TWO YEARS EARLIER~ SMALL LIBERAL ARTS COLLEGE

I was walking across the darkened campus, cursing myself for getting caught up in research that I'd been doing for a project that I was slowly becoming convinced would make a great building block toward my dissertation. My dad's voice was as clear as a bell in my mind, ringing over and over about the monsters that lurk in darkness. It rang especially true since just today I'd noticed another newspaper alerting me and my fellow students of another girl's death.

As if my father's warnings were coming true in real time, I heard a scuffling coming from the darkness. The scuffling noise turned into groans, then growls, then a slick sound like when a person cuts into a head of fresh lettuce. I scrunched up my nose, and fighting Dad's voice, I walked toward the sound. As I made it to the dark spot between the college bookstore and the science's building, he staggered out. Covered in blood and some other kind of fluid, I nearly turned and ran, but he looked like he needed help.

I was torn for a split second, but then my need to help took over. I rushed forward and that's when I noticed the blade in his hand. Shit, guess I was completely fucking wrong. He looked up from where he was bent over, and his eyes met mine. They were a warm honey color and I stopped breathing. He was older than me, I could see that even through the grime and blood on his face, and taller, but that wasn't exactly a difficult characteristic to have opposite me. I glanced at the hand holding the blade and he realized why I stopped.

"I won't hurt you." His voice was deep and low, and I felt the truth of his words. "I just," he staggered again, and I realized he was hurt.

I regained my sense of purpose and rushed forward, hoping that my intuition was right about him, because dying before I finished, well anything would suck. I wasn't entirely sure how I could help him, but I took his arm, the one not holding the blade and put it over my shoulder. I felt him groan again and sighed. "I'm not exactly the strongest person on campus, Mr.-" I stopped not knowing how to finish his name, but powered through my lack of knowledge. "But I can get you to the infirmary?"

"No," another groan. "I'll be fine, it just hit me in the ribs harder than I thought." I glanced at his face, coated with blood. "Trust me, princess, the blood isn't mine." And he grinned at him, a dimple peeking through his stubbly face.

"OK." I considered my options. I had a slightly off-campus apartment. My dad insisted, since he didn't trust dorms for some weird reason that he never explained, though I swore I heard something about ghosts, but who knew with him? "I live a few streets over," I took a breath, "if you'd like to clean up, and then I can look at your ribs."

He was leaning on me as little as he could, but I could feel his strength leaving him, bit by bit. "My truck is," he pointed with the blade he still held in his hand. I looked to where he was pointing and saw it, half hidden under one of the willow trees in the nearby parking lot.

I nodded and started forward, happy that he was pulling most of his weight, even if he was listing a bit toward my side. "Um, I'm Parisa Allison." I offered, thinking that at least we should be introduced. I felt him chuckle and stop as quickly as he started. Yep, his ribs were definitely bruised at least. "What? I think if I'm taking you home with me, you should at least know my name."

"John Winchester." He offered, as we drew nearer his truck. Fuck, I thought, looking at the height of it. I hoped he could manage getting himself up in it, because getting myself into the passenger side would be a struggle for me.

We got to the truck and he did something unexpected. He tossed me a set of keys from his pocket. "I hope you know how to drive, princess, because I don't think I'm going to be much use right now."

I struggled to get him to the passenger side, happy that unlocking the door wasn't a fucking chore. The truck looked vaguely familiar, like one my dad had at his place, but that couldn't be. I was happy to watch him drag himself into the seat, and then I rounded the front and opened the driver's door. Sighing, I basically had to launch myself into the damn thing. I hated it, and being short, and the entire ordeal, but I got behind the wheel. Now came the real problem. I couldn't reach the damn pedals. Taking a second to get my bearings, and feeling around the seat, I finally found the adjustment lever. After a few tense moments when I thought I'd never get the fucking seat to move to where I needed it to, I finally relaxed. The pedals were at my tiptoes, but I could manage.

"Damn, princess," John sighed next to me and I realized I'd had a captive audience to my struggle. "You're fucking tiny, aren't you?"

I chuckled and got the truck started. A few minutes later, we were at my apartment, and for not the first time I thanked God I'd gotten the ground floor. The entire ground floor of a Victorian house, that my dad had checked top to bottom, worried about drafts and cold spots. Tinkering with the light switches, and making sure there were no shorts. The man was a worrier. I parked on the street, my car still in its spot in the driveway. My upstairs neighbors had moved out after the winter semester, so I had the entire place to myself. Well, I would if I had the keys to the upstairs.

Rushing around the truck, I opened the door to offer any assistance he might need. The only thing he seemed to need was my shoulder. Easily done, and I was happy to see he left the knife in the truck. Up the front steps, which were shallow and managed without much groaning, I leaned him against the side of the house while I fished out my keys. Unlocking the multiple locks, seriously my dad was a security freak, I opened the door and flicked on the light inside, illuminating my entryway. I looped John's arm back across my shoulders and helped him inside. And then I reversed the process.

It took a bit to get him into the guest bathroom, but I managed, and then we came to a stalemate.

"You have to take it off," I said, pointing at his shirt, the only thing left on his top half. "I can't see how bad your ribs are if they're covered, Mr. Winchester."

"John," he bit out, glaring through his pain. "And unless you're a doctor, princess, I don't see why you have to look."

I rolled my eyes. "I have to look because you won't let me take you to see a DOCTOR, JOHN." I snapped out his name and he smiled. He fucking smiled. Ugh. Fine, I thought, screw it. I stepped into his personal space, feeling him still where he was leaning against the counter. I moved my fingers to the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it, realizing he wasn't fighting because I shocked him, I kept yanking until I'd pulled it over his head. "There, was that so damn difficult?" I didn't look up at his face, I was too busy studying the angry red splotch that covered his side. Red and turning purplish as I watched. Fuck. I bit my lip and whispered, "This might sting a bit," as my fingers, as gently as possible, probed the area. He hissed and I bit my lip harder, I couldn't feel any breaks, but he was going to be sore for a while. "I don't think you have any broken ribs. But that's going to hurt like a bitch for some time." I suddenly noticed that he'd gone completely silent after the hiss, and keeping my fingers on his side, I looked up. Those honey colored eyes were so dark now that I nearly lost my breath.

Before I could wrap my head around the change in his eyes, he was lowering his head and then his lips brushed mine. His hands, which had been clutching the counter top behind him, raised to cup my face, as I sighed and gave his tongue the access he definitely wanted. Flicking it against my own, tempting me to join it in a dance, I smiled and complied. My hands found his waist and I moved closer, fully in his space now, but he didn't seem to mind. Sliding my hands up his bare back, to his neck, I felt him moan into my mouth at the touch. My eyes closed, our mouths locked together, I nipped his bottom lip and he groaned. Fuck, he was injured and here I was mauling him. I pulled my lips from his, but he wouldn't let me go far.

"Are you-did I," I felt him chuckle, and while it was low and deep, it didn't last long. He sucked in a breath and I nodded. "You're injured, for fuck's sake." I pulled away from him and he was smiling down at me.

"Pretty sure I totally forgot my ribs, baby girl." His hands were tugging at the belt loops on my jeans, trying to pull me back, but I was trying to stand firm. "Shit, are you-did I,"

It was my turn to grin. "I want to, trust me, I want to." Reading his fear loud and clear. "But you're hurt." I pointed at his ribs, and the face that we hadn't gotten around to cleaning. "And covered in blood and something else." I struggled to make sense of the other muck.

"Then why don't we," he glanced at the shower behind me. "Clean me up?"

I closed my eyes, he was incorrigible. Fucking incorrigible. And I wasn't going to be able to resist him, damn it. "Fine." I opened my eyes to his smile. "Fine. We'll get you cleaned up." I licked my lip and saw his attention focus on my mouth. "Let me grab you something to wear, after your shower."

I started to turn, but his hands stopped me, pulling me back into his chest. "Our shower. And if you live alone, I think I'll be alright until morning." Shit. I had to fight back a moan. Why did I have to find him? Tall, dark, and manly. My type. To a T. Fuck.

I felt his fingers slide down to my shirt hem, tugging it experimentally, seeing if it was alright. I shook my head, and my hands joined his, pulling it off my body. His fingers were calloused, and they felt amazing running down my arms and back up and over my shoulders. Then down my spine until they found the clasp of my bra. A flick and it was open, a shrug of my shoulders and it joined my shirt. Then his lips were on the back of my neck and I was done for, my hips rocked back into his and I felt his smile at my nape. His fingers, still roaming my skin like he was on a treasure hunt, found the front of my jeans, the button was opened and the zipper down before I could fully comprehend it. I kicked off my shoes and shimmied out of the denim. Left in my panties, I turned, forcing his mouth from where he'd been sampling the skin where my shoulder met my neck.

I let my fingers slide across his stomach, careful of the red splotch, down to his belt. I worked as quickly as he had, his eyes never leaving mine. Soon, I was sliding down with his pants, taking care to remove his boots and giving him time to steady himself after pulling the jeans from each foot. Wearing only his boxers, I looked up at the impressive tent he'd formed. I heard him moan, and knew he liked the picture he was seeing. Me, on my knees, looking up at him. Maybe later. He needed a shower and I wanted to make sure he was taken care of, medically speaking, of course.

I rose to my feet, and keeping my eyes on his, I slipped my panties off. Tossing them onto the growing pile of our clothes. My hands went to his boxers, and I smiled at him as I repeated the route I'd taken with his jeans. "Wait here." I ordered, turning and opening the shower door. Adjusting the temperature of the water, I turned back to see him studying me intently. "I don't want it to be too hot or too cold, do I?"

The steam was starting to gather as I took his hand and pulled him in as I walked backward into the water stream. I turned, forcing him to turn as well, so he was full under the flow. I watched as the grime and blood ran down his face, and picked up a washcloth I kept stocked for unexpected guests. Using the soap that was always waiting, just in case, I lathered the cotton and then raised my hand to wash his face. Careful of his eyes, but making sure every speck of blood and who knew what was gone. I sat it aside, and grabbed the shampoo, washing his hair as carefully. Then, once the shampoo was rinsed away, I took back up the washcloth and took care that every inch of John Winchester was put back in pristine order. Always careful of his wound, always careful of the one part of him that he surely wanted the most attention for, I lathered him up and rinsed him off.

I was shocked at how much restraint he showed. I could see his fists clench every now and then, but he kept his hands to himself. Up until I deemed him clean, and then, whether the warm water or my ministrations helped his pain, he let go. His hands pulled me tight against him, his hardness flush against my stomach. His lips found mine again, and he swallowed the moan that would have been indecent in any other setting. Our mouths feasted on one another, our hands touching and teasing. Until finally, neither of us could wait. The water, still warm, rushed over us as he gripped me in his arms and pressed me against the tile wall. And then he was inside of me, and he was everywhere. His mouth and tongue on my throat, his hands on my hips, and I was so full of John Winchester that I thought I'd never be the same.

And boy was I right.