A/N: Hi, guys! Thanks for all the favorites and follows – I love writing Hope, she cracks me up! If you feel like it, check out the story I'm co-writing with HailstormJen… it's on her page (she's awesome BTW)… it's called My Reality and we've just started Part 5! NOW: On to Hope!

Chapter 5:

I was dreaming about how my brothers used to play tag with me. They'd always let me win. They'd fall dramatically to the ground when I'd hit them and say "you're IT"… I'd laugh at them (well, I still laugh at them, but for different reasons)… You know how dreams can take a quick turn to the bad? In this one, there was a bee and it kept stinging me – it was on my neck. I kept spinning in circles, trying to slap it away but not matter what, it just stung me and stung me and…

.. I was getting a tattoo. I remembered. Drugged like a common streetie by those brothers of mine! I started to wake up from my stinging dream to my stinging reality.

I was laying on my stomach in one of those hunter places that smell like beefaroni and stale beer. At least my sheet from home was under me. The stinging stopped and I heard voices. Low at first, then a bit louder.

"Dnnn? S'my?" I slurred. (I was SLURRING!)

I felt Sammy's hand on my cheek. He and Dean's faces were eye level with mine, blurred and unfocused, but there.

"C'mere, clos'r", I breathed out. I could see them more clearly, so concerned for me

, moving closer. They got close enough.

"Neck?" I asked, starting to come out of it. "Water," I croaked.

"We thought it was the best place to keep it out of sight. You won't even see it," Sammy smiled.

"And your hair will grow back right over it," Dean blurted.

I was awake. I pushed myself up onto my elbows. "You shaved my hair?" I screeched, trying to reach back to feel, but Sammy was so fast. He grabbed my wrist and held it firmly.

"Bub, don't. It's almost done. It's just a little hair at the nape of your neck so it'll grow over it. We didn't want it visible," he explained, looking pretty satisfied that they hijacked my head.

I look a Dean. "You'll be fine," he said, trying to be tough. (With me? ME? Seriously, he was so thick.)

I decided to save this conversation for the Imp. When we were alone.

"How much more?"

Some smelly guy stepped into my sight and looked at my brothers. (I'm not telling him he smells until after, I have some great clinical deodorant packed. I'll make it a gift.)

"No more than five, Little," Sammy confirmed. (I began hatching a plan to stab them both with a fork in the back of their necks for five minutes. Each.) He reached over and rubbed my forehead. I felt Dean's hand on the side of my head and heard the buzzing start again.

"Just get it over with. Don't touch me," I said in my meanest voice to them both, (except it was shaking, so I don't think it really came out as hard as I wanted it to.)

"Shhh, Bub – not leaving you. We're right here. Please don't cry, Little," Sam said, bringing his hand down and wiping my face off.

"I'm not crying," I whimpered. (But I was. And even though I was mad at them, I needed them, exactly where they were, right now.) I squeezed my eyes together as the stinging started again.

"Deep breaths," Sam said, stroking my cheek.

"Almost there, Little. It's so small you won't even know it's there," he said, trying to reassure me.

I knew I was getting too old for my charms. I thought I could keep it all away from me, though. I didn't want anything about their world to tumble into the world I'd created for us, separate from all that scary stuff. I should have known I wouldn't dodge this bullet, though. One thing I knew about my brothers was they would do anything to keep me safe, even if it meant pissing me off – but drugging me, really? A small voice spoke up from inside me, telling me the truth. It really was the easiest and only way they could have done it without scarring all of us for life. I was already a little less mad at them.

The buzzing stopped and I felt strong wiping over the spot.

"Hey! Excuse me Mr. Hunter Torturer, do you mind?"

"Just getting the blood off," he said back to me curtly. Oh, Lord.

Free from being held, I sat up, but felt woozy.

"Get me out of here, or I'm seriously gonna lose it," I said, shaking.

"Okay, Hopie, here we go," Sam said, picking me up under my arms. I wrapped my legs around him while he carried me back to the Imp. I was tired and thirsty.

"I want the sterile gauze and my Eucerin lotion," I asked-demanded. (The ask/demand was a very cagey thing. Had to be said in just the right way or I just came off sounding bitchy and they wouldn't do it.)

My hair was pulled up and my neck hurt. Ugh, I felt so dirty! (Hunter places, where grime is cool and dirty feet are "in.")

He helped me get settled, handing me a water, then started digging for my stuff.

"Sorry, Bub – we knew getting this done wouldn't be easy. We always had this planned for you, so you wouldn't remember most of it," he admitted.

"You don't look sorry," I muttered.

"I didn't say we were," he said in that gratingly condescending way he can have with me. "We are never, ever gonna be sorry for keeping you safe. So you can just let that attitude go, Bubba."

(GAAH! They make me crazy. They make me love them. They make me hate them and then love them more. I lead a double-complicated life.)

He fluffed my pillow as I heard Dean open his door. "She okay?" he asked.

"Hello? I'm not deaf, I can hear just fine…"

"Oh, hi Hope - glad to see you awake and so perky," he said sarcastically.

"Oh, go perk yourself," I mumbled.

"Come again?" and "What was that" came from both my brothers.

"I said," I huffed, "thank you for making me safe from your scary world." (Who was I kidding? I meant it.)

Dean started the Imp and Sam got in his seat. Finally I could feel the wheels under me.

"Little, here are two ibuprofen, I want you to take them," Sammy said, hanging over the seat. I didn't move. "Now," he said, tapping my shoulder.

"Can't you just leave me alone? See what you two did? Now I have trust issues and I'll probably need therapy and a lot of shopping to get over this!"

"Well, Sam, her dramatic flair is back… knew it wouldn't be long," Dean teased.

Sammy helped me sit up. He had crinkly smile lines in the corners of his eyes.

"Don't laugh at me," I said, trying to stay in my mood.

He looked at me innocently. "I would never do that, Little," he smiled.

"You guys do it all the time," I said, popping the pills and washing them down. "More water please."

"I'll take care of your neck and later I'll show you how to keep it moist. It'll peel in a few days, too."

"You mean like a snake? This is a nightmare," I groaned. "Just don't expect me to start stomping around in flannel and boots. Or to stop conditioning my hair. Or not getting my nails done. And I'll NEVER give up Sushi Tuesdays!"

(I actually had a pair of pink Timberlands and they were really cute and surprisingly comfortable. I'd put them on and clomp around, taunting them; it was great.)

"Wouldn't expect anything of the kind, Hopie," Dean said from the front. "You wouldn't be our Winchester-Paradox otherwise."

Sam stared at Dean. "What?" he questioned, "Yeah, Sam, I know big words, too," he grunted. I giggled.

"There's our girl," Sam said, kissing my forehead. "Try to lay with your face in the pillow, but remember to breathe," he said, totally serious. Sam. I have no words. Like I said, to him I was perpetually four years old.

"I want a bath. And a bed. How much longer? Did you get a nice place for us – please, please, please tell me yes!" I begged.

"Six hours to Kentu-keeeee," Dean yelled from the front.

Sam rubbed some lotion on my neck with sterile gauze while I winced.

"I think you'll be happy with our arrangements, Bubs. Get some rest. We love you so much, Little," he whispered in my ear.

I nodded in agreement.

"Oh, no!" I exclaimed, remembering.

Dean started to slow the Imp down, Sam was in over-protection mode. "What? What?" they peppered me with questions.

"I had the perfect deodorant for that guy," I said, falling back into my pillow. "It's clinical," I said in a muffled voice.

The Imp sped up. "YOU'RE clinical," Dean laughed. "Clinically insane – the only proof so far that you're a real Winchester!"

"Shut up, dude, she's sleeping," Sammy scolded.

"Well, she is kinda crazy," he mumbled. I smiled – I kinda was.