One Year Later (Part II): Pie

You beam at him, your eyes warm with tears. “Hi, Sam.”

His eyes go wide. “Wait, why... why are you here?”

“No, no,” you assure him. “No business. Just ... a hello.”

Relief washes over his face as he relaxes his posture. He clears his throat and walks toward you, stopping by his chair. “It’s been a while. How are you?”

“I’m good,” you nod. “I finally have a purpose, you know? Doing something important. Taking care of people.”

“That’s... that’s a pretty big responsibility. But... what about the rest of your life?”

You shrug. “This is more important.”

An awkward quiet snakes into the room and his eyes drop to the laptop. “Was that you, then, just a few minutes ago?”

“Yes,” you chuckle. “I didn’t know if I should... if you guys would want to see me.”

Sam gives you that what-are-you-talking-about face and says, “Always.” After another awkward silence, he says, “You left in the middle of the night.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, glancing down at the computer. Heat creeps into your cheeks. Things were a lot more uncertain then.

“Can you stay?” His voice breaks at the end.

When you look up, you’re caught in his puppy dog eyes. “Just a little while.”

He shifts awkwardly and stops. “Can... if I hug you, will I...?”

A chortle escapes as you smile and shake your head. “No, thank God. I don’t kill everything I touch.”

His smile spreads as he closes the space between you and wraps you in his arms. It’s nice to be back in Sam’s protective embrace and reminds you of those nights you spent sleeping by him. Part of you longs for that again.

“Wow.” The gruff voice breaks you out of Sam’s hold.

“Dean,” you say. You open your mouth but suddenly you can’t remember what to say.

“What... what are you doing here?” His eyes dart from you to Sam and back again, demanding an explanation.

“She just came to say hi,” Sam says for you. Sam always takes care of you. “That’s all.”

You stand still, your hands clasped in front of you, watching Dean’s face as your heart plays a drum solo in your ears. You don’t know what you were expecting, but you weren’t prepared for the rush of emotion that engulfs you as his eyes pierce you from the doorway. “I’m sorry. I should go.”

Sam shoots a look at Dean. “We were just going out, but... we can stay in. We’ll catch up, get something to eat. ... Do you eat?” Sam asks you.

You smile shyly. “Yes. I eat.” Not that you need to, but it’s comforting to remember what it was like to be human. You steal a glance at Dean who hasn’t said another word or moved from the doorway. Suddenly, he strides past you both and heads for the stairs.

“Dean,” Sam calls after him.

“I’m going out, Sam. With or without you.” He takes the stairs two at a time and is out the door in a flash without looking back.

Bracing yourself against the onset of tears, you force a smile. “It’s okay. He never liked me all that much anyway.” Oh, how those words hurt.

Sam realizes that the Bunker is a complicated place for you, so he offers to take you somewhere. He has a car outside, a 1973 Mercury Cougar in the ugliest mustard yellow you’ve ever laid eyes on. “New car?” you ask when you see it, trying to hide your laugh.

“Hey now. Don’t make fun of my wheels,” he pokes back, opening your door for you. The Impala is long gone by now, but the exaggerated tire marks in the gravel look fresh.

He takes you to a small country diner off the highway. You order a slice of pie but only eat half before you lose interest in it. A vintage tabletop jukebox spits out old twangy songs on your command as you’re swept up in Sam’s recount of the last twelve months’ hunts and monsters. You compare cases and find that you share quite a few, you showing up without the Winchesters knowing to take care of any souls that happened to need departing. You made sure Billie kept the details from you concerning the hows and whys certain curious deaths came to pass because you didn’t want to get caught up chasing after Sam and Dean. You didn’t trust yourself to be able to resist them.

“I’ve been doing some reading,” Sam says, his fingers absently stroking the white coffee cup on the table in front of him. “I think there’s a way you can come back. Stick around... if you wanted to. I mean, I can’t be sure because I can’t find any record that this has ever happened before... I mean, it’s not like when the other Angels take over a vessel.”

“Sam...”

“No, just listen. I know that things... I mean it wasn’t like we all knew each other our whole lives or anything but... if there was a chance, wouldn’t you want to take it?”

“Chance for what?”

Sam’s smile fades as quickly as it appeared. “I just... I feel like maybe you and me... I mean we could have...” His cell phone starts singing from his jacket pocket. He reaches for it and creases his forehead. “What the hell?” Answering the call with a huff, he says, “What?”

Saved by the bell, Crowley pushes into your mind, and suddenly he’s beside you in the booth grinning like a schoolboy plotting a prank on his teacher.

Sam lowers his eyebrows and slides his phone back inside his jacket.

“You can put the pitchfork away,” Crowley says to him. “I thought you might like to know your dear brother is about to get himself into a bucket of trouble and he’s too bull-headed to listen to me.”

“Dean?” you say. “What’s wrong with Dean?”

“Where’s Dean?” Sam’s lip curls.

Suddenly, over Sam’s shoulder, Billie appears with a grave look on her face. “Boss... you need to come with me.”

Crowley rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically. “I’d say he’s drunk, but I’ve seen Dean Winchester drunk, and he hasn’t had nearly the amount required to get there.”

Sam catches the direction of your gaze and looks over his shoulder, but he can’t see Billie. “What? What do you see?”

Your eyes drop to Sam’s face. “We have to go. Now.” You reach across the table and grip his hand.