Chapter Twenty-five.

Okay, time for a let's be honest moment. I heard Pauly and Vinny saying that, did you? Anyway. I wanted to get this part to you guys because I was super hardcore paranoid about this one part. I worked pretty hard on it, and I wanted it to be perfect. So much so, that the end may or may not stink because I kind of ran out of steam when I got to it. But I was too far gone to give up before it got posted. Now, although not all of the beans have been 0spilled in this chapter, (because there are a LOT more beans to come) you will get some new and hopefully shocking/surprising/pleasing information to tuck away in your Becca binder of knowledge.

Extra love to the reviewers/PMers/adders. You guys totally make me want to post these as fast as possible, and I love seeing a new review/PM/add, so keep them coming!

Thanks to Jenmm31, who I should totally just let rule this story because she helps out so much. She totally helped with my little flashback, and you can all thank her by going over and reading/reviewing/adding her story!

READ. REVIEW. ENJOY. :)

Disclaimer.

Smoke swirled around our bodies as the deep, gold light overhead only lit up the tables below them. Water was slipping down the sides of our glasses and creating rings on the waxed surface of the green felted playing tables while the thick Oklahoma air swarmed in through the doors and windows that all sat open, hoping to somehow allow a breeze to come through. Except, there was no breeze, so all that was happening was more thick, stale, dry air was entering in and creating a funk that I didn't enjoy. I tightened my grip on my pool stick and leaned it, and me, a little more to the right, and against the arm of the guy Dean was playing. The rough fabric of his really worn out, red and black flannel shirt felt like cardboard against my bare arm. I wanted to ask him how he could possibly be wearing that flannel, even if it was unbuttoned and open, showing the white tank underneath it. Flannels are flannel for a reason. Don't you usually wear a flannel to keep yourself warm? Was this guy cold? How could he be cold, it was like we were standing on a volcano – that's how hot it was right now. I nudged him with my elbow as Dean bent forward and sent the cue ball flying against another one of his striped victims. "You really think we can beat him? He seemed to be pretty good, even better than I thought he would be," I whispered up to the man next to me. My ponytail brushed the tops of my shoulders as it swung, that's how much I'd gotten cut off and then had to have fixed after that night at the sorority. I didn't really know that having my hair "fixed" meant that more would be getting cut off. Imagine my surprise.

The deep blue eyes of my pool "partner" were looking down at the top of my head, so he didn't notice the look Dean was giving him as he stepped around the corner of the pool table and came to stand in front of us, and bent over the side, aiming for his next shot. I saw it though, and I always see it, and it always looks the same. Dean looked like I just boosted his ego with my comment, and he had that "I am awesome" glint in his eyes. "The game just started, sweetheart, we still got time," he smiled.

Except the game hadn't just started. It started like, twenty-five minutes ago and was taking forever. Dean was doing great, but so was I, and that was definitely the reason we were prolonging this. Missing his next shot, Dean grabbed his bottle of beer off of a table that was behind us, and brought the mouth of it to his lips. Walking over to where the cue ball now sat, I bent over the table myself, winking up at my brother. "I suppose you're right. Good looks almost never get paired with brains do they?" I asked flannel guy.

"Darlin', you're the exception," he told me as he stepped behind me at the table. "Okay, you ready to try this again?" Dean was sitting on one of the stools at the table, intently watching every move the guy made with me. Super big brother mode. I nodded my head and waited. The arms of the guy were suddenly around me and his one rough hand covered over mine. Our bodies were pressed tightly together, and I allowed myself to lightly back up into him, and then subtly grinded against him. Subtle to everyone except me, flannel guy, and Dean. Dean sees everything when we do this. My bare legs felt this scraping of his jeans as his knee stuck between my two. I looked up and hardly had to turn my head at all as I smiled to meet flannel guy's face.

"Walk me through it one more time, okay?" I purred, pressing my back tight to his chest.

Mission get the dopey grin is a success. He bent us closer to the table and I could feel his breath not only on my neck but also in my ear. "Remember," he whispered as he shifted the stick in my hand and then intertwined our fingers together, "you should use this hand," he squeezed my left hand lightly, "to make a bridge. The bridge will help you keep your stick straight – allowing a smooth, even, stroke." I shuddered at the way he said the words. Dude, this guy totally meant way more than just playing pool right now. Shooting my eyes and meeting Dean's face, I know that Dean couldn't hear what the guy was telling me, but I wanted him to be aware – just in case I needed him to lion leap across the table. It wouldn't have been the first time. I nodded my head slightly, showing flannel guy that I was listening to him, and then my eyes met Dean's once again, silently trying to get him to use his ears a bit more. Flannel guy's voice gained a little more grit and seductiveness when he started speaking, bringing my attention from Dean back to the instructions he thought he was teaching me. "Then you can use this hand, to guide the stick; get it to where you want it to go," he tightened his grip around my hand and the stick. "And you should stand," I felt him scooting his foot against the toes of my shoes, slowly moving my feet back, "so that you are looking straight down the stick's shaft so that you can look the cue ball in the face." I bit my bottom lip, and turned to look at flannel guy, but it was awkward to do because his face was practically touching mine.

"So, like this?" I pulled back on the stick slightly – a small signal that I was ready to take my shot, alone, and his hand left mine, as his whole body stood up and moved away from me. Looking down the shaft, and then slowly looking up to Dean's face, I saw him slightly nod as he sipped on his beer some more. Just as I went to shove the stick forward, I dropped my bridge and the stick shot to the side of the cue ball, sending it to the left and closer to the ball Dean needed. It tapped our solid green one and rolled it so that the number six was no longer showing. Oops? Standing up and throwing my hand on my hip, I turned to face flannel guy with a pout. "I'm really sorry! What did I do wrong?"

He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, while holding his ball cap in it. He shot me a shy grin and then put his cap back on before eyeing my out stretched stick. "You dropped your bridge," he sighed with a smile. Oh, those country boys, they melt my heart just a little bit more than them college guys. Sticking his hands in his front pockets he shrugged. "That's all right though, you can make it up to me by buying the next round."

"Deal," I handed over my stick and sauntered over to the bar while Dean got ready to finish the game off. Leaning against the wooden rail, I hailed over the bartender and told him I needed two cold bottles. I drummed my fingers on the sticky surface, waiting, when I felt a pressure on part of my back, and a hand caressed my side before fingers gripped lightly to my waist, pulling me closer to the person beside me. "Too afraid to watch him win?" I looked up to see flannel guy leaning not only on me, but also on the bar, watching me with very kind and intent eyes. I felt almost bad to be doing this to him. Straightening himself out, he thanked the bartender and dropped a twenty on the top of the bar. "I thought I was paying?" I wrapped my hands around the damp side of the bottle before bringing its lip to my own.

Flannel guy set his bottle on the bar and stood up straight in front of me. We looked over to the table where Dean was just lining up his last striped ball, that I knew he would sink. That shot was too easy for him to miss, and from the nod he'd given me earlier, he wanted this game wrapped up – and then we would have enough to go. We'd played long enough with this opponent, and this would just bring the cash flow to its cap for now. "I really didn't see us recovering," he chuckled turning back to face me as Dean sunk the ball I knew he would, and then re-aligned to hit the eight ball. Neither of us paid any attention to Dean's final shot, but instead focused on each other.

"I did tell you I wasn't very good," I reiterated from earlier in the day. And I did tell him I wasn't good, and he did say that it would be no problem and that he was willing to have me on his team. It's not my fault that Dean played a very convincing "oh no, you are not gonna be on my team" to my "but come on, that's not very nice" and full lip pout. Some people just can't handle a sad, good-looking girl. This guy just happened to be that person. Not my fault.

"Yeah, but you didn't say you were that bad," he laughed, and then I laughed. This was way past the pool game, hustle flirt that I had been a part of a few moments ago.

"Well, I am sorry," I apologized with a large grin while I sipped some more on my beer.

Setting his beer beside me after he drank from it, his face went from joking and having fun to a little more flirty and I could see his focus switching from the game, to me. His fingers were slowly and lightly running their tips down my arm to my elbow, and then somehow shifted to my side. Even through my camisole shirt I could feel the heat of his skin. His words were becoming fuzzy and my face was growing hot – but it wasn't from the comments he was shooting my way. No, it was from the memory that was starting to make itself a little more vivid. The minute his rough finger tips touched the area of skin, just along the edge where my shorts started and my shirt stopped, it was like I was back in that bar from two years ago. The smells around me changed to from smoke and sweat and hot air, to deep fry oil from a behind the bar kitchen that didn't even exist. The beer I'd just swallowed was no longer the taste in my mouth, it had been replaced by bourbon and fear.

…with a hand pull, my back was suddenly pressed against his chest. The calluses on his fingers were so rough as his hand skimmed along the soft skin of my stomach, as they ran underneath the thin fabric of my tank. I tried to push his hand away while his other arm snaked around me and pulled us closer together – if that was even possible.

Cackles of laughter came from his group of friends around us and his tongue traced lightly as it trailed from my jaw bone up my cheek and ended right below my ear. Scratching at his arm seemed to be useless, just like my effort of trying to drop out of his hold and become a puddle on the ground at our feet.

"Let me go, I don't want to do this anymore," I begged with a slurred voice that held all the shakes I was trying to hold inside while his grip just tightened around me.

A soft, sadistic laugh played in my ear and the fingers under my shirt began to move down until one hooked itself between the waist of my denim jeans and my hip bone. Then there was another finger, and then another. Pulling away was the only thing I could think to do, but his hands moved with my body's movements.

"Oh, you're gonna do it. First you're gonna do it with me, then you're gonna do it with Travis, then Otter, and you're just gonna go down the line until you have done it with every single one of them, all the way until you make it back to me. Just like the little whore you are," his words hung in my ear as I moved my eyes around the circle of guys surrounding us. His hand was slowly making its way deeper into my pants and my hands were trying harder to pull him off of me.

I was beginning to panic. All I could think of to do was stab him with silver, shoot him with silver, chop off his head, throw holy water on him; but none of that would work with this monster. All my combat training was absent from my thoughts. That and my being not completely clear headed was not helping. This wasn't just some fight with my brothers like when we practiced - until I felt his foot shift and tap against mine and my heavy pants caught in my throat. Lifting my foot, ready to bring it down on top of his as hard as I could, I heard someone's voice cut in and say, "Yo, watch her leg." My body was brought into the air, and left to hover there. Swinging my head forward, I tried to fling it back, only to stumble when my whole body spun and I was slammed into the chest of another guy.

My arms were pinned down, the fingers pinching my skin between them, and then Darrel was in my face, my chin in his grip as he squeezed. His eyes were like fire – and not the good kind, I've never seen that anger before, or that sneer. I instantly lost any hope of getting out of this. His sneer turned into a wicked smile, and my eyes were beginning to water not only from the vice grip he had on my face, but also because now I felt like I couldn't get loose. Not with him in front of me, and this guy behind me, pinning my arms back and making it impossible for me to move. "Hey, go clear the bar. We'll do this here," he ordered to someone on his left before he faced me again. "Don't worry, baby, I'll make sure to last extra long."

"No, please, I'm sorry. I, I can pay you, just let me go. I don't want to do this," I cried as his opposite hand slowly traced the back of their knuckles down my cheek.

His lips parted and I could see his white teeth gleaming towards me. "Look at you, of course you want this. With those tight, low rise jeans that look almost painted on. Mmm, and that thin, black tank that dips down low to show those big, supple breasts. You're practically asking for it," His fingers that had been on my cheek were now running over my chest and I felt goose bumps and waves of terror roll through me as the guy holding me back pulled on my arms – shoving my chest forward against my will. Darrel's lips were suddenly smacking against mine and I could taste the alcohol he'd been drinking as he deepened the kiss. I tried to pull my head back, but it wasn't working. I couldn't break free.

His lips disappeared and so did his grasp on my face. I was panting, crying, and choking against the spit his tongue had left when I saw him turn and heard a loud crack before he flew back into me and then fell to the ground in a heap. The man holding onto me stumbled back into a wall, still keeping me in his grasp, and I looked up to see the back of a leather jacket and an elbow that was rapidly moving up and down in the air as a fist continued to connect with Darrel's face. The leathered body sprang off Darrel's now bloody and limp mess, and there was a click as the lights of the bar reflected off of the silver barrel of a gun. There were shoves and yells as feet pounded against the hard floor of the bar, leaving probably no more than a total of five left standing there.

"Anybody else wanna make this last extra long, 'cause I gotta tell ya, I have plenty of rage to go around," I heard a gruff voice bark out loud enough that it filled the entire place and I felt myself shake and avoid eyes that weren't even directed at me.

"Hey, man, this doesn't concern you, just drop the gun and we can work past this. Hell, we can even let you get a go at her. You wanna go first?" I felt the chest of the man rumble as he spoke behind me.

The barrel of the gun was suddenly pointing in my direction and there were eyes ablaze with hate right behind that. A smile didn't show up as his head tipped lightly and the sarcastic happy scoff came from deep within his throat. "Oh, I'm gonna be the one to go first, now let her go," he ordered. No one moved, but I felt the fingers around my arms loosen and re-grip to continue to pinch my skin. "You've got to the count of one before I pull this trigger and send this bullet straight into that sick and twisted mind, you son of a bitch."

It was like my body was suddenly more important than before. People were shifting around us, not sure whether or not to move, and I could feel their eyes boring into my skin as they stared, trying to figure out what to do next. "You'll hit her before you even get close to me," the voice behind me said with certainty as I felt my body suddenly and slowly moving as though it was being centered in front of the gun.

Dean closed the difference between us in two large steps and his gun was tipping my head to the side as its barrel dug into the face of the man behind me. "Even if I stood fifty yards back, this bullet is still going to enter your fugly-ass face in this same God damn spot."

"Your bluffing," my human vice chanced.

"Try me." It was like the minutes slowly ticked by and turned into hours before I was finally pushed forward and into Dean's chest where he didn't even flinch. His gun was still raised and pressed against the cheek of the guy. "Becca, get in the car," he ordered. I shoved past the blockade of guys, slipping on spilled beer and bumping into tables as my tears blurred my vision. Speeding my way to the door as fast as I could, I flew down the steps and to the car that sat in the far side of the parking lot, just on the outside of the circle of light from street lamp...

"No," I shook my head and pushed flannel guy's hand off my side. "No, I'm sorry," I breathed.

He looked completely shocked by my sudden movement and pushing away of his flirty gesture. "What did –"

"It's not, I just," I couldn't focus. I breathed deeply and tried to gain composure. "Look, you're really nice, it's just, I can't do this. I'm sorry. It's not you."

"But I thought –" flannel guy seriously didn't get was going on. I continued to shake my head while pursing my lips.

I felt ashamed as I broke off his advances. He really had been a nice, sweet, innocent – well maybe not innocent – but definitely decent guy. It was my own problems screwing this up right now. Dean was walking over, pocketing the cash into his jeans as he did so. His brows were raised, assessing the situation. "Hey man, good game," he shook hands with flannel guy before grabbing my beer off the bar and tipping it towards me as if to ask permission. I nodded my head to him, not even really comprehending what happened. I felt naked, and I suddenly felt exactly like the kind of person Sam been telling me I was. Dean followed through with typical "the hustle is over and you're my little sister again" fashion. His leather jacket was quickly shrugged off of him and then wrapped over my shoulders, swallowing me up beneath it. Man this thing is heavy, but I felt like there was a protective shield around me. Sticking my arms in the sleeves, I noticed my fingertips just reached the opening at the end. I was sure I looked like a child in this.

We normally played nice with the guys who didn't try to get in my pants and were actual human beings. Dean usually finished my beer, bought them a beer with the card, and then slapped a ten in their hands for the trouble. He once told me that it was the least he could do for making me break so many hearts. I laughed in his face when he told me that, and he chuckled right along beside me, but at the time, it made me feel better. Flannel guy was talking to Dean and they seemed pretty into it as I absentmindedly leaned an elbow onto the bar and then played with some loose hair that framed my face. "You're practically asking for it…" was all I could hear in my head. Was I practically asking for it? I had more clothes on then than I did now, and here flannel guy didn't seem to be thinking that I was "practically asking for it". Was Darrel just some sort of asshole? Well, yeah, he was definitely a total skeez. I felt like I was suffocating and instantly needed to get out of the bar. I heard flannel guy's voice but I didn't even notice I'd cut him off until I grabbed Dean's arm as it brought the beer to his lips before finishing it. "Can we just go now?" I asked quietly.

Dean's eyes questioned me before shrugging it off and setting the bottle on the bar. Pulling out a ten dollar bill he slapped it into flannel guy's hand, praised his game, and then they shook hands once more.

Following my lead to the door, he watched me cautiously before we entered the area lit by bright lights just on the otherside of the bar's wall and then rounded the corner of the bar, seeing Sam leaning against the Impala, a newspaper in his hands. I was still lost in my own thoughts when we stepped out off of the stairs and stopped in front of Sam who Dean was waving our winnings at.

"You know, we could get day jobs once in a while," Sam sighed as Dean re-pocketed the cash.

I rolled my eyes, trying to leave all my uncertainties back at the bar. "That would never work," I responded.

Sam tucked the paper under his arm. "We could make it work."

"How? Get a new one every two weeks? Have our tax forms mailed to some random P.O. box? Sam, come on, we could never just get a job."

"Besides, hunting's our day job. And the pay is crap," Dean argued. He had a point. And even though it completely sucked, hunting is what I knew. I would probably get antsy if I couldn't leave some town in my dust. It's easier to shove down problems if you pretend they sit in that one town and then you avoid that town like the plague. "You're practically asking for it…"

Sam was growing irritated, and it showed through his tone. "Yeah, but hustling pool? Credit card scams? It's not the most honest thing in the world, Dean."

"Well, let's see, honest," Dean held out one hand into the air. "Fun and easy," Dean held out his other hand and acted like he was a giant scale and weighed the options. Surprise, surprise. Fun and easy won. "It's no contest. Besides, we're good at it. It's what we were raised to do."

"Yeah, well, how we were raised was jacked." And there's the attitude I'd missed from the last case. Yep, Sam was in full blown pissed attitude, and his lasers were set to stun and focused on me.

I suddenly felt uncomfortable under his gaze and began to tug on the legs of my shorts, really wishing they were full length pants. This skin tight cami wasn't helping me either. "Yeah, says you," Dean bit back.

"I mean it Dean! Look," he gestured to me with a hand, "you got your sister in there helping you, using her body to get you money. Just like some sort of stripper or something."

Dean's body went rigid and he held out a hand as the command came from his mouth. "That's enough, Sam."

Sam's tone seemed to have a laugh behind it as he continued his conquest of attacking the girl of the group. "No, really, look at her. Her shorts are shorter than Daisy Duke's and her shirt is so tight that it –" Sam was quickly cut off as Dean stepped up and had Sam's shirt in his hold and his tall frame pinned between Dean's chest and the metal of the car.

I froze. I did not see any of this coming. I mean, yeah, comments from Sam had been a constant lately, but I was just waiting for that final word to come out before I went for the jugulars. Except this time, I wasn't the one who was ready to kill him.

"I mean it, Sammy," Dean's voice was menacing. "Watch what you say about her," he seethed.

Dean had let go of Sam and stepped back beside me, his shoulder blocking me from directly being able to reach forward and touch my twin. "Oh, so now all of a sudden you're going to defend her? You're seriously going to tell me that her acting like this doesn't bother you?"

"Yeah, Sam, I am! She hasn't done anything wrong, and you need to quit acting like she's some sort of street walker –"

"Dean –"

"She's my sister, too, and I'm telling you to lay off. You call her a whore one more time, and I'm not gonna be the one holding her back because you're gonna have to answer to me. I'm done listening to this. Show her some respect, or stop talking," Dean cut right back in. There was silence as Sam glared at Dean, and Dean stared back at Sam with that look that told us all he wasn't kidding, he wasn't budging, and this was what was going to happen whether we wanted it to or not. Sam's jaw tightened and I couldn't blink. What the hell just happened? Did that night in the graveyard flip some switch I didn't know was there? Hot damn, I think I just got a big brother back. "We got a new gig or what?" Dean broke the silence while at the same time drawing all of the tension to a sudden dull ebb.

Sam eyed me and then Dean with a hard stare before slapping the paper with his hand. "Maybe," he bit. "Oasis Plains, Oklahoma – not far from here. A gas company employee, Dustin Burwash, supposedly died from Creutzfeldt-Jakob."

"Huh?" Dean didn't understand but I did. That's right. Now that Sam was back, I'd felt way more dumb than before. I felt like I didn't know what the heck he was talking about half the time, and I wanted to prove I was smart, too.

I stepped forward, finally joining the conversation. "It's human mad cow disease," I informed them both, catching their quick stares. Bam, guess I am smarter now.

"Mad cow… Wasn't that on Oprah?" Dean asked me.

Yes, yes it had been on Oprah. Yes, yes I knew Dean watched Oprah. Yes, yes Dean knew I knew he watched Oprah. No, no we never ever talked about it. "You watch Oprah?" Sam's brows shot up as he looked to Dean.

I shook my head while Dean struggled to find some sort of way to defend himself. "No, I saw it. I'm a sucker for the show. Love me some free prizes," I chuckled slightly. This moment between us was still pretty awkward and I really didn't know how to address it. I was still sort of reeling from the memory that was a little more than completely fizzled out. My skin still burned from where flannel guy had been running his finger tips, and my pride still hurt from that night I'd thought about. Sam continued to stare at me and I shifted my feet. Why was this suddenly so hard? Because Dean had snapped on him? Because I went from Becca back to baby Becca who needed her big brother to stand up to her other big brother like when they were twelve and Sam teased her? I felt like a teenager once again.

"So, this guy eats a bad burger. Why is it our kind of thing?" Dean brought Sam's gaze back to him. I'm just gonna guess we could all feel the tension.

"Mad cow disease causes massive brain degeneration. It takes months, even years, for the damage to appear. But this guy, Dustin? Sounds like his brain disintegrated in about an hour. Maybe less," Sam explained handing the paper over to Dean so he could read it.

Um, ew. His brain disintegrated? How does that just happen with a snap of the fingers. "Gross," I made a face as I said the words. My mind totally just imagined someone's brain disintegrating in front of me. And it wasn't cool like Spielberg would have made it in some movie either. It was disgusting and gross and messy and I am going to have to scrub my brain now.

"Yeah," Sam agreed with a small smile at my face. "Now, it could be a disease. Or it could be somethin' much nastier."

"Is that even a question? When it is ever just a disease?" I asked them both.

"All right. Oklahoma," Dean signaled for us to all get in the car so we could head out. "Man," he complained. "Work, work, work. No time to spend my money," he turned the key in the ignition and pulled away before my belt was clicked or my shoes were off.

I scoffed from my spot in the back as I settled into the middle of the bench. "Our money," I told him.

His brows narrowed as he looked in the rearview. "Huh?"

"I totally helped you win that money," I informed him.

"You just distracted the flannel kid."

"Still helped."

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but before he could even make out some sort of weird choked noise, Dean and I both turned to face him and spoke at the same time. "Shut up, Sam," we ordered only to be met with a fallen face and scowl.