Brothers Keep Her

Facing the Music

"What do you mean, she blacked out on you?" Sam asks Dean.

You feel sick. Your shaking hand makes its way over your mouth. Oh god, it was real. You can't look at either of them.

"Well, I mean... we... she..." Dean sounds as uncomfortable as you feel. "It was her third glass, Sam. I should have cut her off at two. We were just having a couple of drinks. You know. Unwind."

He regrets it. It was the alcohol. That's what it was, you think to yourself. Heat creeps into your cheeks and you realize you still need air. Part of you is relieved that Dean doesn't think that kiss means anything, and that the way he looked right into your heart was nothing but three glasses of whiskey, neat. Why, then, does it burn at you to remember the fluttery sensation in your belly when he pulled you into his arms? He'd melted you when he sang,'I feel wonderful because I see the love light in your eyes...'

You can't believe you fell for that. You should have known; Dean's a player. A manwhore. You knew that. Sam's joked about it before. And Dean knew - KNEW! - that Sam was falling for you. His own brother!! He told you so in the hospital when he thought you were asleep. Ohhhh. You don't know who you're more angry with - Dean or yourself. Outside. Fresh air, now.

Your feet carry you up the winding stairs to the door of the bunker. Neither of the brothers calls after you, and you hear no footsteps fall in pursuit - they're giving you a bit of space. That, or they're momentarily stunned.

You burst through the door and break into a run. The air is crisp in the early morning, and even though the sun is hidden behind a layer of clouds, your eyes have to adjust to the brightness. It's much darker down in the bunker. You think briefly about trying to get away in the Impala, but there's no chance that Dean left the keys and you can't hot-wire a car to save your life. Mental note: learn how to hot-wire a car. Secondly, you want to get away from the boys right now and the fastest way to be tracked down is by stealing Dean's Baby.

"Going somewhere, love?" The hairs on the back of your neck stand up as you skid to a stop in the gravel, turn around face-to-face with Crowley. He stands there wrapped in his stupid black trench coat with that stupid grin on his stupid smug face.

"What do you want?"

He's the last person - thing - you want to see.

"To help you, that's all," he says.

You hear Dean and Sam shouting at each other from inside the bunker. They must be coming up the stairs.

"Need a lift?" Crowley asks and snaps his fingers. Now you're sitting at a booth in a little diner, and he's sitting directly across from you.

"Uh... What just happened?"

He smiles. "I do what I want. I'm Crowley." He reaches for the sugar as the waitress stops at the table. She turns the coffee mugs over and pours a steaming cup for each of you. "Thanks, love. Be a dear and bring us a menu, would you?"

You stare at him, then scan your surroundings through the window.

"Don't worry. We're hours away from them. Actually, scratch that. Days. Welcome to California."

No way. You scan the streets and sure enough: every single car has a California license plate. But instead of mile-high palm trees and long stretches of light sand beaches, you see conifers and cypress trees, and spiny looking bushes that look like they could have come from another planet.

"Yes way," he says as his spoon clinks inside the mug. "I take it you've started to put the pieces together?"

"What pieces?" You sit rigid with your fists clenched at your sides.