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fitzs-trained-monkey · 3 years

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Chapter Thirty-Four: The Revelation

Rated PG-13 For mentions of abuse, trigger topics such as suicidal thoughts, torture, language, and kidnaping.

Masterlist

~I am not the only traveler

And then I can tell myself

I had all and then most of you

When the night was full of terrors

There aren't very many things worse than watching one's little brother die. I think the only thing worse than that is enduring it twice. I had already had to watch Jasper be slaughtered like a pig in front of me. Wasn't that torture enough for a lifetime? Was having to salt and burn my own brother the universe's twisted idea of a joke? This wasn't funny!

What kind of cruel world was I living in? Why did my last words to my precious little brother have to be empty promises? How was that okay? Jasper would spend the rest of eternity waiting for me to show up, tell him my stories, and tuck him into bed, but I never would. Because if I lived, I would be stuck down here on this awful planet, reliving the same day over and over and over again. And if the Winchester's decided to kill me when they found out what I was, then I wouldn't be going to heaven. I already knew where I would go. It wasn't anywhere good.

Well, if my life was a joke then I hoped at least somebody was getting a kick out of it.

I knew I wasn't.

From the top of the stairs, I heard Sam, Dean, and Cas open the sliding glass door and shuffle outside. Jack firmly insisted on staying here. He probably thought he should stay in case I ' needed him ' for comfort or something.

'Well, joke's on you, puppy, cause I don't need anyone.' I thought, bitterly. I traveled down the dark hallway to my room, the one with the plain white door all the way down on the end. The door opened with a soft click and squeaky hinges and I kicked it shut behind me.

My room was exactly how I had left it. Not a single thing was out of place. Of course, it was about as far away from immaculate as anything can get. There were pieces of paper strewn all over the desk, plenty of wadded-up sketches in the trash can and even more outside the trash, pencils were left in strange places, and mix-matched fairy-lights draped over way too many things. Miscellaneous articles of clothing were draped over a chair, clustered around the laundry basket, crumpled on the bed, and a few were even hanging from the doorframe of the closet. The bed wasn't made, the blankets and sheets hopelessly tangled together and there was an atrocious number of glow-in-the-dark stars glued to the roof. Oh, and let us not forget the rainbow-colored streamers hanging from the ceiling fan, so really everything was just an absolute mess.

But it was a comforting mess and that's how that girl who used to be me had lived. She had been a scatterbrained, messy-haired, and bright-eyed sort of girl, she'd had so much potential. That girl could have great. Her mess comforted me too. Maybe she wasn't as dead as I'd thought.

"Well, I'm just about done with this whole damn popsicle-stand of existence. You?" Isaac asked, sounding more dead than he looked.

"Done," I agreed. "So, so done."

I flopped down on my already messy bed, staring up at the tacky stars on the ceiling while I tried to come to terms with the fact that I'd never see my little brother again. I couldn't feel the prickling of tears forming in my eyes. I guess I'd run all out of tears to cry. Lucky me. I felt like throwing up.

"Should we go down fighting or give up and roll over? What say you?" Isaac collapsed at the foot of my bed.

"What's the point in fighting?" I asked, shaking my head.

"Dunno." He shrugged. "Frequent flyer miles?"

"So... Nothing?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

Maybe I would just attack the Winchesters once I tore Felix to sheds. Maybe they wouldn't kill me fast. Maybe they'd make me suffer. Then maybe I could cry like I was supposed to.

I had hardly been debating those thoughts for a minute when I heard footsteps pounding up the stairs. Oh, joy. Five minutes of peace was all I'd asked for and apparently I couldn't even get that. Screw my life.

The door flew open with an overly dramatic bang but I didn't flinch. Jack stood in the doorway, eyes alight like molten gold. I turned my head lazily to face him, aware of my void expression but ultimately indifferent to it. I couldn't even bring myself to act like the fake version of myself I had made to fool the Winchesters. I felt oddly numb like nothing mattered. Because honestly, what did? Not even getting my revenge on Felix would change anything. Things wouldn't get better, my life would still suck to an astronomical degree, and this whole stupid world would just keep turning like it always did. Getting revenge was just self-indulgence, really. So what if Jack saw the real me for a couple of hours?

With luck, I'd be dead by morning.

With luck, he'd be the one to kill me.

I deserved it.

"Welcome to the year Nineteen-Thirty, puppy. What do you want?" I addressed him. My tone was clipped, calloused, and cold, but I didn't care.

Jack's eyes were glowing and the air was charged with his power; it made my hair stand on end and my ears hurt like when a plane takes off. Yet, oddly enough, if there and been one in my hand, I would have been swirling chocolate milk in a wine glass for all I'd cared.

Jack didn't answer me. His mouth opened and closed and opened and closed. There was something in his eyes, something akin to desperation. He knew what he wanted to say but the words died in his throat.

"You deaf, honey-bug?" I lifted an eyebrow and took an actual glance at his expression. He didn't look angry. He looked...

Terrified.

And shocked.

And torn.

And betrayed.

I did this. It was me. I had hurt him.

His hands clutched an object tightly between them with enough force to turn his knuckles white. It was a picture frame. I caught a glimpse of the picture within; it had been taken two weeks to the day I'd died. I looked back up to his eyes.

Ah, yes. There it was. The recognition. What a clever, clever boy.

He'd finally put all the pieces together.

'Well, good for him.'

"Uh, oh spaghetti-oh's; looks like the Nephil knows," Isaac droned from the foot of my bed.

"What are you?" Jack asked, his voice trembling. He blinked back tears, biting down on his lower lip to keep it from trembling.

I blinked, feeling sick. I didn't want to lose him, I realized. As much as the bitterness inside me tempted me to bite into him and taste his sweet blood or tell him the truth and watch him squirm just for a distraction from the pain, I couldn't. Because then I'd lose him. I didn't want to lose him. I'd already lost Jazzy today for the second time, I couldn't lose Jack too.

Isaac turned to me, his expression as empty as mine. "Ya gonna tell him?"

"I am Miss. Nidsbit," I answered, flatly. It was supposed to sound friendly like I was teasing, but it only came off as evasive. Jack glared at me. It was already happening; I was already losing him. I guess I deserved that much.

"Don't joke," He said.

"I thought it was hilarious," Isaac chimed.

"In that case, I'm bottled-depression." I flashed my teeth in a way that held no joy whatsoever. "Pint-sized for your convenience," I added, trying for a familiar joke about my height. It sounded empty.

"That was better," My brother snickered, leaning back and closing his eyes. He was probably just going to keep making sarcastic jabs in an attempt to vent his anger, so I ignored him.

"I asked you a question," Jack growled in a way that somehow managed to be threatening despite the whole baby-face puppy-eyed thing he had going on. It was actually kinda hot... Wait, what? When had that happened?

"And I answered you." I sat up. Why did I sound so bitter? Why couldn't I change it? My eyes flicked down to Jack's throat without my permission. His skin looked so soft and I realized I was suddenly famished. My throat burned and desire reared its ugly head inside me. Isaac's voice snapped my attention back to reality.

"Oh dear, Marty. You made the Nephil sniffle."

Jack clenched his teeth and hissed, seemingly bothered by the fact that I wasn't afraid of him. He wouldn't hurt me, right? No, he would. He would hurt me if he knew. If he knew what I wanted to do to him. I wanted him to hold me as he had a few days ago but I wanted to sink my teeth into him at the same time. I deserved to die.

"What are you?" He repeated, taking a step forward. He would hurt me. Good.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I replied, my voice inflectionless. Wandering towards my dresser I started fiddling with some meaningless piece of junk. Anything for a distraction from his soft throat and thrumming pulse. Jack's glowing eyes followed me.

"Y-you're lying," He said. He was trying to sound strong, but there was something broken in his tone.

"Ya think?" I deadpanned. Jack swallowed thickly; his hand shot out to grab my wrist, eyes fading back to their soft blue.

"This isn't funny, Marty. Stop." His eyes pleaded with me. I eyed his hand.

"Or what?" I challenged. What would he do to me? He looked me in the eyes, frowning and moving closer to me. He needed to step away. I caught my gaze drifting to his neck again but I couldn't stop.

"I really don't want to hurt you," He said.

'Then don't make me tell you.' I thought. His eyes searched my face for any glimpse of his friend, but that girl had never been real, not really anyway. I had made her up.

I wished I could go back in time. Back to the night we met. We could do it all over again and maybe, if I had another chance, he wouldn't figure it out. Maybe it would've been better if I'd never come with Jack in the first place. I wished we could go back to the night we met. Then I could have said no. If I hadn't come with him, I never would have hurt Jack like this. If he had never touched me then I would never have had to feel this pain. If I could just go back.

"And you won't," I said, taking a chance.

Jack huffed, his expression pained.

"This is freakin' five-star entertainment," Isaac mused, resting his chin on his fist, observing Jack and me.

"Please, Marty," Jack begged in a whisper. His sweet-smelling breath was warm as it washed over my face. His eyes flicked down to my lips but only for a split second. No, no. Anything but that. "Just tell me the truth."

'You already know it.'

"I have," I lied. Everything kept coming out wrong! I sounded emotionless like I didn't care but I did! Jack's soft expression melted into one of betrayal.

"So, you're just going to lie?" He asked. "Right to my face?"

I didn't have control over what slipped from my lips next.

"Says the Devil's kid."

"Ooh! One point to the Marty!" Isaac laughed.

Jack stared at me like he was heartbroken. Then his eyes narrowed into a glare, lighting with gold as he released my wrist and moved his hand to seize my throat. He whirled us around and slammed me into a wall with more force than I'm sure than he intended to use. Not that I couldn't take it. Without so much as a flinch, I tilted my head as much as I could with Jack cutting off my air supply.

"Tell me what you are!" He shouted. There was desperation there.

"That's quite the grip ya got there, puppy," I taunted, rasping. He loosened his grip but only slightly, holding the picture of my family up for me to see, the corner was dated January 8th, 2014.

"You said they died five years ago. This picture- it was taken five years ago! You said you were nine then! But y-you - you weren't!" Jack's eyes were wide, almost crazed as he glanced from the girl in the picture and back to me. He knew the truth; he just didn't want to believe it. His voice softened. "You haven't aged a day. Five years and you haven't aged a day."

My voice was soft and it wasn't just from the lack of air. "I aged about a month, actually."

Jack let go of my throat like I was burning him, shaking his head as he backed away like a frightened animal. As well he should. He was the prey here and I did want to kill him. But I wanted him to hold me again even more. "Y-you're one of them..." He whispered.

'Don't leave me. I'm sorry, just don't leave me!' I thought desperately, but that wasn't what came out. I felt trapped in my own skin, the monster inside me taking over, fed by my own bitterness.

"I'd say something along the lines of 'say it out loud' but I'm pretty sure that would have copywrite issues," I said, shrugging and moving back to sit on my bed. Jack watched me carefully.

"Felix - h-he turned you. He made you just like him - a vampire... You're a monster!" He spat the word like it was snake-venom.

And it hurt. It hurt so freaking bad. It was like I had lodged a knife in my own chest years ago and now Jack was twisting it.

'I know I am.' I wanted to say.

"Well that's a harsh way of putting it. But I've been called worse." I brushed it off like I didn't care like it wasn't that deep like I wasn't bleeding to tell him how sorry I was. I lowered my head in shame.

"I-I have to tell Sam and Dean," Jack said, shifting onto the balls of his feet, edging towards the door. He was going to make a run for it. Suddenly, I was in control of my body again.

I couldn't let him. I needed more time. I needed to beat Felix first and then they could all find out. I had to fix this. I could still fix this.

I had made Jack forget once.

I could do it again.

I would take us back in time. Before he knew. Make everything right. Take us back to the night we met.

He had to forget.

"I can't let you do that," I spoke softly, my gaze still focused on my feet.

"Are you going to try to kill me?" He asked accusingly.

"No." I shook my head. No, I could never kill him. I was too selfish for that. He deserved someone so much better than me. But I loved him.

"Then what are you going to do?" Jack shifted closer to the exit.

"Isaac," I glanced at my brother out of the corner of my eye. Jack stiffened, his eyes snapping to where mine went. "Get the door."

"On it!" Isaac said, overly eager. Jack bolted but he was too slow. My brother flicked his wrist and the door swung closed with a click. Jack swallowed thickly and glanced back to me, fear filling his features. I knew what he was going to try next.

'This is necessary. One day I'll be sorry.'

"His wings," I said to Isaac, my voice breaking. Isaac grinned widely and reached out, making a pinching motion. Jack froze in a panic, then he clenched his eyes shut groaning as Isaac twisted his hands just a bit.

"Can I rip 'em off?" He asked, basking in the Nephilim's pain.

"Isaac, no!"

"Oh, come on," He twisted his hands even more and Jack cried out, his innocent face twisting in agony. "Just a little?"

"Stop! Just-" I sighed. "Please, don't hurt him, Isaac. Just keep him still, please."

Isaac rolled his eyes. "Oh, fine!" He let go and Jack fell to the ground, panting and shaking. He did his best to get to his feet but Isaac flung him into a wall, pinning him there. "Go ahead and Obliviate the simp."

I stood and stepped towards Jack, slowly and carefully, trying not to scare him any more than I had. I could tell he was trying desperately to move but Isaac was too strong.

"What are you going to do?" Jack demanded, trying to hide the fear in his voice. "Are you going to drink my blood?!"

I froze.

Because I could. Then, I could make him forget.

I glanced at his throat. My fangs ached to come out - to bite. I could imagine what it might feel like to bury my teeth in that soft, delicious-smelling skin. I could imagine what he might taste like. He'd be sweet like candy. I could be gentle! Maybe if he could somehow understand how badly I needed him then he'd let me. And he heals fast so he'd be okay.

But he wouldn't understand. And I wanted him to hold me again.

I just wanted Jack to hold me again.

"No," I said. I plucked the picture frame from his hands, gazing at the smiles of my family for a moment. I looked up, trying to smile despite the ache of grief and guilt in my chest. "I'm going to need you to forget this."

"I wish I could," Jack said, glaring at the floor. He couldn't even look at me. He couldn't even look.

I nodded. "You will."

"W-what?"

I sighed and moved over to the window. The crisp breeze blew in from the sea as I threw it open, the curtains billowing like vicious barking dogs on a leash. It was a long way down to the black rocks where the land met the ocean. I dropped the picture and watched it tumble until it smashed into the rocks, shattering that perfect picture frame, shattering my picture-perfect family into a million pieces.

"I can make you forget," I told him, over my shoulder. "Take us back to the night we met." The power inside me trilled with excitement; it wanted Jack, it craved him. Or maybe that was just the monster I was, begging to be unleashed. I turned away from the window, closing it as I did.

"What do you mean?" He asked cautiously. He was scared. He was so scared.

"I'm going to talk to you, and then you're going to forget, and everything will be back to the way it was." I would fix this. His arms would be around me as soon as I fixed this and everything would be okay. I hung my head and let the power inside me launch forward and wrap itself like chains around my Nephilim. I could feel his light, his grace, fighting back but it had nothing substantial to fight. My power wasn't physical, I just imagined it being so.

"No! W-wait!" Jack watched me with dread, beginning to feel the effects of what I was doing to him. I was locking his memories away, locking him up in his own head. But I had to. Because he wouldn't understand and I needed him.

"I have to do this," I whispered, digging my mental claws in deeper.

"Stop," He gasped, beginning to tremble with effort, "Whatever you're doing, just stop!"

"I can't stop, Jack. I'm sorry, but I just need a little more time," I said, gently. "Four moves and I win."

"Four moves..." He mumbled to himself, his brows furrowing, "Four moves? I-I've heard that before. Where have I heard that before?" Then he groaned and squeezed his eyes shut again.

"Please, just forget. I need you to forget."

'I need you to hold me again.'

"Get out of my head!" Jack's voice rose with panic. He flinched away from me as much as he could but Isaac kept him pinned and helpless.

"I'm gonna make everything okay again. I promise." I fought harder against him, willing my power to work faster. Jack moaned and I glanced up to see his face contorted with pain.

"Please!" He begged me, grimacing, "Please, stop! Marty, please. It hurts." I tried harder, and a choked sob escaped his throat. "Marty, please! It hurts! It hurts! You have to stop! Please!"

"I wish you hadn't found out, Jack, and one day I'll be sorry about this."

"Wait. Wait, no!"

I pushed my power harder than I ever had before.

A horrifying scream of pure agony ripped from Jack's throat. But the walls of this house were built to withstand hurricanes. I was the only one who could hear him. With one last burst of effort, I overpowered the walls of his grace and my power flooded his mind, wiping away any memories of what I was. His scream faltered into groans and those softened into whimpers and Jack's body went limp.

Isaac let go and the Nephilim collapsed but I caught him before his head hit the floor. Carding my fingers through his hair, I pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Picking him up, I carried him to my bed and laid him there. He weighed more than I did, obviously, but he didn't feel very heavy to me. I laid down beside him, hugging him around the middle and pressing my face into his chest.

Then I finally cried.

"I hope you can forgive me before I'm sorry. Because I'm a liar and don't think I'll ever really regret this."

***

"You hear something?" Sam asked, perking up. Castiel sat dutifully on a large black bolder, watching the house. The angel flicked his eyes to Sam and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head before focusing back on the house.

"Hm? Uh, no." Dean hardly spared a glance. He was too busy drawing inappropriate words in the sand with his foot. Sam frowned.

"Weird." He shook his head, swallowing thickly as he paced back and forth across the moonlit sand.

"Martina threw a picture frame from her window and it shattered against the rocks approximately sixty-two feet south-east of where you are standing," Castiel informed him, "Perhaps that's what you heard."

Sam shook his head again, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"No, no. It, uh, it wasn't that. I just- I-I coulda' sworn I heard someone..." He trailed off. 'Scream,' He wanted to say. The sound had been like a phantom pain; intense yet insubstantial.

'Just like the visions...' Sam thought. But no. That wasn't possible. He hadn't had a vision or any manifestation of psychic abilities for going on twelve years! He was probably just imagining things. Sam pushed the thought away as soon as it had come. It was impossible... Right?

Yet still, his eyes wandered to the window on the upstairs floor of the dark house; the only window with a slim shaft of light peaking through the curtains. Because what if...

No .

No. Everything was fine, Jack would have alerted them if there was any danger - or at least - the brothers and their angel would've been able to see if Jack thought there was any danger. Judging by the lack of explosions, Sam could assume that everything was fine.

There was no trap here after all. Although, if he thought about it, that may have been the trap in itself. That monster called Felix had lured Marty back here to relive the most painful day of her life. There had been no vamps waiting to do her any physical harm, but Felix didn't need them to. He just wanted that poor, sweet, little girl to hurt.

And, boy was she hurting.

Sam knew how it felt to lose a brother. He knew how it felt to watch his brother die twice. Hell! Sam had watched Dean die more than one hundred times on the one hundred worst Tuesdays of his life. It had made him feel empty inside - hollow. Like somebody had scraped out everything inside of him, the good and the bad, and had left an utter nothingness in its place. And in the face of all that nothing, fear had gripped Sam's heart like a vice. Fear of that emptiness - of all the unspeakable things it made him willing to do. Sam had been willing - eager even - to do whatever it took if it meant filling that awful hole inside of him.

That was what scared him. It was that ruthlessness. It was that titanium will he'd always shied away from. It was when he'd looked into a mirror and seen John Winchester staring back at him. Deep down, that was what both Sam and Dean had always feared the most. Becoming their father. Becoming the shell of a man that had raised them.

Sam could see the beginnings of a similar shell-forming in Martina. He had seen it when they'd rescued her from that shed the week before. Her shell wasn't made of hate like John's had been - not completely at least. Marty's shell had come from grief and fear. She was just trying to hide; both from Felix and from the shell of a person that she was becoming. Jack had told Sam about Marty's memory gaps - about how she couldn't remember what had happened in the shed after she had left. Sam knew that traumatized people tend to blot things out, it was common. But things like the shed and her return to her childhood home could only serve to send Marty further into her shell.

And the last thing the world needed was another John Winchester.

"These kids were livin' a dream, aye Sammy?"

Sam frowned as Dean's mumbled words knocked him from his train of thought. "H-how do you mean?"

"I mean, look! They had everything!" He said, gesturing from the white sand of the beach to the black rocks to the brine woods. His tone and expression grew sober. "Just like a little fairy-tale. And, I mean, three psychics? Those kids - they had a lotta' potential. So smart and talented and now..." Dean trailed off with a frown.

"Yeah..." Sam quietly agreed. Dean turned to his brother with a pensive expression.

"Got me thinkin', maybe-" He sighed. It was hard for him to say and he didn't want to say it. Even though Dean knew that Marty was capable of more than she seemed and that she could affect his emotions, he didn't really care.

Well, he did care . Dean hated people screwing with his head or his feelings, period. But somehow Marty was different. He didn't really care to admit it, but Dean had always wanted a daughter. A sweet soul he could love and care for but definitely, with a badass side, he could bestow his knowledge upon. Claire was a close as he had gotten but she had already grown up and she didn't want his help. To Claire, Dean was only a painful reminder of all she'd lost.

And, of course, there was Emma.

But Dean didn't like to think about her.

Thinking about Emma was too painful.

But Marty was still young, and she didn't see Dean the way Clair did. Marty looked at Dean with hope in her eyes and he desperately wanted to keep it that way.

Jack had used to look at him that way. Jack didn't look at him like that anymore.

Because Dean had messed up with Jack. He could admit that now. He'd messed up and he'd messed up bad. Things had gotten better between them; little by little over time. But Jack hadn't even been five days old when Dean had promised to take his life. After that, Jack had only watched Dean with fear. Not hope. Just sheer friggin' terror on his face whenever the elder Winchester walked into the room. And though things had gotten better, they'd always have that promise between them.

That promise from the night when if Dean had only been a better person he could have made things better and not worse like he always did. (Because he was always making things worse. Always too selfish. Always screwing things up. Always getting people hurt. It was always him, always his fault.) Dean could've snatched that knife from Jack's hands and told him it was going to be alright even if it didn't seem like it would be. And Dean could've given the kid the kind of hug he should've been given the day he was born; a father's hug, just like Castiel would have given him if he'd been alive to do it. Because that was Cas's son. That was Cas's kid! Oh, God... Cas... How could Dean have let his best friend down so horribly? Cas, who had given everything up for him and his brother. Cas had saved them time and time again at his own expense. Cas, who would bleed every drop of blood he had with a smile on his face, all in the name of the Winchesters. How could Dean have betrayed him like that? It wasn't enough for Dean to just let the angel die! (It was Dean's fault, of course. It always was. How couldn't it be? He could have prevented it. If he'd just been a little faster or a little smarter.) No, he had to go and tear that innocent kid to pieces just cause he was sad. (So, selfish. How could he be so selfish? Why was he always so selfish?) Cas had trusted Dean with his son and Dean had repaid him with the promise to take Jack's life. No wonder Jack still could hardly bear to look Dean in the eyes. How could he? Dean wasn't meant to be a father to anyone. He was too frickin' selfish for that.

But this time, things would be different. This time around, Dean would be different - he would be better. For once in his life, he would be selfless and he'd do the right thing even if it possibly meant giving up his only chance to raise a little girl. Because, despite being tainted by darkness and tears, there was still so much good inside Martina Linville. She had so much potential, with the right chances, she could grow up to be great. But she would need those right chances and she wouldn't get them if she stayed with the Winchester's broken little family. All they brought to people was tears and death.

Dean didn't want that for her. She deserved better. Just like Dean himself and his brother had deserved better. She deserved to live a life free from all this pain - a good life, a happy life. Dean wanted that for her. Dean just wanted to help. That was all he'd ever wanted. The last thing Marty needed was more darkness in her life. She didn't need them in her life.

She didn't need him in her life.

So, Dean would be selfless and he would let her go and he would give her the chance to shine like the stars she loved so much. It was probably the most fatherly thing he could do for her. 'Cause Dean just wasn't cut out to be a Dad.

But, oh, did he wish he could be one. Even though he knew that Marty's empathic abilities were probably what was making him feel so strongly about her, Dean couldn't help but go along with it. It wasn't like she was stuffing thoughts in his head; his feelings may have been bolstered but Dean's mind was his own. Dean had always wanted a daughter, Marty hadn't made that up that wish, she'd just reminded him of it. He felt awful about how he had treated Jack and craved a chance at redemption for his mistakes; Dean had made those choices, all Marty had done was exist to give him a chance. Sure, she was rioting his emotions. But what did that matter? Because Dean wanted this and damn it! This felt real!

But he couldn't have it.

Because Dean, and his brother, and their angel, and - yes - even Jack -- it was all some sick, screwed up, god damn beautiful tragedy -- But they were the last thing Martina Linville needed.

So, Dean would be selfless.

"Thinkin' about what?" Sam's question shook Dean from his reverie and back to what he'd been meaning to say.

"Maybe we should put her into the system after all this," He said, thoughtfully, though there was regret in his tone also. Sam blinked twice, shaking his head.

"W-what? The system? You mean the foster system?" He asked, incredulously.

"Yeah? Something wrong with that?" Dean responded. Sam gaped at him.

"Is something wrong with that? Dean, everything is wrong with that!" He exclaimed. Dean opened his mouth to argue but Sam didn't let him. "We made Marty a promise! Just this morning you said she was part of the family. Was all that just talk?"

"No, but-"

"Then what the Hell was it, Dean? Because you can't just go back on something like that! We said we'd take care of her," Sam huffed, crossing his arms and glaring at his older brother.

"And that's exactly what we'd be doing," Dean argued, "Giving her a place that's safe."

"Who would take her in? She's fourteen and she's got more trauma than some war veterans, I don't-"

"Exactly!" Dean cut him off. "The kid's got issues! She needs help, the professional kind."

"Since when do you promote therapy? Sam scoffed.

"When it doesn't involve me," Dean grumbled. Sam shook his head, getting back to the point.

"Throwing her on a bunch of strangers with no clue what she's been through, and who couldn't possibly understand her even if they knew, isn't going to help her! She'd get tossed around or thrown into some group therapy home till she's eighteen and then they'd dump her back on the streets where we found her! How is that taking care of her?"

"It's getting her out of this life, Sam," Dean said firmly. Sam glared.

"You mean getting her out of your life," The younger brother spat lowly.

"What did you just say?" Dean asked dangerously.

"You heard me."

"You have somethin' ya wanna say to my face, Sammy?" Dean growled.

"Dean," Castiel said his name like a warning, his hand gripping Dean's shoulder, holding him back.

"Yeah, I do." Sam's nostrils flared and his mouth was pressed into a thin line. "I'm not gonna stand by and watch you do this again."

"Do what again?" Dean questioned, Cas' hand on his shoulder reminding him to keep calm.

"This thing you do. Anytime a kid comes along, you do this. You act all annoyed, then right as you start liking having 'em around something happens and you realize the responsibility and it freaks you out so you back off and you push 'em away."

"I don't do that," Dean said, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah? 'Cause you did it with Kevin, you did it with Claire, you did it with Jack, and now you're doing it again right now with Marty. The second things get real, you get scared and you run away." Sam kept eye contact with Dean, challenging him to look away. Dean clenched his teeth, his pride preventing him from losing the contest of wills.

"Quit fooling yourself, Sam. Look at me!" Dean's voice broke just a little. But he cleared his throat, quick to cover his mistake. "Er, at us, I mean. We can't raise a kid!" He protested.

"We raised Jack," Sam countered.

"Because there were literally no better alternatives!" Dean seethed. Sam opened his mouth but Dean wasn't done. Hyperaware of Castiel's presence just behind him, guilt ate at his heart. But Dean had never been very good at apologies. "And I even screwed that up! I'm not Dad material, Sam. I'm just not!"

His outburst of emotion made Sam blink, rendering him momentarily speechless. He could have spoken his next words gently but pride made them come out like acid.

"I don't think that's what Ben thought," He hissed. Sam knew it was a low-blow bringing up Ben. That wound was still sore.

"Yeah?" Dean laughed but there was no humor in it. "WELL LOOK HOW THAT TURNED OUT!" He yelled. Sam tensed but didn't back off.

"Something isn't real because it lasts, Dean," Sam said, speaking just a little bit gentler now. "For however short a time, Ben had a dad that loved and cared about him. For however short a time, you made him happy. You say you're not dad material, but that's not what I saw. If that's what you're so worried about, then don't be. 'Cause you made an pretty awesome dad, Dean, even if Ben doesn't remember."

Dean sighed in defeat. "We have nothing to give her, Sam."

"We have trust and understanding, a-and that's more than some random foster home could give her."

Dean shook his head. "It doesn't have to be random."

"What do mean?"

"Jody," He suggested, "I mean, she's already got Claire and Alex. What's one more?"

Sam sighed through his nose, shaking his head. "Yeah, she's got Claire and Alex-" He paused giving his older brother a pointed look. "- And Patience and Kaia. What's one more? That's only five emotionally unstable teenage girls to take care of, on top of a full time job as a sheriff, and hunting to worry about too."

"I agree with Sam," Castiel spoke up, "We cannot simply dump yet another troubled youth onto the already burdened shoulders of Sheriff Mills." Sam gestured to the angel as if accentuate his point.

"But at least she'd be safe," Dean argued, pursing his lips into a thin line.

"From monsters, sure," Sam agreed, nodding. Dean could sense a ' but ' coming. "But not from herself."

"Jody could help Marty just as much as we could - probably more!" He said. Dean could hear Sam grind his teeth in frustration, but Cas held up a hand to speak.

"I don't think that's true, Dean."

"Why not?" Dean asked the angel.

"'Why not?' Haven't you been listening?" Sam exclaimed. Cas shot the younger Winchester a look and he fell silent.

"I am sure Sheriff Mills is a competent and kind woman; however, Martina does not know or trust her. Sending her to live there would only be marginally better than shipping her off to a stranger," The angel stated, evenly.

"What's that gotta do with what Sam said?" Dean asked. Cas gave him a long-suffering look but continued in perfect patience.

"As weary as I am of Martina's true motives and intentions, I think it is plenty clear the choice she faces after the termination of her family's killer. That is, if she has not made her decision already."

Dean's face scrunched with confusion. "What choice is that?"

"The choice of continuing to live free from the threat of Felix Monroe, or..." The angel trailed off, frowning. His tone made Dean feel like there was a knot in his chest.

"Or what?" He pressed, cautiously. Cas sighed.

"Or to end her life and return to her family," Cas finished, soberly.

Dean was stunned. He hadn't thought- He had never realized.

"Wait, whoa. Are you telling me Marty wants to commit suicide?" His eyes were wide with fear and alarm. She was too young for that. Too young to want to kill herself. No. She couldn't. Dean wouldn't let that happen. "Where's this coming from?" He demanded. Sam glared at him.

"She told her little brother she'd be with him soon. Combine that with the scars on her wrists, and it's really not that hard to figure out," He said, coolly.

Scars? Dean understood now. That was why she was always wearing long sleeves, even in the sweltering heat of Florida. Sam took advantage of his older brother's silence.

"Think about it, Dean," He pushed, "Sending her away from first people she's allowed herself to get attached to in five years? You think that will help?"

The thought made Dean reconsider but Sam had more to say.

"A-and think of Jack! You've seen how much he cares about her. I've seen him smile more in these last two and a half weeks than he did in the five months since we got him back from Apocalypse World. What do you think would happen if he found Marty laying in a pool of her own blood? What do you think that would do to him?"

"It would kill him." Dean sighed, nodding in agreement and Sam cracked a smile.

"I mean, we both know he loves her, Dean. And I-I don't mean like a sister," The younger brother said, fondly. Dean chuckled and the tension in the air cleared.

"Yeah, there's definitely a thing there." He shook his head, grinning. "I mean, it's totally weird but it's a thing." Sam nodded and shrugged.

"Well, I dated a demon. I don't think I can judge."

"You can say that again!" Dean laughed.

The sudden chime of a phone ringing cut through the cool nighttime air like a knife and Dean reached to answer. The smile dropped from his face as soon as he caught a glance at the screen.

"Who is it?" Castiel asked.

"Blocked," Dean answered, apprehension filling his voice, "Three guesses as to who." He mumbled, sliding a finger across the screen to pick up the call and putting it on speaker.

"This is Dean Winchester," He announced as the line connected.

There was no voice on the other side of the call.

"Hello?" He tried again.

Again nothing.

Dean could hear someone breathing but they didn't speak. The breaths sounded ragged and uneven like the person was out of breath. There was background noise as well, a deep rumbling that seemed to increase in volume as time wore on. Without warning, the sound of a deep bellowing horn blared from the phone's speaker. It was the sort of horn that typically accompanies a low rumbling noise. It was the sort of horn that accompanies a really, really big train. The sound of the horn grew louder but soon began to fade as the train passed by whoever had been holding the phone. Something told him this wasn't a simple case of a butt-dial. The situation unnerved for some reason he couldn't name. It was like a scene from a movie.

"Tell me who you are or I'm hanging up," Dean said, his voice demanding.

"I-I would'nt d-do that if I were y-you!" A desperate, ragged voice called from the phone. Dean had gotten it wrong. The person on the phone wasn't Felix. The person on the phone was a little girl and she wasn't out of breath. She was terrified.

"Why not?" He asked, cautiously.

"B-because little Pamala o-only get's this one c-call." The voice on the other end sounded oddly robotic despite the words being broken into syllables by the girl's sobs.

"What do you mean?" He wondered.

"She-she's lu-ucky you picked u-up. If you hadn't I'd have t-old my friends to e-eat swe-eet Pammy here! Sh-she's seven, just so you know!" The little girl choked out.

"Felix," Dean growled, "You're using the little girl to talk for you?"

"Pamala is a c-cute little pup-pet. But she's a-annoy-ing. If she d-doesn't stop s-stutter-ing, I'll tell one of my f-friends to t-ake a bite!" The little girl whimpered and took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice for the sake of her life. " So, what shall I make Panama say next?"

Dean gritted his teeth together. To his right, Sam looked like he was going to be sick. But this wasn't just sick, this was downright vile . On his left, Cas looked about ready to rip that monster apart with his bare hands.

"Why don't you talk to me with your own voice, Nessie? Ya scared?" Dean taunted.

"No. That would ruin the fun of the game." The girl spoke slowly, trying her best to stay calm.

"What game?" Castiel demanded, sounding a step away from livid.

"You hunters and your angel have thirty minutes to come and rescue poor, little Pamala. When time is up, I'll tell my friends to- to r-rip her in- into itty-bitty pieces!" The girl let out a panicked sob after finishing the monster's words.

"How are we supposed to do that?" Dean demanded, fuming. "She could be anywhere!"

"No, not anywhere, Dean. She's sitting all wrapped up in the attic of the Florida East Coast Railway Station at Fort Pierce. I might be there with her too, gives you a chance to catch me just to make things interesting. But you better hurry, I hear t-traffic can be a biatch."

"You're gonna pay for this, you son of a bitch!" Dean growled.

"Watch the language, Dean Winchester. There are children present. You don't wanna spoil little Pamala's innocence, do you?"

Dean was so enraged, he couldn't even speak. Luckily, Sam was thinking the same as he was.

"We're gonna kill you," Sam promised.

"Perhaps. But not before I show y-you the truth."

The truth? What truth?

"This call will end in...

Five...

Four..."

"Stay strong, sweetheart!" Dean called to the little girl on the other side of the phone. "We're gonna come help you!"

"Three...

Two...

One...

...

Please save me...

...

I don't wanna die..."

Then the line clicked and the call was over.

Dean clenched his jaw and put the phone away.

"Let's go gank that sick bastard."

~I am not the only traveler

And then I can tell myself

I had all and then most of you

When the night was full of terrors

Lyrics from: The Night We Met by Lord Huron

I had all and then most of you

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