A few minutes into our drive, I crashed. Sam didn't let me sleep for long though, thanks to the concussion. He woke me up after about an hour and a half. 

"I'm sorry. I tried to let you sleep for as long as I could," Sam said.

"It's okay. I probably shouldn't sleep the day away, huh?" I smiled.

Sam smiled back. "How ya feeling?"

"A lot better, honestly." I turned and looked at Bee and Dean in the back. 

Dean sat behind me with his arm on the door-side armrest. His head rested gently against the headrest. His eyes were closed, and he looked very peaceful. Bee had also fallen asleep. I noticed her flask poking out of the front pocket of her jeans. Because of the movement of the car, she had slumped over and laid with her head on Dean's shoulder. It looked like they were accidentally holding hands, too.

I turned back to Sam. "Glad they're getting along so well."

"Yeah, they've been out for a while." Sam shrugged. "I can't blame them. I think they were both awake the whole way back to Harvelle's."

"Bee sleeps a lot these days, too. I think the 'night-night juice' helps." I slumped down in my seat a little.

Sam shifted awkwardly. "Is she..." he fumbled around for the right word. "...well enough to be carrying a gun?"

"I would trust her with my life when we're on a hunt," I said. "She does a good job of drinking off-duty. I can't give her too much grief for it. We all cope in our unique self-destructive ways."

Sam looked at Dean in the rearview.

"It's not my place, but you two should stop keeping secrets from each other. It never goes well." I looked at Dean. "Also, he's out cold."

"What I was going to say isn't necessarily a secret on my part. It was more for your comfort." Sam shifted again and stopped himself from looking in the rearview mirror. "You've felt those weird feelings every time we touch. Forgive me if this is too forward, but did your mom die when you were a baby?"

I drew in a deep breath as anxiety built up in my chest. "No, she didn't." I furrowed my brows. "Why do you ask?"

"It's just a theory I had." Sam shook his head. "It doesn't apply."

My heart hammered in my chest and my hands grew sweaty. Talking about the demon always did that. I swallowed hard to push the bile down in my throat. "This demon you're fighting is the one with yellow eyes, right?" I asked, knowing it was true from hearing it in their mind.

"How do you know that?" Sam asked.

I fought back tears and tried to lower my heart rate. After a glance at Bee—who was still slumbering—I stared down at my hands. "My mom didn't die when I was young. My family died a year ago." One tear slipped over my lid. "The yellow-eyed demon came back for some reason. We had just cleared out a den of vampires near Spokane and my parents asked Bee and me to go get some food. As soon as we got back, we knew something was off." My lip quivered. "He slaughtered everyone. Bee and I walked into a blood-stained room and our parents' dead bodies." I choked back a sob. "And it's all my fault."

Sam reached over, grabbed my hand, and squeezed. "It's not your fault."

I slipped my hand out of his as I tipped over the edge. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks. I tried so hard not to blink because every time I closed my eyes I saw the blood and my mom's dead eyes. My breath came out in shuddering sobs. My lips started to tingle as the anxiety built. Hands rubbed both my shoulders as I woke up the two people behind me. 

"You need to breathe," Bee said. "Focus on your diaphragm. In," Bee audibly sucked in a deep breath. "And out." Bee hissed air out for a long moment.

I tried to follow her guide as we continued down the road. 

"Do I need to stop?" Sam asked.

"It's just a post-trauma panic attack," Bee said. "She needs to lower her heart rate to get her sympathetic nervous system to stop the fight-or-flight response."

I continued to breathe in shaky breaths and exhale them slowly. Eventually, the anxiety ebbed away. Fewer tears spilled over my eyelashes. I regained most control over my breathing.

"Talk about something," I said. "Anything."

"When Sammy was little, we were staying in the beat-up motel. Dad had been gone for several days, and we were running low on food, you probably know what it's like," Dean said. I nodded. "Well, there was only enough Lucky Charms left for one more bowl, and I wanted it so bad. Sam had eaten nearly the whole thing himself." Sam shot him a look that brought a smile to my face. "I make him a nice little soup dinner, one of the ones from a can. Instead, Sam grabs the box of Lucky Charms and begs me to let him eat it. Those puppy-dog eyes staring up at me were enough to make me forget my rumbling stomach. I let him eat the last bowl and suffered through the canned soup dinner." I could hear the smile in Dean's voice. "I had just gathered enough will to muster through the meal I knew I needed when a little hand offered me the dinky toy in the bottom of the bag."

"What was it?" Bee asked.

"A stupid toy car," Dean said. "I carried that thing all over God's green earth. Who knows where it ended up."

I smiled softly and wiped the tears away with my shirt sleeve. "Thank you," I said.

"Now, I know Sam is a little weird, but that seemed like a big response to him. What the hell did I miss?" Dean asked.

"Yellow eyes killed our parents a year ago," Bee said.

Dean met my eyes in the rearview window. "And you're the one he gave his mojo to."

"Guilty," I said.

"That's how you knew about Jess," Sam said. "Was it a premonition?"

The words spilled out before I could stop them. "I can read minds almost anytime I make eye contact with someone. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner. It probably feels like an invasion of privacy, but I had to make sure that you were talking about the same demon we were before I made you think I was a freak that needed to die. You won't imagine what some hunters think of people like us."

"Like us?" Dean asked. "You told her?"

"Not exactly," Sam said. "When we touch, we can feel that we're different."

Dean scoffed. "That's too much detail."

Bee whacked his arm. "When exactly would they have done anything?"

"I felt it first that night we hustled you. Sam was showing me how to hold the pool stick," I said.

"Wait, if you can read my mind, what am I thinking right now?" Dean asked.

I turned and looked at him. "Ew. I'm not saying that out loud."

"Woah." Dean shook his head. "So, what have you learned with this little ability?"

"Not much. Mostly just bits of incoherent thoughts. Like Jess's name." I felt my cheeks pinken as I realized how betrayed Sam must feel about that one. "I fight it as much as I can."

A silence settled over the two men in the car with us. I picked at my fingernails.

"How much farther?" Bee asked.

"Not much," Dean said.

"Good, I can't sit in this silence much longer." Bee pulled some Aviator sunglasses out of her pocket and placed them over her eyes.

I took a deep breath. "I really am sorry. I only listened to your thoughts two or three times. I promise."

"Mel, relax," Sam said. "We aren't mad just kind of surprised. We've never met someone with powers like yours."

The car rolled to a stop. We sat in front of a salvage yard with a small two-level house on the property. Bee and Dean stepped out of the car as fast as possible. Sam and I stayed inside for a moment. 

"Are you okay?" Sam asked.

I nodded. "I'm doing better."

"Good." Sam stepped out of the car.

"What business do you have here?" Bee asked as she peered around at all the half-demolished cars. 

We followed Dean into the back. "Baby."

He walked toward a black '67 Chevy Impala in bad shape. "I'm glad you insisted Sam drive," I said. 

"Actually, Sam was driving." Dean shot Sam a look.

"We drove five hours for a car?" Bee asked. "You and Mel will get along just fine."

I rolled my eyes.

"Bout time you came back for her." An older man leaned against the door jamb to the house and wiped his grease hands with a towel. "Who are your friends?"

"Bobby, this is Melanie and Bianca." Sam pointed to each of us. "Mel, Bianca, this is Bobby Singer. He's kind of like our uncle."

"It's nice to meet you," I said. "I hope you don't mind our intrusion. We were giving them a lift from Harvelle's."

"You ladies know Ellen?" Bobby smiled. "She's good company."

"She is," Bee agreed. "You know her?"

"We used to hunt back in the day. I've kind of hung up hat since then," Bobby said. "You're welcome to stay as long as you'd like for keeping these knuckleheads out of trouble. If you need anything, they know where it is."

"Thank you, Mr. Singer," I said.

"Please, call me Bobby." He smiled again before heading inside.

"I need to hit the hay. All this traveling has worn me out." Bee looked between Sam and Dean. "Beds?"

"There's a couch in the living room and beds on the second floor," Sam said.

Dean chuckled. "Ten bucks says she doesn't make it to a bed."

Bee picked up a ratchet wrench that was leaning against the house and tossed it at Dean. He caught it with an angry look.

"Not around the car!"  He shouted.

"Piss off." Bee let the screen slam shut behind her.

I sighed. "I'm sorry about her. She's grumpy when she's hungover...so most of the time."

"You should probably try to sleep, too. I'll come check on you in a few hours," Sam said.

"You might want to change first." Dean pointed to my left shoulder.

I looked down at the blood stain. I had completely forgotten about the knife wound on my cheek. My fingers pressed around it gently. It was stitched closed and a little warm but not hot enough to get worried about. "You're right. Thanks for stitching me up by the way."

"No problem," Sam said. "Here are the keys."

Sweat trickled down my spine as I walked toward the Roadrunner out front. The sun was high in the sky and sending plenty of warmth down. I hated wearing long sleeves in this weather but needed to keep some things a secret still. My head swam a little as I lugged both our overnight bags into the house. Sam had been right about that overexertion. 

Unfortunately, Dean was right. Bee crashed on the couch in the dimly lit living room. Bobby was nowhere to be seen, but I assumed he was sleeping or not in the house. I walked past Bee and opened the door in the middle of the living room, which Sam said led upstairs. 

There were three bedrooms up there. The two on the right had queen mattresses in them and had some wall decor. I noticed photos of Sam and Dean on one of the walls. I couldn't help but look at some of them. In many of them, they played happily, sometimes with Bobby. In others, they posed with a gruff-looking man with dark hair. In one of them, a beautiful blonde woman I could only assume was their mother cuddled a cute toddler with a full head of golden hair. Her eyes radiated sweetness. I understood why Dean missed her.

Across the hall, there was a room with two twin beds that must've been for guests. I threw Bee's bag down on one bed and placed mine on the other. I shut the door and peeled my sweat clothes off. Just as I slipped another shirt into place, yelling erupted from the backyard. I glanced out the window to see Sam and Dean in a heated discussion.

I raced downstairs to try and break them up. Before I could get to the back door, Sam shoved his way into the house. I tried to talk to him, but he pushed past me and stomped upstairs. Well, that was rude.

Now to make a decision. Who to talk to? Sam was clearly hotter than a hornet right now. He had never been so cold to me in any of our interactions. He didn't seem like he wanted to talk. On the other hand, Dean was out in the heat with weapons at his disposal.

Sam has weapons at his disposal, too. No good hunter is without a weapon.

Before I could choose, bangs and the sound of glass shattering sounded from outside. The loud crashes increased in volume as I raced to the door that led to the backyard. As I opened it, a crowbar fell to the ground. Dean's eyes met mine, and he unwillingly spilled his guts. He picked the crowbar up and returned to his car.

"I know you don't want to, but you have to acknowledge the pain inside you, Dean," I said quietly.

Dean looked at me over his shoulder. "I don't remember hiring you as my therapist."

My shoes crunched the gravel beneath them as I cautiously made my way over to him. Broken glass covered the ground at his feet. I stepped on it delicately before leaning on the hood of the car.

"You didn't." I crossed my arms uncomfortably. "I'm just someone who has been in your shoes. It won't go away until you feel it. All of it."

Dean glanced at me. With the short distance that separated us, I could see the sheen of sweat on his forehead. His hands worked a towel over the crowbar for a second before he set it on the trunk of his car. "You're coping with it so well."

"This isn't about me, Dean." I glared. "Sam means well. He's trying to connect. He feels the same as you. Let him in."

"How are you wearing that out here?" He asked without looking at me.

"What do you mean?" I asked as I analyzed my outfit.

"You're in a long-sleeved shirt and jeans," he said. "It's a billion degrees out here. Aren't you hot?"

"Yeah, a little, but this isn't about me. Quit deflecting." I sighed. "You need to talk to him, Dean. He's ready to talk."

Dean rushed over to me so quickly, my whole body tensed. I didn't think he'd be the kind to resort to anger, but I had only known him for a little over twenty-four hours. 

My arms began to rise for defense. Instead of hitting me, he stopped inches from me. I lowered my hands.

"Take it," he muttered as he stared intently into my eyes.

I searched his face. "Are you sure? I can't unknow it."

Dean nodded.

I absorbed everything. Because he was so willing to give up information, I saw it as if I was living it. The house ablaze with the weight of baby Sam in his arms, years of abuse from his father, Sam being his only source of joy and hope, Sam leaving for college, the fights that ensued, the brothers united again, the brief moment of the three of them getting along, the accident, and their father giving up his life all flashed before my eyes. I lived his whole life in a matter of seconds.

I came back to Bobby's junkyard with a gasp. Tears wet my cheeks though I didn't remember crying. Dean still held my gaze intensely with tears on his cheeks. This wasn't a moment where words would fix anything. Without a second thought, I wrapped my arms around his neck.

I felt Dean's shoulders relax. After a moment of hesitation or shock, his arms ensnared my waist. Before long, he was sobbing into my shoulder. I rubbed his back as tears slipped from my eyes as well.

Once the sobs had subsided to the occasional teardrop on my shirt, I released him. I cupped his chin in my hand.

"Talk to him. He's the only one who understands you," I said.

"You're right. I need to talk to Sammy." Dean wiped his hand down his face. "Thanks, Mel."

He hugged me one more time before heading inside. What was I getting myself into?

~

A/N: The photo above is of Melanie's Roadrunner.