-Then-
"Dean!" I heard a voice yell.

"Yeah, Sam?" Another called, and I heard footsteps cross the room in between the pain and darkness of semi-conciousness.

"C'mere! She's hurt!" A light touch to my face caused a low moan to erupt from my throat. I would've cried, but I didn't think any tears would be able to
sqeeze out of my eyes, which were swollen shut. More pain racked my broken body as I was picked up.

"Shit, she looks bad. We need to get her to a hospital. They'll take care of her from there." The second voice said, and I tried to speak.

"N-no. Please, no." Is what I tried to say, but it really just sounded like a series of croaks and moans. The two anonymous men must've understood, because
the one holding me shifted, and it's all I could do not to cry out.

"Dean, she's scared to death. We can't just leave her in a hospital with no answers. We can take her there, but we're not leaving her." The man said,
and I heard "Dean" sigh. I heard the clank of metal, and then the scuff of boots on wood.

"Fine. But we're not staying long, we probably won't have to, because the child protective services will be all over this." He said, and then the
man holding me started to walk too. All of a sudden, cold air hit me from all angles and I gasped lightly, the cold mixing with the pain of my external wounds and I knew I was going to black out. I was already fading into the back of my mind, and the footsteps I tried so hard to focus on were turning into soft echos. When I felt the warmth of the man escape me, I found the feeling of something under me, like a coushion.

"Thank you," I moaned quietly as the creak of a door and a hum of a car lulled me into a bittersweet blackness.

-Now-

Waking up with a concuscion is not fun. You feel like a truck ran over your head and crushed it a million times, going back and forth, back and forth until you've bled out onto the concrete. Not to mention the other cuts and briuses I have aquired. When I regain my hearing, I hear the sharp, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor beside the crisp hospital bed I'm laying in. I then regain my feeling, and I wiggle my fingers over the scratchy fabric of the sheets. I roll my head to the side, and regret that descision as I moan loudly. I try opening my eyes, but slowly, so I don't blind myself. I open them to tiny slits, letting the harsh white light into my vision, and closing them to try again. I do this until I open them all the way, well, as far as I can with two black eyes. Wait, how did I even get them? What do I remember? I roll my head over towards the door, and a man in the seat next to my bed. I have never seen him before in my life. He looks at me with hazel eyes. He has long hair, just brushing his broad shoulders, and is wearing a red plaid shirt. "You're awake," he says. He sounds familiar, like someone from a dream. "How are you doing?" I look at him in confusion, but give a small nod in response trying to spare myself from the headache.

"I'm doing okay, I guess. I'm sorry, but do I know you?" I say in a husky voice, deep and nearly unfamiliar to my usual sound. The man gets a look of realization, and then explains.

"I'm Sam. You don't know me, but you were in an accident, and my brother and me were there to help you out." He says, and I do remember small fragments. My dad was somehow involved. There were these two men there. There was a lot of blood. Just then, another man walks in, the sleeves on his button up rolled to his elbows and he's holding a plate with a piece of cherry pie on it.

"Hey, Sammy. They have pie here." He says, and smiles as he stuffs a forkful into his mouth. He doesn't notice me at first, but Sam kind of gestures over to me, and he looks over, his smile dropping a bit.

"You're awake," He says.

"Yeah. How long have I been out?"

"Three days, it was a bit touch-and-go for a while, but you lived. You'll be okay." Sam says, and I sigh, relieved. "This is my brother, Dean." He gestures to the pie eating man, and I give him a small smile. He smirks back with a full mouth. He crosses the room to the chair next to Sam's, and takes another bite of pie.

"I remember my dad... What happened to him?" I ask, and Sam and Dean exchange a look of worry.

"Uh... He..." Dean starts.

"He got into some trouble. He was hurting you, and we heard you as we were driving by. We came in and called the police. We had to use some self defense, he was really strong. He got-uh-hurt in the process. I don't think you'll see him anymore. I'm sorry..." Sam drifted off, and I filled in my name for him.

"Jess, my name is Jess." I saw a flicker of something on Sam's face, but ignored it. I exhaled as I tried to remember. My father... he was a troubled man. It doesn't surprise me he did something to harm me. He had been rough with me for a while, but nothing too bad. A hard slap on the arm, a rough grip on the wrist, a bit of a push into the wall, but nothing as serious as this. He must've been drunk or something. He gets violent when he's drunk. Only once, when he was under the influence, did he really hurt me. He struck me on the face, but didn't remember it. When he woke up, I said I tripped on my feet and hit my face on the chair in the kitchen. He believed me. When he's sober, he's a great man, but when he's drunk... It's unpredictable. "What's going to happen to me?" I ask them, and they shrug a bit.

"I'm not sure how all of this works. Do you have any relatives?" Dean asks, and I shake my head. My dad was an only child, and his parents died when I was a baby. My mom left us when I was three, and she never even spoke about her family, at least, that's what my dad said. I never really asked again after that, purely because I didn't care. We had a good thing going between the two of us. We stayed out of each other's crap, but we did care. "Well, then I really don't know what's gonna happen."

We sit in silence for a while, and my curiosity gets the better of me. "How bad does my face look?"

"What?" Sam asks.

"My face, how bad does it look?" For a moment, Sam studies my face, his eyes grazing my appearance. He sighs and furrows his brows.

"Do you want the truth or the lie?"

"Truth."

After a moment, he says, "A little worse for wear." He gives me a sympathetic smile, and I smile back. A nurse walks in then, and all of our heads turn in her direction.

"You're awake! That's great. Do you have a headache? Nuasea? Are these your uncles?" She looks over to Sam and Dean, who shake their heads.

"No, we were just the ones who found her." Dean explains.

"Oh, well sorry. The hospital has been trying to track down a relative. If we can't, CPS will have to get involved..." She sighs, pausing her work. She looks to me with a sad smile. "We're trying though. I promise." She quickly finishes with her work and exits the room. She pops her head back in for a moment. "You should get some rest, it'll help." When she leaves, I look at my arms. I see finger print briuses on my arms, and a white bandage going across my wrist.

"What is that?" I ask, pointing to the bandage. Dean takes my right wrist lightly in his rough hand and rubs his thumb across the bandage.

"Your dad... We think he did that. We think he cut you there. It was bleeding a lot, but we stopped it before anything too drastic happened." he says, placing my hand back onto the sheets.

"When will I get to go home? Or... Get out of here, at least?" I ask, looking down at my hands. "I need to get back to school. I'm graduating middle school soon. I have a ceremony I need to get to, I need to practice for my talent show." I say, getting increasingly louder and more panicked. I've never really been fond of hospitals... The white walls and harsh lights have always remind me of some of those weird horror movies. Sam moves closer to me and takes my clenched hand.

"Shh, it's alright. You need to calm down, your pulse is racing." He's right, the heart monitor next to my bed is beeping like crazy. I look at him, and he helps me take a few deep breaths.

"I want my dad." I say, on the verge of tears. I need to get out of here. I don't care what he's done. He's my dad and he loves me. And I love him.

"That... That isn't possible, Jessica." Dean says in a soft voice.

"Why?! I don't care about what he did! I want my dad!" I yell, my voice thick with tears. My breath is shaky and I feel a warm tear slip out of my eye and down my cheek.

"He... He's-" Dean begins, but stops. Two things come to mind. He was either arrested or killed. I immeadiately assume the latter. What can I say, I'm, a pessimmist.

"He's dead, isn't he? That 'self defense' you had to use... He's dead." They both sigh. Oh my god. They killed him, and they probably won't even be charged for it, since it was necessary. They were only trying to protect me.

Somehow, I always thought when my dad died, I would never recover. I would just shut myself in my room without coming out until I died of dehydration, or hunger... But now, I'm not so sure if I'll even be effected as much as I thought I would. He was my only family but we weren't close at all. The relationship between us was, if anything, purely business. We'd go to each other if we needed each other. We talked about grades if I wasnt doing so well, or I was excelling. He would help me, but in a subtle way, and we never really had any quality time together. It really was, strictly business with him. My friends are the ones I would always count on in emotional endeavors, and they never knew about the abuse and alcoloism my father had. That's why my mother left him, the alcohol... But she didn't think to take me with her for a second. She was young, and had a life ahead of her. She couldn't even drink when she had me. She wanted adventure, and a good time before she settled down, which she obviously did not have with me and my dad. In truth, I don't blame her. I just wish I had been a little older, as to not be a burden, but a companion in her endeavors. But anyways, it's not like a really needed a mom. My friends's families are my families. I was even part of their Christmases and their relatives birthdays and other holidays. It was nice. It is nice. What'll happen to me when I'm out of here? Will my friends still be my friends? Maybe one of their parents will adopt me.

"Jess!" Dean snaps me out of my trance. I turn my head towards him and Sam, and worry is evident on their faces. "Are you alright, sweetheart?" he asks.

I nod. "Of course, why wouldn't I?" I reply, and he gestures to his face.

"You're crying..." Sam explains. I wipe my tears away quickly while I listen to him continue. "Listen, Jessica, we're really sorry about what we did to your dad. It was an accident, I swear. We just wanted to keep you safe, ya know?" I nod. Of course I know. In the past few months, dad had been drinking increasingly more each day. He had been coming home drunk, driving to work under the influence, and always reeked of vodka or tequila or another one of his poisons. It was awful, because even though he was slower, he was more violent. I was barely ever safe at home. If I got home before he did, I grabbed food and drinks baracaded myself in my room, because that was the safest place in my house. He never came in there when he was drunk, because I was never in his way. In the morning, I'd clean up his mess, lay clothes out at the foot of his bed, and get ready for school. Then I'd leave for the bus before he even woke up. If I got home after he did, things would get messy. It was those days I'd have to think up a lie for the following day at school, and my choices were narrowing down.

"It's okay. This has been happening more over the past few months, so... I guess I'm kind of, in a sick, twisted way, glad it's over." I try to reassure myself. In some ways, it's true, but in others, I was just a sad little girl that lost her father.

"Are you sure?" Sam asks.

"I'm sure for now. We'll see how this lays out." I say. "What happened though, ya know, to my dad?" I inquire. Dean lets out a deep breath. I can tell he didn't want me to ask this question.

"Um," Sam starts, looking cautiously over at Dean. "We heard you screaming, so we went up to the door and tried getting in. When we found the door was locked, we busted it down and started searching for you. When we found you, your dad was hovering over you, hurting you." I can tell he was trying to be sensitive. I could see in his eyes that he was trying to find the right words to say, as to not upset me. He clears his throat and continues. "We ran over and pulled him off of you, and we tried to get him to stop. He kept trying to get to you, but I pushed him back and he stumbled and fell. He hit his head on the edge of the countertop and collapsed. There was a lot of..." He trails off. I think I know what it was though. There was a lot of blood. Before he can finish, I stop him.

"It's okay. I know what you mean." I say. They both look at me with guilt in their eyes. They don't need to be guilty though. They did the right thing. It was just an accident. We sit in an awkward silence for a few moments, and then the door comes open and I see my best friend, Elizabeth.

"Oh my god, Jessica! Are you okay, what happened?" She asks me as she comes over to my side, ignoring the two men in the chairs beside the bed.

"I'm alright, I promise. My dad just got into some trouble." I say. It only takes her a moment to realize.

"Did he do this?! I swear to god, I will kill him!" She says furiously, and I swallow hard, thinking that her proposition has aready been fufilled.

"That's the thing, Elizabeth..." I start, but I trail off. The mood in the room instantly darkens. I can see on her face that she knows what she said, and what I mean. She looks horror stricken, and immediately apologises.

"Oh my god... I'm sorry, I..." She lets the sentence fade off, not knowing what to say, which is a very rare thing for Elizabeth. She always knows what to say, and her not knowing makes me very nervous and anxious. I look over to Sam and Dean.

"Can we have a minute?" I ask them, on the verge of tears. My voice breaks on the last word, making me embarrassed with how I'm acting. But why shouldn't I be allowed to cry? My dad is dead, he beat me to a pulp, until there was barely any of me left. Elizabeth finally looks over to the two men, but doesn't say anything. They silently get up and leave, and as soon as the door closes she practically jumps onto the bad to hug me.

"Are you going to be okay?" She asks as a hot tear runs down my cheek. She notices I'm crying, and she knows I don't want to speak, so she talks instead.
"The guy with the long hair is really hot." She says, and I give a strangled laugh. I know I can always count on Elizabeth to try and talk about boys in any situation.
"No, seriously Jessica, he is really hot." This helps a bit, and I nod.

"Yeah, he kind of is." I giggle. We both laugh. When I look into her eyes, she's looking back at me, with pity, of course. I divert my gaze from her, not wanting to feel the unwanted emotion. "I want to go home." I say after a moment. My voice is soft, barely audible for even my ears. Elizabeth looks down at me, and cuddles closer to me. I hug her back, welcoming the extra warmth that radiates from her body.

"You can come live with me. Mom and Jay can adopt you and we can be sisters." She says with her cheek against the top of my head. I smile at the thought. Elizabeth and I are practically sisters already. I spend almost all of my spare time at her house anyways, so why not make it official?

"I'd like that." I say. We both sit in silence, the throbbing in my head has stopped for the most part, probably because of Elizabeth, she always makes my pain go away. She has that effect of people she loves. She just makes them feel better and stronger. I'm really lucky to have her.

A knock on the door is what breaks the comfortable silence, and the two men walk back in. "Uh, 'scuse us. We need to talk to Jess." Sam says. Elizabeth takes her time getting out of the room, looking back at me with a broken smile as often as she can without hitting anything. Soon though, she's out the door and it shuts with a click behind her. "We just talked to a CPS agent, and she says that finding a relative of some kind is really slim. So, we have offered to look after you. She says that was okay, but you need to agree. And she'd like to talk to you. You feeling up to it?" he says. I nod at them. They look at each other, then at me, then they cross the room to the door and open it. A lady with an obviously fake smile and a briefcase walks in, the clack of her heels sounding harshly against the tile floor. She sits in the chair closest to my head.

"Hello, Jessica. My name is Jacquline. Is it okay if I ask you a few questions?" She cuts straight to the point. Of course, I nod. I can already tell I don't like this woman very much. It already feels like she's treating me like a child. "Okie dokie then." She says, and opens her briefcase, full of procedural questions. "What's the last thing you remember from the attack?" She asks. I'm taken aback by this question. She has no trouble telling it like it is, and it annoys me. Has she no sympathy for a girl who lost her father and her dignity?

I, of course, answer the question as politely as I can. "Uh, let's see... I remember being flung back into a wall and then it goes black. Then I remember being carried out to a car. Those men's voices telling me it's okay or something. Then it goes black again and I wake up." She jots all of these notes down, and carries on to the next question.

She asks, "Has your dad hurt you before?"

"Yes." I answer plainly.

"Would you care to elaborate?" She asks with a tone of annoyance, as if I wasn't just asked a question filled with trauma and pain.

"Uh... sure. He would push me sometimes and grab my arm really tightly. It was nothing too major." I leave out the time he hit me. I don't want my father more criminalized than he already is.

"Alright," She starts, looking up from her notes. "do you feel safe now? Do you feel a certain hostility towards men? Are you frightened of them?"

"No. I'm fine. I'm not afraid of men. I've just learned to accept that they're not all good. My father was a great man, just not good." I tell her and for the first time, I believe it. I always thought of my dad as the best dad in the world, like every daughter thinks of her dad as. I always thought of my dad as a hero until recently. But now I see the truth. But, that's not going to make me stop believing in the world." I explain. She nods slowly as she writes something on her board. She then turns her attention back to me.

"Okay, could you tell me, on a scale of one to ten, one being depressed and ten being content, where is your emotional state?" She asks me, and I stare blankly at her for a moment. How could I be "content" in a time like this? Is she crazy?

"Um," I begin, looking down at my bandaged hands. "I guess I feel about a four?" It comes out as a question.

"Is this how you truly feel? It's okay to be depressed." She says, with what I think is mock concern lacing her sing-songy voice. And for a moment, I consider her question. Is this how I really feel? Would I be considered a bad daughter if I didn't feel worse than I do?

"Yes, that's how I truly feel." Well, I suppose it's my father's fault for not making me feel any differently than I do. Jacquline notes what I say and closes her notebook with a sharp motion and places it back into her briefcase with grace.

"Alright then, I suppose we're finished then. The plan is that you'll stay here for another night or so, to see if the authorities can contact a relative, but chances are, you're going with these men. That is, if they pass a thurough background check and home examination." She explains, and I nod. Although I'm worried slightly about going with two men I have no relations with, I feel thankful that my rescuers are willing to take me. She takes her briefcase in her hand and gets up from the chair, smoothing out her perfectly pleated work pants and cashmere sweater vest before nodding curtly and heading towards the door. She lingers in the doorway a moment, and looks back at me.

"Everything will be alright, Jessica."

Yeah... Sure it will.