AUTHOR'S NOTE: I didn't want to leave you all hanging after such a heavy chapter, so here's the next one. Zan is dealing with the aftermath of what happened, so she experiences some pretty intense emotions. The assault is briefly discussed, so please use caution if that will bother or trigger you.

~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~

Every time I fell asleep I would end up right back there on the bed, feeling crushed underneath the weight of the man, and I would jerk myself awake, feeling panic rising in my stomach. I sat still in the darkness for long periods of time, listening to the breathing of the Winchesters as they slept. Every once in a while someone would shift or roll over, and I heard Dean mutter something under his breath, but I couldn't make out what he said.

Eventually the room became lighter and lighter as the sun started to come up. Mr. Winchester woke up first, sitting forward and stretching. He looked over at me, asking, "Did you sleep at all?"

"Some," I replied, staring down at my knees. I was still all curled in a ball.

He turned towards me on the sofa and leaned over. "Listen, if you want to talk-"

"I don't," I said flatly, sinking down into myself.

"Whenever you're ready," he said, standing up. He walked over to his duffle and got some clothes out, then went into the bathroom. I heard the toilet flush, and then a few moments later the shower started.

Dean woke up next, and then Sam. They moved slowly, stretching and groaning as they got out of bed.

"Hey, Zan," Dean greeted quietly as he came over to me.

"Are you hungry?" Sam asked me, "What are you in the mood to eat this morning?"

Dean sat down next to me and looked at me. "I'm in the mood for one of thise big breakfast platters that has a little bit of everything on it, y'know? And then some pie to finish. Will you help me eat some pie, Zan?" he elbowed my arm gently.

I glanced at him briefly and didn't respond.

"Well, I guess we should get dressed so we can get going. You going to get dressed, Zan?" Sam asked.

I put my head down on my knees. I knew they were trying to get me to talk, and I didn't want to.

The bathroom door opened, and Mr. Winchester came out. Dean got up and went over to him, and I heard them talking quietly. Sam moved away and got clothes out of his duffle, then went into the bathroom.

Mr. Winchester came over and sat down next to me. "We're going to go get breakfast, all right?"

"M' not hungry," I lifted my head slightly.

"I want you to come with us."

"Don't wanna eat."

"That's fine, but I still want you to come with," he stood up and walked away. The bathroom door opened, and I heard Dean say, "My turn," and then it closed again.

Mr. Winchester brought clothes over and set them on the cushion next to me. "You should get dressed," he told me.

I looked up at him. "Don't care," I said dully.

"Do you want help?"

"Don't touch me!" I snapped, putting my hands up.

He stepped back. "I won't touch you, it's all right," he said soothingly. He stood there for a long moment, watching me, and then walked away.

A few minutes later the bthroom door opened, and I could hear Dean talking quietly with Sam.

"We ready?"

I turned my head. They were near the door, shrugging into their coats. I got up and walked over to them. Sam held up my coat. I made no move to take it from him.

"Zan, it's really cold out today," Sam said.

"Put your coat on," Mr. Winchester said sternly, and I took it out of Sam's hands and slid my arms into the sleeves.

We drove to a diner, and were shown to a booth. It was busy and loud, with lots of families there. On one side was a family with three sullen teenagers, who looked at their phones the whole time, and on the other side was a family with a little boy and a little girl. They chattered non-stop at each other and their parents, although the girl was young enough that a lot of what she said was toddler-speak.

I heard a slight intake of breath and looked up from the menu to find Dean and Mr. Winchester staring at me.

"Did he- hit you?" Dean asked in a deep voice.

"Why?" I asked.

"Can I- can I touch your face?" he asked.

I nodded, and he took my chin and turned my face from side to side. "Did he grab you? Your chin, I mean?"

I felt myself blushing."Uh, yeah," I admitted, pulling my chin out of Dean's hand.

"I didn't notice it in the room, it was too dim," Dean said to his Dad. He looked at me. "You have a bruise on your cheek, and finger marks on your jawline."

"Where?" I put my hand up to my cheek and pressed down, moving my fingers around, until I felt pain flare up. "Oh."

"Zan, don't—doesn't that hurt?" Sam looked at me.

"Damn him," Dean muttered, "He didn't say anything about hitting her."

"It doesn't matter," I said, "Nothing happened."

"Uh, yes it does matter," Sam insisted, "He hurt you-and- and frightened you."

"He smacked my face and left bruises, big deal, I got worse from my dad. A lot worse," I scoffed.

"That doesn't mean that it didn't matter. And something did happen. Thank God Dean got there when he did, or-"

"I don't want to talk about it!" I snapped, glaring at Sam.

The waitress appeared at the table just then. "Hey there, y'all, what can I get you?"

I stared at the table while they ordered, and then felt my face get red as they all looked at me. "N-nothing for me," I muttered.

"What, hon?" the waitress leaned forward slightly.

"She'll have a bagel with cream cheese, and a glass of orange juice," Mr. Winchester said.

As the waitress walked away, I glared at him. "I said I wasn't hungry!" I snapped.

"I know, but we can bring the bagel back to the room with us for you to eat later," he replied calmly.

I stared down at the table top again.

Sam flipped his paper place mat over and said to me, "Want to play tic-tac-toe?"

"No."

"What about...writing out the digits of Pi? How far can you get? I had a friend in college who could say the first 25-"

"Leave me alone," I muttered, turning away from Sam.

I heard him sigh. We sat there awkwardly for a couple of minutes, and then they began to talk about the case they were on and the evidence. Sam and Dean disagreed about what was causing the mysterious deaths.

"I'm going to have to call Eli and tell him we're off the case anyway," Mr. Winchester said, "And we can get on the road today."

I turned to look at him. "Why are you off the case?"

He took a sip of his coffee. "Because we need to get you to Pastor Jim."

"Why?" I asked angrily.

"You need—you need help, in dealing with—what happened, and I don't think we can give it to you."

"So some pastor guy is gonna help me?" I sneered, "I don't even know him, how is he gonna help?"

"He has experience with counseling people, and he's great to talk to," Mr. Winchester said.

"I'm not s'posed to talk to strangers, and anyways nobody's s'posed to know my business," I said, repeating something that my father had often said.

"He won't be a stranger after you meet him, and he's a good guy. He'll help you if you let him."

"You just wanna get rid of me!"

Mr. Winchester blinked at the vehemence in my voice. "No, that's not it at all, Zan. It is important to me that we get you taken care of. You need to talk about and—and deal with—what happened to you."

"No I don't, I just need to forget!" Tears were welling in my eyes, and I swiped at my face.

The waitress brought plates of food to the table, and everyone concentrated on eating for the next several minutes.

Dean offered me some of everything on his plate. I refused him and went back to staring at the table.

I heard the family in the next booth talking to their kids. "You all done? All right, one last bite. I'll take you to the potty and I want you to try to go," the mother got out of the booth with the little girl and they walked down a hall.

"Hey Zan, you want some of my fruit?" Sam asked, pushing his plate towards me, "There's no way I'm going to be able to eat all of this. C'mon, eat some."

I didn't respond to him.

"Have you ever had a mango? Try this," Sam held up his fork with a square of orange fruit on it.

The mother from the next booth came walking over, holding the hand of the little girl. "She used the potty!" she reported with a smile.

"There's my pretty little thing! Good job!" the father said, and the little girl grinned at him and clapped her hands.

I froze. That was what the man had said to me, 'you're such a pretty little thing'. My mouth went dry as I started to feel like I was right back there, trapped and frightened. My stomach twisted with nerves and I felt my breathing get shallow.

I turned my head and stared into the distance. I felt like I was outside of my head but also deep inside it. I could hear the sounds of the diner around me but it was as if nothing could get through. A dish fell and shattered, and I didn't jump. I could her voices speaking, but it didn't register.

"Zan," someone said to me. I didn't know who it was. "What's wrong? Zan? You in there?"

Fingers snapped in front of my face, but I couldn't focus.

"Zan," a different voice said, "Can you say something? Anything?"

"What's going on with her?" a low voice asked.

"Take her out to the car, I'll get the check," another voice responded quietly.

I felt a hand on my arm. "Zan, we're going to go out to the car, all right? I'm taking your arm." The hand pulled me out of the booth, and then an arm was around my shoulders, and I was guided outside. The wind blew my hair in my face.

"Let's get in the car," the voice said, and I was guided into the back. Hands buckled the seat belt over my lap. I heard the rumble of the car's engine.

When the car stopped, the belt was removed and I was pulled out of the car and walked to the door.

I sat down on the sofa and pulled my legs up in front of me again. I heard the sounds of Sam and Dean chatting with each other as they packed.

Mr. Winchester came into the room. "Well, Eli's angry that we have to leave, but I got in touch with Rufus and Bobby and asked if they could help. It'll only take them about a day to get here."

He came over and sat down next to me. "Zan? How are you doing?"

I didn't reply to him, just kept my head buried in my knees.

"Are you awake?" he asked softly.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and raised my head. "Don't fucking touch me!" I snapped.

"What happened in the restaurant? Something made you space out like that. What was it?" his voice was low and calm, "Talk to me."

"No."

"Was it a noise? Was it something someone said?"

I turned to him and shoved at him suddenly. "Go away!"

"It was, wasn't it? It was the family in the booth next to us. You froze up when the mother brought the little girl back to the table. Was it what the man said?"

It felt like something broke inside my chest, and I screamed, "No! It wasn't! Fuck off! Go away! Leave—me—alone-" and then I was crying in big gasping gulps. I reached up and yanked on my hair, wanting the memories to get out of my head.

"No, no, no!" I sobbed.

I felt hands on mine, untangling them from my hair.

"Stop that," Mr. Winchester said, "I won't let you hurt yourself. Breathe. Take a deep breath. You're just remembering. It's not happening right now, you're safe now, and you can get through this. Breathe. Let it out. Let it out, it's all right, you're safe. You can say it," his voice was pitched low and gentle, and the way he said the words was somehow soothing.

He had pulled my hands out of my hair and set them in my lap, but he was holding them loosely. "I'm here to listen and I'm not going to let anything bad happen. You're safe," he repeated.

And then I opened my mouth and the words poured out of me, just as tears poured down my face. My body trembled and my shoulders shook with sobs as I talked, and then when I got to the end my stomach started to flip, and I retched.

Dean was right there with a trash can, and he held it as I threw up bile. Mr. Winchester held my hair back as I vomited. When I was finished my throat was burning. Sam handed me a box of tissues and a bottle of water. I rinsed my mouth out and spit into the trash can, and then I wiped my mouth and then my eyes.

Mr. Winchester looked at me. "You were very brave," he said, "Thank you."

"For what?" I asked hoarsely.

"Thank you for trusting us enough to talk about what happened. It wasn't your fault, and you didn't do anything wrong."

I turned to look at him. "My fault, always my fault," I whispered.

"No," Mr. Winchester shook his head, "Not your fault, not any of it. You're just a little girl who was dealt a shitty hand in life and ended up with someone who mis-treated her. You didn't deserve any of what happened before, and you didn't deserve this."

I started to cry again, lowering my head. I felt hands on my arms and Mr. Winchester was pulling me onto his lap, and I let him.

"Let it out," he said, "It's all right, you're safe now," He put his arms around me and held me as I bawled. I slid my arms around him and buried my face in his flannel, feeling it get wet against my skin as I continued to cry.

"Why?" I sobbed, "Why'd he have to do that to me?"

"I don't know, bad things...happen sometimes. And we have to find a way to deal with it and keep on living our lives," he rubbed my back soothingly, up and down.

"Why'd my dad have to be that way? I tried...I tried to do what he said an' it wasn't ever good enough, he always yelled at me after or hit me...I tried to 'member everything and do it right an' I just couldn't..." my crying was slowing, and I felt so tired now...

"He shouldn't have had you with him, you're a child, you can't be expected to hunt that way an adult can. He was in the wrong, he should have protected you, not used you on his hunts."

"Why...why couldn't it have been you?" I whispered.

"What? Why couldn't what have been me?" he looked down at me.

"Why couldn't you've been my dad...you're Papa Bear," I murmured, tightening my arms around him.

I felt him chuckle in his chest. "Oh, well, I'm not...uh, I made- mistakes with the boys, when they were young, you know-" his voice was hesitant.

I was finally relaxed, falling asleep. "Papa Bear," I repeated, burying my face in his flannel again. I slept.