Author's note: $ $#! Why do em-dashes always turn into simple hyphens? Grumble. My whole life (okay, since first grade, I think) I've been using em-dashes in my writing. Yet here, I can't. Gah! Please excuse the winky little hyphens in odd places. They're supposed to be bigger. It's all this site's fault. Gah.

Also, and most importantly: Please be forewarned and forearmed. Some parts of this chapter may be triggering.

FOUR

It all happened so fast. We were taken away in separate cars and brought to some kind of nondescript office building; I saw Kieran being hauled in by two short guys in black suits (which would have been funny if I wasn't so scared); he looked over his shoulder at me with wide eyes and an expression I'd never seen on his face before.

I could recognize it easily because I knew it was reflected on my own face: terror.

They put me in what appeared to be a closet, with a desk. An agent—a woman—questioned me about places we'd cleaned. You know, you don't think much about it, but there are security cameras everywhere you go. I, for one, will not be picking my nose in the future unless I'm absolutely sure I'm not only alone but unobserved. There aren't many places you can go. (Not that I really pick my nose. I'm just saying.) There's no privacy anywhere. Even when you're ganking monsters—which appear human, often enough—or cleaning up the messes left behind by the Hunters who ganked them.

I offer Madge and Edward Carrigan as evidence. Ho, ho, yuck.

Not that Madge and Ed had security cams installed to record their over-the-top Christmas festivities. No. But there was that warehouse, and all those bits of vampire gick...and various other things prior to that. And then Kieran's wonderful spitting/bleeding/and apparently peeing (give the boy a bush or a building and he's good to go—God, men are gross) leaving DNA evidence that I'd left unscryed...well. I don't have to tell you. Anyhow, we were being accused of being accessories to murder, or grave desecration (which I didn't quite get—how can straightening stones, resodding graves and restoring crypts be desecration? Seems more like restoration if you ask me). Plus-when does anyone in the FBI care about that?

Seriously, it was hard to make out exactly what was happening, because everyone was so vague. It was weird.

Weirder was the way that—after speaking to some head honcho badass named Henriksen—the agent let me go. Practically vaulted me out of there, as a matter of fact. But they kept our van (and my clothes!) and most importantly, they kept Kieran.

It seemed like only an hour or so later that I stood on the sidewalk in Pittsburgh, with only my purse, which contained a hairbrush, my travel toothbrush, and my wallet holding about twenty bucks and some change. Everything a girl needs to be well-groomed and practically homeless in the middle of a major metropolitan American city. In January.

Except for a coat. Or a phone; mine was plugged into the charger. Also in our van. Which was now impounded. By the FBI. Thank you, Federal Bureau of Investigation. May the vengeful spirit of J. Edgar Hoover haunt you forever.

Bottom line: I had nowhere to go and no way to contact anyone. (True, I had some change, but do you remember anyone's phone number? No. You just swipe their name and the phone icon, and poof! Connection. It leaves you useless at a public pay phone. If you can find one, anymore. Remember, this story takes place around 2007-2008. There were more payphones around, then. But, there was no Uber.)

A look at a city bus map pointed me in the direction of the library, which meant warmth, shelter-and restrooms. From there, I figured, I could make some plans about how to proceed. I had no idea how long Kieran would be locked up; from the sounds of the conversation Henriksen had with the agent in the hallway, however, it would be a while.

Once I got there, I huddled next to a barely-functioning radiator in the Public Library, wondering how long I could survive on a diet of vending machine peanuts and water from the restroom faucet if I budgeted carefully—assuming Kieran got out. And then I realized that I had no way to contact him (and he had no way to reach me) and that I needed to leave my cozy library cubical, get back on the bus, spend more of whatever money I had left and return to the building Kieran was in, so I could tell them to tell him…well, I'd figure it out on the way.

But as I stood on the library steps, the thought occurred to me: I didn't know which bus to take to get to where Kieran was being held, and... Damn it. Once again, I'd acted first and thought later. Idiot. I turned to go back into the library and ask someone-only to see the librarian locking the doors for the day. A quick peek at the sign showed me they closed at 6:00 pm on Tuesdays.

It figures, to be honest. I never could get the hang of Tuesdays. Or anything else in real life, to be honest, because it hit me how ill-equipped I was to function as a civilian. My entire life had been about my Clan and my family; everything had been taken care and every move—even the ones I'd thought secret—had been monitored. Basically I'd been coddled, cosseted, and cloistered, and that rendered me helpless.

I could have stood there and thought about it, or I could do something, and since we've already established that thinking things through never has been my forte, you know what I did next. I left.

It had started to rain by the time I got to the bus stop near library—more like sleet—and it was dark. I stood beside the pole holding the street sign with a bus on it and waited for one to come along with a location over the windshield, like Federal Building, or something similar on it.

None came.

Some dink in a BMW who drove too close to the curb did, however. He splashed me with half-frozen water, soaking me through to the skin.

Leaving me frozen. And not in the Disney way.

Shit. I was homeless, hungry and lost.

To make matters worse, shortly after I got splashed, I got mugged; someone raced out of the shadows and after a short tussle, stole my purse. So I had to add broke and without ID to the list of my attributes. Not to mention unable to brush my teeth or my hair.

I ask you; if you were me, what would you have done?

I started walking.

Predictably, I walked in the direction that found me in a very seedy section of town. The kind of section where a girl—especially a frozen, homeless, hungry, lost, ID-less and broke one, shouldn't be in because she's going to lose her second-to-last attribute—alive—if she's not careful. The thought occurred to me that my final attribute-a virgin-made me into a meal on two legs if any supernatural bad guys happened to get a whiff. So alive and virginal could almost be one and the same, at least as far as victimhood was concerned.

Especially because I was practically suffering from hypothermia at this point, clad only in a thin, wet shirt and worn, wet jeans, and shivering so hard my teeth chattered. It's not hard to imagine that I wasn't being observant or paying attention when a group of toughs surrounded me and began taunting me. They were wild-eyed and looking for some fun, and I was it.

At least I wasn't about to be eaten. I supposed that could have been considered a positive, all things considered. Still, I screamed as they tore at my clothes and was tossed from one to another like a ball as they laughed at my plight. Their hands slid over my body, grabbing and pinching and fondling, and there was nothing I could do to stop them except struggle, punch and kick weakly and scream. Hoarsely.

It was an exercise in futility; one of me (and not a very big one of me) against five of them. I didn't even have a good spell to use to protect myself. Before long they'd dragged me to an alley. I got in one last feeble cry, something like, "I need help!"; whatever it was, they laughed at me. It was like my fear drove them on like cats playing with a frantic, squeaking mouse. There in the alley, they began to squabble among themselves about who got to have me first. Things appeared to get even worse when two really big guys appeared to join the throng; they began knocking off the smaller ones, so they could have me to themselves. Fists flew, punches landed, thugs fell. And then, it was just them.

The shorter of the two men approached me. "Hey," he said, reaching out.

"Fuck off!" I rasped and gave it my best—and final—shot; I popped him right in the chin. I was too short to do much if any damage; I'm afraid I hurt my hand more than I hurt his face.

"Hey!" He reared back. Then he grabbed my arms in both his hands and I was overpowered.

"No!" I struggled to escape his strong grasp. Somehow, I managed to free my hand-maybe because he wasn't holding onto my wrists that tightly. I was too short to do much damage. This time, I managed to punch him in the throat. He coughed. But he didn't stop advancing.

"Calm down! I'm not trying to rape you, I'm trying to help—omph!" He yelped as I plowed my knee into something soft and he bent at the waist with a gasp. Good thing too-at that point, the only word I heard was "rape", and I wasn't having it. Better to emasculate my attackers than allow them to touch me.

But then the other, Sasquatch-sized man came behind me to slide his arms through mine, immobilizing my elbows so I couldn't swing anymore, and the first guy quickly recovered. He pressed his body against mine so that I couldn't kick. This is it, I thought. First I lose my virginity, then I lose my life. My teeth chattered, my blood pounded in my ears, my breath wouldn't fill my lungs. I'd never been so terrified as I was when I found myself layered between those two like the center filling in the middle of a big-man sandwich. And then the man pressed up against my front held up a small flashlight, and turned it on to peer down into my face. I was blinded by the brightness after the dark alley, and couldn't see a thing. Then I heard him say, "Hey. Wait. It's you, again. Again?" in a heart-stoppingly familiar, deep, and sexy voice. "Sammy! It's her!"

Holy crap. It's them, I thought.

And then, I fainted.

-oooooOooooo-

I woke up dressed in warm flannel and dry socks. On a bed. Under a blanket. I lifted my head to see where I was. It appeared to be a shitty motel room. But that didn't stop me from asking, "Am I in Hell?"

"Funny you should say that," said that wonderfully and gravelly voice to my right. I shivered.

"Dean," admonished another, not-as-deep-and-also-somewhat-bitchy male voice to my left. "That's not funny."

Dean! I buried my face in the pillow. My heart pounded. And Sam.

I was safe.

I was alive.

I was in a motel room with Dean Winchester.

And his brother.

I sat up. "They stole my hairbrush!" I blurted. "They took it."

"I don't believe it. She's worried about her hair, now? Really?" Dean replied.

"Dean, she just woke up. Give her a minute," Sam chided.

"Just woke up? Sam, if we hadn't had happened along when we did, she would be dead right now. If not from being torn apart by those animals, then from exposure. What the hell was she doing..." He trailed off; I felt him sitting on the edge of the mattress. He slid his fingers under my chin and turned my head so that I had to look at him.

His green eyes sparked, but my gaze was drawn to the reddened bruise on his chin.

Oops. "Um…did I do that to you?" I realized quite suddenly, my knuckles hurt. "I did, didn't I?'

"Doesn't matter. What does matter is-what the hell were you doing in the middle of the worst section of the city, alone, in the dark? Where's Captain Jack? That stupid boyfriend of yours?"

"Dean!" Sam scolded again. "Let her talk."

"I don't have time to talk. You may have forgotten, Sam, but I'm on a deadline here, and the clock is ticking pretty damn loud. I don't have a lot of time to be picking up strays right now. We need to find Bela and get the Colt back." He jumped up and began stomping back and forth in his big boots, your basic Timberline-type hiking/hunting boots with a thick, black, rubber tread. Even now, he was dropping mud clods the size of Iowa onto the rug, and it was squicking me out. Because he was leaving footprints!

Okay, I know. Weird thing to notice right then. I didn't care. At that moment, I longed for my little vacuum cleaner, stuck in the back of our impounded van. You've probably seen the ads for it—it can suck up a bowling ball. But I digress. Because the important thing is, seeing his feet making prints on the rug reminded me that it was my job to clean up after him, and either we'd done a pretty crappy job or we hadn't, but the fact remained that Kieran was in custody, and I was in a motel room with two men who would make me get Banished from my family for life.

I'm embarrassed to admit this, but it's true—remembering this caused me to do the one thing I hated more than anything but always seemed to be doing as a direct result of contact with the Winchesters, especially the oldest one and especially-especially lately: I burst into tears.

Again. "They took my toothbrush!" I wailed. (Well, it seemed to make sense at the time. You know, stress will do that to you.)

"Oh, for fuck's sake—"

"It's okay, Dean. She's in shock." Sam sat down beside me and actually pulled me into a hug. I found myself cuddled against him, and I was grateful for the comfort. I pressed my cheek into his chest. I was safe. After the day I'd had, it was the best feeling ever. Sam murmured, "I've got an extra toothbrush you can have. And you can use my hairbrush, if you want to."

Dean raised his arms to the ceiling and then let them fall limply to his sides with a slapping noise. "Great. Francis and WhotheFuck are bonding over toiletries, now? Really?" He shook his head and glared at me.

"Oh." I sniffled. Then I paused. Wait a minute. You mean, I have fantasized about Dean Winchester practically my whole life, and he doesn't even remember my name? Talk about a blow to your ego. I leaned away from Sam. "What did you just call me?"

"You heard me." He put his hands on his hips and looked pissy. Kind of almost...well...hissy-pissy. Like raging-queen hissy, even through all the testosterone-fueled cranky. "I don't have a clue what your name is. Why would I?"

I sat up and the tears in my eyes evaporated, probably because I was so steaming mad. "My name is Isolde McShae," I announced.

He stared at me with his brow furrowed and his nose wrinkled. "Your name is Insult? What the hell kind of a name is that? I mean, I know you Cleaners are an odd bunch, but naming your kid Insult is just plain weird."

I think I rolled my eyes. Pretty to look at, but not the brightest bulb on the panel..."No, it's Isolde. It's pronounced IZ—auld."

Beside me, Sam snorted. "Insult." Then he said in the most know-it all and prim way, "According the Arthurian lore, Dean, Isolde was the name of the Irish princess who was the lover of the knight, Tristan."

"Dude, you're just a repository for uncommonly-known, completely useless facts, you know that? And it still sounds like 'Insult'. " Dean narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. Which, I noticed, were still (and always) that luscious strawberry-pink color which should have looked weird on such an Alpha male but never did. Then his eyes widened. He stared. "Wait a second. Did you say your name is Iz-auld?"

"That's what I said," I said. Duh. Do I stutter? I rolled my eyes. Seriously, I was beyond-well-insulted.

"I knew I knew you! I mean, I know I know you. I mean...Oh, shit. You're her!"

I wrinkled my forehead at him. "Oh shit, you're her?"

"You-you're that girl! The one from the Ferris Wheel!"

He did remember! And that meant I hadn't lusted for years in vain. I felt triumphant and full of joy, and I knew that all my Dean Winchester fantasies had come true. For about half a second, anyway. Because Dean ruined it, by continuing to talk. "Wait. And you're the one from the diner, too. So...you-you're our Cleaner? Well...that sucks."

Wait. What?

He turned away and began pacing again, piecing things together as he ground mud-clods into the carpet. "Now I remember. My dad tried to talk to your dad that day. I remember because I thought he'd be pissed at me for fooling around with some chick on a ride when I was supposed to be...doing something else. But he was so preoccupied with the way your old man brushed him off, he didn't even care. There was something he wanted, but your dad wasn't talking."

"I remember that!" Sam chimed in. "It was that carnival. With the topa."

"Some chick?" I crossed my arms over my chest. "Some chick?"

"Yeah." Dean pointed at Sam. "You won that huge, stuffed, dick-banana. Man, I was glad when you forgot that thing in a motel room. It was embarrassing, Sammy."

"It made a good pillow," Sam protested.

"Yeah, if you liked sleeping on a giant penis."

Now seemed like a good time to get things moving along. Now that I'd learned Dean remembered a stuffed banana more than he'd remembered me, I was ready to be on my way. Kieran was waiting. "So, now that we've re-acquainted ourselves and taken that brief and mostly forgettable stroll down memory lane, could you please tell me where my clothes and shoes are?"

Blam. Dean lowered his brows then, apparently not done with me. "Speaking of which,"he said and folded his arms over his chest, looking suddenly so paternal it was creepy. "You've got no ID, no money, no suitcase, no clothes, no phone and no coat. You're all alone, and you're the size of a hobbit. You don't even have any weapons to protect yourself. So, start talking, Insult. I'll say it again. Where's your stupid, abusive boyfriend? The one that punched a wall instead of your head."

I gave him a look that I hope conveyed volumes. "He's not my boyfriend. He's my cousin."

"Whatever." He frowned, and then, I guess, my words penetrated. He tilted his head, his brow unfurled. "Really? He's not your boyfriend?"

I shook my head. "Yuck."

Just like that, he turned into the YumYum boy I remembered, only older and frighteningly, mind-blowingly hot. He bestowed one of his big white killer smiles (complete with twinkling green eyes) at me; my insides turned liquid as I began to melt under the energy of his Sex God-like power. And he said, "Sammy, find Insult's shoes. We need to go break her cousin out of the slammer."

I wonder how that's going to happen? Please review—I'm open to suggestions because I have NO clue!