"Don't worry, darling. It'll only hurt a little." Lips curved upward, catlike, in an impish smirk. "I expect." Light flared, blinding.

She crumbled.

...

...

A scream rent the air. The Impala ground to a halt.

By the time Dean had killed the engine, readied his gun and stepped cautiously out of the car, Sam crouched, a silhouette in the headlights, next to a crumpled figure in the middle of the road. Casting a glance up at the moon, the older brother swore under his breath and went to see if he had nearly run over an unconscious girl or a corpse.

"Are you okay?" Sam tried to get the young woman to respond. He brushed long hair out of his face and glanced up at Dean, who was staring at the girl with a furrowed brow and a tight frown, gun at the ready in case she turned out to be something more sinister than she initially appeared. With a slight nod, he acknowledged his brother.

Needing no further clarification, Sam gingerly turned her over and brushed charcoal brown curls away from a pale, angular face. Two fingers gently applied to her neck provided a weak pulse. "Can you hear me?" Sam asked her again, trying to speak as softly but firmly as he could. He reached around her shoulders to prop her up.

Less trusting than his brother, Dean reached into his jacket and pulled out a small. Despite his brother's incredulous look, he sprinkled some of the holy water on her face. When nothing happened apart from a vague twitch under her eyelids – a natural reaction that confirmed beyond the pulse that she was not only alive but near consciousness – he put the canteen away, satisfied. They could never be too careful, especially since they were no longer on the best of terms with the King of Hell. Who knew when some they might be dealing with a demon?

As Dean neared and knelt down beside his brother to see the girl, her eyes suddenly flicked open wide to reveal pale blue. Terror flashed across her face immediately after a brief moment of confusion. At first, she squirmed closer to Sam to get away from Dean, who she had seen first and was staring at, but then she twisted to see Sam and flung herself away from him as well.

"Demons!" she cried, scrambling back. "Get away from-"

Though she might have been about to finish the sentence, she couldn't for a horrible cough that dragged on for too long and left her curled up in an agonized ball, clutching her stomach and in tears.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Take it easy," Sam said, alarmed. He reached out to lay a hand on her arm, but she jerked away. "It's okay." Who was this girl and what had happened to her? She didn't look hurt apart from a few scrapes and bruises.

"Yeah. We're not demons," Dean said, putting the gun away and standing up. Was she a hunter?

After a long moment of pained groaning, she unfurled and slowly sat up to stare at them, still hugging herself as though to keep her insides in, though she appeared uninjured. She squinted at them in the darkness of the night and a slightly bewildered expression passed over her features.

"Do you think you can stand?" Sam asked, rising and offering her a hand. He chose to ignore the fact that she knew about demons until he knew she was well enough that he could get her into the car. They needed to get moving again soon. Leaving the car parked in the road, even in the middle of the night, probably wasn't the best idea.

After a moment of contemplation the young woman nodded. She wiped away the remnants of the holy water Dean had thrown on her face and reached up to take Sam's hand. Slowly, painfully, she stood up, wobbled but stayed up. Not very tall, but not terribly short. Kind of pretty, Dean realized, but he chose to ignore that until he could trust her to be human. Nothing good came from girls lying on the road at night, especially not roads they were driving down; he no longer believed in coincidence.

She wasn't talking, not since the outburst, but her eyes focused on Dean, distrustful. Or maybe concerned? Whichever. It made him feel uncomfortable, especially since she nearly ignored Sam completely. "How do you know about demons?" he demanded. Something wasn't right about her, but he couldn't put his finger on what.

"Dean…" Sam groaned. His tone again reminded the elder Winchester that they were standing in the middle of a major road in the middle of the night. He shrugged. Sam said, "We can help you with whatever happened. The next town isn't very far from here. We can give you a ride."

Slowly, her gaze shifted from Dean to Sam's open puppy-dog eyes, devoid of emotion. She nodded, obviously still uncertain but trusting enough to get into the back of the car without any protest.

A few miles passed with only the sound of the engine in tune with Zeppelin playing on the radio before Sam turned down the music, brushed his hair away from his face, and turned to look at their passenger, who was still hugging herself tightly, huddled in a corner of the back seat. She hadn't bothered with a seat belt, but Sam ignored it, looked at her imploringly. "Can you tell us what happened?"

A shadow passed over her eyes, leaving an inscrutable but darker expression behind. She coughed lightly to clear her throat and opened her mouth to speak, paused. Then in a low, hoarse voice with an ethereal tone that sent a shiver down both the boys' spines, she said, "Demons."

"Care to explain, sister?" Dean asked, less delicately than Sam might have preferred. "You were alone there. You're acting like you're hurt, but you don't look it, and you're not possessed. So what did these demons do, exactly?"

His mind was racing with thoughts of possibilities, none of which he liked. No crossroads within several miles meant that it was unlikely she'd just made a demon deal but left open the possibility she'd made a deal years back (except even that seemed unlikely given that she appeared to be in her late-twenties, and he wasn't certain how likely demons were to go after teenage souls). Just an attack, then? Why was she alive?

Because Dean was driving, Sam watched her expression closely. That proved unhelpful, however. Nothing in the complex emotions that flowed through her eyes and caused slight twitches in her lips was easily discernible to him. "I can't remember," she said quietly, raising a hand from holding her side to rub her temple.

"Can't or won't?" Dean asked harshly.

"How can she refuse to remember something, Dean?" Sam hissed, perplexed enough to look at his brother with raised eyebrows and wide eyes. Eyes kept sharply on the road, Dean ignored him.

No answer was required, though. The girl turned Sam's head back in her direction when she spoke stiffly, "It hurts too much to think about. But I could try," Grimace and swallow, voice low and nearly monotone even under strain. She closed her eyes a moment. Dark circles were noticeable underneath them. Bright white pain. "Everything hurts."

"Who are you?" Dean burst, chancing a look at her through the mirror.

A pause. Silence.

Sam tried to smile comfortingly. From the front seat, he reached back to offer his hand for a shake. "I'm Sam Winchester, and this is my brother Dean."

Instead of taking his hand, she hugged herself tighter than she had before. "Winchester?" Wide eyes flashed surprise, or maybe fear. Looking around the car, anywhere but Sam's friendly but confused face, she whispered something unintelligible. With the word, the surprise in her eyes was replaced by pain and hoarse coughing.

Dean swerved off the road, slammed on the breaks and parked the car so he could whirl to face her and her wide, pale stare. "Who are you? Or better: what are you?" he demanded again. This time, Sam watched her just as closely as his brother without any reprimand for the harshness. He was beginning to pick up on what Dean had felt from the beginning – something about her was… off.

She breathed in sharply, nearly delirious. "Hunters. Keep them away…"

The brothers exchanged a glance, both thinking the same thing and avoiding thinking about the same thing. "What the hell?" Dean. "Why do we always pick up the crazy chicks?" he grumbled.

When she opened her eyes, the motion was slow and deliberate, and her gaze was more focused than it had been but evident of unclear thought – she looked directly at Dean, and he felt a renewed wave of unease. "Where are we? My head is on fire," she groaned, lowering her face into her hands and gritting her teeth.

"Take it easy," Dean urged, still more nervous in his inability to identify what she was – just a hunter with serious psychological trauma? Carefully, he wedged the gun from his belt and kept it where he could reach it quickly if he needed it. God knew, he had no idea what was going on with this girl. Was she dangerous or in danger? And more importantly, did that put him and Sam in danger?

Pale eyes flashed in a strange burst of anger and pain as she looked up again, suddenly. Had she seen the gun? "You don't understand." Lips set in a hard line. Though this confused the boys even more, they couldn't disagree; they didn't understand at all. But she immediately sagged again, apparently confused herself, and lowered her head again.

All motion ceased, the only sound her ragged breathing. When she finally looked up, Sam could see sweat beading at her temples, and he instantly regretted whatever line of conversation had led to this distress. Dean frowned. The girl clutched her head, closed her eyes tightly again, trembling. "No, no, no…" she groaned. Maybe the memory was coming back? She'd said it hurt.

Concerned, Sam reached back and felt her brow. "Dean, she's burning up," he said, alarmed. "I think we need to get her to a hospital." Quite suddenly, she let out a low moan of pain and curled up on the seat, squirming, gasped, and went still.

Dean started the car again, started moving down the road. The engine revved with the force of rapid acceleration. They needed to get into town, get her to a hospital, and find a hotel. The car wasn't a good place for this. And frankly, Dean wasn't a fan of her cryptic amnesia story. The sooner she was out of their hands, the better.

...

...

"There doesn't appear to be anything physically wrong with her," the doctor said, though her tone was guarded.

"She was having some kind of migraine," Sam said, brow furrowed in confusion. "She passed out. You're sure there's nothing wrong?" They stood in the ER waiting room, though the girl had been moved somewhere else to rest.

"There wasn't any sign of external trauma or internal bleeding." The doctor explained, giving Sam her best optimistic-but-concerned look. "Unfortunately, that means that the amnesia she is experiencing doesn't have an obvious cause. We believe it may be shock-induced repression, which will hopefully dissipate as the effects of any recent psychological trauma wear off."

Sam cleared his throat. "Has she said anything about that? About the, uh… trauma?"

The doctor shook her head, "Afraid not. Your help on the road is the last thing she remembers."

"Can I go see her?"

Hesitation in the doctor's eyes took Sam off guard. "She's resting now. But you could come back this afternoon and see her. She should be ready for visitors then."

"Thanks, doc," he said lamely and retreated down the hallway. The only thing left to do, if he couldn't talk to her, which had been the entire point of this trip to the hospital, was to go and meet Dean in the hotel. They had agreed to leave, even though they hadn't found out what had happened to her. News had spread of demonic omens down south, and if they didn't follow the lead quickly, the trouble would likely pass before they arrived.

So they left her there.