Eleven years ago, in Kate's reality...
"Come on...come on...Goddammit, where is it?" Impatiently, I paced the intersection, anxious to get this over with, and anxious that I'd get caught before it could even happen.
And maybe I was just anxious about being here at all, but let's not go there.
I squinted down the road, trying to distinguish between the shadows and shadowy objects that stood just beyond the feeble glow of the streetlight.
"Well, hello there."
I spun around and found myself not five feet away from a very average looking demon. He wasn't particularly attractive; I mean, he was kinda old, but he did have an aura of confidence swirling about him. Maybe it was the British accent, or maybe it was just because he was a fucking demon facing down a gangly twelve-year-old girl in a deserted crossroad.
Whatever. Confidence or the fact that he was obviously a pompous dick, I didn't care.
I came to make a deal.
I folded my arms in front of my chest, and tried to channel Dean. "I want to make a deal."
The demon's eyebrows raised and his mouth twitched with amusement. "Oh, do you, now? I see. Do your overly emotional brothers know you're here? And how does Daddy Winchester feel about his baby girl making deals with Crossroads Demons?"
I almost chickened out at this point. I could handle my dad being pissed at me, but Dean and Sam? That would send me over the edge.
Which...considering what I was about to do...was really the least of my worries.
"Daddy Winchester isn't the one who summoned you. The deal is with me."
"I see..." I knew he wasn't taking me seriously. An unarmed, awkward pre-teen isn't exactly a serious player in the world of the Supernatural. But desperation was, and demons fed on that for breakfast. Besides, being a Winchester, I knew I'd get his attention.
Being the baby Winchester was a whole other story.
"And what deal would that be, hmmm? You want Daddy to be more loving? Brother Dean to like better music? Sister Sam to just...lay off the fucking whining?" He used this haughty tone, like he was trying to show off how much he knew of my family.
Not impressive. I knew demons read minds, so I wasn't wowed by his supposed knowledge.
I stiffened, and jutted out my chin. "I want to exchange my life for Mary Winchester's."
That stopped him. Don't know everything, do you?
"Well, well, well." He began a lazy swagger, tracing a slow circle around me. I knew he was trying to disorient me, make me spin around to follow him, and possibly get distracted so I'd mess up the terms of the deal.
Not gonna happen, asshole. I know the terms I want.
He toyed with the cufflinks of his tailored suit as he strolled, eyeing me up and down. "That was unexpected." He stopped behind me and leaned close. "I love the unexpected. Makes my parts tingle." He straightened and continued walking. "So. Why?"
"None of your fucking business. Do we have a deal, or not?"
"Oh, hold on, missy." I almost growled at his words - only Bobby gets to call me that. "There's no need to be rude. I would be a very poor role model for the demon youth of today, if I didn't at least get a reason for why you're willing to accept eternity in Hell so a dead woman can replace you in the family you claim to love so much."
I ground my teeth.
He stopped right in front of me, and stared intently into my eyes. All signs of amusement now gone. "So I'll ask again. Why?"
This time, my resolve to stay strong and keep my reasons to myself, faltered. This demon was intimidating, despite my efforts to mimic my father and brother.
I thought of Sam, coming down with what will be a nasty cold, while severely stressing out over some test he had to take at school in two days. He was shutting me out and wanting me to take care of him, his mood changing every five minutes.
I thought of Dean, laid up in bed, twenty stitches in his side from fighting a werewolf. A fever from the wound told us it was infected, but we couldn't take him to a clinic, so Dad was treating it with really old antibiotics and Tylenol. He refused to let anyone be remotely caring towards him - insisting that his flesh wound was just going through an "awkward stage". But when his fever spiked at three this morning, and he was moaning for his mom, I kept cool towels on his face and pretended to be her, just to calm him down.
Then I thought of Dad, who, tonight, went through a six-pack and several shots of whiskey in an attempt to forget what he was doing to his sons, while simultaneously reliving why he did this shit in the first place. There was nothing I could do for Dad, except try to take care of my brothers so he could suffer quietly on his own.
I couldn't fix them. I couldn't make anything better. I felt helpless and useless and pointless.
My lower lip trembled a bit, but I squared my shoulders and met the demon's eyes. "I have my reasons."
"Hmmm..." Right then, I knew, that he knew, everything I was thinking. He read my thoughts. He felt my desperation. He knew I was an easy sale.
I took a deep breath. "So? Do we have a deal or not?"
He looked like he was considering my words. In a soft tone, he asked, "Do you even know what you're signing up for? Do you really understand what you're doing?"
Okay...that stopped me.
Narrowing my eyes at him, I asked, "Why do you care?"
He shrugged and resumed his lazy stroll around me. "I have my reasons," he replied cheekily.
We stared at each other, until he finally stopped pacing and casually put his hands in his pockets. He sighed dramatically. "No deal."
I blinked at him. "Wh - what?"
"I know - I'm as disappointed as you are. But that's the way it is. No deal."
"But...why? I thought you demons wanted souls - I'm willing to give you mine, for an easy price..."
He shrugged again. "I'm sorry, love. It's just not your time to make a deal like this. As much as I'd love, and I mean this sincerely, love, to plant one on your lips and call us square, I can't. So you'll have to return to your posh motel and grunt it out on your own."
I stood rooted to the spot. I was so sure...so sure...that I had the solution. I had figured out how to make them happy, and this sonofabitch wasn't going to let it happen.
Afraid I would start crying right in front of him, I turned on my heels and walked away.
xxxxx
Now...
With a quick snap of his fingers, Crowley disappeared, leaving me in a deserted crossroads, with only a year left to live.
Oh, shit. Ohshitohshitohshitohshit.
He gave me the deal. He gave me the deal I wanted, I must have sweetened the pot by making it one year instead of ten, and now I'm back again in this moment, knowing with clarity, that Mary wasn't needed to make things better.
I would do okay.
But now, I wouldn't get that chance.
She wouldn't get that chance.
Ohshitohshitohshit.
I scrubbed my hands over my face and began the trek back to the motel/apartment building. How the fuck was I going to explain this to Dad?
Guess I didn't think that far ahead last time.
Then again, I guess I didn't have to.
In my mind, I pictured what I was walking back to. I knew Dad was passed out drunk on the couch, a bottle of Jack cradled to his chest like a life preserver. Dean was feverish and in bed, about ready for another dose of pills and a serious bandage change. Sam was asleep in my bed, face first in his history book, drooling on page one hundred forty-five.
I reached the next block and turned the corner, thankful for the familiar neon sign blinking in the distance. The air was crisp and clean, sending goosebumps up and down my arm, so I hugged myself for warmth. There were scattered puddles on the road from a week's worth of rain, and for a second, I felt like stomping in them, just to do it.
Now that I'm faced with the reality of Hell, I needed a way to explain the level of desperation that led me to make a crossroads deal. It never occurred to me that a twelve-year-old was slightly limited in what can be done to positively impact a family situation like ours. That maybe, just maybe, some things needed to be worked out on their own, and eventually, relationships would form, situations would improve.
I'd only been hunting with them for about two years, and at this age, the gap between Dean and I was like a yawning chasm. What eighteen-year-old wants his twelve-year-old sister as a friend? And what fourteen-year-old wants his twelve-year-old sister as a mother?
Crowley said he needed some time to get Mary, but I had no idea how long he'd need.
What if she was already there?
That thought encouraged a quicker pace, which soon morphed into a jog. When I reached the door, I hesitated, key in hand, wondering yet again how I was going to explain all this to Dad. From inside, I heard something thud to the floor.
I guess the Jack wasn't the best teddybear after all.
Sighing, I fit the key in the lock, and went inside, locking and warding the door behind me. I took a moment to look around, taking in the true shittiness of this place compared to Bobby's. I gently placed the key back in the cup on the counter, and went to the living room.
At least this time, I knew my way around.
Sure enough, there was Dad, sprawled on the couch with one arm hanging off the edge. He was half under a blanket, with the now empty bottle of booze laying on the floor, just out of his reach. Shaking my head, I picked it up and arranged the blanket over his entire body, smiling a little at how he burrowed under it, smacking his lips and rolling onto his side.
After setting the bottle in the garbage, I grabbed the med kit and went to Dean, all the while reliving this part of my life.
That year was a rough patch for us. Money was really tight, and still Dad had a hard time choosing between getting a real job for a while and hunting for free. Recognizing that the need to eat was stronger than burning bones for someone else, Dean picked up part-time work when he could, in addition to hunting with Dad. He somehow managed to graduate high school that past spring, and was trying to enjoy being eighteen.
Which, as it turns out, wasn't that enjoyable.
The apartment had only two bedrooms, and it smelled terrible. Normally, Dad took a room and the three of us shared one. For some reason, Dad preferred to sleep on this ratty couch, so the boys had one room, and I the other. Which really turned into Dean in Dad's room, and Sam sharing mine.
I slowly opened Dean's bedroom door. He was in the exact same position I remembered - on his back, hand protectively over his side. Sweat glistened on his face, and he shivered when I felt his forehead, which was still quite warm. I opened the kit, and pulled out the pills. The fucking medicine was so old...but it was all we had.
I shook out two antibiotics, three Tylenol, and got a fresh glass of water. Sitting next to him, I ran my fingers through his hair and down his cheek. "Dean? Hey...you need to take some medicine, okay? Can you wake up for me?"
He grunted and rubbed his eyes. Jesus, he looked so young. One eye peeled open. "Hey..." He croaked. "What...?"
I smiled and held up the pills. "Time to take some meds."
He frowned, struggling with the news. Figuring I'd be helpful, I added, "You have a fever - remember? From the infection in your side?"
He held up one finger, blinking slowly, then nodded. He mumbled something, then motioned for the pills. Dutifully, I handed them over, wanting to slide in bed and let him lean against me for comfort.
But Dean wouldn't do that for another five years. By then, this Kate will be burning in Hell.
Once everything was swallowed, he batted my hands away and sort of rolled over, falling back asleep instantly. Rolling my eyes, I snuck a peek at his injury, noting that no blood had seeped through the bandages.
I smoothed the blankets over him and got another pass through his hair, eliciting a sigh rather than a scolding. Feeling bold, I planted a quick kiss on his forehead, making a face at the sweat that coated his skin and now coated my mouth.
Through the walls, I heard Sam moving around. Reluctantly, I left Dean in search of the drama that awaited me. The way Sam had been acting, you'd think he was possessed. One minute he was fine, the next he was a bitch. I couldn't keep up with his mood swings. The stress from his freshman year, coupled with Dad's training demands and the change in weather were taking their toll on him. He'd been sneezing for a couple days, and just felt run down. I remember him getting so sick, he had to miss three days of school, which to Sam, was a death sentence.
Dad wouldn't let me stay home with him, instead benching Dean to "babysit". Dean didn't mind taking care of Sam, but Sam minded being home, so their relationship deteriorated into cinders by the time I got home from school the first day.
It was weird running through these memories. This was eleven years ago, and with all the time shifting I've been doing, it felt like a million.
I got to my room just in time to watch a restless Sam try to pull his face off a huge book. Chuckling, I helped peel the paper off his cheek (yup - page one-forty-five), closing the book and placing it on the dresser. He actually started to protest, but I was ready for him.
"Shut up, Sam. You need some sleep, and three more words isn't going to make a difference."
He shot me a bleary glare, which may have been intimidating, if it wasn't immediately followed by him sneezing into the blanket.
"Yeah, you're done. Come on...get under the blanket for real." I started straightening the covers, pointedly ignoring his attempts to argue.
"No...Kate, I gotta...gotta - " Sneeze three. "Ugh...I gotta finish that chapter." Punctuate the whining with eye rubbing and a yawn, and presto - you have one teenager who is definitely going to bed.
"No gotta read nothing, Sam. Go to sleep. The book'll still be here in the morning." And hey, maybe your mom will be here, too. So much to look forward to.
He huffed through his congested nose, but made his long, awkward limbs comply and tuck under the blanket, shivering the whole time. These blankets were worn thin, definitely not providing enough warmth for someone about to catch walking pneumonia. I missed the thick ones at Bobby's.
He scooted over and lay down, his brow furrowing as he rubbed it. "Head hurts..."
I felt his forehead - a little warm. Nothing like what it will be. He pressed his head against my hand, prompting me to run my fingers through his hair. "I'll grab some Tylenol, okay? I'll be right back." He nodded and pulled the blanket up to his neck, settling on my pillow.
I grabbed the bottle from Dean's room, and headed back. He gratefully took two, commenting, in between sneezing, that he'd probably only nap a couple hours before getting up to finish his work.
Sure. Whatever makes you feel better, Sam.
Out loud, I said nothing, knowing that he'd sleep through the night, and wake up pissy because I didn't let him finish that chapter.
He tossed and turned while I quickly changed into some sweats. I was about to leave and check outside for, you know, dead mothers returning to life, when Sam gave me one of those looks...with The Eyes. "It's cold...," he mumbled, pathetically sniffling and curling into a ball, eyes still focused on me.
Goddammit...
I sat facing him, wanting nothing more than to sit with him, like I did the last time. But Mary was coming. "I need to do a couple things. Try to sleep, and I'll be back soon, okay?"
He huffed, grabbing my sleeve and tugging me towards him. We stared at each other a moment, and I realized...sick he may be, but he was conscious, and maybe I should tell him what I...she...did.
"Sam..." I started.
He rolled his eyes. and let his hand drop to the bed. "Nevermind. Just...go do whatever you need to do. I'm fine." He rolled onto his side away from me, pulling the blanket over his face.
Oh.
Well.
Fine.
Sighing, I headed back to the front room, peeking through the curtains for any signs of Mary. Dad snored softly on the couch, and occasionally a cough or groan could be heard.
But no Mary.
xxxxx
I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, someone was retching in the bathroom, and sunlight was streaming through the curtains. I was still sitting in a chair by one of the windows, my back stiff and my neck sore. A quick look around the room revealed no Mary, but an empty couch, so I stretched and made my way to the bathroom, where Dad was currently...indisposed.
He glanced up at me before heaving yet again, weakly trying to wave me away.
Sorry, Dad. Not really twelve and I know what to do, here, having done it a hundred times before. I wet a cloth and gently laid it across the back of his neck. Instantly, he settled down, resting his head against his arm. "Hold on - I'll get some water."
I didn't wait for an answer, instead jogging to the kitchen and filling a mostly clean glass with mostly clear water. Dad hadn't moved, and the washcloth was still on his neck.
"Here..." I held out the glass, only to have a hand flapped at me. "At least rinse with it." Pause in hand flapping, then he took it.
There was a sip, a swish, and a spit, followed by actual swallowing. Shaky hands passed the glass back to me, and Dad slowly leaned back against the tub, holding the washcloth in place. I set the glass down, and wet another one. Crouching in front of him, I dabbed at his face, making sure to apply the cold water to his temples and cheeks. His eyes fluttered closed, as he took deep steadying breaths, letting me take care of him.
The puking didn't happen in my life, so this was something new. I was also never this forward in offering help, so this could get interesting. More interesting.
"Better?" I asked.
He nodded, swallowed hard and gesturing for the glass again. Once the water sipping was done, I helped him back to the couch, frowning at the warmth coming off his skin.
"Hey...sit here a sec. I want a temp on you."
Dad grunted as he melted into the corner of the couch. "I'm fine," he ground out through clenched teeth, pulling the tattered blanket over his trembling body.
I scoffed, "Yeah, that's anything but fine. Wait here."
Before he could order me to stand down, I grabbed the med kit from Dean's room and fished out the thermometer. Christ, I hated these glass pieces of shit.
Waving it in front of Dad's face, I sang, "Open uuuuup!"
He considered arguing, but the power of the Open Up song won him over. His mouth twitched, then opened. I deftly stuck the glass rod in his mouth and sat next to him, eyeing the clock for the three minute mark. Dad leaned back, eyes trained on me. I was acting different - more like the me I am now, than the me I was then.
He knew something was up.
I tucked my legs under me and sighed. "Once I get this number, we need to talk."
Up went the eyebrows.
You have no idea.
He nodded at the bedrooms.
"I know - I'll check on them in a minute. We...need to talk first."
The eyebrows pushed higher, and I simultaneously wanted those three minutes to last forever, and hurry the fuck up.
To help pass the time, I fussed with his blanket. My face must have given everything away, because Dad took my hand in his, pulling gently. I lay against him, relishing his arms around me, making that impenetrable John Winchester cocoon that even to this day, I crave from time to time.
At the three minute mark, Dad nudged me and removed the thermometer. We read it together. "Ninety-nine-eight. Looks like you caught Sam's bug."
Dad sniffed and rubbed at his eyes. "It'll be fine. We're holing up here until Dean's back on his feet, so we'll be good when it's time to go."
I nodded, fiddling with the thermometer, looking anywhere but at him.
He shifted a little and cleared his throat, gently prying the thermometer from my hands. "So. What's up?"
There wasn't a good way to say it. I didn't know how much time I had before Mary showed up. The boys were still asleep. If I could do one thing for this Kate, it was break the news to them.
I took a deep breath and just...spit it out. "I went out last night, after you fell asleep."
Dad sat up, the blanket falling to his lap. "You...what?"
I stood and began pacing, rubbing the back of my neck. "Yeah, I've been...*sigh* Look, there's no good way to say this, so..." I paused and looked him straight in the eye. "I made a deal with a crossroads demon, trading my soul for Mary's. She should be here any minute."
I've seen Dad speechless a few times in my life. One was when Sam announced his Stanford plans. Another when Dean decided he wanted to marry Cassie and settle down. A third was when we learned of Adam.
This speechless was more...speechless-y...than anything else. His mouth moved, strangled sputters came out, and his hands flew to his hair.
I held up my own hands in an effort to make him listen. Listen to what, I dunno, because this bombshell would make Stanford look like a picnic. I needed to act like twelve-year-old me, not twenty-three-year-old me. So I poured out all the upset from my tween years to this Dad.
"Listen to me. Look around you. Look at you. We...we can't keep living like this. You're drinking yourself into an early grave because you're so...sad and angry all the time. Dean's got an infection from a werewolf, which is fucked up to begin with, and the only thing he wants is his mom. And Sam...I can't even keep up with him. He needs someone who can care for him and give him that balance he needs."
I couldn't describe the look on Dad's face. The mix of emotions was too much. Let's just say that he was...upset.
"Everyone wants her. Everyone needs...her. I just...I figured that if she were here, you would all be okay. That all this," I made a sweeping motion with my arms around the room, "would get taken care of." I sat next to him. "I thought...no revenge means no...this."
As I said the words, I knew it wasn't true. It was something I could never have known at that age. But it's what drove me to that intersection, without even considering Bobby. Tears slid down my face.
Dad pushed himself off the couch and took over the pacing. He still hadn't said anything. but I knew he wanted to.
"What's going on?" We both jumped at Dean's words, low and raspy, like we got caught doing something we weren't supposed to be doing. He still looked pale, but he was definitely coherent, eyes locked on us as he carefully made his way across the room and into a chair.
"Your sister..." That's as far as he got. Dad choked on the words, and just settled for turning away, hands on his hips.
"My sister...what?" Dean looked from my tear-stained face to Dad's rigid back. "Seriously, what the fuck's going on?"
In a flat tone, I answered, "Made a deal with a demon last night."
Dean laughed. "Yeah, right." He looked to Dad for the punchline, but none came. The smile slid from his face. "Wait...you...what?" He turned back to me, eyes narrowed and assessing for any sign of bullshit.
I couldn't answer him. I did maintain eye contact, but said nothing. Dad spoke instead. "She traded her life for your mom's." He looked over his shoulder at me. "How long?"
I swallowed. "One year."
Dean's eyes ping-ponged between Dad and me, the remaining color draining from his face. "What the fuck? Why would you do that?"
Dad pressed his lips together, scrubbing both hands over his face. "Doesn't matter. We're undoing this deal."
"Dad..." I started.
He whipped around and pointed his finger at me. "Don't you Dad me. I don't even..." He shook his head and held up his hands. "No. We're not discussing this. Not now. I can't...not now. Does Bobby know?"
I shook my head, wiping my eyes as more tears escaped down my cheeks.
"He will in a minute. Pack your stuff. We're going to Sioux Falls to figure this out."
No one moved.
"Now!"
Dean and I jumped, nodding our heads. Dad fumbled in a jacket for his phone, angrily dialing Bobby's number as he walked outside. "Bobby? You won't fucking believe what just happened." The door slammed behind him, leaving Dean and I alone in the living room.
"Kate..." he whispered, taking a step toward me.
I often wondered what would've happened if the deal was actually made. I remember being so pissed and disappointed when Crowley rejected my offer, because I couldn't even complete a demon deal right. How would I really have felt if he accepted? I was more than willing to die for them - these four men (boys) that filled my life.
But this was beyond dying - this was an eternity of Hell.
Here's the thing, though. I'd gladly go to Hell for them. Okay, maybe not gladly, but I'd go. Willingly is probably a better word, right? I'd willingly go. I knew it back then, and I knew it now. That's just how much I loved them.
"Listen to me...Dean...please. I love you, okay? But I'm only twelve, and I can't make anything better for you. Not now, at least, and watching this family train wreck itself is killing me. I made a decision, I stand behind it, for better or worse. It's done. Your mom's coming...I just don't know when or how. But she's coming. And maybe...maybe she can do what I can't."
Dean stood there, shaking his head, Nonononono, reaching out for me. I let him bring me close and hold me tight, remembering how it felt to be this small in Dean Winchester's arms. It wasn't quite like Dad's, but it was close.
"Jesus, Kate..." was all he said.
Behind him, Sam sneezed loudly, announcing his arrival into the mess. WIthout moving, Dean called out, "Go get packed, Sammy. We're going to Bobby's."
"What?! No! We can't go now! I have a major test in two days, and my math teacher said - "
"Sam!" Dean barked, cutting him off. "We...we have to go. You don't under- "
"Naturally, I don't understand. It's always something that you think I won't - "
I pulled away from Dean, giving Sam a sharp look, but speaking quietly. "Not now, Sam. I did something last night, and Dad wants to regroup to figure it out. This isn't about school, and he needs you to just put it aside for a minute. Okay? Please?"
I knew damn well I never spoke like that to Sam when we were kids, so it really stopped him. I could see the gears turning as he looked from Dean's anguished face to mine, still wet with tears. "What happened?" He whispered, but the words rang loudly in my head.
Dean and I exchanged a look, and I opened my mouth to explain this a third time, when the door opened, and in they walked.
Mary looked pretty much like she did in the other realities I visited. How bizarre that was. She was younger, though, which was probably how she looked when she died. Dad had this shocked look on his face, and I chalked this up to the fifth speechless moment in his life.
"Dean?" She whispered, her eyes raking over him like she couldn't believe how much he'd grown. Well, it had been fourteen years.
"Mom?" He whispered, voice trembling to match the whole body shiver that ran through him.
"Mom?!" Sam exclaimed, stepping into the living room and staring, wide-eyed at her. "What the...Dad? What's..."
His voice trailed off as Dean crossed the room in a few steps, crushing his mom to him, and crying like a lost little boy who finally found his way home. Dad was crying as well, watching the embrace with one hand covering his mouth, the other across his stomach. Mary pulled away, holding Dean at arm's length, and checking him over. "You have a fever," was all she said, but the words made Dean laugh and hug her again.
I knew right then, it was worth it. It was worth it, to see this, and to know it was real.
Sam spun me around to face him. "Did you do this? Did you do something to bring her back?"
I nodded, managing a small, sad smile.
The look on Sam's face was thunderous. "You - "
"Sammy? Is that really you?" Mary called out, and I wanted to kiss her myself for interrupting that lecture.
His head whipped around at her voice, speaking directly to him, and not in a dream. This woman he never knew, was the sole reason his life was in the crapper. Her death started a chain of events that led us to this very moment. I wasn't with Sam when he was really little, but Dean told me stories of how hard it was getting Sam to accept her absence, when all the other kids had moms and homes and normal things.
"Uhm...hey...Mom?" That's my Stanford-bound eloquent brother.
"Oh my God, look at you. So handsome, and shit...tall!" She laughed, placing a hand on his cheek. "I can't believe it!"
"That makes two of us," he stammered, making her laugh harder as she hugged him.
I stepped back, risking a peek at Dad. He was enjoying the reunion - I could see it. It looked like a weight was lifted from his shoulders, making breathing and living a lot easier.
Then he caught my eye. And the haunted look returned.
Shaking my head at him, I smiled, nodding at Mary. This is good. It'll be okay.
The awkward moment came when Mary turned to me. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, holding up one hand in a feeble Heyyyy gesture. I'd met Mary twice in this spell-shifting escapade. Each time, Kate was established in her life, and it was just me who had to adjust to what was (that) reality.
This here? This was the initial meeting, and I found myself facing a myriad of emotions I didn't expect. I wanted this - right? I traded my soul for this. Right? Because I couldn't do what I knew (or felt) she could.
Right?
So why did I feel threatened, like she was taking away the things I loved most? Why was I jealous? Why did I feel...regret?
At least those were my feelings, and not this Kate's. Maybe she'd feel differently. There was no way to know - my reactions were tainted with eleven more years with my family, and there wasn't a way to discount them.
Going for smooth, I said, "Hi...I'm...um...Kate. And...not really related to you at all, except maybe as a sort of step-daughter thing. But my mom's probably dead or something, and really not a winner anyway, so it's not like there's competition or anything with Dad, so." Everyone fell silent at the complete idiocracy of my words. Unable to stop, I kept going. "Yeah, and I'm super excited to meet you, finally, and it's...nice to have you here." Even though it means I'm going to Hell.
Oh, my God. What the fuck did I just say?
Mary blinked, eyes full of amusement, and glanced at Dad before smiling at me. "It's nice to meet you, Kate. I guess I have you to thank for my being here, but..."
I shrugged. "It's complicated. I know. Everything usually is."
Again, silence. Even from Sam. Then Mary cupped my cheek in her hand, and gave me a hug. In my ear, she whispered, "We'll sort it out, okay? We will."
Swallowing hard, I hugged her back, and nodded.
xxxxx
Now understanding the need to head to Bobby's, Sam packed his shit without further comment. I'm assuming that Dean filled Sam in on why his mother suddenly returned from the dead, because Sam stopped asking what was going on. I returned to our bedroom after dumping a couple bags in the car, and found Sam sitting on the edge of our bed, hands clutching some Kleenex, eyes trained on the floor.
"Hey...you okay?" I walked over and felt his forehead, not really waiting for a response because the question was ridiculous. "I'll get you more Tylenol for that fever. It's a long ride to Bobby's, so you can just sleep in the car." I turned to go, when he grabbed my hand, pulling me down on the bed next to him.
"How can you act like nothing's going on?" His tone was accusatory, but there was no real heat in his words.
I brushed the hair off his face and gave him a half-smile. "Even with everything going on, you still have a fever, you still need some medicine, and you still need some rest. That doesn't change just because - "
"Just because you're going to Hell in a year." He dropped my hand and shook his head, eyes back on the floor.
"Sam..."
"I can't lose you. How could you not know that?" He used the same broken tone when Jess died. "I don't...I don't know her. How could you think she's better than you?"
I sighed, clenching my jaw against the tears threatening to fall. Not wanting to argue, I rested my chin on his shoulder, and lightly scratched the back of his head. "Let's talk about it later, okay? Right now, let's get you medicine, finish packing, and get on the road. There's plenty of time to -"
Sam let out a derisive laugh. "Three hundred sixty-four days. Not a minute more." He stood and shouldered his bag, taking a couple steps away, before dropping the bag to the floor and engulfing me in a giant Sam-hug. "We'll get you out of it. Somehow. Dad and Bobby'll figure it out." He pressed his forehead to mine, then left the room.
After wiping my eyes dry for the hundredth time, I scooped up Bear and a novel I was reading and headed into the hallway. Dean was just coming out of his room, wincing as he pulled his shirt down. Mary's voice sounded behind him. "Get some Tylenol - the new stitches will hurt for a while."
He nodded, glancing at me with eyes full of guilt, before heading towards the kitchen.
Already she was making a difference.
Wait...how did she know how to stitch a wound?
I passed by his room just as she snapped the med kit closed. "Hey there...got everything?" She smiled at me, in that Mom way, and while the bile rose at the thought of leaving them, my heart warmed knowing she was there.
"Yeah, I think so." I waggled Bear at her. "This was the last of my stuff."
Mary nodded and hefted the kit. "Okay...I guess it's time to meet this Bobby."
Grinning, I followed her towards the kitchen. "You'll like him. He's basically a teddy bear in a baseball cap."
"Who can plug a Black Dog from a hundred feet away," Dean chimed in from his seat at the table. He looked like he just ran a mile, pale and sweating, face pinched with pain.
Mary's eyebrows rose. "Hundred feet? That's impressive. Your grandfather could only do seventy-eight."
Dad poked his head through the doorway. "Everyone ready?"
Okay, hold the train. Dean was apparently too out of it to process what I just heard.
Mary knew about hunting.
Oh...oh, this keeps getting better. Did the Mary from my reality hunt, too? Was this just another deviation, or was I learning things my own father didn't know?
Mary caught me staring at her, eyes flickering to Dad real quick, knowing that she blundered. She gave me a small shake of her head, telling me we'd talk later. I didn't know if we would or not, but I nodded back and we all piled into the car.
Being the smallest, I sat in the middle, trying to give as much room to my grown and still growing brothers. I figured they'd prop themselves against the doors, and sleep the whole way there.
Instead, I became a human pillow for Sam, curled in a ball with his face in my neck, the occasional sneeze or sniffle muffled against my shoulder. Dean tried to stretch out as much as possible, his long legs entwined with mine, one hand twisted in my sleeve. Both passed out within minutes, succumbing to the effects of Tylenol.
Mary sat in the front with Dad, alternating between holding his hand and resting her head on his shoulder. Dad kept one hand near her at all times, like Dean did with me, probably afraid this was a really bad dream.
Welcome to my life.
Now that it was quiet, and there was some down time between emotional conversations, I had time to process how the fuck I was going to face Bobby.
I made this decision with only the Winchesters in mind. Bobby hadn't even entered the equation, and the guilt was starting to gnaw at my insides. Despite my attachment to my father, Bobby was...Bobby was my dad. He didn't get a trade out of my deal. He just got a loss.
Way to go, Kate.
I hunkered down, holding Sam close and running my thumb along Dean's arm. I began hoping like mad for another shift. This Kate shouldn't be missing a single minute with her family. The clock wasn't going to wait for her return.
xxxxx
I stayed awake almost the entire drive, listening to Dad and Mary's voices, although I couldn't make out the words over the Impala's engine. It was weird enough hearing Dad speak softly, and be answered by a female's voice...that wasn't mine.
My eyelids did start fluttering closed when we hit the South Dakota state line. I figured a nap would probably be a good idea, since dealing with Bobby was going to be draining. The engine's rumble, the Winchester lullaby, cajoled me into resting my head against Sam's and closing my eyes.
Dean stretched, his knee jabbing me in my side, sharp and painful. It caught me off guard, making me jump a little, and my head knocked against Sam's. The second time happened after I had just fallen asleep, so the jolt back to consciousness left me a tad on the cranky side.
"Christ, Dean, knock it off!" I shoved at him, not remembering his stitches, until my hands latched onto something sticky and wet.
And...furry...?
My eyes snapped open, just as a gunshot rang out, killing the Black Dog that was mere inches from my face.
Cue the adrenaline rush.
"Kate? Hey! Kate!! You with me?"
I tore my eyes off the dog, and jumped again as adult Sam's face loomed in front of mine, worried and frantic, hands roaming and checking for injuries. "Goddammit, he got your side...Jesus, that's nasty. Okay...it'll take a while, but I can stitch it shut. How's your head? I swear I heard a crack when you hit the tree." Gentle hands prodded the back of my head, which was spinning uncontrollably, both from the scenery change and the pain.
"Sam..." I mumbled, struggling for control and trying to understand what just happened.
"You gonna hurl?"
Oooh, that was a definite possibility.
Which became more definite and less possible ten seconds later.
"Whoa...okay, hold on..." He held my head as I threw up all over the dead dog, thinking Ha - that's what you get, bitch.
A bottle of water appeared at my lips, and I took a small sip, glad to rinse the taste out of my mouth. Sam pushed the hair off my face, and chuckled. "You called the dog, Dean. I'm so telling him when we visit tomorrow." He shook out a bandana and pressed it against my side. "C'mon - let's get back to the motel and patch you up. Can't let him see you like this."
Figuring the whack on my head would excuse stupid questions, I simply asked, "Where is he?"
Sam hoisted me up, wrapping an arm around my shoulders to keep me standing. "Studying engineering at Stanford - remember? Wait...do you remember?" He moved in front of me, bending down to look into my eyes. "Fuck - we'll do a concussion check once you're in bed. Come on, Kat, wait in the Impala while I burn the dog."