Chapter One

Curious brown eyes fell, squinting, onto something completely new.

A conspicuous purple box with pink flowers demanded attention from the center of her muted work space. She blinked, and her eyes darted around room 2-B, tucked into very end of the third-grade hallway, but there was no trace of anyone. Elizabeth set down the left-over craft sticks from the day's activity and slipped her fingers around the box to pick it up. She flipped its weight from one hand the next. It felt like cardboard, light in weight and her heart fluttered as she debated opening it. A phantom from her past advised against it, don't be an idjit.

Was it even for her anyway? Had a student left it? A little note fell from the wispy white ribbon encircling it and answered that question but left her already anxious mind whirled in its wake.

Lizzie.

The only people who called her that were dead, their memories blown into the wind like rust off the old cars from her father's yard. The decision to let them go is what brought her to this place, this job. A flash of green recognition filled her vision, but disappeared into a haze of grey and then, all at once, her eyes refocused on the box. A rush of adrenaline overcame her and with a bounce she ripped open the mysterious gift.

Inside the box was a square of scratchy cotton, the kind that frequently lived inside cheap jewelry boxes. The suggestion of a student leaving the gift and using 'Lizzie' to sound more familiar rang from the quality of the packaging. But then, a glimmer jolted Elizabeth where she stood.

A gorgeous ring stared flatly back at her. The yellow band housed three stones, a large perfectly carved emerald was accompanied between two fiery, round diamonds. She chanced another look around, to see if anyone had experienced the grown woman almost faint at the size of it. Surely it was fake.

Her next thought, the idea of a secret admirer, thrilled her but felt incredibly unlikely. The elementary school teacher had only moved to this little town a month ago and had barely spoken to anyone other than the other teachers. Most of whom were married or engaged, and well, all women. Not that she judged, but in this backwards Texas town, it seemed doubtful.

Elizabeth spent a lot of time trying to blend in, one didn't live the life she came from without learning basic survival techniques. She was a run-of-the-mill American 20-something by appearance. In her prime she had tight muscles, and a thin sharp face but in her retirement, she'd grown soft. Her legs felt like little stubs under her shapeless dresses, picked out especially for deterring attention.

All in all, receiving a gift of this magnitude seemed completely bizarre. And if it seemed way too good to be true, it probably was.

The teacher stuffed the lid back on the box and threw it in her bag, careful not to touch the piece of jewelry. Her watch blinked 4:55 PM and on a Friday that meant leaving the rest of the work for Monday. It took two trips to get all the papers and supplies into her car for the weekend but after 30 minutes of huffing bags up and down the long hallway, she really wondered how someone got in and out of her room so fast. Panic engulfed her and threatened to suffocate her right there in the parking lot.

Demons.

But how did they find her? Why would they even want her anymore? The only spectacular thing about her was dead, taking with him any hope they could use her to get anything. For a moment the panic subsided, deadened by the memory of all her loss, but she still climbed into her car and sped away. Elizabeth found herself absent-mindedly rubbing a little spot on her wrist. She pulled comfort from the old anti-possession tattoo that didn't get much use these days, aside from reminding her of him and forcing her to wear band-aids every day to work.

A long fifteen minutes of driving and Top 40 later, the tires of her old beat up Buick squealed onto the driveway of her little house. Salt stones lined the exterior of her home inconspicuously and beautifully crafted iron bars on her windows looked like a decorative touch on the century old house. In the town of Granbury, Texas, old demon warded houses were a dime a dozen. It was real poetic justice for her, to live in a city that would send any seasoned hunter into a fit. The old town was legendary death place of Jesse James and John Wilks-Boothe, and it seemed too perfect when she was looking for a place to start over. Admittedly, moving to an old west town felt like the perfect way to honor him, while still moving on with her life.

Elizabeth decided the grading and lesson plans could wait until Sunday and she grabbed only her purse and walked with a still panicked haste to the door; unlocking it, jumping in and re- locking it behind her. Her back rested against the Devil's trap carved into the interior of the door. Making it look like a beautiful piece of art was only half done, but it was effective none the less. Her lips let out a relieved breath when the lights flickered, but decided to stay lit. The A/C squeaked, the faucet dripped constantly, and she yearned to have her handy man back, but it was home. Elizabeth Winchester garnished the deed, her new name for her new life.

She shimmied out of her too tight heels and scratchy, lifeless dress before peeling off her latest band-aid. She grinned a little to herself and started humming an old song as she gathered her nightly routine. Her fuzzy pajamas called to her from the second drawer of her dresser and she felt as though she was merging with them as she pulled them on. Wine seemed like the most acceptable next choice as she buried herself into the cloud of a 100% genuine leather Ashley sofa and white large wool knit blanket.

It was a life she was never destined for, and Elizabeth almost got away with it. She almost had the apple-pie life he had always wanted; but then she remembered the purple box. That gorgeous ring and after too many glasses of wine, there didn't seem any more reason to deny herself the luxury.

Her drunken feet pulled her without permission to the door where her purse sat, unassuming. There were fingers clumsily pushing through her bag in a fog that she blamed on the wine and eventually struck cardboard. Examining it closely was incredible, it was exactly the ring she had always wanted. No one alive knew the details of her silly white wedding aspirations. The eerie-feeling that lingered from hours before left her, and a calm flushed over her as if the piece of gold itself told her not to worry. Maybe even death would be better than living without them. She took a deep breath and pressed the ring, just her size, over knuckle and all the way down her finger.

Her chest jerked back against a tidal wave that ripped the oxygen from her lungs. She collapsed onto the floor and fought hard against the air that taunted her as she pulled herself back to the couch and tried to stand. Little black pin pricks filled her vision and soon she feared she would be completely enveloped in darkness. Time was running out. The ring surged with an energy that felt familiar but suffocated her still. A heat from her chest exploded, threading through the window of her home as if it tethered her to something.

Loud ringing started like a siren in a storm and for a moment Elizabeth didn't know if it was an illusion or salvation. In the kitchen, a light flashed from a drawer and vibrations shook the cabinets, as she clawed, half unconscious to it. She grasped at her shirt, ripping it to relieve the pressure but it did nothing. Shaking, she hit the drawer handle and with her last bit of strength jerked it out and down onto herself. The contents littered her linoleum floor, but a small black phone grabbed her attention. She couldn't have answered faster if she had still been in control.

"Lizzie, BREATHE."

A fierce wind rushed into her lungs, expanding them so much it hurt. Her heart, beating in her ears, slowed and after finally regaining a semi-even breath she looked down to the small electronic thing in her hands.

"Dean?" She said, gruff and breathless. The phone clicked.

Elizabeth dragged her heavy eyes around her little house; she saw the mess of things that came crashing out of the drawer all around her, the ripped shirt, and her purse spilled next to the door. Her mind rushed with every set of circumstances, theories, next steps. She sighed.

SPNSPNSPNSPN

Day light warmed her face and tickled her nose. Her brown eyes watery and still heavy blinked open. Pounding came from her head and she slowly sat up, grabbing at her forehead to steady her muddy vision. Her stomach bottomed out and she thought she might pass out again. What had she done? Bobby Singer flashed into her head and yelled at her for being, "So gosh darn stupid." But the tongue lashing she received from the memory of her father was right. It was that god forsaken wine. She knew she was a light weight, but recently she just didn't care.

Her knees slid across the thick carpet and she fished around in the couch cushions for her phone; a smartphone, with a contract. It seemed so silly to be so happy about bureaucracy, but the flutter in her heart was there when she found the cold rectangle under the throw pillow. Flicking on the screen she stopped.

Sunday September 16th, 2012.

She had slept, splayed out on the kitchen floor, for over 24 hours. Suddenly, she was very aware of the presence emanating from the ring on her finger. After she had worked so hard to leave that life, she was now thrown back into it without any back up. No Dad, no Sam, no Dean, not even Castiel.

But wait. Was it really Dean's voice on the phone? Dean's phone. She ran to the kitchen and found the little black phone resting on the weathered linoleum floor. Her fingers opened the device and flipped through the last phone number and hit send.

Riiiiing. Riiiiing. Riiiiing.

"Hello, thank you for calling the Contempra Inn, New Orleans. The room you're trying to reach is unavailable and has requested no phone calls be let through. Thank you."

The message droned on for what her dry mouth thought was as eternity, a swallow stuck in the back of her throat but not daring to move. No voicemail picked up and soon she threw the useless piece of plastic across the room. Fear engulfed her like a fire, tears stung behind her eyes and she crawled defeated to back onto her couch. Slowly she picked up her shiny smartphone and went through the same ritual she had for the past 2 years.

"You've reached Dean's Phone-"

"You've reached Dean's oth-" "You've reached Dean's other, oth-."

"Hello?"

She stopped. She looked down at the number she had dialed, it was Sam's.

"S-Sam?" Elizabeth heard the crack in her own voice, but it couldn't be him. He was dead. He had to be dead. If he wasn't that meant he had left her alone and scared. Her mind flashed back to the Leviathan exploding, pulling Dean and Castiel with it. A strong blow to the back of her head had plunged her into a thick, humid darkness. When she finally awoke, it was weeks later in a hospital, and after calling every number they had for close to six months she gave up ever seeing them again.

"Lizzie?"

"Sam, is that you? How are you alive? What's happening? I need help. There's this ring and I passed out and I lost a whole day and-"

"Lizzie, it's okay. Where are you?"

"Home."

"Where is that?"

"Granbury, Texas."

"Do you have an address?"

"Oh yeah."

The words dribbled off her numbing lips and into sticky air of uncertainty that surrounded her. He saidthey were coming, her mind raced, but she wasn't paying attention. Her mind shut off and if she were being honest with herself she'd admit she thought all this was a bad dream.

Still on auto-pilot her hands graded papers, packed up her gear and packed her car for the next day of work. At 8 o'clock she grabbed another bottle and downed the whole thing with no glass and no TV.

Briiizzz. Briiiiizzz.

Her alarm jolted her into the world of the living; her eyes heavier and crustier than the morning before. Elizabeth didn't think of the ring or of the phone call. She got up and dressed for work, showered and fixed her hair, only flinching a moment when the stone caught her sweater and pulled a thread.

She sighed.

Children are very receptive to the energy around them. Little eyes peered over books and seemed to absorb her emotions like brand new sponges. Sometimes that meant they would test her, act up and see just how far they could get. Today no one raised their voice or spoke back. No one tested her.

When recess finally came, she sat silently and watched the kids laugh and run. The other teachers gave her space, she told them she was cramping and had a horrible hangover and they accepted it. They weren't bad women and if she had to form an opinion, it was a good one.

"Mrs. Winchester?" A small voice pierced through her cloud and grabbed her attention immediately. It jerked her from her faraway place, but she was grounded immediately by what she saw. "These men wanna talk to you, they're from the FBI!" The studious boy was proud to bring the Agents to his teacher, but she knew who they really were.

"Mrs. Winchester, we'd just like to ask you a few questions about an incident, is there somewhere we can go?" The taller man in a black suit asked, his brown hair always too shaggy to be professional. But her eyes weren't locked on him just now.

"Are you in trouble?!"

"Thank you, Jimmy. You can go now." She stood up, not taking her eyes off him. He looked... the same. Those green eyes piercing her and challenging her reality. It was the same cheap suit, the same hair cut the same man. It couldn't be. Was it a demon? A Leviathan? It couldn't be him, but it was, she could feel it. She could hear it. She could... hear it?

It's me, Lizzie, it's really me.

His voice echoed through the walls of her mind, where only the sound of her own had tread. The smoky, rich, deep voice that soothed her nightmares and confessed his love. The same voice that she had heard on voicemail repeat for months. Her eyes filled with tears and she barely pulled them into a nearby work room before losing her composure.

"Elizabeth Winchester, huh?" He chided with a side smile. She stood frozen.

"Dean?"

Her mind stopped, her breathing caught in her throat. Her knees gave out and she grasped the work bench to keep from hitting the ground. He was alive. He was alive and in front of her. "How long?"

"How long wh-"

She stood up straight. "How long have you been alive?" Her voice demanded it, but still cracked from the rampage of emotion that hit her like a hurricane. The act normally fostered a rage from the pit of her stomach, but today it didn't seem important.

"A year."

"A... a..." Elizabeth took two steps toward him, his smile widened, her hand raised and pulled back with the intent of connecting with his smug face. Then the electricity hit her muscles in a flash of paralyzing pain. She cried out and fell to the floor.

"LIZZIE!" Dean fell to her and grabbed her close to him. The smell of roses filled his mouth, he shuddered under the weight of it. His Lizzie, she was here, in his arms again. He buried his face in her hair as she recovered, so mad at himself for what he had done.

"What was that?" She groaned as she sat up, pulling from his arms and steadying herself.

"Is it okay if we leave here? I think it'd be best if we talked about this somewhere safe." Sam said smoothly, comforting. She nodded as she stood, taking the first step out of the teacher's lounge and toward her room. Straightening her dress, she thanked God her muscles remembered where to go.

"Where are you going, I thought the ex-"

"My room is this way, I have to get my purse and get a sub. I can't just leave the kids alone. Could you imagine being abandoned by someone you trusted?" Her words were loaded, and she was a bit mad at herself for being so guarded when all she wanted was to wrap her arms around Dean and take him right there in the yellow hallway.

He flinched at her venomous response, but the pain he caused her was palpable. The smell of bitter cleaning supplies and the sound of children filled his senses and for a moment it felt like any other job. But he knew it wasn't. They stopped in front of a door with WINCHESTER in big letters, surrounded by little ghosts with names on them. He wanted to laugh at the whole thing, but the cinder block in his stomach kept him sullen. Sam stood back, tall and observant. He honestly just didn't know what to do next. His guilt wrapped a vice around his heart that tightened with every breath that caught in Lizzie's throat.

Her fingers wrapped familiarly around her key ring and twisted the lock open. Stepping into the dark room, she pivoted to face the switch and turned on the lights. She logged into a computer on a desk that was adjacent to the door and submitted a form for a replacement. Soon, the telephone hanging between the desk and the door sprang to life. Quickly, she grabbed at the handset and yanked it off the receiver, "Yes, Mrs. Winchester. I got your form, is everything alright?" The secretary said, with a thick central Texas accent.

"Yes, some men from the FBI want to question me for an incident I witnessed a few nights ago. I'll try to be back by tomorrow." Elizabeth hung up the phone and grabbed her bags, struggling once again to carry all her things and headed to the door.

"Can I help you with those?" Sam asked, but Dean ran to her side and pulled the largest tote from her shoulder. It was silent for the most part as they exited the building, she was afraid if she let herself speak the flood gates would open and drown them all in its wake. Dean took her in, her skin pale as her little paper ghosts, as they walked through the strange building she navigated with ease. He saw her interact with strangers like they were her best friends and it killed him not to know. The whole little life she built herself without him.

"Hey, Winchester!" A big, male voice boomed through the hallway. All three spun around and met face to face with a tall man in a track suit. A whistle dangling from his neck, a clipboard under his large, dark arm.

"Hey, Glenn, I'm just on my way out." Elizabeth said, motioning toward the door. Dean could hear the struggle in her voice to make it sound nonchalant, and he could feel the turmoil in her stomach. Hearing his name describe her filled him with pride but broke his heart into pieces. Not like this, he thought.

"Are you gonna be all right? You need me to come, too?" Glenn stepped closer to the three, puffing out his chest a little in her defense. She gave him a smile, a genuine smile that broke Dean's heart even more. Elizabeth shook her head and thanked him. He wasn't surprised at her brushing him off, in the month he tried to get to know her better, she completely shut him down. Gave some story about a fallen soldier husband, but he nodded in response and reminded her that she always had his number. Elizabeth knew the goodbye was too long, a little too forlorn, but something told her this could be the last time they spoke. Glenn had been so good to her, and she wondered what their future would have been like if she had only said yes to his advances.

Sam raised his eyebrows and felt the disgust coming from his brother.

C'est le Vie, she thought to herself.

I'll c'est his vie, asshole.

The voice echoed again only to her and she flipped her entire body toward Dean with a visceral reaction. His face filled with shock, green eyes the size of tea saucers, but she quickly flitted her own eyes to the ground. Embarrassed for reacting so outwardly to a voice in her own head.

She broke from Glenn and continued out of the building as the brothers followed. A smile creeped onto her lips at the sight of the black beauty parked next to her baby. The sparkling of the paint job reminding her how long it had been since she gave her own car the TLC it needed. Before she could stop herself, her hand smoothed over a section of the hood just above the headlight. It warmed her fingers and tickled down to her toes. Another ghost from her past to haunt her. A hot, rough hand rested onto the small of her back and she jumped three feet into the air.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to-"

"Let's just go, follow me."

The time spent alone in her car driving home was enough to bring her a little closer to acceptance, but not near enough to forgive. Her old tires squeaked over the salt threshold of her driveway the same as it had for months, but this time it brought with it the beautiful purr of a 1967 Impala. When she finally shut off the engine and opened her door, the men were already pacing the patio. She didn't know how she would react to Dean. To Sam. But she knew it would be tears, more tears, like there hadn't been enough already. How could they even be here? She saw Dean get pulled into Purgatory with Dick. She called them three times a day for months. Did they ignore her? Did they decide they didn't want her around anymore? Did Dean come back and realize how horrible she really was, how much better he could do?

It wasn't like that, baby.

"Stop it! I don't know what you're doing or how you're doing it but PLEASE STOP!" Elizabeth yelled out right there in her own front yard. Sam backed away from trying to grab a bag from the car, but Dean sighed. He hated himself for what he had to do.

She dragged her feet all the way to the door, thumbing her key ring with clumsy motions. The lock finally clicked, and the door pushed open, her eyes scanning the room and she huffed when she realized she had forgotten to clean up. "I'm sorry, it's normally so clean." She bent over to start picking things up as the brothers awkwardly filed in behind her, shutting the door. Her fingers grazed over the purple box and reflexively recoiled, like the box itself almost killed her.

"Lizzie, it's okay, we really need to talk." Sam said, she finished gathering the things she already had in her hands threw them onto the dining room table behind the sofa. They sat on the matching love seat pressed against the living room wall that lined the kitchen and took in their friend's new home.

Sam admired the little house, old but beautiful and so full of potential. The floor was hardwood, the little nicks could be easily buffed out, and the great room lead into the rest of the house with two rounded archways on either side of a small love seat. His favorite was the big picturesque window in the front of the house overlooking the front yard, letting in light and perfectly dressed in shear white curtains. He ran his rough hands over the leather love seat and really wished it was his own.

Dean muffed and tried to ignore his surroundings; the home he'd never have, created by the woman he was never supposed to have again. His eyes focused on one spot, and as hard as he tried to push everything out he still saw it. The little metal frame on the side table housing a photo of him with a rosary hanging from the corner. A cross standing tall next to it with a picture of them the night before they went to kill Lucifer. The night before Jo and Ellen died. They had burned it, but weeks later Lizzie redeveloped the film. He hated it, but she really couldn't let it go. They had fought over it.

Elizabeth walked into the room with a tray of mugs and a short glass. She handed them a mug each with steaming, hot black coffee and kept the glass of clear liquid for herself. Water? She swigged it back and shuttered. Vodka.

"Wow, Liz." Dean said patronizingly, unimpressed with her new-found drinking habit. He could see into her mind, all the empty bottles she had just stashed in the garage outside the kitchen door. "Didn't Bobby tell you how easy it is for your family to get addicted?"

"You have no place to tell me how to live my life Dean Winchester. So, we're here, talk. I, personally, have been spilling my heart to a voicemail box and picture of my supposedly dead family for TWO YEARS so excuse me if I don't have much to say." Her words stung. They stung coming off her lips and they stung entering the boys' ears.

She regretted saying it so harshly, but she meant it. Since she woke up in the hospital, she had called all of their phones at least once a day when she didn't know where else to go. Now she was completely mortified. They had been listening to her confessions, her droning, this whole time. She took her head in her hands to hide the redness and angry tears stinging the backs of her eyes.

"Liz-"

"Don't call me that, I'm not your Lizzie anymore."

"No, You're Mrs. Elizabeth Winchester now, third grade teacher, wife of some dead US soldier, aren't you?" Dean snapped, mad that he hadn't given her that name himself. Almost mad he wasn't a dead soldier, if only to have her as his wife.

"You were dead, Dean! I saw you get swallowed into purgatory and then I woke up WEEKS later in a hospital and no one was there. I called Sam for days, I even called you and prayed to Cas. There was NO ONE. I was alone, and I had to move on. I picked that name because I thought I'd never see you again, I thought that would be as close as I would ever get to a life with you. I picked this town because it had so much 'old west' history, they even have a PIE AND BEER festival every year. I finished college and became a teacher because that was our dream. I even moved into this stupid little shack because we always talked about fixing a house up. I lived for you Dean. You were dead, and I still LIVED for you." By now tears poured from her eyes. She got up and stormed into her bedroom, slamming the door and crawling under her huge comforter.

If she could just go to sleep it would be over. This isn't real, it can't be. They're dead and it's this ring messing with her mind, it's a cursed object. It was the only explanation for the air being pulled from her lungs, and the voice that sounded like Dean invading her thoughts. Elizabeth drew in a deep breath and sighed, deciding she was still asleep on the kitchen floor. Maybe if she went to sleep, she'd wake up and then she could hunt down the person responsible for cursing her. "Anything to get this goddamned ring off."

She went to pull at it again and the electricity from earlier hit her, causing her to scream. Black engulfed her again, and this time Sam ran in to check on her. Dean remained on the sofa, he didn't move. He didn't speak. He hated himself.

When she woke up it was dark, and she was wrapped up in her bed all clothes still on, not in her kitchen in her pajamas. Hazily she wondered if she had fallen asleep drinking again and the whole thing had been a hallucination, but then she heard the men in her livingroom.

"You have to tell her, man." Sam pleaded.

"I will okay?! She already hates me, she's going to hate me so much more when I tell her." Dean responded, his voice was muffled, like the last part he spoke through his hands. Elizabeth pulled the covers down and put her feet on the floor. When she placed her hands beside her to push up, her covers caught and pulled on the ring.

"Ouch!" Her eyes focused on the ring. The ring. It was perfect, it was exactly what she told him she wanted. He didn't. Fury drove her through the door and down the hall before physical thought caught up to her, he figured that's how she'd caught him off guard. Her arms were out stretched before he had time to stop her. The bolt hit her deep into her core and she crumpled immediately, but this time she stayed conscious. Dean fell to his knees beside her and pulled her up to him, lulling her head onto his shoulder tenderly.

"Li-Elizabeth. Please, I know how hard this is, but you have to listen to me for a minute, okay?" He pleaded, she nodded, weakly. "It was Crowley," Her body tensed, "There was rumor he was trying to put together a spell. I had to stop him, I tried everything but there was only one way." Her thoughts collected as his words weighed down her chest. "It was either me or Crowley, okay? I didn't want to do this."

Her head shot up. "Do what."

"We looked for another way, we don't have Bobby to help anymore and there wasn't any time."

"Do. What. Dean."

"The ring. Remember? It's perfect!"

"WHAT DID YOU DO, DEAN?" She cried the last words because she knew. She remembered the voice, the electricity. It was a legend she had found in Bobby's books once, and they had laughed about it then. HHhhow absurd it was, how horrible it would be to have your free will removed.

"You bought my soul?" She whispered it to the floor, defeated.

Sam winced.

Dean broke.