I'm putting on my coat and throwing the strap to my briefcase over my shoulder when I hear the knock on my office door.

"Come in."

The door swings open slowly, and a guy of about thirty who's a few inches taller than me steps through the doorway. He's holding his left arm a bit awkwardly and cringing slightly, but he's wearing a dark green jacket and I can't tell what's wrong. "Hi, I'm, uh, Dean, and I was told to find a Dr. Jeremy Schneider. Is that you?"

I nod, squinting my eyes a little. The practice is supposed to be closed, and if he was a local he would know and probably have called ahead. He looks like the hunter type, but you can never be too sure. "Who sent you here?"

"Bobby Singer."

I nod, drop my briefcase on my desk, take my jacket off. "What can I do for you?"

He winces as he takes his jacket off, revealing a dark blue shirt stained almost black around his upper shoulder. I can't see clearly what the source of the blood is.

"Follow me." I lead him down the hall to an examination room, pulling on gloves. "Go ahead and sit on the seat there. Take your shirt off if you don't mind." I start pulling out some more supplies.

"But we haven't even had a first date yet," he jokes.

I don't laugh.

His chuckle is abruptly interrupted with grunts of pain as he takes his shirt off, and I step forward to take a closer look at his now bare chest. There's four deep parallel lacerations that are still heavily leaking blood. They're widely spaced, probably from claws of some kind. He has a tattoo on his chest, what looks like an anti-possession symbol, but it's torn in two by one of the gashes. He's got other minor scratches, but they're nothing a few band-aids couldn't cure.

"What did this?"

He hesitates.

"Come on, I know all about the things in the dark, and only a few things make can scratches like that."

He meets my eyes for a second, then looks away. "Hellhound."

"Yikes." I take a couple of antiseptic pads out and reach for his shoulder. "This is going to sting a little." The hand on his good arm grips the chair tightly, and he cringes a bit, but shows no other sign of pain as I wipe the area clean around the wound. Having seen a lot of people in pain, I know this tolerance is rare. But not as far as hunters go.

The wound doesn't stay clean for long, and blood continues to drip down his chest. "This is going to need stitches." I turn away and go to the counter to prepare needles with thread. A nurse would be helpful right now, but they've all left for the night.

"Aren't you a little young to be a doctor?" asks the patient, Dean.

"I'm twenty-nine," I say with my back to him. I stay focused on threading the needles. "Graduated high school at sixteen, took the fast track in college and med school. Finished my residency last year. I only started working here six months ago, and you're already the fourth hunter I've seen."

"Ah, so you're on of those. My brother was like you. Before he went back to hunting."

I'd ask where Dean's brother is now, but I don't really care. I try to be involved with hunters as little as possible, only interacting with them when they need medical attention. Needles ready, I return to Dean. "You want me to set you up with IV pain killers?"

"No time. I've got to leave here by sunrise."

I grab a bottle of Aspirin from the counter and offer it to him. He swallows two dry, then looks from the needle in my hand back to me. "How do you know about hunting?"

Damn, I think, he won't let the questions go. I have no idea why he's so curious about my life story. I try to answer as shortly as possible, telling the story to his lacerated chest instead of his face. "I come from a family of hunters, third generation. Parents and sister were killed by a demon when I was twelve. I ran as fast and far as I could in the other direction, and here I am. Now I suggest you shut up so I can focus on stitching your wounds."

"Well aren't you just a ray of sunshine."

I pretend not to hear him.

The wounds take longer than I expect to stitch, but Dean finally decides to leave my personal backstory alone as he grunts in pain and I sew his torn flesh. I don't speak the entire time, not even for the occasional "Sorry," or "You're doing great," or "I'm almost done," that I usually offer other patients. There's something about him that I've seen in hunters before, something that makes me want to distance myself from him as much as possible. Although I have answered his questions honestly, instead of giving the "None of your damn business," that most people get.

When I'm finished, I throw away the bloody gloves, don new ones, and clean the rest of the blood off of his chest as he watches. For some reason, it makes me uncomfortable and I blush a little. I then proceed to wrap gauze around his shoulder and chest. "The stitches will need to come out in a few weeks, but you can find a doctor to do that without too much question, wherever it is you are then." I pause. "You really shouldn't drive after such a traumatic injury," I say, thinking back to his mentioning that he plans to leave by sunrise.

He gives an amused sort of laugh as he puts his bloody shirt back on, followed by his coat. His left arm is moving stiffly, as expected. "I'll be fine."

"I had a feeling you'd say that." I discard the needles in a waste container and throw out my second pair of gloves. As he gets up, I say, "Here, I'll walk you out. I've got some cleaning up to do here now before I go home." 'Cleaning up' means not only cleaning the blood off of the station, but falsifying patient records for Dean to account for the used medical supplies.

"Sorry to keep you late. Got a girl who's missing you?" He smirks that damn snarky smirk of his.

"I'm gay," I reply curtly. Forever unamused. He's the flirty type, likes to rile people up, but I won't give in to it.

I walk with him to the front entrance of the practice, motion to the door. As he goes for it I reach into my pocket for my wallet, and pull out a business card. "Wait." He turns. "Here's my card. Call me if you ever need anything else."

He nods, smiles a little self-satisfied smile. "Will do, Dr. Sunshine."

"Jeremy's fine."

A pause. "Thanks for all your help, man, with no questions asked. I really appreciate it."

"No problem."

And then he's out the door and I hear the roar of an old car engine and see his taillights pulling out of the parking lot.