"Ah, here she is, thatta girl!" the low voice sounded almost tender in it's encouragement.

Why does it sound so familiar? Why is it so hard to open my eyes?? My face feels...puffy...numb. What the heck...??

I lifted my hand towards my face before feeling a soft gentle touch pulling it back down, "no dear, don't touch it, it will only hurt you more." Gramma's voice soothed, but I was desperately confused and not cluing in.

"What? What do you mean don't touch..." and then it all came back to me in disturbing torrent. My eyes that had been so heavy flew open and I blinked furiously.

"Gramma! Are you ok? Agents! What the heck happened? Who was that? What was that?" I threw myself up so I was sitting and nearly passed out again.

"Lynn, seriously, just calm yourself, it's ok. Everything is ok, no one but you is even hurt." I let Dean's strong hands push my shoulders back down onto...I guess it was the couch...that I had been laying on. My head swam and pounded, so I closed my eyes, trying to breathe, trying to focus.

My face that had been feeling numb now felt sticky. Just as I was remembering all the blood that would have made my face sticky, I heard footsteps entering the room.

"Here's another cloth, it was right where you said it would be Mrs. McIntyre." Sam's voice sounded kind.

"Thank you agent, but my name is Ann." Gramma said as I felt a warm damp cloth gingerly dabbing at my face, on my eyes, across my...

"OW!" I gasped out as the cloth came, obviously, too close to my wound.

"Shouldn't we get her to a hospital?" Sam sounded concerned.

"Not yet...she's a strong girl, and I haven't figured out a way to explain this yet. Or you young men, for that matter. Are you two some kind of 'Men in Black' but for evil creatures?" I tried to hear if there was humour in Gramma's voice because of the ridiculous things she was saying...but I didn't hear any.

The cloth stopped dabbing and I opened my eyes. My face losing the sticky, sickening sensation of having blood on it actually made me feel a little better. I finally focused my eyes and started to see what was around me. I was on the couch as I had suspected, Dean was sitting on a chair near my head and Gramma on another chair beside him. I turned my head carefully and saw Sam looking at something on the floor on the other side of the room. Near the decimated bathroom door, there were streaks of blood spatter across the wall. For some reason it didn't make me sick. It was almost as if I had accepted it, like after all we'd just been through I was "used" to it or something.

I began to sit up slowly. Dean instantly moved his arm under my shoulder blades and helped me until I was upright. I used the back of the couch and his arm for support until the room stopped spinning. I gingerly raised my hand to my forehead, gently feeling the gouge along my hairline. It was gross and huge.

I moaned a little as I slid my legs one by one off the couch to my right, settling my feet on the floor. Gramma put her one hand on my knee, and grabbed my left hand with her other. Dean slid his arm from my back and gently held my right forearm, looking at me, searching my eyes.

"You ok?" he asked as I looked over and saw Gramma still had dried tear-stains on her wrinkled cheeks.

"Yes, I think I'll be ok...but what happened Agent?" I felt myself getting emotional and swallowed hard. I was weak and losing control, so before Dean could say anything, I interrupted myself.

"Could I have a drink of water, please?" My throat was dry and talking felt like sandpaper in my windpipe.

"Sure! Yeah, I'll grab you one." Sam spun around and headed to the kitchen. Dean watched him go and then turned back to me. "You were attacked."

I let out a wry laugh in spite of myself. "No kidding! I figured that..."

Dean held up his hand, gesturing for me to wait. "I know. I know you know, it's just that, we're determining what exactly...it was." Dean finished grimly before leaning forward, evaluating my injury.

"The bandaging looks like it should stanch the blood alright for now, at least until we can get her to a hospital. Sam is a pretty good nurse when he has to be."

I smirked, then winced at the pain it caused me. Sam walked back in the room, glass of water in hand.

"Here you go." He said softly, handing it to Dean, who handed it to me.

I took a modest sip or two before chugging almost the entire glass. I was super thirsty, and as the water washed down my sore and aching throat, I felt my nerves settle, my nausea lessen and my focus return. I placed the glass on the table beside the couch before looking back up at Gramma.

She hadn't been saying anything, just looking at me and then looking at the agents, then looking at me and then over her shoulder at the floor by the bathroom before staring at me again. Her eyes were wary and exhausted. Distrusting, yet impressed. She inhaled deeply and patted my knee before sitting back in her chair and folding her arms. She closed her eyes and pulled her brows together as though she were in intense thought. I stopped watching her and looked over to the bathroom area again, but this time I could see it.

"What the actual heck?" I looked on in horror, wide-eyed and incredulous. "Is that what it looks like? A wolf-man...a-a werewolf?"

My emotions were all over the place as my thoughts raced and my heart pounded.

So I'm not crazy.

I really did see that.

But werewolves are...real??

I leaned forward until my forearms were balancing my weight on my knees.

"Is he wearing a costume? Some kind of laytex-mold suit?" I craned my neck from my seated position, trying to get a better look.

"Yes, uh, well, what you've come into contact with is..." Dean began but Sam finished as he approached us, grabbing his own chair and straddling it, "A lycanthrope. More commonly known as, as you said, a werewolf."

"You tipped us off when you described it to us, so we were ready with the right weapons to kill it." Dean rubbed the tops of his thighs slowly with his hands as he spoke, watching my reaction.

"Silver is the only thing that can injure or kill a werewolf." Sam added.

"So that's why even though I cut it with the knife, it just started healing itself immediately..." Even though this was so unreal, for some reason, this crazy explanation was helping me put some pieces of this horrific experience together. Slowly making it not so crazy after all.

"Gramma?" I turned to look at her, "are you ok?"

Gramma nodded, then sighed and shook her head. "I'm not really, but I am. I'm thankful that...thing...is dead. I'm thankful that we are ok...but I have absolutely no idea what to do now." Gramma put her head in her hand and sighed again.

"Gramma...it's ok..."

"No, no, it's not. I need to take you to the hospital, and I can't. Even if I could, how am I supposed to explain what happened to you? No one would believe us, and in a small town like this, looking crazy is worse than actually being crazy.

"And then you two..." Gramma took her hand away from her face and looked up at the two men who had saved us. "are you really with the FBI? Is the government really aware of these kinds of...monsters?" Gramma stared hard into first Agent Bonham, then Agent Page's eyes.

No one spoke for a moment. Agent Page looked up at his partner, standing behind his chair, then at me, and then at the floor.

"Agent...Dean? Sam?" I put out my hand warily, slowly, until my fingertips just barely touched Dean's arm.

"Well, Lynn, we, uh-" Sam stuttered then cleared his throat.

"We're not with the FBI." Dean looked up at me without raising his head, his green eyes intense and glowing in the meager light of our living room. I pulled back my hand, letting out a tiny gasp as I covered my mouth and leaned back onto the couch.

"Wh-wh-why? I don't understand? Why did you lie to me...to everyone, about who you are?" I didn't want to jump to crazy conclusions, but didn't only serial killers and con artists insist they were FBI to gain your trust? I broke my gaze with Dean to glance over at Gramma. She seemed to be listening, waiting for Dean to explain further. I felt fear and anger fighting for the mastery in my heart, but common sense prevailed and I stayed silent, waiting along with Gramma for the men to explain themselves. After all...they had saved our lives.

"We pose as FBI to ask questions about mysterious circumstances in different towns," Dean began. "We gather as much information as we can in the hope that we can stop whatever is causing the chaos in that town. I'm actually Dean Winchester, and this is my brother Sam. We are hunters. We hunt things like...that." Dean turned from us and jerked his head over at the mass still laying on the floor. "We get rid of them so people can be safe. Safe from the things that go bump in the night."

I rubbed my eyes with my hand and pinched the bridge of my nose as I took in the information Dean had just told me.

"So, what you're saying is, it isn't just werewolves that are real...other monsters...they're real too?"

"Yes, unfortunately...most of them are real." Sam added quietly.

I slid my hand down my face so I could see Gramma's reaction. She looked quietly reflective. For a person who was normally paranoid, she was taking this exceedingly well.

"Gramma..."

"I'm fine, Lynn, truly. But I've made a decision. You need to get that properly checked at a hospital, one way or another. We can continue to talk to these young men about this later." Gramma started to lift herself out of the chair.

"Gramma, no, I can't walk there right now, and you know we can't afford a taxi, I'm fine. I'll...I don't know, walk there in the morning or something."

"Morning can be too late when it comes to a concussion." Sam jumped in suddenly. "If you have one, you'll need to get it checked out right away." He glanced down at Dean, who gave Sam a curt nod before Sam continued. "Dean will take you. I'll stay here with your Gramma so she won't be alone and I'll get started on this," his voice trailed off as he looked over his shoulder at the destruction behind him, "mess." Sam finished as he patted Dean's shoulder and turned to head back to the kitchen.

Dean stood up from the chair and put his arm around my waist.

"Come on, now. We're gonna get you all checked out and you'll be good as new!" He said cheerfully as he easily raised me to my feet. My head swam as I took a couple of shaky steps, but my ankle folded and I stumbled, falling into Dean in an attempt to catch myself.

"Ow! Stupid weak ankles!" I muttered but before I could say anything else, Dean had scooped me up in his arms.

I'm no little girl. I hide my weight well, and I weighed way more than I looked.

I nearly died of embarrassment.

"Dean!" I pleaded, "this is not necessary, I can walk, you're going to hurt yourself!" I argued as we headed towards the front door.

"Sweetheart, I don't think you realize what exactly it is what I do for a living." he chuckled as he walked through the still open front door and down the steps towards their car, haphazardly parked in the middle of the front lawn.

"Carrying you is the least likely thing I'll do in a day that is going to hurt myself." He smirked cheekily and I went quiet, knowing protesting any further was going to make me even more nauseous. Dean put me down by the passenger door and opened it for me, helping me get in.

"Watch your head there," he put his hand on the top of my head as I leaned in, making sure I didn't bump my wound.

Dean slammed the door and jogged around to his side, opening his door and sliding in.

"Are you ok sitting up? Do you feel sick at all?" he asked as he started the car.

"Honestly...I feel a little woozy, but nothing I'm not used to."

"Well here," Dean reached over into the back seat, fished around for a second and produced a big navy work jacket. He folded it into a small pile and placed it on his right leg.

"Lay down and put your head here...this will keep your head elevated, but being horizontal will help with the wooziness." Dean patted the small pillow on his lap and I gratefully leaned over and put my head on it, curling my legs up onto the seat.

Dean reversed off our lawn and onto the street. He shifted into drive and settled his right hand on my right shoulder, holding me still as we drove off into the night.

***

"Excuse me? Excuse me! We need a doctor! Please! My wife, she's fallen down our stairs."

I leaned wearily against Dean's torso as his arm wrapped protectively around me.

"Wife?" I whispered so only Dean could hear.

"Just go with it."

I closed my eyes and inhaled through my nose, deeply. The lights and the bustling of the hospital made my head spin and I was nauseous as it was.

"Please, yes, nurse! Here, nurse! My wife, she fell down our steps. My brother tried to do some crude bandaging, but she has been unconscious and I'm so worried-"

"Easy there sir, we will take good care of your wife. Just give us a moment to go over some things. And here, you folks sit down right here." The kind voice made me open my eyes and I looked into a sweet young face. She was about as big as a minute, but her hands worked expertly and capably around her desk papers, checking files and charts.

"I'm so sorry ma'am. It's just we've only been married a few months, and she's never been this hurt before." Dean wrapped his arm back around me as I side-eyed him. If he got any more convincing I was going to believe I was married to him too.

"Your name please?" The nurse asked me patiently. I stared at her a second, afraid to mess up Dean's ruse. I took a deep breath and slid into character.

"My name is Brandi Sinclair, I am 26 years old, from Wichita, Kansas. But before that I was from Dublin, Ireland." I slowly answered, allowing the pain to accentuate my words believably.

"Do you have any ID on you or proof of insurance?" I hadn't thought this far. Dean slid a small card across the desk towards the nurse.

"Here's my insurance. You can check, it covers my wife as well."

"I'm sorry ma'am, you said your name was Brandi Sinclair?" the nurse stared hard at the card Dean had given her.

"Yes, that's correct," I tried to act vaguely confused...it wasn't hard. I was confused and terribly nervous about being caught in this lie.

They can't handle the truth...Dean and I are only making this up to protect the public. I'm not even supposed to know what I know!

"I'm sorry, you see, it says here that your husband's name is," she paused and glared at the card, as if she was still trying to read it, "Karl Stanislav? You said your last name was Sinclair..." She looked back and forth between Dean and me, but Dean came to the rescue:

"Aw, sweetheart!" he leaned over and kissed the uninjured side of my forehead, "look at you, forgetting your married name!" He turned from me and looked at the nurse, "her maiden name was Sinclair. Stanislav, well..." he looked at me with hooded eyes, "we're still getting used to, aren't we, Baby?" He kissed my cheek and hugged me with the arm he had around me before looking back at the nurse. I played along and snuggled deeper into his embrace, letting out a weary sigh. "That's right, I'm sorry, thanks Babe."

The nurse smiled at us and then looked back at her computer. "No worries, it's a common enough mistake." She did some more typing before taking my temperature, blood pressure and asking a few more medical questions. I had to fudge a few details, hopefully we'd be out of this hospital before they did too thorough of a check.

Amazingly, we were ushered into a tiny examination room right away.

"I guess they took the worry of concussion seriously," Dean remarked as he paced the length of the tiny room, staring at the odd artwork on the walls.

"Yeah, I guess they did."

"How are you feeling?" Dean turned around and sat down in the extra chair across from the examination bed I was sitting on.

"Honestly...I'm so sorry that you had to bring me here, but I have no idea how I would have gotten to a hospital any other way." I looked down at my hands, spinning the fidget ring on my middle finger.

"Lynn, it's not a problem. It's not even a question of 'if'. You're part of the team now, you've helped us figure out what was going on in this town and now we are not going to leave until we make sure you and your Gramma are alright.

"Once you know about this stuff you can't shake it. It's with you always and we all who know look out for each other...so no more sorry crap."

I smiled a little, "ok Dean. Thanks."

***

After several instructions on how to treat my mild concussion, twelve stitches and some pain killers, Dean and I were back in his car, Baby, as he called her, heading home.

We could just see pink hinting at the horizon as we drove along.

"How you doing?" Dean broke the silence by asking that question for the forty-seventh time.

"I'm fine, honestly Dean! Just a little woozy..."

"I know, I mean...how are you? About ...everything?"

How am I? My grandmother and I were nearly killed tonight, I have had a stranger taking care of me all night while another stranger takes care of my nearly invalid grandmother. I found out the supernatural is real, I've lied about who I am, and to top it off I had to pretend to be married to one of the strangers in order to cover up the fact that the supernatural is real and I was injured by a member known as a werewolf.

I let the silence hang in the car.

"Well, I get it, it's not easy, but if you had to pretend to be married to someone, you'd rather it be me than Sam, right?" He sent a cocky smirk my way as I realized I hadn't thought that sentence, but had actually voiced it.

My cheeks burned in the darkness, "I don't know...I think Sam is an awfully handsome guy! I'd say I'd need more time to make an informed decision." I smiled cheekily back at him in spite of my blush.

Dean kind of chuckled to himself and fell back into silence. I was hit by a wave of light-headedness and forced air out between my teeth sharply while I grabbed my temples.

"You ok?!" Dean demanded forcefully.

"Yeah-yeah...I'm just super woozy again."

"Well, the doc said that was gonna happen for the next 24 hours or so. Here." He pulled the jacket from between us and balled it up on his lap again. "You can put your head down here again until you feel better."

I tried reasoning with myself that I didn't need to...but I did. Otherwise I was gonna throw up in Baby, and that was the last thing I wanted to do to one of my rescuers' most prized possessions. I laid down and snuggled my head in the coat, breathing deeply. It smelled faintly of cologne and cigarettes, fresh air and motel room. It was actually good smell. It was strangely...comforting.

At that moment I felt Dean gently place his hand on my shoulder. He really didn't have anywhere else to put it, I took up all the free space on his right side. I cuddled deeper, if possible, into the coat.

"I hope I don't cut off the blood circulation in your leg." I said just above a whisper. I felt Dean's chuckle in his leg before he answered. "Just close your eyes and get some rest. My leg can handle this, I'm sure."

I closed my eyes and felt the spinning slow until I didn't feel like I was falling anymore. Dean was humming something while he drove and I could feel the vibrations of his voice underneath my head. So simple. So strong. So safe. I felt like when I was little, when all was good and right in the world. Just as I was beginning to figure out what tune Dean was humming, I fell unconscious, but this time, it was on my terms: I fell asleep.