Rogue (Supernatural) [Rogue Trilogy] {1}

17. Wichita, Kansas

17. Wichita, Kansas

"I'd feel better if I had the other one too," I tell Dean.

We're outside, actually, in broad daylight, both armed with a baton. It's still a strange sight, the Impala parked next to my truck. I've pulled my hair back into a ponytail.

"I'm prepping you for all possibilities," he tells me. He holds the baton like a lightsaber, and I find myself mimicking him. "Now, show me what you got."

I wrinkle my nose, feeling the gentle breeze, as I analyze my brother. I need to go for low blows—that makes my height an advantage. I can avoid his high blows easier with a simple duck. If I can disarm him, I've got surefire victory.

Dean's impatient with my analyzing; he approaches me. He strikes with the traditional aim to the head, to which I easily duck under and hit him in the gut. I hear the air leave his mouth, and he stumbles back. The baton is low at my side as I move in on Dean.

"Always obvious, big bro," I tell him.

The clang of batons rattles my bones. I pull mine away, striking at his side. Dean meets my baton with his again, and I kick out at him. I try not to hit him, but a few times I hit him pretty hard. I gasp as I accidently hit him hard across his mouth.

"Shit!" I stammer.

"No worries. Just a scratch." He wipes the blood out of the corner of his mouth. "Keep going."

"Are you sure?"

His answer is to jump for me. I barely have time to react. I yelp as he hits my hand, forcing the baton out. My jaw throbs as I'm hit across the face, sent to the ground. I reach for my baton, as it's right there, but Dean's is just under my chin.

"If that were a lightsaber, you'd be killing me," I pant.

"But it's not."

With a second wind, I try and yank his baton out of his hand. Instead, when I realize that's not happening, I shoot forward, rolling, picking up mine in the process. But Dean sends me crippling to the ground with a hit to my ribs. I gasp, touching my tender ribcage.

"You never said no contact," he tells me.

I lock my jaw. "Asshat."

He chuckles. "Same old Jo."

"You lost that privilege, remember?" I snarl.

Dean rolls his eyes. "You waving the white flag?"

"No. I'm gonna make you wave yours though." With a cry, I go for Dean.

Somehow, my baton is out of my hand, and I've got an arm behind my back painfully. I kick at my brother's legs, but unlike me, he doesn't buckle. I get sent to the ground on my knees with a kick on the back of my legs. Dean has the baton on my throat.

"Okay, okay," I whine. "You win! You win, Dean!"

The baton lets me fall to the ground, coughing. Dean's shaking slightly, looking as though he's trying to keep himself in check.

"Dean?" I ask timidly.

"Good—good round," he says neutrally.

"Dude, you play dirty."

"Whoever said people play fair anymore?" he pants.

I pick myself and my baton up off the ground. "How times have changed." I go to him, hand out for my other baton. "Hand it over. I think it makes you too power-hungry."