I scrambled over the wire fence, pausing at the top to tuck my gun into the waistband of my skinny jeans and slide my machete back into its sheath strapped to my thigh. I hopped down, hissing as the landing jarred my twisted ankle. I closed my eyes for a second, focusing my mind. I pushed the pain backwards, prioritizing the need to run over the need to rest. I took a breath, opened my eyes and sprinted down the alley, vaulting over a dumpster that blocked it halfway and bolting into the road. There was a car nearby; I could hear the tyres shrieking and the engine growling as I darted into another alley. Up ahead, I suddenly spotted my quarry. A female vampire sprinted around a corner. Newborn, but beyond saving. I had caught her mid-feed earlier in my motel room. Snacking on my partner.
She veered into what I hoped I remembered was a dead end, and I ran out across another road, knowing she had nowhere to run. She was right in front of me, backed up against the bricks, and I drew my blade just as a rush of headlights and screaming tyres, followed by a sickening crunch and thud knocked me flat. My head whacked against the tarmac and my vision swam. I stayed conscious just long enough to see her break down a door and escape before everything faded to black.
When I woke, I was laid out on the backseat of an unfamiliar car, my head resting on a wadded up leather jacket. Through blurry eyes I saw two figures in the front seats, talking quietly as streetlights whizzed by at a pace that wasn't even slightly legal. It took a few seconds for the panic to sink in, but when it finally did I immediately tried to sit up. That plan lasted exactly as long as it took for the blinding pain in my legs and ribs to hit me. I had only lifted myself a couple inches, but the slump back onto the seat from even that height still hurt enough to push me back into unconsciousness.
The next time I woke up, the car had stopped. The car door was open and two large hands were lifting me gently off the backseat. Not gently enough, as it seemed, because with each movement my body burned. My foot knocked against the car door, and I cried out, alerting the man carrying me that I was awake. A smooth, deep voice rumbled in my ears, but I couldn't make out any words.
I fought against the aching fog in my head and made a mental inventory of my injuries. My whole body hurt. By the feel of it, my foot was broken, and a small attempt at moving my leg suggested that hadn't been left in one piece either. It hurt to breathe, so my ribs were at least bruised, if not broken. My left shoulder was dislocated, my left cheek shredded by my lost battle with the tarmac, and judging by the bloody strip of cloth tied around my thigh, my machete had taken its toll on me in the fall. I categorized each injury, carefully filing them away in order of seriousness, and came to one conclusion. I would not be able to fight these people, whoever they were.
I could not escape.
I was carried into a motel room much like my own, and laid on one of the two beds. In the dim light of the bedside lamp, I made out the features of my captors. One tall, shaggy-haired, lean man checked my injuries while a shorter – but still taller than me – man with lighter, shorter hair and bright green eyes busied himself in the small kitchenette, filling a glass with water and wiping my blood from the leather jacket I had lain on in the car. The tall one unwound the cloth from my leg and inspected the gash on my thigh. I flinched away from him and he held up his hands in surrender.
"Whoa, hey. It's okay. We're the good guys. You're hurt. I just wanna help, okay?" He murmured, and I nodded cautiously. He nodded back, pulling away the ripped fabric of my last good pair of jeans. I groaned.
"Tha' wa' my las' gud pair o' jea's" My words were garbled by my scabbed cheek, which prevented me from moving my mouth too much. Having confirmed that I needed stitches, the tall one told me this was going to hurt just before he poured alcohol on the wound. I hissed, quickly categorizing and shutting down the pain. I barely felt the needle.
He worked quickly and carefully, stitching my leg up in a few minutes while his friend helped me swallow a few mouthfuls of water and dabbed antiseptic onto my cheek. The tall one cut away my jeans into shorts that stopped mid-thigh while the other helped me out of my black leather jacket and plaid shirt, leaving me in my only slightly bloody tank top and my new shorts.
Grabbing the shorter one's arm for support, I dragged myself up to sit and took a minute to shut down the various hurts. I opened my eyes and looked up at the two men who stood at the end of my bed, watching me.
"Who are you?" I murmured, testing my voice.
"I'm Sam. This is my brother Dean, we're-" he began, but I cut him off.
"Winchesters. I should have guessed. Where am I?" I asked, my voice a little stronger. These guys were hunters like me. The Winchesters, no less. I was safe with them.
"You're in our motel room, just outside of town. After you- I mean, after we, uh, hit you, we guessed you might like to avoid the hospital if possible. Dean ganked your vamp while I got you into the car, and we brought you here." Sam looked so uncomfortable talking about hitting me with their car that I smiled a little. His brother rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and refused to look me in the eye.
"I guess you were driving then, huh?" I asked, nodding at Dean. He gave an uneasy smile and nodded.
"Yeah, uh, sorry."
"It's cool. I've had worse. Don't worry about it, Winchester." He smiled properly and went to sit on the bed next to the one I was on.
"Wait, I do have a question though. From what I can tell, I've messed up my leg pretty bad, my foot's no better, I've broken at least a couple ribs, dislocated my shoulder and shredded my face, so… much as I hate to suggest it, why am I not in a hospital?" I asked, looking between the famous brothers. Sam's brow wrinkled as he took in my list of injuries, but he answered my question.
"We have a friend. He was supposed to be here by now, but I guess he's running late. He can fix you up faster than any hospital. We thought you would prefer that to weeks in a shiny white room hooked up to a hundred different machines." I heaved a sigh and nodded, giving Sam a small smile.
"So… Where is your magic friend now?" I asked. A gust of wind and the sound of rustling feathers filled the room for a second, and then suddenly a scruffy man with black hair and bright blue eyes was crouched next to me, staring at my face. I jumped back in surprise, jarring my leg, and I winced as I refocused and pushed the pain away.
"Interesting." The new guy rumbled, a deep, gravelly voice that seemed to signify some great power.
"What is?" I asked.
"You are. Your capacity to ignore such levels of pain is impressive. I know what you are feeling, but you are barely feeling anything." He said, looking at me with his head tilted and a strange expression on his face.
"Oh, that. Yeah, I guess it is kind of impressive." I shrugged.
"How do you do it?" Sam asked.
"'Pain is just a message'" I said, quoting my father. "Right now I'm holding all calls." I told him with a small smile, and Sam let out an incredulous breath.
"This is Castiel," Dean said, standing up from the bed.
"Cas, this is…" He trailed off, looking to me.
"Brynn." I filled in. "Castiel, as in, the Angel Castiel?" I asked, looking the trenchcoated man up and down. He nodded.
"How do you know my name?"
"I'm a hunter. There's not many that don't know your name."
"Cas, all this chat can wait. The girl is hurt. Bad. Just fix her already!" Dean interrupted his friend's staring at me. Castiel nodded and placed two fingers on my forehead, instantly healing me. I suddenly felt the effect of all the energy spent on shutting down the pain, and I slumped back against the bed's headboard.
"Cas, what did you do?" Dean asked, moving to support me as I swayed unsteadily. Dean lifted me off the bed and I fell asleep against his shoulder as his brother pulled back the sheets, and I was laid down with my head on the pillow and the blanket pulled over me.
"She was exhausted. There was too much damage for me to heal her completely, so her ribs are still a little bruised, but she'll be okay. The physical effort of suppressing so much pain for that amount of time is taking its toll. Let her sleep. She'll be fine." Cas told them before disappearing with another rush of feathers.
I woke a few hours later to find the room in darkness. It was around one in the morning and the room was filled with the gentle snores of the Winchester brothers. Sam slept on the other of the two queen-size beds, at a slight angle so his whole frame fitted on the mattress, and Dean slept on the small sofa on the far side of the room. He looked so uncomfortable, scrunched up on his side with his legs and head dangling off each end. I got up and crept across the room to where Dean slept, nudging him gently awake with a hand on his knee.
"Wha- Brynn? What is it? You alright?" He asked, sleepy but still instantly more alert, grabbing my hand that rested on his knee.
"I'm fine. Dean, go sleep on the bed. I'm small enough to fit on this couch, and I won't be able to sleep knowing I've kicked you out of your bed." I said tugging on his arm. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and shaking his head.
"I hit you with my car six hours ago. You need the rest, kid. I'm good here." I sat next to him on the squashy cushions.
"C'mon, Dean. Cas healed me, I'm fine, and you don't even fit on this thing. Go sleep in your bed, I'll take the couch. Please." I urged, nudging him to stand. Once he was up, I stretched out on the sofa so he couldn't sit back down, pushing his thigh to direct him to the bed. When he didn't move, I sighed and stood, taking his hand and leading him quietly past Sam to the bed. I reached up and pushed on his shoulders to make him sit, and his hands caught my wrists, holding me in place.
"Dean, please. Sleep in your own bed tonight. I've been trouble enough as it is."
"Your ribs are still hurt. You should take the bed." I sighed.
"Then share with me. It's a big bed, and I won't have you sleeping on that tiny thing." I said, waving a hand at the sofa. He thought for a moment, and then nodded. He shuffled backwards to the other side of the bed, and I crawled in next to him. The mattress bounced a little as we got comfortable, Dean on his stomach, me on my back. We murmured goodnight and I waited for his breathing to become deep and slow, and as soon as his gentle snoring had started up again, I climbed out of the sheets and off the bed, padding across the room to the sofa, where I settled down to sleep.
The next morning, I woke up to the smell of bacon and eggs wafting under my nose, tempting me into consciousness. I opened my sleepy eyes to find Dean crouched in front of me where I sprawled on the sofa, a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs in his hand and a very unimpressed look on his face.
I sat up, a tired grin on my lips.
"That wasn't fair." Dean growled quietly, glancing behind me at Sam still sleeping form.
"Sorry?" I offered, reaching to grab a piece of bacon. He jerked the plate away and I pouted.
"I don't think you are." Said Dean, keeping his rough morning voice low so he wouldn't wake his brother.
"You're right," I said, stealing a piece of bacon and biting into it.
"I'm not sorry. It's your bed." I grinned mischievously, finishing the bacon. He growled again, setting the plate down on the floor and grabbing me up into his arms. I squealed and he put a finger to my lips, nodding at his sleeping brother. I quieted, and he carried me to the bed, setting me down and climbing in next to me.
"Go back to sleep." He said, and when I moved to get up again he snagged me with an arm around my waist, pinning me down. Giggling quietly I tried to pry his fingers away from my hip, but he pulled me closer so my back was pressed against his broad chest. His lips brushed against my ear as he whispered to me.
"Go back to sleep here. With me." His low voice was silky and soothing, and my eyelids began to droop.
"Dean?" I mumbled.
"Yeah?" He replied as he nuzzled into my hair and closed his eyes.
"Don't go to the sofa."
His voice was still rough from sleep, so when he chuckled in my ear the sound was low and comforting.
"Wouldn't dream of it. Now, sleep." He readjusted his grip on my waist, loosening his hold so his arm was just resting over me, confident I wouldn't leave. I lay for a moment, feeling his breath tickle the back of my neck and enjoying the warmth and comfort of another person. Just as his breathing was becoming deeper and more regular, I rolled over to face him, his arm still draped over my middle. His eyes reopened, and he grinned at me as I placed my palm on his warm chest. He watched me quietly as I snuggled into his shoulder and drifted to sleep, tucking my head under his chin.