Previously: Dean sighed in impatient frustration, the wait finally taking its toll on his limited supply of patience. "Look, I'm sure that's all very interesting, but none of it tells us what happened."

She snapped back at him, sharply enough to cause him to sit back. "The world exploded, okay? It went to pieces and I don't understand any of it. Any of it."

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Chapter 4: 'M Not Drinking That.

Standing up quickly from the table, so fast the chair behind her shot out a good three feet and almost toppled over before righting itself with a loud thump, she went back over to the cupboards and got out a plastic container, agitatedly spooning the remaining oatmeal into it.

Dean watched the movements with growing concern, listening with only half his attention to her incoherent mutterings as her frustration and fear began to make themselves known. "So loud…too big…scared me…wasn't her…never should have…came out of nowhere…couldn't breathe…her eyes."

Keeping his eyes on her, he leaned over to talk to Sam and found himself compressing his ribs in a way that they did NOT like, freezing him in mid-motion as he waited for the pain—white hot and very insistent—to die down. Dimly, he was aware of Sam's concerned voice next to him calling out his name and a softer, feminine voice suddenly much closer than it had been doing the same, but he could feel a cough trying to work its way up and found that he couldn't multi-task as well as he'd boasted. The effort it took to suppress the rasping itch took all his concentration.

After a minute, a very long minute, he could feel the pain subsiding and fought the urge to sigh in relief in case that sparked a new attack. Opening his eyes, he blinked the world into focus to find the girl crouched in front of him, a hand on his knee. The table had been pulled back to give her room, and beside him he could feel Sam hovering, the concern tangible.

"Dean?" she asked hesitantly, all anger gone from her features.

"'M fine," he said in a rough voice, the breathless quality it held failing to convince even him, much less the mother worried he could sense breathing down his neck. "'M fine, Sammy."

"Sure you are, tough guy," she said as she peered into his eyes, the first extended, voluntary eye contact she'd initiated with them since arriving. "You take any of the Advil I left near the bed?"

Not wanting to tell her that they had suspected her of drugging them, Dean nodded instead and reached for his coffee, wanting to take a sip to ease the tightness in his throat, but she quickly grabbed it and hurried away, disappearing from his vision so quickly he thought for a second he might have blacked out.

"Hey, man, you okay?" Sam asked, hand tightening fractionally. "Maybe we should try and get you to a hospital, just in case."

"It's not that far, only a few miles," she said from her location over by the refrigerator, where Dean could see her pouring a glass of milk, "but I'm not sure it's safe to do even that in this weather. You encounter any kind of trouble, slip into a different lane, anything, and it could just make things worse."

A moment later she was back in front of him, holding out the glass expectantly. Glaring up at her, he said, "'M not drinking that."

Smiling slightly, she leaned down so she was eye level with him, again initiating eye contact, which let him see the sparkle of humor that had grown. "You drink this and I'll consider not forcing you to take one of my calcium tablets." When he continued to glare at her, she set it down on the table with a sigh before stalking over to the kitchen once again and pulling out a large, white plastic bottle which rattled ominously. Before she'd even begun to twist of the top, he had reached for the glass and was taking tentative sips, the cool liquid sliding down surprisingly easy. He could hear her chuckling quietly, Sam's rumbling laugh making itself known as well, but he refused to acknowledge them or their mockery until he'd finished about half of the glass.

"Put those things away," he said, voice almost back to normal.

"Left side of the cupboard, Sam," she said with one final laugh, "just in case." Her face became more serious, then, as she came back over and took her seat once more. "You need to be careful, Dean. I don't know a lot about it, but busted ribs sound like bad news, and I'm pretty sure…no, I know that that's something we can't afford getting worse right now." She drew up a knee and braced her chin on it, arms wrapping around the lower limb in a tight embrace as if she was cold. "You saved my life," she whispered softly into her knee, hiding her face for a moment as she fought for control, "so you can't get worse. This can't get any worse."

Looking at her in the fluorescent light, hair a mess and mood again shifting into dangerous territory—crying women, he just could not handle—Dean rapped his knuckled a few times against the top of the table to get her attention. "Hey," he said quietly, lopsided grin making an appearance as he sought to reassure her. "It takes a lot more than…whatever the hell it was to bring me down. Even Sammy here's got some skills when it comes to this sort of thing."

"Oh, come on," Sam said as he caught on, tone deliberately light. "I'm not the one with the cracked ribs, here." He leaned back in his chair, slouching down a bit so that his shoulders could rest against the wall behind him, the perfect picture of nonchalance. "Obviously, you were having a harder time that I was."

"Only 'cause I was too busy saving your ass to watch my own," Dean shot back, fully intent now on protecting his pride…before he remembered that he couldn't remember the incident they were arguing about and turned to the girl for confirmation. "Right? I was totally caught off guard from behind while watching this idiot's back."

"More like my ass, and I was being an idiot, a frozen deer-caught-in-the-headlights-and-waiting-to-be-smucked-into-oblivion idiot" she said in a low voice, but the panic that he'd sensed rising in it had once again fallen away. He knew she'd have to deal with it some time, but that was more Sam's department than his, the touchy-feely mumbo jumbo that he absolutely did not, did not, ever indulge in…except during those rare cases when Sam really seemed to need it. Whatever Sam needed, Dean was willing to provide in a heartbeat, as long as it was never brought up again.

"It happens," Sam said easily, "to the best of us and usually at the worst possible time. The fact that we're all here and in once piece means you must've done something right."

She cast him a grateful look, smiling softly before unfolding herself from the tense position she'd assumed and relaxed back into her chair, hand creeping out to fold around her coffee cup again. Picking it up, he peered accusingly at Dean over the rim, eyebrow rising up as she glanced meaningfully down at his still half-full milk glass.

"Seriously?" he asked incredulously even as he reached for the glass obligingly.

Hiding a smile behind her mug, she caught his gaze again and said a brief, heartfelt, "Thank you" before launching back into her story, voice trembling at times but firm. Dean wasn't sure what it was exactly that she was thanking him for—whether it was saving her life, calming her down, or listening to her without complaining too much—but he could see that the action had made her feel better, so he nodded his acceptance of the thanks and listened carefully as she continued, the words triggering half-memories in his mind so that he could almost imagine the events as she described them.

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So, now that you've had a couple of chapters to experience "the girl," what's the reaction to her? Any suggestions on how you want to see her handled?

Thanks also for the reviews; they're much appreciated.