A/N: Of course we're going to friggin' talk about it in the Impala. The fuck am I doing if I'm writing a Supernatural FanFiction that doesn't deal with this type of shit while riding in the Impala?

Appendix H

Section F

Alex Age 18

Been There, Done That, Got the Blood-Soaked T-Shirt

The sun had been closing in on the horizon when they left Jenna's parents' house, so they only got a few more hours of travel time in before everyone was exhausted and ready to stop to eat and sleep. They kept their eye out for a motel to overnight at as they approached the Quad Cities.

"How are you doing, Jenna?" Alex checked in on her friend, who had not moved or spoken since they had left.

"Okay," Jenna said feebly and slightly dreamily, as if she wasn't quite aware of her surroundings or what Alex had asked her.

"Are you sure?" Alex continued. "You're crying."

"I am?" asked Jenna. She wiped her cheek with a hand and looked at it, surprised to feel and see wetness on her skin. "Well how 'bout that? Didn't even notice."

"Sometimes that happens when you're in shock," said Alex.

"I am in shock," replied Jenna.

"I'm so sorry, Jenna," said Alex, holding on just a little tighter.

"It's funny…," Jenna began, "you just… brush things off when they happen, when you're living them, and you think… 'Well that can't possibly be.' And then you finally find out, and everything makes sense. In the worst way. And there's some sort of… relief… but at the same time it's like… how did I live with it for so long and not even know?

"I just… I don't know how I'm going to be able to even look at him ever again."

"You don't have to if you don't want to," said Dean.

"You mean, never see him again?" Jenna asked.

"Yeah, exactly," replied Dean.

She gave a tiny laugh. "I can't just cut my parents out. They're my family."

"That doesn't matter, Jenna," said Sam, turning in his seat to look back at her. "If something's that toxic, you have every right to remove yourself from the situation for your own sake, no matter how you're related to the people causing you that harm."

"That's easy for you to say." A touch of Jenna's spark finally seemed to resurface as she came back at Sam. "You three in this tight-knit, loving, functional family. How would you know what I'm dealing with?"

Much to Jenna's surprise, everyone else in the car laughed. Maybe even a little harder than the situation called for.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"Oh, we are all kinds of dysfunction," Dean answered. "How many times have we tried to be estranged, Sammy?"

"I don't know, six or seven?" the younger replied. "How about that time we were still working and living together, but I had decided that we couldn't be brothers?"

Dean chuckled. "You sure changed your tune when I died."

"Oh my God!" Jenna piped from the back. "Like, had a heart attack and got resuscitated?"

"No, like dead dead," replied Dean. "Stabbed straight through the heart. How long would you say those angel blades are, Sammy? Fourteen inches?"

Sam shrugged. "I'd say twelve."

"We'll go with fourteen," said Dean.

"Uuuh…," Jenna croaked from the back seat, completely dismayed. Was Dean a ghost? Or a zombie? It rattled her to realize these were actual possibilities now.

"Yeah, one of us dying usually gets the other to come to their senses," said Sam casually.

"Or both," Dean amended.

"Or both," Sam agreed.

"Uuuh…," Jenna said again.

"They're not undead, just resurrected a lot," Alex whispered to assuage her friend's anxiety.

Jenna paused as she took in the information, then looked over at Alex in disbelief. "What?"

"Doesn't seem to stop us from trying to kill each other once in a while, though," Dean commented. "Any guess as to how often we've come to blows, Sam?"

"Are we talking love taps or actually trying to beat the crap out of each other?" asked Sam.

"God, I don't know if I could count them all if we tried to tally up every single punch or shove or choke hold," said Dean, seeming a little intimidated at the thought.

"Well, if we just count actually fighting fighting, gotta be at least a dozen," said Sam.

"Oh my God," Jenna commented from the back seat.

"That's just our drama, though—you and me. What about all the stuff with Dad?" Dean added.

"Yeah, we were total opposites with our dad," Sam told Jenna. "I hardly even spoke to either Dad—or Dean—all four years I was at Stanford."

"And I worshiped the guy," said Dean. "Which was super weird because he never really acted like he wanted either of us around. He was always off hunting when we were kids, until we were old enough to go with him."

"And I hated hunting with him," said Sam. "Did not like him telling me what to do at all."

"And he told me jump and I said 'how high'," said Dean. "And neither of us could get any approval from him."

"Ever," said Sam. "Until right before he died."

"Yeah," agreed Dean. "And we were just pups when he passed. Sam was barely in his twenties—how old were you exactly?"

Sam sighed, shaking his head and closing his eyes. "I don't even want to try doing the math. Thinking back that far makes my joints hurt."

Dean laughed loudly.

"And it wasn't like he got sick and died, or got shot and was gone," continued Sam.

"Oh, no," Dean agreed. "No, he sold his soul—,"

"And the Colt," interjected Sam.

"—And the Colt—,"

"To the demon that had killed our mother when I was six months old."

"—just to save my sorry ass from dying in a hospital bed after we had fought that exact demon and then got T-boned by a semi," said Dean. "Think of that guilt. My brother and I are now orphans because I couldn't keep my fluids in my body."

"Yeah, and basically Dad dumping the responsibility of taking care of me onto you, like he had been since you were four," commented Sam.

"Yeah," Dean scoffed. "And not just like 'taking care of you' but taking care of you. 'Hey son, I'm going to die to save you, so look after your little brother. You might have to kill him, though. Good luck with that!'"

"Oh my God, I forgot that," Sam groaned, sinking lower in his seat and propping an elbow on the door windowsill to rub at his forehead.

"So, Jenna…," Sam decided to wrap it up, "…as you can clearly tell, we're not exactly unfamiliar with family drama. We get how hard this is for you."

"Holy shit, I guess," said Jenna. "But… that's just the thing, though, isn't it? All of that, and you've always come back together. It's worth it because you're brothers, because you care about each other."

"But see, that's actually the difference here," said Dean. "We honestly care about each other. Even when we fight, we don't do it because we just want to tear the other down."

"Yeah, usually one of us has made a mistake of some kind that hurt the other, and we get angry because we're hurt," said Sam. "Not because we want to hurt each other in the first place."

"I can't stop thinking of what your mother said about you, in front of you," said Dean. "I mean everything else about that whole interaction was messed up, but for some reason I can't wrap my head around that comment. I could never—neither me or Sam— could ever say something like that to Alex. Hell, I don't know if I could even think it. But she said it to your face like it was a fact, like she said it every day. That's not anger getting the best of you, that's… I don't know what it is, but it sure as Hell isn't love."

Jenna was thoughtful for a moment, and when she spoke it was quiet. "It's not, is it?"

There was an uncomfortable pause. None of them quite knew what to say.

Alex was the first to come around. "Jenna, they're not saying your parents don't love you—,"

"No, they are, and they're right," replied Jenna, and there was strength in her tone but not anger. "I never realized it until someone said it, but now that they have, I can see it. If they actually loved me, they wouldn't have said things like that to me. Say that they wished I was a boy, tell me I dressed like a hooker, or I wore too much makeup, call me a quitter, or a slowpoke, or a flake. I mean it wasn't all the time…." Jenna's brow furrowed as she thought it over. "It kind of was, actually. Not every single second of every single day, but I don't think a day went by they didn't make some kind of comment like that."

"Sounds like torture," Sam said carefully.

"I always thought they were trying to get me to be the best I could be, but... yeah, it was torture," said Jenna.

They sat in the melancholy for a few seconds before Dean said, "Well then, fuck 'em."

"Dean," Sam warned quietly. "Take it easy."

Dean ignored him. "Jenna, if that's the way they treated you, they don't deserve to have you around. And you don't owe them jack just because they're family. You get to be around whomever you want to be around. And if you decide to never go back to them and you need a place to stay, you can stay with us."

Sam didn't contradict him.

Jenna couldn't hold back her tears anymore. "Thank you," she said, and dropped her head onto Alex's shoulder.

"Don't mention it," said Dean.

They drove on in silence for a short time. Sam couldn't hold back his quiet comment, however.

"'Whomever'?"

"Oh, excuse me, was that incorrect?" said Dean, matching Sam's level but with a slightly mocking tone.

"It wasn't; that's what surprised me," said Sam.

"Hey, I read," Dean retorted.

Then Jenna's head popped up. "Wait, Sam, did you say you were at Stanford?"

Sam cleared his throat. "Yeah."

"But you don't look like a nerd at all!" Jenna protested.

Dean chuckled. "He was prelaw."

Jenna's jaw dropped. "Holy shit!"

A/N: You know, I was totally estimating when I wrote it, but I looked it up later…. Yup, an angel blade is twelve inches long.