It had seemed like life would be perfect for her. She was 19, in love, and thought the world was at her feet.

Unfortunately for her, her world was just extremely fucked up, and the fun hadn't even started yet.

Maryla Savage woke with a start, and rubbed her eyes, trying to expel the vivid memories from her mind. Which worked really well. Usually she didn't think about it.

Her dreams, on the other hand, were another matter altogether.

Now, fully awake, with bad memories shoved deep somewhere in the vastness of her mind, she yawned, stretched like a yoga master, and rolled out of bed, flicking on her radio as she made her way to the kitchen.

She ate breakfast (a croissant and three bowls of Weetos) sitting on the counter top, rather than at the table she'd bought to go with her new life. Her phone bleeped at her, letting her know that she had voicemail.

"Mari! Nena, you have to llamame. We need to do something tonight. Shit. Forgot. Tonight is THAT night. Never mind. I'll see you there. Te quiero, chica." She smiled at the message, then clicked on to the next one.

"That was me. By the way. Just in case you didn't get it. Yeah. Neways. Love you. This is Maggie, by the way." Maryla laughed at that one. Trust Maggie to think she wouldn't recognize her. Because they hadn't been ridiculously close since she'd...what was the term for it? Come back? Moved here?

To be honest, either one suited her just fine. Although, technically, seeing as she now lived in Texas, and still got stared at for her accent, which had turned from British to something of a South African accent since she'd been here.

She tossed her phone on to her sofa, and went for a shower, knowing her hair looked awful. She'd needed a change, which came in the form of a bottle of hair dye, and the help of Maggie. So her hair had gone from being dark brown, to fire engine red. She'd let Maggie choose the colour. She didn't really give a shit, as long as it made her look different.

She spent the rest of the day milling around, typing essays, watching day time TV, eating her way through almost everything she had at home. She'd always had an appetite like a pregnant woman. Her mother's words, not hers.

*

She showed up to the club in her favourite silk pedalpushers, bought at Maggie's insistence, and her oldest Metallica t-shirt. Which, seeing as she'd been back roughly nine months, wasn't that old at all. She'd bought it off ebay to replace her really old one. She'd bought a lot of things that way.

She was having fun. Ridiculous amounts of fun, but it all helped her forget. But not for long.

As her dancing buddy Brian spun her in a tango-like turn, she caught sight of someone she'd never wanted to see again. And she felt her wrist ache. She missed the step, and nearly fell flat on her face, luckily for her, Brian was quite the dancer. He swiftly made it look like the dip he dropped her in to had been intended. As she looked up, she caught sight of the other two people she'd quite missed but had hoped never to see again. And one word crossed her mind. Fu-u-u-ck.

And she was hoping like hell they hadn't seen her yet.

*

Sam Winchester hadn't really wanted to come to Texas. Especially not on the whim of the angel he didn't exactly like. Especially not when they had to drag Bobby along with them. And extra-specially not when he knew how Dean felt about cowgirls. And Texan accents.

So when he saw a flash of red being dipped low to the floor, it caught his interest much quicker. Especially when a pair of light green eyes, that he knew were sometimes hazel, sometimes yellow, and quite a lot of the time orange, caught his, with a frantic look of desperation in them. He spoke before he could register the plea in them.

"Maryla?" he stared at the girl in shock. She looked exactly the same as the last time he'd seen her. Red hair excepted.

Bobby Singer looked at Sam like he was nuts, or just plain stupid.

"Sam, Maryla's been dead for five years, remember?" he said, then looked at what Sam was staring at. His face collapsed. Or half collapsed. Half of it collapsed in to a stunned look. The other half raised itself in to a 'What the shit?' look.

It took Dean five minutes to realize that nobody had commented on his sexist comments for a while. When he glanced around, he saw Bobby and Sam staring, still stuck in shock at something across the bar.

He took a look, but whatever they were staring at flew right over his head. Just some redhead with her back to them. Maybe Sammy's gonna get laid after all. He thought.

He leaned across to snap Sam out of it, and tell him to make his move, but Sam snapped himself out of it, and almost ran across the bar in his haste to get to her before she left. Or disappeared. Or morphed in to the girl it really was, and was no longer Maryla.

He gently touched her on the shoulder, and felt her stiffen. She'd never liked being touched by people. The girl turned to him, her green eyes gone, and the sorrowful hazel that were her sad eyes replacing them. Eyes as wide as saucers.

And she stayed as her. As Maryla. Because, obviously, she was Maryla. Sam stared at her in shock for a few seconds, then pulled her in to a hug.

"How are you? How did you? When did you?" he couldn't finish any of the questions. Then another thought occurred to him, and he pulled back from her enough to see her face, but not enough for her to make the escape she had been planning, "What the hell are you?"

Across the bar, Dean couldn't quite see the face of the girl Sam was all over, and he felt like he was missing something. Especially when he glanced at Bobby, and saw him still frozen in place.

"I'm not anything, Samuel. I'm just me." Maryla sighed, wishing like hell she knew why her luck was still off stuck up someone else's ass, instead of following her around like it used to before she'd met the Winchesters. He gave her a look. She sighed a more angry sigh, "Fine. Bring on the shot of holy water."

After she'd downed it, and nothing happened, Sam didn't know what to say.

"We should probably get Bobby and jackass, and go talk somewhere." She suggested, and turned to tell her friends she was heading out.

Dean was watching the whole thing with waning interest, still not getting what was going on. Then Sam stepped out of the way so that the redhead could walk beside him. And for once in his life, Dean Winchester felt his heart break.

Bobby snapped out of it as the pair approached, but correctly gaged the situation, as usual, and held back the greetings until the motel room.

It took Dean Winchester exactly three minutes and fifty seconds to realize that he had been left alone in the bar, and the girls who were now standing in the place where he had seen Maryla were teetering between buying him a drink, or calling security on his ass.

*

"You have red hair." Sam, Bobby and Maryla all looked at Dean like he'd just announced he was leaving the hunting life to pursue a career in ballet. As Prima Ballerina.

"You've been stuck on stupid for a long time, haven't you." Maryla said, dropping on to Sam's bed. There was no question in her voice. It was a statement. She knew just how much of an idiot he was.

"You sound South African." was his next brain wave. She looked at him for a split second before returning her gaze to the Winchester brother she wished she'd fallen in love with.

"So." was all she managed to get out before Bobby interrupted.

"Where the hell were you? Everyone thinks you're dead! You didn't contact anyone for five years, and we find you dancing in some bar in Texas! What the hell were you thinking? What the hell were you doing? And who the hell did we bury?" he exploded. Then he sat back, looking stunned with himself.

The hazel eyes locked on his.

"You buried me." she stated simply, "I died. You buried me. End of story." she sighed, "Or it would be if someone up there didn't have a sick sense of humour."

"What happened?" Sam asked, sitting down next to her and reaching for her hand before remembering her dislike of being touched and pulling his hand back. She took it anyway.

"Nine months ago, I wake up in darkness, air running low. So I did like Buffy and dug myself out. Nice choice of burial outfit, by the way. You know what I'm like with dresses." She aimed the last comment at Bobby.

"You said someone upstairs had a sick sense of humour. Were you in heaven?" Bobby asked. The hazel eyes caught his again, this time filled with anguish.

"If only. Five years. You know how long that is in Hell time?" she asked, not expecting an answer, "Six hundred years. Thereabouts. Or at least, in my Hell time."

"Jesus." Dean murmured. All three men stared at her.

"Had nothing to do with it." she said, without looking at him, "So, what brings you here?"

Defence mechanism. She immediately changed subject. She'd never liked being centre of attention, and that was one thing that most definitely had not changed in the five years since she'd last seen them.

"Same old, same old." Sam recovered first, "Dean's been to Hell and back too, so you'll have something to chit chat about. I have demon blood in me." The second titbit of information was announced like he expected a bad reaction.

"Yeah, I heard." was her only response. She stared at her hands for a long time, then looked up at Bobby and Sam, avoiding Dean's gaze like it could give her the Plague if she caught it. Really, she just didn't want to look at that face.

"You did?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. Listen. Not that I'm not glad to see you or anything." she began, lying through her teeth, "I'm just really tired. Can we continue this tomorrow? Sam, I'll give you my number."

Sam handed her his phone and she quickly typed it in.

"So I'll see you tomorrow, at around nine." she stood up, and made to leave the motel room. As Sam and Bobby stood and looked around for their stuff, Dean reached out a hand to touch her. To stop her from leaving.

She avoided his hand like she'd foreseen the move and thought she'd be scorched by his touch, closing the door only a little too roughly behind her.

Dean stared at the door as if he could see her through it, as if he was watching her leave him behind.