So I hope the last chapter was a little better. After this chapter, things should be starting in a different direction for our newbie hunter. I don't know.

Chapter 10: Roadkill Part 2

~Last Time~

I pulled into the lot, parking in front of the house. I walked in, and tumbled to the couch. Bobby hurried over, and I tugged at my shirt, revealing the wound to him. I heard a low whistle, and he rushed off. I glanced at my side, and saw the black marring my pale skin, and telling of internal bleeding.

~Now~

I stared at my side, panicked. At first, I couldn't think, my breath held, wondering what I'd done wrong. Bobby came back with a big box full of medical supplies. I felt dizzy, and I knew I'd lost a lot of blood, even though it hadn't left my body per say. I met Bobby's eyes. "We're going to have to cauterize the wound," he said slowly. It took me a minute to understand what he was saying. He was going to put a very very hot knife into my side. I nodded to him, unable to form words. "If this doesn't help, I have to take you to the hospital." I shook my head at him. It was the last thing I wanted.

"Paring knife," I told him. "That's what stabbed me. Funny story, gonna have to tell you some other time. I'll probably pass out at some point." I muttered. Bobby went into the kitchen, and came back with a knife a little bigger than the one I'd been stabbed with. He was going to make the wound bigger, cauterize more. To make sure he got it all. In his other hand, was a thick fluffy towel. He handed it to me, and set to removing my sloppy stitches. I took the time to look at the knife. It was more of a dagger, considering it was bladed on both sides. My nerves began to get the better of me, as I anticipated the pain. From seemingly nowhere, Bobby pulled a large bottle of whiskey. I hate whiskey. But circumstances provided, I grabbed the bottle and drank deeply. Hoping to get drunk quickly, I took another long drag, and coughed out the burn in my throat. I put the bottle on the floor, and about a minute later, I felt the lightness to my mind, that indicated a buzz. I hadn't noticed, but the dagger was now cherry red over the flame that Bobby still held to it. "You're... gonna have to sit on me," I warned him. He shook his head at me, and stood. He put his knee over my ribs, his weight holding me down. I pushed the towel into my mouth, and looked away as he leaned over.

I'd hoped the little bit of alcohol would numb at least some of the pain. I'm not sure if it did or didn't. All I know, is first, I smelled my skin burning. My brain hadn't been ready to process the pain, and that's what I noticed. A sick smell, somewhere between charcoal and metal assaulted my nose. Then I felt the pain. It was worse than anything I'd ever felt. A thousand times worse than the time I'd accidentally dumped a pan of boiling water on my foot. Because it was inside of me. I heard myself screaming around the towel, and I knew I had to stop. All of this had happened in seconds. I turned my head to look at the dagger in my side, horrified to realize that he wasn't done. In sick fascination, I watched him push the dagger in further, and I couldn't process any more. Black took over my vision, and I slipped away into oblivion, tense muscle slumping.

I had no idea how long it had been when I finally woke up. My side still felt like it was on fire, and all of my muscles were sore from straining to get away from the pain. Whatever buzz I'd had from the alcohol was long gone, and I felt everything intensely. I looked down, and noticed there was something squeezing the ankle I'd hurt. From the way my foot looked, I could only assume it had swollen at some point. I hadn't noticed it before, but it hurt too. I picked up the bottle beside the couch and numbly noted there was blood down the front of the couch. It would have to be replaced.

I drank from the bottle again, pulling myself up on the couch in the process. Bobby came from the kitchen, and helped prop me up with some couch pillows. He went back into the kitchen and came back with a bowl of chicken noodle soup. Not the chunky with the vegetables, but the kind that was easy to swallow when you were sick. It made me smile. He set it on a tray, and put the tray across my lap. "Sam and Dean are on their way here," he said, sitting on a kitchen chair right beside me, instead of one of the chairs further away. "They called you last night. Told me you were hunting a Rawhead and made a joke about accidentally standing in water when ya ganked it. And when you never called them yesterday evening, Sam got worried. When you still didn't call last night, he called, I answered." It had been early morning when I'd pulled into Bobby's lot. He must have seen the question in my eyes. "It's been about 23 hours since you came in." He stood and walked away from me and I could swear I heard something that sounded a lot like 'idgit'. I decided to focus on my soup.

I passed the time by skimming through the lore books on the coffee table. I wasn't surprised when I looked up to stretch my neck, and found it to be dark out. I heard the sounds of tires on gravel. Bobby had left early to pick up some food to make and I'd assumed it was him. I heard the door open and close and footsteps, and I was greeted by the sight of Dean Winchester. I could see Sam behind him, and they came into the den. I waved a little, nervous about the look on Dean's face. "You're done hunting," he told me. I could hear the barely masked anger in his voice.

"Well yea, for the next 2-4 weeks," I replied sarcastically. The look on his face darkened. "Don't angry Winchester me. I'm an adult. I'm not your sister, and you have no right to tell me what I can and cannot do. I'm a hunter. Hunters get hurt. Hunters die. I'm alive, and yes, I had a mishap. That doesn't mean I hang up my shotgun and call it done. There are more monsters than hunters. Every hunter counts. Especially since we die young. I'm not done yet." I told him. He'd kept opening his mouth to interrupt me. Each time I'd raised my voice to cover his protests, and lowered my voice when he closed his mouth. It hurt my side to yell.

"You're not a hunter!" he finally yelled at me. I flinched. "You don't know what you're doing, you've gotten hurt on at least half your hunts. Every time you talk to me about a case, you end up hurt. You don't have the training you need to do what we do. You're better off here, doing what Bobby does! At least then you are still helping people!" Somewhere along way, his angry yelling had become pleading yelling. And at some point during his mini rant, Bobby had come home, and was leaning against the doorway into the den.

"I'm not going to just sit here. I DO have the capability to do this. Wonderful to know you believe in me by the way. I'm going to keep going out there whether you want me to or not. But at least I can promise that when I get hurt, I take the time to fully recover before I go back out there. What about you? Can you say the same?" I worked to keep my voice down. To keep the venom out of it. But my eyes glared daggers into his. He opened his mouth to yell at me some more, but Sam grabbed his arm. He seemed to deflate, even if it was temporary. He turned, and flopped down onto the couch, mindful of my feet. He snagged the book from my hands, glared at the contents, and tossed it across the room.

"If you idgits are done bickering, one of you two can make yourself useful and make dinner," he said, looking between Sam and Dean. He held out the grocery bags, which Sam reluctantly took heading into the kitchen. In Bobby's other hand, I noticed a brown bag. He handed it to me. I opened it and found vodka. I smiled contentedly. I'd eliminated the whiskey and I must have told him I preferred vodka at some point. I cracked the cap, took a shot's worth of a drink, closed it and put the bottle withing reach. After a bit of glaring at each other, Bobby finally grabbed Dean's attention from me. The two of them went outside, and I was alone in the den again. I reached for the coffee table, and nearly fell off the couch grabbing another book.

Dinner was eaten in the den, and there was no TV to watch. When Dean and Bobby had come in, they were covered in oil so I assumed they'd been working on a car. They'd washed up and brought chairs in to sit with me. After they ate, and the dishes were moved to the sink, they all came back to sit with me. Sam sat at my feet this time and, wonderful guy that he was, started massaging my feet. I smiled at him with gratitude. I saw Dean's eyes snap to Sam's actions, and then look away. "So, ya gonna tell me how ya ended up with a knife in your side?" Bobby finally asked me. I looked around the room, three pairs of eyes on me. I really didn't want to tell Dean. I swallowed.

"I got one of the kids out, but they'd separated. When I went back for the other two, like Dean said, that's when the Rawhead decided to attack. It threw me around a bit. Including into a box of kitchen stuff. I went to zap his ass, and he picked me up and slammed me back down onto the box. Knife went through the box and into me. Not much of a story," I said quickly. I looked around. Disbelief colored all of their faces.

"You're probably the only hunter who's been stabbed by having bad luck. Out of all of the places to get slammed, you landed on the box that hurts you," Sam jokes, putting my feet down.

"Which is exactly why she needs to hang up hunting," Dean growls. He seemed to drop the subject after that. Bobby checked the time, and decided to head to bed. He brought pillows and blankets from the closet for me, and Sam stood up so I could lay down. I asked them about their hunt, and they told me about the ghosts they had dealt with. Maybe an hour later, Sam went to bed too. My eyes were drifting, but Dean was still there and looking like he wanted to say something. I didn't want to fight with him anymore, but the steady buzz I'd kept throughout the day had cut my filter.

"What?" I asked him. He seemed to snap out of his thoughts. Rather than speaking, he came over to my side and grabbed my shoulders, lifting my tired body into a sitting position. He sat down behind me, pulling at the hem of my shirt. I protested, giving a quiet "What are you doing?!" He gave me a look that clearly told me I was being stupid. He had the shirt pulled up enough that he could see the dark bruising on my side, as well as the sewn up skin. The skin beneath the stitches was burned and angry, sharply smarting when his fingers brushed along the line. I flinched away from his hand. Without really looking for it, I reached down and felt for my bottle of vodka. Almost as soon as my fingers reached it, Dean's hand pushed it away.

"I think you're done for the night," he told me. I felt the warmth of his hand as his fingers pulled my shirt back down. I'd expected him to move. But he didn't, so I leaned back against him.

"I'm sorry I keep getting hurt," I told him. "Can't be easy seeing friends hurt." I was quiet, and I wasn't sure he'd really heard me. But his arm came up over my head and settled at my waist. I shifted so that I was more comfortable against his shoulder.

"I just don't want anyone else I know to die," he muttered. I could understand what he meant. I knew that after tonight he was going to continue to have an issue with me hunting.

"Then help me get better," I whispered, I turned my head so our eyes could meet. His face had shut down. "I'm not going to stop. I'll... stay here more often and work on the research end some, but nothing you say will keep me away from hunting. So teach me to be better. That way you don't have to worry so much when I'm gone." Instead of replying, he stood up, and I flopped back down onto the couch. I covered myself with a blanket, kicking it down to cover my toes. Dean left the room, flipping the light switch and plunging me into darkness. I fell asleep quickly.

The next morning, I forced myself awake at dawn. Half asleep, I dragged myself up the stairs and into the bathroom. I stripped, and waited for the spray of water to be warm. I got in, closing the curtain and sitting down to let the spray run over me. After I felt a little more awake, I stood up to actually wash my hair and body. I shut the water off and stood there for a few, letting the water run off and trying to pull together the energy to towel off and change... into the disgusting crusty and slightly bloody clothing I'd been wearing the day before. Had been wearing for two days apparently. I squeezed more water from my hair and stepped out onto the shower rug. I wrapped myself in the towel and looked at the clothing, wondering whether or not I'd be able to make it downstairs, out to my car, and back without running into anyone in just a towel. But before I could even open the door, it swung open.

A bleary eyed Dean stared at me for a moment. I stared back. "Where are your clothes?" he asked me, obviously not fully awake. I indicated the floor. He disappeared from the doorway, and came back seconds later with a pair of boxers and one of his t-shirts. After tossing the clothing at me, he closed the door. Hesitantly I changed. I gathered my dirty clothing and opened the door. Dean's eyes swept over my body in his clothing, and he went into the bathroom, closing the door. I went down the stairs, dropping my soiled clothing in front of the couch and dropping onto it, covering my legs with the blanket.

My stomach growled and since no one else was awake, I got up and went into the kitchen to fix myself some eggs. I ate, and took my plate to the sink, and rinsed it off. I heard footsteps, and turned. Dean was there, wearing jeans and his hair was dripping water. He took the few steps across the kitchen, and I found myself pressed between the sink and his body. His lips were hard and demanding against mine, his hands pressing into my hips. And then he was gone, the backdoor slamming behind him as he exited the house through the kitchen.

So that's it hope you liked it.