Sam settled back in the booth with a sigh, lacing his fingers over his hard stomach. "That was delicious. How's the pie?"

I licked my lips with relish. "Best thing I've eaten in a long time."

"Dean's going to be pissed. You'll learn not to come between that man and his pie."

I shrugged. It wasn't my problem Dean had gotten distracted. "So, where are we, anyway?"

"Somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania."

I hummed. After all the diner food (which had been delivered via a different waiter since Tiffany had abruptly 'gone on break') I was full, I was tired, and every inch of me hurt. There were no distractions and nothing else to focus on and I just wanted some sleep.

His brow furrowed. "You feeling ok?"

"I'm fine, just full." The backseat of the Impala was starting to sound mighty luxurious.

"You sure? You're looking a little rough."

I gave an acknowledging snort. If I looked half as bad as I felt, then he was being kind.

Sam shifted in his seat, his concern deepening as he watched me. "You shouldn't have healed us back in Toledo."

I cocked a brow at him. "Pretty sure that saved my life. From you."

He stiffened. "I know you aren't a bad person, Alex. But the danger is real. We don't know what is going on with you and won't know until Bobby can check you out."

I sighed and settled further into the booth seat, wishing it was more comfortable. "Is Bobby some kind of Chinuitor expert?"

"He's an expert on just about everything. He'll be able to figure you out. You do realize how dangerous it was for you to heal us both, right? We deal with a lot as hunters. Taking the damage from us both could've killed you."

I gave a helpless shrug and passed him the last bite of pie as a peace offering. "It's over and done. Nothing to do about it now. Besides, adding a few bumps and bruises is hardly a big deal at this point."

He ignored the pie. "'A few bumps and bruises'? You went into shock last night and you've been shaky all day."

"And Bobby had magic medicine that made it all better. I'm fine."

"That medicine isn't helping heal you, it's just masking some of the symptoms. You're far from fine, Alex." He ran a hand over the back of his neck. "Why do you think you can't heal yourself? If you've got Chinuitor blood running in your veins then why hasn't it healed you? Have you tried healing yourself?" Earnestness and frustration mixed in his blue eyes.

Just thinking about the last time I had tried made my hands sweat. "Yes, Sam. I've tried."

"What happened?"

My vision narrowed abruptly and I was back in that cellar, dim light leaking through the dusty cracks in the flooring above me. Laughter echoed around the small room as the demons cheered on the most recent attempt to break me. Agony obliterated thought and fired through me in waves, centering on the crisscross of wounds layering my back. Heal, damn it, heal!

"Alex?"

I blinked and came back to the diner with a sense of vertigo. "What?"

"You ok?"

"Yes," I answered automatically, trying to get my bearings. I glanced down and noticed that I had a white knuckled grip on the chipped Formica table.

He studied me, running a hand through his long brown hair to brush it out of his eyes. "I think we should go back to the Impala."

"Fine."

I followed him outside stoically. Dean had parked the car back behind the diner and wedged it between the building and a dilapidated shed that nearly hid it from view. Sam opened the back door for me and I slid in before slumping down to sprawl out on my back, my feet hanging out the open door as every muscle protested. Sam sat in the passenger seat and pulled out a book. I stared at the ceiling and dug my fingers into the leather seat, focusing on keeping my breath steady so I didn't draw Sam's attention as I tried to dig my way out of the memories. I felt like I was drowning in them, all of my attempts at pushing them away proving futile.

The beginning had been the worst. Three weeks I had held my silence, twenty-one days that they hadn't been able to wring a sound from me no matter what they put me through. It had become a personal challenge to many of them. They had always come to me several at a time and always with a voracious thirst for pain and agony. Any time I was on the edge of succumbing to painless oblivion they would call a halt and make sure I stayed awake, aware, and that pain became my only existence. I lost the ability to gauge hours or minutes or days and time became measured in breaths. Even through that endless nightmare I never broke, never cried out. Then one of them had discovered a particular favorite toy, a metal tipped bullwhip. Day after day he had played with it until one day he told me that he would keep going until I broke my silence. Thirty lashes I had held on, counting in my head through each excruciating strike. With each one I had felt my skin welt, burst, and bleed more profusely. Agony like I had never experienced went on endlessly and my self-control began disintegrating.

Strike thirty-one had released my screams as though I had been saving them all for a single moment. I had screamed until I couldn't any more, until I hadn't been able to speak for days.

An unexpected sound yanked me back to the present. I stretched just enough to peer out the side window and spotted a back hoe pulling into the gas station. A grizzled denim clad worker disembarked and headed into the diner. I dropped back to the seat with a deep breath, digging my nails into my palms to help me stay centered. I was no longer at their mercy, no longer theirs to torment. Sam and Dean had killed most of them and I was going after the rest. Another deep breath grounded me further and I tucked my hands back into the sleeves of my shirt, my eyes falling to the soft over-washed fabric.

Dean had given me a black t-shirt, green button-up, and a pair of baggy jeans. The cuffs were rolled up on everything to fit me and I worried a loose button wondering absently why someone so handy with a needle and thread wouldn't fix it. My meandering observations came to an abrupt halt when I noticed that I smelled like Dean. Not his cologne, though there were traces of it in the fabric but the smell that had comforted me in bed this morning before I had come fully awake. All I could think was that it smelled like man whiskey, motor oil, sweat, and gunpowder. I folded up the collar of the button-up and sucked in a lungful of peace. Calm. The man might piss me off royally but his smell…hell. It did more for me than a decent night's rest. He smelled like comfort. A soft sound from the front seat reminded me that I was not alone. My gaze jerked guiltily to find Sam's pensive gaze on me and I flushed.

We stared at each other for a long uncomfortable moment, Sam carefully choosing his words before releasing a deep breath. "Alex, please don't fall for my brother."

I straightened up in the seat, embarrassment firing the color in my face. "That's a bit out of left field, Sam."

He gestured to where the collar was still popped around my face and I tucked in my chin in protectively. "You're doing the shirt thing. The deep smell and the dreamy eyes. I know what that means, and trust me – he is the last thing you need right now."

I snorted. "Dreamy eyes? Seriously? His shirt smells good. That's it."

Sam rubbed a hand through his hair. "Alex—"

"Sam, don't make this a big deal."

"But—"

"He uses the same cologne as a friend of mine, okay? It brings back good memories." The smell of Dean's clothes had to do with the smell of Dean, not the cologne that was barely an afterthought, but if the coincidence got Sam off my back…

Sam's eyes lit up and he straightened as if I had taken a weight off his shoulders. "Yeah?"

"Yes. Now leave me to my sniffing and go back to your book." I settled back into the seat, playing with the cuffs of the sleeves and making a big show of trying to ignore him.

"Come on, you've got to give me more than that."

I groaned. "No, Sam."

His voice turned coaxing. "This is the first you've talked about anyone in your life. You've got me curious." He braced an elbow across the seat back and leaned toward me. "What's his name?"

"No."

"We're stuck in here together for at least another half hour. We might as well talk." His eyes twinkled a bit and he dropped his book to the seat. "How long have you known him? Were you guys together?"

"I am not having this conversation with you."

"Don't forget that I read people for a living. I'll get the whole story even if you don't say a word." He couldn't seem to hold back the challenging lift to his eyebrow or the teasing tilt to his mouth.

I groaned, sorting through distant memories, trying to decipher rapidly whether there was any harm in telling him a few tiny pieces. "Fine."

"Fine?" He echoed, expression hopeful.

"Yes, fine, but there's not much to tell. His name is Grady."

Sam scooted closer. "How long were you together?"

"What? No, it wasn't like that-"

"Wait, do we need to let him know you're okay?" His brows lowered, suddenly concerned. "Does he still think you're missing? Do you need to call him?" His phone appeared in my hand before I could blink.

"No!" I shoved it back at him. "See? This is why I didn't want to talk to you about this! You're making this a big deal."

"But, Alex, if he still thinks you're missing—" He put it back in my hand and forcibly wrapped my fingers around it.

I took the phone and tossed it none too gently to the seat beside him. "He doesn't! He didn't even know I was gone. He's not part of my life anymore, okay? None of this affects him."

"But if you guys were close he should know about—"

I locked eyes with Sam, hoping he read the seriousness in my eyes. "He doesn't need to know about any of this."

"But, Alex—"

"I said no, Sam. I am not going back to my old life and even if I did he isn't a part of it anymore. There is no reason for you to hunt him down just to let him know …" I gestured to the bruises on my face. "I don't want any of this touching his life. Okay? Now just drop it."

"You can't just leave your entire life behind, Alex. Surely there's someone who's worried about where you are. You haven't made a single phone call since we rescued you."

I led a solitary life on purpose, and unfortunately that's what made me a damn near perfect target for Faulkner in the first place. Grady had been the one exemption from the rule and his departure from my life had just given me more reasons to keep people at a distance. "I don't want to talk about this anymore." I got out of the car and slammed the door.

He scrambled out behind me. "Where are you going?"

"I just want some air, Sam. Leave me alone."

He grabbed my arm and spun me around. "Alex, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

I jerked my arm out of his grasp. "Look, you don't understand. You have Dean. And Bobby. You have people in your life that get you and are there for you no matter what. I don't have that, Sam, and now I never will." I ran a hand raggedly through my tangled hair. "Fuck's sake, I sound dramatic. Please, just leave me alone. I just need some air, a few minutes to get my thoughts together. I promise not to go far – I just want to walk a while."

"I don't think—" His fists clenched at his sides.

"Ten minutes. That's all I'm asking."

He sighed heavily. "Alex—"

"Sam, for the love of Pete - I was stuck in a cellar for three months and haven't had two seconds to myself since you got me out of there. Ten minutes is not that much to ask for." I ran a hand through my hair raggedly.

His mouth tightened. "Five. And you take the cell phone. It's got a tracker in it, just in case." He held it out to me, eyes intent. "Don't go out of shouting distance, and come right back after you clear your head. Okay?"

I nodded and tucked the phone in my back pocket. Sam crossed his arms over his broad chest and then dropped them to his sides, fingers twitching. "Five minutes. Or I'm coming to find you."

I waved him off and started back into the cornfield, wrapping my arms around my waist. Sam disappeared from sight as cornstalks closed in around me. The crunch of grass and husks beneath my feet was the only sound and the air was stuffy in the narrow row. I sucked in a long, dusty breath and let it out slowly, trying to sort my thoughts and get them back into a somewhat manageable chaos. My past needed to stay in my past. There was nothing gained by dragging it into the present and I definitely didn't want Grady to see this post-demon version of myself. He deserved the happy life he had left to pursue. He deserved blissful ignorance of the monsters that stalked in the shadows and like hell I would be the one to tell him now I was one of those monsters. I wanted him to remember me the way I used to be. I had still been a badass but I had been whole and innocent. I felt like I was walking around with half of me still stuck in that cellar, stuck in the nightmare that never ended. I wondered absently if I would ever get those parts of myself back.

The Winchesters seemed to be fairly whole, if you could ignore the shadows in their eyes. The aura of hardship that had warned me of their fighting background before they ever told me they were hunters was beginning to have a new weight, now that I knew what to watch for. Life experience had formed Dean into a warrior, someone whose gaze was always on what came next and his focus on how to tackle it head on. His rock-steady approach to everything just made me want to curl up in his presence and pass the weight of the world to him for a while. That's what made his careless hook-up at the diner so infuriating. I knew he deserved more than that, and he did too. He and Sam seemed to have weathered their fair share of battles and they deserved a little more attention and care than they could find at a Pennsylvania diner in an hour's time.

Sam… The more time I spent with him the more I suspected he was softer than Dean, still a badass through and through but his edges weren't nearly as rough; almost as if he chose to still seek the good in people and Dean had given up long ago. Not that I had been the recipient of that benefit of the doubt, but Sam's goodness almost spoke louder because of how harshly he had treated me. He was focused on saving everyone else and I couldn't blame him. Something about the two brothers got beneath my skin, and I didn't like that I was beginning to worry for them. Worry about what would happen to them after they dropped me off, worry about all the things that could go wrong out on the road, and definitely worried about how they were going to handle themselves going up against Stokes and eventually Faulkner. Maybe if I got to Faulkner first-

The snap of a breaking cornstalk froze me mid-step. There, off to my left, it happened again, then one off to my right. Faster, louder, the sounds started coming toward me, honing in on my position. I turned on my heel and lurched back the way I had come. Damn, damn, damn.