A/N: (We're still alive! It's been a tough couple of weeks with tests and stuff, but we survived to this weekend and are proud to present this weeks chapter! Fair warning, we haven't had much of a chance to work on it, so updates may be sporadic and slow, but we hope you enjoy! Thank you for all your support! And please remember that Sophia is our brain child, and we have no rights to Supernatural at all. Though we are jealous of the characters and plot line... We're gonna tell ya right off, if we owned Supernatural, Sophia would be the main character! Guuuess that's what fanfics are for. Anyway, enjoy!)

Without anything keeping her from falling to the concussion's intense dizzy spells and exhaustion, Sophia slumped forward, her head pressing into the horn on the steering wheel.

Now, Bobby Singer was an odd character. He was a tad gruff around the edges and if you didn't look too hard, you might mistake him as just some hick out in the country collecting cars and paying his taxes. In all honesty, Bobby was much more. (And he only paid taxes when reminded by the local police.)

He was smart as a whip and could usually define the supernatural with one glance. To those who knew him as a hunter, he was one of the best. One of the most well read. And today was no different. In fact the flash of headlights into his window was interrupting him mid thought as he looked up from one of the oldest new books in his collection. He stood slowly, reaching for his shotgun carefully.

The crash that came after had Bobby running to the door, his eyes wide. A horn blared incessantly. "What in sam hell?!"

Tossing the door open, Bobby felt in stomach hit his toes at the sight of the 1990 cherry red chevy truck sticking in the side of one of his junkers. His voice was shrill with terror as he jumped from his porch, the gun forgotten. "Sophia?!" She loved that truck. Said it was because of the color, but Bobby knew it was because it was a piece of her brother still with her to this day. And seeing it smashed, albeit at a low speed, into the side of another car had the man shaking in fear. "Darlin' answer me! Are you alright?" He yanked at the stubborn car door handle, eyes alight with worry. She was slumped forward covered in blood. It streamed from the back of her head, down her neck. Her back was staining the red interior of the truck a dark, ugly brown. His heart shuddered in his chest. He lifted a shaking hand, pressing it to her neck carefully. She had a pulse.

With his hands still shaking from the slowly abating fear, Bobby pulled his girl from the truck with an, "Oomph," tossing her over his shoulder as best he could. Something hard pressed against him in his chest and he saw a fork, a fork, imbedded in the flesh of her thigh. His heart broke, but more to the point, his entire frame shook. Sophia was one of the most cautious hunters he knew. She marked every chair, kept holy water in the ice, had salt above every door. He had seen her set up. He had been impressed by it. Astounded even, at the quirky tricks that just might work.

Yet here she was.

That didn't bode well for the rest of them.

He moved towards his house, whispering softly to the girl who had, in some ways, stolen his heart like her brother had all those years ago when they had showed up at his door. "What happened to ya, Soph? How… how did this happen?"

She didn't answer, though, still unconscious.

Bobby shoved the door open, carrying the girl into his home. She weighed much more now than she had nearly seven years ago, when he last carried her. She had some meat on her bones. Some muscle. She had grown into her gangly legs and arms. Sophia had become a woman, and Bobby hadn't even had the chance to see it.

Bobby was well prepared to set the girl down onto the soft cushions of his couch before he noticed the quality it was in. It looked like one too many people had died on the couch and, if he was being honest, it was probably not the most sanitary places to lay the sickly girl. "Maybe I should pull out the dustpan more often. Good grief."

Throwing curses under his breath, Bobby heaved himself and Sophia into the kitchen, yanking the table cloth and everything with it off and onto the floor, ignoring the was stuff scattered around the room. Carefully, Bobby pulled the girl he called family from his shoulder, easing her to the table to rest on her right side. As soon as she was still and Bobby was sure she wouldn't fall from the table, he moved to snatch the first aid box from beneath the sink, grabbing some vodka as well.

His thought was, if it's alcohol you need, it might as well serve a dual purpose. He knew this was going to hurt and figured it was better to be prepared with some straight up knock out pain relief.

The most obvious damage was the glass at her back, but in order to best get a look at that, Sophia would have to rest on her front. So Bobby assessed, rather quickly, that the fork needed to go. Now. He braced one hand on her knee and the other over the fork, muttering, "Brace yourself, Soph, if you can hear me." He yanked the fork free, grimacing at the amount of resistance there. Sophia didn't move. She was dead to the world.

Quickly, Bobby covered the wound, after pouring alcohol over it and then turned her to her front.

Bobby had seen it all. He'd seen death, and he'd seen the dying, but it didn't compare to seeing a girl he considered his own adopted child unconscious, beat to hell, and bleeding. With a straight up grimace, Bobby brushed his thoughts away and focused on patching Sophia up.

His biggest concern was with the glass piece lodged into the back of her thigh. Bobby grimaced, thinking of how that must have hurt her, sitting in that bumpy truck for hours on end. It was close to the femoral artery… wasn't it? He never really payed attention in anatomy class. But first aid was ingrained in him. He left a soft breath, "This is gonna sting, Soph." He poured the vodka over the wound, but she didn't flinch. It worried him, how deeply out she was. He tugged the piece of glass slowly from her leg, watching carefully, praying that he wouldn't cause more damage. When the blood continued to ooze at the reasonable pace, Bobby let out the breath he didn't know he was holding. "Thank the lord above. You're gonna be alright, girl." With careful, measured movements, he stitched her leg carefully, after pouring some more alcohol over the wound. "Well, you ain't gonna bleed to death."

It was then that the girl began to move, her hands pulling into soft fists, a groan pulling from her throat.

Bobby knelt by her face, brushing her blonde hair gently from her face. "Sophie? It's me, Bobby. You got a nasty bump on your head and a bunch o' glass in your back. I need you to stay still for me, alright?"

Groggy, her eyes slightly unfocused, Sophia turned her head to the bearded man. "Bobby? What… why am I on your kitchen table? And when was the last time you dusted, old man?"

Bobby grinned. "You're gonna be just fine." He laughed softly. "What did you get yourself into this time, idjit?" Despite his rough words, his tone was fond.

Sophia blinked, her eyes drooping tiredly. "Um… demon… I think…."

Sighing, Bobby ran a hand over his face. "I'm gonna finish cleaning you up, alright? Just stay still."

Sophia nodded, then winced, a hand moving towards her head. Bobby caught it quickly. "Don't touch. Just stay still for a minute. Do you need something for the pain?"

Sophia shrugged, her eyes shutting. "Head hurts… 'm tired, Bobby." Though bobby came out more like 'b-by' than anything else.

Bobby nodded. "You probably have yourself a concussion. Just take a rest. I'll wake you in a bit. Can you stay still for me, though?"

Sophia gave a soft affirmative, her eyes dropping.

Worried, Bobby pulled her hair away from the back of the head. He brushed his hand against the rather ugly looking bump at the back of her head, noticing the small pieces of glass she had imbedded in her head. He had been wondering if he should call the paramedics, but her clarity of mind had him thinking better of it. Sophia never did do well in hospitals. She tended to do the opposite really. Too many harsh memories.

Carefully, with a pair of tweezers, Bobby began picking glass from her head, stitching up the larger cuts carefully and watching Sophia for any reaction. She was good at hiding pain, but every once in a while her hand would tense and she would whimper, before cutting it back.

He smiled at her gently. "You're tough as nails, kid."

She gave a half hearted laugh. "Yeah yeah. Just… get it over with."

Bobby nodded, gently continuing to work.

He had to cut her jeans up to mid thigh to get some of the smaller glass pieces, glad the majority of the glass was at her back rather than her hindquarters. That would have scarred them both for life.

Midway through cutting away her shirt, Bobby noticed how she dropped back off into oblivion, her entire body relaxing. She would be able to sleep through him stitching her up. Though that may have been more to concussion rather than exhaustion. He grimaced, "This is gonna hurt like a mother when you wake up kiddo." Even as he meant it in humor, Bobby's eyes fell closed with mild sickness at the thought of how bad a shape she was in. He worried about her head. An injury like that could put a hunter on the bench for months. He hoped, for her sake, she recovered quickly. He hoped the same for his sake, because that girl had a temper more ferocious than a kicked hornets nest, and that did not bode well for him and his house if he had to lock her down on light duty.

At the last stitch, the clock turned to 6:47, and the evening sunshine began to fade from his house. He washed the blood from his hands, debating moving the girl from her place. He gently nudged her shoulder, waking her softly. "Sophie? Hey, darlin'. You wanna go to a bedroom?"

She blinked a couple of times, thinking seeming to take it all out of her. Bobby felt dread pool over him. Then she answered, with mild humor. "But the table's so comfy." Her voice was strained and gravelly, but Bobby felt relief wash over him at the sarcasm there.

Gently, he patted her on her uninjured shoulder, smiling back at her. "Don't you get smart with me. Let's get you to your room."

Carefully, he pulled her arm over his shoulders, keeping the backs of her legs and back from touching the table as much as possible. She grimaced, her lips white from pain. "You got something for the pain, Bobby?"

He nodded, reaching for the vodka. "Best pain killer there is."

She smiled, the took quick drag straight from the bottle, grimacing sharply. "I think I'd rather have tylenol, but knowing you, you probably don't…" She trailed off, her eyebrows drawing together, before she dropped the bottle, catching hold of the front of his shirt. "Ugh. Too much thinking. Bed." The alcohol spilled out with a quiet glug and neither paused to worry with the growing pool.

Grinning softly, Bobby moved her to the nearest bedroom. He helped her stretch out on her front, her face pressed into a pillow.

"That good enough for you, kiddo?"

Sophia waved him away with something mumbled into the pillow that sounded a lot like 'go away', reaching for the blankets and pulling them up and over her head.

The fear that had been building when she had knocked out the second time faded. "I'll come wake you in a couple of hours, Soph. Make sure your noggin's still screwed on right."

From under the blankets, she mumbled something, before the blankets tightened slightly over her head.

The door clicked closed behind him as Bobby moved to sit on the couch in his living room.

That had been one of the hardest things of his life. Seeing her in such a terrible condition had shaken him. He poured himself some whiskey, staring at the book he had been reading with unfocused eyes, lost in thought.

Though he would deny it to anyone who asked, Bobby's drink spilt over the edges from how hard he jumped when his phone began to ring. That was a testament to how badly he was shaken up by Sophia's condition. He raised the phone to his ear, clearing his throat. "Hello?" He may have come off a tad more gruff than usual, if that was possible.

A voice crackled to life across the phone line, sounding grave. "Bobby, it's Dean." There was a slight pause as if he were waiting for some sort of answer.

Bobby, being Bobby, prompted with an eye roll. "Well?"

"Did Sophia make it to your place?"

Setting his drink down, Bobby sat forward, eyebrows coming together. "How do you know Soph?"

Dean sounded slightly desperate, "Bobby! Did she make it or not?"

Blinking away the confusion at their knowing each other, Bobby answered, in a stammer, "Uh, yeah, Dean. Yeah. She made it." He paused, thinking back to the condition she had been on when he pulled her from the truck. "She's been through hell and back."

Dean sighed in relief, before saying, softly, "Turn on the news. Local channels should get it."

Fumbling slightly, Bobby flipped onto the news channel, sitting forward.

"Yesterday a tragic event occurred." A woman wearing an odd pant suit stood in front of a diner… Sophia's diner. It was a charred mess, roped off by police tape and being hosed down by firemen. "A gas leak caused an explosion that is thought to have killed everyone inside, however, authorities believe it was no accident….They believe that there was a robbery that took place. Four are confirmed dead. Sheriff Matthew Wells, Caroline Martin, Angila Sprite and Jared Moore. The owner is said to have left town near noon yesterday on a hunting trip and has not yet been reached by authorities…."

Bobby switched off the sound, tipping back the rest of the whiskey in his glass. The image of the diner Sophia had put so many years into laying in charred waste had him shaking. He was just glad. Glad Sophia was safe and sound, asleep in his spare room. With anger in his voice equaling none other, he growled out, "What did this, Dean?"

Dean's voice was shaky. "I'm not exactly sure. Sophia called earlier… she wasn't making a whole lot of sense. She okay?"

Bobby nodded as he answered, pouring another drink. "She had a nasty bump on the head. Knocked her out. She was talking. She's gonna be fine, but she's… a little out of it."

"Well, all I got out of it was that Sam was in danger and there was a demon…."

Bobby interrupted harshly, "Sam? Is he alright?!"

Dean's voice was grave, "He's fine. But it got his girlfriend. Jess. Same way it killed Mom."

Bobby tossed back the drink, closing his eyes. "This is a fine mess."

"Tell me about it." Dean sounded exhausted, then his tone changed entirely, as if he were hiding his conversation. "What? You don't have bacon? What kind of diner are you?"

Click.

The phone clicked off and Bobby growled out in exasperation. "Well, goodbye to you too. Idjit."