better man/worse than nicotine » arthur ketch

eighteen: i'm not asking you to agree with it.

I know Sam and Dean must have made it back to the bunker late because they weren't here when I fell asleep, but they are here now that I'm awake.

I walk into the library with a smile, giving them both a hug around the neck. That's the fastest they've ever made it back from a hunt, but it still feels good to have them here.

"Wait, Joy," Sam reaches out for my arm, stopping me on my way to the kitchen. "Can we talk to you for a moment?"

I furrow my eyebrows, glancing at Dean who looks, dare I say, royally pissed off. "Uh...sure. What's wrong?"

"We think you know," Dean's harsher tone always shines through and when it does, I immediately know this isn't a good conversation. "Have a seat."

I nearly roll my eyes. I have experienced many of these conversations – back before I died. It seemed like every time I tried to help out or do anything, it always ended in one of these situations.

So, now I know how to handle them.

"I'll stand, thanks. What's up?"

My brothers share a look before also standing. Sam moves to the other side of the table where Dean is standing, sliding a book over to him.

"This fell out of this book when I went to move it last night."

Sam holds up a small slip of paper. It takes a few long seconds for it to click, and when it does, a cold dose of panic goes down my spine.

"And?" I say, trying to play dumb. I need them to tell me what exactly they think is going on before I admit anything. This could be harmless.

Hell, I'm kidding myself. I know this isn't harmless. They know. Sooner than I wanted them to, and not how I wanted them to find out.

"And," Sam breathes, "I looked it up. It's an address. To a four-star hotel, just thirty minutes from here."

Dean jumps in. "So, I thought, why would that be in a book? Then I remembered, you use weird shit for bookmarks all the time. But why would you have the address of a four-star hotel?"

I take a deep breath. "I know it looks bad—"

"Yeah, it does," Dean snaps.

"I looked further," Sam interrupts, but he doesn't sound happy either. "Guess who has a suite on the top floor, booked indefinitely?"

I avert my eyes to the table. "Who?"

I know who. But he's going to say his name anyway.

I know the words that are about to come out of his mouth before he even says them. I can hear the tone, the scolding, in my mind before he even says anything. Because I've lived this before. With a different boy. A different time. A different argument. But the same emotions.

"An Arthur Ketch."

"Listen—"

"What the hell, Joy?" Dean's question is full of incredulity.

I look to Sam for help. "I was going to tell you—"

"Were you?"

That simple question, simple remark, throttles me back in time. Back to the other time we had this conversation. When I was thirteen. When I was wrong.

But this time, I'm not wrong. None of this is wrong. And I'm not thirteen anymore.

I stare at Dean. "I was going to tell you." He tries to cut me off, but I hold up my hand, promptly telling him to shut up. "And I get it, okay. You just got me back, and this is probably reminding you of the same thing it's reminding me. But this time is different."