Welcome back! After a hell of finals week, a major blizzard, and the apparent retiring of the pope, I finally mustered up the willpower to sit down and finish planning this story out! Thank you to everyone who is reading and has ever taken the time to read this, and remember, reviews make the world go 'round and keep the authors typing!

With a heavy sigh, Dean ran a jittery hand through his hair, trying to ignore the gnawing pain in the pit of his stomach. It had been nine days since he'd run away from Bobby's, and in that time he had taken to a strict diet of cheap beer, candy bars, and more potato chips that Lay's put out in a year. It wasn't really by choice; he just couldn't bring himself to stop for any real food. Every time he thought about grabbing a cheeseburger, he'd remember one of the millions of times he stopped with Sam for a quick bite after a job. He'd tease Sam about his rabbit food ("Real warriors can't survive on that crap!") and Sam would come right back with some rejoinder about Dean's burger consumption being beyond unhealthy ("Yeah? Well, when your warrior food gives you heart disease, don't hold your breath waiting for me to pick up your slack. You get killed trying to waddle your fat ass away from some poltergeist, that's on you."). Both would laugh and continue to throw jabs at each other, seeing who could take the most hits, and Dean would smile inwardly, knowing that Sam would die before letting his fat ass get killed by some poltergeist. That was their way; that was how they knew everything was going to be okay.

But Dean knew he would never experience that again. Sam would never be able to order another godforsaken salad shake, and Dean would never be able to call him out on it again. Everything was different now, and that included Dean's burger habit.

Still, one couldn't really get far on nothing but junk food and cheap alcohol, and Dean knew he was long overdue for a long shower and some sleep. But sleep was not easy to come by; either he couldn't get to sleep at all or he would spend a few hours restlessly turning, crying out Sam's name before waking up from his nightmares and starting the cycle all over again. He would never admit it, but Dean was exhausted, and he knew it was time for a pit stop.

It was in this way that Dean found himself sitting in a faded leather booth in the back of a far-too-crowded bar. His head pounding from the joyful screeches of the bar patrons as their football team scored another touchdown, he put his head in his hands and started massaging his temples.

"Of course the only place open is a sports bar in the middle of football season," he groaned. "Friggin' fans are animals."

"No argument here," said a voice beside him. He wearily raised his head to get a look at his fellow cynic. Mischievous hazel eyes stared back at him, highlighted by a crooked smile that felt entirely natural on the angular face surrounding it. Fiery red curls poking out of a messy updo completed the look. Dean squinted in bleary confusion. Who was this chick and why was she talking to him?

"Oh, sorry," she added quickly, "Didn't mean to interrupt the whole 'broody-mysterious' thing. Just here to grab your plate." Oh. Duh. Apron, ponytail, cheesy nametag - she was a waitress. Wow, maybe some sleep would be a good idea. "Unless you want to just stare at the burger for another half-hour?" she said teasingly.

He looked down at the nearly untouched plate in front of him. A few fries had been swallowed down, but he just didn't have an appetite for anything more substantial. Staring at the burger wasn't doing him any favors, anyway. With an impatient sigh, he waved the girl on, not bothering to acknowledge her with anything other than an eye roll.

Raising her eyebrows, she gave a quiet scoff. "Well, thank you, your highness," she mumbled under her breath as she removed the plate and turned to leave. Watching her walk away, Dean inwardly cursed at himself. The first person who's talked to him in over a week and he manages to piss them off without even saying a word. Smooth.

Dean remembered when he could get a woman into bed without a word. Just a smile, a well-placed wink, and boom. He was a master, a modern day Beethoven or Picasso. In fact, most of the girls he used to be with were women he'd run into at a restaurant or bar, like the woman he'd just talked to. But they weren't usually as snarky; they were mostly just insecure and depressed about their lives. After they'd finished "the deed", they'd try to use Dean as some kind of personal therapist, talking about their money problems or their deadbeat boyfriends. Dean, of course, would smile and nod when appropriate until he had a chance to slip out. Like they had any idea what real problems were.

After another half-hour of drowning his sorrows in hunter's helper and trying to tune out tears of the other patrons as their team was crushed (Karma's a bitch, Dean thought), Dean paid the check and decided to head back to the motel he rented earlier.

Deciding against wading through the mob of fans to get to the front door, Dean spied a back exit and slinked out of the building.

"Ah," he said as he gulped in a breath of fresh air. "Air pollution, my ass. This is friggin' beautiful."

Ready to get some well-needed shuteye, he headed toward the parking lot. However, he only made it two steps before he heard a shriek from the back of the bar. Turning around, he snapped back into protective hunter mode and ran around to the back of the building. His eyes widened as he saw the scene in front of him.

Next to a stained and rusting dumpster, a tall figure in black was attacking a woman. She was screaming and crying as tears rolled down her face, but the hooded assailant paid no attention as he shoved her against the back wall and began running his hands around the waistline of her pants. He seemed to be mumbling about something under his breath to the woman, something that was clearly upsetting to the woman, but Dean couldn't quite make it out. It wasn't clear if the man was looking for something or just your regular pervert who got off on trying to rape women, but it didn't really matter to Dean. With a shout, he charged the thug, knocking the both of them onto the ground by the dumpster. The woman gave a small cry before backing away a few feet. Dean quickly jumped to his feet and took a stance as the other man struggled to rise. As the assailant lifted his head up, Dean planted a well-aimed punch to his jaw. An audible cracking resounded through the back alley as the man gave a howl of utter and primal pain. Dean took a quick look behind him to check on the woman still crying a few feet away. Unfortunately, just as he turned his head forward again, the other man had grabbed a broken piece of pipe (Where the hell did that come from? Dean wondered) and smashed it with all his might into Dean's right leg.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean screamed as pain shot up through his leg. It felt as though every nerve in his shin had been lit on fire, and hot blood began pouring down his leg. No doubt, it was broken.

He fell to the ground and clutched his wound for a moment, but the rush of adrenaline put him right back into focus. As the man took a step towards him again, Dean whipped out his gun. He had hoped not to have to show it, for fear of freaking out the woman even more, but enough was enough. Through the shadow of his hood, the man's eyes visibly widened, and after a moment of careful deliberation, he turned around and ran as fast as he could. Once he knew the man was far enough away to be safe, Dean grunted and laid back down on the ground, his eyes tightly scrunched closed. The woman stood in shock for a moment before rushing to Dean's side.

Wiping a stray tear from her cheek, she knelt down and helped seat him up. Looking at his leg, her jaw dropped.

"Oh my God…" she murmured. "Are you okay? No, Jesus, of course you're not. You just took a lead pipe to the shin. Shit, shit…" Dean opened his eyes long enough to look over at the woman's face. With a scoff of disbelief, he gently shook his head. It was the same waitress from earlier, the one he'd pissed off.

At the same time, she looked over at him. You've got to be kidding me. It's the burger guy from earlier… she thought. Who would have thought he'd be saving her life when less than an hour ago, he wouldn't even give her a hello? The universe is just weird that way.

She snapped back to reality as he moaned and his eyes began to flutter shut.

"No, stay with me, dammit!" she yelled. This was definitely not good. Frantically looking around, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed 911.

"911 operator, what is your emergency?"

"An attack behind McNally's Bar, one man injured. He's bleeding pretty bad, and his leg might be broken, I'm not sure." She looked Dean over quickly, trying not to miss anything. "I think he just lost consciousness. Please, send an ambulance now!"

"Don't worry, help is on the way."

With that, she put down the phone and began applying pressure to the leg wound, her hands quickly becoming soaked with blood, the blood of a man she had never met. Hell, she didn't even know his name! Still, she knew she couldn't just leave him, especially after what he'd just done for her. Hopefully, he hadn't heard anything the man said to her earlier. No, he couldn't have. Her secrets were still safe.

The two of them remained this way, him unconscious in her arms and her trying to keep him safe, for another seven and a half minutes before help arrived.

With the sirens blaring and the lights nearly giving her a seizure, the ambulance rode up to the front of the building and two paramedics rushed over to her side with a gurney. Taking only a minute to size up his injury and get some initial reading on his pulse and blood pressure, they lifted him up and ran him over to the ambulance. She followed suit, watching them step into the back and each grabbing a door handle as they prepared to take off. She took a breath and started to head back inside for a quick drink when she heard a voice behind her call out.

"Hey, lady, you want to ride with him there?"

She stopped in her tracks. Looking over her shoulder, she tossed a glance back at the doors of the ambulance. She had to admit, her curiosity was peaked. She really wanted to go and find out who that guy was. He'd saved her life, right? The least she could do was make sure he got to the hospital safely. And let's be honest… he was kind of a looker, too. She had to know more about him…

No, no, no. Her logical side screamed with every fiber of her being to leave it alone. She had really done her part, right? He had saved her and she got him some help. He'd be fine, really, he would. No reason for her to go with. She didn't even know who the guy was… what right did she have to stay with him? No, she should really go inside and get ready to go home. Her part in this adventure was over.

But then again…

Less than a minute later, the doors were slammed shut and the ambulance proceeded toward the county hospital, carrying two paramedics, an unconscious Dean Winchester, and a very curious waitress.