11. Sully

When I'm up the next morning, Cas isn't there like he said he would be.

Instead, I'm met with a note on top of what looks to be a gray robe. I unfurl the note, reading Cas's scribble.

Sorry to not be here. Figured you might want something instead of the towel.

I crumple the note, shaking out the gray robe. It looks a bit big, but it feels fluffy. A smile is on my face as I rub the back of my head. As I think back to last night.

Something can't be wrong, something must've just come up that he didn't want to wake me up for. He would've explained the situation if something was wrong.

I quickly exchange the sheets for the robe, tying it tight around my slim figure. It makes me feel puffy, like I'm wearing a winter coat. It's not like having Cas's body against mine, but it'll do for now.

Figuring there's no point in going back to sleep, I shuffle out of my bedroom. I stand in the middle of the hall, yawning, stretching big, my joints cracking.

"Well, don't you look happy, sunshine," Dean greets me as he walks through the hall in his own gray robe. He nods towards me. "Where'd you find that?"

"Oh, uh...Cas found it for me." On that awkward note, I start for the kitchen, but I hear Dean following me. I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Go ahead. Start ragging on me for sleeping with him."

"I wasn't gonna do that. I wasn't sure what to think of it at first, Jo, but, it seems like he's really doing some good for you."

"You think so?"

"I can see it. I mean, he brought you back home. He cured you. It's deep, whatever you two have."

I smile. "Thanks for the approval, Dean." I clap him on the shoulder. "You're taking this awful well."

"Hey, as long as you're happy, I can't be mad about it, right? Just...don't let us hear you two roughhousing anytime soon, okay?"

For that, I punch his arm. "What, can't stand the noise? Or are you jealous because you don't have someone to 'roughhouse' with?" I smirk.

Dean doesn't answer, which makes my smile that much bigger.

When my brother and I enter the kitchen, we find our younger brother. Only...something's off. And I say that as in Sam looks to be holding empty air in a threatening stance.

"This can't be happening," he mutters.

"Dude," Dean says. "Who you talking to?"

"Him?"

"Are you having a stroke?"

I sniff. "Do you smell toast?" I ask. I look to see a buffet of treats. It's a mixture of junk food, something that I know for a fact we don't have lying around in the bunker. Shit, I forgot to tell them about the leftovers. "What is all of this crap? When did you start eating this stuff? Is that marshmallows on nachos?" That looks kinda good.

"Yeah, it wasn't me," Sam insists.

Out of nowhere, someone smaller than me appears at Sam's side out of thin air. I jump back, startled. He seems...cartoonish, almost, in his appearance. Like he's dressed like how a little kid would be, but he's not a little kid.

"It was me," the guy says in a mousy voice. "And those are delicious."

"Wait a second." Sam looks between me and Dean. "Can you see him?"

"Uh-huh," Dean and I stammer.

"Dean, Jo, this is, um...I think this is...Sully, my friend from when I was a kid."

"You mean Mork from Ork here is your dumbass imaginary friend Sully?" Dean asks.

"Yeah."

"Um, I'm not a dumbass," says Sully.

"I'm gonna get my gun," says Dean.

"No, please...Someone killed my friend."

"You mean your imaginary imaginary friend?" I ask.

"First off, 'imaginary friend' is more of a descriptive term. How you just said it? That was a little offensive, just to be honest. Secondly, we're Zanna. Me and...me and the victim, we're Zanna. We help kids. We're the good guys." Sully looks to my little brother. "Sam, tell them."

"Yeah, okay," Sam says uneasily. "Um...You know what, I'm still trying to wrap my head around this whole you-being-real thing."

"Yeah, no, no, of course. No, that's okay, that's okay. This is all really unexpected."

"Yeah, that's one word for it," I mutter. "Being told off by a guy who's dressed like that isn't what I got up for."

"Just...I need your help. You're hunters, that's what you do, right? I mean, you help people too."

"Yeah, yeah. People," says Dean. "You are not that."

"Dean, come on," Sam says.

"Come on? Are you kiddi...Look...This...mother...You, me, and Jo, library right now. Come on!"

"Ah-ah, not you," I tell Sully firmly when he tries to follow us out of the kitchen.

"Yeah, no, I'll just stay here," he says quickly out of nerves. "Coolio."

Rubbing my forehead, I quickly catch up to my brothers, who are already hashing it out in the library.

"You're not actually buying this crap, are you?" Dean asks.

"Dean, when I was nine years old, you know what I wanted more than anything? Marshmallow nachos," Sam says.

"Yeah, you were a weird-ass kid."

"Yeah, well, the only person I ever told about it..."

"Sully," I murmur.

"Yes."

"I don't know, man. I...Hey, you know, maybe this is just one of your visions," says Dean.

"Wait, Sam's been having visions?" I ask. "Gee, guys, way to leave that out."

"It can't be, you and Jo are seeing him too," Sam insists to Dean. "And it doesn't involve the Cage or Lucifer, or me having to talk to Lucifer in the Cage."

"Again, I ask, how have you guys not mentioned that to me?" I ask Dean as Sam goes to a bookshelf.

"You didn't ask," he says simply.

"Oh, so now I gotta ask for you to tell me things? Apparently our little brother having visions of Lucifer isn't important enough to mention to me without me asking?"

"Boy, someone's Oscar the Grouch."

"Look at this," says Sam, putting a book on the nearest table. "Here. In Romanian lore, Zanna are creatures who guide and protect lost children. Zanna intentionally appear as figments of a child's imagination, allowing the child to move on with confidence once guidance is no longer necessary. Maybe Sully's telling the truth."

"Okay. Say Bozo is legit. Right? Which, you know—hello crazytown, but okay. How is this our problem?"

"Because someone's dead."

"No, something is dead. A fairy godmother getting capped? That ain't our beat."

"Yes, I know that, Dean, but..."

"But what?"

"But as messed up and insane as this sounds, Sully helped me."

I lick my lips. "Sam's right. Whether it's someone or something, they're still dead. If he's legit, it's worth a look, right?"

* * *

"That's the place," says Sully as we pull up to the Berman house. "It's a horror show in there."

"You mean you've been inside?" I ask. He's beside me in the backseat of the Impala. Leave it to me to be stuck beside Sam's imaginary friend.

"Last night. I'm in management now, so I don't get out in the field much. I just came to see Sparkle."

"Sp...Sparkle?" asks Dean.

"Yeah. I show up and, I mean the place was bananas. Kid had called the cops, mom's freaking out, and...Sparkle...Sam, it was horrible."

"Okay, so according to Zanna rules, the kid is the only witness, right?" I ask.

"Yeah. Poor thing. I'll meet you inside." Sully vanishes, leaving me the sole occupant of the Impala's backseat.

"All right, what are you guys thinking?" I ask my brothers up front.

"Well, we can't get in there with our normal FBI getup," says Sam. "We got to approach this differently."

"Why not FBI?"

"We could, but imagine how that would look."

"Point made." The lightbulb goes off in my head. "I've got it. Child therapists. That's our in."

"Nice thinking."

"Okay, so, now we're playing pretend therapist," says Dean. "What does that dress code look like?"

"Well, for you, probably not comfortable like it will be for me. We got to make a stop somewhere to change."

"Why do I get the feeling I'm about to hate this shopping spree?"