The Runt of the Litter

The Monster Resembling You

But when she saw Sam standing there, looking for all the world like a shell of the man he'd been this morning, her face went white. Her fingers, her toes, everything cold. Her eyes welled. "He's not-"

Sam didn't say anything. But he gave the slightest shake of his head, and Anna followed suit, curls flying messy around her head as she shook her head once, twice, three times and kept going, more frantic. It wasn't an answer, but a denial. A resounding one.

She covered her face with her hands because there were just way too many tears she wasn't in control of pouring down over her cheeks and off her chin, and it didn't make sense. It didn't make sense. Maybe other people could be fine one minute and dead the next. But not Dean. Not Dean.

Not Dean.

They spent an indeterminable amount of time in the office, and Sam held onto her even tighter than Dean had this morning. Anna spent the whole time trying to make herself stop bawling like an idiot. But it was hopeless. The pain was just too big to fit inside her.

()()()

When they got back, she walked masochistically to Dean's room.

Sam was right behind her, trying to tell her not to do it to herself. She ignored him.

But she didn't do it to herself either, because when she opened the door, the bed was empty.

Her eyes burning red inside and out, Anna stepped carefully into the room. "I don't-" She turned on Sam with a rage he didn't deserve. "Where is he?" she demanded.

"I don't- He was here," Sam said in quiet confusion. His eyes were similarly red-ringed and bloodshot. They looked more similar than they ever had and it was all for their identical pain.

"Does this mean he's-"

"Anna, don't," he begged. It didn't even seem to be for her this time, asking her not to get her hopes up. He couldn't get his own hopes up.

She looked at Sam, and the years between them didn't seem to be there anymore. They were even, just this once. So she met his eyes and tried to look strong for him. The strength wasn't there, but the effort was.

Sam stepped around her, and she watched as he lifted a small scrap of paper off Dean's bed. "What is it?" she asked urgently and practically dashed the short distance to lean over his arm. The note was simple, and it drilled a hole into each of their heads. "Let me go?" Anna read indignantly. She didn't even let herself think about the fact that the note had been addressed, Sammy, not meant for her. "Let me go? What- Does that mean he's alive? How can he be alive? We have to find him! Sam-!"

With a surprisingly sharp look, Sam put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Anna figured it was the kindest version of shut up he could come up with, but she still had no patience for it. She wanted answers, she wanted a plan, and she wanted action. She wanted Dean.

"We are not doing anything," Sam said imperiously. "I am gonna figure out where he is, and I'm gonna bring him back. The last thing Dean would want is me bringing you into this."

"Are you kidding me?" Anna growled when Sam moved her past her into the hallway. She followed him with determination, her footsteps loud, her arms spread in frustration. "You have no clue what happened. This is all hands on deck." She started jogging when Sam's obnoxiously long legs had the distance between them widening. "He's my brother too!" she shouted when she finally reached his side again.

Sam turned with a tired look on his face, but his voice sounded more gentle than weary. "No one's disputing that, Anna. Trust me. I would never."

"Then let me help," she pleaded.