"Here," Erin said as she held out a brown plastic bag, some fast food chain's logo prominently displayed on the front. "I got you a salad too."

Dean's eyes slowly traveled up from the bag to her eyes. "What for?"

She blinked several times. "To eat," she enunciated. When he continued to stare at her incredulously, she sighed and turned away. "It was worth a try."

"Hey, you could put it outside and attract some deer. There's nothing quite as relaxin' as deer watchin', I hear." Erin didn't have to face him for Dean to see her rolling her eyes; it was evident in the way her shoulders stiffened and how she almost groaned under her breath. Satisfied, Dean opened the two bags she had set on the small coffee table before offering the salad. Four burgers lay inside one and a bottle of Ginger Ale and fries in the other. "Ginger Ale?" he asked quietly.

Erin pulled the salad out of her bag and set it on the old kitchen table then turned back to him. "Yes. It's supposed to help for sickness and stuff and I figured it couldn't hurt." She gestured to it with a sarcastic smile. "Plus it has the word Ale in it so I figured you probably like it."

Dean bit back the onslaught of replies that wanted to roll of his tongue and instead smiled - genuinely. She was as quick witted as he remembered. "Thanks."

She seemed a little surprised. "You're welcome."

As she turned her attention back to her dinner and he clumsily unwrapped one of his own burgers with his useful hand, Dean wondered what she thought of him. He didn't have a good reason for why her number was still in his phone; he barely even remembered putting it in there in the first place. For one thing she was just a girl on a hunt five years ago, and for another, after the fight they'd had, he was confused as to why he hadn't removed the number immediately after.

Dean ate the first burger within a few minutes, his hunger becoming more and more evident as he ate. Breakfast had been a half drunk bottle of beer in the motel room but his stomach hadn't complained until now.

Unwrapping the second burger, Dean sat back, careful not to move his shoulder or neck, and gasped loudly when his burn hit the couch. He'd been avoiding moving and without movement, the discomfort had stayed at a minimum, but the burn immediately flared painfully when the fabric of his t-shirt and couch pressed against the blistered skin. He dropped the food on the coffee table and leaned forward, eyes closed.

"What's wrong?" Erin asked, hurrying to his side. She sat beside him and rested her hand on his left arm. He twisted away, foolishly, and the muscles in his neck tightened, causing the stitched bite to react.

"Dammit," he breathed and again louder.

"Dean, tell me." Her tone was even, determined. "It's your back, isn't it?" she asked, apparently remembering what he had intentionally not mentioned earlier. He didn't reply and instead kept his face turned away from her, tears burning in his eyes at the shots of pain coursing through his body. She tried to touch his back but he shrank away, this time cautiously. "Don't be an idiot, Dean, I have to look at it."

"No, you don't have to do anything," he replied through gritted teeth. Burns heal, he silently reasoned. No need for her to help him anymore than she already had. Sitting quietly without pushing her away before had tried his patience - no, stubbornness - and he wouldn't do it again. "I'll be fine." His voice betrayed him with a slight tremor.

Erin ignored him and stood, leaning with one knee on the couch as she leaned over him, hands running over the dark t-shirt with care. Her fingers brushed an edge of the burn and he inhaled sharply. "Sorry," she whispered. "Alright, I have to bandage it -" he began to respond "and you're gonna sit there and shut up. I mean it."

Dean realized she was serious and angrily bit his bottom lip to keep from responding. She had helped him, and he appreciated that, so he wouldn't voice the things going through his head. He was a terrible patient, he would admit to that. And so would Sam.

Dean's jaw clenched painfully tight at her touch. She sighed. "I'm gonna have to cut it."

His head snapped up, again renewing the throbbing in his neck and causing a wince. "What? Cut what?"

Erin walked to the small kitchen cabinets and searched through them, picking up some items to look under them. "Your shirt. You can't take it off with your arm the way it is."

He hated that she was right. Blood had begun to pump back into his numb arm but it was still weak and with his neck being as tightly bandaged as it was, he couldn't lift the shirt over his head.

Finally coming upon an old style scissors, she returned to him. He eyed the rusting pair and gave her a blank look. "You might have an easier time if you just rip it off."

"And as well as that line might work on the other girls you know…" She let the sentence hang with a smile as punctuation. He responded with a short chuckle. Angling herself with one knee on the couch cushion, Erin carefully set one side of the metal instrument against the base of his neck. He didn't audibly react but he flinched at the cold. "Sorry," she said again. "You want some ginger ale before I start?"

He gave a snort.

She began to tighten the scissors until it cut through the fabric and continued down his back, avoiding anywhere near the burn.

When the scissors finished at the bottom, a rush of cool air hit his back and he shivered. His body was probably fighting a fever, he assumed. Hearing her audibly swallow, he quietly asked, "That bad?"

"Yeah."

"What's it like back there?" he asked with a small smile, trying to push down the numbing and burning sensations that flashed across his upper back.

Erin stood back, eyes meeting his. "It's mostly in one spot - it's a big spot, but still."

"What color?"

"Red. Blotchy."

"Oh good. It's treatable."

Her head tipped to the side slightly. "How do ya figure?"

He felt his head begin to swim as the temperature of the room dipped from the sun's waning light. The exposed burn was still hot but the skin around was cool. A chill ran up his spine. "It's only second degree. Just get some…" He paused to close his eyes and focus on breathing, hoping that some extra oxygen would calm his pounding head. He squeezed the bridge of his nose as he continued, "Grab one of the towels and drown it in cold water." She did as he said, walking to the small sink. Though the taps looked old and useless, he was relieved to hear the squeal of released pressure as water poured out.

After a minute, the sound stopped and a he heard a few droplets hitting the sink as she squeezed out the excess water.

"And then?" She asked, walking back with the dripping cloth in hand.

Dean sat forward slowly and edged himself on the front of the cushion so his back was angled to her. "Put it on the burn." He bit his bottom lip, dreading the touch but knowing it was needed. She hesitated, seeing his preparation, but he flashed a quick smile before dropping his head. "Go ahead."

The cold towel touched the blistered area and Dean lost his balance. His right hand flew out and grabbed the arm rest, barely keeping himself in place. A wave of heat, immediately followed by ice cold, rushed over him but all he could focus on was staying upright. His back screamed in protest as the fabric pressed against bare nerves and he fought to keep from giving the screams a voice.

He knew she was apologizing repeatedly but he couldn't hear her over the expanding weight he felt in his head that seemed to cause the deafening squeal. He'd been burned before but never like this. From the width of Erin's cloth, the burn spanned most of the left side of his back.

Finally, after a few long seconds, the noise in his ears quieted and his eyes opened, gaining some balance from staring at the coffee table before him. Even if the table looked like it was swaying slightly.

"How long do I have to keep it there, Dean?" Erin asked, her voice filled with concern.

"J-just a few m-more minutes." His teeth chattered even while he tried to keep his jaw tight. The fever was getting the best of him and if she didn't get the burn soothed and bandaged soon, he knew he wouldn't be able to keep himself awake for much longer.

Erin tried to hold the wet cloth against him firmly but with every shallow breath he dragged in, he felt her pressure slip. Finally he noticed some relief as water soaked through the burn. "Okay," he said, almost too quietly for her to hear. "Now… if you can…" He struggled to form the sentence. "Just… put some of the… the stuff on it and bandage it." The last few words came out in a quick breath but she seemed to understand.

She gently pulled the towel away - he was thankful for the fabric not binding to his sensitive flesh - and knelt next to where the bag was still placed on the floor, retrieving the same gauze bandage roll and salve she had taken out earlier.

Dean's heart pumped strongly against his ribs, his body still compensating from the blood loss and shock of the burn, as his inner temperature tried to adjust itself. He felt sweat on his face even while he shivered.

"Are you okay?" Erin asked without looking at him as she worked on unrolling the bandage. He nodded weakly, finding the effort used to continue sitting up straight tiring. When she was finished with his back, all he wanted to do was lie down.

She set to work quickly, dabbing the edges of the burn gently with the dry towel before applying the gauze. He sucked in a quick breath at the first touch but bit his lip to keep from reacting more. When he tasted blood, he loosened his teeth's grip. Erin continued with the bandage and within five minutes, she had covered a good portion of his back with the soft material, careful not to wrap it too tightly so that he could move without fear of ripping it.

While Dean wished it had been Sam fixing him up, mostly because of his brother's superior knowledge with stitches and bandages, she had done a good job.

"Thank you," he said, glancing up to her with a smile.

She sat next to him, setting the now significantly thinner bandage roll on the coffee table. "You're welcome." She seemed tired. He wanted to say more, to thank her for coming and helping him, even when he was being a jerk. But no words formed in his open mouth.

Erin looked at him, as if hoping he would say something, then turned to look at her watch. "It's almost seven. Do you wanna sleep?"

"Yeah." He didn't care if she thought he was weak or anything, he was just tired. His eyes fell on the half opened burger on the low table. "Any chance that'll stay good til morning?"

"Ha," Erin replied with a one sided smile. "I doubt it. Don't worry, I'll get something tomorrow." She stood and walked to the kitchen table. Though he couldn't look at her for fear of moving his neck, he listened to the sound of fabric rubbing against fabric. After a moment she returned, a blanket in her arms. "I found this in my trunk."

He smiled up at her, somewhat sarcastically. "Thanks but I don't need a blanket."

She shifted her weight impatiently. "Look, tough guy, your back needs warmth and without a shirt, I don't care how hot you think you are, it's not gonna do the trick. So just lay down."

Dean, smile intact, carefully backed onto the couch fully and laid on his right side, head softly landing on the arm rest. Though his neck and back still hurt, the pain was significantly less than earlier. Erin draped the blanket from just below his bandaged wound and stretched it the length of the couch. She turned out, releasing a huff of frustration at him as she walked to the table - and her now cold and most likely stale food.

"Hey, Erin?"

"What."

His eyes drifted shut, against his will, and he felt himself slipping into the painless world of sleep. "Thanks."