Quinn still lives in the house she took Sam to, in Mill Valley, all those years ago. There are two cars parked in that spot on the deck—Quinn's unmarked patrol car and someone else's vehicle. Dean walks between the two, to the fencing lining the edge of the cement, and lets out a low whistle at the view. The slope of the roof, how it cuts through the hills aross the valley, speckled with lights like glittering stars. 

"Mom's an architect?" He asks, squinting in the setting sun.

"Yeah, but this house was built in the seventies," Sam answers, moving for the gate. His eyes are shifting around the house's silhouette like he's nervous, but there's a confident familiarity in the way he walks. "Come on." He pulls the pin and holds it for Dean, and they make their way down the little cement steps to the front door. Sam, after a brief hesitation, knocks. They wait.

Quinn hasn't changed out of her white work blouse and black trousers. Long dirty blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and there's the sound of a balloon popping from somewhere in the house followed by a very girly, ear-piercing shriek. Quinn sighs, closing her eyes. 

"That's the fifth one she's popped," she whispers, opening her eyes again, and takes the brothers in. 

Dean is holding a box wrapped in shiny white paper, grinning from ear to ear. Sam looks terrified, waxy and pale. 

"You didn't have to get her a present," Quinn says. It's easier to look at Dean than it is Sam. 

"Sure we did," Dean chirps. "Presents are fun." After a moment, Quinn smiles a little and takes it from him. "So where do you need us? Balloon duty, streamers?" He claps his hands in epiphany. "I can grill!"

"He can grill," Sam agrees, nodding.

"That's perfect, actually," Quinn says. "But the kids don't show up for another hour and a half, so it looks like we're all on balloon-and-streamer duty." She steps aside, opening the large square wooden door wider for the brothers to walk in.

"Nice place," Dean compliments, gaze traveling from the walls to the ceiling and Quinn's face.

"Thanks," she hums. "Mom bought the place when I was sixteen, and...when I was pregnant, she was already building her dream home or whatever, so...since this was already paid for, I just kind of stayed." Quinn sighs heavily, eyes trailing the banisters. "Oh, the things money can buy."

She's a nervous talker. 

"Uh..." The brothers turn to look at her as she stops in the hallway. "For you two to be here right now, I had to have a conversation with my mom." She nods at them, indicating they should nod, too. "Because...of reasons." Eyes quickly dart to Sam, then back to Dean. They aren't getting it. "So she knows you're not serial killers at a children's party. At my child's party. So she knows everything I know."

Awkward pause.

"Awesome," Dean finally says. "Gimme some balloons."

Venture forth they do. Right into the living room. The sofa is long and royal blue—safe around toddlers—with a white throw along the back. The space is cozy and worn-in and warm and while the furniture is different and eclectic, it still feels welcoming in the cleanliness and the openness. 

"Hannah, look who came to your party!" Quinn enthuses. The little girl turns around, letting the air out of her balloon, and smiles.

"Hi!" She trills.

"Hey, birthday girl!" She runs right for Dean. Sam's eyes are locked on Tammy, who seems about the same as the last time he saw her, except her hair looks like it's being grown out from a bob. Her smile is welcoming and tender, like it was at Thanksgiving that first year. Like she doesn't hate him for abandoning everything. Everyone.

"Sam," she whispers, and moves right for him with open arms. "Oh, I'm so glad you're okay."

"Hi, Mrs. Anderson," he murmurs, and after a moment, reciprocates her hug. "It's good to see you again." A storm of emotions blows through Sam in an instant, toiling in his belly. She should hate him, like Quinn should. She shouldn't be glad he's okay. She shouldn't be so warm, so loving, so welcoming. She should hate him.

Over Tammy's shoulder, Quinn is smiling a little as she slides Hannah's present onto the coffee table with a few others that are wrapped in glittery pink paper. 

"And this must be Dean," Tammy says, pulling away from Sam. He can see the tears in her eyes as she smiles at Dean and goes in for the hug. "I'm Tammy, Quinn's mom."

"Nice to meet you, Tammy."

"That's my gramma," Hannah tells him.

"Oh, I figured," Dean nods at Hannah. "Hey, can I help you blow up some balloons?"

"Yes! What color do you want?" She skips on over to the balloon bag. "Sam, do you want a balloon?" She asks, looking over her shoulder at him as she crouches down.

"Sam can blow up exactly one balloon," Quinn says. "And then he's gonna help me hang some streamers. That okay?"

"Yeah," Hannah nods once and turns back to her balloons with a pensive expression. "We have to make it a good one!" Dean gets a white one. Sam gets a pink one with white dots. As the balloon inflates, he realizes they're not dots, they're four-pointed stars. Tammy is on helium duty for a few balloons. Of course Dean was the one to show Hannah what helium does to someone's voice.

"I never realized he was so good with kids," Quinn murmurs as she and Sam hang streamers on the stairs. Dean is doing a Helium Yoda impression, bending to Hannah's every laugh and shriek of delight, and command.

"Yeah," Sam nods. "Yeah, that's Dean."

"He and Eleanor have any kids?"

Sam's gaze snaps up, and his chest goes cold. "What?"

"He and Eleanor," she repeats, shifting uncomfortably. "I mean, are they still together?"

"No," Sam murmurs after a moment. Quinn looks up at him with questions glinting in her eyes. "No, um...Eleanor died, actually."

"Oh my God." Quinn's eyebrows knit together. "Was it..."

"2006," he tells her. "Tomorrow's the day, actually." Slowly, he nods as he looks down to his brother. "And he hasn't been the same since."

"I don't imagine," Quinn murmurs, turning her gaze to Dean as well. "They looked happy together...for the few minutes they were in my living room."

"They were," Sam hums, smiling a little. "Very." A moment passes. "He tried to break up with her a lot, but it never went on for very long. From what I hear, Dean was, uh...really the only thing she was assertive about. He wasn't gonna leave her because she wasn't gonna let him. I think she knew Dean better than I do, even now. How he pushes people away...how you can't let him." 

"What got her?" Quinn asks. A peculiar way to ask how someone died, but it's like she already knew it had something to do with their work. Had to be. 

"The same thing that came after you."

Wide hazel eyes meet Sam's, and Dean launches a balloon at Hannah's head from the tied end, making a sound that reminds Sam of one of his happiest days. A day Dean relived with him when they both went to Heaven, after Roy and Walt killed them a few years back.

Sam and Quinn moved into their apartment on her birthday, the summer before their sophomore year began. Claire and Kelly were supposed to be their roommates, but Claire's dad put his foot down. What do you mean you're moving in with your boyfriend of eight months and your friends who have been dating for six months? You know. The logical train of thought.

Maybe it was fast, but neither of them cared. All caution was thrown to the wind, because that's what young love does to you. 

Sam blindfolded her the whole drive to the new place. She wasn't allowed to look at pictures, and Sam gave her a very generic description of the place so she could decide on one, which was very difficult considering she is a very visual person. Two bedrooms, two bath, decent kitchen and a bar top, and it came furnished. He got the green light and both of their names were on the lease.

They had a place of their own.

"We should've taken the elevator," Quinn decides at the top of the stairs.

"It was only two flights," Sam chuckles. "And I helped you the whole way. It's part of the experience."

"Well Sam, the day I have to climb stairs blindfolded to get to my apartment, I'll have you to thank," she snarkily returns, grinning the way she does, and Sam rolls his eyes in amusement. 

"I always prepare you for these kinds of things."

"Prepare me for getting kidnapped," Quinn sighs. "How very wise-beyond-your-years and practical."

Someone broke into her dorm room in April. It was finals week and the last thing she needed. Sam spent that summer in self-defense classes with her.

"So romantic," Quinn continues.

"Uh-huh." Sam steers her to the right, hands clamped on both of her shoulders as he leads her down the hall. "You'll thank me if you ever get kidnapped."

"Slightly unusual, but romantic I think," she bobs her head.

"'Man, I should really thank Sam after I get out of these bindings and he saves me'," he mocks in a high-pitched voice.

"I don't talk like that!"

 Sam pulls her to a halt. Her fingers catch his, and she's smiling still. "Q, I have to get the key," he says. 

"You got two hands," she chirps, not letting go of his left. Grinning, Sam leans over and kisses her. "Ooh! A kiss I get!"

"I love you."

"I love you," she whispers, lips ghosting over his own, and she kisses him once more. "Now would you open the door?" Sam reaches into his jacket pocket with his right hand, fiddles with his keys, and twists it in the lock before pushing the door open.

"Enter, milady."

Quinn sniffs at the air and grins. "Is that incense I smell?!" She excitedly squeaks.

"Yeees," he waits with an expectant smile, and hers just grows. 

Quinn is a scent queen and decided reed incense diffusers were her favorite things in the world. She's all about meditation and yoga and relaxation and all of that hippie stuff. Patchouli is one of her favorite smells, "as long as it's executed correctly," because apparently there's a right way pitchouli smells. Quinn is a hippie. Sam is dating a hippie.

The thought hit him like a ton of bricks one day, and it made him smile the stupid kind of smile you only get when you're totally, stupidly in love. His brother would've made fun of him for sure.

One of their dates she planned consisted of her showing him each essential oil and diffuser she had and why he needed it in his life. She had bottles upon bottles of it stashed underneath her bed. 

It was an actual date, according to Sam. That's all they did.

If there was ever a shortage of incense in the Palo Alto area, Quinn Anderson was to blame.

She always smelled like lemongrass. It took a while for Sam to pin it down, but whatever it was, he loved it. He loved how it stuck to his pillow after she spent the night, or on the rare occasion that he got his shirts back, they still smelled like her. Then he walked into her dorm one day and it hit him.

The new incense bottle was lemongrass. Once, when Kelly came over to her dorm to study with her and Claire, he put a piece of tape over the label and wrote 'Quinoa,' which had somehow turned into his pet name for her. He doesn't say it the right way, either—he says Quinn-wa, which Sam supposes makes sense. He didn't have the back story to appreciate the joke in the way Kelly was making it:

Once at the dining hall, Kelly was fixing up a salad and quinoa was at the bar. First he pronounced it 'kin-oh-ah,' which had the girls practically rolling. Somehow, it devolved into Quinn-wa, and that's what he called her.

Sam figures it was one of those "had to be there" moments, because it wasn't nearly as funny as Kelly made it out to be.

"It's lemon lavender," Quinn decides, still smiling, eyes concealed by the white strip of cloth.

"Close," Sam hums, leading her into the house. Her arms slip around his waist as he backtracks past the kitchen. 

"Is it..." Her nsoe twitches as she sniffs the air again. "Sage and citrus?"

"You really know your Yankee Candle," Sam muses, looking down at her as she laughs victoriously.

"Okay, okay, now I'm really excited," she titters, fingers spidering along his back. "Come on, take it off! Take the blindfold aaaaaahhhff!"

"I'm—I'm wor-king on it, jeez." Sam circles her with a laugh, and his fingers go to work at the knot of the white bandana. "We should put this on you again later."

"Sam Winchester, you dirty bastard," she calmly hums, crossing her arms, and he laughs. "If anyone is getting blindfolded tonight, it's you."

"It's your birthday."

"...fair point."

He grins. "Keep your eyes closed."

"Sa-ahm!" She whines.

"Qu-inn!"

The floor is littered with balloons, blown up by Sam and Claire and Kelly.

While decorating, Kelly really took the whole 'Virginia' thing and ran with it.

"Should her banner say 'Happy birthday Virginia'?"

"Obviously not," Claire scoffed, reaching for a new balloon to blow up. "If she wanted us to call her that, she would've told us that was her name."

"But it is her name," Kelly insisted. Sam just gave him a tired took and shot a ballon at him the way Dean shot a balloon at Hannah. "It is. Legally."

So the 'Virginia' banner was out. He did, however, make his own banner.

'Happy birthday Quinoa.'

She rolls up onto her toes. "Hurry," she hisses. 

Sam just smiles and pulls the blindfold from her eyes. "Welcome home, Q." 

He knows she's looking when her hands clasp together. She rests her knuckles underneath her chin, turning to look around at the space they're in. It might be foyer. It's rich, dark wood. Mostly empty, spare the balloons littered all over the floor. There's another door to the left, glass panel frosted. Leaning back to peer inside, she can see the living room. Sofa, bench underneath the window. 

Beyond the archway straight ahead is the kitchen. Polished, shiny metal. Bar top...sort of. From the kitchen is a narrow hallway that leads to the only bedroom, furnished with a bed frame, a mattress, a dresser, a closet. It's all so plain but it's so warm and homey.

Sam knew she would like it. 

Quinn turns around with a small smile and wraps her arms around his waist. "I love it," she whispers.

"Wait, you haven't seen the best part!" He back tracks into the living room with her koala'd around him and gestures up on the wall of the living room. Kelly's banner. 

Really, the only thing they had planned on bringing into the apartment was a bed set and kitchenware from Quinn's mom. There are some photographs they're able to hang up on the walls or find a home on a dresser. She was able to put faces to the names of Sam's family. Sam looks like his father. Dean looks like their mother. 

Quinn's favorite kiwi succulent went on the little table underneath the window by the front door. 

Sam hadn't been to a birthday party in...well, forever. Middle school, maybe. And this one was different. As much as it was a celebration of Quinn's birthday and their new home, he felt like it was a celebration for him, too. A celebration of the new life he'd started, away from the freak show of his childhood. He had real, normal friends he'd see for the next semester at least, maybe even a few years...maybe even forever. Maybe Kelly is that lifelong best friend he's been waiting for. 

But it had been a while since he heard from Dean...and that brought him away from the happiness of it all. The smiling faces and the helium tank and playing games of childhood, like not letting the balloon touch the ground, hitting it with your nose...part of him wanted that freak show back. The normalcy of it. Every day was something new, a new routine he was trying to get used to. Would the day come when he wouldn't get an email from Dean?

And when would be the day an old hunter friend called and said he was killed by the thing he was hunting?

"Hey." Quinn sits beside Sam at the edge of their bed, smiling softly in her huge faded Metallica t-shirt. She once said it was one of her father's, just like the Giants pullover she frequently wore. 

Sam smiles, reaching for her knee. "Hi." 

"You okay?"

"Yeah," he says with a nod. "Totally. Are you?"

The apples of her cheeks get bigger as she smiles more. "Totally." She rolls from her perch to cuddle into his side, and she kisses his ribs through the material of his t-shirt. "Thanks for the surprise party. I was surprised."

Sam grins. "I'm glad the party had its intended effect."

"Oh, yes," Quinn nods once. "The diffuser itself on the bar was simply incredible. Attention to detail, Winchester, is primo. I don't think I've ever met someone who retains so many tiny details like you do."

Sam chuckles. "I put a reed diffuser in our kitchen in a scent you like. It's the bare minimum."

"Ah, but it's so much more than the diffuser," she disagrees, and rolls to sit her knees on either side of his hips. Fingers intertwine with others, and her smile is sweet and tight-lipped as she looks down at him. 

"Is it?"

"Mhm. It's...like that time I was running late for CJ102 last semester and when I got to the dining hall you'd already fixed me up a plate of everything I eat."

"Purely observational," Sam dismisses with a light shrug. Her smile grows. "One tends to notice what his girlfriend eats when he has breakfast with her three days out of the week for several months."

"Okaaay," Quinn nods once. "Or how you'll be out with your friends and call me because you're an absolute sap."

"You offer riveting intellectual discussion," Sam dismissively hums with a wave of his fingers.

"Or you'll bring me new band tees." She leans down towards him with a wide grin.

His eyebrows knit together as he frowns. "Because yours have holes in them."

"And new music."

"Because you listen to the same five albums over and over and over again." Sam quirks an eyebrow at her. "How many times can one listen to Metallica's Metallica in a row? Quinn Anderson goes for the record of...what are we now, ten?"

Quinn grins. "Sad But True," she says in a quiet singsong voice, and Sam hums out a laugh.

"Very clever." He kisses her once, softly, on her mouth. 

"I love you."

Sam sighs, wrapping his arms around her neck and pulling her down to him. "I love you," he mumbles into her cheek. "I love you, I love you, I love you." He kisses her cheek and pulls back to gaze at her. "You really had fun tonight?"

Quinn grins. "Yes," she proclaims. "My throat is appropriately sore from all the helium inhaling and terrible singing, sometimes combined. I fully expect permanent lung damage."

"You're so deranged."

"Yeah," Quinn sighs into his chest. "You know, we got all those balloons out there to pop."

"That's a job for tomorrow."

"Not nearly as satisfying, or fun, as popping bubblewrap."

Sam blinks at the ceiling. "I don't know that anyone has ever said it was. Popping bubblewrap is an irreplaceable past time, an integral part of the American culture, maybe even global."

Quinn's smile is huge and tired. "Have I mentioned that I love you?"

Sam sighs, running his fingers over her scalp and through her hair. "It may have come up once or twice."

"Tomorrow we can do some home goods shopping," she suggests. "Throw some décor up on the walls? Whadda ya say, champ?"

"As long as we can sleep in past eight."

"Eight? Ugh." Quinn rolls off of him. "Early bird gets the worm, Sam."

So there they were, strolling into Marshall's at nine in the morning to look for...whatever it is Quinn decided was good enough.

At least she agreed to leave the heavy metal posters out of their new place.