Chapter Text
A false sense of security.
That's what got me back in. It's what gets everyone when they try to leave that kind of life behind, so I only feel a little stupid for it. Back then, of course, I felt like a fucking idiot. I finished my shift, put in my headphones, and even took a little nap on the train home. Like a... a sitting duck, I guess. I was trying to be someone new, just like anyone else in the world. 'Fake it 'til you make it' is a really shitty plan if you're gonna be on the run, and I was... what, twenty-two when I ran? So it's not like I had a lot of experience or resources in disappearing.
Sorry, I'm getting ahead of the story.
I wasn't Emma anymore. I hadn't been for two years, at that point. I left that name and that person behind when I jumped off of that balcony and ran off into the night. I'd been a lot of names at that point - I was Darcy out in Oregon for a couple of months, Max for almost a year in California. When they finally found me, I was Katherine ("just call me Kat") for my time in the windy city, blending into the crowds on the streets. I was stupid, I got comfortable. I settled into my little life and my quiet existence, and at some point, I stopped looking over my shoulder and studying the shadows.
I didn't even know they were following me.
That night, I was working the closing shift at this pizza place in Chicago. They take their pizza very seriously around there, so my work clothes were black on black on black. Treadsafes, long stupid apron, black clothes -- they even had a stupid little bowtie. I usually changed before leaving work, but I was just... I was so tired. We'd had a seventeen-top table in one of the party rooms, which basically meant that one of our servers was literally only able to work that table, while the rest of us covered her section. It was the only way to handle that kind of table and still get paid, you know? We helped each other out.
I was making friends there. I was living on leftovers from the restaurant and the pity of my landlord, but it was all mine. I got cocky.
I felt safe.
Right up until I opened my bedroom door and saw Dean Winchester sprawled out with his boots on my bed.
"Welcome home, sweetheart."
I froze just a step into the bedroom. There he was, stretched out on the covers, hands behind his head and watching me with a smug little smirk. He had stubble, his hair just a little longer, and the jacket he always wore pulled at his shoulders instead of looking just a little bit too big on him.
I couldn't speak. I took a step back, right into the brick wall that was Sam Winchester. He'd been waiting right beside the bedroom door, and it closed with definitive slam just as he grabbed at me.
I thrashed in his hold. "None of that," he grunted, voice strained. I kicked, slamming the heel of my work shoes into his shin before knocking my head back, trying to smash it into his nose. All I got for my fighting was a little 'oof' when my foot met his shin and a little burst of pain from knocking my head into his jaw.
I screeched, flailing like an angry wet cat. "No! Help!"
"Stop it!" Sam clapped his hand over my mouth. It was big enough that he could hold my head still, thumb curled just behind my jaw and under my ear. If he wanted to, he could cover my nose, cut off my breathing just like that. Everything about Sam Winchester had always been so much bigger than me, but he was definitely bulkier than I remembered. Apparently, he'd spent the two years in the gym. I was just a little over five feet tall; I felt like a doll held there against him with my feet dangling.
I screamed behind his hand. It was just as futile and useless as all of the other times I had fought against them.
Another hand cupped my cheek, then gently slid down my neck. Dean's hands were a little smaller than Sam, but were still big enough to grip my throat with only one. My breath caught with apprehension, but he didn't choke me. His green eyes were cold as he watched me tremble and finally, give up the struggle. Frustrated tears rolled down my cheeks as I realized that I was well and truly trapped, prey caught in the arms of a pair of predators.
He clicked his tongue. "Aw, baby." Dean cocked his head and twisted his expression into something that was supposed to resemble compassion, I think. And then, mocking, "Rough day?" He wiped the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs, slow and gentle. "Poor girl, working so hard to pay for this shithole. I was gonna fix you something to eat, but your cabinets are all empty. You fucked around and found out what happens to pretty pets that run away from home, didn't you?"
Sam had always been more direct in his anger. "Was it worth it?" he hissed in my ear. "We thought you were dead. I put a knife in Ruby's chest because of you."
I hadn't been the one to stage my own "suicide," but it surprised me that Sam had blamed Ruby. I'd known she was a two-faced snake, working her way into Sam's bed to drive a wedge between the brothers. To me, it had been obvious, but she'd thoroughly enchanted Sam. The thought of Sam and Dean looking for a trace of me, hunting for a body to bury and someone to blame... it used to catch in my chest and stop my breath back in those first few weeks. I'd reminded myself that they'd probably just take comfort in the girl who'd swept in to take my place. I had a vivid imagination -- I could see Sam and Ruby together in my minds eye. It let me reach for the anger again, the jealousy and hurt I needed to motivate me to stay gone. It had worked.
But Sam had killed her.
Because he thought she'd killed me.
A sick little thrill ran down my spine. It whispered victory to me, in a dark little part of me that I'd forcefully shoved down.
Sam suddenly dropped me. I fell back, stumbling, and if it weren't for Dean's hand on my neck, I would have fallen. As it was, his grip tightened when I tried to pull at his wrist and fingers. It was only when my vision started to swim and turn black at the edges that he shook me a little and let me go. This time, I did crumble to the floor, my hands flying to my aching throat as I gasped for air.
"You broke our hearts, Em. Or, wait, it's Kat now, right?" Dean stepped back, boots on the stained hardwood like drums in my ears. "So imagine our delight when Cas finally let us in on your little secret." My neck was going to be bruised, I could tell. "And then imagine how we felt when he told us what you'd done."
I let out a gasping little sob. Last I knew, Cas was an undercover agent hellbent on putting the Winchester Family away for good. I was supposed to be safe and clear once I turned over my statement and accounting books I'd snuck out of Sam's desk. For the brothers to hear the truth from Cas himself... He was probably dead. Maybe they'd managed to drag him into the Family, but he'd been so determined that I doubted it. The brothers Winchester could be charming, going sweet and earnest like little boys. I just also knew that Dean could wear that same smile while he carved lines into the skin of his enemies.
Castiel and Ruby. Their favorites. Dead because of me.
Cas' death didn't feel good at all, not the way Ruby's had.
"Nothing to say, Kat?" Sam crouched down. He wasn't any better than his brother, just quieter about his violence. More into the psychological than the physical. I was one of two people still alive who knew how he had gotten the nickname 'Demon Blood.'
So of course he was gentle when he brushed the hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. He was gentle, too, when he wrapped my long, dark ponytail around his fist. It was the threat, my reactions, that he thrived on. "Come on. You used to make such pretty noises for me."
My cheeks heated. I finally found my voice. "Fuck you," I managed, a little hoarse. Sam pulled suddenly, sharp pain shooting through my scalp. "I don't want any part of your fucking family. I want out. Just leave me alone!"
Sam stood up, dragging me up to my hands and knees before releasing me. I panted and sobbed, holding myself up on my shaking arms, watched as Sam grabbed an empty black duffel bag from the floor next to the door. He tossed it across the bedroom to Dean, who caught it with a deft motion.
"There's only one way out of the Winchester Family, Emma," Dean said. It was strange to hear my real name after hearing my fake one for months. "You know that."
I swallowed, and thought of Ruby. Of Cas. Those were just the two most recent names on the list, and there was plenty of space for more. Sam watched me with dispassionate eyes. I had never been on the recieving end of their anger before, not like this. I had seen the evidence of it pointed at other people though, even people that had been theirs... it scared me. People didn't get second chances to fuck the Winchesters over.
There was no version of this story in which I escaped unscathed. Fear would paralyze me, and the last thing I was going to do was beg for my life just to get their motors running. Anger was an old friend at this point, one that allowed me to move. I was shaky when I stood, but at least I was on my feet. "So what, you gonna make me a pair of concrete shoes, Capone?" I glared at him, and then Dean. I made sure venom dripped from my words. "Take me on a drive down by the river?" They had a salvage yard under an uncle's name, down in Kansas. That's probably where I would end up, in a neat little unmarked grave with a junker parked on top to hide the fresh dirt. "Gonna plant a tree or something so you'll remember to come visit, you sick fucks?"
A pair of jeans and a t-shirt landed in front of me. "Shut the fuck up and put those on," Dean demanded. When I looked up, he was rifling through my plastic dresser drawers.
"Thank you so much for not making me wear this stupid bowtie to my own funeral." I gathered the clothes. I wanted to be stubborn. I wasn't going to dress up for my own execution. The adrenaline pushed me to my feet, and I hugged the clothes close to my chest. A pair of cheap underwear dropped to the floor in a tiny little lump of lace and ribbon. "Really?" I rolled my eyes at Dean. I was all bravado at that moment, even with the tears drying on my cheeks.
Sam's nostrils flared, his jaw working. "Keep mouthing off. See what kind of trouble that gets you in." He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the bedroom door, more effective than any lock could ever be.
My voice shook. Whether it was fear or anger was a toss-up. "If you think I'm gonna ask nice to be on the wrong end of that fucking gun--"
"If we wanted to kill you, you'd be dead," Dean interrupted, annoyed. "We're taking you home."
Home. That shut me up. "Not even if I ask nicely?" I finally said, but I couldn't muster that same razor-sharp rage.
Once upon a time, this would have been more of an enticement than an honest threat. Things were a lot different now. If they weren't going to kill me, if they were just going to drag me back. There was no way I was going back in any capacity other than owned. I would be lucky if I ever got to see the outside of their bedrooms again.
Dean smirked. I had probably gone pale. "Thought you weren't gonna beg?"
"Now be a good girl and change your clothes." Sam's voice was even, controlled, but I could practically feel the rage rolling off of him. "You smell like tomato soup." Low blow. I hesitated a little too long, though, and Sam's stance shifted, irritation rolling off of his body. "Or I'll walk you to the car naked." It wasn't a threat... it was a terrifying promise.
I was frozen, right up until Dean hummed, looking over to drag his eyes up and down my body. "Please tell him no." Finally I swallowed, clutching the clean clothes, and started for the bathroom. "Ah! Right here, sweetheart, where we can keep an eye on you."
"Fool us once," Sam added with a mean grin, relaxing again. Like I was about to give him a show. "Come on, it's nothing we haven't seen before."
Sam Winchester was a liar and a killer, but he wasn't known for bluffing. I couldn't afford to hesitate again. In a small act of defiance, I stubbornly turned my back to them, blocking as much as I could from their view, and hurriedly stripped out of my work clothes. There was a lewd whistle, and I stumbled trying to jerk my pants up over my sensible cotton underwear I'd worn to work.
When I was done, I wrapped my arms around myself and turned back to them. Sam jerked his chin down at the fallen panties. "You forgot something." I didn't say anything, nails digging into my own palms. His big brown eyes narrowed, boring into me, but I couldn't hold his gaze for long. Not when I was trembling and tired, the long day catching up with me as the adrenaline faded into reluctant acceptance. I was nearing the end of my anger reserves. "Come on. You remember how to be our good girl, don't you?"
I broke. "Please," I gasped out, squeezing my eyes shut against tears. So much for not begging. I still had beautiful dreams of his hands on me, his voice in my ear... and nightmares of everything else that he'd done. "Please, I can't..." I didn't even know what it was I couldn't do, really. Put the panties on? Pretend that nothing had changed? The want and desperation to please both of them was a familiar shoe that I used to be able to just slip on, but now it was out of reach. Too much had happened.
Sam moved. I flinched back, but all he did when he got to me was reach down and pick the underwear up himself. "It's okay," he said, soothing. His eyes had gone big and innocent, sincerely so. "We'll remind you how good things were."
Those were the most terrifying words he'd spoken yet.
Sam sat me down at my desk while they got ready, guarding the exits from me.
Dean stuffed the first black bag full of my clothes and toiletries. He pulled a second one out for what few things I owned, from my little jewelry box to the two books on the wobbly coffee table. He was efficient and silent, with occasional bursts of angry noise as he packed my things. The sudden clatter of the junk drawer in the kitchen. The medications on the bathroom counter rattling and crashing as he swept them all into the bag. I startled a little bit at every noise, my heart skipping beats as I waited for the silence to break. I didn't start a conversation, and neither did Sam.
It seemed like hours of horrible anticipation before Dean strode back in and dropped the duffel bags on the floor. When he kept walking toward me, I fought the urge to scramble back, up the bed to trap myself against the headboard. My heart went prey-rabbit fast when he leaned over and caged me in, palms pressing to the mattress on either side of me.
"There are two ways we can do this." Rattle. He dangled the bottle of my prescription sleeping pills in front of my face. The name on the label wasn't my real name. He didn't say that there was an easy way or a hard way. Both of the options were terrible, I knew, and I hadn't even heard the second. There was a strange sort of mercy in Dean using my fears against me without dressing them up in a vindictive, pretty lie like Sam sometimes did.
He shook the bottle again. I didn't like the thought of being asleep and vulnerable with them. "What's the other option?" I asked. A part of me was hoping for a firing squad.
Dean scoffed, his gaze hard as he grinned. "Oh, sweetheart. You want this option." He shook the bottle for emphasis. When I didn't move, he straightened up and pulled something from his pocket. "Fine, option two."
A ring gag dangled from his fingers, tapping my nose almost playfully. "And these," Sam added. Something metal hit the bed and clanked, the sound startling me. Handcuffs, I saw, and not the cutesy, fuzzy type.
I was right. They were both horrible options.
Dean tapped the gag against the tip of my nose. "Pick, or I'll pick for you."
Oh god. How was I supposed to choose? I would either be at their mercy, unconscious, or at their mercy, aware. Was that really a choice? Helpless, either way. Their favorite game was options when there really weren't any, giving me the illusion of choice. I knew the way to win the game was not to play at all, but the Winchesters had always been so good at using my own mind against me.
"Going once," Dean snapped impatiently.
Almost unbidden, my hand shot out to try and take the pill bottle. My panic had decided for me. Unconscious. Helpless, to their wandering hands and wandering eyes.
My breath came quick and terrified. Fuck, I didn't want to beg, I didn't want to be weak. "I'll be good," I gasped out, my resolve crumbling. Anxious words stumbled each over on their way out of my mouth. "Please, please. Don't do this to me, Dean. I'll vanish, whatever it takes, please--"
I heard the crack of his palm on my cheek before I felt it. The pain bled across my mouth and jaw in the silence that followed. Dean had never hit me before. But then... this wasn't the Dean I had known before my "death."
He sucked in a breath and blew it out, harsh. His hand fluttered next to my stinging skin before he wrenched himself away from me with an angry "Fuck."
The shock of it kept me still. The Winchesters had never been good men, but they had always been strangely tender in their violent passion when it came to me. Tears clouded my vision, stinging where my skin throbbed hot and red. A harsh reminder of all that had changed.
"Here."
I blinked, and Sam was standing before me. He held a hand out, two little white pills in his palm. It was twice my usual dose. The half-empty water bottle on the nightstand made a crinkling sound when he handed that to me, too. I took the pills without a fight, let Sam wrap me up in his coat without protesting. Dean was already slinging the bags he'd packed for me into the trunk when Sam steered me outside, and the world started to go a little fuzzy around the edges.
"You can get us home without killing us, right?" Sam asked, muscling me into the car. I stumbled a little, confused when he opened the front passenger door. The door didn't quite close all the way when he went to slam it, buckle catching in the door. So I listened, dissociated and steadily getting sleepier. "You're supposed to be sober, Dean."
"I am sober," Dean snapped. "Get in the fucking car."
"Dean--"
Dean strode around to the driver's side of the Impala. "Watch all those stones you're throwing at this glass halfway hosue, Sammy."
My drowsiness blanketed over my fear, muting it for the moment as we drove. The lights of the highway blurred and mixed with the radio backlight. Each blink got a little longer as I drifted, unintentionally leaning towards Sam's warmth on my right. At one point, April Wine during long drives lulling me to sleep had meant safety and home, and my body was too weary to pretend it didn't remember.