Chapter 2: The Fire Lights Twice

Sam woke up late one evening in November, just when her hard-won life was finally coming together. Jack's arm was wrapped tightly around her waist, a ring was on her finger, and she had an interview for one of the best law schools in the country on Monday. If she got in she was set for life.

She hadn't been in a real fight for over four years, but old habits died hard so when she heard someone bump a table in their kitchen she was instantly awake and alert, fingers grasping for a gun filled with rock salt under her empty pillow.

Jack was a heavy sleeper on the best of nights, and she knew for a fact that he'd had enough to drink that he would be out like a light for the next few hours at least. Crawling out of bed was both disturbingly and comfortingly easy. Disturbing because some part of her would always be aware of what was out there, and how easily a life could fall apart, and worry over Jack's lack of awareness. Comforting because she was trying to leave that fear behind and Jess was so far removed from it he didn't wake when something banged in the kitchen or his fiancé crawled out of bed.

Sam grabbed a bat just to be safe, because she was admittedly a bit out of practice and despite being tall for a girl, leverage was never bad.

She was not expecting the intruder to be as good as she was, and she wasn't expecting to lose the upper hand so quickly.

"Chill, princess." Long blonde curls tickled Sam's face.

"Dee?" She asked, shocked. She ignored the guilt that swept her upon seeing her sister.

"You're out of practice," Dee told her, disproving. Sam raised an eyebrow and flipped her sister, just barely managing to make sure Dee didn't clip the corner of the table with her head.

"Okay, so maybe not as much as I thought," she conceded. Sam rolled her eyes and helped her up.

"What are you doing here?" Sam asked, and was proud when she managed to keep the accusation out of her voice. She didn't want to make Dee think she was mad at her, but she was a bit confused. "And why did you break in? You could have just called—"

The light flicked on, and Jack stood shirtless in the doorway, in all his 6'2" glory.

"Sam? What's going on?" They must have been louder than Sam thought, if they actually managed to wake him up.

"And who are you?" Dee asked, eyes just short of leering as she took in his chest and biceps. Sam felt old defensiveness rise, and then scolded herself. Jack was a good man, and she knew he loved her. He wasn't using her because he wanted to bang her sister. And she was pretty sure Dee wouldn't sleep with her fiancé.

Didn't mean Dee wouldn't look, of course, but Sam couldn't really blame her. Jack had great eyes. And hair. And abs. He was just extremely good looking in general.

"I think I should be asking you that," Jack said slowly, clearly not sure what to make of this situation, and looked at Sam for answers.

"Ah, Jack, this is my sister. Deanna." She coughed, "Dee, this is my boy—uh, fiancé, Jack."

Deanna's eyes widened with something Sam recognized as hurt. Sam tried not to feel too guilty. It only happened a few days ago, after all. "Fiancé?"

"Wait, this is Dee? The Dee?" Jack sounded excited, and Sam felt even guiltier. She knew Jack wanted her to share more about her family and her past. She mostly told him that her dad was ex-military and they moved around a lot, and that they had a falling out. Jack's dad was also a Vietnam vet, and they bonded over that. She did tell stories about Dee though, since she honestly missed her sister and those were about the only memories anyone who wasn't a hunter could genuinely find happy. She supposed she shouldn't be too surprised that he was excited to meet her.

"Only I call her Dee," she said absently. Then she realized that sounded defensive and rude and gave an awkward cough before trying again. "Uh, yeah. Yeah it is."

Dee stepped forward, megawatt grin on her face. "Damn girl, you're hitting above your weight here, definitely." Jack raised an eyebrow. Sam resisted the urge to smack her forehead. Dee was…irrepressible, sometimes. Especially when she felt hurt. "I gotta tell you, I love the smurfs," she whispered conspiratorially. Jack glanced down at his smurf-patterned sweatpants and shrugged.

"They were a gift," he told her.

Deciding to try and control this…whatever this was…again, she tried to get her sister's attention while Jack walked over to her. "Anyway, Dee, why are you here all of the sudden? And why didn't you knock instead of picking the lock?"

Jack blinked. "She picked the lock?"

"No, I used the window, because I figured you guys would be smart enough to have a deadbolt." Dee said dismissively. Sam made a very stern face which should have told her to stop what she was doing, really, before she said something Sam couldn't recover from. "Really Sammy, just because you live on the third floor doesn't mean you should be careless about security. Those latches are way too easy to open from the outside." A pause. "And you really should have a deadbolt. What would Dad say?"

"Through the window?" Jack repeated, like he was trying to wrap his head around it. Sam just hoped she could come up with an explanation for this that made actual sense later.

"But Sammy, there's some stuff we gotta discuss. Like, now." She looked at Jack meaningfully, and crossed her arms. She was wearing a fitted leather jacket, and Sam noticed Dee was wearing jeans instead of shorts, which invariably meant she was anticipating a fight. "About Dad. And his most recent hunting trip."

Ice trailed down Sam's spine, and she looked to her fiancé, who was frowning at Dee's cryptic phrasing. "Jack, could you give us a minute?"

Jack gave her a look that said she would be explaining later, but he squeezed her hand, kissed her temple and walked to the bedroom.

Dee watched him leave and pointedly raised her eyebrows as her eyes trailed his ass. "Seriously, way above your weight class. I'm impressed, little sister."

"Dee," Sam told her sternly, trying to get her sister to focus. "Why are you here?"

Dee frowned, and started staring at the calendar by the door. "Dad's missing. He left on a hunt a few days ago, and now I can't get ahold of him. I need your help to find him." She smirked. "You're in a yoga class? Really? Do sun salutations make you feel at peace?"

Sam rolled her eyes. "That's not my class, that's Jack's. And yes, he finds yoga centering." She got back to the point. "Dad's probably fine, just taking longer than usual. Especially if he's only been missing a few days."

"If downward dog makes boys look like that then I may have to reconsider my stance on the subject. So you're the one in the self-defense classes? Why?" Sam decided against telling her that Jack was also in Crew, because she liked Tai Chi. Dee straightened, and then fingered her sleeve, where Sam knew she was hiding a silver knife. "Sam, come on. He's never out of communication like this. And, I don't know. I just have a feeling. A really bad feeling."

Sam frowned now, feeling the first stirrings of unease. Dee wasn't wrong, it was weird for their father to go to ground like this. He always left them some means of communication. Or he left them for Dee now, she supposed. And Dee didn't get nervous like this about just anything.

"I teach the self-defense classes," she clarified. "So why do you need my help? I'm out of the game, remember?"

Dee rolled her eyes, and sashayed over to the cabinets, observing their contents. It was mostly cheap dinnerware and peanut butter. Stanford gave her a stipend but it was by no means a large one. "I bet all the boys love taking lessons from you," Dee said knowingly. "And you're never really out of the life, Sammy. You know that. Plus, rusty backup is better than none, right?"

Sam hesitated. "It's mostly girls, actually." A lot of sexual assault victims and girls trying to self-treat anger management issues. Helping them made Sam feel good, and it kept her training from atrophying completely. "There has to be someone else you can call."

Dee gave her a sidelong look that told her she was being childish. "There's not."

Sam tensed, defensive. There was a possibility that Dee was simply fed up with her and Dad's feud and this was a ploy to get them talking again. "I can't just drop everything, Dee. I have a life here."

Dee glanced at the calendar, so quick Sam might have missed it if she didn't still know her sister better than anyone else alive. "I can see that. But I still need your help."

Despite herself, Sam couldn't help the tendrils of worry that roiled toxic in her belly. It was her father, and the last things she said to him were terrible. Not untrue, but just, maybe, a little bit undeserved.

She always assumed he would eventually apologize to her, then she could return the favor, and they could make up at some point in the future. When he gave up hunting and let Dee and Sam live their own lives, or at least did that last part. Despite her many reservations about his ability to parent, he'd always seemed invulnerable to Sam, inhumanely good at his job and keeping them all alive. It hadn't really occurred to her that he might die before they could make things right.

And she really wasn't prepared to let Dee go on chasing the thing that might finally be his match alone. No way in heaven or hell.

"I have to be back by Monday," she warned.

Dee raised an eyebrow. "What's on Monday? You guys eloping?"

Okay, so she was still smarting from that. Great. "No. I just…have to be back."

Dee scowled. "Fine, don't tell me." Sam crossed her arms defensively, and stared her sister down. Dee rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, I'll have you back by Monday, cross my heart."

Sam sighed, decided not to push the issue and felt old weariness settle over her. "Just, give me a minute to change," she told her sister. Dee gave a vague shooing gesture and started rooting through her fridge.

Back in the bedroom, Jack was pacing. He looked up, concern and confusion warring in his eyes. Sensing something was up, he immediately straightened. "What's wrong," he demanded. "What does your sister want? Is she staying?"

Sam sighed, struggling to find a good answer for him. "I'm going away for the week." She tried to sound casual, confident and sort of chipper, but it just came out tired and resigned.

He frowned, and she could see how hard he was trying to hold his questions back. "What? Why?"

"Dee's worried about Dad. Thinks he's in trouble and wants me to help bail him out."

Jack's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Wait, your Dad? The Dad you never talk about, Dad? The one who kicked you out of the house for wanting to go to college Dad?"

Sam grimaced, because she'd never said as much to anyone about the whole thing, but she sometimes forgot how well Jack could read her. Psych majors. Really should have stayed away in retrospect. She probably didn't want to know what he knew about her from basic observation. "Yes, that Dad." At his worried look, she elaborated. "It's probably nothing. Dee's just worried, and I agreed to help."

"But…what about Law school? You're interview's on Monday." He made a weird little helpless gesture. "And if your Dad's in trouble, shouldn't you call the police?"

"Dee promised I'd be back before the interview. And it's not that kind of trouble. Dee thinks he might be on a bender, but he's not picking up, so she's worried."

Something lit in Jack's blue eyes and Sam felt like kicking herself. Damn. He'd been dropping hints that he suspected her dad was an alcoholic for almost a year and a half now. She hadn't meant to confirm it. All told, it was really the least of their issues, and frankly it wasn't even something Sam had much of an issue with. Not compared to the other stuff. He wasn't an angry or violent drunk. He just got kind of melancholy and went to sleep a bit faster. Usually helped with the nightmares too.

"So file a missing person's report," he told her insistently, golden eyebrows furrowed.

She smiled, and laid a hand on his arm. "It's fine. Dee and I are pretty good at finding people. Especially Dad." Actually, this was the first time they had to hunt for Dad, but whatever. Couldn't be that difficult, and it wasn't like Dad was actively hiding from them.

He took her hands in his. "I just…I know how hard you've worked to get where you are, and how much you want this. I don't want you to let your family drag you back under. Not when you've worked this hard to escape them."

She frowned. "I was never trying to escape Dee." Not really. It was just…hard to talk to her sister when everything she said or did reminded her of what she didn't want to be, and how messed up her relationship with their father was. "I wasn't even trying to escape Dad really. Just…make my own decisions."

He swiped a thumb over the back of her hand. "It kind of seems like those are mutually exclusive," he murmured, not unkindly.

It didn't have to be, if her father would just acknowledge that she was an adult with as much right to make her own decisions about her life as he had to make about his own.

But she didn't feel like explaining that. Not when she had a no doubt endless road trip with Dee in her near future. "I'll be back by Monday," she told him firmly.

Jack gave her a long look, and then nodded. He lifted her left hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. "Do you want me to come with?"

Sam resisted the urge to snort at the thought of Jack on a hunt. She loved him, but the guy could stab himself with a butter knife. "Nah, I think we're long overdue for some sisterly bonding time."

He nodded, and his expression turned to something a bit more bewildered. "She is…not what I expected."

Sam raised an eyebrow and smirked, amused. "What, you thought you'd have a better first impression where she didn't bust in via window?" She grabbed her go-bag and started throwing extra clothes inside. She swiped a bra off the nearby nightstand to slide under her t-shirt.

"From the way you described her I thought she'd be a little less…wild."

Sam shrugged and shimmied into some old jeans. "It's been a while since I've seen her." Dee really didn't seem all that different to her though. Not in the ways that mattered. Hair was a bit longer and her leather jacket more worn, but that was about it.

There was a bang in the kitchen. Jack turned toward the noise and gave the door a bemused expression. "Should we be worried she's making off with the toaster?"

Sam snorted. "What use would she have for a toaster? Her diet consists solely of cheeseburgers and milkshakes."

"I'm just saying, your sister is basically a cat burglar. We should lock away the fine china and silver."

"As if. We're millennial college students. If she wanted silver she'd have to break into the Mulligans upstairs."

"I bet they have a deadbolt."

"My sister, master cat burglar, thwarted by a deadbolt. What is the world coming to?"

Deanna tried to keep her focus on the road in front of her, but it was kind of hard when she had her baby sister right next to her for the first time in nearly four years.

Sammy looked good. She was obviously still keeping in shape, but she looked like she was eating a bit healthier than the normal fare they ate growing up. Her hair was a bit longer, and shinier. She'd finally started wearing a little make-up. She looked more confident too, and Deanna couldn't help but wonder if it was because being out from under her and Dad forced her to flourish socially.

The thought made her feel guilty. Sammy always struggled so much to connect to people. Maybe having Deanna to back her up all the time caused more harm than good.

She'd obviously managed to overcome her awkwardness enough to impress Mr. Ken Doll. Enough to get the two of them engaged.

The ring catching light on Sam's left hand was simple, but pretty. It was a silver band with a single solitaire set into it. Not huge, either, which probably meant the Ken Doll saved up for it himself. That was impressive, considering he was in college and wasn't a trust fund baby if their apartment was anything to go by. Probably meant he cared a lot about her sister.

"So," Deanna started, trying to break the silence. There was a part of her that was relieved that the silence wasn't awkward even after all that time apart. "When's the wedding? Am I invited?"

"Of course you're invited!" Sam protested, and Deanna was a little surprised at how outraged she sounded. Huh. "We don't have a date yet. He only proposed last week."

Oh. So maybe she hadn't been hiding that? "You were gonna tell me then?" She pressed.

Sam squished into the corner where the frame met the seat, like she did when she was feeling particularly petulant and or defensive. "Next time you called."

Deanna nodded, a bit relieved. "You know," she started casually. "You could call me sometimes."

Sam's lower lip jutted out a little and yes, that was an honest to God pout. "I have!"

"Other than last Christmas, when I was on a hunt and didn't manage to call you before dinnertime."

"…"

"That's what I thought."

And now it was awkward. Great job Deanna. Always so good with the fixing.

"Look, Dee," Sam started awkwardly, looking kind of vulnerable and unsure of herself. She only did that around Deanna, where she could be sure it wouldn't get thrown back in her face. Some part of Deanna registered that and felt immediately warmed by the continued show of faith. Another part, something forged in the fires of their mother's remains and their father's orders and Deanna's own love, sat up and took protective possession of her little sister's vulnerability. "I wasn't avoiding you. I just…it was hard. To hear about Dad and know he wanted nothing to do with me. And he still doesn't. And I was trying to leave the life behind."

Deanna nodded, because she'd guessed as much. But still. "You and Dad are as stubborn as each other, you know?"

Sam nodded wearily. "I know. But I'm right this time."

Deanna sighed, and even though her sister probably was right—the proof was staring her in the face—she couldn't help but be exhausted by the whole thing. "You know that Dad says the same thing, right?"

"Well, he's wrong."

"You know he'd say the same, right?"

"Dee."

"My point is, one of you eventually has to admit wrongdoing. Or at least apologize for this whole mess. It's either that or you never talk again." She gave the ring a pointed look. "Don't you want him to walk you down the aisle?"

"Not really. It's an archaic tradition symbolizing the transfer of females as property from her father to her new husband. I was planning on walking down alone regardless."

"Well what about…what's it called…the father-daughter dance?"

"Dee. When have you seen either of us dancing. Much less in public."

Okay, she had a point. "Well, don't you want him to be there at least?"

Sam picked at her nail polish. "…maybe. If he wanted to be there, I guess it wouldn't be so bad."

Which was Sammy-speak for 'yes, definitely.' Should Dee tell her about Dad's visits? Because this seemed like a good time to bring it up. Except she thought maybe Dad should tell Sam himself. Might be more meaningful that way. "Of course he'd want to be there."

Sam snorted. "Yeah right. He hasn't spoken to me without screaming in almost a decade. I'm pretty sure he's just about written me off."

Dee frowned. Okay, she should tell Sammy. Too bad Dad, you could have picked up the phone or knocked on the door sometime in the last four years. "He visited you."

Sam's head whipped around. "What?" She whispered it breathily, as if she wasn't sure if she should believe it.

"Every couple months. Anytime we were west of Denver he'd make a pit stop to check on you."

Sam was very pale, and turned slowly to face the road disappearing under Baby's headlights. "Oh."

"So pick up the phone and call him, for God's sake. It's about time you two stopped having a dick measuring contest."

There was silence from the other side of the car, but Deanna could tell her little sister was thinking about it, which was more progress than she'd made in the last four years.

Maybe she shouldn't have stayed away so long. She'd been trying to give Sammy space, and to let her come back in her own time, but clearly she'd underestimated her little sister's stubbornness, somehow. Deanna should have known better. Sammy rarely changed her mind once she made it up, and usually the best way to alter it was to point out the flaws in her logic—or in this case, provide new evidence. It required the head-on approach. She wasn't like Deanna, who would eventually return to familiar orbits regardless of outside influence. It was why she'd probably never leave the life. She didn't know any different.

A bug drove by and Sammy was too distracted to noticed.

Deanna gave her a light—for them—punch to her sister's left bicep. "Yellow one!"

"Ow!" Sammy screeched, and Deanna grinned. "Dee!"

"What?" she asked innocently, "Don't tell me you forgot our record? 106 to 247." She thought for a second. "248 now."

"You didn't have to hit me that hard!"

Deanna leveled her an unimpressed look. "You've been spending too much time with the civvies. That was just a love tap darlin'."

Sam glowered. "You're such a…you're such a jerk!"

"Bitch."

All was right with the world.

Outside a cheap gas station, Sam dialed her fiancé. They'd exchanged a few texts, but it had been almost two days since they last spoke.

He picked up on the third ring. "Sam? Hey sweetie, how are you?"

It was good to hear his voice.

It was also a little surreal.

She'd forgotten how intense hunting was. How it blocked everything else out. That was, of course, why she'd wanted to leave it in the first place, but she'd somehow forgotten why it was so hard to drop the life.

Seeing people torn apart the way spirits usually did it was hard. It was harder to know that no one but her and her sister had any chance of stopping it. It was harder still to know that she'd never be able to forget the evil once she saw it.

Some part of her would always be drawn to the life. For all its hardships, the reward was…hard to ignore. And it was challenging in a way few things were. In some ways, the rewards scared her more than the trials.

Mostly this whole life sucked. But there were a few bright spots. And like addicts, most hunters never really managed to leave. Especially hunters like the Winchesters, who couldn't shake the sense of responsibility the knowledge of the supernatural gave them.

Hearing Jack's voice was like a lighthouse in a stormy harbor. Reminded her that solid land existed beyond the sea.

"I'm good. How was class?"

He spoke a little about the stuff they learned in his Neuro lab. Psychology really was a fascinating field and Sam was a glutton for knowledge of any kind. That was one of the traits they shared, actually. Jack was especially fascinated by brain anatomy and how it all functioned.

The brief recap wound down quickly though, and Sam got the feeling her fiancé was mostly just following her lead on what she needed. She tended to focus on other people when feeling stressed. It was easier than dealing with her own issues.

Jack, of course, knew that. Which was unfortunate because he was one of the most together and well-adjusted people she'd ever met, so he didn't have a lot of problems to offer her.

Not like she'd trust herself with anyone's emotional issues, really. But trying still made her feel better.

"So? You guys found him yet?"

Sam sighed. "No, we haven't." And by now they were pretty certain he hadn't stayed in Jericho for very long. Just long enough to half-solve the case and move out, waiting for his daughters to clean up his mess.

Actually, just daughter. He didn't know Sam was coming. He was just planning on leaving this mess to Dee, which pissed Sam off.

Dad was always letting Dee clean up his messes.

"…do you think you're going to?"

Sam sighed. "I don't think he's in Jericho anymore, but Dee wants to keep looking."

"He's still not answering his phone?"

"No." And she was going to be absolutely livid about that if it turned out Dad was alright. It was not okay to go off-grid like this. Especially considering all the crap he spewed throughout their childhoods about keeping in contact.

"Sam. It's probably time to call the police."

Sam sighed, and tried to spin a plausible line. "We're both sure he's fine. He does this sometimes, where he disappears. And it's not like the police are going to be able to look too hard for him when his last known location is a town he doesn't live in. Dad comes off pretty shady on paper."

There was a pause on the other end of the line and Sam could practically hear Jack restraining himself from saying that he came off shady because her father was shady. She hoped he held it in. It wasn't like she could deny it.

"Still, it's not like you're going to get any farther than they would."

You'd be surprised, lover.

"Look, I promised Dee two more days. If we don't find him by then, we'll file a missing persons' report."

Jack sighed. "Alright. Just…don't throw away your future chasing a ghost, okay?"

Sam wasn't sure if she should laugh or cry at the diction. "I won't." She thought about mentioning her nightmare, and then decided against it. It was just a dream. "I miss you."

"Same. Bed's way too big without you. And Sam?"

"Yeah Babe?"

"When this is all over, we really need to talk about some of this."

She'd been afraid of that, dammit. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, things like the fact that your sister is a cat burglar, seems to assume you have a similar skillset, and this doesn't seem to be the first time you two had to go searching for your dad on a week-long bender."

Oh. "My sister isn't a cat burglar."

"Sam."

Dammit. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Sam, I don't think you really have anything to apologize for. I'm pretty sure most of it's on your dad. I know you're a private person, okay? And that's fine, I can glean a lot without you actually saying anything. I just…I want us to have a life together. And I don't want there to be anything between us. I know your home life wasn't half as stable as you made it out to be, and that's alright. I get it, okay? I can handle a lot more than you seem to think I can."

Shit shit fucking shit. Sam had never wished she had normal fucked up shit to deal with more. How was she supposed to explain what her dad did, and the way it affected the rest of them? How was she supposed to do it in a way that wasn't lying?

"Jack…" she started, but didn't finish, because how was she supposed to say she couldn't give him what he was absolutely within his rights to ask for?

"You don't have to tell me anything you can't," he told her, somehow understanding what she was saying half a state away. "I get it, if there's stuff you can't talk about, or just flat out won't. I get it, really. I just want you to share what you can. I want to be someone you can lean on."

"I do lean on you," she protested.

On the other end of the line, Jack huffed a laugh. "Sam, you don't lean on anyone." He cut her off before she could argue that. "Don't get me wrong, it's something I actually really admire about you. You're so strong and independent, and I love that about you, really. I didn't think you needed to rely on anyone. But I didn't realize until your sister showed up that you do rely on someone. It's just not me."

Okay, that wasn't quite fair. "Jack, that's—"

"It was written all over your body language when Deanna showed up. And I get it, you two have probably been through more than your fair share of shit. Probably more than I have any chance of understanding. But that's why we have to talk about it. Because you have to realize you can lean on me too."

What the hell even was this anymore? Jack almost never spoke so directly. Not about her and her issues. It was part of why they worked so well—he always heard what she wasn't saying. "Talking about it won't help."

"You can't run away from it."

"I don't want it to be part of our life!" She whispered fiercely, and she was surprised to find herself tearing up a little.

"Sam. You did not just spontaneously show up at Stanford fully grown and untraumatized. It's part of you, so it'll be part of us. It has to be, or you won't really be part of 'us.'"

"I am not going to let you practice your therapy skills on me, Jack."

"I'm not using you as a guinea pig. I'm just trying to act like your husband."

She took a deep breath. Forced herself to remember he didn't understand what he was asking about, and he was being more than reasonable. Losing her temper would be massively unfair. "It's not shit I want inside me, Jack. It's not shit you need to hold too."

"I know," he cooed gently. "But that doesn't mean it's not there. Besides, sharing the burden is part of what marriage is."

She didn't respond for a moment, and tried to compose herself.

She'd known this might happen eventually. Someday Jack would not be satisfied with her deflections and half-truths, and he'd demand more information about her life before Stanford. She'd plied him with stories about Dee whenever he seemed close to asking. But now that he'd met her sister and Sam immediately disappeared with her, he seemed to be done waiting.

She thought she would have more time to grow away from her family before this happened. She hadn't thought she would ever hunt again.

"And Sam? You should know you aren't as good at hiding it as you think you are."

She didn't say anything, just tilted her head in confusion. He seemed to sense the question.

"It's all over your bearing, you know? You walk like you've been trained for black ops missions—you act more military than the sergeants down at the military base. You always have a bag packed, and one time I accidentally bumped it and saw two guns and five knives of varying sizes in the bottom. Also, what looked to be two separate passports and a couple of other official-looking badges, and a wallet filled with cash from three different countries. You can't sit anywhere but the corner of the room diagonal to the door, or you can't relax. Even when you're sleeping deeply you wake up at the slightest noise. You almost never speak about your past, and never about your father, except that he's a Vietnam Vet and you moved around a lot. You never even mention an occupation. You rarely drink and you're never drunk. I've literally never seen you lose a fight—not even against one of the military guys that took your class on a dare, remember? That guy was three times your size and had formal training, but you took him down in two moves. You handle knives like no one I've ever seen, and I'm willing to bet you have damn near perfect aim with a gun." His voice grew quiet. "And that's not even counting the insomnia, or the nightmares you pretend you don't have, or the scars—"

"Stop," she interrupts breathlessly. "Stop, just…stop."

A pause. "I'm sorry. I'm really not trying to push you. I just want you to understand that I do get you went through some serious shit. I don't know exactly what, and I've tried not to make guesses because I'm pretty sure it's not your run-of-the-mill stuff. I figured you would tell me when you were ready, and if you could. But lately I've been thinking I would probably need to bring it up myself if I were ever going to get you to open up."

It was a solid minute before she could speak. Jack didn't say anything else.

"I thought…" Deep breath. "I didn't know you knew that much."

She couldn't believe he found her go-bag. Not only found it but saw what was inside, and somehow didn't break up with her on the spot. Or call the police. She was probably just lucky he hadn't gone rifling through the lining, or he might have found the salt, iron knuckle guards, and her version of a hunter's journal. More like cliff notes, really. It just had a handy index of wards to ensure her safety in an emergency, but anyone who wasn't a hunter would immediately jump to satanic cults and mental institutions if they saw it.

She'd underestimated Jack, apparently. She hadn't realized he'd been holding all this in.

God, she was a terrible fiancé.

"Why haven't you broken up with me?"

Jack huffed a laugh. "Couldn't if I wanted to. You're the single most amazing person I've ever met, and I'm completely in love with you."

He'd said it before, of course. And she'd said it to him. But this was the first time she realized how close he was to understanding her, and the first time she had a small kernel of hope that he might actually love all of her—not just the front she presented to Stanford.

She never even hoped for that.

She couldn't speak for a moment, and abruptly realized she was crying. She wiped the tears with her sleeve.

"…okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay, we'll talk about it."

"Thank you." He seemed relieved, and Sam had to wonder if this conversation was almost as hard for him as it was for her.

"I—I can't promise to tell you everything." Not even everything in a sanitized version. "But—But I think I can start."

"That's all I want, Babe."

She smiled wetly and she was pretty sure she'd never meant the words as much as she did now. "I love you."

"I love you, too. Now go find your father."

She waited until she heard the dial tone before ending the call.

Jericho, California was an interestingly named town with a very cranky ghost. Dad wasn't here which was a problem Deanna definitely wasn't thinking about, but they had a case so it was fine. It was unfortunate that neither of them were male and so they had to wait for some poor shmuck to get caught in her web again. But they waited at her house until a beamer pulled up with an excited thirty-something douchebag in the drivers' seat and a very dead woman on his right.

Dude nearly pissed his pants when Deanna blew her head off with rock salt. Temporary fix, but it worked for now.

Sammy had the brilliant idea of forcing the ghost to chase her prey inside and so they did and watched a woman who drowned her children be forced to face her crimes.

Deanna wondered, if hell existed at all, if she'd be sent there or to the other place. One, she drowned her children. But she was suffering temporary insanity when she did it. And then she went on to kill more people post mortem. Did sins committed in the afterlife count against you? Deanna wondered how the big guy upstairs dealt with that kind of quandary.

Of course, Deanna didn't actually believe in God, and so she didn't wonder about it too much. The fugly was dead and cheating bastards were safe again.

The dude they were protecting passed out from the shock. Deanna gave Sammy a bemused shrug, and Sammy, looking very at home with a sawed off in her hand, gave the man a disgusted look as he drooled on her shoe.

"Do you think that counts as necrophilia?" Sam asked, toeing the guy's shoulder.

Deanna shrugged. "Gray area."

Sam glowered in outrage. "Was that a fucking pun?"

Deanna missed her sister.

It was about a four-hour drive from Jericho to Stanford. Sam texted Jack when they were about an hour away. They were both pretty tired, and so the ride back was mostly silent except for the strains of Zeppelin IV on the aged speakers.

"Do you ever listen to anything from this century?"

"How can you complain about Zeppelin? Led Zeppelin?"

"I like Led Zeppelin fine, but occasionally I want to listen to something else."

"Which is fine. As long as it's Def Leppard. Or the Rolling Stones. Or Aerosmith. Or—"

"You need to update your music tastes."

"I have excellent taste in music."

"You have to find something new to listen to eventually."

"Why?"

"You just do."

"I'll listen to something else when someone from this century makes halfway decent music."

"They do, it's just not classic rock."

"Then it's not halfway decent music."

"What about something from the 90's? Nirvana? Oasis? Queensryche? Please?"

"Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts her cakehole."

"It's piehole."

"We're not changing the music."

Sam gave up. Her phone buzzed.

Glad you're coming home. Love you.

"What's that look for?"

Sam realized she had a big, dopey smile on her face. Way too gooey for someone like her sister to not make fun of.

"Nothing." Love you too, she responded.

"No, not nothing. You look all kinds of silly." A beat. "Oh, it's the Ken Doll." She sounded surprised, and a little off guard. Sam was immediately defensive.

"His name's Jack."

Dee raised a pacifying hand. "Not judging. He still looks like a Ken Doll though."

Sam kind of wanted to ask how she would know. It wasn't like they had Barbies growing up. But she didn't want to risk starting a real fight when there wasn't much time to make up again.

"So what's it like? Having, you know. The same dick every time you want sex?"

Sam wrinkled her nose. "Don't be gross."

"Don't be a prude."

Sam sighed, and tried to answer her. "I don't know. Good?"

"What, you never want a little variety?"

"Dee. I'm not discussing my sex life with you."

"Okay, but, really," Dee tried again, and Sam realized she really was trying. She was just bad at this. And out of practice. "You're telling me that Mr. California-blonde-surfer-yogi makes you…" she made a weird gesture Sam interpreted as 'I am out of my depth, please don't make me use feeling words,' "happy?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

"It's just," Dee hesitated, like she wasn't sure how to articulate what she wanted to say. "He's not exactly what I pictured. You know, for you."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you know. The yoga. The kale. The vegan brownies."

"Vegan brownies are surprisingly delicious."

"Lies. But seriously, I guess I just…expected someone with a little more…grit? And also with an IQ of like 170."

Sam thought about it before answering, because she had, in fact, faced the same questions once upon a time, back when she realized she was getting serious with Jack. "He has a 4.0," she said absently, and frankly that was even more impressive than it sounded because it was Stanford. "I guess he's not what I would have expected either." She thought of the way he made her understand that he was there for her only a few days ago, how he was so calm and patient with her reticence, and how his being unaware of the darkness made her feel safer in return. "But he's what I need. If I want out of the life, he's what I need. He's…" she searched for the right word. "Safe."

Dee frowned. "But he can't protect you. Not like, say, an army kid or another hunter could."

"Not that kind of safe, Dee." Sam was trying to be gentle here but it was frustrating, because how could Dee not see how messed up the way Dad treated them was? He put hunting before his family. If he'd really loved them, and he really couldn't give up the hunting, he would have left them with Bobby or Pastor Jim for good. "I can protect both of us just fine. It's more about…" she searched for the words. "I can trust him. To put us first. Above everything. That kind of safe."

Dee was quiet for a long time. Then, "How much does he know? About…us?"

"Nothing supernatural. Just. He knows Dad's a vet. He knows he trained us to fight. And he knows we moved around a lot."

"So…you're not gonna tell him? Ever?"

"Ever."

"Huh."

Sam glared. "What?"

Dee shrugged. "I just—you say he makes you feel safe, but. Can you really mean that if you don't tell him about this stuff? About what your life is?"

"Was. And…he's actually making me tell him about what I can when we get back."

"So…what are you gonna tell him?"

Sam sighed. "I don't know."

Dee didn't say anything else for a while, and Sam wasn't sure if she should say anything more, so she stayed silent.

Finally, Dee muttered, "Well, I'm happy you're happy."

Sam smiled, and she felt something warm settle in her chest. "Thanks, Dee." She hesitated over her next question for a second, because it might be too soon, since Dee just got to the 'I tolerate your presence in my little sister's life,' stage. "You'll—you'll come to the wedding, right?"

Dee gave her a rare, serious look. "If you invite me, I'll come."

"Of course you're invited," Sam insisted. Then she looked down at her hands. "Actually, I—I was hoping you'd be the maid of honor."

Dee gasped, soft and quiet, and Sam looked up at her sister. "Really? You don't want any of your college friends to—"

"You're my sister." That was all she really needed to say.

Dee looked absolutely floored. Sam waited for her response anxiously. She hadn't really considered the possibility that Dee would say no, but man this would be an incredibly awkward car ride if she did—

"I want to pick the dress."

Sam looked at her sister, who seemed uncharacteristically awkward and shy, and a huge grin spread on her face. "It has to match the color scheme."

"Is the color scheme going to include any sort of neon?"

"No."

"Deal."

Sam smiled, and she could swear her sister was blushing. "Thanks, Dee."

The car was quiet for another ten minutes. Then Dee turned back to awkward territory. "So, what's on Monday? Hot date?"

Sam gulped, because this was another bombshell she hadn't dropped yet. "Uh, no actually. An interview." Dee sent her a questioning look. "For law school."

Dee sat back. "Law school, huh?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I uh—got a really good score on my LSAT, and I have a 4.0 and good references. If the interview goes well Stanford might offer me a full ride and a stipend."

"That's great, Sammy," Dee said softly. Sam couldn't decipher the expression on her face.

"You're really getting out of the life, aren't you?"

Part of Sam wanted to roll her eyes and stomp her feet, or beat her fists on the side of the car. Yes, of course she was getting out! Why did it take her sister this long to realize that?

But the larger, more sympathetic side of her realized that Dee probably always knew Sam wasn't staying in the life. That she was moving on, and leaving Dee behind. That had to be kind of scary for her sister. Dee hadn't said as much, but it seemed like she'd been on her own for a while.

It was a hard job when people were around, people to talk to and share in the experience. Sam couldn't imagine doing it completely solo. Dee always was stronger than her though, and if anyone could do it, she could.

"Yeah, Dee. I am."

Dee gave a soft noise that might have been a tsk. "Well that's too bad. You're damn good at it."

Sam knew that. Dad made sure of it.

Sam wanted to see what else a Winchester could be good for, other than killing things.

"You could get out too, Dee."

Dee shook her head, and pasted a smile on her face that was so fake it actually kind of hurt to see it. "Nah. It's what I'm good at."

"You could start a machine shop or something." Or become a truly terrifying gym teacher. "You're a better mechanic than Dad, and he actually worked as one before."

"Dad taught me everything I know. I can't actually be better than him."

"You are."

Dee sighed. "Thanks, Sammy, but…I can't."

Just once, Sam wished her sister would do something for herself. Dee was too good a person for her own good, in the most literal sense possible.

"You don't have to save the world, you know." She said it softly, not quite sure she truly wanted Dee to hear.

Dee heard, and gave a derisive snort. "No one can do that." She gave a self-depreciating shrug and turned into the lot with Sam's apartment complex. "But I can kill things that kill people. It's what I'm good for. At."

Sam wasn't sure if that was a correction or what. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"There are other ways to help people."

Dee finally seemed to lose a little of the brittle control she had on her emotions. Sam could hear it in her voice. "Sam. I'm a hunter. That's what I am. I like it."

Sam wanted to tell her that she never tried to be anything else, and so how could she be sure that was what she was? But she wasn't sure she should push. Not today, anyway.

Dee rolled up to the curb just as the final strains of When the Levee Breaks faded on the speakers.

Sam reached for the door handle. "I'll uh, I'll call you." Dee blinked in surprise. "To find out how your search for Dad's going. And, you know. Other stuff."

Dee nodded, a soft smile crossing her face. "I'll let you know if anything important happens." She squeezed Sam's shoulder. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

Sam nodded, and before she could change her mind, went in for a hug. Dee stiffened in surprise, then squeezed back. It only lasted a couple of seconds, and then Sam pulled away and stepped out of the car, shivering lightly in the cool night air. She shut it behind her and started walking up to the complex.

"Hey, Sammy!"

Sam turned around, to see Dee leaning out of the rolled-down window. "I'm proud of you, kid."

Sam grinned. She'd missed Dee. Missed her a lot. "Thanks, Dee."

She turned, and buzzed herself in.

Sam jimmied the apartment door open. Damn thing had a loose hinge and kept sticking. She'd call maintenance, but Jack kept insisting he'd be able to fix it on his own.

"Jack?" She called, with not a little bit of trepidation curling in her belly. She still didn't know exactly what she'd be able to tell him that wasn't, uh, grounds for arrest for both her father and sister by any reasonable standard. "Babe, I'm home."

No response.

Sam shrugged. Maybe he went out to the liquor store or something. He liked to celebrate little things, like a good exam score or the completion of midterms or random scientific discoveries that had nothing to do with the two of them. Her return from an adventure with her sister would definitely qualify. He probably thought he'd be back before she got home.

Just as well. If he was going to force her to talk about her sordid past right now, she'd need the single malt.

She tossed her coat and go-bag on the chair in the kitchen. She'd unpack it in the morning. She needed to do laundry anyway.

Would he maybe buy that her father was a bounty hunter? That was close-ish to the truth. Just, he didn't hunt people. A bounty hunter that worked for the mob, maybe? But that painted John Winchester as a literal assassin, and he wasn't that. Bounty hunter might still work, if she could figure out a good overlord for him to work for. Maybe FBI? They had headhunters, right?

She splashed a little water on her face and the back of her neck. It had been a long few days. Being back felt surreal. The whole week felt surreal.

It was a good week though. Jack seemed willing to accept at least three more layers of fucked up than she ever thought he would, and she was back in contact with Dee. She hadn't quite realized how much she was missing her sister until she had her back.

And maybe, just maybe, her dad wanted to talk to her and make amends. After four years, Sam thought she might finally be ready to start burying the hatchet. Or whatever. As long as Dad helped, and maybe met her halfway.

She walked to the bedroom, and ran a hand through her hair.

She hoped Jack could wait to have that talk until morning. She was beat.

Sam blinked in surprise though, when she saw her fiancé laying on his side, facing the window, and away from the door.

Huh. That was usually her spot.

Well whatever. She wasn't that attached.

Shaking off the odd sense of familiarity and foreboding, she smiled at him and slipped into bed beside him, not bothering to get under the cream-colored covers. It was a warm night, and she didn't feel like changing into PJs.

She threw an arm around his waist, curling into him.

Something was wrong.

Her side was wet. Sticky. Her hand too. And Jack seemed…stiff.

She sat up, shaking because some part of her already knew, had seen it before, and she pulled on Jack's shoulder to get him on his back.

She couldn't comprehend it for a solid five seconds. She didn't understand what she was seeing, even as her stomach swooped and her chest seized and something terrible pressed on her mind.

Jack's head was—there was a gap between his skin—she could see his fucking spinal cord.

The bed was wet. Oh. Oh God, she was covered in his—in his—there were dark splotches on the popcorn ceiling, on the fan in a spray of arterial black.

"Jack." Her scream was so hoarse and high-pitched that it came out in a whisper, and now she knew why this had all been so familiar, because this was in her dream, her fucking dream. "Jack, wake up." She gave him a tiny shake and his head separated further from his shoulders. She had to wake up. It was her dream again, just her dream. "Jack, wake up! Goddammit Jack, wake up!"

"SAM." A familiar voice called, and Sam didn't have the capacity to understand why Dee was there, what brought her to Sam's apartment. "SAM WE GOTTA GO."

"Jack!" She screamed, "Oh God, no, not you, JACK!"

Strong, wiry arms wrapped around Sam's waist and heaved her off the bed just as the thing caught fire in a horrible mockery of a funeral pyre.

"JACK! JACK PLEASE!" Sam struggled forward, against her sister.

"He's dead, Sam, I'm sorry!"

"I CAN'T JUST LEAVE HIM THERE!"

Dee heaved again and Sam tumbled backward out the bedroom door just as all their possessions caught fire. "You have to!"

Later, Sam doesn't remember leaving the apartment. She registers the orange flash of unnatural flames across her eyes, the terrible, sick heat of the fire, and Dee's strong grip on her as she is trundled out of the building. She remembers fighting in a helpless sort of way, sobbing and scrabbling against her sister's hold, begging her to go back for Jack, who has to be alive, he has to.

Then there's a gap in the memory, where she may be blocking the memory, or she may have passed out, or Dee may have knocked her unconscious to get her out easier. She doesn't know and she never asks. But one moment she's reaching for the door frame of her apartment as flames eat the life she built for herself, and the next she's in the cruel, sweet night air as her sister rocks her sobbing frame and buries her face in her shoulder.

Firetrucks come and Sam doesn't hear the people shouting, or the water pump, or notice when a fireman comes up to her and Dee, now cloistered safely against the Impala, only to be shooed away when he asks if they're alright.

The last thing she registers that evening, before she blacks out from crying so hard or simple trauma, is breathing in smoke. She remembers because she nearly broke Dee's arm trying to get away because she was breathing in the ashes of her dead fiancé and the remains of a life she would never get to live, and then all she does is scream and scream and scream, and she could never figure out if she did it aloud or in her own head.

They bury an empty casket at his funeral.

Sam wasn't invited, because no one knew they were engaged and she had yet to meet his parents. So she goes afterword in a black dress with Dee standing a few feet behind her. She doesn't say anything, just throws a handful of dirt on his still-open, bodiless grave, and lets Jack see her put his ring on a chain around her neck so that it's nestled just above her heart.

Something killed him. Sam's going to throw it back to hell if it's the last thing she does. She swears it on Jack's fresh grave.

Sam is engaged by episode 1 because Jack is a lot less hesitant about the American dream than Sam. Also, Samantha is traditional enough, and has low enough self-esteem, that she would want Jack to be sure.

Jack is not the male version of Jess. Jess is happily giggling with her sorority somewhere. Jack is a different character entirely.

Jack and Sam do not live in the same apartment Jess and Sam lived in. Mostly because I assume Jess was an extremely wealthy debutant for them to live in a freestanding apartment that size in an area as expensive as Palo Alto, with Sam apparently not earning any income. I have no idea how he was affording his living expenses, because even full rides don't cover those, and we never hear about him having a part-time job. That means either A) Sam was living off of student loans and helping to cover the rent that way, which isn't unreasonable except he doesn't have any credit or cosigners, or B) Jess was rich AF and was covering it herself or had solely her name already on the lease, which still doesn't explain how Sam was able to, you know, eat. But I don't even want to know what the actual rent would be in Palo Alto, because I live in one of the cheapest cost of living areas in the country and I share my apartment with three other people, and rent STILL makes me cringe. Anyway, the show never really implies that money was an object for Sam during his time at Stanford, which makes sense since those were supposed to be Sam's golden years and money is a shitty reality, but I do poke some fun at that throughout the fic.

Jack imagines Deanna to be more stable because that's how Sam described her. He was imagining Deanna to be a more badass version of Martha Stewart, who is kind of a real life badass, apparently. Deanna was basically all Sam had in the way of parental love, and certainly all she had to fill the void of maternal love. Deanna was Sam's stabilizing force. That's why he's surprised when a biker chick breaks into their third story window. Not someone he'd peg as stabilizing. That's actually the catalyst to him confronting Sam over her past—it appeared that it was worse than he thought, which was saying something.

I hope you cried when you realized I was still killing Jack off. That was my intention. Right when Sam's about to open up to him, too. It's too bad—I liked Jack. Jess was so undeveloped I felt next to nothing when she died. I felt bad for Sam, and I was surprised at the plot twist, but yeah. Not much else. I figured they'd eventually do something with her, but SPN really doesn't have the best track record when it comes to using female characters to their fullest potential. Literally three scenes with Jess, and in one she's in a skimpy outfit vaguely criticizing the other main protagonist, in the next she's being objectified by Dean and patronized by Sam, and in the third she's dead. I mean really. So Jack actually notices Sam is a whack job. He doesn't give a shit and likes her anyway.

So I'm not really planning on continuing this. I wrote it mostly because I thought it would be interesting to examine the characters from this perspective, and I was inspired by my rewatch of the show's earlier seasons. I honestly haven't seen anything beyond the S5 finale. I'm sure the rest of the show is great but that felt...really complete to me, and I thought it was a good ending for the characters. Like, they all fulfilled their own arcs, even if they got a bad deal in there, you know? I give Kripke so much credit.

But yeah, I don't know if I'm going to be posting anything more for this. It feels kind of complete. And I don't think most of the major plot elements would actually change because the boys are girls, so...here we are. If I post a chapter 3 you'll all know I'm a big fucking liar.