Note: hey my lovelies

i was listening to "thick skull" by paramore on repeat as i wrote this, so ig i should say it takes some inspiration from the song, if only in its rhythm.

this chapter was requested by winchester_19 and is set after "in your eyes, i see myself"

TW for drug use/abuse and dissociation

anna is eighteen

Epiphany

It was chilly, Kate was at college, and Anna was keyed up.

She'd been dreading the day her best friend moved away all Summer. Early October now, and she was about to turn nineteen. Alone. It made her stomach ache, thinking about last year. She'd had the best birthday of her life, and she'd known even then that it would go down in history that way. She would never have another birthday that could even compare.

But this was... well, it was more of a 180 than she'd expected.

Anna closed her eyes and let her head rest against the brick of the building behind her.

The boys were miserable as it had only been a couple weeks since Mary's departure. They were trying to reconnect with her, but it seemed like they'd been pretty unsuccessful so far.

Kate was in New York, Ethan in North Carolina, and Alex somewhere in California. Two studying and one hunting all by herself. Anna missed them so much it hurt. She never thought she'd taken them for granted, but it seemed like maybe she had after all.

The bottle in her hoodie pocket felt heavier all of a sudden. She reached in and held onto it but didn't pull it out. Dean would be ruthless if he knew what she was doing. But Anna didn't particularly care. That was the beauty of being depressed– you didn't feel anything all the way, and that included fear and guilt; two of Anna's oldest enemies.

Her fingers were stiff with the chilly Autumn air as she flicked her eyes to each side. Nobody was around to see her. She and Kate were the only ones who spent any time in this alley as far as she knew. So, she wasn't surprised she'd managed to be alone for the better part of an hour.

She pushed down on the cap and twisted, listening to its quiet surrendering pop. The pills inside were small, but the dose was mid-range for this particular drug. Anna half-smiled as she slid one onto her tongue.

Day five of popping Xanax behind her family's backs, and she probably could have been doing it legally the whole damn time. She had an anxiety diagnosis. She had regular panic attacks and other symptoms of PTSD. Hell, Ramone had offered to prescribe her a benzo almost two years ago.

Difference was, she'd been under eighteen then. The boys had taken one look at the high risk for addiction in adolescents and given Ramone a firm 'no.'

Anna's smile faded. It wasn't an addiction yet, but she wasn't stupid. She knew she had to stop sooner than later. Figured she might as well finish this bottle, though. It was a fourteen day supply, and she'd paid a hefty fee for it.

It took a good half hour to take effect. Anna's eyes grew heavy, her heart rate slowed down, and she started to feel so much more relaxed. It was crazy how such a small pill could kill such big feelings. Her stomach untwisted, and her jaw unclenched. Her phone buzzed.

Time to go home.

()()()

It was surprisingly difficult to concentrate. She felt lighter in some ways, heavier in others. Her eyelids wouldn't cooperate when she tried to look more alert, for example, but she felt no regret even when Sam gave her a concerned look over his laptop screen.

"What?" she asked, and her mouth felt strange. Man, she needed an energy drink.

"What's wrong with you?" Sam asked earnestly. "You're being weird."

"Nothing," Anna replied simply, though her heart was beating just a little faster at the question. It was almost comforting.

She'd been starting to wonder if it was possible to feel anything other than calm on this crap. When she wasn't on it, every anxiety was heightened. But when she was... She'd almost thought somebody could have accused her of murder and she would have been totally relaxed as they put the handcuffs on her. It was nice to know she was still capable of reacting to some things.

"You look exhausted," Sam told her, but seemed to relent on whatever else he'd been thinking. "Why don't you get some rest?"

"I'm fine," Anna promised and gave him a lopsided smile. She hoped it didn't look dopey. It certainly felt dopey. Shit, she felt good, though. "I feel fine." Okay, she definitely sounded a little dopey there. "I mean, good. I'm good." Aaaand that was worse. "Not good," she corrected herself. "Fine. I'm fine."

Sam closed his laptop. "Anna, what did you do?"

Even in her sudden panic, Anna didn't feel all that concerned. And her eyes stayed at half-mast. "Nothing," she said.

Sam narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing her. He seemed to be mentally cataloging something as he held her gaze. "Are you high?" he finally asked. His voice indicated that he desperately wanted to be wrong.

Anna paused for just a little too long before answering, "No."

"You're seriously high," Sam said, this time half-angry. "What the hell are you on? You don't smell like pot."

"No one calls it pot anymore, Sam," Anna grumbled and got up from the table. "And I'm not high."

"Okay, so where were you this morning?" Sam demanded, following her out of the library and into the kitchen. "And yesterday morning, for that matter."

Anna shrugged, "Getting coffee at the cafe, pretending I still have friends."

"Anna, come on," Sam insisted. He still sounded irritated, but there was an air of calm in his voice now too. Lucky him, he didn't need a pill to calm himself down. "I know you."

"Okay, fine, I'm high," Anna admitted. Hands raised in surrender, she turned to face her brother. "And it feels so good, Sammy. Really, I wish I tried this two years ago. It would've helped."

Sam's anger turned almost feral. "I can't believe you," he scolded, shaking his head at her. He looked so much like Dean, and it made her worry.

"Don't tell him," she requested. She didn't have to specify who she was talking about.

"I can't not tell him," Sam replied, unapologetic.

"Come on, Sammy," Anna pleaded. "It's not a big deal. It was just a xanny."

"You took Xanax?" Sam snapped, and Anna knew she'd fucked up by admitting that. "Do you have any idea how addictive benzodiazepines are?! How'd you even get ahold of one?"

Anna swallowed and leaned back against the counter. "Doesn't matter," she said nervously. She had the distinct feeling, after all, that Sam would be confiscating her current supply. Which, she could admit, was probably for the best. Still, she might need to get more someday. "And yeah, I know they're addictive." Sam didn't look convinced, so she tacked on a lie she hoped would help, "It's not heroin, man. Taking it once isn't gonna get me hooked."

"You only took it once?" Sam asked incredulously. "You expect me to believe that when you've been disappearing every morning like clockwork for the last week?"

"Dude, chill out," Anna finally said, annoyed. Her voice was still calm and tired, but it was finally communicating, too, that she didn't want to have this talk. "I'm an adult, okay? I can make my own decisions."

"Anna, you can't even drink yet. I think it's safe to say you shouldn't be abusing benzodiazepines." She didn't have anything else to say to him, so Anna kept her mouth shut. But Sam's next words had her looking up again, "I'm telling Dean."

"No, no, no," she said hastily, pushing away from the counter. "He'll overreact, Sam. Come on."

Sam nodded with a half-smile of the unsympathetic, royally pissed variety. "Overreact," he repeated. "You really are stoned if you can't wrap your head around why this is serious."

"I only took one," Anna clapped back. "And it's only one milligram. It's not even the maximum dose or something. It's just... it's not a big deal."

Sam was giving her that same pissed look, his jaw tight as he wore that non-smile. He seemed to lose all his words and suddenly turned to go down the hall.

"Dude, no," Anna begged, grabbing onto his arm. She suddenly felt childish for it, though, and pulled her hands back again. "Just... I'll stop, okay? I won't do it again."

"A week, Anna. You've been- been taking that crap for a whole week."

"Not a whole week," she defended feebly. Sam started down the hall again, looking even more frustrated than before. "Sam, don't tell him," she insisted, voice dropping in volume. Dean was officially within earshot. "Don't be a snitch."

"Oh, now this I gotta hear." One look told her Dean had opened his bedroom door and was staring at her with calm suspicion.

Fuck.

"Dean-" she started, but Sam spoke over her.

"She's high."

Dean's expression went from scrutinizing to confused in a second flat.

"I am not," Anna insisted, but her voice was still a bit lighter than it should have been. Besides, she'd sorta already admitted to Sam what she'd done. Probably wasn't any point in lying to Dean about it. Too late now.

He stepped toward her, grabbed her chin in both hands and tilted her face toward his. Anna waited for him to demand the truth. But instead he just frowned and squinted at her. He wasn't going to ask, she realized. He was just going to decide for himself. She tried to look alert, innocent, some combination of the two.

Dean's jaw clicked, and Anna knew she'd failed his test.

"What the hell?" he asked, surprisingly chill compared to Sam's initial reaction.

Anna wasn't stupid, though. She could hear the anger beneath the surface. She kept her mouth shut, waiting for him to ask her a real question. The best way through a storm of Dean's protective anger was compliance.

"What'd you take?" Dean asked her seriously. "Were you smokin' weed again? Cause-"

"Xanax," Sam interrupted. When Dean turned to look sharply at him, he barked, "I don't know where the hell she got it, so don't even ask."

"What the hell are you thinking, messing with that crap?" Dean asked of her. His anger was still subdued, more so than she would have anticipated.

"Oh, it gets better," Sam added, and Anna rolled her eyes.

"You're such a blabbermouth," she said out of the side of her mouth. Then she realized she should be way more tense right now, way more contrite. She tried to grit her teeth or open her eyes a little wider. No use, it had only been a little while since she got back.

"Watch it," Dean commanded and looked at Sam again. "What?"

"Those coffee runs every day for the last week..."

Dean's eyes rolled skyward just before he ran his hand over his face. "Are you fucking kidding me, Anna?" he asked, but it was so weary. The anger just wasn't strong enough to rear its head, and for Dean... For Dean, that was incredibly strange.

Anger was, like, his default setting. Have a feeling? No, you don't! That's just your body telling you it's time to yell.

For the longest time, she hadn't realized how often Dean got pissed. But once she'd started hunting with her family, she'd started seeing a new side of both her brothers. Granted, the anger was almost never directed at her or Sammy. But still. Dean was so much angrier than she'd realized. She shuddered to think what he'd been like on hunts back when he had the Mark on his arm.

"No, wait," Sam said, voice dull like he'd just realized something. "Did you drive home like this?"

Ohhhh fuck. It hadn't even occurred to her that she wouldn't be okay to drive. It hadn't occurred to her, but it should have. And holy shit, she could have hurt someone. Panic really was managing to cut through the fog now.

And that was before Dean snapped, "Did you?"

"Yeah," she said dumbly. "I didn't even think-"

"Go to your room– Sleep it off," Dean cut her off, louder now. Well, there the anger was. Tangible, just like it was supposed to be. "Now, kid. March."

Anna still felt cloudy as she headed that way. But her heart was beating faster than it had all week. She could have hurt someone. She could have killed someone. Was it worth it? her brain taunted. Would it have been worth it?

Despite the nagging of her conscience, Anna's body was so fatigued that she was out just a minute after she got in bed.

()()()

She woke up feeling like the scum of the Earth.

She whipped out her phone, pulled up an internet browser. Can people drive on xanax she typed hastily and hit 'enter'.

Legality, it seemed, was dependent on the state you lived in. But the scientific consensus was that driving on benzos was a terrible idea. Just about the same thing as driving drunk. Anna had the sudden urge to throw up. Over the course of several days, she'd been so selfish as to not once consider how her actions could have hurt other people.

Anna suddenly didn't want her car keys. She didn't want her car– her beautiful, perfect car. Her very much undeserved car.

She stood up and grabbed her hoodie off the bedpost. From the pockets, she retrieved the pill bottle and her car keys. The boys were both in the library, talking in low voices. About her, no doubt.

Anna's suspicions were confirmed when she walked in and the conversation was terminated. "Here," she said quietly and set both items on the table. "I'm done. I'm not driving anymore, and I'm definitely not takin' that shit anymore." She shook her arms out at her sides. "Somebody please slug me. I feel so guilty."

"Yeah, well, you should," Dean told her after a long, quiet moment. But he stood up and snatched the unlabeled pill bottle in one hand. "You do remember what I told you last time you tangled with this crap, don't you? I mean, Jesus, Anna, it wasn't even a year ago."

Anna closed her eyes, feeling her mistakes coming down on her shoulders like a sack of bricks. "I know," she said softly and sat down heavily in a free chair.

"You have any clue how dangerous this is? Even if you hadn't been driving like that... This shit is a slippery slope, kid. One minute you have it under control, and the next it has you in a chokehold. Do you even get that?"

Anna nodded sullenly. She deserved so much worse than a damn lecture. She longed for somebody to punch her in the face. It would have been a much more satisfying form of penance. She'd have to take a couple good hits on their next hunt. God, would they even trust her on a hunt now?

"Here's a hot tip for you," Dean continued on, still not nearly loud enough for Anna's liking. "If you have to sneak around and lie to us about something, you probably shouldn't be doing it."

"I know," Anna murmured again. "I'm sorry. I'm an idiot."

"You're not an idiot," Sam said beside her. "You did a lot of very idiotic things," he amended. "But you're not an idiot."

She was, but Anna didn't argue. She just blew out a heavy breath. She looked up at Dean, said, "No way are you done already."

"Oh-ho-ho-no," Dean promised. "Not even close."

And then he got loud enough. Louder, actually. So loud it was almost scary. So angry and so right that Anna was in tears for half of their conversation.

She thought briefly of their father at one point, when Dean got particularly loud. He was saying, "You know better than to get behind the wheel if you're not at your best. It's not just your life on the line..." and more and more.

But Anna suddenly saw John Winchester.

"You know better, Anna," and a good shake to get the lesson to stick. "You ever do something like that again, and so help me God."

John's voice faded, but Anna didn't hear Dean's anymore either. Maybe he'd come up for air. But she heard a distant buzz and realized he was still going on. She'd just entered that middle distance she knew so well. Ramone called it dissociation, Anna called it weakness. Everything got slow in this place, her brain shut all the way down, she lost touch with time, with other people, with herself– couldn't even feel her legs. But she didn't have to confront anything real there, either. Weak, strangely serene, yet somehow still so painful.

The world just kept buzzing like a lost radio connection while Anna's stared, unseeing.

()()()

"-the fuck, Sam?" Dean snapped somewhere behind her. "This was not on the list of side effects. What's wrong with her?"

"I don't know, Dean. Maybe it has nothing to do with the pills."

"Bad time to be an idealist, Sammy." Dean sounded anything but amused. "How do we snap her out of it?"

Anna worked her tongue carefully, not quite sure if it was going to work for her at all. "I'm fine," she said after a minute, eyes still unfocused.

The voices from behind her became silhouettes in front of her, hands against her skin. She barely felt them, but she did understand that this was her family. She did understand that they were worried when they were supposed to be angry. "It's not the pills," she assured them. "It happens sometimes. I'm okay."

"What do you mean it happens sometimes?" Dean demanded. "This has happened before?"

Anna's eyes still hadn't caught up to her, and she was too damn tired to force anything. So she kept staring, not quite there. "Happens all the time," she admitted. "It's nothing."

"Well, what is it?" Dean asked urgently. "If it ain't the pills, what the hell was that, Rugrat?"

The nickname burned in her ears, sent them buzzing again for just a minute. "It's just... I don't know. I stop feeling for a while. Ramone gave it a fancy name. But that's all it is. I just go numb."

"Dissociation," Sam said in understanding. "You were dissociating."

Dean looked between the two of them in terrified confusion. "Will one of you make sense?" he demanded.

Sam sighed, "It's a trauma response, Dean. You know, like when you're in a life or death situation there's fight or flight, but there's a third response, too. It's called freeze. You can't fight, but you can't run. So your brain finds its own way out. You've done it before. You used to do it all the time when we were kids. So did I."

Dean looked more panicked at that. "This happens to you too?" he demanded, protective anger surging anew. "And neither one of you told me," he said in disbelief.

"Dean," Sam chastised gently.

Dean inhaled deeply and rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm sorry," he told Anna. "I didn't mean to send you into that, Sweetheart. I didn't know you were getting that upset."

"It wasn't you," Anna said, eyes still blurred. "It was just something you said. Made me think of Dad. And I feel really bad... about what I did." Her words were slow, and to her they sounded almost sticky. They strung slowly together as they fell from her mouth. She wasn't even sure they would make sense to the boys. But they must have, because Sam responded in kind.

"You're eighteen," he told her softly. "You make mistakes. You're allowed to make mistakes. Learn from them," he instructed more firmly.

"I think we all know you're never doin' this again," Dean said, and there was forgiveness in his voice and eyes. "I shouldn't have chewed you out like that when you already felt so damn guilty."

His self-loathing was contagious. "I deserved it," Anna whispered. She'd always deserved it. Even as a toddler held tightly in John's big hands.

"No, you didn't," Sam said. "You have a conscience of your own, Ladybug. You deserved to get an earful, but we both went too far this time."

Dean snorted, "Safe to say I'm being an ass if I reminded you of Dad."

It was a surprising statement coming from Dean of all people. But Anna gave him a tiny smile, and she finally managed to drag her eyes up and focus them. He looked mournful, and she was responsible for it. She was responsible for so much, and none of it was good.

She wished Dean would grab her by the shoulders and shake the daylights out of her like Dad had done once or twice. She wished he'd tell her she was a brat, tell her she was selfish, tell her to get in line. She wished these two didn't treat her like a human being.

Seeing things in color felt so much worse than seeing them in black and white.

La Fin