Author's Note:

This story starts in season 1 and will continue beyond that, probably separate but parallel. I don't own Sam and Dean Winchester, and I don't own anyone else who may show up from the show. I hope you enjoy this story- I have big plans for it. 

Chapter 1 Good Samaritans

Heavener, Oklahoma.

Sam and Dean Winchester were tired. It'd been a long day on the road, and with no eminent signs of demons, werewolves, angry spirits, or cannibals-gone-haywire Dean was leaning towards tetchiness after their late dinner at the Heavener Earth Diner.

"I'm just saying, if it's the special, they ought to have it. At all times."

"It's ten o'clock, Dean. We're lucky they were open," Sam replied, not wanting to continue the argument.

"But see, they were open! And if they're open, and they've got the special sign on the wall, then I think it's within my rights as a customer to demand it."

"Did you really even want gooseberry pie? It sounds disgusting."

"It's got the word pie in it. 'Course I want it. I am a man of many pies. Gooseberry, chickenberry, porkberry-"

The sound of voices in an alley caught Sam's attention, if not Dean's.

"You hear that?" he asked, throwing out a hand.

"Dude, stop it," Dean commented, brushing the hand off his chest. "Hear what?"

There were at least two distinct male voices, angry, followed by a low female murmur, surprisingly calm coming from what appeared to be behind a closed coffee shop.

"Come on," Sam said, and ducked down the alley.

"Sounds like the kind of interaction we don't really want to interrupt," Dean muttered, but followed.

***

Emily tried to make her stance against the back of the wall look casual, rather than forced.

"I still don't understand what we're arguing about, fellas," she said, calmly as she could under the circumstances.

"Then you're as crazy as that loony-ass daddy of yours," snarled Grant Heyward. "He owes us. We see you first, so you owe us."

"Yeah," his companion, Stew Warden, agreed. Emily recognized them both from better days, when they'd played poker in her living room with her father instead of lurking in the alley behind coffee shops at night. "And what you don't have in that purse of yours, we'll be taking in other ways."

"If my dad owes you money, he'll pay you. I'm not his accountant," she said, skating over a threat that was more naked than veiled. "Look, it's late, we're all a little tired and more'n a little cranky, so why don't we just-"

"Why don't we just all call it a night?" came a new voice, and Emily jumped. She hadn't heard or seen anyone coming. Hell, she hadn't seen any of this coming, and that was damn unhelpful. She couldn't make out features in the alley light, but the newcomers were tall- very tall. And hopefully very good Samaritans.

"Back off, asshole," Grant said.

"Either that or wait your turn," Stew said.

"Well, you two are just a charming pair," the speaker said. Emily could make him out better now- short hair and rough good looks. Leather jacket. The other was taller, thinner, with shaggy dark hair. She took a slow step backward. These men could be help, but even if they weren't, they were a distraction. It was time to make a run for it.

"Don't you think they're charming?"Leather Jacket asked his compatriot.

"Yeah. Real charming." Shaggy Hair rolled his eyes. "Now please, listen. We can all walk away from this, so long as you'll walk away first."

Another slow step back for Emily. One more and she could turn and run as fast as her legs could take her. But before she could-

Grant's hand darted out and closed around her throat. There was a hard crack that reverberated through her skull as her head met brick wall too quickly.

"Stay put, bitch!" he roared in her face. His breath was putrid and she couldn't help a wince. Stars danced at the back of her vision. It was time to take care of herself the way her dad had taught her. It felt like so long ago.

Then, she didn't have to. Leather Jacket's fist connected with Grant's face, and as Stew made a move to attack, Shaggy put him face first into the wall and let him sink to the ground. Both men were unconscious and Emily put her hands to her tender throat. It was bound to bruise.

"Are you all right?" Shaggy Hair asked her as Leather Jacket toed Grant, saying clearly, "It's so much easier when they aren't demons."

It was the word 'demons' that did it. Emily fell back against the wall as a burst of light wiped out every sense with a white hot flash of pain that lasted only a moment as the images came; harder and faster and for longer than they'd ever come before.

***

Sam and Dean watched in alarm as the girl they'd rescued slowly slipped down the wall.

"Hey, Miss, are you okay?" Dean asked, as she finally met the ground. Sam knelt next to her, tipped her face up. Her eyes were open but unseeing.

"It's probably shock. Hey, hey, it's alright, everything's fine, just-"

That was when she started to shake. Sam changed his tune. "She's having a seizure."

"You think??" Dean said, his voice trailing up.

"Call 911," Sam said. The shaking didn't subside as they stood, waiting for an ambulance to arrive.

***

The next morning, Dean grumpily followed Sam into the hospital waiting room.

"Sammy. Could this have been more mundane? I mean c'mon, I'm all for taking the credit, especially to a piece like that, but this isn't what we do. And I don't like hospitals. Or waiting."

"I just want to see if she's okay, Dean. Then we can go."

"I want to hunt down some evil sons of bitches," Dean grumbled.

"So you've said. Five minutes," Sam replied, feeling not for the first time like a kindergarten teacher.

Sam approached the nurses' station as Dean hung back. "Excuse me," he said, doing his best to flash a charming smile at the middle-aged nurse at the desk. It seemed to work. "My brother and I brought in a girl last night- I don't know her name but she was having a seizure-"

"Emily Arcadia," the nurse said. "It's alright, son, it's a small town, everybody knows everybody round here. Emily's been in a couple times for her attacks. She's absolutely fine. Nothing to do for them but to let it pass."

"That's great," Dean said. "So glad to hear it. And glad we stopped by." He clapped Sam on the shoulder and turned to leave.

"Don't you want to see her?" the nurse asked, ever so helpful. "I'm sure she could use the company, pretty girl like that. And while I called her daddy when she was brought in-" and here the nurse's eyes filled with pity neither brother could miss- "she may be needing a ride home, you know what I'm saying?"

"I'm not looking at you," Dean said pointedly over Sam's shoulder. "You're giving me the Good Samaritan look."

"Room 503," the nurse said cheerfully. "Glad I could help."

***

Sam led the way to the fifth floor and down the hall. He poked his head in the door and saw their rescue-e, Emily, sitting up on her hospital bed. The bruises on her throat had purpled slightly, but looked like they wouldn't stick around for long. She read a book, tucking long, straight black hair behind her ear. Dean coughed and she looked up.

"It's us, your rescuers," he said, and Sam wanted to hit him. "We've come to check on you, even though Nancy Nurse says you're totally fine."

"Sorry for him," Sam said, grimacing. "You look better. You know, without the- the seizing."

There was an awkward silence as Emily looked at the pair of them. "Hi, Sam," she said, then shifted her gaze. "Dean."