Hey guys. First off, if you haven't read And I Hope That You'll Remember Me, I suggest you do. (This story isn't listed as part of the series because it really isn't). But if you're set on reading this, I suggest you at least check out the first few chapters of the before-mentioned work.

Secondly, this is sort of my in-between project for season 7, and will really be worked on when I've run out of muse. I don't know how much I'll write or how many chapters will get done, and I doubt there'll really be much of an overarching plot. So, sorry about that. (It's not meant to be a beautiful masterpiece either haha)

But other then that, enjoy!

...

Alex yawned, opening her eyes as sunlight forced her to return the waking world. She rolled over, arm falling off the side of the couch. Then she bolted upright, looking wildly around at the unfamiliar place. Where was she? This wasn't her room. This wasn't where she belonged.

Right. The memories started flooding back. Winchesters. Sam, Dean. Impossibly real demons. Dean was dead, Sam was pissed. She fell back onto the couch with a groan, eyes squeezed impossibly tight. No. This wasn't happening. Not to her.

She lay there for several more minutes before rolling onto the wooden floor. She heard movement in the other room, and got up, bare feet silent as she crossed into the kitchen. "Bobby?" she asked, rubbing her tired eyes.

"About time you got up." Bobby Singer was leaning against the kitchen counter, a mug of coffee in his hands. "You're probably hungry."

"Yeah —" Alex was cut off by a large yawn. She ran a hand through her tangled hair, waiting, and not sure what to expect now that it was just him and her.

"Well? You don't think I'm serving you, do ya?"

Alex laughed, more out of nervousness than anything else, and skirted around the hunter to get the cereal down from the shelf. She sat back down at the table across from Bobby. "How'd you sleep?" she asked, starting up a conversation to ease the awkward tension.

"I didn't. You?"

"Uh, not terrible." Alex glanced back over her shoulder, gaze coming to rest on the couch where she had been sleeping. "The couch isn't the most comfortable," she joked. More silence.

"I hope you don't mind me asking, but it doesn't sound like you plan on leaving," Bobby finally said, setting his mug down on the counter.

"I don't have anywhere to go," Alex admitted, reluctantly turning back to the table and stirring her breakfast with her spoon. "If you don't want me, I'm sure I would be fine on my own. I —"

"No, no. It's fine," Bobby cut in. "Actually, it'd be nice to have someone to help with all the work around here. Things can get pretty busy and I'd appreciate the extra hand."

"O-Okay." Alex shrugged, outwardly unfazed, but inwardly almost melting in relief. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Bobby looked down at her breakfast before clearing his throat. "You're probably going to need a place to sleep. I've got a spare bedroom upstairs. First door. Once we clear it out, it's all yours."

"Yeah, thanks." Alex's eyes drifted towards the stairs. "And by we clear it out you mean . . ."

"I mean you clear it out," Bobby finished. "I've actually got work to do." He took another long sip of his coffee before setting the mug in the sink. "If you need me, I'll be around." With that, he walked away.

...

After putting her dishes in the sink, Alex walked back into the study. She dug through Dean's duffle bag, which she had recently adopted as her own, and pulled out a black shirt. It was large, yes, but it wasn't like the Winchester needed them anymore, and without money or a car it was all Alex had. She tugged the black fabric to one side and secured it with a rubber band before running a hand through her tangled hair. She hadn't found a brush anywhere in the house and pulled it up into a ponytail to hide the snarls. Deeming it good enough, she hurried upstairs.

She followed the winding hallway, still hauntingly unfamiliar, before stopping beside a wooden door. Cracking it open, she looked inside. Bookshelves lined the walls, full of books of every size and color, and the wooden floor was littered with — unsurprisingly — even more books. A rickety bed frame sat in corner beside the window. Everything was covered in dust, and the opening of the door stirred it up, making the young girl sneeze.

She flicked on the light, wondering where to start. "Hey Bobby?" she called over her shoulder. No answer. She ran down the stairs. "Bobby?" Still no answer. She hurried over to the back door and leaned out. "Bobby!"

"What'd you want?" Bobby rounded the corner, a crowbar slung over his shoulder.

His sharp words combined with the heavy iron tool made the girl hesitate. "Uh, t-the room's full of books. What do you want me to do with all of them?"

The gruff hunter paused, thinking. "Put 'em wherever they fit," he finally said before walking away, and Alex sighed at his unhelpful comment.

She returned upstairs, and started stacking the books out in the hall. On a second thought, she sorted them into piles. Foreign languages, specific creatures, almanacs, etc. It wasn't long before she found herself distracted, intrigued by the artwork and scrawled-in comments, but somehow managed to get back on track.

...

By the early hours of the afternoon, she had gone through all of the books that had been sitting on the floor. She sat back on the now bare floor, preparing herself both mentally and physically to start on the shelves. "What the hell?" she heard Bobby exclaim.

The young girl scooted across the floor and leaned out the doorway. "What?" She saw him looking down at the books. "I sorted them," she explained before pointing at the nearest pile. "Everything vampire." She pointed to a large stack further down the hall. "Books I couldn't read."

Bobby looked over at her, face scrunched up in confusion, as if he couldn't understand what she had done. "What are they doing in the hallway?"

"You told me 'put 'em wherever they fit'," Alex defended, crossing her arms.

The hunter blinked before shaking his head. "I didn't mean the hallway, you idjit."

"Right. Like I was suppose to know that." Alex pulled herself to her feet to even the height difference between the two of them. "You said put them where they fit. They fit in the hallway."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Fine. But once we move those shelves you're gonna be the one to put them back, you understand?" When Alex grunted, he stepped over the largest pile and continued further into the house.

...

Night came, and Alex had finally removed all of the books. She had enlisted Bobby's help, and together they had moved four of the seven shelves out of her room and into the smaller room at the other end of the winding hall, Now, her new bedroom was completely bare. "I'm going to need a new mattress," she told Bobby that night after having inspected the old, torn one that currently sat upon its frame.

He had shrugged, "As long as it's cheap."

Alex laughed.

...

She spent the night on the couch, and the next day, they got into Bobby's rusted truck and drove into town. There was a mattress store just off of W 41st St, next to a pizza parlor that Alex made a mental note to check out later. They got out and entered the store.

They were only a few feet in before a voice stopped them. "Bobby Singer."

"Sheriff." Bobby tipped his dirty baseball cap in the direction of an approaching woman.

Brown hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, and a stern face and sharp eyes studied both him and Alex. Her voice, while austere, remained polite. "What brings you here?"

"Mattress shopping," Bobby responded gruffly. "Apparently my old one isn't good enough for this princess." He jerked a thumb towards Alex.

"That old mattress was disgusting," she defended, eyes rolling in an overdramatic fashion.

The woman's gaze turned to Alex, carefully scrutinizing her for any sign of deception. "Sheriff Jody Mils." She finally said and held out a hand. "And who are you?"

"Alex." Alex shook it, blinking in surprise at the strength and authority behind the grip.

"You two related?"

Alex looked up at Bobby, clearly expecting him to answer. The hunter cleared his throat. "Uh . . . yeah. She's my niece."

The Sheriff's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I thought you were an only child."

"I am. She's . . . my mom's sister's granddaughter." The old hunter shrugged half-heartedly. "It's just easier to say niece."

"Oh." The answer seemed to answer the sheriff's question.

Bobby nodded, and after excusing himself less than politely, continued into the store. Alex followed, raising her eyebrows. "Wow, no love lost between you two," she half-joked. "Close friends?"

"No."

...

They purchased a mattress and after driving it back to the house hauled it up the stairs. Alex rolled the mattress onto the frame, looking around. "Nice." She nodded appreciatively, nudging with her shin to shift it further against the wall.

"There. I've done my part." Bobby turned towards the door. "You can make it all pretty by yourself."

Alex rolled her eyes before following Bobby back out of the room and down the stairs. What little she now owned she carried up to her room before returning to the main floor to grab Dean's duffle bag, which held most of his clothes he no longer needed. She hung his jackets in the wardrobe, and put his shirts in the drawer. Then she went back downstairs. "Hey, Bobby."

"Now what do you need?" the old hunter asked.

"Well, I was hoping for some new clothes . . ." she began. "You know, since all I really have that fit are what's on my back . . ."

"You got any money?"

"Uh, no."

"That's too bad." Bobby turned back to his work.

"Bobby."

"You want money, go get a job." Bobby stood up. "Here." He handed her a small piece of paper. "There's a man in town; name's Charlie Dayton. He owns Charlie's Antiques, and is always looking for a hand. I call him, said you'd be happy to help out."

"Oh. Okay." Alex nodded. "When do I start?"

"As soon as you get there. Here." He tossed her he keys. "It's yours."

"Uh, thanks." Alex caught them. "Which one is this for? Cause there's like millions of cars out there."

Bobby chuckled. "It's out in front." He paused. "You know how to drive, right?"

"Of course. I'm seventeen."

"Good."

Exiting the house, Alex found an rusty, old car sitting in the dirt driveway. Blue paint peeled around the edges, and Alex noted it was a Chevrolet. "Nice," she whispered to herself, opening the driver's door.

Bobby walked out. "You like it?"

Alex nodded. "It's nice."

"It's the easiest car I have to drive." Bobby informed her. "You remember how to get into town?"

"Yeah. We were just there, like, an hour ago." Alex laughed. "I'll be fine."

"Uh-huh. Here." Bobby handed her two twenty dollar bills. "Don't spend it," he warned. "Give it to Jacob Barkley."

"Who?" Alex took the money.

"He'll tell you who he is." With nothing more than that, Bobby walked away.

...

Alex started the car and drove into town. She cruised down Minnesota Ave and turned down 41st before finally finding a small store with large, yellow lettering above the door. Charlie's Antiques. Alex parked the car along the curb, turning off the engine and shoving the keys in her pocket. She entered the small store, glancing up when it rang a small brass bell. "Hello?" she called, looking around the empty shop. "Mr. Dayton?"

An old man appeared in the back. "Can I help you?" he asked, his voice unusually strong for a man his age.

"Hi." Alex forced a smile, stepping forward to introduce herself. "My name's Alex. I'm friends with Bobby Singer. He called and said you were looking for some help?"

The man's face broke into a large grin. "Ah yes, come in, come in." He held out his hand, and Alex took it, surprised to find his grip was a strong as his voice. "Robert said you'd be stopping in."

"Yeah. He's my, uh, he's my uncle. Or something like that. I just moved in with him, and was looking to earn some money. I'm pretty useful at stocking things —"

"Well, I'm always looking for a hand around here," Charlie smiled. "Come on. I'll show you around." He lead her deeper into the store.

Alex followed, surprised getting that job had been that simple. "So, um, do you get a lot of customers in here Mr. Dayton?" Alex asked, looking around.

The old man laughed. "More than you would think," he told her. "But please, call me Charlie." Alex smiled as he continued, leading the way into the back room. "Occasionally my grandson Braydon will come and help out, but he's not as reliable as I'd like. I'll need you to keep a running inventory, as well as stock the shelves and ship out the old items and unpack the new."

Alex nodded. She followed Charlie through the back of the store, looking at all of the boxes that were stacked neatly on the shelves. "Here's where we pack and unpack our items. Empty boxes on the left, boxes that need to be unpacked on the right. Boxes that need to be shipped out go in that corner." He pointed to the back wall. Alex nodded. "Packing tape and such are in those drawers."

Alex nodded. "Got it."

...

A few hours later, Alex exited the shop, heading towards her car. She had just reached the trunk when a voice had her turning around. "Are you Alex?"

Alex nodded. "Yeah, that's me." She looked up at the man, eyes narrowed in confusion as to how he knew of her. He was of average height, brown hair of medium length, and was wearing jeans and a button down, but didn't look familiar. In his arms was a brown grocery bag.

"The name's Jacob Barkley." She saw the man study her. "And you're not what I expected," he added with a small smile.

"Oh!" The name suddenly clicked into place, and Alex dug into her back pocket to produce the bill she had been given. "Uh . . . Bobby told me to give you this."

"Um, right." The man let out a weak and awkward smile. "Are you sure you're over twenty one?"

"Uh, no." Alex looked confused. "Why?"

"I was suppose to give you this." Mr. Barkley motioned to the bag.

"Okay, then give it to me."

"But it's alcohol . . ."

Alex rolled her eyes at the realization, internally cursing Bobby Singer. "Yeah, I figured that much," she finally said. "Um, I mean, maybe you could just throw it in the trunk? I —"

"What's going on?" Alex turned at the sound of the sheriff's voice. She forced out a smile in greeting.

She heard Mr. Barkley catch his breath. "I can explain," he began hurriedly.

"Good." The sheriff crossed her arms. "Let's hear it."

"Bobby called. Placed in a order, you know, the usual," Jacob Barkley looked down at Alex. "He said I should give it to a girl named Alex. He told me what car she was driving, and said she'd have the money. I figured Alex would be, you know . . . older. That's why I haven't given it to her yet."

Alex shrugged, and the sheriff's eyes turned to her. "Well?"

"Well what?" Alex shrugged again. "Bobby gave me the money, and that's all he said."

"You know that's against the law, right?"

"A lot of things are against the law," Alex replied sharply; she wasn't exactly in a very good mood anymore. "But, fine. If you want to take his beer to him, be my guest." She added, "If I had my mind set on drinking it, I'd just drink it at his house. So it's not like this would stop me. By the way, I don't actually drink. Yuck." she pulled a face.

The sheriff studied her closely. "How's Bobby doing?" she finally asked.

"It's . . . been tough." Alex started, then shrugged. "Someone really close to him died a few weeks ago. Like really close. Bobby saw him as . . . well, his son. He hasn't shown a whole lot of grief though. I sort of think he's in some kind of shock or denial."

"Hm. Sorry to hear that. You seem like a decent kid, though." Sheriff Mils turned back to Mr. Barkley. "Give her the bag," she ordered.

"Really?" Jacob seemed surprised.

"I'll allow it. Only for her," she warned. "If I catch you selling to any other kid . . ." With one last glare towards the two of them she walked away.

Mr. Barkley silently handed her the bag. "Thanks," Alex mumbled. She put it in the floor in the backseat. She got into the driver's seat and started the car. Before she pulled out, she heard a knock on the window. She looked over to see the sheriff. She rolled down the window. "What?"

"I'm not making this decision lightly," the sheriff warned. "Singer's a recluse and a drunk, but maybe being around another human soul will do him some good. But I'm going to keep a very close eye on you. If I see you so much as sniff at an open bottle, I'll revoke my decision before you can say''sorry,' okay?" She looked around. "Where is it?"

Alex rolled her eyes. "Backseat. On the floor. Far out of my reach."

The sheriff nodded. "Good. And keep a check on your attitude."

Alex nodded. "I won't drink any," she promised, doing her best to keep her voice sincere. "My dad was a drunk too, so I'm pretty well aware of the downsides."

"Good." The sheriff pulled her head back out of the window and walked away. Alex forced a smile and nod before turning back to the wheel, rolling her eyes. She restarted the car and drove away.