#it wasn't until the past couple years I could actually articulate why the end of les mis was so upsetting to me.

[giantkillerjack]

Catholicism.

[.... oops I accidentally wrote real analysis in the tags lol]

why is he like this

[lifeisdabubbles-undersalmondean]

La Pomme ~ Chapter 14

Pairing: Sam x OC (eventual Dean x OC and Dean x Castiel. And I mean eventual.)

Series summary: George is a casual French-Mistake-universe Supernatural fan living in no-COVID 2020, who's life is upended when she's suddenly launched between realities, two years into the boys' past (S13E22). What begins as an insane, immersive fan experience turns into more when Jack goes missing and George offers up her AU information to help track him down. Soon it's discovered that she and Sam may actually have history. But that's impossible, right?

Word Count: 5,800

Warnings: {smut, fluff, angst, show level violence, swearing, mentions of suicide} ***Detailed warnings will be tagged for specific chapters.

A/N: Following the events of my prequel Paradise and second story From My Eyes Off. Reading those first gives context but isn’t necessary to start this one.

As annoyed as she'd been about Cas leaving against her better judgement, it felt good to be back on the road again. What she'd done yesterday, running away and searching for her family, had felt simultaneously necessary and awful the entire time she was doing it; like her nerves were sliding up against a cheese grater the wrong way. Worse than her standard feelings of unease. Being back in the car with Sam and Dean, finally headed once again toward Jack on their rescue mission, gave her a sense of peace and a strange kind of pain relief from the prior day's grating.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now a threesome, Sam, Dean, and George had set sail again on their mission to find Jack. Everyone in the car--including George, surprisingly--seemed comfortable with Dean's music filling the silence for the first few hours.

That being said, at the moment there was a throng of angry butterflies swooping through her abdomen. Cas and Sam had said they trusted her, by which she was flattered, but she felt immeasurably guilty. Should they trust her? Sure, she knew she was leading them the right way to find Jack, but was she supposed to be leading them at all? For all she knew, she had disrupted their destined timeline and was causing all kinds of unknowable consequences that would come back to bite them all in the ass eventually. She was starting to wonder whether her intentions were purely altruistic or if she was really just being selfish.

They had a short way left to go when they stopped for a quick, light gas station lunch and Dean decided to get some shut eye. He denied it, but Sam was almost positive he needed to sleep off all the crap he'd been consuming. When they got back in the car, Dean laid down in the back, Sam drove, and George sat in the passenger's seat.

It was her first time in the passenger's seat of Baby and she was strangely giddy about it. Her eyes roamed over every inch of the infamous car, taking in the surreal experience. Sam's arm adjusting on the steering wheel caught her attention and her head snapped sideways to look at him. A memory of a dream she'd had years ago filled her sight and the Sam sitting next to her was 10 years younger, with shorter hair and a baby face, but he had the same expression on it. It was a strange kind of worried uncertainty, like he was trying to figure out a riddle he already knew the answer to.

The vision felt so real and before she could stop herself she blurted, "Sam?"

He turned to look at her quickly and in a blink he was back to the older, bearded version she was used to. She could tell she had startled him out of his thoughts. Quickly she covered, "Uh, can I ask you something?" He nodded with a quiet noise of permission and she asked, "What you and Cas said earlier… about 'trusting' me? Uh… were you serious about that?"

"Yeah?" He wondered why she seemed so stupefied.

"Well," George had to take a moment to figure out how to articulately ask her question, "Why? I mean what makes you believe you should?" The look on Sam's face made her chuckle, letting out a nervous breath she'd been holding; she quickly clarified, "Don't get me wrong, you definitely should trust me and I'm honored, truly. But, I'm a mysterious woman who showed up in the bunker one day with no provable explanation and now is claiming to have inside information about the location of your missing adult-son-angel-human? I should be a walking red flag to a Winchester. Like, at least as a safety precaution, you shouldn't trust me until you know me, right?"

"I know you--er, enough," Came falling out before he could stop himself. Quickly he stumbled to add, "I mean, I feel like I know you enough to know you aren't lying to me…? Anymore, I mean," He added upon remembering she'd lied about her origins when they first met. He didn't think that counted, exactly; he would have done the same thing in her situation.

"But… why? What makes you feel that way?" George pressed. She still didn't understand. What made him so quick to trust her?

Sam was quiet for a while, turning a pale shade of green, before answering, "Same reason I was able to find you at the hotel, I guess?" He glanced at her with a serious expression and could tell by her gulp that she knew exactly what he was talking about. The pull; she felt it too. He exhaled deeply and reminded her, "Good instincts?"

Staring at him curiously, she imitated him, "Yea… that must be it."

The air around them felt strangely electrified as they both sat in silence. They were each fighting their own internal struggles about what it all meant. She wanted to ask him what he meant, ask him what this feeling was and if he was feeling the same thing. He wanted to know what she knew about his dream. As Dean let out a sharp snore, they both debated whether it was the right time or place.

"Do you trust me?" He asked her suddenly and it surprised her.

"Uhhhh, yea? I mean…" She paused, seriously considering it for the first time, then nodded definitively, "Yes."

"Why?" He pressed with a smile.

Understanding his point, she rolled her eyes, "That's--"

Cutting her off, Sam admitted with a smile, "OK, maybe it's a little different, but… you trust me because I remind you of someone who you know to be trustworthy, right?" She nodded slowly and he shrugged, "It's kind of the same thing for me."

George's eyebrows furrowed at him, starting to get concerned that she already did understand what he meant. Still, she asked, "Oh-kay, but... the person you remind me of is Sam Winchester… and you just so happen to be Sam Winchester, soooo-"

"OK, I don't know exactly how to explain it without sounding crazy, but I feel a connection to you," He finally admitted. Each word scratched and clawed resistantly on their way out of his mouth while he squirmed in his seat.

"A connection? To me?" She was surprised. And not. He affirmed with a quick nod and she began to fidget nervously. What did he mean? Did she already know? Is it what she's been feeling, too? He couldn't possibly feel the same connection she felt, surely; what she felt was easily explainable by her having been a fan of the show. But then what 'connection' was he talking about?

Trying to gather her thoughts she blurted, "Why?"

Sam gripped the steering wheel tightly and admitted, "OK, uh, about ten years ago I had this... dream." His eyes were glued to the road, so he didn't notice George suddenly stiffen tightly, whipping around to look at him. She instantly remembered her memory flash from earlier and a strange tingling sensation in her gut told her she knew exactly what dream Sam was referring to. She knew this feeling had nothing to do with the show.

Of course she'd had lots of dreams about him, and countless other fictional or otherwise unobtainable people before, but the dream that sprang to mind had been… different. It had saved her life.

"A dream?" she croaked, sweat forming on her cool skin. Was it her or was it suddenly sweltering in the car? She was desperate to take off her hoodie, but felt like this was the wrong time to be stripping.

"It was right after Dean had died--and, at the time, I thought he was gone for good. I was trying to fix it but it was taking a long time. Things got pretty dark. And then one night I…" He hesitated for a moment and then said quickly, "I had a dream. In it I met a woman in a bar and she… well, she was trustworthy. She helped me... find the light again," He finished vaguely with a wistful, if slightly embarrassed smile.

George felt as though the world around her were still moving but everything about her was in suspended animation; her body, her thoughts, her functions, like someone hit pause on her.

The night she'd had The Dream™, she'd been left at the altar by her would-be-high school sweetheart, who ran off with her best friend, the maid of honor. The heartache had felt unbearable and she happened to have had access to some serious pain pills. In her grief, she assumed they, coupled with a few bottles of tequila, would be enough to end her pain. But instead she'd had an indescribably intense dream about a man who made her feel ridiculous about throwing her life away over a dipwad like Greg. And--purely coincidentally, she'd always assumed--the man from her dream had been Sam Winchester.

While her dream had been incredibly significant to her, it's not something she'd even thought about until this moment. Why would she? It was just her pill and booze induced dream haze, randomly manifesting a hot, loving, perfect person to help her see that life was worth living. Of course, she had always known it wasn't real, that she hadn't actually dreamt about the real Sam Winchester.

Obviously, that's ridiculous! Because, he's not re- She paused her thoughts when the man in question's anxious throat clearing snapped her back to the moment. Blinking finally, she looked at him closely and noticed that he was avoiding looking at her. He was white as a sheet and his jaw was clenched so tight, she felt sympathy pain in her teeth. A burning sensation in her lungs reminded her that she couldn't remember when she'd last breathed in.

With a quick, deliberate inhale she asked, "And I... remind you of this woman?"

The serious tone of her voice made Sam finally turn to look at her. Her expression told him his instincts were right but he couldn't believe it. The two of them stared at each other in shock for longer than was safe to be driving. Neither knew what to say.

The car swerved slightly when Sam was startled by a loud, screeching 80s guitar solo suddenly emanating from the backseat.

"Jesus!" George yelped, jumping out of her skin.

Dean rolled over and sat up with a grumble, "Close. Jimi Hendrix." He held his noisy phone up and dismissed the alarm, "Did I miss any stimulating conversation?" Sam and George both looked at each other out of the corner of their eyes before simultaneously mumbling vague denials. Dean was attune to their odd behavior but when he noticed a road sign for The Trees of Enigma, he opted to ask instead, "Where are we?"

"Oh, uh--'bout 20 miles from False Klamath. What's the plan?" Sam instantly switched to work mode when he realized they were getting close.

Dean raised an annoyed eyebrow, "Are we already that close? Didn't we talk about stopping at the last town for a motel first?"

"Er--uh, oh--right," Sam groaned and his eyes rolled back into his head in embarrassment. He was furious with himself; Dean had mentioned that plan at their last stop but Sam hadn't exactly been giving his brother his full attention.

"What?" George asked curiously. "When was this conversation?"

"At the gas station," Dean said matter of factly, watching as she narrowed her eyes at him. "It was just before we left. I wasn't hiding it from you; I mentioned it when you were walking back to the car. Remember, you got distracted trying to fish out that M&M that went down your top," He chuckled in amusement, looking to share the joke with Sam but finding him looking oddly guilty instead.

"Oh, yeah," She responded slowly. Looking down and pulling her top away from her chest, she muttered, "Did I ever get that out?" Dean snorted and then watched Sam glance over as she hooked a finger down her top to go fishing again, realizing why his brother had missed the motel plan in the first place.

"George, it's not--it's not like that--" Dean began but stopped short, not knowing what to say to comfort her.

When George's head suddenly popped up again, Sam jumped, his head jerking toward the road and Dean stifled a laugh.

Looking back at him, she asked, "Ok, but why would we stop at a motel when we're this close? It's the middle of the day, the place is still open." Looking back and forth between them, she saw their expressions slowly turn guilty and she realized. With a mildly offended huff, she stated matter of factly, "Oh, you were going to leave me at the motel while the two of you went to go look for Jack alone. Got it." Crossing her arms over her chest, she turned to look out the window. Dean and Sam shared a guilty, 'oh, shit' expression.

"It's just that..." Sam tried to pick up where his brother left off, wanting to explain, but he froze too. He couldn't stop kicking himself for being distracted by her--er, their conversation. He should have been paying closer attention and now they faced nothing but bad options. Options that put her life in more danger. "...Well, it's just-"

"Oh, calm down," She cut him off softly with a small eye roll, looking back at them. She sneered like a spoiled teenager, "It's fine; I'm fragile and weak and have no monster fighting skills to speak of. I'm a baby sans trench coat. It would be too dangerous and irresponsible to let me come with you, so you had a plan. I get it. Liking it is another story, but I get it. At least now I know how Jack feels," She lobbed, giving Sam an annoyed smirk, to which his head hung slightly. With a deep calming breath, she explained in a more poised tone, "I'm not upset, I'm just frustrated that there's nothing I can do about it; I know how fucking pig headed the two of you are when you're right."

"Even worse when we're wrong," Dean added empathetically after a beat and Sam nodded apologetically.

George snorted in agreement and sighed, "Alright, well your offensively infantilizing, yet totally justified plan to forcefully protect me has failed, so now what?"

Dean rubbed his eyes, letting out some thoughtful grumbles and trying to clear the sleep fog from his brain, "Uhm, well we just gotta keep driving to the next town, find a safe place for you there and then double back; start looking for Jack."

As Dean spoke, George allowed herself to focus on her instincts and there was suddenly a fire alarm going off in her head. There was a sense of urgency she couldn't shake. Jack was in trouble.

Looking directly at Sam, George begged, "The nearest town is nearly 20 miles away! We have to find Jack, now. We're this close and I don't think we have time to waste. I've got a bad feeling," Either because they were getting closer to where she believed Jack to be or because she was finally paying attention to something other than Sam, she could sense how much danger the kid was in. But Dean was shaking his head dismissively, not listening beyond her request to stop. She tried offering sweetly, "We can at least stop since it's right here and you guys can take ten minutes to ask around and see if they've seen him? Do your little detective cosplay, strictly recon--I'm not sure if I'm using that term right but it sounds cool, so just go with it. I will stay in the car! Please!"

Dean looked like he was considering it but quickly shook his head, "George, I don't think that's a good idea; you'd be completely vulnerable and we can't be distracted worrying about you when we're trying to find Jack." He then squinted at her, offended. "And it's not cosplay. We're hunters, not LARPers."

"OK, I've seen you LARP and I know for a FACT you fucking love it, Mr. Braveheart!" Dean gave her a shocked glare, forgetting again that she knew more about their lives than a woman he'd met mere days ago normally would. She continued before he could respond, "And seriously, you guys I have a really bad feeling," She held her abdomen for emphasis, "Jack's in trouble! Please, I'll stay in the car with all the doors locked and one of your big giant knives. I'll be OK! I stabbed you didn't I?!" George reminded Dean, though she knew she was grasping at straws now.

Dean's eyes narrowed, "OK, first of all, you sliced me a little an-"

"Enough! Dean's right, we're not risking your life, Georgia. It's too dangerous," Sam's tone was startlingly definitive and both she and Dean were a bit stunned. Now that he realized who she was--who she had to be--there was no fucking way Sam was putting her in anymore danger. He'd made enough lapses in judgment since she'd showed up, any number of which could have already gotten her killed. He was done taking risks with her life.

As they saw the 'coming up' sign for "The Trees of Enigma", he pushed his foot down, speeding up just enough to make his point.

"Sam, please listen to me! Jack is here and he's in danger! What about protecting him?!" Both Sam and Dean shared an uneasy look; she could see they were torn she just didn't know how to convince them. Desperately, she reasoned, "I will be fine in the car! I promise! I'm from the future, God damnit! Don't you think I would know if I'd died on an old episode of Supernatural?!"

"I can't take that chance," Sam replied sternly, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Dean and she shared a confused expression and George huffed.

When they spotted the giant Johnny Appleseed statue around the bend, her stomach dropped. She could tell by the look on Sam's face there was no use and she began to panic, pleading with him. He was resolute about continuing, but as they were coming up on the turn in for the parking lot, he suddenly felt the steering wheel pulling against him. The whole car started thumping hard on the left hand driver's side. It took them a second to realize they'd gotten a flat tire and Sam knew he had no choice but to pull off the mountain highway and into the tourist spot's parking lot.

As he safely maneuvered the car into a distant parking spot and shut Baby off, George couldn't help but thank her lucky stars.

"Motherfucker," Sam landed a punch on the steering wheel.

"Hey, hey, hey! Don't you take this out on her!" Dean shouted angrily. "A car is only as good as its driver."

"Oh, you know what?! Yo--" Sam began but he was cut off by George's impatience.

"It doesn't matter, stop fighting!" Her tone was authoritative. "We're here and we aren't going anywhere anytime soon. So, why don't you boys go be hunters while I put the spare on the car? I'll be preoccupied with the car, it'll give you a chance to gather some intel on Jack, and by the time you come out you'll be able to take me to a motel--Not like that, Dean." She cut him off when she saw a smart ass expression burst onto his face at her words.

"You can change a tire?" He asked skeptically instead.

"Yes, Dean, I can change a tire. Ya know, women can also vote and take birth control now, too!"

"No, I know women can, I'm asking: can you?"

She shoved him gently and opened her car door, ordering, "just get out and show me where the spare is!" When she exited, a grateful shiver ran through her at the piercingly crisp Oregon climate. She was thankful for the relief from her earlier panic sweating.

Sam and Dean both exchanged identical "I-don't-like-this" looks before getting out of the car after her and popping the trunk. Dean lifted the trunk and then grabbed the false bottom that held some of their weaponry, exposing the spare and equipment underneath.

"OK, here's the jack and the lug wrench," he handed her the two tools and then reached back in for the tire. "Lemme pull the spare out for you."

"Stop wasting time, I can pull a tire out of a trunk."

"No, really, it's probably going to take one person just to hold the weapons up." Sam gently nudged her out of the way and leaned in to grab the spare while Dean held up the armory. Sam set it down next to the flat and then shoved the jack into position underneath the car with ease.

"Hey, knock it off. I told you I can change a tire," She grabbed Sam's wrist and tugged him back from the car, gently shoving him and Dean toward the visitor center and gift shop. "Now go! Go find out what you can about Jack. The sooner you go, the sooner you'll be back." Sam and Dean exchanged nervous looks, hesitating. "I'll be fine. Go. Bring me back some salt-water taffy!" She joked, trying to distract them.

"Wait," Dean walked back over and flipped back down the weapons shelf in the trunk and pulled a 17" bowing knife from some hidden pocket. Holding it out to her hilt first, he said, "The biggest knife we have. Don't hurt yourself."

"Jesus," She gulped. "OK. That's… big." She took it from his outstretched hand, nodding apprehensively, trying to psych herself up should she need to use it.

"I get that a lot." As Dean winked, George let out a small laugh and brandished the sheathed knife at him, faux menacingly.

Sam took a step towards her and pointed his hands at her in prayer position, "Hey, the second you get the spare on, you get in that car, lock all the doors, and watch for us, OK? Don't leave the car for any reason. Promise?" Now he was pleading with her.

"What if I have to pee?" She joked half-heartedly, starting to feel nervous and selfishly not wanting him to go.

"You could always try using that empty Pepsi bottle you had your eye on the other day," Sam cracked a small smile.

"Don't. Don't do that." Dean interjected in a serious tone. "Let's go, Sammy," Dean had to pull Sam away with a rough tug and the brothers headed for the gift shop while George checked that the jack was in place and began wrenching it up.

When she finally finished changing the tire about an hour later, she was sweating again and even more grateful for the nice, cool outside air. She lowered the car to the ground, then picked up the jack and lug wrench, placing them in the trunk. When she turned around to grab the flat, a beautiful woman with long dark brown hair was standing practically where George had just been standing herself.

"Jesus!" George startled upon seeing her, reeling backwards into the trunk a little.

"No, I'm Duma. Are you with the Winchesters?" She got right to the point. George suddenly felt all the hairs on her arms stand on end; this woman definitely seemed familiar, but was she a demon or an angel? Or something else? George couldn't remember. She noticed that Duma was standing between her and the knife, which she'd stupidly left on the ground on the other side of the discarded tire.

Shit.

"The who?" George played dumb, trying to figure out what to do. The boys would be back any minute right? Duma was starting to give her a funny look, like she was studying her.

"What…" Duma paused, squinting her eyes and looking her slowly up and down, "what are you?"

"Excuse me?" George replied, a little dumbstruck--not to mention offended--by the question. She slowly placed her hand casually on the lip of the open trunk. She tried to dart her eyes down imperceptibly to where her hand was, searching for any weapons she might be able to grab. Duma started to slowly step closer to her, seemingly not noticing George's fingers moving toward the 3" tactical blade strapped just within reach.

"What are you?" Duma reached for her and George whipped the knife out of its holster, slicing it at her and causing her to jump back.

The little tourist shop was surprisingly busy. As Officers Page and Plant waited patiently to speak with the manager they'd asked for going on 20 minutes ago, Dean watched Sam closely.

"Not in the mood," George said, swiping at her again and taking a confident step forward as Duma retreated. "Now back off." George didn't notice the nameless angel minion that had appeared behind her and never saw the cosmic knockout coming.

-----

Finally Sam noticed and raised a perturbed eyebrow, "What?"

Dean smiled knowingly and shook his head, "Nothing."

"Good, then keep your eyes to yourself," Sam sneered at him. He was reeling from his last conversation with George. Despite his earlier convincing, he was now nearly positive she was the woman from his dream and it wasn't anything he wanted to discuss with Dean. Though, he felt like his brother could see the scarlet letter on his chest and it was putting him on edge.

Just then an aged, grey haired black man appeared at the counter and waved them over. He was tall with a little more weight around the middle than the rest of him and just the slightest hint of wrinkles along the sides of his face, denoting that the wide, friendly smile he was giving them was a typical look for him.

Dean chuckled and muttered, "Ooh, smitten Sammy is salty," as they walked up to the counter and flashed their badges at the man. Sam narrowed his eyes, biting back his response to focus on the job at hand.

"Can I help you, Officers?" The wrinkle-faced man asked, eyes scanning the police badges curiously.

"We're looking for a missing person," Dean stated as Sam held up his phone with a picture of Jack for the man to see. "There's a chance he's in some real danger. Have you seen him?"

The man looked carefully at the photo and then shook his head apologetically, "No sir, I don't believe I have. But there's a separate shack for our walking tour tickets. Molly's been out there working the window all day. If he came through she'll know."

"Thank you, how do we--?" Sam asked quickly, putting his phone away.

"Just go back out the way you came, follow the wooden fence along to the left, and you'll see a path for the walking tour," The man pointed the way with a renewed, jovial smile and they thanked him.

Exiting out the door, the brothers followed the man's directions until they found the walking tour shack. Behind the plexiglass window was an older woman they could only describe as a redneck hippie. What they could see of her outfit was jean overalls and a cotton tie-dye shirt. She had the tanned leathery skin of a woman who spent her life either working in or enjoying the outdoors, her bleach blonde hair was hair sprayed to heaven, had dark black roots, and her teeth were a muddy shade of smoker yellow. On the tip of her nose sat a pair of small, round, purple tinted glasses attached to a beaded chain around her neck and her overalls were covered in an eccentric mishmash of flair that included the NRA and the Grateful Dead.

Dean gave a charming smile and began, "Officers Page and Plant. Molly, I presume?"

"Hello Gentlemen," She greeted happily with a wide, appreciative smile, removing her glasses from her nose and laying them against her chest. When they lifted up their badges she raised a brow, "Oh, 'Officers,' I see."

"Everyday of my life. How can I be of service?" She was sizing them both up carefully, appraising them.

"We're looking for someone," Dean repeated as Sam held the phone up for Molly to see. "Have it on good authority he might have gone through here. Any chance you've seen him?"

Molly reached up and grabbed her glasses again. Slipping them on quickly, she leaned closer to the glass and inspected the photo.

"Hard to say," She started, squinting her eyes a bit. "But there was a baby faced young man that came through with his sister a little bit ago. Could be the same guy, but my eyes just ain't what they used ta be."

"How long ago?" Dean asked seriously.

"Maybe an hour?"

"How did he seem?"

"Quiet and moody," Molly shrugged, "typical for your average young boy dragged here by their family. Didn't think much of it, honestly."

"What did his sister look like?"

"Shorter than him, but just as pale. Long brown hair, brown eyes I think? I'd say mid-twenties. She looked about as thrilled to be here as he did."

"Did they buy tickets?" Sam asked quickly.

"Sure did," Molly nodded. "Paid cash, asked for the fastest route to the wilderness trail." She picked up a map sitting in the display case in front of her, then grabbed a pen and drew out directions quickly, as though she'd done it a thousand times before. Handing the map through the small cutout in her window, she stated, "These are the directions I gave them."

"Thank you very much for your assistance, Molly," Sam said sincerely, grabbing the map and taking a few steps back, ready to head toward Jack.

"No problem, Officer," Molly said with a sweet smile, then turned to Dean and said, "Listen, I have a granddaughter you'd be perfect for." Dean raised an intrigued eyebrow, a charming smile appearing on his face as Molly reached up above the plexiglass and yanked a photo down from the shelf. Holding it out for Dean to see, she suggested, "Maybe the two of us can figure out a way to get her away from her no good, crank dealing boyfriend, eh?"

Initially interested, Dean moved closer to the photo and then wrenched back quickly, "Molly… Uh… how old is--"

"Sheila. She'll be 17 in October. Ain't she a beauty?" Molly grinned proudly. Dean and Sam both tried to hold back grimaces.

"Oh, of course, I understand," Molly nodded quickly and grabbed up a pen and another map, scribbling a note and handing it through the plexiglass. "Here's her SnapChat. She's always looking for new friends!"

"Well, she certainly takes after her grandmother, doesn't she?" Was all Dean could think to say. Luckily Molly was clearly flattered and he added quickly, "But, uh, we're on official police business right now, so I can't real--"

Dean, masking his horror like a pro, took the glossy, folded piece of evidence and nodded, "Thanks, Molly. You've been a real help."

"Anything for you, Officer!" She called after them as he took a few steps to catch up with Sam and the two of them began heading down the trail.

After tossing Dean's map in the first trash can they could find out of eye-shot of Molly, they followed Sam's map for about a mile along the trail before coming to a split. The two of them looked first left then right. The left path went straight around the mountain, the right path wound up the mountain in a zigzag pattern.

Sam checked the map again, "OK, she directed them this way," he pointed toward the left.

"Hold on," Dean said, having turned around. He was now facing about 90 degrees to the left of the left path. "You see this?" Sam turned to look and saw a line in the surrounding ground ivy that looked like a man made path. It clearly wasn't as used as the other two and it wasn't on the map.

"What about it? Molly sai-"

"Look," Dean instructed, pointing into the forest. As Sam scanned the area Dean was pointing at, Dean started slowly following the small, easily missable path. He followed him, still not seeing anything of interest, and they walked about 40 feet before Sam finally noticed a patch of dark green that looked decidedly unnatural against the normal foliage.

As they got closer it became clear that what they were seeing was a dark green nylon winter coat. The coat was attached to a body that was crumpled on its side, as though tossed into the vegetation in a hasty effort to hide it. Drawing their weapons, they approached carefully. Dean got there first, finding a small, fair skinned, brown haired woman.

"Jack's 'sister'?" Dean asked bending down to place two fingers on the young woman's neck, though she was very clearly dead.

"That's Tilly!" Sam said sharply, finally catching up.

"You mean, it was Tilly," Dean looked at him curiously.

Sam grimaced and explained, "Another refugee. She's been training with us. I thought she was on a Wraith hunt with Steiner and Green."

"So, what's she doing here?" Dean asked, standing up straight again.

"And why did Jack come with her? They hardly know each other." The two of them quickly swept the immediate area for any clues but found nothing more. Moving her body farther out of sight for the time being, they then continued cautiously forward along the path.

[anotherweepingwoman]

I was listening to Vienna Tang (who you should definitely look up if you haven't before) and a couple songs really made me think of Hector/Imelda, specifically Recessional and Antebellum. And the latter in particular made me think about how Imelda seemed kinda startled by Hector's apology and got me wondering if maybe their 'post-mortem' relationship had more mutual hostility early on, when Hector wasn't so exhausted and depressed and was prickling with the injustice of it all.

knowing héctor and how much he wants to be with his family, and that he’s approached imelda several times before, it’s certainly possible he attempted to apologize in the past, assuming imelda/pepita ever let him articulate as many words (for all we know, pepita could have broken his bones). but even if this were the case, imelda’s surprise and shock, her sudden willingness to compromise make me think that he’s never before apologized for the right reason.

like so much in the film, i think it comes down to a matter of perspective. héctor spends a lot of time focusing on his own curse (the fact he never came home, the fact that he is still trying to come home). it’s unclear - although hinted at when he tries to return miguel to his family - until the cenote, until he essentially thinks he is experiencing his last moments, whether he recognizes his initial breach of trust for what it was (the fact that he left, that he left imelda alone with a small child to raise despite her wish that he stay, that he used his privilege as a man and left her vulnerable without really considering what that meant). in the novelization, his motivation for ending the tour and going home is not that he thinks he did something wrong; he talks instead about himself, his own homesickness, his own philosophy for making music that he’s realized ernesto doesn’t share, his longing for his own bed. the novelization is presumably written this way to avoid spoiling the coco reveal, but the lack of guilt or sense of regret for anything but his misplaced trust in ernesto is nonetheless striking. héctor’s songs, for that matter, tend to be about himself as a real person, about his own lived experience; “juanita”, which may not even be his, is the only song that theoretically imagines someone else’s perspective, and even then and even with the twist it’s an exercise in exploring the male gaze. 

while imelda’s account to miguel of why héctor left (to sing to the world) may have also been slanted by years of brooding over his lyrics ( “the world is mi familia” seems like a good culprit) and pretending to forget his letters (which, judging from how quickly elena accepts them, probably stated his intentions to come home in no unclear terms, see this great meta by @cheeseanonioncrisps here), the essential message she sends is that he’d chosen to privilege his own interests over her heart and wishes, that he’d broken her trust in him (in line with @humanityinahandbag’s brilliant observations of the papel picado sequence, where even in miguel’s telling of her story, he walks through her and coco). judging from the novelization, it also seems likely that she did not articulate this to him at the time in a way he understood, that it was not something he even realized he had done. and so it becomes plausible that héctor could have left for his tour without stopping to consider imelda’s perspective in more than terms concerning himself, and that he died without considering her perspective in more than terms concerning himself, and that he approaches the bulk of his post-mortem attempts to reach imelda without understanding what he should be apologizing for. 

put another way: there’s a difference between apologizing for dying and never being able to come home and apologizing for leaving. it was not his fault that he died, even before he knew he was murdered there was no way he could be blamed meaningfully for his own death; he can apologize but that apology would ultimately be meaningless, pointing only to events beyond his control and thus to his lack of fault. leaving, however, was under his control - and so was trying to understand why his wife wanted him to stay. it’s like how there’s also a difference between regretting having left because he died, because he failed to read ernesto right and regretting having left because of the consequences it had for imelda and coco.

this is why i’d like to think that while he might have reached this conclusion before the film, the first time he expresses his actual fault is in the cenote, and then in his apology (after imelda takes the time to spell out her real issue with him for the audience). admittedly, part of why i’d like to imagine this was the first time he did so is because of a sense that both of them have to change, that it’s not solely imelda who has been immovable, that she has in some ways been forced to become immovable as a defense mechanism.

vienna has some really beautiful lines in those songs. “recessional” has this:

Who are you, the stranger in the shell of a lover, Dark curtains drawn by the passage of time? (x) 

“antebellum” is one i hadn’t listened to in a long time. i was overwhelmed by it and also by how well it fits them:

In the fall,

We circle through the leaves

And talk about the little ones.

And we smile, but never say too much.

The moment always vanishing.

[…]

But then the fights

The sharp words splintering the night,

How I couldn’t be what you’d need

But oh how I could make you bleed

[…]

You’ll go home, I’ll stay here

Seasons keep on marching

I’ll stay here, you’ll go home

With only strangers watching (x) 

… i mean, damn. yes, i can imagine those sharp words splintering the night - situations where the seeming unfairness of it all gets to him, where he’s too wounded by her actions, too angry to hold back, too drunk to consider more than his own pain. i can see him shouting after her as she passes by with pepita or the twins as her shield (it wasn’t my fault! i died! i was trying to come home! what more could you want!), singing to her of his pain from where she could not help but hear, sending letters that swing between confessionals pouring out all his bitterness and cold missives displaying the full range of his poetic skill, as though to remind her of what she’s missing - i can see apologies that inflict fresh wounds in her heart (and his), thus only cementing in her mind his insincerity and selfishness and the rightness of her actions.

sorry, this got very long for a “yes, i see it too”! you got the gears going. thank you for bringing vienna teng back into my life!