I should really not be writing this, since I haven't updated the already three stories that I left unfinished, but the plot bunnies won't leave me the hell alone!

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters…

I: Of Scars

Dean hated Saturday nights. The club was always packed and that made him wish he had four hands instead of two. But hey, a job is a job and it helps to put food on the table and pay the bills so Dean wasn't complaining. After all it also had its perks, being a bartender meant that he had really awesome conversations with the drunken patrons, often blabbing about their broken relationships and hitting on him. It also meant he got to watch everything; the drunken pickups, the heated arguments and all the dry humping you could stand to witness.

Actually, sometimes that got way out of hand too…

"Hey, Dean, vodka straight up!" a regular said, dragging him out of his musings.

"Coming right up..." he replied, not remembering the guy's name.

"You're looking rather nice tonight. Big date?" Dean asked, noticing the guy dressed a little better than his usual attire.

"Yeah, I think I may have found Mr Right this time." The guy said, walking off.

Dean scoffed at the idea. He swore if the guy had stood there five seconds longer he would've corrected him with a 'Mr Right Now'. He looked at his watch as he saw his relief step through the door.

One AM, awesome.

"You do know that I actually have a kid to go home to, right?" he asked as he grabbed his stuff and left.

"I'll make sure Crowley puts the extra two hours on your pay check." The barkeep said

He walked through the alley way that would lead to his home. It was dark and damp, smelled a bit like sewage, but it was undisputedly the quickest way home. He saw someone lying there behind a dumpster, some old hobo probably, he thought. That was until he heard a cough and sobs. He went over to see what was wrong and could make out a female, skinny and pale, with blood on her face.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked as he helped him up.

"Can't believe… he hates us." The girl slurred, her voice frail and sounding like she swallowed sand, but maybe it was because she was hammered.

"Left us like everyone else." The girl slurred again, sobbing pathetically.

"He promised…he wouldn't…"

"It's okay. Calm down." Dean said, comforting the stranger, wondering what the hell he was doing. "Where do you live? I'll get you home."

"Not going back there… he's angry." The stranger sniffled, "I don't know anyone else, just moved here."

"Look, I live right down the street." Dean interrupted, "You, uh, I can clean you up, or something. It won't be too much trouble."

The girl looked up at him and gave a small, bittersweet smile, and Dean felt something tug at his stomach. Then, she puked on his shoes.

This was gonna be a long walk.

The usual fifteen minute stroll for Dean felt like a decade as he had to drag about 90 pounds of a sobbing, drunken mess with him. When they got to the house, Dean motioned for her to be quiet and led her to the bathroom where he pulled out a first aid kit and some peroxide out of the cabinet with one thought:

"What the hell am I doing?"

He started to dress the wound on the stranger's forehead first, the girl, Anna, hissing as the peroxide contacted with the cut. Dean stared into those big, brown eyes as he dressed the wound, as if searching for something. He found them to be unfocused, hazy from alcohol and god knows what else, pained from the obvious trauma of what took place before and sad. She had a black eye that wasn't fresh from what Dean could tell, and somehow a shard of glass was stuck in her - 'Anna's'- hair.

"Beer bottle…" She said softly, as Dean pulled the glass out of her hair.

Dean stopped to glance at her wrists, to see scars, both old and fresh, that reminded him too much of -

"I fell in the alley and landed on some bottles, that's what cut me up."

"Yeah, and I bet beer bottles are what gave you this black eye, too." Dean retorted as he put the last band aid on Anna's forehead.

"I'll be going now, I guess." Anna said, as he got up.

Dean felt a tug in his stomach again, obviously telling him to do something, say something.

"Hey!" he called after the girl who was leaving.

Anna turned to look at him, those brown eyes downcast and empty. She was young, anyone could see that, no older than sixteen.

"You shouldn't be wandering out so late… you can stay here till morning," Dean offered.

"Thank you." Anna whispered, sounding relieved.

Dean loaned her a change of clothes and gave him his bed to sleep in, after much debate. Anna was grateful for everything this stranger did, but confused at the same time.

"Why are you doing this? I mean, you don't even know me." she said, staring up at Dean, her eyes filling with water again.

"I have no idea." Dean replied as he went to bunk with his brother, praying to whatever was listening that letting this girl stay wasn't as dumb as he was thinking.

So.. reveiw, and all of that... We'll see Cas soon, promise