This is my first Fanfic EVER. This terrifies me. I don't own Supernatural, like... at all. Please read and comment and all that good stuff. I'd love feedback!

Cicely regarded her reflection in the mirror. She'd seen better days, and so had this nasty gas station bathroom. A cut across her right eyebrow crusted over with blood, with a massive shiner forming underneath. A bitter sigh hitched in her throat as the intake of breath reminded her that at least one rib was broken. Maybe two. She coughed and spat blood into the sink. Definitely two.

Whatever. She had to get the hell out of this town, fast. But where to go? No home base, no car, Dad and Gemma were—No. Can't think of that now. Not yet. She'd grieve later. She was a hunter, and there was one paramount rule above the rest: survival. That's all she's got now. Survival, and then… retribution. Digging into the worn leather pack beside her, she prayed the med kit wasn't soaked through. If she didn't get the gashes on her arm and side to stop bleeding, she wouldn't make it past dawn.

Every rose has it's thorn… Just like every night has its dawn…. Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song….

Dean sang softly along to the radio, eyes fixed on the road ahead. He loved nights like this, not that he'd ever tell anybody that. There was something about driving on a rainy night. Usually he'd have stopped by now at some motel, but they'd just finished a particularly tough job about 600 miles behind them, and there was this diner just one state over that had the most kick ass marionberry pie. He wanted that pie. He wanted it bad.

"Hell of a storm," Sam mentioned, eyes on the passenger side window.

Dean stopped singing and cleared his throat. How long had Sam been awake?

"Not too bad," he replied.

"Want me to take a turn behind the wheel?" Sam asked, shifting in his seat. "You've been driving a long while."

"I'm good."

"You sure? You were singing. You don't do that unless you're tired." Sam said, with a smirk on his face.

Dean frowned. "I wasn't singing, you were dreaming."

"Whatever you say, Dean."

"B!tch."

"Jerk."

Dean rolled his eyes and pulled off the interstate.

"Motel?" Sam asked.

"Nah. Just stopping for gas. And to pee. Sweet Jesus, do I have to pee." Dean said, holding up a now empty 32oz soda cup.

Cicely was cold. This was not going well.

She had managed to get the two gashes on her arm sewn shut, but she hadn't realized the one on her side was this severe. "Stupid," she rasped. "Should've started there."

Cicely's fingers were going numb as she worked, making it that much harder to hold the wound closed while pushing the needle through her skin. Her breath was shallow and hot, the metallic tang of her own blood filling her nose. She was seated on the bathroom floor now, too dizzy to remain upright and trust her hands to be steady. Cicely looked up, away from her work, blinking blearily in the florescent light. She needed her eyes to focus, and they just wouldn't. She looked to the wall beside her on it, someone had scrawled "Every little thing is gonna be alright" in sharpie.

"Who asked you?" she grumbled.

Dean left Sam to fill the gas tank while he went and found the bathroom on the back of the building. He tried the knob. Locked.

"Occupied!" a female voice called out from beyond the door.

"Oh. Sorry!" he replied. He waited in the rain for a few moments, fidgeting. It was cold. And wet. Good God did he have to pee.

"You gonna be a minute?" he asked, trying not to let desperation creep into his voice.

"Seriously?" she asked.

"Sorry, lady I had like a 300oz coke and it is time to release it back into the wild if you know what I mean."

"Are you a dude?"

Dean blinked. "Huh?"

"Is your fun bit an innie, or an outie?"

For a moment, Dean was speechless. "I don't think anybody's ever asked me that before." He replied.

"Why don't you find a bush, or a tree, or literally the wall directly next to you? I won't judge. Promise. Just go away,"

Dean bit back a laugh. Bemused, he took a couple of steps away from the door, (he could be a gentleman when it suited him,) and handled his business. He sighed, relieved in a very real sense. However, when he looked down to re-situate-

"Oh God! Holy Sh^t!"

Now that he wasn't distracted by pressing issues, Dean realized his hands (along with… other things) were covered in blood. He looked back at the door knob, and the ground under the overhang above the restroom. Blood. A lot of it.

"Hey! Hey, lady?"

He listened hard. The only thing he could hear was the rain.

"Crap in a basket," he muttered, before calling out "If you can hear me, get away from the door!"

Dean kicked the door, once, twice, and on the third try, he slammed it open with his boot, splinters flying. He stood in the threshold, and his eyes went wide.

A small girl, no, a woman. Definitely a woman, was slouched unconscious on the opposite wall, her shirt in a bloody heap beside her. She was clad only in a black bra and some bloody jeans. It looked as though she'd been trying to stitch her own wounds. Several severe wounds, in fact. He noticed with a jolt she had an anti-possession tattoo on her ribcage. "She's a hunter," he thought. Dean threw her supplies and the shirt in the bag beside her, slung it over his shoulder, and scooped her into his arms. For a moment, he marveled at how light she was, she couldn't be more than 5 ft. Even so, lithe muscles shifted beneath buttery soft skin. In spite of everything, he found himself blushing as he watched her full chest rise and fall in shallow breaths. He shook his head violently. "Come on, you dumb b stard!" he admonished himself, and ran out into the rain.

Sam waited under the overhang of the gas pumps, leaning against the impala. He was forming his argument to get Dean to let him drive, since it was obvious his brother was tired. Maybe if he let him keep control of the radio…

"Sam!"

Sam stood up straight, adrenaline already pumping. He knew that tone.

"Open the back seat! Now!"

Sam's mouth opened and shut in surprise, as he watched his brother come running around the corner with a girl in his arms. She looked seriously injured. It only took him a second to do as his brother asked.

"Who- what-?" Sam stammered.

"I don't know, and I don't know, but she needs help so let's go. Drive," Dean didn't hesitate, as he laid the girl gingerly onto the back seat, and crawled in after. Surprised for the second time, Sam ran around to the front and slid into the driver's seat, and drove off into the night.

The first thing Cicely noticed was a smell. Leather, clove, and… something else. It was good. Really good. Too good. Then she realized with a growing sense of alarm that she was moving. She felt the hum of… an engine? She was in a car.

Cicely opened her eyes and tried to sit up with a gasp.

"Woah, hey now. Don't move, you won't like it." A husky voice said from above her. Cicely's head was on the lap of a stranger with dirty blonde hair and green eyes that were fixed on her face. Awkward.

"Let me go," She said.

"Relax, sweetheart, we're friends. We're taking you to the hospital."

Cicely struggled to sit up with that declaration. "No, that's not gonna be a thing,"

"Woah, what did I say about the moving thing?" Dean said, placing a gentle but firm hand on Cicely's shoulder.

And with that, the stranger that smelled good became the opponent that smelled good. Cicely snapped her arm up, hitting him squarely in the throat, stunning him and knocking his head back. He sputtered and coughed.

Not pausing, Cicely threw the flannel that had apparently been draped over her over his head to blind him, flipped around and sat up, putting him into a sleeper hold while he worked to pry her arms loose.

The giant brunette driver meanwhile, was pulling over.

"Hey! Let him go, we're trying to help you!"

Cicely didn't bother answering, mostly because she realized her side was bleeding again and didn't feel like wasting energy thinking of a snappy retort. When they finally pulled off the road, she smacked her captor's head against the window, and opened the door, wriggling out of his grasp and running into the field beyond the highway in a slick get away. At least she meant to. After several steps her legs seemed to give out underneath her and she fell. As she rolled over to her back and pressed a hand to her bleeding side, the two men walked up and stood above her, the shorter one rubbing at his forehead.

"Well, this is embarrassing," she said, gasping.

"You're telling me," replied the blonde guy, with a cough.

"If you could just kill me now instead of later, I'd appreciate it,"

"We're not- dammit, lady!" he said, and started unbuttoning his flannel shirt.

"Aw, come on," she almost whined, "I've had a really bad day, couldn't we just skip to the murdering?"

With a slow blink, her captor pulled the top of his shirt open to reveal a tattoo, identical to her own.

"…Hunters?"

"Hunters," replied the tall one, exposing his own tattoo.

Cicely gestured to her exposed torso. "I guess you've seen mine."

The boys nodded.

"No hospital, please." And with that, Cicely promptly passed out.

Hey! You made it to the end of the thing! Woo! Thanks again for reading, if you liked it, let me know, if you're curious what happens next, let me know that too! Yay!