Legs pounding the ground, my breath started coming in short bursts and I used my arms to block the rough leaves from hitting me in the face. A dark figure ran parallel to me in the row to my left, face indistinguishable in the rushing green until he launched himself between the stalks and grabbed a hold of my elbow, eyes flashing. I jerked out of his grasp and stumbled into the row on my right, nearly colliding with another figure before my adrenaline kicked into high gear. I started to sprint and only managed a few steps before one of them slammed into my back. I kicked out behind me and caught him in the knee, sending him down to the ground long enough for me to get a roundhouse kick in at the head of the second figure as he came in close enough to attack. It landed soundly and I hissed out a grinding breath as pain flashed through my ribs. The first figure lunged back up and I slammed a fist into the side of his temple, barely dodging his hefty uppercut to my stomach. The other grabbed me from behind and I clawed at his forearms, trying to loosen his grasp. I scrambled to hook the back of his knee with my ankle and managed to break his stance enough that he stumbled to the ground, off balance because of my additional weight. I wrestled my way free with my heart pounding in my ears and cursing the fact I was completely unarmed. Fat lot of good the cell phone did me, damn it. They both stayed on the ground for a precious moment, long enough for me to bolt again. I gave up trying to protect my face and just ran like hell.

"Sam!" I grabbed a hold of the pendant around my neck and held on, hoping that both of the goons were just run-of-the-mill bad guys and praying to whoever was listening that I wouldn't feel that sickening demon smoke entering my mouth at any second. "Damn it, Sam! Where are you?!" I burst through the end of the row of corn to find both of the brothers leaning against the Impala's bumper, relaxed and shooting the breeze. "They're coming! Throw me a gun!"

They both came to attention and started charging toward me. Dean reached me first and swung me around behind him before watching Sam leap into the cornfield. A moment later he was thrown back out as if he had hit a brick wall. Dean's hand was steady on my arm, a tight grasp that kept me positioned firmly at his back.

"Damn it, Dean, give me a gun!" I slapped a hand to the sweaty shirt at his back and found the handgun I knew would be there. I had it out and cocked before he could turn.

He growled at me over his shoulder. "Like hell—"

The two figures plowed through the edge of the cornfield and Sam tackled the first one to appear. Dean launched himself into the fray and took down the other figure, solid punches landing anywhere he could reach. I held the gun steady in both hands, sighting down the barrel and waiting for a clean shot. As soon as I saw it, I squeezed the trigger. The gun kicked back in my hands and I steadied it again as Sam's opponent stilled, a clean hole through the center of his forehead. Dean flinched and ducked at the sound of the shot and his attacker landed a snapping punch to his face. I hid a wince at the contact and sent a clean shot through the bad guy's right eyeball in retribution. He dropped like a stone.

Dean shoved the body off of him and unfolded to his feet, eyes stormy. "That shot whistled by my ear. Think you could cut it a little closer next time?"

My grip tightened on the gun and I was half tempted to point it at him and blow his sarcastic head off. "You're welcome, you ungrateful bastard. Oh, and Sam?" I dug the phone out of my back pocket and threw it at his feet. "Thanks for that. Next time you think I might need to defend myself? Try giving me a gun."

Dean snapped a look to his brother. "You sent her off on her own with a cell phone?"

Sam threw up his hands. "She said she needed some air!"
"What the hell is wrong with the air in the Impala? Son of a bitch, Sammy – you had literally one job!" Dean spun around to face me. "And you—"

I shoved on the safety. "Don't get all high and mighty with me. I just saved your ass—"

He stepped closer, jaw thrust out. "If you ever pull a gun off me again—"

I refused to back away from him. "I think we can all agree that I should keep this one. If I would've had one of my own, then I wouldn't have had to run all hell bent for leather and I could've shot the bastards in the cornfield and been done with it." The look in his eyes as he steadily advanced made a warning curl up my spine.

"Give me my gun, Alex." Dean growled, his determination making my stomach drop deliciously.

"I'll keep this one, thanks." I shoved it in the back of my waistband and tightened my fists, choosing to believe that the heat spreading through my limbs was anger instead of a strong tide of awareness as he stalked closer, his eyes filling with a predatory gleam.

"Give it. Now." Dean rasped, close enough now that I could feel the heat radiating off him. He stepped so close that our noses almost touched as he very slowly placed one hand at my hip and wrapped the other around to grab hold of the gun stock. I held still, suddenly wary of provoking him at such a close distance but when he moved to withdraw the gun from my waist-band I shifted my arm just enough that I could grasp his wrist and keep the gun right where it was.

"Dean," I murmured, staring wide-eyed into his green gaze so close to my own, "I want you to take a close look at the two shots I just made. Carefully consider the fact that I am already pissed at you. You have other guns, this one is now mine. Deal with it."

Sam sucked in a surprised breath.

Dean's eyes fairly sparkled with the challenge. "You think making two lucky shots at short range earned you the right to carry that gun?"

"Lucky?!" I exploded.

"Sweetheart, you better be thanking your damn stars that I don't turn you over my knee and paddle your ass right here and now. You're pissed off at me? You just took two risky shots that could've killed either one of us. You have an unpredictable power coursing through your veins right now that makes you shaky at the best of times and nearly epileptic at the worst. Honestly, I am flat out terrified of the fact that you're still currently holding a loaded weapon. You want to defend yourself? Ask Bobby to teach you to fist fight once you heal up and he gets you all straightened out. Until then, tough shit, but you've got two Winchesters in your back pocket to protect you. For the safety of everyone involved, we do not need you carrying loaded weapons."

I chewed on the inside of my lip, so furious I could hardly see straight.

"Pass it over, buttercup," he whispered, leaning in against my ear and sending tingles straight down my spine. His grip shifted to my ribs and I tensed, heart still pumping with adrenaline. "Son of a bitch," he muttered, suddenly pulling back from me. "What's all this?" He held his hand up, blood dripping off his fingers.

I glanced down in surprise and instantly wanted to swear profusely. Ignoring them both, I pulled away from Dean and started back toward the Impala, tucking my hands around my waist and putting compression on my torn stitches without a word.

"Alex," Dean drew my name out in a warning tone as he kept pace with me.

"I'm tired of arguing with you. Let's just get back on the road."

"If you busted those stitches so help me …" He threatened, jaw tightening.

I focused my gaze on the Impala, admiring how the sunlight reflected off the chrome finish. "I'm fine, Dean."

He swore profusely before threading his fingers through my belt loops and jerking me to a halt. I made a desperate grab for the gun but he easily disarmed me as the gun slid straight through my blood slick grasp. He efficiently tucked it in his lower-back holster. "Hold still for just a damn minute." He grabbed my hands and inspected them before his gaze traveled to the seepage on the left side of my shirt. It had already soaked through the under shirt and was beginning to come through the button up. His forehead furrowed and concern tightened his mouth. "You can't manage to stay put together for two minutes, can you? Sammy, grab the kit out of the trunk. She blew threw her stitches."

Sam strode to the car, throwing me a concerned look on the way.

"What was I supposed to do?" I gritted out. "Surrender? Wait for you to rescue me again? Sorry, not my style."

"Quit being tough. That's got to hurt like a bitch."

I avoiding his gaze, watching Sam as he opened the trunk to reveal a full arsenal and a few small duffels. I mentally noted where the larger weapons were for the next time I ran into trouble.

"You do realize that if they had been demons that those bullets wouldn't have done a damn thing, right?" His tone was hard.

"Well excuse me for not waiting to see if they smoke their way into the only un-tattooed vessel around."

He grunted.

"You can be awfully big dick sometimes, you know that?" I snapped, pulling against his grasp.

A grin suddenly flashed across his face, deep dimples appearing under his cheekbones and his eyes twinkled. "So I've been told."

I snorted.

Sam slammed the trunk closed, a small pillowcase of odd shaped items in his hand. "Are you okay, Alex? Besides the ribs, I mean?"

His concern touched me, a direct contrast to his ass of a brother. "I'm fine, Sam."

Dean grunted. "You always say that."

"It's always true."

"You," he raised his eyebrows to drive home his next statement, "need a keeper. Your guardian angel must hate you."

A laugh burst out of me, the thought of having a guardian angel catching me off guard. "You said you know an angel, right? Castiel? You can ask him just how many feathers my 'guardian' has lost over the past four months due to high anxiety."

A shadow passed over his face. "I'll do that next time I see him."

Sam shifted on his feet. "Where has he been, anyway? I've prayed a half dozen times already today and nothing. Do you know what's up?"

Dean rummaged in the pillowcase for a long moment before pulling out a pair of pointy scissors and fresh gauze, his jaw firming. "All I know is that it better be pretty important. For the amount of prayers Cas is ignoring, he better be busy saving the whole freakin' world." He tilted his chin at me as he dumped alcohol on his hands. "Let's see how badly you've wrecked my handiwork."

I grimaced and let out a harsh sigh. I shrugged out of the button up and gingerly rolled up the t-shirt to find my left side completely shredded.

He swore and flicked a hard gaze at me. "Alex—"

I held up a hand. "Don't lecture me. I've been through a hell of a lot worse than busted stitches. Are you fixing them or am I?"

Sam wordlessly passed Dean a towel, his soft hazel gaze full of the words he was holding back. Dean began muttering obscenities on the other side of me, mopping up the blood dripping down my ribs and efficiently snipping through the small handful of stitches that had remained intact. A frustrated burst of air escaped him. "I need to lay you down somewhere so I can fix this mess. Sam, open up the back seat so I can help her to the Impala."

"I don't need hel—"

Dean swept me up before I could register his arms around me. I struggled for a moment but he just held me tighter, one arm around my back and one beneath my knees, snugged against his chest. "Settle down. Let me pretend for one damn minute that I can make everything ok, all right? Just settle down for two full seconds," his growl rasped in my ear and I froze, unsure what to make of his request. He took advantage of my stillness and his long legged stride ate up the distance to the car.

He settled me in the back seat of the Impala and managed to position me on my side before I could blink. "Stay just like that, Alex. Don't move and I'll do my best to put you back together. Let's shoot for keeping these stitches in for at least twelve hours, yeah?"

I stiffened as he started sewing, the uncomfortable position pressing my face against the back of the car seat and nothing else to distract me from the pinch and tug of his aggravated movements. I was glad I shot the bastards that made me blow my stitches. This sucked ass, way worse than the first time. I counted twenty-five stitches before he tied off the thread. Icy pain flashed through my side as Dean poured disinfectant over the fresh stitches and I locked my jaw against the backwash of agony that chased it.

"There. All finished." He patted my ribs dry and quickly covered them in gauze and taped me up, his tone clipped. "Stay there and sleep if you can. We need to get back on the road." He helped me shift farther onto the seat and get my legs inside the vehicle. He hesitated at my feet, green eyes swirling with something and I held his gaze for a long moment, unsure how to read his expression.

The door opened at my head and Sam poked his head in and silently passed me a bottle of water and some Tylenol.

"Thank you, Sam," I murmured roughly, stretching awkwardly to take it from him. Dean made a noise behind me and briskly slammed the car door shut before his heavy tread made its way to the driver's side.

Sam's anxious gaze searched me. "You okay? No more surprises?" I shook my head, taking a sip of water and downing several pills. Sam idly ran his hand over the door frame. "I'm sorry… about earlier. I shouldn't have pushed you about Grady. You never should've been out there."

I sighed. "It wasn't your fault, Sam. There was no way you could've known they were waiting in that cornfield."

"Maybe." He ran a hand through his long hair, brushing it out of his eyes. "But I'm still sorry."

The strain around his eyes made me want to ease his anxiety. Tentatively I reached out and touched his hand, drawing his eyes to mine. He froze, uncertainty holding him in place. I laced our fingers together comfortingly before losing my nerve and withdrawing. "Thank you. Apology accepted. But know I don't blame you."

"Sammy, get in the damn car." Dean barked, turning to lean over the back of the seat. His green eyes flashed. "The two of you can whisper secrets all you please but you," he waved a finger at me, warning strong in his flashing eyes, "had better keep still so those stitches have a chance to set before you go busting through them again. Next time I'll make Sammy stitch you up and it will look like a third grader in Home Ec. Class took a plastic needle and yarn to you. Now get in and pipe down, both of you. We've got a long way to go."