"Okay, on Monday we're going to get you enrolled in school."

Emma's expression was skeptical as she looked at her uncle. "It's May. Don't kids usually start school in the fall?"

"Among other things, the dog's got two fractures, Emma. We're going to be in town for a while."

Sam had agreed when Dr. Richardson, the vet, had insisted that he take responsibility for the dog. Maybe it was because he felt guilty for hitting the animal in the first place. Maybe it was because he was starting to realize they couldn't just keep driving aimlessly. Or maybe, Sam thought, it was because when Emma had held the injured dog in her lap he'd seen tears glistening in her eyes. It was the first emotion she'd shown since he'd told her Dean was gone.

"So you're saying Dad just, what? Disappeared? And Castiel, too?"

Sam nodded, unable to trust his voice. The interrogation had gone on for a few minutes now, scraping his nerves raw. Dean was gone. Not just dead, but truly gone. No body, no hunter's funeral pyre. Nothing left but grief and pain and loss. He wanted to stop discussing it and give in to the reality. To howl and rage. To cry. Or maybe to just curl up around the empty hole in the pit of his stomach and wait until enough numbness set in to allow him to function again.

Instead, he was debating with Dean's teenage daughter. Sam had never signed on for this. He had no idea how to take care of a normal kid under normal circumstances, much less an Amazon defector whose father had just been obliterated in an explosion of black goo. Taking care of kids had always been Dean's thing, not his.

"Did you check for EMF?" Emma asked, maddeningly calm in contrast to his panicked, hopeless sense of utter loss. "It's okay, Sam. We'll figure it out. We'll get him back." Like a child who couldn't understand the permanence of death, she couldn't seem to process that they weren't ever going to get Dean back.

"Emma, listen to me. This isn't a job. It's not a hunt. There's nothing left to hunt." Sam made himself go on, hammering away at her denial. "Dean is dead. He's not lost, he's not missing. He's dead! He's not coming back."

"I don't believe you. He's your brother! How could you say that, without even trying to look for him?"

Finally, she'd raised her voice. Still in denial, but Sam could see the doubt beginning to creep in. He slumped down on the bed beside her, hating having to break this news.

"I'm sorry. When your dad stabbed Dick Roman with the God-weapon, it didn't just kill him. He exploded, Emma. Dean and Cas, they were in range. There was nothing left. They're all dead."

"No. No, no, no, no." And then there were tears. Emma hunched her shoulders in, arms wrapped protectively around her stomach. Sam felt his own tears begin to fall, watching her, knowing that same awful emptiness was opening up inside of her. He pulled her into his arms, rocking her like an infant, needing the contact as much as she did. Maybe more. They stayed that way for a while, clinging to each other, Emma's tears wetting the front of Sam's shirt.

"No! It's not fair. He's not dead. He's a hero! He saved the world, he can't be dead."

Sam landed hard on the floor, stifling a startled curse as Emma jumped to her feet. She hadn't thought to control her strength when she'd pushed him away. For an instant he tensed, but as Emma ran to the wall and began beating on it with her fist, Sam understood. It was a classic Winchester method of coping—badly—with emotion. He and Dean had both put a few holes through drywall over the years. He was pretty sure their own father had as well.

He picked himself up and assessed the structural damage, which was impressive. Emma's superhuman strength had broken more than just plaster. At least one of the wooden studs was splintered, the wall bowed. Sam poked his head through the sizable hole, relieved to see that the room next door was unoccupied. And fortunately, the damage Emma had inflicted on herself wasn't too drastic. Bruised and bloodied knuckles he could deal with.

"I'll get the first aid kit."

"I don't need to go to school," she said now.

Emma's expression was stubborn, and so reminiscent of Dean that seeing it felt like a punch to the gut, but Sam knew how to win this argument.

"Your dad would have wanted you to. He forged a whole file of documents just so you could go." It was a half truth: Dean had started the project. Sam would have to finish it. But, he reasoned, it wasn't as if he had a better way to spend the weekend.

"You'll need some new clothes, too," he added when Emma's silence made it clear she'd given up. Because, Sam thought dryly, he needed more pain and torture in his life.

"No I don't." Emma looked down at the jeans she was currently wearing, which already had a hole in one knee. "My clothes are fine."

...And cue round two. "You'll at least need sneakers for PE and a backpack to carry your books. Come on, I saw a mall just off the highway a few miles back."

"How about this one?" Sam asked, holding up a women's v-neck t-shirt with Led Zeppelin blazoned across the chest. It was hard to believe stores still stocked these relics, but Sam reasoned that Emma might like a memento of one of her father's favorite bands.

The teenager shrugged. "I don't care."

"Fine." Sam hung the shirt over his arm. Emma had refused to pick out any items on her own, insisting she didn't need them. Why was he subjecting himself to this torture, again? Sam sighed. He could remember so vividly being the new kid, the weird kid, the kid who never quite fit in. Emma's first day of school would be hard enough without her showing up looking like some backwoods survivalist.

"Oh, this one is cute," he said, sarcastic, and held up another shirt, this one bright pink with the appalling phrase 'boys are better than books' spelled out in silver glitter.

"Seriously?"

Sam waggled it at her. "Yes or no?"

"I don't care."

"Fine," he gritted, and added it to the growing pile draped over his arm. It was a waste of money, but having chosen this battle, he'd be damned if he'd back down.

...Of course, if Emma ever actually wore that particular shirt, Sam thought, he'd have to kill her.

With Emma in school and Sam working as a handyman at the motel, life settled into a routine. And when the dog had been declared well enough to come home from the veterinary hospital, Sam started to think that maybe, just maybe, he could manage this. Maybe he really could give Emma her shot at having a normal life. Then the dog had run into Amelia Richardson's motel room, sparking a conversation that, for once, didn't end with her accusing him of stalking, and Sam started to think he might just try and take a shot at normal himself.

Author's note: Please join me for the sequel, My So-Called Normal Life. Thanks for reading!