"Are we gonna go to the hospital now?" I ask, as we're on our way back to the motel after taking care of the body. It's about four in the morning and I'm exhausted.

Dean looks in the rearview mirror at me, a little confused. "What?"

"To get patched up."

"We patch ourselves up," Sam tells me. "That way we don't need to explain."

"Makes sense," I say, though I secretly wish I could get professional help.

Especially twenty minutes later when Sam is the one stitching me up. He feels bad about shooting me still, even though it wasn't his fault, and takes personal responsibility for getting me fixed up.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" I ask for the umpteenth time as Sam stitches up the bad cut on my arm.

"Yes," he replies, again.

"Yes," Dean calls from the bathroom, where he's washing his blood-splattered face.

It's just not very reassuring when whiskey is used as both an anesthetic and a disinfectant, and dental floss is used for the stitching.

I close my eyes when Sam starts threading the needle through. It hurts a little bit, but doesn't add a lot of pain to what's already there.

Sam finishes stitching me up and snips the thread. "Go get some sleep," he tells me. He walks me to the door and kisses me on the forehead before I leave. I smile at him and go to my room.

Despite being awake for a very, very long time, I can't sleep. I try brushing my teeth, taking a shower, nothing really works. My thoughts are moving too fast, my mind swirling, now that I need it to stop. The day was just so exciting, the first time I'd actually fought alongside the brothers.

I go take a walk outside, hoping to clear my head. I slowly make my way along the walkway outside the motel to the vending machine about fifteen doors down. It's still pretty early in the morning, the kind of dark that comes right before the sunrise. I see one or two people out walking, headed somewhere.

When I finally reach the glowing light of the vending machine, I'm surprised to see someone else there, given that it's so early. In the darkness, I can only see an outline. The figure is leaning against the wall, the face looking down at the ground. I frown. I'd hoped I wouldn't run into anyone, especially a stranger.

"You too, huh?" the person says, looking up at me. It's not a stranger; I recognize the voice. It's Dean.

"Why are you up?" I ask.

"I could say the same to you."

"Why do you think I'm up?" I ask. "You think I could sleep after so much excitement?"

"Oh yeah," Dean says, grinning. "I forgot that was your first fight."

"What about you? Why are you awake?"

Dean smiles sadly. "I was just thinking about someone."

"Who, if you don't mind my asking?" I walk over next to him and lean against the wall.

"Just… someone that I used to know." I can tell it's someone really important to him, someone that he lost. I wonder how he lost them.

"Do you want to be alone?" I ask after a few moments.

Dean takes a deep breath. "No, that's all right. Company would be nice right now."

I stand silently next to Dean for a moment.

"How's your arm?" he asks.

"Agonizing, thanks for asking."

"It takes a little pain to become a good hunter," Dean says with an understanding grin.

I smile back at him.

There's a brief silence. I don't know if I'll have another opportunity to talk to Dean alone about this, so I ask, "Has Sam had any major girlfriends I should know about?"

Laughing softly, he says, "Of course you'd want to know. Only one. Her name was Jessica. From when Sam was at Stanford. She… she was killed."

"Oh." Awkward moments. "How?"

"Yellow-eyes."

I'd heard all about the Winchesters' past… at least, by all about, I mean the bits and pieces that weren't too painful to share, so about five or six minutes of explanations total. I'd heard the general outline of their lives up to this point, including the reason they got into hunting in the first place: the yellow-eyed demon Azazel. He'd killed their mother and given six-month-old Sam demon blood to drink that made Sam psychic later on, for a while, at least.

The ensuing hunt that took place over the next twenty years and came to its peak just a few years ago ended up with their father dead, Dean with one year to live after selling his soul to a demon, and opened gates of hell.

At least Azazel was dead. They'd eventually gotten their revenge.

Man, those Winchesters had it rough, now that I thought about it some. It strikes me suddenly that maybe it was foolish to get into hunting.

But then I think to all the good times I've had with the brothers so far, and Sam kissing me, and even the powerful feeling I got while fighting Ares. The feeling of anxiety I'd had just a moment before disappears.

"You might not want to bring Jess up around Sam," Dean suggests. "He kind of feels responsible for her death."

Of course he does. He feels responsible for everything. "How?"

"He had visions of her dying like that, burning on the ceiling, but he still went hunting with me, the first time in a long time, and when he went back…" Dean trails off. "Anyway, he started back up hunting with me pretty quickly after."

So if Sam only started hunting again after his only true girlfriend died… it makes me wonder. "Do relationships ever work out while you're hunting?" I ask, partly out of curiosity, partly out of concern for my relationship with Sam.

Dean shrugs. "Not really. I mean, the girls we meet, they wouldn't even consider hunting. Though I have seen a few married hunting couples."

That's good, right? People can make it work out.

"Usually one of them dies at some point, but until then they have each other."

I shudder. "Thanks," I say sarcastically.

Dean just grins at me.

"Any closer to being ready to sleep?" he asks after a moment.

"Nope. Not at all."

"Me neither. Do you want to try to find a job?"

I do. I go and grab my laptop from my room and then we sit on the concrete in front of the vending machine, browsing through articles of weird news.