AN: Here's another chapter! Been trying to keep up with this and my Teen Wolf fic Addicted and it's been a little challenging haha but going to try and keep updates as consistent as possible. Hope you enjoy this chapter! Lots of Ali/Sam and Ali/Bobby scenes which are some of my favourites to write!
The Impala rumbled to a stop in Bobby's dirt driveway, the engine cutting off with a low growl. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the salvage yard, the sky painted in deep oranges and purples. The air smelled of old metal and motor oil—familiar, grounding. It should have been comforting. But to Ali, it just felt heavy.
The car door opened, and before she could even attempt to get out on her own, Sam was already there, reaching for her.
"I got it," she muttered, shifting in her seat.
Sam didn't argue, but he also didn't move away. Instead, he just stood there, patient but unwavering, waiting for her to accept that she wasn't doing this alone. With a sigh, she relented, letting him loop an arm around her waist as he helped her to her feet. The moment she stood, her legs wobbled, a sharp ache flaring in her abdomen.
Sam tightened his grip. "Easy," he murmured, steadying her.
Ali gritted her teeth and let him guide her, each step toward the house slow and careful. The short walk across the yard felt like a damn marathon, and by the time they reached the porch, her breath was uneven, her entire body aching.
Sam helped her inside, guiding her straight to the couch. She barely made it down before collapsing against the cushions, her muscles giving up the fight. The exhaustion hit her all at once, a deep, bone-deep weariness that made her limbs feel like dead weight.
She exhaled sharply. "Jesus, you'd think I got hit by a truck, not stitched up."
Sam huffed out a quiet laugh, crouching beside her. "Yeah, well, getting carved open like a Thanksgiving turkey tends to take a lot out of you."
Ali shot him a look, but the exhaustion dulled its usual sharpness. "I swear, you and Dean are enjoying babying me a little too much."
Sam just shook his head, unbothered. "Yeah, well, get used to it."
She rolled her eyes but didn't push the argument. Truth be told, she didn't have the energy to.
Sam leaned forward, his expression turning more serious. "Can I check your dressing?"
Ali hesitated for a moment before nodding. She shifted slightly as Sam carefully pulled her shirt up, exposing the gauze taped over her abdomen. She felt oddly vulnerable under his gaze, the way his hands were so careful, so deliberate. She wasn't used to being taken care of like this. Not by Sam.
Sam peeled back the edge of the dressing, his eyes scanning the wound with quiet focus. The large surgical incision stretched across her skin, still red and angry, but healing. Ali bit the inside of her cheek, resisting the urge to squirm under his scrutiny.
"Looks okay," Sam muttered, smoothing the dressing back down. "No signs of infection."
"Good," Ali said, letting her shirt fall back into place.
Sam didn't move away just yet. "I need to give you a shot."
She frowned. "Remind me what this one's for again?"
Sam pulled a small vial and syringe from the med kit beside him. "Blood thinner. Stops you from getting clots."
Ali made a face. "Is that really necessary?"
Sam gave her a look. "Well, if you want a clot to travel to your lungs and kill you, then no, it's not necessary."
Ali sighed dramatically. "Fine."
She shifted slightly, watching as Sam filled the syringe. The sight of the needle made her stomach twist, but she didn't say anything. Sam had that focused, no-nonsense look on his face—the same one he got when he was determined to keep people safe, whether they liked it or not.
"This might sting," he warned.
Ali braced herself, feeling the sharp pinch as the needle went into her abdomen. She winced, her fingers gripping the edge of the blanket as the medication burned under her skin.
Sam withdrew the needle, pressing a piece of gauze against the spot before covering her with the blanket. "Alright?" he asked, his voice softer now.
"Peachy," Ali muttered. Then, after a moment, she sighed. "Can I have some pain meds now?"
Sam smirked slightly. "Yeah, you can have it now."
She watched as he grabbed the pill bottle and shook two into his palm, handing them over with a glass of water. She took them without argument, downing them quickly before settling further into the couch.
For a moment, there was silence. Then Ali let out a slow breath. "There's only two weeks left."
Sam froze, his expression barely shifting, but Ali still caught the flicker of emotion in his eyes. Panic.
She regretted saying it as soon as the words left her mouth, but she couldn't take them back.
Sam swallowed hard, exhaling through his nose. He was quiet for a long time, as if carefully weighing what he wanted to say. Then, finally, he spoke.
"Ali," he started, his voice quiet but firm. "I just… before things go down, I need to say something."
She turned her head slightly, looking at him. He wasn't meeting her gaze just yet, his hands clasped together, but his shoulders were tense.
"Whatever happens in the next two weeks," Sam said, finally looking at her, "you won't be alone."
Ali's chest tightened. "Sam—"
"I mean it," he cut her off, his voice leaving no room for argument. "No matter what happens. No matter what comes next. I'll never leave you alone."
She swallowed against the lump in her throat, searching his face for any cracks, any hesitation. But there was none. Sam Winchester, for all his faults, for all his grief, had never been more certain about anything in his life.
Ali looked away, staring at the ceiling. "You and your damn Winchester promises."
Sam smiled faintly. "They don't break easy."
She huffed out a quiet laugh, but there was no real humour in it.
Sam reached over, squeezing her hand briefly before pulling back. "Get some rest, Ali."
She sighed, shifting under the blanket. "Yeah."
But neither of them moved, both sitting in silence, knowing that sleep wouldn't come easy for either of them.
Ali had just started to doze off when she heard the sound of a car pulling up outside. She cracked one eye open, frowning slightly. Bobby wasn't expecting anyone. Sam and Dean weren't due back for hours. So who the hell—
A knock on the front door.
Bobby's heavy footsteps echoed through the house as he went to answer it. She could hear his usual gruff tone, though she couldn't make out the words. Then, a voice she hadn't heard in a while—familiar, but unexpected.
Tim.
Ali's stomach twisted, and before she could think, she was trying to push herself up off the couch, her body protesting instantly. A sharp, burning pain flared across her abdomen, and she barely made it upright before a wave of dizziness crashed over her. She gritted her teeth, trying to force her body to cooperate, but she barely shifted an inch before she slumped back down with a pained exhale.
Shit. She wasn't going anywhere.
A moment later, Tim stepped into the living room, a small, easy smile on his face.
"Hey," he greeted, hands in his pockets. "Bobby said I could come in. Hope that's okay."
Ali swallowed down her discomfort, forcing a tight smile. "Yeah, of course."
Tim's gaze flickered over her, his expression shifting slightly as he took in her pale face and the exhaustion etched into her features. "I, uh… heard you were in the hospital," he said casually. "Everything alright? Nothing serious, I hope?"
Ali hesitated for only a beat before shrugging. "Had surgery." It wasn't technically a lie. Just… not the whole truth.
Tim's eyebrows lifted slightly, concern flashing across his face. "Damn. That sounds serious."
"Nothing I won't bounce back from," she muttered, shifting under the blanket.
He nodded, rocking on his heels, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. It wasn't exactly awkward, but it wasn't comfortable, either. Tim was looking at her like he wanted to say something but wasn't sure how.
Finally, he huffed a short laugh. "You know, last time I was here, your friend practically shoved me out the door before I even knew what was happening."
Ali felt her stomach tighten at the memory, but she forced a chuckle. "Yeah, uh… sorry about that. Dean was just… dealing with some stuff. He can be a little intense."
"That's an understatement," Tim joked, shaking his head. "I think I saw my life flash before my eyes."
Ali smirked slightly, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.
Tim exhaled, glancing around the room before his gaze landed back on her. "You know, I've been thinking about Tyler a lot lately."
Ali felt her chest tighten instantly, but she said nothing.
Tim sat down in the chair across from her, his voice softer now. "I miss him."
Ali swallowed hard, staring at a spot on the floor.
Tim let out a small, self-conscious laugh. "I know I probably bring him up too much. Maybe it's annoying. But, I don't know… talking about him helps."
Ali's fingers curled around the blanket, gripping the fabric tightly. She forced herself to look up at him, but the words felt stuck in her throat.
Tim sighed. "I just… I don't want to forget him, you know?"
Ali nodded stiffly, her chest aching with something she didn't have the strength to name.
Tim offered a small smile. "Sorry, I didn't mean to get all heavy on you. I just… figured you might get it."
Ali took a slow breath, steadying herself. "Yeah," she said quietly. "I get it."
The silence that settled between them was thick, weighted with unspoken things. But for once, Ali didn't try to fill it.
The silence stretched between them, heavy and unspoken. Tim shifted in his seat, drumming his fingers lightly against his knee. Ali didn't look at him. She kept her eyes on the floor, her grip still tight on the blanket draped over her lap. She could feel the words pressing against her throat, the things she could say—the things she should say—but she couldn't force them out.
Tim exhaled softly, leaning back in the chair. "I guess I just don't want to feel like I'm the only one still thinking about him, you know?"
Ali's fingers twitched. "You're not," she said, voice quieter than she meant.
Tim looked at her, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, he nodded slowly. "Yeah. I figured."
The weight in the room pressed down harder. Ali's chest ached, but not from her stitches this time.
Tim cleared his throat. "I went by his grave last week."
Ali's stomach twisted.
"Brought him some of those stupid gummy worms he liked so much." He let out a short, sad chuckle. "I don't know, I guess it felt like something I should do. Maybe it's dumb."
Ali's throat felt tight. "It's not dumb."
Tim studied her for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly. "Have you been?"
Ali's jaw tensed.
Tim's face softened in understanding. "I get it if you haven't. It's… hard."
She swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to meet his eyes. "I just don't think he's there."
Tim frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"
Ali hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "I just… don't think a headstone and a patch of dirt where he isn't even buried are where he really is."
Tim considered that for a moment, nodding slowly. "Yeah. I guess I can see that." He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Still, it helps me. At least a little."
Ali didn't know what to say to that, so she stayed quiet.
"They ever find his body?" he asked after a beat. Ali tensed, her mind flashing back to the sight of Tyler dead in her arms, his blood on her skin, the smell of his body burning in the Salvage Yard.
"No," she managed to force out quietly.
Tim shifted again, glancing toward the door before looking back at her. "Listen… I don't want to overstep or anything. But if you ever want to talk about him, you know you can, right?"
Ali forced a tight-lipped smile. "Yeah."
Tim studied her for a moment longer, like he wanted to say more, but eventually, he just nodded.
"Well," he sighed, slapping his hands on his knees before standing. "I should probably get going. I just wanted to check in."
Ali nodded, watching as he moved toward the door.
Tim hesitated, then glanced back at her. "Take care of yourself, alright?"
Ali gave him another forced smile. "You too."
With that, he turned and left, the door clicking softly behind him.
Ali exhaled, her whole body sagging the moment he was gone. The tension that had coiled tight in her chest was still there, still pressing. She ran a hand through her hair, feeling exhaustion creep in all over again.
She hated this. Hated the way talking about Tyler made her feel like she was unravelling.
Hated that no matter how much time passed, the pain wasn't getting any easier.
She let out a slow, shuddering breath and leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling.
Outside, she could hear Tim's car start up, the hum of the engine fading into the distance.
And just like that, the house was still again.
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
Ali sat on the couch, staring blankly at the TV. The glow of the screen flickered across her face, but she wasn't really watching. She had turned it on just for the noise, for something to drown out the thoughts circling in her head like vultures. But even that wasn't working.
Tim's words wouldn't leave her alone. "I know it's probably annoying that I bring it up all the time, but it helps to talk about it."
Ali exhaled sharply and rubbed her hands over her face. She wished it helped. She wished talking about Tyler didn't feel like digging her own grave. But every time she even thought about it for too long, the weight on her chest got heavier, pressing down until she could barely breathe.
She shifted, trying to get comfortable, but a sharp pain in her abdomen made her wince. The wound was still tender, the stitches holding together the mess that had almost killed her. She was tired—bone-deep exhausted—but sleep never came easy anymore. Not when the moment she closed her eyes, she was back on the table in Doc Benton's cabin. Or out in the Salvage Yard, feeling the weight of Ruby's knife as it ripped through Tyler's chest. Or holding his body, her skin covered in his blood. Or the image of his eyes. His face. His voice…
Her fingers curled into the blanket draped over her lap, gripping the fabric so tight her knuckles turned white. She was fine. She was always fine.
Except she wasn't.
It started subtly at first. Her hands felt clammy. Her breath came a little too fast, her heart hammering in her chest like a caged animal. It was nothing, she told herself. Just tiredness. Just stress. But then the feeling grew—her fingers tingled, her throat tightened, and suddenly, she couldn't take in enough air.
Ali gasped, trying to steady herself, but panic had already wrapped itself around her like a vice. She pressed a hand to her chest, her fingers shaking. Her vision tunnelled, the room shrinking around her.
No, no, no. Not now.
She struggled to slow her breathing, but it only got worse. Her lungs felt like they were seizing up, her body trembling. A distant, terrified part of her mind whispered, you're dying.
A door creaked.
"Ali?"
She barely registered Sam's voice at first. Footsteps padded toward her, and then suddenly, he was in front of her, kneeling down, concern etched deep into his face.
"Hey—hey, what's wrong?" His voice was steady, but she could hear the worry underneath.
Ali shook her head rapidly, pressing a fist against her sternum like she could physically force the panic back down. "I—I can't—" She couldn't get the words out.
Sam's brows furrowed, but his hands were gentle when he touched her arms. "You're okay," he said softly. "Just breathe with me, alright?"
She shook her head again, her breaths coming too fast, too shallow. She felt like she was suffocating. A distant part of her mind wondered if a blood clot had travelled to her lungs to finish her off.
Sam's grip firmed slightly, grounding. "Ali, listen to me. You're not dying. It's a panic attack."
Panic attack.
The words barely broke through the fog in her mind. It didn't feel like a panic attack. It felt like her body was betraying her, like she was slipping away and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
"Hey," Sam's voice cut through again. "I need you to slow down. Look at me."
She forced herself to meet his eyes. They were steady, reassuring, warm.
"Breathe in for four," he instructed. He inhaled deeply, slow and controlled. "Hold it. Now out for four."
Ali tried to follow, but her chest was too tight. Her vision blurred at the edges.
"Ali, you're safe," Sam said firmly. "I promise, you're safe. Just focus on me."
She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to match his breathing. It wasn't perfect, but after a few more tries, the dizziness began to fade. The tightness in her chest eased, just a little.
She shut her eyes, swallowing hard, her whole body still trembling.
Sam didn't say anything for a moment. He just stayed there, close but not overbearing, his presence steadying her.
Finally, when she felt like she could speak again, she rasped, "Sorry."
Sam frowned. "You don't have to apologize for having a panic attack, Ali."
She exhaled shakily, dropping her head back against the couch. "I hate this."
"I know."
A heavy silence stretched between them. Sam didn't push her, didn't tell her to talk about it. He just stayed put, patient as ever.
Ali swallowed, her throat raw. "Tim said talking about it helps."
Sam hesitated before responding, his voice softer this time. "Sometimes, yeah."
Ali shook her head slightly, staring at the ceiling. "I can't. I don't even know where to start."
"You don't have to do it all at once."
She didn't answer.
Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know it's hard, Ali. Losing Tyler, worrying about Dean… all of it. And I know you think you have to carry it alone, but you don't." He paused, then added, "You don't have to go through this alone."
Something in her chest clenched painfully, but she ignored it.
She turned her head slightly, finally meeting his gaze again. "You either."
Sam's expression flickered, something unspoken passing between them.
Then, without another word, he sat back against the couch beside her, letting the quiet settle around them.
She didn't push him away.
For the first time in a long time, she didn't feel like she had to.
Sam stayed seated beside her, his legs stretched out, his presence steady and grounding.
Ali was still shaking, her body wrung out from the panic attack, but the worst of it had passed. Her breath was mostly even now, though her chest still ached from how hard she'd been gasping for air just minutes ago. And her stitches, well, they always hurt.
Sam shifted beside her, hesitant for a second before finally wrapping an arm around her shoulders. He didn't say anything, didn't make a big deal out of it—just a slow, steady movement, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Ali hesitated at first, her instinct telling her to move away, to keep some distance, but she was so goddamn exhausted. And for once, she didn't have the energy to fight against the comfort being offered.
So, she let herself lean into him, resting against his side.
Sam exhaled, like he'd been waiting for her to let him in just a little. His arm stayed around her, loose but firm, like he was ready to catch her if she fell apart again.
Ali closed her eyes. It felt… safe.
"I hate this," she muttered again, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I know," Sam said quietly, his thumb absently brushing against her arm in a soothing motion. "But you're okay now."
She wasn't sure if that was true, but she nodded anyway.
A few minutes passed like that, neither of them speaking, just sitting there in the dim glow of the TV. The world outside felt distant, but for once, it wasn't crushing her.
Ali swallowed hard, her voice rough when she finally spoke again. "I don't know what I'm gonna do when he's gone."
Sam stiffened slightly, but he didn't pull away.
Ali didn't have to say Dean's name. They both knew who she meant.
Sam was quiet for a long moment, his breath slow and steady. "We'll figure it out," he said eventually. "Together."
Ali huffed out a tired breath. "Together, huh?"
"Yeah." Sam squeezed her shoulder just a little. "I meant what I said earlier. Whatever happens, you're not gonna be alone in this."
Ali let that sit for a moment, unsure if she believed it, but not willing to fight it either.
For now, she just let herself stay there, leaning against Sam, his warmth keeping her anchored. And for the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself rest.
The morning light filtered dimly through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the living room. The old couch creaked slightly as Ali shifted, her body stiff from sleep. For a moment, she just lay there, warm and comfortable, feeling the steady rise and fall of Sam's breathing beside her.
It had been a long time since she'd let herself just be—since she'd let anyone stay close enough to hold her together when she felt like she was falling apart.
Sam stirred beside her, a quiet inhale as his eyes flickered open. His gaze landed on her, still half-asleep, before a slow, lazy smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Morning."
Ali hummed, her voice still groggy. "Morning."
They stayed there for a second longer, neither one moving. Sam's arm had slipped away at some point in the night, but the space between them was still easy, familiar.
And then—
A throat cleared behind them.
"Well, don't you two look cozy."
Ali froze.
Sam tensed, then shot up so fast he nearly lost his balance. "Bobby—"
Bobby stood in the doorway, arms crossed, one brow raised, looking thoroughly amused.
Ali groaned, pushing herself up with some effort. She caught Bobby's eye, and he shot her a knowing look.
She scowled. "It's not what it looks like."
"Mhm." Bobby gave her a slow nod, clearly not convinced. "Whatever you say, kid."
Sam ran a hand through his hair, his ears tinged red. "We just— I was just—"
Bobby raised an eyebrow at him, smirking slightly.
Sam clamped his mouth shut, clearing his throat.
Ali huffed, shoving the blanket off. "Jesus Christ." She shot Bobby a look. "You gonna stand there and be a pain in my ass, or are you actually here for something?"
Bobby snorted. "Both, actually. Coffee's on. Figured you'd need some after your little slumber party."
Ali flipped him off on her way to the kitchen.
Bobby just chuckled. Sam, still looking a little flustered, muttered something under his breath before trailing after her.
Ali wasn't sure if she'd actually gotten the closure she needed last night. But for the first time in a long time, she felt lighter.
And, if she wasn't mistaken, she could still feel the warmth where Sam had been beside her.
A few nights later, the house was quiet again, save for the occasional creak of wood settling in the night.
Ali lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling, exhaustion weighing heavy on her limbs, but her mind refused to shut down. Sam and Dean were gone – out trying to track down Lillith. They knew she was the one who held the contract to Dean's deal, and that meant she was the key to breaking it.
Bobby was asleep upstairs. Ali had still been sleeping on the couch, not mobile enough yet to manage the stairs on her own.
She couldn't stop thinking about what Tim had said.
About Tyler's grave. How he felt like he was there. Like it helped to visit him there.
A thought had burrowed into her brain like a splinter, sharp and persistent, and now she couldn't shake it.
Ali exhaled, shifting slightly—wincing as a dull, burning pain flared in her abdomen. The stitches still pulled tight, each movement reminding her just how wrecked she was.
But she couldn't just lie here.
Carefully, she swung her legs over the edge of the couch, gritting her teeth as she eased herself upright. Her body protested, muscles weak, stitches tugging, but she didn't stop.
The stairs loomed in front of her like a goddamn mountain.
She gripped the banister tightly, took a deep breath, and pulled herself up the first step. Then another. By the time she was halfway up, her breath was ragged, a sharp, searing ache blooming across her torso.
She sank down onto the step, defeated, pressing a hand lightly against the bandages beneath her shirt. Damn it.
The house was still.
Until she heard the soft creak of a floorboard above her.
She froze, barely managing to lift her head before Bobby appeared at the top of the stairs, peering down at her.
One eyebrow arched. "What the hell are you doin'?"
There was no anger in his voice—just confusion, maybe a hint of amusement.
Ali let out a tired sigh, leaning her head against the wall. "Climbing Everest."
Bobby snorted. "Looks like it's kickin' your ass."
Ali huffed. "Yeah, well. Thought I'd give it a shot."
Bobby didn't move, just studied her, arms crossed over his chest. "You gonna tell me what you're actually doin', or we gonna keep dancin' around it?"
Ali hesitated.
Then, quietly, she said, "I need your help."
Bobby's expression shifted, the humour fading slightly. "With what?"
She swallowed, eyes flicking toward the hallway upstairs. "Tyler's ashes. They're still in my room, right?"
Bobby's brows knitted together, but he nodded. "Yeah. I kept 'em safe for you."
Ali exhaled, relief and something else—something heavier—settling in her chest.
Bobby frowned. "Ali… why do you need 'em?"
She hesitated. "I don't know yet."
Bobby gave her a long, hard look, then sighed, rubbing a hand over his beard. "Alright. But next time, try askin' instead of attempting suicide by staircase."
Ali smirked faintly. "No promises."
Bobby muttered something under his breath about "goddamn stubborn kids" before he disappeared into her room, emerging moments later with a small box in his had. He started down the stairs toward her.
He reached her, stopping a step above where she sat, arms still crossed. He was waiting, giving her that look that meant he wasn't moving until she told him the truth.
Ali exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. Screw it.
"I want to take them to his grave," she admitted, voice quiet but firm. "Bury them there."
Bobby was silent for a moment. His expression didn't change much—just a flicker of something in his eyes, something that said he understood more than he let on.
Then, with a dry scoff, he muttered, "And how exactly do you plan on doin' that in your condition?"
Ali shot him a look. "I'll figure it out."
Bobby snorted. "Yeah. Sure you will."
Ali rolled her eyes but didn't argue, and Bobby sighed, shaking his head.
"You want my help?" he asked, even though they both knew the answer.
Ali hesitated, then nodded.
"Yeah," she said. "I need you to take me."
Bobby exhaled through his nose, then jerked his head toward the stairs. "Alright. But first, let's get your dumb ass back on solid ground before you bust those stitches open."
Ali smirked faintly, letting him help her up.
The drive to the cemetery was silent.
Bobby didn't push, didn't pry. He just drove, letting Ali sit in the dim glow of the dashboard, her fingers curled into the fabric of her hoodie, her body aching from the movement. The painkillers had worn off hours ago, but she didn't ask for more. She wanted to feel this.
The road was familiar, too familiar. She'd been here before. She'd stood at that headstone, hands clenched, jaw tight, pretending she could hold it together.
She'd failed.
Bobby pulled up near the grave, shifting the car into park. He glanced at her, but she didn't look back.
"Take your time," was all he said before he grabbed a shovel from the trunk and started digging.
Ali stepped carefully over the uneven ground, breath hitching as her stitches pulled. She didn't say anything about it, though.
The small hole took minutes to dig. Bobby worked quietly, efficiently, the blade of the shovel slicing through the earth with soft, rhythmic thuds.
When it was done, he set the shovel aside, brushing dirt from his hands. Then he looked at her, waiting.
Ali reached into her pocket and pulled out the small, nondescript box. Tyler's ashes.
She swallowed hard, her throat feeling like sandpaper, and then—carefully—tipped the box forward, watching as the dark remains spilled into the hole.
Bobby reached for the shovel again, ready to start covering it up.
"Wait," she said.
He stopped, watching as she reached into her jacket and pulled out a silver knife.
Tyler's silver knife.
Bobby's brow furrowed, his eyes flicking from the knife to her face. He was looking for hesitation, for second thoughts.
"You sure about that?" he asked quietly.
Ali nodded. "Yeah."
She let the knife drop, watching as it landed atop the ashes, gleaming even in the dim moonlight.
Bobby was silent for a long beat before he spoke again. "You wanna say anything?"
Ali's teeth clenched together as she stared at the ashes. The weight in her chest felt like it was suffocating her, like she couldn't get enough air.
"I hate you," she whispered.
Bobby tensed beside her.
Ali's breath shuddered, but she didn't stop. The words were already spilling out, raw and unfiltered.
"I hate you for leaving me," she bit out, her voice tight with emotion. "You were all I had, and you were reckless and stupid and you didn't care that I needed you, that I—"
She cut herself off, sucking in a sharp breath.
Her fists curled at her sides as she forced herself to keep going. She needed to say this.
"You should be here," she muttered. "You should still be here. But you're not. And now I have to keep going, and you don't, and I hate you for that."
The silence stretched between them, heavy and unforgiving.
Ali squeezed her eyes shut for half a second before opening them again.
Her voice was smaller this time.
"But you're still my brother. And I love you."
Her chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself, but she forced herself to breathe.
Bobby didn't say anything. He just gave her a moment.
Then, when she finally nodded, he picked up the shovel again and started covering the ashes.
The soft thud of dirt hitting the ashes felt final.
Ali watched as Bobby worked, each scoop of soil covering what was left of her brother. The silver knife disappeared beneath the earth, swallowed up like it had never existed. Like he had never existed.
Her nails dug into her palms.
The moment Bobby patted the dirt down, evening it out, Ali turned away. She couldn't watch anymore.
She took a slow, unsteady breath, eyes locked on the grave marker. Tyler Venator. His name, his birth date, the day he died. Nothing else. Nothing about who he was, about what he had meant to her.
It wasn't enough.
But it was all she had.
Bobby tossed the shovel back into the trunk before stepping up beside her. He didn't say anything at first—just stood there, hands on his hips, watching her.
"You good?" he asked finally.
Ali let out a quiet, humourless laugh. "Yeah, Bobby. I'm great."
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Smartass."
Silence settled between them again.
Ali crossed her arms over her chest, trying to ground herself against the pain. Her stitches burned from all the movement, but she didn't complain.
"He'd be pissed if he heard you talking like that," Bobby muttered after a while.
Ali let out a slow breath. "I know."
She looked at him, and he met her gaze with something that looked a hell of a lot like understanding.
Bobby had lost people too. Probably more than he could count.
"You done here?" he asked after a moment.
Ali hesitated. Then, with one last glance at the grave, she nodded. "Yeah."
Bobby didn't argue. He just turned and headed back to the car.
Ali lingered a second longer before following.
Her body ached as she lowered herself into the passenger seat, exhaustion weighing down on her. Bobby climbed into the driver's side, started the engine, and pulled away from the cemetery.
Ali didn't look back.
The hum of the engine filled the silence between them. The cemetery faded into the distance, swallowed by the night.
Bobby drummed his fingers against the steering wheel before finally breaking the quiet.
"You needed that, didn't you?"
Ali didn't respond. She kept her gaze on the window, watching the trees blur past.
Bobby sighed, like he wasn't expecting her to answer, but asked anyway. "Get what you were looking for? Some kind of closure?"
Closure.
The word felt hollow.
She didn't know what she'd expected to feel, standing over Tyler's ashes. Relief? Peace? Like she could finally let him go?
Because right now, all she felt was tired.
Still, she forced out, "Yeah."
It didn't feel like the truth, but she said it anyway.
Bobby didn't look convinced, but he didn't press. He just made a small, gruff noise in the back of his throat and kept his eyes on the road.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Ali shifted slightly, her body protesting the movement. Her stitches throbbed, but she ignored it.
"…You know, closure ain't always what people think it is," Bobby finally muttered. "Ain't some big, dramatic moment where everything suddenly makes sense." He glanced at her briefly. "Sometimes, it's just taking one step forward, even if it don't feel like much."
Ali swallowed hard, staring at the dashboard.
Maybe he was right. Maybe she'd never get the kind of closure she was looking for.
Maybe there was no such thing.
Bobby didn't wait for a response. He just let the silence settle again as they kept driving, the road stretching ahead of them into the dark.
AN: Let me know what you thought of this chapter and the story so far!
Next up: it's the last chapter of season 3 and we know what that means... :(
