A/N: And back to Hope! Sorry guys, my true intent was to keep Hope VERY fun and light, and she will get back there, because as we all will find out, she is a survivor. Already was one, but this is going to go darker before lighter. I will place trigger warnings, and also the maturity levels as continued… I LOVE Hopie! She has the best brothers in the world!

Chapter 11:

I could never tell them. It's not that they wouldn't believe me – I knew they would, and it would make them crazy. THAT'S why I couldn't tell them.

We had been back from Kentucky for a week, and the dreams came since the day we went to the Dollar Tree. Maybe they were always there, just beyond the reach of my memory, like a song you know every word to, but can't remember the name of. Maybe my conscious mind blocked them. Maybe I used up all my good fortune and happy being found by my brothers and being raised up to this point by them - it just wasn't meant to last forever. I couldn't tell them, and I didn't want to tell them. They would blame themselves, and it wasn't their fault. It wasn't my fault either. They had given me more love and happiness than any one girl deserved; the least I could do was keep this secret. As much as I could remember, that is, because I'd lose the dream as soon as I awoke, left behind with a hollow and empty feeling. I needed to keep them happy because it made me happy. It helped it be less real for me, too. I became Hope Winchester, actress extraordinaire.

I was doing a fabulous job – I just knew it! It was like the old days. I'd ride around on Sammy's back, then spider-monkey jump over to Dean's. Out for pizza. IN for pizza. Chinese. AND sushi Tuesdays! I wore my pink flannels and made fun of them, and most importantly, I didn't see the time-out chair so… obviously… lurking around. OH, I knew it was around, and not far (I knew my brothers better than that) – they just moved it 'out of the way'. Good. Because the first chance I got I was burning it! Of course, that could complicate things. Like new chairs. And a sore behind. Even one swat from either of them stung for days!

It had been about a month and the dreams were still pressing. I woke early in the morning of the fifth week to find them just sitting and staring at me, speaking in low whispers.

"I love you guys, but this is creepy as fu… as all get out," I corrected.

They both kinda slouched down in their chairs.

"Whaaat?" I pushed. Shit. They were leaving again. Not taking me this time.

I sat up in my bed, feeling heartsick.

"When? Just tell me when you're leaving," I muttered, looking down and picking at my cuticles. (When did I start with that?)

"Hopie, stop picking. That's how the last one got infected," Sammy chastised me.

I had to. I couldn't stop. I didn't look up and I just…had…this…one…piece…

He was silently sitting on the edge of my bed with a washcloth, wrapping it around my hand. Dean stood behind him, his lip formed in a tight line and some medicine cabinet stuff in his hands. (When did he go in my bathroom? I never even heard them move.)

"I told you to stop doing that, Little! Come on, babe, you love your hands. This can't keep going on," he scolded me as he unwrapped my finger that was shredded and bloody. "Fuck. Dean, I need betadine and gauze this time. Tape. A cool washcloth, too, please."

Dean was there and back, dumping it in front of Sam along with a plastic cup. He filled the cup with solution and tried to put my finger down in it.

"Uh, no…. What's going on? It's just a cuticle! Stop treating me like a baby! Just wrap the damn thing up or I'll do it myself!" (Overprotective dudes just need to let a sister grow up!)

Sam's eyes were dark brown … whatever time it was. He firmly held my wrist, and gave me his no-nonsense look, all the while speaking to Dean to hold onto my legs.

"We are trying to help you. You will accept our help. No kicking, no biting," he said as he turned my hand upside down and into the antiseptic. I let out a bloodcurdling scream. I kicked but Dean got my calf and that was it. I took my other arm up and Sammy simply reached forward (with lots of length to spare), and held my shoulder in place. "I'm sorry, Little," he said without sounding sorry. "We asked you to be good this time." (THIS time? Why does he keep saying that?)

Dean was rubbing my calves, massaging them to take my mind off the searing pain going through my hand and up my arm.

"It'll be okay, we'll get this figured out, I swear to God we will figure this out," he said, green eyes peering into my brown. Brown like Sammy's, except his changed sometimes, into a mossy green with flecks of sunflower gold. Mine just stayed brown.

"WHAT are you two talking about? Everything is FINE. Are you high? Are you guys drunk AND high? Things have been great since we got home from Kentucky."

They looked like I had begun elevating from the bed, with full head spin.

"What? Sammy, take my finger out now. It doesn't even burn." He began to slowly wipe my finger down, making me grit my teeth. "Are you TRYING to make me cry? Do you WANT it to hurt so much? Ever hear of dabbing a …"

I looked down. I had torn the skin from the top of my cuticle all the way to the third knuckle. Shredded.

I skidded up to the head of my bed. "What the fuck is THAT? Who did that? What's going on? Dean? Dee? Sammy? You're scaring me!" I started to hit my head against the backboard, hard enough for Dean to come and press it against his shoulder, holding my chin to his chest. "Shhh…it's okay. We're here and we aren't going anywhere. Let Sam finish and we can talk."

At the mention of his name, my youngest older brother looked at me and smiled. He took my cruddy hand that was wrapped and kissed it. "Baby- Pink – one sec." Then he was returning, wiping his (no doubt) ten times washed hands. Seriously, I think he does that counting thing when hand washing. Dork. (I apparently still maintained some humor, despite whatever the hell was going on.)

"What time is it? Why were you in here?" I was scared, and annoyed.

"It's two am honey. We were in here checking on you before hitting the rack," Sam said. "We can talk more as soon as you take the pills Dean has for you."

Dean held out his hand. Two pills, a green one and a white one. A water.

"Dean? Sam? I don't wanna take pills!" (I could hear the whine in my voice.) "Whyyy?" I looked up at Dean.

"And don't say because you say so! Tell me."

"To keep your constantly infected hands from being amputated, and to keep you calm," he answered, nodding toward them. He handed me a water. "Open, sweetie," he said, putting them back on my tongue while I swooshed them down.

"I know, I know… 'drink it all – you're dehydrated'," mimicking Sam.

"Well, you are, and now you can have another when you're done with that one, miss smart mouth," he big brother looked at me.

I ignored him. "I wanna talk," I said, and folded my arms across my chest.

Dean looked at me. "Look at that face, Sammy. Remember when she'd do that when she was little? She's cross her arms in front of her." He shook his head, remembering. "Adorable."

Sam looked over at me, softening. "Still adorable," he said to me.

SPNSPNSPN

"Okay, little, just a teenie talk for a teenie girl right now," Dean stated.

"Oh-kayy," I replied.

They both scooted in on either side of me, but facing me, so I could see them both.

"What do you remember? As much detail as possible, Pink," Sammy said.

"Well, duh," I sassed back at him.

"Keep it up, Hope," Sam said firmly.

"But my fingers… owie," I said, not exactly a lie, either. Just meant it for manipulation and pity.

"Answer," he said.

I looked at Dean, but his face was glued to mine.

I heaved a sigh, the kind when you know you're examining to two twits what they already know.

"We came back from Kentucky a month ago. We've been having a good time because you haven't had any hunts longer than a day and we've been making the most of it. We watched all of Wired and you guys even watched The Wizard of Oz with me. I woke up and thought you were creepy, but telling me you were leaving for a long hunt this time." I raised my bandaged hand with my other, the universal symbol for 'that's it.'

Dean: "It's been almost two months."

Sam: "You've barely gotten out of bed, unless we forced you."

Dean: "You don't want to go to the mall."

Sam: "You don't want your nails done."

The worst came last –

"You stopped coloring your hair pink."

I felt my mouth opening and closing, like a fish outta water. That was me.

I shook my head. I violently shook my head.

"Nooo…no! Impossible! You guys just go sleep it off; we'll eat in the AM. Seriously, you have to stop, Dean. You're a borderline alcoholic and Sam's at your back. Go, let me sleep," I huffed.

"Oh, Hopie," I heard Sam say. He looked at Dean and they nodded. He leaned forward and slid his hands under my knees and armpits, and lifted me. He carried me and placed me in front of my full length mirror, Dean beside us.

"Look, honey – REALLY look," Dean said. "Cuz something is going on with you and we can't let it continue."

I swayed on my feet and felt their hands on my shoulders. I stepped closer. Closer, until I was almost pressed against it.

"Easy, Pink," Sam reassured me.

"We'll figure this out, baby. Together," Dean said.

"This is impossible. No. I would never. NEVER! You know me! I would never let this happen," the mouth of the hollowed-out shell of a girl said in the mirror. Her hair was grown out from the roots brown – half pink to the ends. Her fingernails were gone. She had no makeup on; despite the massive quantities behind her she could see reflected in the mirror. Simply put, she was a horror show.

And she was me.

"I need to lay," I said, trying to take the "new me" fully in. I was scooped by a brother and tucked in.

"But… but, you rode me horseback, Sammy – and I'd jump onto Dean, and back and forth…" I trailed off.

"Shhh…. Baby, we have you and we will ride horseback. I promise. For now close your eyes and we will be here in the morning to figure this out," he said as he kissed my forehead and both my cheeks.

"Dean? Dean, can you help me? I'm scared," I cried to my oldest.

"Help you? Baby Pink, I'd die for you. Now close those eyes," he said, touching my gross hair.

"Need to eat. Need bubble bath," was the last thing I remember saying.

SPNSPNSPN

"Lucky for her she doesn't know we've been keeping up with her hygiene," Sam sighed, wiping his hand across his eyes.

"Yeah, well Jody has been doing it is all she needs to know. IF she asks. You wanna take first?" Dean asked.

"Sure. She should be out for awhile. Why can't we find anything? Not a thing?" Sam said in frustration.

"I dunno, bro, but now that she knows some of this, uhh… fantasy she's been living… maybe we can get some answers."

Sam heard the door close and settled in with his book.