Hi there everyone. I know it's been a hot minute since I posted a chapter. I could give you the typical I'm in college and school is tough and all that nonsense and even though it is true it doesn't make it any better that I left you guys hanging. So I just wanted to say that I'm sorry about that. Also happy New Year!

So in this chapter I have to put in a TRIGGER WARNING. There is self harm in this chapter. I know that many people suffer from depressionand anxietyas I do. Writing helps a lot with that and as any good writer, I write what I know. I tried not to go too in depth about it.

Anyway, I hope you like it. Your comments and reviews always warm my heart. Thank you to everyone who reads this. TrulyI don't deserve you all.

I don't own Supernatural just Lou!

XOXO Melody.

Lou's POV

We arrived in Colorado the next day, not stopping at all. Dean let me drive the whole way, but he drew the line when I wanted to play something made in my lifetime on the radio.

We pulled up to the Two Rivers Hotel off Route 34 in Colorado. Sam was asleep most of the way which was probably good. He didn't look like the bright eyed and bushy tailed giant I had grown up around.

I woke Sam up as Dean got out to open the door for me. Weird but nice. I noticed as I got out of the car that the "O" in the sign was flickering, and to my happy surprise the hotel was actually a stone building with fire escapes. I loved a good fire escape. Just the idea of them. If I ever actually had to use one because the building was on fire, I am pretty sure I'd die.

We all walked in to see the lobby had a bar in it, with no bartender and dust on all the glasses and the seats. The lobby itself was completely deserted.

"Nice place," Dean commented sarcastically. I flashed him a look of agreement. We looked around a little more, slot machines where everywhere and running but there was dust collecting on them. It must have cost a lot of money to have them running with no one playing them. We made our way to the front desk and Dean rang the bell twice and then a Native American man with long hair came out and stood on his side of the desk. "Morning. Hi. Uh, we'd like a room," Dean tried. The manager guy just looked at us all with that same blank stare he had when he first came out. "Here, please," Dean continued tapping on the desk.

I leaned on my elbows on the check in desk looking casually at Dean. He hadn't slept at all on the trip here, I think to make sure I didn't crash the Impala. That only happened once, and he never let me forget it.

I smiled as Dean looked over at me and shrugged his "what the fuck" shrug and the manager silently placed a sign in book in front of Dean. Then I remembered why we were here. Kevin was dead. If I hadn't been useless those few weeks, I might have been able to help the boys, Kevin might still be alive. Even though I knew Sam and Dean would argue, I still couldn't help but feel like Kevin's death was my fault.

Dean was signing us in, Ted Nugent (I rolled my eyes at this), when Sam, who had wandered a little bit away asked, "Did you hear that?" I looked at him, and it looked like he was developing dark circles under his eyes. I should be taking better care of him. Dean doesn't really know how to deal with a sick Sam, not to mention he can be a little overbearing. God, I was failing him, like I failed Kevin.

"Hear what?" I asked but he didn't answer me, he just shook his head and turned back around.

"He has the flu," Dean explained to the still mute manager.

The manger just scowled at us and handed Dean a key. I took it instead. "I'll take Sam to the room, you grab our bags." Dean raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he headed back outside to grab our bags. I placed a hand on Sam's back to get his attention and led him to an elevator. We made our way somewhat slowly to our room on the second floor. It was so quiet that the ding of the elevator sounded like a gunshot going off.

Sam found a bed and flopped down on it unceremoniously when we got into the room. I went to the bathroom to get him a glass of water. He was going to be fine, I kept telling myself. But he didn't look fine he looked like he was really sick. I placed the glass of water on his nightstand and sat on the other bed, just looking at him.

I went back into the bathroom with the purse I only ever carry when I get like this. It's nothing special just a canvas bucket bag that tangles itself up sometimes, but it does what it's meant to do. I sat down on the edge of the bathtub and fumbled to get the bag open when I heard Dean come in.

"Regular tourist mecca we got here. We're the only guests in this whole place. Last entry in the registry was in '06." I ran out of the bathroom to see Dean setting the bags down. "Since when do you carry a purse?" He pointed at the bag I held tight in my hand. He took a seat on the empty bed next to Sam.

I didn't have to answer because Sam started talking. "Hey, you remember when uh... when Dad took us to the bottom of the Grand Canyon, on that pack-mule ride?" I raised an eyebrow, feeling the color go from my face.

Dean seemed torn between talking to me and trying to figure out the hell Sam was talking about. "The what?"

Sam just continued on like he was drunk or high or really really out of it. "And you're, uh... your mule kept farting, just— l-letting go, like, gale force?" If he wasn't acting so weird and out of character it would have been funny, but unfortunately all I could feel was fear and panic that he wasn't going to get better and it was my fault. I should have done more, I should have been the one to do the trials. I was the most expendable part of the team and everyone knew it.

"Dude, you were like, four years old. I barely remember that." Dean seemed more annoyed then concerned but I knew that was just how he hid his real feelings.

Sam just laughed and closed his eyes. "You rode a farty donkey."

Dean looked back at me but I could tell he wasn't really looking at me. He was trying to figure things out in his head. "Okay. Uh, I'm gonna go check out the Two Rivers Tribal Museum and Trading Post." He pointed his thumb at the door behind him and I just nodded. He stood up to leave.

"Yeah. Yeah!" Sam agreed, sitting up in the bed and running a hand down his face trying to regain his composure. "I'm gonna— I'm gonna, uh. I'm gonna follow the hotel manager, Dr. Scowley-scowl. He's like a villain from Scooby-Doo." There goes his composure.

"No, hey, uh, little big man?" Dean put a hand on Sam's shoulder and Sam looked up at Dean with a crazed look on his face. "You should get some rest."

Sam nodded slightly. "Yeah I could do that too." Then he fell back on the bed and seemed to fall right asleep.

I still hadn't moved from my spot. Dean looked at me and paused. "Can you make sure he doesn't wander?" He seemed so concerned. The concern was because of me. Because last time he gave me the simple task of watching his brother, the person he loves most in this world, I dropped the ball and Sam ran out.

"Yeah," I croaked. I cleared my throat. "Yeah, you go. I've got this." I could feel the panic edging it's way towards the surface. If he didn't walk out that door soon I was going to break in front of him and I don't think I could handle it if he saw me like that.

He nodded. "Okay." And then he turned and walked out the door. As soon as the door closed I ran into the bathroom and broke down. I couldn't breath. I needed it. I just really needed it. I took my bag and sat down in the bathtub, the cold porcelain barely registering.

Dean's POV

There was something going on with Lou. When I walked into the room she was all twitchy and hiding something. I hadn't seen her with a purse, ever, but whatever, chick stuff I guess. Maybe it was her time of the month or something.

I walked into the Two Rivers Tribal Museum and Trading Post and saw an older Indian guy with two braids in his hair.

"Hey uh, you work here?" I asked him as I walked in. I didn't really look at him, just around the "Museum" it was more like a mix between a gift shop and household decorations.

"Yes. Is there anything I can help you with?" The man asked. He spoke perfect English. The kind of bullshit English you got taught in high school or whatever. Not my glass of whiskey that's for sure.

"Yeah, uh, I was wondering what you could tell me about the Two Rivers Tribe. I'm writing an article about Original Settlers of the United States." I sounded like Sammy when I said shit like that but people just ate it up.

I picked up what looked like a hand carved wooden knife as the clerk began talking. "The people of the Two Rivers tribe came to this land centuries ago." I was still walking around looking at all the stuff in the shop, he paused so I looked at him. "A land that was harsh, and stony. But the mighty leader told his people that they must stay here. He claimed that this was the home on Earth of the great spirit's sacred messenger, and that if they'd make offerings, their blessings would be many."

That sounded like witchcraft or demons or some shit like that. "What were the offerings?" I asked him. My guess, virgins.

"Huh?" The clerk acted like he didn't understand the question.

I clarified, "Uh, what did the great spirit's sacred messenger ask for?" I gestured with my hands subconsciously, not believing in this "sacred messenger" bull. I wandered over to another wall of stuff and looked at it.

"Stories," the man said. I looked at a picture. Something about it caught my eye. "He asked the people to tell him stories." Then I figured it out. One of the guys in the old ass picture was the creepy non talking hotel manager that check us in.

"I bet I know what the blessings were."

Lou's POV

I had stripped off my clothes. The jean shorts, the grey tank top, Dean's red flannel, all ended up on the floor of the bathroom. I was sitting in my underwear on the edge of the bathtub, a razorblade in my hand.

I wasn't quite sure how much time had passed, but the thoughts wouldn't go away. Nothing would stop. No matter how many times I made lines across my upper arms, my stomach, my upper thighs, nothing ever stopped. It never stopped. I needed everything to stop!

Kevin was dead and it was my fault! Sam was sick and it was my fault! Hell even Dean hated me. I wasn't pretty or easy or experienced or fun or funny or chesty or perfect. God, I should have never let Sam drag him away from Lisa! I screw everything up! Bobby is even dead because I was a moron about Dick Roman!

Everyone around me keeps dying! It's my fault! I'm cursed or something! I should have left the boys a long time ago. They would be better off without having to drag my deadweight around. If I weren't such a fucking coward I could do it, but no I had to drag everyone else into my mess of a life!

And I couldn't even handle it right. What the hell was I doing? Feeling sorry for myself in some gross bathroom? Bleeding all over the linoleum? What kind of person freaking does that? I was pathetic. Pathetic and useless. I'd all be easier if I was just dead. Dead and gone. Fucking pathetic. Useless. Horrible. What the hell was wrong with me? Broken. Broken. Broken! Broken!

The sound of a slamming door jolted me out of my own head. It also scared me so much I pushed harder on the blade and cut deeper into my thigh then I had meant to. The pain was instant. I could see white for a little bit in the deep cut on my right thigh. Then little by little, droplets of blood formed and filled the gash, spilling over the sides and running down and around my thigh. God that was deep.

"Dean?" I called, wondering if he was back. There was no answer. "Sam?" Still nothing. "Fuck!" I cursed myself. My pathetic ass couldn't even keep it together long enough to make sure a friendly drunk giant baby didn't wander off? Useless!

There was no time to do anything other than suck it up and pull on my tank top and my shorts. Blood smeared onto the clothes, soaking through the fabric in some places but that wasn't the problem right now.

I raced out of the bathroom, out of the hotel room, and after Sam. How could I lose him? How?

Dean's POV

My phone rang. The caller I.D. said it was Sammy. What the hell was he doing up? "Sam?" I asked, but there was no answer. "Sam!" I yelled but there was nothing.

I was already close to the hotel room so I raced over there. "Where the hell is Lou?" I cursed under my breath. I opened the door to see Sam laying on the floor, no Lou in sight. I grabbed the thermometer from my bag and stuck it in Sam's mouth, slapping him gently, sorta, to try to get him to come to. I pulled the thing out of his mouth. "Son of a bitch!" 107℉! I ran out to the ice machine that was close and grabbed as much as I could. I made two trips total, dumping the ice into the bathtub. There was blood everywhere. Why was there blood everywhere? My flannel, the one Lou was wearing, was tossed on the floor. I couldn't worry about that. I turned on the cold water and let the tub fill up.

I ran over to Sam and heaved him into the ice bath. "Come on Sammy! Come on!"

Finally the kid opened his eyes and pushed at my arms. "Get off!" He scrambled out of the tub, his teeth chattering so hard he could have broken a tooth. He was moving too fast. I was worried he'd pass out again.

"Take it easy, Sam. Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa, take it easy, take it…" Sam wasn't really listening, sucking in breath and shivering. He looked like a giant wet dog. God it was fucking scary. I reached behind me for a towel and wrapped it around his shoulders. "Found you on the floor, passed out, your temperature was a 107. I had to force it down or you were toast," I explained to him.

The kid still wasn't listening to me. Awesome. He sucked in a quick breath. "He's here, Dean. Metatron is here, I know it, I can hear him."

"What're you talking about?"

"All I know is that I'm connected to it somehow."

"What, like you got a link to him, like a prophet?" I raised my eyebrows in suspicion. It would be just out luck if my baby brother turned out to be a prophet on top of every-freaking-thing else.

"I don't know! I just know he's here. Metatron is here."

"Okay, 'here' where?" I asked. He seemed sure.

"I can show you." He sucked in another shallow breath. "I can show you. The manager. He was delivering books to him." He was looking around like some wild man.

"Books?" What the hell was he talking about? This must have been the fever.

"Books. Hardcovers, paperbacks, novels—books!" He explained.

Then it all clicked into place. They weren't just books. "Stories."

Sam looked around again. "Where's Lou?" I was wondering the same thing. Maybe she took off. Maybe she took that week long break she was talking about. I didn't freaking know. All I knew is she bailed and Sam could've died!

"I don't know." Sam's temperature was already rising. He stopped shivering and his hair was drying. God he was burning up. I ran a hand through my hair. I couldn't focus. Not with Sam being sick and Lou being M.I.A. Not to mention all the freaking blood on the floor of the bathroom. None of this made sense. "You finish drying off, I'll give her a call." Sam just nodded and left the bathroom.

I took my phone out of my pocket and dialed Lou's number. It rang twice then, "Dean? Oh my gosh, Sam, I lost Sam. I've been looking all over the hotel, going floor to floor, just looking for him and I can't find him anywhere." She sounded panicked and frail like she'd been crying.

"Yeah?" I couldn't hide the anger in my voice. "Well I did find him, passed out and dying on the floor of the freaking hotel room!"

"Is he okay?" She asked. I could hear her voice shaking.

I kicked the bathtub. "Damn it Lou you had one freaking job. Keep my baby brother from wandering off and you couldn't even manage that," I yelled into the phone.

Her voice came through quiet and shaking. "I know, I'm sorry. I'm headed to you guys now."

I shook my head. "Don't bother. We are going to look for Metatron. Sam thinks he's here. I'll text you when we find him." I hung up then, fumming. Sam could have freaking died.

I walked out of the bathroom. Sam had thrown on some dry clothes and his hair was already dry. I frowned at this. It meant he was still throwing off heat waves.

"Come on let's go." I lead the way out of the door. "I should be taking you to the ER." I told him. He grabbed at the door and hugged the wall to keep vertical. Man I really should've taken him to the ER.

"They can't do anything for me." I followed him as he turned a corner on shaky legs. "You know, I've been remembering things, little things, so clearly—"

"What, donkey rides?" I asked curtly.

He ignored me. "You used to read to me, um, when I was little, I— I mean, really little, from that" I looked at him, he stumbled a bit and I put an arm out incase he was gonna collapse on me again. But he just kept going, "— from that old, uh... Classics Illustrated comic book. You remember that?" What the hell was he talking about? How the hell could he remember that shit?

"No."

"Knights of the Round Table." I rolled my eyes. "Had all of King Arthur's knights, and they were all on the quest for the Holy Grail. And I remember looking at this picture of Sir Galahad, and, and," He left the wall and blocked my path, turning to face me, "and he was kneeling, and— and light streaming over his face, and— I remember... thinking, uh, I could never go on a quest like that." What the hell was he going on about? "Because I'm not clean." I had to stop myself from yelling at him then. Clean? God I hated Azazel so freaking much. "I mean, I w— I was just a little kid. You think... maybe I knew? I mean, deep down, that— I had... demon blood in me, and about the evil of it, and that I'm— wasn't pure?"

I had to pick my words carefully. "Sam, it's not your fault." I had a hard time looking him in the eye.

"It doesn't matter anymore. Because these trials… they're purifying me." He looked so damaged as he turned and continued down the hall. WHat the hell was I supposed to say to some wack-a-doo shit like that?

We made it to the elevators at the end of the hallway. "They were here, the— the— the books, the boxes! They— they're gone." I looked at the door. It was cracked slightly.

I texted Lou to meet us at room 366 and then I pushed the door open, it creaked slightly and we walked in. The whole hotel room was filled with stacks of books taller than I was and wide as Baby. It was crazy how many books were in here. This was clearly a room of a man that never got laid.

We continued to make our way through the maze of books, I heard the gun cock before I saw it. I put an arm up to stop Sam from moving forward and anther arm between me and the old guy in the freaking cardigan aiming a double barrel shotgun at us.

"Who are you?" The guy asked, the barrel of the gun still trained on me.

"Metatron?" I asked my hands up in defence. "This is Metatron?" He didn't look like a freaking all powerful scribe of God. I looked at Sam. "This is Metatron?" I couldn't believe it.

"Sit down." Suddenly the little guy was behind us, pointing the gun still at me. Freaking angels! I backed up, putting myself between the gun and Sam. We sat in the chairs behind us. "Who sent you?"

Sam groaned in the chair next to me. "We came on our own. We're the Winchesters." The kid was holding his ear and nearly shouting.

I took over. "I'm Dean, this is Sam," I explained, motioning to us.

"You work for Michael? Or Lucifer?" Metatron asked. What? How could he not know about Michael and Lucifer and the freakin' apocalypse?

Before I could speak Sam yelled, "What, you really haven't heard of us? What kind of angel are you, we're— we're the freaking Winchesters." I shrugged agreeing with him.

I explained with the gun still trained on me. I felt more comfortable with it aimed at me then it aimed at Sam anyway. "Michael and Lucifer? T-those— those dudes are in the deep fryer."

"Yeah. We put them there ourselves." Sam added holding both of his ears now.

"What about Gabriel? And Raphael?" Metatron asked.

Sam shook his head. "Dead."

"You really don't know this?" It seemed nearly impossible that an angel wouldn't know this.

He shook his head. "I've been very careful."

Before I could ask any more Sam shouted, "Hey, can you— can you turn that down?" I looked at him. What was he talking about?

"Turn what dow— oh. You're resonating." Metatron said, looking like he just figured something out. He lowered the rifle.

I would have been relieved if I wasn't concerned. Resonating didn't sound good. "Resonating? What— what do you mean, resonating?"

"You've undertaken the trials." It wasn't really a question. "You're trying to pull one of the great levers, aren't you?" I swallowed a lump in my throat. "You're pretty far along, too. You get that far along, you start resonating with the Word. Or with its source on the material plane. With me." He had a smug smile that made me want to punch him in the face.

Instead I just asked, "You said you were being careful. Careful how?"

"I'm not one of them. I'm not an archangel. Really more run-of-the-mill. I worked in the secretarial pool before God chose me to take down the Word. Anyway, he... seemed very worried about his work, what would happen to it when he left, so he had me write down instructions. Then, he was gone. After that, the archangels took over." He pulled up a chair and pointed the gun at us again before sitting down. "And they cried, and they wailed. They wanted their father back. I mean, we all did. But then... then they started to scheme. The archangels decided if they couldn't have Dad, they'd take over the universe themselves. But they couldn't do anything that big without the Word of God. So I began to realize, maybe they would realize... they needed me." There was that smug look again.

I closed my eyes, processing everything. "So you get a ruffle in your feathers and just decide to disappear? Go stick your head in the sand, forever? You have no idea what's been going on out there."

He shook his head. "Nope." Who the hell does that? The smug smile came again, as if he thought was the smartest man, or uh, angel, that ever freaking lived. "That's the whole point."

Lou burst through the door then, her bangs covering her eyes slightly. There was blood on her clothes, her arms, her legs. There was a deep gash on her upper thigh. What the hell happened to her? She ran towards Sam, not even paying attention to the angel with a shotgun in the chair, or me.

"Oh my gosh," she breathed as she reached him. She knelt before him, putting her hands on his cheeks. She moved one hand to his forehead, feeling the temperature. She breathed in shakily. "Sammy why did you leave the room?" She didn't want an answer. She didn't really even need an answer. We both knew that. She let her head fall against his chest.

Sam looked down at her, his hands still covering his ears. He half shouted, "Lou! You told me you stopped." What was he talking about? "You said you'd come to me if things ever got this bad again." That's when I realized.

The blood was coming from perfect horizontal lines across her arms and legs. She did this to herself. She did this. And Sam knew about her hurting herself? How did I not know?

Metatron cleared his throat and Lou finally looked at him. He was pointing his gun at her now. "Who are you?"

She stood then, facing him, her face unreadable. Blood dripped down her leg but she didn't seem to notice. "I'm a friend of the Winchesters. Louise Tayler." She looked at me then, finally, "This is Metatron?"

"That's what I said," I scoffed. If it hadn't been for the gun aimed at my Sunshine I would have smiled.

"Sit down." He told her. She did. The gun followed her as she lowered herself to the floor. She winced as she did.

I spoke up, getting Metatron's attention back on me. "So you have been holed up here, or, or, or in a wigwam, or before that in some cave, listening to stories, reading books?" He smiled and lowered his gun.

"And it was something to watch." He licked his lips and looked at Lou, then back at me. "What you brought to His Earth, all the mayhem, the murder, the agony." He glanced at Lou again. I didn't like the way he was looking at her. "Just the raw, wild invention of God's naked apes... it was mind-blowing. But really... really, it was your storytelling." He got up then, waving his gun slightly. His finger was still on the trigger. "That is the true flower of free will. At least as you've mastered it so far. When you create stories, you become gods, of tiny, intricate dimensions unto themselves. So many worlds! I have read... as much as it's possible for an angel to read, and I haven't caught up."

"You know what?" Sam started, "Pull the frigging tigger." I raised my eyebrows at this. Lou craned her neck to look at him.

"What?" Metatron asked.

Sam got to his feet and walked towards Metatron. Lou barely had enough time to scramble out of the way."Pull the freaking trigger, you cowardly piece of garbage."

"Sam. Hey!" I tried, but he wasn't listening to me. Lou got up and grabbed his arm but he didn't stop.

Instead he took the barrel of Metatron's gun and put it against his chest. "All the time you've been hiding here, how much suffering have you read over? Humanity's suffering! And how much of it has been at the hands of your kind?!" He was getting to worked up. That gun needed to be away from him.

"C'mere, hey." I pushed Lou and Sam back and stood between them and the gun. "You want a story?" I asked Metatron. "Try Kevin Tran's story. He was just a kid. He was a good, straight-A kid, and then he got sucked in to all of this— this angel crap. He became a prophet, of the Word of God. Your prophet. Now, you should've been looking out for him, but no! Instead, you're here, holed up, reading books."

Sam chimed in, as angry as I was. "He's dead now. Because of you."

Metatron laughed then, "He's not dead."

It was Lou who asked the question, her voice so small and sad. "What?"

"Kevin Tran is not dead." Metatron said again.

"Where is he?" I asked, not even trying to be nice.

"He's hidden with some demon named Crowley. Well I can bring him here."

"Yes freaking do it!" I yelled at him.

There was a bright flash and I covered my eyes, then suddenly Kevin was laying on the floor. His neck was all bruised and he looked like hell. I felt for a pulse on his neck and found it. Alive. The kid was alive. I sighed and rested my head on his chest for a second. Lou was crying quietly behind Sam. I lifted the kid up and put him in the chair I had been sitting in. "Heal him," I told Metatron.

I moved out of the angel's way and grabbed Lou's hand in my own, she never took her eyes off Kevin. Metatron placed a glowing hand on his chest and they bruises went away. "Is that it? Is he good?"

Metatron looked at Kevin, "Give him a minute." He started to walk away but I grabbed his arm.

"Now fix her." I said pulling Lou closer to him. They were about the same height.

Lou wrenched her hand out of mine. "No." That was all she said before going to sit down next to Kevin on the floor.

Metatron continued walking so I followed the little bastard to the kitchen. I found him holding a glass. "How did you get past Crowley's angel-warding?"

"I'm the Scribe of God. I erased it," he answered as if it were obvious.

I leaned against the door frame. "But you saw, right? I mean, you— you're caught up on everything that's been going on. All the crap that your brethren's been doing to humanity all this time?"

"I saved the boy, didn't I?"

"But are you in? With us, I mean." How could he not be?

He ignored my question and asked one. "You really intend on closing the doors of Hell?"

I shrugged. "Seems like the thing to do, don't it?"

"It's your choice. And that's what this has all been about, the choices your kind make. But you're gonna have to weigh that choice. Ask yourself: what is it going to take to do this, and what will the world be like after it's done?" Sounded like he knew something. Douche!

Before I could ask him when he meant Sam called from the other room. "Dean? Dean!"

I ran back to see Kevin waking up, Lou standing over him. Some of her hair stuck to the dried blood on her arms. "Kevin?" He smiled at her.

I came up behind her. "Hey. I thought we lost you, kiddo."

"I'm good." He smiled but he didn't sound good. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the other half of the broken demon tablet. "Second half of the tablet. And I got it. Third trial. I didn't tell Crowley." He handed it to Lou who handed it to me as if it burned her hands.

"So what is it?" Sam asked.

Before Kevin could answer Metatron said, "To cure a demon." Of course he knew this whole damn time.

"Yeah," Kevin said. His eyebrows came together. "Who are you?"

Lou's POV

Less than half an hour later we were on the road. Kevin was asleep in the back seat next to me and Dean was driving. He hadn't said a word to me since I said that I didn't want Metatron healing me.

Dean was talking to Sam though which I guess it was good that he was talking to someone. I had never told him that I cut myself. I mean it's not something anyone really wants to tell anyone let alone their crush, but this was definitely not how I wanted him to find out. I was biting my lip trying to figure out what to say to him.

"Cure a demon. Okay, ignoring the fact that I have no idea what that actually means, if we— if we do this, you get better, right? I mean, you stop trying to cough up a lung, and, and, and bumping into furniture?" I saw Dean look at Sam.

"I feel better, yeah, um, just having a direction to move in." Sam answered. He even looked a little less like death.

Dean sighed. "Well, good, cause where we're headed doesn't sound like a picnic."

"But we're heading somewhere. The end." Sick Sam was so dramatic.

Suddenly Dean slammed on the breaks sending me into the back of the front seat. I hissed at the pain that went through my body. Dean jumped out of the car so quickly, I think it was still moving a little. "Cas?" I heard him say. I looked out of the window to see Cas laying down, bloody and bruised.

"A little help, here?" He asked with a hint of annoyance. We all ran out of the car to help the angel into the back of the Impala. Kevin woke up just as we were placing him next to Kevin.

There was no room in the back seat for me anymore so I sat between the boys in the front seat. The trip back to the bunker was uncomfortably quiet and I knew that as soon as we got back, Dean was going to want to talk to me, and Kevin, and Cas. All of his friends, his family were hurt, and me hurting myself? Well that just added so much unneeded stress. I sighed, knowing this was somehow all my fault.