"You're damned if you do, and you're damned if you don't, so you might as well just do whatever you want." - Kacey Musgraves

• • •

Staring at the road ahead of him, Noah sighed as he noticed a sign indicating a small town in the next twenty miles. They had driven all day for the most part outside of gas stops, bathroom breaks, and a stop for lunch. It was nearing seven o'clock and Noah was growing hungry.

Thankful he was ahead of the boys he pulled his phone out at the stop sign, quickly calling Dean. "Hey," Dean greeted from the driver's side of the Impala. "Hey, it's hitting nightfall, what do you guys say that we stop for dinner and maybe get a room for the night so we can do a little research to find the next case, we'll sleep and get started early tomorrow?" Noah suggested.

"That sounds good to me," Dean agreed, "Let me ask Sam." A few murmurs echoed through the phone, unintelligible to Noah before Dean came back, "Seems we're all on the same page, stop on the next town."

"Alright," Noah nodded before hanging up and turning his music back up, nodding his head to Bob Seger.

• • •

Pulling to a stop in the parking lot of a diner, Noah stepped out of the Jeep, leaving the door open for a sleeping Delta. Summer had grown closer and having stopped in Missouri, while it wasn't as hot as their last few cases along Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi, it still wasn't a good idea to close the door of the car with Delta still inside, especially without the windows rolled down. Plus the factor of being extra nervous to leave her in the car after the trickster incident last year.

Dean and Sam stepped out of the Impala. Turning to him, Noah sighed, "I really don't wanna leave her in the car but she's sleeping for the first time in probably a hundred miles, can you guys order for me?"

"I actually need to make a call to Bobby to see if he found anything in the last few hours, why don't you go in, Sammy? You know what I want, " Dean stated.

Sam sighed before nodding and looking to Noah. "Cheeseburger with lettuce, onions, and ketchup, and a water," Noah told him. He nodded again, and turned to Dean, "It's your turn."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean muttered, pulling out the cash to pay. He handed the money to Sam, who turned and entered the diner.

Dean watched his brother walk through the door and while keeping a keen eye through the glass windows, he turned to face Noah. Noah sighed, shaking his head. He knew this was coming.

"You know..." Dean started, "The way you were talking about the deal a few days ago, that's been weighing on me a bit, especially," he laughed, but no amusement was present, "Because it sounded scarily similar to how you were talking when you threw up at the roadhouse, now at the time I could've chalked that up to stress and the knowledge of seeing how so many people were killed so brutally if it weren't for the blood that came up with it."

Noah rolled his eyes. "So..." Dean trailed, "You maybe wanna explain what the hell is going on?"

"No, Dean, I really don't!" Noah snapped, "Because it's really none of your damn business!"

"What? I don't get to be worried about you?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "No, you fucking don't!" Noah exclaimed, "So stop asking because I am sick and tired of people messing around my business when it's not theirs to sift through so just stop!"

Dean looked away, staring at the road full of passing cars. Neither of them were ready for a fight right now, both of them were mentally and physically exhausted so... with an exasperated sigh, he put a pin in it, knowing he would come back to this in the next few days.

He sighed out, "Okay, fine." Noah still fumed, deflating slightly at Dean's surrender. He rounded back to the Jeep, finding something to keep him occupied until Sam came out and broke the tension.

• • •

Inside the diner, while Noah and Dean's focus turned to each other, Sam took a seat in the corner of the diner, waiting for their order to be called. He turned to look out the window, watching a flock of birds take off out of a tree, flying into the clouds. He recalled what it was like to feel like one of those birds.

And he reminded himself that he didn't want that anymore. That that was no longer who he was. That never worked out for him, running away from his problems instead of fixing them. He regrets never fixing things with their father to this day, albeit that resentment is still there. and he can't change that.

It was the squeak of the bench across from him, the other side of the table, that made him lookup. His hazel eyes met bright green and he realized it was the same blonde girl that had killed those demons with a knife. His eyes went wide and he stood up straight, his fight or flight ready to kick in.

"Hello, Sam," She greeted him, leaning on her forearms on the tabletop.

He furrowed his eyebrows, staring at her in confusion, "You've been following me since Lincoln."

"Not much gets by you, huh?" She smiled slightly. That smile left Sam feeling unsettled.

The tension hungin the air for a moment before he leaned his own arms on the table, "That knife you had..." he trailed, "You can kill demons with that thing?"

"Sure comes in handy when I have to swoop in and save the damsel in distress," She taunted him.

He blinked at her before tilting his head, "Where'd you get it?"

"SkyMall," She answered sarcastically. Sam rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat.

"Why are you following me?" He questioned. "I'm interested in you," She replied, settling back into the booth with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Why?" Sam inquired. "Because you're tall..." She stated, tilting her head, "And I love a tall man."

Sam rolled his eyes again. She nodded in ackowledgement, "And then there's the whole antichrist thing."

"Excuse me?" Sam furrowed his brow, recoiling.

"You know, generation of psychic kids, yellow-eyed-demon rounds you up, celebrity death match ensues," She stated casually, "You are the sole survivor."

"How do you know about that?" Sam asked, narrowing his eyes at her. "I'm a good hunter," She stared at him intensely as she responds.

"So," She began, "Yellow eyes had some pretty big plans for you, Sam."

"Had," Sam emphasized, "Being the key word."

"Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, that's right," She nodded, "Ding dong, the demon's dead, good job with that, it doesn't change the fact that you're special, and that Anthony Micheal Hall E.S.P visions come into play."

"No," Sam shook his head, "That stuff's not happening anymore, not since yellow eyes died."

"Well, I'm thinking you're still a pretty big deal," She stated, "I mean, after all that business with your mom."

That caught Sam's attention again, "What about my mom?"

"You know, what happened to her friends," She alluded. After seeing the look in his eyes, she recoiled, "You... don't know."

Sam's now glossed over eyes glanced at the wall behind her, avoiding eye contact as he resisted biting his cheek, a nervous habit.

"You've got a little bit of catching up to do, my friend, " She smiled at him. Once again, it made him feel uncomfortable. She leaned across the table, grabbing his hand and pulling out a black ball point pen.

"So why don't you look into your mom's pals..." She started, before scrawling a number onto his hand, "And then give me a call, and we'll talk again."

When she finished the number, she pocketed the pen before standing up and walking right out the door. Sam stared after her in confusion, before finally being broken by the trance by their order being called.

• • •

Staring at the ceiling, Noah's mind was filled with the images that had just played before him. Him and Sam. Again.

He can never seem to escape it and he knows his subconscious is aware that this is cruel because he always wakes up with tears on the pillow.

He felt his face drying, leaving the residue from the sodium in his tears and he forced himself to sit up. He had laid there in silent, contemplative thought for nearly an hour and as he sat up, he sniffled, releasing it in a sad breath.

He ran his hands through his hair, tugging on certain parts to draw his focus elsewhere for even a second. He shook his head, sighing as he rubbed his face before standing up from the motel bed. Delta was soundly sleeping in the space beside him in the bed.

He walked into the bathroom, flicking the light on. Staring at his reflection, he felt pitiful for making this much fuss within himself over... over someone he's in love with. Another sigh escaped his throat before he leaned down over the sink, turning the faucet on. He splashed his face with water, letting it run down his neck and his shirt, some of it reaching into his hair.

He brushed the wet hair back, taming the bed head he was afflicted with before turning to the hand towel, blotting his face and neck dry, before flipping the switch and exiting the bathroom.

He walked over to the mini fridge, seeing the mini liquor bottles. He pulled out a couple of shots of vodka, needing the feel of the burn.

• • •

Sam huffed, rubbing his hands over his face and through his hair. Dean's quiet snores echoed through the small, poorly decorated motel room. He stood up, walking to the table in their room, where his open laptop sat, the only light in the room other than what was beamng through the sheer curtains.

"Oh my God," He shook his head. He sat back in his chair, still in shock at this new revalation. He looked down at the phone number on his hand and after staring for a moment, biting his lip, he pulled out his phone and stepped outside of their room.

• • •

"They're dead... all of them," Sam stated, "All of my mom's friends, her doctor, her uncle, everyone who ever knew her, systematically wiped off the map one at a time."

He grit his teeth, his arms still crossed, before scoffing, "Someone went through a hell of a lot of trouble trying to cover their tracks."

"Yep," She replied, "The Yellow-eyed demon."

"So what's your deal?" Sam questioned, tilting his head. The night air swam around them and bright purple neon light bounced off of his hair.

"You show up wherever I am," He continued, "You know all about me, you know all about my mom."

She chuckled, "I already told you, I'm-" He cut her off.

"Oh, right! Right, yeah, yeah, just a hunter... just some hunter who happens to know more about my own family than I do," Sam exclaimed.

She stared at him for a moment. "Just tell me who you are," he concluded.

"Sam, it-" he cut her off again.

He laughed, but there was no amusement to be found, "Just..." he stepped closer to her, "Tell me who you are."

"It doesn't matter," She laughed. "Just tell me," He shouted, getting into her face, "Who you are!"

Seeing the intensity in his eyes, knowing the stubbornness of a Winchester, she gave in, "Fine."

She blinked and gone were the bright green irises that had stared back at him, not a moment prior. Instead, her entire eye, from her pupil, her iris, to her sclera, was completely black.

Sam recoiled in shock, gaping at her. He immediately grew defensive, snarling and reaching for some type of defense, although he only had a switchblade of which would be no use against a demon. Then he remembered that he actually did have a vial of holy water in his back pocket, and he reached for it.

She blinked again, and her eyes went back to their human appearance, "Think twice before going for that holy water."

"Give me one reason I should," He grit out between hsi teeth, hand clutched around the small flask.

"I'm here to help you, Sam," She stated in a way that made Sam sick to his stomach.

"Is this some kind of sick joke?" He roared, his anger coming to the surface and overwhelming him slightly as his hand started to shake.

She raised her hand, "God's," She rolled her eyes, "Honest truth, or whatever."

"You're a demon," He spat at her. "Don't be such a racist, I'm here because I wanna help you, and I can if you trust me."

"Trust you?" He raised an eyebrow, anger rolling off of him in waves, as he held up the flask of holy water.

She rolled her eyes, "Sam, calm down."

"Start talking, all those murders..." he trailed slightly, "What was the demon trying to cover up?"

"I don't know," She shook her head.

"What happened to my mother?" He questioned.

"I honestly don't know," She raised her voice, "That's what I'm trying to find out, all I know is that it's about you."

That stopped him in his tracks, "What?"

She laughed, "Don't you get it, Sam? It's all about you, what happened to your mom, what happened ot her friends, they're trying to cover up what he did to you," She shrugged, pursing her lips, "And I wanna help you figure it out."

"Why would you wanna help me?" He asked lowly. "I have my reasons," She answered vaguely, "Not all demons are the same, Sam, not all of us want the same thing."

"Me?" She shrugged again, "I wanna help you from time to time, that's all."

She stepped closer to Sam who now sat in an angry, confused, self-loathing silence, "And if you let me, there's something in it for you."

"What could you possibly-" She cut him off.

"I could help you save Noah," She answered. That, once again, stopped him dead in his tracks.

She pursed her lips, raising her eyebrows as if to say 'The offer's on the table.'

He clenched his jaw as he stared at her. Not a clue of what to do now.

• • •

"Because demon, that's why!" Dean exclaimed, "I mean, the second you find out this Ruby chick is a demon, you go for the holy water! You don't chat!"

Noah sighed, shaking his head. The cloud-covered night sky made everything so much more dim than usual, the moon and stars usually giving a slight ethereal glow to the blacktop and backroads they drove this late at night. After Sam had informed the two of what had happened much earlier that night, Dean immediately protested and began scolding his brother. Noah was unsure where to stand, knowing he'd also want answers.

"No one was chatting, Dean," Sam replied, rolling his eyes. Noah glanced over to the phone sitting on speaker on the console of the Jeep, sensing there was more to tell.

"Oh yeah? Then why didn't you send her ass back to Hell?" Dean questioned.

"Because..." Sam stammered, "Because she said she might be able to help us out."

"How?" Noah furrowed his eyebrows. Sam remained silent for a moment, sighing under his breath. Dean noticed and continued, "No, Sam, how could she possibly help us?"

Sam's silence was answer enough for both of them and Noah's heart fell to his tomach in realization. "Sam, what the hell did I tell you about this?" Noah questioned. Even Dean was slightly intimidated by the cold tone in his voice.

When Sam continued to not answer him, Noah raised his voice at him as though he were a petulant child, what he was truthfully acting like at the moment, "What did I fucking say, Sam?!"

"Not to worry about it!" Sam snapped, "I know! It's 'not my problem' and you don't want me messing with it, but I'm not just gonna let you die for me, dammit!"

"Sam!" Noah shouted, waking Delta in the back seat, "This is my soul! This is MY eternal damnation, and I shall do whatever I damn well please with it, so would you kindly back the fuck out of my business and let me handle this by myself?"

Dean kept his eyes trained on the road, silently agreeing with Noah. He didn't want him to die, and as much as he wanted to figure some way to get him out of this, he also respected Noah enough to listen and do as he pleases, especially given he's the one with a year to live. The guilt still weighed on him, considering he felt he should've been the one to make the deal. It was his brother. But Noah had to be selfless and save both of their asses.

Sam swallowed thickly. "Are we at an understanding, Winchester?!" Noah barked. Both of them tensed, knowing just how pissed he had to be to take not only that tone with them, but not use Sam's first name either.

"Fine," he sighed, though Dean knew from the look on his brother's face that he wasn't giving in this easily. "Alright," Noah sighed, before mumbling, "Fucksake," and hanging up.

The silence hung within the Impala for a moment as Noah turned the radio to a roaring volume, needing a distraction.

Dean broke the silence first, "What else did she say?"

"Nothing," Sam sighed, shaking his head. "Dude?" Dean pressed. "Nothing, okay?!" Sam burst, "Look, I'm not an idiot, Dean, I'm not talking about trusting her, I'm talking about using her!"

Dean sighed under his breath, turning his gaze back to the road, growing exasperated with his baby brother. "I mean, we're at war, right? And we don't know jack about the enemy, we don't know where they are, we don't know what they're doing, I mean, Hell, we don't even know what they want," Sam continued.

"Now, this Ruby girl knows more than we will ever find out on our own, now yes, it's a risk, I know that, but we need to take it!" he concluded.

"You're okay, right? I mean, you're feeling okay?" Dean double-checked.

"Yes! I'm fine! Why are you always asking me that?!" Sam snapped.

Dean stared at his fuming brother for a moment, before returning his eyes to the road. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, the sound of a phone ringing echoed through the cab of the Impala.

Sam sat back in his seat, sighing through his nose as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, "It's not mine."

Dean reached to feel for his in his pocket, "Nope." It dawned on him and he glanced to the glove box, "Check the glove compartment, it's Dad's."

"Dad's?" Sam questioned, furrowing his eyebrows. "Yes! I keep it charged up in case any of his old contacts call," Dean gestured to it, telling Sam to get it.

Sam opened the glove box, seeing the vibrating flip phone, which he picked up, and answered, bringing it to his ear, "Hello?"

"Yes, this is Edgar Casey," He furrowed his eyebrows, looking to Dean. "No, no, no, no, don't call the police, I'll handle this myself," He replied. Dean raised an eyebrow, silently wondering what that meant.

"Thanks, can you just, uh, can you just lock it back up for me?... Great, Uh, I uh, I don't have my book in front of me," Sam reached into his pockets, remembering Dean had the notepad and he gestured to insinuate a pen writing in the air, making Dean reach into his pocket, "Do you, do you have the address so I can..."

"Sure," he grabbed the pen and pad held out the him, "Okay, go ahead... right... thanks a lot," he concluded, hanging up the phone.

Dean looked to him, silently asking for an explanation. "Did Dad ever tell you he kept a container at a storage place?" Sam inquired, "Outside of Buffalo."

Dean looked at him like he was crazy, "What?... No way."

"Yeah, and someone just broke into it," Sam informed. Dean licked his lips as he digested this information before looking to his brother, "Call Noah."

• • •

The metal slammed behind them and the clinking of mechanisms sounded throughout the shaft of the elevator. Dean shook his head, staring at the floor, "Man," he looked at the wall to his side.

"What?" Sam questioned. "Just Dad," Dean shook his head again, this time looking at his brother, "You know, him and his secrets, we spent all this time with the guy and it's like we barely even know the man."

Noah chewed on his lip, muttering under his breath, "Why does that not surprise me?"

"Well, we're about to learn something," Sam stated. Dean leaned over, lifting the metal cage of a door.

After searching for a moment, the boys found the unit in question and Dean unlocked the padlock. He pulled the door back and Sam shined the flashlight into it, looking around the concrete room. A ton of hunting supplies could be seen everywhere. Military duffles littered the place.

The floors covered in devil's traps alerted them immediately to something. "No demons allowed," Sam commented. "Blood," Dean pointed out, there was a big patch atop the paint of the sigil as well as bloodied footprints, similar shape in tread to that of combat boots.

Dean noticed something else as the light of the flashlight caught it perfectly, "Check this out," He crouched down, gently putting her hand behind a silver line of wire. Tripwire.

Sam tracked the line with the flashlight, leading back to a shotgun propped up on a shelf, rigged the fire if the line was pulled. "Whoever broke in here got tagged," Sam stated.

Dean waved his own flashlight about, shaking his head with a chuckle underneath his breath, "Dear old Dad."

Noah crouched down to the floor beside Dean, inspecting the tracks, "Two sets," he noticed the size difference and the side by side pattern, pointing it out to the Winchesters. Dean nodded, "Looks like a two-man job."

"And our friend with the buckshot in him, looks like he kept walking," They both stood.

"So what's the deal, Dad would do work here or something?" Sam questioned as they each stepped over the tripwire.

"Living the high life, as usual," Dean answered. He stepped closer to the contraption, inspecting the handy work before shaking his head with a quiet chuckle. Sam went right while Noah went left. Dean looked along the wall directly in front of him.

Noah turned back around, crouched to the ground, inspecting several books, as he heard Dean speak, "1995."

Sam immediately placed his flashlight down, hurrying over to Dean, "No way."

He picked his flashlight back up, inspecting the small trophy in his hand, "That's my divison championship soccer trophy."

Noah raised an eyebrow, picturing a twelve-year-old Sam in soccer cleats, and the little uniform. It briefly brought a smile to his face, the picture in his head formulating soemthign adorable.

Sam shook his own head, "I can't believe he kept this."

"It was probably the closest you ever came to being a boy," Dean teased, stepping around Sam. Something catches his eye and he hurries over to a table, a small smile creeping onto his features, "Oh, wow!" he holds up a sawed-off shotgun, smile brightening, "It's my first sawed-off, I made it myself."

Sam places the trophy down, turning to walk around Dean and continue inspecting the items scattered around. Noah smiles briefly, seeing them each appreciating parts of their barely existant childhood in their own ways.

Dean cocks the old gun, and dust sprays everywhere, the light catching the floating particles. Noah stands up from the ground, dusting off his jeans as he shines his flashlight along the shelf, scanning all of the items. Things he'd expect out of a father and a hunter.

Metal clanged as Sam opened the gated door, and the chain holding it together fell limply to the side. He stepped through, his brother and Noah right behind him. Scanning further around the room with his flashlight, Noah saw more of the armory he would expect out of an experienced hunter.

Dean scoffed, stepping to a rack of guns, and the table in front of it, pointing to some explosives on top of said table, "Look at this, he had land mines," he then nodded, realizing, "Which they didn't take," his gaze rose to all of the guns on the metal rack, "Or the guns."

"Guess they knew what they were after, huh?" Noah suggested rhetorically. As Sam turned to inspect a shelf to his right, his flashlight falling to illuminate it, his eyes caught on several runes drawn onto black lockboxes, "Hey guys, check this out."

Dean and Noah each turned around, seeing the white markings inscribed onto the black metal boxes. "See these symbols?" Sam continued, "That's binding magic."

Noah nodded, reading the runes. They each looked further down, their eyes falling on multiple shelves of different lockboxes of all makes, all with binding runes on their walls.

Then it dawned on Sam, "These are curse boxes."

"Curse boxes, those are supposed to keep the evil mojo in, right? Kind of like the pandora deal," Dean questioned.

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "They're built to contain the power of a cursed object."

"Well, Dad's journal did mention a bunch of stuff, you know, dangerous, hexed items, fetishes, he never did say where they ended up," Dean stated.

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "Well I think we just figured it out," Noah replied.

That's when both he and Sam noticed a spot on the shelf where there had clearly once been a box, as the lack fo dust build up pointed out, as well as drops of blood. Sam raked a fnger through the thick layer of dust, "One box is missing."

Dean's head whipped around. Noah sighed, "Great."

"Well, maybe they didn't open it," Dean chose to be optimistic. "You and I both know the chances of that being the case," Noah shared a look with each of them.

• • •

Author's Note: Sorry guys, I know it's been a while. I've been working on this chapter on and off for weeks now and I recently lost most of my motvation and energy, as well as working on what I have been for the past few days. I started this campaign called More Than A Label, looking to advocate against body shaming, spreading awarness and giving people a voice. The instagram page is more.thanalabel in case you want to check it out but while I won't make promises, I can say that I will do my best to get back on the ball when it comes to updating.