Disclaimer: See chapter one.

14. Frenzied State of Mind

Nobody says you must laugh, but a sense of humour can help you overlook the unattractive, tolerate the unpleasant, cope with the unexpected, and smile through the day.

-- Ann Landers

I could feel the anger burning through her, like a heated brand against my skin. She was sitting diagonal to me across the table, and the buried fury that clenched her muscles so tightly that she was rigid wafted over to me as though it were an actual scent – I could smell the wrath coming off of her in waves; it smelt like the sharp tang of burnt metal, a strike like a blacksmith's blow to the palate.

The boys didn't even realise.

They were the cause of it of course, something you'd think they'd understand after the two weeks the four of us have spent together. Dean's constant snarky comments, Sam's unvarying implications of cowardice, and both of their combined, continuous stream of harping on about how she'd left me. I swear, occasionally I think they feel stronger about it than I myself do. Stupid dickheads probably can't even see that she's fed up with them now. I know if it had been me…they'd have been dead and buried last week.

As it was her...well, I just knew she was going to snap. The fact that she hadn't already was quite remarkable. I know it's only been two weeks, but the harassment is constant. Now it looks like the tiniest thing might set her off.

It might be at them – it might be at me – it might be at an innocent bystander – who knew?

I sat quietly, studying her over the bent and misshapen, slightly sticky diner menu. She was staring at her cutlery with a kind of ferocity you'd expect to see on that of a psychotic choosing their weaponry – and nervousness swept through me. She wasn't actually going to stab someone was she? Not that she could with a butter knife…but she could take an eye out if she so wished, with that fork.

Stay quiet, I warned myself. Quiet as a mouse…you don't want her unleashing that outburst on you, now do you? So do nothing, and I mean nothing, to rouse her.

I tried sending the boys telepathic messages to follow my example – and so far, they seemed to be receiving them with ease. It was something I usually did, but never with much success, or expectation of it working. I had no powers of my own, neither did Dean, or Sam. Only Sharika did, and boy was that fun explaining. Well…it would have been…had we done so yet. We hadn't. It's kind of a hard thing to tell hunters. Speaking of…the Winchesters were sitting in silence for once also – without it being of the tense, strained variety; Dean probably feeling smug over that last comment he'd made to get her to this state, and Sam probably just tired and hungry, or over-thinking something again. He did so much of that, I wondered how he ever got anything done.

So, all in all, everything was going as smooth as crunchy peanut butter. We were all sitting quietly, waiting for a waitress to come and take our orders, and we were all in silence. I should really be used to it by now – but even if I ever did get used to it, I'd still hate it.

There were still silences with me and Sharika – every time we were alone, really. I never knew what to say to her – what I could say to her. And then were the disappointments I'd suffered from crushed potential on what I'd thought, vaguely of, when introducing this plan to everyone at the start. I had thought at least Sammy and Sharika would get along, or maybe, on an offbeat chance, Dean and Sharika since they were so similar. I don't think I could have been more wrong in my assumptions – but then, my thoughts had been pretty clouded by optimism, and confused by each new turn of events. If only they'd all get over themselves. Stupid idiots and them being mad at her for god knows what reason, and stupid her for just – for just being her.

Why can't the three most important people in my life right now just get along? Would it really be all that hard for everyone to get over themselves, and stop getting on each others nerves and attacking each other like rabid dogs? I mean, why were they really so mad? Sure, protecting me was an issue, like John had told them to – but from my own emotions? It was going a little overboard, and if I could accept and try to forgive Sharika, what the hell was their problem? And her – she was starting to – starting to?! – piss me off with her silent, though obviously infuriated, reception of everything they threw at her. The old Sharika was never so whipped.

Why can't they just make nice, at least for me? Sharika must be tolerating what the boys were doing for me – at least, that was the most rational reason, right? Maybe it's just my own wishes making me think that… And what the hell was going on with her and John, in any case?!

OH MY GOD!! They're having an affair!!

I giggled silently to myself behind the menu. Not even a miniscule possibility, that one. Sharika wasn't the type to screw around until she got married – it tied her back to her family and culture, made her feel closer to them to follow Bengali traditions, like no fucking around. And John – John would always be hung up over his wife. She was his obsession.

This all lead me back to the boys and them being their unusually testosterone-y, dickhead selves. Sure, Dean and I got on each others nerves, and Sam and I paid each other out until we bled, but they were never this persistent in their nastiness.

I was thinking all wisely – though not exactly rationally (it's me) – about this, when she came over.

By now I was definitely used to chicks coming over and thrusting their boobs in Dean's face – LIES, ALL LIES I WISH THEY'D GO SUFFOCATE THEMSELVES IN THEIR OWN CLEAVAGE – but Sharika was not accustomed to getting it shoved in her face also. This chick's rack was either so big that it was disproportional to the rest of her body and wider than she was tall – enhanced stick bug – or that's how narrow the table was, because she was thrusting it in Dean's face, but it still managed to get in Sharika's way, as she was sitting opposite him. I'm betting on a combination of both elements.

Well, I would be, but right now it's probably safer to hide under the table.

Avoid the wrath in all its wrath-y-ness.

"What can I do you for?" the woman practically purred, and I felt a bubble of laughter rise in my throat, surfing on a tide of upchuck. Could she be any more like the other billion waitresses we come into contact with?

I saw Sharika's grip tighten around her fork and felt my own body pull taut – I could practically see her wanting to deflate the woman's bust by popping it with the sharp fork – and then I breathed a silent sigh of relief as she let it go. It meant she wasn't going to attack anyone physically at least. Normally she's not one up for physical attacks, but who knows what happened to her in that one year? And anyways, some of my own insanity and repressed violent tendencies had to have rubbed off on her when we were best friends.

Sammy ordered his truckers meal, with tomatoes and wholemeal toast, coffee, white, and I choked back my laughter as she seemed to get the pad and pen to write it on from out of her bust. Then I realised it had come out of the swallowed up pocket of her apron, and coughed loudly, covering my lower face up with my hands. It wasn't any less funny, as it seemed to be designed to get men to stare at her appendages. If only I had that kind of 'look at me, look at me' courage. Then maybe Dean would –

"I'll have a coffee – black – and a blueberry muffin, thanks," I said, and tried to avoid the woman's eye, in case I started 'coughing' again. Think about something else…coffee…mmm…black as night, sweet as love and hot as hell – exactly as coffee should be.

She turned to take Shar's order next, leaving Dean for last so she could mindlessly and shamelessly flirt with him as long as she wanted, and that's when the woman pretty much hit Sharika in the face with her left breast. Immediately all thoughts of laughing were gone – for right now anyway, I mean, I'd look back later – but now –

Sharika jerked backwards, obviously trying to avoid getting stabbed in the eye by a nipple – and I tore my gaze away from this hilariously dangerous sight to observe the Winchesters' reactions. Sam was, of course, greatly amused, and the smile twitching at the corner of his mouth was usually reserved for when Dean got himself in shit. Dean's reaction was a smile fighting to break free too – although I could tell how envious he was. Him and his breast fetish. Asshole – I mean, seriously, at least go for the passably natural lookingones.

Sharika looked up from dodging cleavage to stare Dean straight in the eye. As soon as she opened her mouth, I knew there was going to be trouble. "Hey, Dean, look, this woman has surgically enhanced features practically falling out of that top she's wearing. See them Dean? Can you?" Sharika asked, in a loud, cheerful voice, her eyes blazing with the rage she's contained for the past two weeks as she ignores the woman who'd just frozen with her 'enhanced-features' pressed into Dean's face.

He spluttered a little; I guess he really didn't know what to say. In his situation, I wouldn't either. He wants the breasts, he likes the breasts. What male wouldn't? Half the guys here were staring down her top whilst she was taking their orders anyway, instead of looking her in the eye. She didn't seem to mind much, she actually seemed to enjoy the attention. Then again, it must have been the reaction she was aiming for when she chose to wear that top. Ugh, skank… But Dean can't be so very obvious as to admit that he likes the breasts, it's not his style. I hid my smirk, pulling the menu up again, until only my eyes and the top of my head were visible.

I couldn't wait to see how he reacted to this.

"Uh, how could I not see them?" Dean quickly recovered, trying to be suave, and giving the woman – ah, that's her name, Sally – an apologetic look and his most blinding smile.

Sharika smiles at him – a tight smile that I recognised in myself, when I was trying to bury my anger in sarcasm, and then turns back to Sally. "Okay, he's accepted the fact that they are huge, so have I, and I can safely assume everyone else at this table has too." I nodded obligingly when she looked at me, and Sam just shrugged, nodding too. When she looked back up at Sally, Sam and I shared a look, layered with all our laughter and delight in this situation, partaking in a common emotion on the basis of Sharika for once. "And now we've all moved on, I suggest you do the same. Goodbye now."

When she'd gone I laughed and laughed and laughed. "Did you see the look on her face?" I choked out, and then, "I don't think we'll be getting our food now…" More laughing.

Sammy was struggling not to do the same – like me he'd had to put up with women throwing themselves at Dean like this in similar fashions; and for years longer than me. I can't imagine how many times he's wanted to do something like Sharika has; I for one have lost count over the three and a half months.

Dean tried to berate her of course, being all high and mighty and stick up the ass. She just narrowed her eyes at him, a perfect scorn forming on her face almost automatically as she said – "I'm sorry, it seems like I am misplacing my anger on the first person who bothers me, no matter how unrelated to the initial matter she is, while I ignore the bigger issues I have. Do you know anyone who does that Dean?"

At this, I just laughed some more, secretly agreeing with her unspoken allegations. The boys shut up after that.

AN: The next chapter is quite, quite angsty, and, if I say so myself, very good. Can't wait to update, so it may be one of my early ones. Depends on how eager you guys are for it. Lol. BECAUSE THE TRUTH COMES OUT. XD As always, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. It was one of my more fun ones to write. Okie dokie pokie. Peace.