You're the most important thing to him. He's not going to just… leave. You know he'll fight it." If only just to see Sam one last time. They annoyed the shit out of her with their constant back-and-forth brotherly bullshit, but they loved each other. That was clear to anyone and everyone who experienced it for over a few seconds.

Sam leaned his head against Allie's shoulder, savouring the warmth of her touch and the comforting rhythm of her massage. He knew she was right; they would get through this together. They always did. "Thank you," he whispered again after a while had passed in companionable silence. "For everything." His words were barely audible over the steady beeping of Dean's heart monitor, but he needed to say them nonetheless. She didn't have to stick around and didn't owe him or Dean anything. Regardless of all that, she had.

And in doing so, Allie almost died on multiple occasions. No matter their attempts to keep her safe. Hunting was a fool's game; even he knew. Stanford still lingered restlessly in his dreams, his wants. A life separate from the looming cloud of death and destruction.

He had hoped things would have been settled by now. In Sam's grandest intentions, Yellow Eyes was dead and the four of them, well five, could be a semi-functional family. Dean, his father, Bobby, Allie, and him, but life never allowed for happy endings.

Allie brushed back Sam's hair with a soft sigh and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. She wasn't one to cry but God damn... if there was ever a time — No. She had to keep it together for Sam. His whole family was in the hospital. This wasn't about her and it wouldn't be fair to blubber. "You don't have to thank me, Sam." She cooed. "That's what friends are for." Her fingers trailed along his shoulders before giving them a gentle squeeze. "And we're friends, right?" It wasn't a real question. Of course they were! But she wanted Sam to feel supported and think about it. Distract him somewhat from his fear, even if it was impossible.

"Yeah," he managed to croak out, a small chuckle escaping him despite the tension that still lingered in his voice. "We are." He leaned back against her shoulder ever so slightly. Below the surface lay a tense anger, though. They were here for a reason - and that boiled down to the father that abandoned them, neglected them, shafted them to drive around for him and now? How could they ever have anything close to happiness?

After a while, Sam exited the room to see John and Allie was left alone with Dean.

She cautiously scooted her chair closer to Dean's bed and rested her cheek on his hand. The beep of his heart monitor filled the silent room. It was like a taunt. "Dean..." she trailed off, forehead now pressed into the dorsal side. "You gotta make it through this," the words were nearly a whisper and tears brimmed her eyes, they were shaken away by the back and forth nudging of her head into him. "I-" Allie struggled, knowing what needed to be said, but finding the truth to be difficult. "I care about you. I don't want to lose you. I'm scared." The sentiment was preceded by a whimper and Allie covered her mouth as if the world was hearing her crumble. "You can't leave me for three months, and then do this. I've done this enough, I don't want to do this again." The blonde blinked and looked up at the fluorescent lights in an effort to bat her vulnerability away. Sam could be back at any moment and it wouldn't be kind of her to let him see her so... beaten down. Being the one with experience meant taking the mantle, and shutting up about it.

She turned back to Dean's body.

"I need you. We both need you. So you can't go. It's not right."

Allie leaned back in her chair and sighed.

Out of all the time they spent together, they so rarely communicated in healthy ways. Would a therapist find their constant bickering and bantering endearing, or toxic? Not to mention, that left the flirting off of the table. No one would understand that but them. Two friends that talked about fucking as a fun hobby? Please.

"Look, if you're listening right now - I'll put my biggest stiletto up your ass so far that you taste gravel- but… We fight… all the time. Most of the time I don't even really know why we're fighting. I guess I'm just like that, you know? I piss people off because I… It doesn't matter if they leave then. Because I'm in control," Allie, unable to withhold her hurt any longer, felt the tears begin to cave and trail down paled-out cheeks. The memories of regrets swung from side to side within her exhausted skull. The worst part of death was living. See, most of the time only one person died - and the other was forced to relive every single moment and wonder what could have been done better. Or worse, knew, but it was too late.

"And I'm not very nice. I say mean things sometimes. I don't know why. I don't want to be like that. I want to be nice to you. You're my friend. I don't understand why, considering you were basically forced to be by my fucking dad, but…" Her hand instinctively moved to cover her mouth as the feelings rushed out in a barrage. "You left me, and I'm still here. Okay? Okay? So if you can hear any of this - I need you to fight so fucking hard, and I'll try and be better. I'll be better."

When Sam re-entered hours later he was holding a Ouija board and told her he thought Dean was around and that a glass had broken in John's hospital room while they were arguing, flung clean off of the table. He hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say or do before finally mustering up enough courage to approach closer and squeeze her hand gently, noting the streaks of wiped-off makeup down her face and onto her neck. "Hey, just try it with me. Okay?"

"Are you... do those things really work? I always thought it was a gimmick." Her tone was cautious.

"Never tried one," he admitted honestly, setting down the Ouija board on the floor of the hospital room and sitting in front of it. "But... Dean's been through a lot. And I don't know, maybe there is something to it sometimes. First time for everything." He reached out tentatively and placed his fingertips on the planchette, closing his eyes in concentration as he focused all of his energy on trying to connect with his brother. "Wouldn't be the weirdest thing we've seen."

The room fell into an eerie silence for several long moments before the planchette slowly began to move across the board, spelling out one word after another: "S-A-M..."

Being a ghost fucking sucked.

For most of the day, Dean moved through the hospital in an attempt to find out how to wake up, how to get back into his body. He saw everything. Saw Sam stressed over him and heard Allie's pleas, and now he sat in front of the Ouija board with them and tried to find the strength to continue.

"R-E-A-P"

Managing to spell out the letters proved difficult. Each action acted as a pulse of energy, pulling strength from him. Being an active spirit felt akin to being sick.

Sam's eyes widened in surprise as the planchette continued to move, spelling out the word "REAP." He glanced over at Allie nervously. Was Dean trying to tell them something about their next target? Or was he warning them about something else entirely? "Dean?" he whispered softly, his voice cracking with fear and desperation. "Is there someone or something we need to watch out for? A reaper... is it after you?"

Dean tried to focus all his energy on the planchette, willing it to move faster, shaking his head to dispel the thickening fog that began to form in his limbs. "N-O," he managed to spell out slowly and with great effort. "R-E... A-P..." He paused for a moment, gathering strength before continuing. "... HUNT."

The room fell into an eerie silence as Sam and Allie exchanged worried glances, both of them understanding what Dean was trying to say.

Allie stared at the board for a long time. She could feel him there. With them. The almost dead amongst the living. Ode to a Tim Burton movie, or a 70's ghostathon, and in a strange turn, she laughed. Even as a ghost Dean was hunting. Kind of comical. Well, other than the fact he was close to death. A thick concoction of emotions swirled within her, and Allie chose to settle on lighthearted joking. "Who you gonna call!?" Allie sang in a cheery tone, imitating the Ghostbusters theme song. Felt stupid coming out.

Dean couldn't help but chuckle weakly at Allie's attempt to lighten the mood, his ghostly form shimmering slightly in response. Though they couldn't see him he spoke to himself. "I dunno," he managed to reply between laughter and effort. "Maybe we should call Scooby-Doo." He shook his head before leaving to track the reaper.

Sam cracked a small smile at their usual banter, even in the face of such dire circumstances. He knew what they had to do; there was no time for hesitation or second-guessing themselves. "I gotta go talk to my dad, and figure out how we can help Dean." When he arrived his father was gone. He looked high and low but couldn't find him so he retreated back to Dean's room.

Dean was awake when Sam arrived.

His eyes flickered open as he felt Sam's presence nearby, a weak smile spreading across his face. "Hey," he croaked out hoarsely, reaching out a hand towards him. "I found something," he managed to whisper, his voice barely audible over the beeping of machines keeping him alive. "There's a reaper..." He paused for a moment, gathering strength before continuing. "Well... there was." He had been hunting with a ghostly woman, only to find out she was the reaper. Tess. Something had possessed her and before he knew it— he was alive again. "I think...she's gone now."

Sam's heart leaped with relief at the sound of Dean's voice, rushing over to his bedside and grasping his hand tightly. "Dean," he breathed out a sigh of relief, tears threatening to spill from his eyes as the two shared a comforting moment together.

Their reunion was interrupted by John entering. Sam got in a bit of a fight with him over the demon, yellow eyes, but something was off, not right.

John was soft.

He noted that he didn't want to fight with Sam. That they always butted heads but half the time he didn't know what they were fighting about. Allie didn't know him well but all of them stared in a bit of shock. John was not a soft man. It was a stark contrast to the stories she had been told about him by her own father and the brothers. John asked Sam to get him a cup of coffee. Sam left, and John spoke with Allie in the hallway.

She felt a bit awkward, really. Allie'd never had a personal moment with John and now he was telling her to look after Dean and Sam. "I don't understand, John. Why are you telling me this?"

John Winchester's eyes were filled with a mix of regret and resignation as he turned to face Allie, his usually stern features lessened by the sight of blonde curls in front of him. Surprisingly, she looked familiar. Mary held the world in her eyes, large and innocent despite all that she encountered. This girl did too. Loving below the surface, waiting to be pried open and understood. "I... I don't have much time left," he admitted, reaching out a hand to gently squeeze her shoulder in a rare display of human connection. "You're like family to them now, they respect Bobby." He paused for a moment, swallowing down his own feelings towards that before continuing. "And they need you more than ever." Trading his life for Dean's meant leaving his boys— for good . "Both of you."

It felt like he was giving her a secret, one that she wasn't prepared for. Didn't have much time left? Her eyes met with John's and she sighed. "What did you do?" Somehow she already knew. Dean's waking... wasn't natural. Maybe she shouldn't have asked. Did she really want to know? "John... I can't take care of them. I'm not a good enough hunter... I'm still training... I'm..." all excuses. Dean had done a good job of mentoring her but this felt like the weight of the world was being placed on her shoulders, and inappropriately at that.

John's eyes were reserved as he looked at Allie, a mix of pride and concern wavered into his expression. "You don't have to be the best hunter in the world," he took a long pause. "But you are smart, resourceful, and damn good with that thing." He nodded towards the knife stored in her boot. "And Dean needs someone who understands him; someone who can keep him grounded when things get tough. And Sam..." he hesitated for a moment, his voice cracking slightly. "He needs someone after Jess." John knew all too well the pain of losing love to death. "You're the glue holding them together right now," John continued, his words coming out in a rush as if he knew time was running short. "And I know you can do it. You have to do it, Allie." He squeezed her hand one last time before pulling away and turning back towards Dean's room to talk with his son for the last time.

Allie stood in the hallway. Everything was on her. John obviously trusted her (though it could be debated on if that was true trust or simply resignation) maybe more than she trusted herself. How was she supposed to react? She barely knew the man. Honestly, a seed of resentment lived in her regarding John. He had not been a good father to the Winchesters. Aside from that, the endearment felt like a simple projection. Allie saw it in his eyes, the way he regarded her with familiarity. Her eyes fell distantly to the floor.

Only minutes later John was dead

and the three were alone.