The next day passed in a blur of activity, a haze of pain medication, and the unsettling realization that it would be my responsibility to figure out what would need to be done to plan a funeral for my parents. The thought would bring on a fresh wave of dizziness and nausea every time it came up. I had not been a part of the process when my parents had planned my brother's or grandfather's funeral, though I remember overhearing several tearful discussions they'd had, often laced with guilt, when they were forced to choose cheaper options due to financial constraints.

When I was discharged from the hospital, still bruised and in a shoulder immobilizing sling, I realized that my car was still sitting in the garage at my parents' house and since my parents were…. Dead…. I couldn't call them to get a ride. Standing outside of the hospital, in the hot sun, dressed in loose-fitting gray sweatpants and a hoodie, I stared at my phone, scrolling mindlessly through my contacts, trying to figure out how I would get home.

Anyone I called would want an explanation. They'd want to know if I was okay. They would ask, "what happened?" They wouldn't believe me if I told them that I stood face-to-face with the devil. The thought of navigating those conversations was overwhelming. As I weighed my options of who I could call and who might be available or willing to help, I noticed a pair of contacts in my phone that hadn't been there prior to the accident. I stared at the names, unable to figure out how the names got there.

Sam and Dean.

Realization dawned on me, and I scowled. Sam and Dean. The brothers that hunted monsters. On one hand, the brothers believed the story I had shared with them. But that belief made me uneasy. Maybe the three of us were all crazy. Maybe they were serial killers. I didn't get that vibe from them, but, how would I know what serial killers acted like? At least they wouldn't ask me about what happened. At least they wouldn't look at me with judgment or pity.

Before I could think about what I was doing, the call was already connecting to Sam, the least intimidating of the two brothers. I pushed my hair out of my face as I placed the phone to my ear.

"This is Sam"

His voice came over the speaker and I regretted my decision to call. What was I expecting? I don't really know. They owed me nothing. They couldn't help me, not really.

"Maggie? You okay?"

His voice sliced through my thoughts, concerned when he didn't get a response.

"Uh…. sorry. Hi. I just got discharged and I… I realized my car is at my parent's house and well…."

I stammered and stumbled over my words, flustered.

"Do you need someone to pick you up? My brother and I can be at the hospital in like, 15 minutes if you need a ride." Sam offered.

"That would be…. Really helpful." I said.

"Alright. We're on our way."

"Thanks."

The line disconnected. I stuffed the phone in the pocket of my too-loose sweatpants and made my way back into the hospital, figuring I could meander around the gift shop to kill time until Sam and Dean arrived. Touching every stuffed animal, pulling on each helium balloon, and strategically avoiding the "condolences" card section took up my time until I felt the vibration of my phone in my pocket.

Just out front. Black Impala.

I walked quickly to the entrance of the hospital and found the brothers easily, sliding into the back seat of their car.

"Sorry for calling. I just… couldn't think of who else to call."

I pushed my hair out of my face and looked out the window, avoiding any attempts the brothers made to try to make eye contact with me through the windows.

"It's no problem." Dean said from the driver's seat. He turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life.

Minutes passed by silently. I could feel Dean looking at me through the rear view mirror every now again. I determinedly avoided his glances and focused on passing cars. It seemed like hardly anytime had passed before Dean shut the engine off and the Impala rested in front of my home.

This is the part where I was supposed to climb out of the back of the car, thank the guys for the ride, and move on with my life. I could sell the house. There would probably be life insurance money. I could take a trip. Maybe even travel - even to another country. I could figure out who I am. Then I could come back. That would be when I finish college and work at a hospital tending to people who got hurt. Maybe by the same monsters that hurt my parents.

Something about it just wasn't sitting right with me. How was I supposed to move on? How was I supposed to pretend like none of this was real, like none of it had ever happened?

Am I just supposed to pretend that I don't know what I know?

Why did that damned demon pick my parents? Why me?

As the thoughts swirled in my head, I stayed seated in the back seat of the Impala, staring blankly at the house where I grew up.

"Maggie? Maggie?" Dean's voice pulled me from my thoughts.

I cleared my throat, "Oh, uh… sorry."

"You okay?" Dean asked.

This time, I did meet his gaze in the rear view mirror. Sam's head was turned towards me, too, listening carefully.

I could see in the rear view mirror that I was biting my lip, a nervous habit I had picked up somewhere along the way.

"I don't think I'll ever be okay." I dropped my gaze to my lap.

"Hey." Sam spoke up this time, voice low, laced with compassion.

I kept my eyes down, finding a loose thread on my sweatpants and tugging at it.

"I know that it seems like things won't ever get better right now. But they will. You're strong."

His words felt like a meaningless platitude.

"Did it get better for you?" I asked, looking up again and meeting the younger brother's gaze.

He set his jaw and I saw hurt flash across his eyes but he blinked it away quickly, looking out of his own window now.

I wasn't stupid. I couldn't imagine anyone choosing to be a hunter. Something awful had to have happened to these guys. The comment was meant to sting a little, but seeing the emotions play out on the brother's faces made me feel guilty.

"Can I ask you guys something?" I asked.

"Sure." Dean said.

"Am I just supposed to pretend like none of this is real? I'm a nurse. People are going to get hurt and come into the hospital and for every slash and cut and bite I come across, I'm going to be thinking, 'is this from a werewolf? Maybe a demon broke this guy's ribs.' And I'm just supposed to, what, just pretend they're animals every time? And I'm just supposed to let you guys hunt down this demon? And trust you to kill it?"

Bitterness dripped from every word.

"Cuz that's not what you did. I did some research on you guys. You hunted the thing that hurt your mom. You killed it yourself."

The night prior, I had looked up Sam and Dean. Their last name was actually Winchester. Most of what I found were criminal charges, some were pretty serious accusations. I found their mother's obituary. There were some pretty wild blogs and even a book series called, "Supernatural", written about them. I read reviews and summaries late into the night. Scouring through all the fangirl bullshit told me that, at the very least, these guys were arguably the best at what they did.

"I know you guys are good hunters. I know this is your life. You could teach me how to hunt. And I could help out. At the very least I could patch you up when things go sideways. I do excellent stitch work. And I cook okay, too. At least you could have a good meal every now and then."

Dean's lips pursed and his brow furrowed the longer I spoke. He was already shaking his head at my suggestion.

"You don't want to get into this life, Maggie. Hunters don't exactly have a long life expectancy. You don't get to have the apple pie life when you hunt. There's no white picket fence. There's just pain and loss and suffering. You have so much you could do. You don't have to be a nurse. You can do anything you want."

Now I was the one shaking my head.

"Do you seriously think I'll ever have an apple pie life, Dean? My whole family, every person I care about most in this world is gone. Dead. My life is screwed to hell. At least if I hunted, maybe I could save some others until something rips me apart."

I was practically yelling.

But my impassioned speech was met with silence.