I woke up to cool water on my face. It wasn't splashed on me, rather rubbed nicely. I groaned. Everything hurt. I felt like I'd been spit out by something… Something with a lot of sharp parts that tears you apart.

It was a mix of sharp, insistent pains mixed in with dull, throbbing pains. Both were present everywhere on myself. Both made me not want to move, much less open my eyes. But I had to. I had to know where I was. At least the water was soothing.

"You awake?" A gruff voice asked. I opened my eyes extremely slowly. There was a man sitting next to me. I was in a room I didn't recognize. The man looked older, and had some scruff on him. He wore layers and a dirt-stained scarf. He sat in an old and dusty chair.

I had no idea who he was. Hell, I had no idea where I even was, much less how I'd gotten here.

"Who are you?" I asked. My voice startled me. It didn't sound right. It sounded… Harsh and gravelly, like it had been torn up from the inside out like the rest of me felt.

"You don't know?" He asked. I shook my head slowly. Movement seemed to make the pain worse. "We've met before."

"We have?" My eyes flitted around the room again. "I've been here before?"

"Not this room, no. But this world… Yeah." He looked extremely concerned. "Don't you remember?"

"I…" I searched for memories in my brain, and only saw one- the image of a bright golden light was seared in to my skull. "I don't remember anything."

"Do you know your name?" Name. Name? I have a name? I understood the concept of the word, but the idea of possessing one… I didn't know.

"No." I answered.

"Do you know how you got here?" I felt as though the light I remembered had something to do with it, but I didn't know.

"No."

"Do you remember who or what attacked you, then?" Attacked? I'd been attacked? The confusion on my face must've spelled it out to the man. "Wait a moment." He walked out of the room only to return a few moments later with a large piece of broken glass. It was reflective. It was a… a… a mirror, that was the word. A broken piece of a mirror. He held it up for me to look at myself, and what I saw terrified me.

I had long, deep scratches all over my face and body mixed in with multiple large patches of… Burn marks. They were burn marks, I was certain. Bad ones, at that. Ugly ones. My hair was short, that didn't feel right. And a line of it was missing going to the back of my head. I could see thread weaving it's way down a particular line, holding two pieces of skin together. Stiches. They were stitches. A lot of me was in stitches. I was thin. I was bony, for God's sake. There were multiple other injuries and scars across my body, but they were older. They had had time to heal.

"Do you know who I am?" I asked the man instead. He nodded slowly. "What's my name, then?"

"Kylie." The name felt… Familiar, I guess. It didn't feel as wrong as the A.K. idea had, but at the same time it didn't just out at me like "oh my gosh this absolutely has to be my name." It didn't feel wrong, it just felt like another word.

"OK." I said.

"Does it ring any bells?" "Not really."

"If it helps, your last name is Dillinger." That felt just like a longer string of words. I didn't feel any attachment to them, they just didn't feel wrong.

"OK."

"Not doing anything for you there either, am I?"

"No. I'm sorry." I admitted. "What about you? What's your name?"

"I'm Bobby Singer."

"And you said we'd met before?"

"Twice technically, for me. Only once for you though."

"Huh?"

"It's a long story." He looked pensive as he spoke; conflicted about something. "Here, drink." He handed me a plastic bottle of water. It was worn and creased in random spots, but it didn't leak. I drank from it slowly. The liquid both eased and inflamed my throat at the same time, but it was worth it. I needed it.

"Thank you." I drank the bottle dry. I really had needed it. It still made my throat feel a mixture of better and worse, but the better was worth it. "Where are we?"

"My home."

"Home?"

"Are you asking for a definition of the word or are you curious as to why we're here?" It was a valid question. Both were viable requests.

"Both." I decided. I understood the concept of the word home, but at the same time I had obvious problems with remembering. I wanted to make sure I was thinking of the right thing.

"A home is a place a person lives." Bobby said. "It's where they feel comfortable and some level of safe." My definition had been different. A home was four walls and a roof, in my definition. This home looked like multiple walls and a strange roof.

"Oh."

"You're here because four days ago I found you buried in the dirt a couple hundred yards out from here." Bobby continued. "I drug you back here to see if you were still breathing. You were in even worse shape then."

"I was a different shape?" Shapes. Squares. Rectangles. Ovals. Circles. Triangles. A house was a shape made up of other shapes. Bobby laughed a little, his voice… Happy and sad at the same time. There was a word for that, I knew it. I could feel it.

"No. You were almost dead."

"Oh." That word again. It was an easy one to say. "Why am I not?"

"Because I stitched you up all nice and pretty-like." Bobby stated proudly. "We're going to want to keep an eye on that noggin of yours, though. It didn't go through your skull, but the gouge definitely hit it. You're lucky all it did was that."

"Noggin?"

"Your head."

"Oh." I raised a sore arm tentatively to feel along where I remembered seeing the patch of bared skin. It hurt to touch, but nonetheless I moved my fingers down the line.

"It's probably the reason for your amnesia." He amended his sentence quickly after my confused look. "Your inability to remember things. Don't worry, it'll probably go away as time goes by." The answer didn't feel quite right to me, but I didn't say that. I could easily be wrong. I apparently had amnesia. The word "probably" was what worried me.

"What if it doesn't?" I asked, bringing my hand down. As I did I caught sight of a metal band on my finger. It was nice. It was pretty. It felt… Important. Very important.

"Then we'll figure it out later. But right now, I'll take you; amnesiac or not." That sentence felt familiar, extremely so. I couldn't place why, though. I had so many questions.

"Thank you." I said. "Can you tell me anything about… me?"

"I don't know a lot about you." He admitted.

"You said you knew me, though. You met me twice, but I only met you once?"

"Yeah."

"How is that possible?"

"Like I said, it's a long story. I don't think you need all the details to it."

"What if they bring back my memories?"

"And what if they don't? Your name wasn't familiar to you. How do you know that whatever I tell you won't click either?"

"I… I don't." I said. He had a point. He didn't know a lot to begin with, but if he started telling me things and they didn't bring back memories… It would hurt. It would be like hearing a stranger's life. And what if the person he knew was a bad person? What if I didn't like what I heard?

"Was I a good person?" I asked. I had to at least know that one.

"I think so." He replied. "You did amazing things. You looked kind." That was a good start. I wondered what I had done, but I figured that asking would get me no answers. Hopefully I would remember it on my own.

"Was that the first or the second time you met me?"

"Second."

"So that was when I met you."

"Yes."

"Can you tell me about the first?"

"It's extremely complicated, Kylie."

"I need to know something." I argued. "I can't just sit here and do nothing." Bobby let out a rueful smile at those words.

"Yeah, that would be you." He muttered. "I'll tell you what. Give it a few days, see if your memory comes back on its own. We'll talk after that."

"OK."

"I'm gonna get you something to eat. Food will probably do you good."

"OK."

"You OK in there?" He asked, standing. "I know this is probably a lot to process, especially without anything else in your head."

"I think I'm OK. I don't know." I shrugged a little, and winced at the pain. "I don't know how it feels to be OK in comparison to this, yet." Bobby just smiled that same smile again, and walked out. I could've sworn I heard him mutter something about me being the same girl, no matter something. I couldn't make out the last part.

He came back with what looked like a tan rock after a bit of time. "Hard tack." He explained. "It's good for you." He also had a bottle of water again.

I laid there on his… whatever this shape was. I stayed there, eating the hard tack and drinking the water while Bobby watched. I didn't mind, though. I was too busy thinking. My name was Kylie. I had a last name, whatever that was. It was Dillinger. I was injured. I had been attacked.

Bobby had asked if I knew how I got here. He'd brought me to this house, granted, but at the same time I felt as though that wasn't the here he was talking about. What here did he mean? And if he was talking about a different one, how did I arrive in that here? What did the gold light have to do with this? What attacked me? How did I survive?

"Bobby?"

"Yeah kid?"

"How did you find me?"

"I told you, you were a couple hundred yards out from here."

"That is where I was." I stated. "That is not how you found me. You said I was buried in the dirt. How did you know to look for me out there?" Bobby let out a sigh.

"Always a sharp one." He muttered. "Eat. I'll explain it to you once you're more rested up."

"OK." That was the best I was going to get, I felt.

So I ate the hard tack (which was just a little softer than what the word hard made me think), drank the water, and let the questions form in my head.