𝖘𝖍𝖔𝖔𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖘 || 𝘥. 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳

𝟎𝟎𝟓 ⌖ nightcall

jericho, california
nov. 1, 2005 // early morning

𝐃𝐀𝐖𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 by the time they made it back to town, and Fitz had officially gone twenty-four hours without sleeping. Not for the first time, but something about being in Dean Winchester's vicinity made it all the more exhausting.

But Jessica had sent her a text, and that made everything okay. She didn't call anymore and hadn't for a very long time, because Fitz didn't answer.

But a text. A text to her deadbeat sister. Fitz sat curled up in the backseat of the Impala, her jacket blanketing her legs, her bloody bandages swapped out for fresh ones, her lip finally starting to heal. And she read the text over and over again. It made her think things were gonna turn out okay — she was on the mend, and she got the feeling they would solve this case by the end of the night.

Hope you and Sam are doing okay (he told me you were with him), the text read, followed by a smiley face. Hope you haven't broken that pinky promise. Love ya!

Fitz knew Jessica had taken no less than fifteen minutes typing that text out — she hadn't forgotten her younger sister's profound inability to message people without overthinking things. Even if it was her own sister; especially if it was her own sister.

Fitz also hadn't forgotten kicking the shit out of a guy who showed Jessica's texts to their entire high school. The classic asshole ex.

He never looked her sister's way again, and hastily transferred out of every class he shared with Fitz. For once, the Moores helped Fitz out by getting the charges dropped. Nice to be rich, she supposed, and nice to have parents who wanted her to go to Stanford — Jess' dream school.

Fitz had always wanted to go to Princeton, but she had a job to do. The Moores wouldn't move to keep an eye on their real daughter, so they sent their adopted one to do it. Scope out the college, scrape out a niche and a friend group, learn the ins-and-outs to ease Jessica into college life. Fitz never minded protecting Jessica. She was the most important person in her life, bar none. She would've gone to Stanford in a heartbeat if it meant keeping her safe.

But then Callahan's letter came in the mail. And that changed everything.

Dean parked the car outside a seedy motel, tugging the key out of the ignition and opening the door. Sam moved to follow, but Fitz's voice stopped him.

"Wait," she said, her voice gentle. Dean closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose, looking up at the sky as if to ask, is this going to happen every time we try to leave? "I need to talk to Sam. It's important."

Dean looked at Sam, who nodded. "Right."

He shut the door and stalked off to book them a room. Fitz felt a strange sense of deja vu as Sam leaned his arm on the front seat and turned back to face her. Just like the gas station.

"What's up?"

Fitz took a moment to compose herself, fingers steepling underneath her jacket, pushing hard against each other. "Dean made a good point last night." She couldn't bring herself to meet his soft green eyes, but she could picture his crestfallen face, from his wide, hurt eyes to the involuntary twitch of his lips. "He was too aggressive about it, and his timing was off, but... he's right."

"...What're you saying?"

"I'm not saying you need to break up with Jess, if that's what you're worried about. I don't want you to. You're clearly good for her." Fitz steeled her nerves and looked up. "I'm saying that after this hunt, you need to tell Dean that you're done."