She won't make a sound
Alone in this fight with herself and the fears whispering if she stands she'll fall down
She wants to be found
The only way out is through everything she's running from wants to give up and lie down.

So stand in the rain
Stand your ground
Stand up when it's all crashing down
You stand through the pain
You won't drown
And one day, what's lost can be found
You stand in the rain

Stand Your Ground

I had never really been afraid of the dark. I grew up with monsters and demons, witches and ghosts. My mother died when I was nine years old. She'd been killed by my father, after he'd defended himself against the demon possessing her.

After that my life was never the same. I'd always secretly wondered if my dad had ever wanted a boy. Boys can do things girls can't. They are less picky. They can go to football games and have fun with friends. They make better warriors. They can train longer, hit harder, run faster.

Hell if I'd been a boy I likely could have defended myself during what ended up being the worst night of my life three months ago, it might never have happened, at least not to me. Then I wouldn't be in the constant predicament I almost always found myself in these days.

I wouldn't be afraid of the dark, I wouldn't need anything from anyone, I wouldn't need him. I wouldn't scream and cry out in my sleep, desperate for him to save me, when I'd been trained to save myself from the vilest forms of evil to ever walk the earth. I sat up in bed, removing my hand from under my pillow, from the silver knife tucked under it.

I made my way down the stairs and into the kitchen for a glass of water. The light was already on, Dad must be awake. I crossed to the kitchen in my nightclothes; I hadn't bothered to put on a robe when I left my bed.

It had been just me and Dad in the house when I went to sleep, but I wasn't surprised to find Dean and Sam Winchester sitting at my dining room table when I stepped into the lit up kitchen, they lived here too, on and off, when they weren't on the road, hunting.

I appraised them as I turned my back to the sink. "What the hell happened to you guys?" I asked, concerned. Sammy's face was covered in bruises. Dean had a serious gash under his right eye; the eye was almost swollen shut. They were sitting up though and drinking; Dean had whiskey, Sam had a coke. That was a good sign, they were alive and kicking.

My dad walked in with his arms loaded with about a half dozen ace bandages, cotton pads, some suture and a couple of needles. Beth, their adopted sister, trailed after him with a couple of bottles of alcohol, some for sterilizing and some for drinking. I bent down into the refrigerator to find the Lidocaine I'd pocketed after I had sewn my last clinical patient up, Dean looked like he was going to need some of it.

I felt someone come up behind me; fighting down my instinctual fear of being vulnerable to attack, I breathed my way through a mini panic attack. I breathed my way through the need to turn and defend myself in my own home. That was when the scent hit me.

Leather, the black ice scent from truckzilla, the outdoors, and the musky male scent that could only belong to one: John Winchester.

"Easy now, don't straighten up yet," he said huskily from above me. I heard the freezer door open above my head. I found I couldn't help myself, and stood up with the intention of going to Dean; out of the four of them he was the only one who looked like they'd need stitches.

Instead of getting out of my way, John stepped into my space, reaching around behind my head for the ice packs everyone was going to need.

"Nicely done with the panic attack," he whispered proudly in my ear and he gave me a small nod before turning to go sit next to Sam. Hopefully no one had caught the subtle unconscious movement when I'd stepped even nearer to him, seeking comfort.

I made my way to Dean; my dad was already scrubbing his face with the alcohol. "Ow dammit Bobby, you're not scrubbing the floors here." Dean had always been a big baby. I smirked. Beth rolled her eyes at him and placed another whiskey on the table, watching him with a worried expression.

"Please Dean he's just getting you ready for when I get a hold of you." I said trying to keep the smile off of my face.

He turned to me cocking an eyebrow. "Really?" He said giving me an appreciative once over. "You gonna make me scream louder?" He asked using his tongue to wet his bottom lip.

It had been months since I'd even tried flirting with anyone, if this could really be called flirting. I gave him a dazzling smile, laying my hand on his arm. Tracing up the back of his hand, "Honey by the time I'm done with you, you won't have a voice for at least 24 hours."

His smile faltered, he briefly narrowed his eyes. Then the uncomfortable shifting came. Inwardly I was jumping up and down like a little school girl. I could still do it! My smile grew wider.

"What the hell is wrong with you two idjits!" Dad snapped at us like we'd lost our damn minds. "Don't think that just because you two are grown now I'm gonna allow any shenanigans!" He said, his voice gruff. I'm not sure if I was the only one who saw it, but I could've sworn my dad was hiding a smile from his face. Beth shifted uncomfortably behind Dad and then went to stand by John, fussing over him. I was the only one, other than perhaps Dean himself, who knew how close Dad was to what he was implying – he just had the wrong girl.

I cleared my throat and readied the syringe and needle to stitch Dean's face back together. I caught sight of John out of the corner of my eye; his eyes were narrowed at me. A small shiver ran down my spine.

Dean's face took five single knotted stitches. Once I was done, I put some antibiotic ointment on it to help head off any infection. I handed him a Norco I had left over from one of my last trips to the hospital.

I stretched, admiring my work, and then turned to look at the clock on the stove. 3:00AM, my usual witching hour. When the nightmares got to be so bad, I'd just stay up until daylight broke then grab about five hours of sleep. Beth was busy wrapping John's ribs with her usual look of concern plastered to her face. She had a few cuts and bruises of her own, but was by far the one in the best condition out of the entire group. Sam, Dean, and Dad were talking about the big bad werewolf that had almost used Dean for a chew toy.

Sam let out a huge yawn that had him wincing as he stretched a pulled muscle. "I'm tired, I think I'm going to head upstairs to bed," he said getting up and heading for the stairs.

"The sheets are clean, and both beds are made up." I said to him. There was a double and a single in the spare room, Beth usually bunked in with me when they were here, John and the two boys taking the spare. Sam nodded and waved good night to us all.

Dean reached out and took my hand. "Thanks Cole," he said quietly, he stood up as well following Sam. That Norco must have already knocked him for a loop because he staggered and Beth left John's side to put her arm around his waist, supporting him as she led him toward the stairs. I frowned; Dean wasn't usually so susceptible to meds.

My dad stood too, ready to go back up to bed. "I'm going to try and catch a little more beauty sleep, I wasn't planning on having the three stooges and Beth invade my home in the middle of the night. Honey, are you going to get anymore sleep?" He asked me, looking concerned.

I had to fight to keep my face neutral, why the hell was he so concerned about my sleep patterns? I thought I'd been doing well at keeping him in the dark about how I was not sleeping much. I gave him a half smile, and ducked my face, my long hair effectively hiding my face.

"Nah I'm good. I think I'll stay up for a little while. Maybe get some studying done."

He leaned down to kiss the top of my head. "Ok. If you're sure," he agreed. I watched him walk to the top of the stairs, as Beth came out of the spare room, almost running into him. She looked down at us, biting her lip.

"Hey Dad? Are you ok to sleep on the couch? I might sleep in with Dean, he's not breathing so well…I want to keep an eye on him." She said to John. The older Winchester nodded at her and Dad looked down at me.

"Can you get John some sheets and linens to make up the couch?" He asked.

"Yeah sure don't worry about it I got it." I said reassuringly. I pulled my knees up to my chest in the chair I was sitting in, and then crossed my arms over the top. John was quiet just watching me, waiting. He was always waiting.

I shifted, fidgeting a little. It was a little unnerving when he watched me, so quiet, not pushing me for anything, not expecting anything, just understanding that whatever happened would happen in its own time.

I tried to keep myself busy, but it wasn't easy with John watching me, I was ever conscious of his gaze on me as I cleared away the bottles of alcohol, taking them back into the library. I looked at the couch and frowned, remembering that I needed to get the sheets from the linen closet.

John loitered in the library, flipping through a couple of books as I went about putting a sheet over the couch cushions, fluffing up a pillow for him and covering it with a fresh pillow case. I finished it off with another sheet and a nice warm feather duvet; it was off my bed, but I seriously didn't think I'd be getting any more sleep tonight anyway.

As I fluffed up the duvet, and put it on the couch, I felt him move up behind me again, this time there was no panic attack. I stilled, feeling his breath on the back of my neck, and my heart started to race.

"Thank you," he said quietly, not moving. I nodded, and swallowed hard. I really needed a drink. I stepped forward and to my left, moving away from John, going back into the kitchen, heading for the fridge and grabbing a can of Coke for myself, and turned back to John. "Would you like something to drink we have Whiskey, Scotch, Coke, Water, and well... never mind that's it. Dad must have drunk all the lemonade." I shrugged turning back to him.

"I'll have a Coke," he said. I opened the fridge again and reached in for another can.

I seated myself in the chair beside him, handing him his coke. He tapped the top a few times before opening it. I glanced at him a small frown coming over my face. "What?" He asked with a smile.

"That's just unusual; I've never seen anyone do that with a can of soda before." I said for some reason feeling unusually shy. "Why do you do that?" I asked him.

A crease formed between his brows for a second then was gone; he was looking at me thinking about his reply. A small humored smile appeared across his face. "I'm not sure, it's a habit that I picked up from somewhere, haven't you noticed Dean and Sammy do it too?" He asked.

I let out a small laugh. "No... I don't think I've noticed them doing that before." I laughed again. I couldn't understand why I'd felt so much humor over such a pointless conversation.

"It's good to hear you laughing again, Nicole." He said smiling at me. "How have you been?" He asked me concern evident in his voice.

"I…. I." Ishook my head blinking back the tears that sprang into my eyes. Shit. I hated crying. And crying in front of John Winchester, give me a break. I mean sure he'd seen me throw my fair share of temper tantrums as a kid, sock his son (Dean of course) in the face, and generally be a brat when I didn't get my way. But this was different.

It isn't as if he hasn't seen you cry before, a small voice in my head reminded. At that thought I started sobbing, quietly and muffling it as best I could so I wouldn't wake anyone; my entire body was shaking. I held my breath, hoping that if I could just quit breathing for a minute, some of the pain and tears and heartache would go away. Whenever I gulped in the air I'd deprived my body of my sobs sounded louder to my own ears.

John reached over and picked me up, settling me in his lap, turning my head into his bare chest, using his body to muffle my sobs. He simply held me for what seemed like an eternity. He was running his fingers through my hair, gently reminding me that this wasn't my burden alone to bear.

That had been the choice I'd made when I made the decision to have the hospital call John instead of Dad. I'd made a choice to allow someone to help me shoulder this horrible weight. Slowly I raised my head. My sobs had quieted for the most part.

I never had been able to look pretty while crying. My nose and cheeks and eyes all became red and puffy. I made up my mind to clean myself up, however when I went to stand John grabbed my arms just above the elbows. His dark gaze was searching my face, looking for something. Whatever he saw made his expression harden. "Don't you dare pull away... from me, from your father, from your brothers and sister. We all love you Cole. We all care what happens to you." John said shakily, he looked for a moment like he was conflicted, like he had something else on his mind to say.

"I'm not pulling away from anyone, I'm just going to clean up. I feel disgusting." I said with a smile that didn't ever reach my eyes. You are disgusting. How could anyone ever want you? You're so weak, all those years of training beside Sam, Dean, and Beth and you can't even fight off a few pathetic humans. My eyes were welling with tears again.

"Sweetheart." John said pulling me into his chest again, just quietly waiting and watching over me while I cried tears that never came when I was around any other living soul. John Winchester knew my deepest and darkest secret and I had the feeling that unless I told him otherwise he would take it with him to his grave.

Once this round of tears had successfully stopped, I stood, pushing myself off John's lap. I made my way over to the sink and scrubbed my face, when I had dried off I turned around to face him again.

He was cleaning the mess from getting everyone patched up. I leaned on the sink, just watching him for a minute. Focusing on something else helped me take away the emotions and thoughts that were swirling around in my head.

I steadied myself, taking a deep breath. "I... honestly I'm not doing so well." I said quietly my voice was barely audible even to my own ears. "I…I'm trying to put this all behind me and move on with my life, but I feel like the life I was meant to live, being a nurse with a part time crap paying job as a hunter on the side. It just doesn't feel like it fits me anymore. I feel like this entire thing with…." I trailed off unable to make myself say his name.

"It's just blown all my plans, my future, to shit. What the hell is the point?! This thing, this. Whatever. It's fucked everything up, it's fucked me up, who the hell could ever want to be with someone who has a psychotic death wish and sees demons and ghosts at every turn." I started to pace, just a few steps to either side of me, the kitchen wasn't that big and it limited my range of motion. I wrung my hands as I walked, the words just spilling from my mouth.

"God, I am so fucked up. I just I wish it had never happened, I wish there was a way to make myself forget. I hate it. I hate the nightmares, and the controlling everything I say, and watching every move I make." I stopped, looking back at John.

"You know I find myself analyzing every word that comes out of everyone's mouths, because I'm scared that they'll say the wrong thing and I might flip out and go bat shit crazy on them. Jesus Christ I have freaking Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and I'm not even twenty four years old yet. I am so damaged." I felt winded and red in the face, but at least I wasn't crying anymore.

John had leaned a hip against the rickety dining table and remained still, just eerily watching me. He was entirely silent. Just letting me vent. When he did speak, it was with a gentleness that belied his tough exterior.

"I came back from my first tour in Nam, and I remember that every time a car backfired, I felt like I was going to leap up and run for cover. Every time a door slammed shut I was reaching for the butt of my glock. I was really and truly scared I was going to hurt someone." John paused scrubbing a hand over his face. He looked up at me and my heart melted at the conflicting emotions I found there, the fear, the guilt, the fake facade that had to be played to keep those who knew you the best from knowing you were hurting.

"I remember thinking who could possibly want me, I've brought too many demons with me. I dreaded the day when someone said the wrong thing to me and I snapped. I was a monster, I couldn't be trusted. I waited for the day when I would get so angry and upset that I'd hurt one of my children. Especially after what happened to Mary. It made it a million times worse. Now I knew there were things, real things to be afraid of in the dark." He sighed. I moved closer to him, wanting to provide this warrior with the same comfort he provided me, every time he was here, around me.

I was standing before John, looking up at him, his eyes were glittering strangely. It had never before occurred to me that he would fight back tears over anything. He took a deep breath and swallowed hard, needing to clear his throat. The movement drew my attention, and I watched his throat work almost convulsively.

I lifted my eyes needing to concentrate on something, anything else. John stepped in closer to me, searching my face, for what felt like the thousandth time that night. I could almost see the thoughts rushing through his brain at a million miles a minute.

"I'd want you. I have my own demons, and I know how to fight, you wouldn't hurt me." I said quietly with conviction, I knew it was true, John was practically a second father to me.

I heard his sharp intake of breath, and I looked up in time to see his eyes darken.

Screw it my ass is going to wind up in Hell anyways, I thought as I reached up behind his neck, fisting my hands in his hair and pulling him down to my height. My lips tentatively touched his at first, just waiting to see whether or not he would pull back, or try and pull some fatherly bullshit, about well, him being old enough to be my dad, although my dad still had a few years on him.

I'd lost my nerve, something was wrong. I was getting absolutely no response. None. I knew it. No one will ever want you, especially not him! A vicious voice sounded in my head. I launched myself away from John as though I'd been burned. Like I was a demon and he was some kind of God gifted hunter created from pure holy water.

I could feel my face on fire. What the hell had I done. Dad was going to kill me when he found out! Dean, Beth, Sam. They were never going to speak to me again. I turned away heading for the stairs.

That's it just distract yourself. Go have a shower, clean your room, maybe study for your damn licensing exam, do anything to leave him alone so he can get some sleep. Maybe he'll think the whole thing was some sort of creepy overload of adrenaline dream. I practically flew to the base of the stairs, when John's arm came out of nowhere, gripping my arm tightly just above the elbow.

"Please John just let me go. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. I just reacted." I said struggling to keep my voice down. His hand on my arm was so tight, he was scaring me. He practically dragged me back into the kitchen kicking and screaming.

Fear was a living breathing entity in me now. I was terrified. Oh god, no this is not going to freaking happen again. My mind was in overdrive, all the scenarios, all the flashbacks running through my mind.

My breath left my lungs as my back met the wall of the kitchen; there was an ominous cracking noise. "John, please don't." I said begging.

"You're scared, you're scared I'll hurt you?" He said quietly. I nodded when he didn't move. His arms were caging me in, his body was pressed against mine, although not quite touching. I wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor and die. It's because you're useless, you're sick, you're damaged.

"Good!" He snarled. "Fight back! You're not useless, you're not damaged. You're a damn good warrior and I want you to know it." John's eyes were full of anger as he looked at me. Anger and self-loathing. And something else. Lust, no not quite, hunger. Oh my freaking God! My brain screamed at me.

At my hesitation, and my subconscious movement to press my body into his, John slammed his hand down on the side of the wall by my face. I flinched expecting him to strike me. "I said fight back!" He barked at me, in true Marine fashion.

Anger welled up inside of me. He was scaring the crap outta me. In my own home with my dad and his own children all sleeping upstairs. Oh hell no this shit isn't happening again.

"Get the fuck off me you son of a bitch!" I snarled. Anger twisted my words, making me see red. John raised a hand, reaching out to try and touch my hair. I roughly shoved his hand away. His eyes darkened even more. He took the hand I'd just removed and placed it at the base of my throat.

He pressed one knee between my legs, opening my body to him. Then he leaned in, and kissed me. I responded almost immediately. One arm coming up to circle his neck, the other moving to the wrist he was attempting to wrap around my back. For a millisecond, I felt nothing. No pain, no anger, no fear. Then the hunger hit me. I poured everything I had into that kiss, although I had very little knowledge of what I was actually doing.

John responded, making a very sensual sound that sounded more like a growl than a moan. I felt a sharp tug on my bottom lip, then the sting started. A coppery, metallic taste filled my mouth. Asshole bit me. The voice in my head sighed almost contentedly. Then I remembered the fear he'd used to get me to this point.

I shoved him away from me. I couldn't get a proper stance to throw a really good right hook to his smug arrogant face, I settled for a quick jab to his jaw. Then I reached out and grabbed the hand that had been at my throat, flipping him to his back on the kitchen table. I pinned him down with my body, well tried to anyways. I ignored the fact that the old table groaned under our combined weight. I was unarmed, I'd left my own knife upstairs. John reacted quickly, bringing a knife to my throat. I responded in kind grabbing his own gun and bringing it up under his jaw.

"Easy does it now." He said calmly, his voice was pitched low and soothingly, as if he were talking to a wild animal.

"You ordered me to fight back." I said trying to calm my racing heart.

"I know I did sweetheart," He said his voice husky, turning my body into a liquid fire I hadn't felt in a long time. "But that is a loaded gun you have pointed at my head. Please tell me your finger isn't on the trigger." He said dropping his eyes trying to see the gun that was pressed under his jaw. He lowered the knife, sticking it back into the sheath inside his jeans. I lowered the gun, while my eyes followed the knife's progress. My mouth was watering, I swallowed conscientiously. I trailed my eyes up the rock hard abs that were mostly hidden by ace bandages.

He just watched me, watching him. He looked like he was hardly breathing. I leaned forward and for the third time that night, my lips met John's. Unlike our first try, or our second when our passion was fueled by fear, anger, and hunger. This kiss was sweet. Experimental, on my part. We just took our time exploring each others mouths.

Neither one of us heard the creaking groan of the table right before it crumbled under our weight. I looked up a little ashamed. John was laughing underneath me, cracking up, his whole body was shaking. I looked down at him and cocked an eyebrow, "How in the hell do you find any of this funny?" I demanded, refusing to give in to my own sick sense of humor.

"I probably find this just as funny as you do. Because in the history of my life, I've broken more pieces of furniture than I care to admit, however never have I broken anything because of a small woman who weighs maybe one thirty five soaking wet. And we've just totally trashed your kitchen." John's smile was catching.

I laughed along with him. "Oh god my dad's gonna kill me." I said with a goofy grin on my face.

John's smile faltered, ever so slightly. "What?" I asked concerned.

"Nothing." He said with a smile, sitting up on the remaining topside of the table. He kissed me lightly on the lips.

"Whoa." I said a little unsteady, as John got to his feet still holding me in his arms. I felt protected. Cared for.

"I'm not going to drop you." He said confidently, if not a little arrogantly so. Damn it was so easy to see where Dean got his charm and swagger from. I heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and realized daybreak had hit in the eastern windows.

I jumped down from John's arms and whirled into the library where I could gather my thoughts. Holy shit this has been a weird night and if I wake up and find this was all a dream. It probably has been the best damn dream of my life.

I made my way out of the library and down the hall to the stairs. When I passed the opening into the kitchen, my dad was standing there in complete shock just staring at the kitchen table. John, had his back against the counter, staring at Dad. He cocked his eyebrow when he saw me, a small half smile quirking one side of his face.

"What in the hell did those kids do to my table?!" Dad exclaimed. I turned and crept up the stairs like a thief.

I made it back to my room without incident, then I grabbed some clothes to change into. In the bathroom I stared at myself for a long while. I still looked like me. Nicole Singer. Nothing had outwardly changed other than a bruise on my elbow and my lip seemed a little puffy in the middle. But this was the first time in a long time I could look at myself and be content with the face in the mirror.

I felt alive. I felt like a normal girl, fresh out of college. I felt like I had some small glimmer of future for myself. For once I didn't regret the day before it began.

I ran a brush through my light brown, practically blonde curls and pulled it back into a ponytail. Then I stepped out of the bathroom. Raised voices greeted me from behind the closed spare room.

"Dammit Beth! Why do you always do this?" Dean said loudly, his words only partially muffled by the door. I crept closer and listened.

"Do what Dean?" Beth's voice echoed back at me, and I grimaced. They'd been fighting a lot lately.

"Push me away! You're hot, you're cold, just make up your damn mind!" I frowned at those words, these guys were really on the brink here, I bit my lip, flinching at the sensation having forgotten John had already done that to me.

"You know we can't," Beth said, her voice so faint I almost didn't catch it. "I didn't mean it..."

"Yeah, you never do!" Dean said, yanking the door open to find my startled expression looking back at him. He had a strange almost desperate expression on his face, and he walked past me without saying a word, crossing down to the bathroom where he slammed the door and then I heard the shower start up.

Beth was standing at the end of the bed, rummaging through her duffel bag, unpacking clothes. I decided to play it cool.

"Hey so how'd you sleep?" I asked with a cat that ate the canary grin.

"Fine." She replied, but she wouldn't look at me, and when she turned around, to head to the bathroom, I saw her face was red from crying.

"I wouldn't if I were you." I said stopping her before she reached the door. "Dean just ran me over to get in there."

"Oh." Came Beth's cautious reply.

"Honey what were you two fighting about?" I poked the bear ever so lightly.

She was three years younger than me, but seemed a lot more sometimes. She and Dean were a disaster when they fought, and I felt myself saddened that John was so hard on them – forbidding a relationship, they were adults now, and it was a little hypocritical of him I thought.

Beth sank on to the bed and sighed. "I woke up, and Dean was wrapped around me like an octopus, and he was all turned on! And Sam was in the room!" She whisper screamed at me. Beth was never one for the dramatics but Dean was always a touchy subject for her.

I snorted, laughing. "An octopus, really is that the best you could come up with?" I asked laughing my way through the whole scene playing out in my head.

"No. You don't understand we're talking this number." She said, with a slight laugh. She forced me down onto the bed then rolled me, demonstrating the position. I was laughing like a damn hyena, apparently Dean had been all hands and legs – all three legs I might add.

Beth fell silent and I leaned on my elbow to look at her, she was lying on her back looking over at me. "I don't know why I do it to myself Cole," she admitted, looking sad. "I budge, just a little, and then our whole world shifts." She sat up, hugging her knees to her chest.

"What the hell happened up here last night?" I asked with a goofy smile on my face.

"We made out!" She whispered. "For ages!" She smiled, reminiscing on the night. "He was... wow just... God!" She threw herself back down on the bed, holding her hands over her face. She paused and rolled on to her side looking at me with miserable eyes. "Dad would kill us!"

Somehow I doubted John Winchester was giving much, if any thought to what his two wayward children were up to last night. I looked at her, dying to tell her about my own kiss last night, but I couldn't. John was her father, he was twice my age! What would she say? She was so devoted to John, she lived by his rules, she looked up to him so much. How could I shatter that image she had of him? How could I shatter that image she had of me?

"Tell me about the boner," I smirked, changing the subject, trying to lighten things up.

Beth groaned and lowered her voice glancing to the closed door. "That thing should be considered a weapon." She said snappily.

"Well in some instances they do consider it a weapon." I said sobering. I shook my head to clear it of all the nonsense, bull crap that I was not going to think about.

She glanced at me somberly. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to.."

"Don't worry about it." I said quietly. Beth had known about my secret practically since the day it happened. Once we'd been alone together I'd told her about it, sparing her the gory details. But obviously she had to notice something was wrong with me.

"Enough of this boring talk. Let's go get some breakfast." She said smacking my leg. I cracked a smile at her.

We were making our way to the stairs when I began the conversation of the morning wood again. "So what did it feel like?" I whispered to her with a conspiratorial grin.

"It felt almost like someone had a .45 Smith and Wesson shoved in the small of my back." I snorted, laughing. Beth was probably the only person who would compare a man's boner to a gun. "And it's not the first time it's happened!" I remembered her telling me about when they'd gone on a hunt in Philadelphia with Jefferson, when John had been laid up with a broken ankle. She and Dean had connected on a very different level, if I thought about it, that had been the beginning of all this fighting and angst for the last few years.

"At least you know he's big." I said with a wink. The bathroom door opened as we reached it and Dean strode out, only in a pair of jeans, with his bare chest still damp. Beth looked away as he passed and he sighed a little angrily.

"Damn girl you are gonna be so lucky one day." I said with quiet conviction. Beth and Dean Winchester were made for each other, John just had to figure it out before Beth threw everything away trying to please him.

Sam was coming down the hall from the other direction, and he bumped into the fuming Dean as they reached the spare bedroom. Dean shoved him into the room and Sam shoved him back.

"Don't push me today Sammy!" Dean threatened. There was a retort from Sam and then it was on for young and old with them as they scuffled, wrestling around in the room, banging against the wall.

"Shove off Dean!" Sam said angrily, "you are such an ass lately!"

Dean and Sam came barreling out of room, pushing past us on the landing. Beth trailed after them with a sigh, I hung back. No way did I want to be the first one through that door, however they had no idea of the mess that awaited them in the kitchen.

When I finally made it down the stairs Dean and Beth had stopped and were staring at the kitchen. The busted kitchen table in large chunks of wood, the chairs still standing in the same place as they were when the table was above them.

Sam had turned from the table and was staring at the large crack in the wall, running halfway up the wall, with a crater in the center.

"What the hell did you two do to my kitchen you morons?!" Dad yelled rounding on them. I bit my lip and dropped my head. Best not to intervene to early, let him blow off some steam. Chicken. My brain scolded me.

"Uh, Bobby we seriously have no idea what you're talking about." Dean clarified.

Dad snorted in disbelief. "The last time anything in this house was broken, it was because the two of you were fighting. Now I have a massive crater in my wall, and I have to go see if I can't rustle up a new table." He said gruffly.

"Man look the last thing I remember is Cole giving me that pain pill, and stitching up my face. Then Beth and I made it up the stairs and into bed..." He paused looking over at Beth. "I was out like a light," he lied, looking over at his father. "Although I do remember at some point you stole the covers. Then kicked them off the bed." Dean said with a sideways glance at Beth.

"Oh give me a break Dean, everyone here knows you're the cover hog!" Beth muttered angrily. Dean looked at her, his eyes conflicted.

John moved past me, quietly clearing his throat and heading for the coffee. I forced my eyes to the floor, wouldn't do any good for either of us if I watched him like a love struck schoolgirl.

"Actually Bobby it's my fault." He said after a sip of coffee. "Cole and I were talking about fighting techniques. I opened my mouth and dared to do something that my already sore ribs are so regretting now." He gaze was fixed on the bruise above my elbow. "And she proved me wrong, came up fighting like a damn tiger, fighting for her own survival. I'll replace your table and fix the wall." He said with a small smile.

My dad's face lit up like a child on Christmas morning. "Of course, she came up all teeth and claws. She was raised right, a warrior. At least I'll never have to worry about some asshole hurting my little girl, hell I'd bet she could fend off a dozen of Sam and Dean single handedly." Dad said in a rush, some serious pride and joy in his voice.

I swallowed aware of John and also Beth's eyes boring holes into me. I raised my head tossing my hair back over my shoulder and giving my dad my best I am such a badass smirk. I made sure I played up to the impression of preening under my father's praise when I felt like doing nothing but crawling into bed under the covers and crying myself into a dozen nightmares.

Beth's voice surprised me, filling the quiet space. She sounded so serene, but I could sense the underlying self-loathing she was trying to convey to me. "We all have our moments of weakness." I turned my head ever so slightly and caught her eye. She was looking at me somberly.

I made sure to roll my eyes at her comment. "Yeah well it hasn't happened to me yet, so when it finally does I'll be sure to let you know." I turned going out of the kitchen, passing Beth I mouthed, "Thanks for the support. Love you." She simply smiled at me as I passed.

"I'm gonna go get in a work out. See you guys later." I exited the house moving down the rows in the salvage yard until I came to the garage where my dad and I had set up a place for me to work out.

I didn't even bother with gloves, going straight to the punching bag. Rage was starting to boil in me as I recalled my dad's words. If I could fight off a dozen Sam and Dean's why the hell couldn't I fight off Ian. Because you're weak. That irritating fucking voice in my head answered.

I threw several punches, and landed a kick to my bag.

I am not weak, I argued with the voice in my head. I am a hunter, trained by two of the best men in the business.

Then why the fuck didn't you stop those pricks from hurting you. My alter ego nagged.

I thought he loved me. I didn't think he'd let them hurt me. I trusted him. I answered trying to justify my actions and at the same time hating myself even more. And the minute you found out you couldn't trust him you should have fought them off, but you just laid there and took it you wanted it. You got off on it. My punches and kicks were losing their form the more pissed off I got. They were raining down on the bag with more frequency, more intensity than I'd ever used.

All of a sudden it wasn't enough, I needed something more, I needed to cause damage to something, anything. I looked wildly around me finding a crowbar laying on an old work bench. I picked up the crowbar and swung it at the bench. The cracks were loud in the silence. I kept hitting until there was hole forming in the bench, the wood was bowing in half.

Even that wasn't gratifying enough. I threw the crowbar back towards the punching bag, with all the energy I could muster. I raised my clenched fist, intending to put it threw the wood.

I never even saw him enter the garage. All of a sudden he was just there. John had inserted himself between me and the table, grabbing my raised fist and exerting enough pressure that I couldn't take the hit.

"I'm not going to let you hurt yourself!" He said firmly.

I snarled, the sound ripped from my throat. How dare he. I raised my left hand intending to slap him. I wanted to claw and rake at his face. The voice in my head supplied, fuck him up. The resounding slap was loud in the midst of my anger and rage. He never even tried to block it. That fueled my anger even more. I punched him repeatedly in the chest and stomach, ignoring his flinches when I landed a blow near his bruised ribs. He never once blocked any of them.

His words had brought me back to another time he had used them, three months ago.

"I'm not going to let you hurt yourself." He said firmly, gripping the hand that had the razor in it.

"Why the fuck would you care!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. Not giving a damn who heard us in my dorm. "Why does it matter what I do anymore, I'm broken and I can't be fixed. I'm damaged goods. Just let me die! It's not like anyone will ever want me." I screamed, hurting beyond belief.

An unreadable expression crossed his face. He took a step forward, and wrenched my head back, his lips meeting mine like a man starving for food. He didn't ask, he didn't question, he just took what he wanted from me. The hand holding my wrist slipped the razor from my grasp and in that moment I didn't care. A hot flash fire burn had started in the pit of my stomach, spreading it's way outward.

His lips broke from mine and I started at the loss. He was kissing his way down my neck, his beard scratching and fanning the flames of an arousal I didn't know I had. He took my hand and pressed it into the massive bulge in the front of his jeans. "I want you." He growled in my ear.

And in that moment I believed him.

Author's Notes

The song used for the beginning of this chapter is Stand in the Rain by Superchic[k].

I want to give a huge thank you to Belladonna78. Boy was it a good decision when I reviewed your story! She and I are working collaboratively on this story and her own, so updates may space out a little longer. She's borrowing my character for her story and as she mentioned Beth is featured here. Thank you so much Belladonna78!

Please Read and Review!