9. Grocery Run

"Did you even sleep, Sam?" I ask the next morning as I drag myself into the library of the bunker-"Bat Cave" got annoying overnight. I see him at the table with books spread all around. I swear he looks as though he's trying to read two at the same time.

"Probably a few hours."

"'Probably'?" I yawn. "That sounds convincing." My stomach yells at me. "Ugh, I think we'll have to make that run today."

"Morning," comes Dean's happy response. Holy shit, he sounds content. How's that possible? All I've ever heard in his voice is malice and anger.

"Morning," Sam and I respond.

"Nice robe," I snicker as I take in Dean's gray robe and his slippers.

"The, uh, water pressure in the Letters' shower room is marvelous," Dean says in awe. "Looks like you haven't tried it yet, Tasha."

I frown. "Thank you."

"I still can't figure out how we even have water," Sam admits. "Or electricity." I'm tempted to close some of the books and reshelf them as Sam gets up and goes to a shelf for another book.

"Yep, well, I am putting that under 'ain't broke' column," Dean says dismissively. "Listen, little brother, let's not go all geek on this stuff, okay?"

"'Geek'?"

"Says the guy in the robe and slippers," I retort.

"Yeah. Yeah, I mean, don't-don't get me wrong." Dean lifts a curved sword off its display stand. "This stuff is awesome, and it looks like they ran a real tight outfit here, but I'm just saying, you know, don't, uh, don't think that they knew some big secrets that we don't know."

I watch Dean with little amusement as he strikes poses with the sword behind Sam's back. Too bad I don't have one, I'd love to kick his ass. Though I'm skilled in fencing (I took up the practice when I was a pre-teen), the skills could pass on to sword play. Sure, there would be a heightened danger risk, since we wouldn't be in protective gear and we'd be messing with swords.

"All we need is an eyepatch and a ridiculous getup for you," I tell Dean. "Maybe a peg leg, maybe not a parrot."

I bite my lip as Sam turns and Dean stops his fooling around with the sword.

"Dean," Sam says, "they were a secret society."

"Which means they made crap up and wore fezzes and sashes and swung around scimitars." He begins to run his finger along the blade. "They probably didn't even sharp-" I'm holding back a laugh. "That's very sharp."

"Now you know better than to touch sharp objects," I say as he places the scimitar back onto the display. "Did your parents not teach you anything? I wouldn't put it past you to be attracted to shiny objects next."

My eyes bug a little after I realize what I've just said. Their parents are both gone, both taken by demons. But neither seem to be offended, they take it in stride. If anything, I expected Dean to get a little hostile with me. That shower is a blessing. It's put him in a better mood.

"Dean, look," says Sam, "I think we might have something here-something that could help us, help humanity. Henry certainly thought so. I mean, you know damn well we could use a break. What if we finally got one?" The brothers exchange a look. "Are you gonna take off the dead-guy robe?"

"So," I say loudly, "unless we plan to eat out, who wants to take me food shopping?"

"I've got plenty to do, so Dean can have the honors," Sam says.

"All right, Jack Sparrow," I say to Dean, "let's get ourselves cleaned up and hit the road, huh?"

* * *

"Think we should have brought two carts and separated?" Dean asks me.

I'm in charge of pushing the cart while Dean's beside me. "I didn't make that big of a list," I snort. I look inside the cart. It's not overflowing with food, but it's not lacking it either. "I'm just worried about the payment method."

"I've got that covered. Focus on what's on the list."

"You guys do this often? Food shop?"

"Not usually. The bunker is the first place we think is gonna be stable for us for a while."

"Then what's your home, the car?"

"Pretty much."

"Least it's mobile." I look down at what's not crossed off on our list. "I think it's time we head to the dairy aisle. Looks like we've got everything else."

"You forgot to put something down on the list."

"What could I have possibly missed?"

"Pie."

"Pie," I repeat slowly. "See, if I had known that, I would be really shopping for Sam and myself. Give you a whole pie and you'd be good for life, huh?"

"I do eat other food, Tasha."

"Sorry, you made it sound like I should know you like pie." I shrug. "If you had suggested it, I would have put it on there."

"Geez, were you always this chatty when you were food shopping?"

"I usually didn't go." I turn the cart and lead the way to the diary aisle.

"Must be weird for you, having to socialize."

I kick out at him. "I'm homeless, not a hermit. Get your facts right before you insult, Dean." I pick up some cheese and yogurts. "You do worse damage when you say something you shouldn't and you don't even know it."

I end up picking up the last of the groceries, and Dean takes my spot in line as I run to find the bathrooms. I have a sense of normalcy now, being in a public place. I probably don't look the greatest, as clothes shopping hasn't happened yet, but I smell decent enough and look the part to look halfway normal. I should have asked about clothes shopping. I'm not about to wear clothes worn by dead gentlemen. I know for a fact there were no ladies considering it was "Men of Letters." It's hard to believe that it was solely men. There had to be a woman or two doing what the men could do.

I start to feel a little dizzy once I'm out of the stall. It's just me in the bathroom. Good. I can handle this myself. I use the sink for support for a few minutes, gather my bearings. It's because of the hunger, I know. I used to get bouts like this when I first took to the streets. They rarely happen now. The last occurrence was last month, I believe.

It happens so quickly I can't call out for help. My legs go first, then my arms go with them. I can't push myself away from the sink before my forehead catches against it hard. Black consumes my vision as weakness adds on to help me slip under.

* * *

"Tasha."

Am I in a tunnel? Why does his voice sound so far away?

"Tasha!"

Where am I?

"Come on, no playing opossum. I'm gonna leave you in here if this is an act." Now his voice sounds closer.

"Talk any louder and you'll be shouting," I snap weakly. It doesn't hurt to get my eyes open, but each throb of my head makes me squint in pain. Dean's got the Impala door pried open. I see past him to see that we're back at the bunker. "How did I get in here?"

"You can thank me for saving you a trip to a hospital. Come on, out you go."

I look at Dean skeptically, wondering if this is a trick or a dream. I coax myself out of the Impala with Dean's help. Immediately, I stick against the car. The world is still spinning a little bit.

"Sam should be out any second, I called him on the way back," Dean tells me as he pops the trunk.

I touch my forehead, feeling a crusted coating on it. "What happened?"

"Well, from what I saw, someone thought you were dead. Came running out screaming for help."

"Were the cops involved?"

"It didn't have to get to that point, or an ambulance." I hear the rustling plastic bags. "I had control over the situation and got us out with no issues."

I snort. "What'd you do? Claim to be an EMT?"

"No, I just said I'd take care of you and get you some help. Surprisingly, I had a few helpers to load the car."

"Let me guess, female helpers?" I cross my arms.

"Who else?"

I look lazily at the bunker doors as Sam gets them open and runs up the stairs.

"You want me to get the food in or-?"

"Get Tasha inside, I've got these," Dean says. He heads for the open doors with a few bags on each arm. One looks about ready to break open. He notices and quickens his pace.

"Quick, how many fingers am I holding up?" Sam's in front of me. I almost think he's teasing me as he's got out three fingers, but he looks pretty concerned.

"Three. I can see just fine, Sam." I wave his hand away.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean shouts.

I sigh. "He took too many bags." I look at Sam. "I guess you're my crutch."

With time and patience, Sam helps me walk stably down to the stairs, down them, and into the bunker. We can hear Dean's faint mumbling to himself as we come onto the sight of him re-bagging food. Nothing spilled, but some boxes got dented on their tumble down the steps.

"Not a word," Dean spits when he notices Sam and me.

"You mind staying here while I help him?" Sam asks me.

I shake my head. "Go right ahead. I'll have the railing to lean on."

I hang around while Sam and Dean finish lugging in the food. When I feel I'm stable enough, I slowly make my way down the steps, with the railing as a guide. The guys disappear for about a half hour before one, Dean, comes back.

"You feeling nauseous, Tasha?" he asks.

"More like I've been hit with vertigo." I close my eyes and use the railing heavily.

"Why not sit down?"

"Either way the room will spin." I groan inwardly as I feel Dean guide me to sit on the bottom step. I lean against the nearest wall, feeling dizzy. I want it to go away. "Maybe I should see a doctor," I mumble.

"Let's not pay for any extra expenses."

"You're not a doctor, Dean. And I bet Sam isn't either."

"We'll figure something out. You think you have a concussion?"

"I don't know," I snap sorely. "I probably won't know!"

"All right, all right, easy there, Snips." I pop an eye open at the new nickname. "Luckily you put some pain meds on your list."

I put a hand on my forehead.

"Let's do this: how about you stay here, and I'll whip us all up something to eat?"

"What about my forehead?"

"We'll fix it later after we get something in our system."

The other eye comes open. "I hope you mean later as in tonight."

"We're not letting it get infected, Tasha. Relax. Seriously. Don't move until someone comes to get you." Dean begins to walk away.

"Is it too much to ask for you or your brother to walk me some ibuprofen anytime soon?"

**Poor Tasha, her and her fainting spells. But I like the little moments she and Dean have been getting.**