Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The bar doors swung open abruptly, and slammed shut behind her startling the bouncer standing nearby. He looked her over, took in the displeased look on her face, and brushed her off as another scorned woman wanting to get wasted. She hadn’t meant to be so forceful, but she was on a mission. A mission that was probably a little too personal. She really had no business being there.
Irritated, and itching for a fight, she made her way to the bar. Her raven hair glistened as she brushed it over her shoulder. All eyes immediately turned to her. She was decked out in low rise jeans, a white tank top, a large unzipped men’s black leather jacket, and black combat boots. She was 5’5” around 130 pounds, and almost solid muscle. She may have seemed little, but she was strong.

She took a seat on a backless, cushioned stool. She swiveled in her seat as she waited on the barkeep.
From the jukebox, Cash’s “Have You Ever Seen The Rain” mingled with the voices of the patrons in the background.
Spinning left in her stool, she glanced around the room. It was your typical dive bar in the middle of nowhere, Texas. The clientele consisted of a few bikers here and there, an older crowd who were most likely regulars, and some of the small town youth. There was one lone man sitting in a dimly lit back corner looking completely uninterested shooting whiskey.

In the cloudy room she could see he had ruffled dark hair, a black button up shirt, blue jeans, scuffed black boots, and a grim, bored look on his face. His back to the wall, he had a perfect view of the entire bar from his seat.
Of course he would. This was Dean fucking Winchester, and he was watching his back, though mostly out of habit. What he hadn’t counted on was an angry, petite woman coming after him. Why would he? He hadn’t seen, or talked to her in several, very long years.

She almost shook her head out of frustration, but settled for rolling her eyes as she faced the bar once more. Come on, Dean! You can do so much better than this. She thought. Hanging out alone at the same bar, night after night? Boring! She’d been watching Dean for the past week. It had been one of the most boring stakeouts she’d performed until she noticed something that chilled her to the core. It wouldn’t have bothered quite as much if she hadn’t known Dean in another life. A life she often wished she could forget for the not so simple fact that it would set her one a path that would kill her innocence, and damn her soul.
She wasn’t completely heartless, a little rough around the edges maybe, with an attitude, and a short fuse. She was often cold, and disconnected, but her main goal in this life was to help the innocent and send every evil thing she could get her hands on straight back to Hell.
She’d just seen, and been through too much, and Dean had been a friend once upon a time. More than a friend, really. That is, until he’d moved on, and forgotten all about her. Maybe her mission was more than just a little too personal. She had a score to settle, but wanted to save him at the same time. She had to quit thinking about it, all it was doing was pissing her off even more, and she put her trembling hands in her lap.

Humming along to the song, the bartender made his way over to her and with a genuine smile, asked, “What’ll you have?”
She bat her dark blues, “Shot of whiskey, don’t care what.”
The bartender smiled at her again, and turned to grab a glass, and a bottle. “Make it a double, please.” She added holding up two fingers. He obliged, and returned to the group he had been chatting with at the other end of the bar.
She heard them talking about her.
“The things I’d do to her.” She heard an older man say. They all laughed.
“If you only knew, old man.” She mumbled, smiling to herself.

She downed her shot, and tapped the empty glass on the counter signaling the bartender who was more than happy to set her up with another double. She swiveled back and forth, fidgeting in her stool, swirling her drink. Playing the part of the irritated, lonesome girl perfectly. She glanced around the room again. Peering through the blue haze from the cigarette and cigar smoke, she caught Dean’s eye, but did not smile, or even acknowledge that they’d made brief eye contact. She turned back to bar, put her glass to her lips and took a big swallow. It was a cheap whiskey, but it’d do.

She smiled to herself. It was a little amusing to her, stalking Dean in a bar, seeing as how he’d been the one to take her to her first. The memory was bittersweet because the result of their excursion had ended badly for everyone.
**********
She’d been sixteen years old, on a hunting trip with the Winchesters. It was John’s idea of a field trip. She wasn’t asked on many with the boys, and relished the thought of learning something new, and useful. She was actually the useful one. She was very good and had a few tricks of her own. She took a lot of pride in that, until it wasn’t fun anymore.
She was staying in a hotel room adjacent the Winchester’s because John felt it wasn’t appropriate for the boys to sleep in the same room as girl.
Sprawled out on the bed, reading a book as usual, she jumped at the sound of tapping on the window. She got up, and peered through the curtain. No one was there. Grabbing her gun from the nightstand she checked the peephole of the door, as Dean knew she would. He stood giving her the finger. Annoyed she returned to the nightstand, this time putting her gun in the drawer. Returning to the door she flung it open, started to say something insulting, and was cut off, “Shut up, and get dressed. We’re going out.” He said, triumphantly holding up fake IDs.
“Uh, no we’re not.” She whispered, looking around outside the door.
“Come on, don’t be such pussy. My dad’s passed out, and with any luck we’ll be right behind him in a few hours.”
She couldn’t believe he was asking her to go with him.
“Where’s your brother?”
“He’s asleep too. Get dressed, do something to make yourself look older, and hurry up!” He said.
“Fine, get in here.” She grabbed his arm, and yanked him into the room, terrified they’d get caught. She wasn’t really afraid for herself. She knew that whatever punishment she’d probably deserve would be taken out on Dean. That thought is was scared her the most. Getting trouble didn't seem to bother him in the slightest. This wasn’t Dean’s first outing with a fake ID. That rebellious bastard would never learn.
“You’re crazy, you know that?” She furiously said, shoving him.
“Crazy, or awesome?” He said, shrugging her off, and giving her a wink. His charm was irresistible. He was dressed in old faded blue jeans, a Metallica T-shirt, and worn out brown boots. Over his T-shirt he wore his father’s worn, and faded brown leather jacket, partially zipped up. He was out of his mind!
“What are you… If your dad catches us...” She said in a panic
“If my dad catches us, we won’t have to worry about anything ever again. Blah, blah.” He rolled his eyes. “Chill out, and hurry the fuck up!”
Faking a laugh, she grabbed her bag, and headed to the bathroom. This was a bad idea, but there wasn’t much she wouldn’t do if he asked her.
Rummaging through what little she had, she found clean blue jeans, and red spaghetti strapped top. She dressed quickly, and pulled on a an old pair of black scuffed black boots. In the bottom of her bag she found what few pieces of makeup she owned. Always be prepared, right? Opening the door, but not quite finished, she yelled out, “Where’d you get those, anyway?”
“Dude, we make fake badges for my dad all the time.” She could almost hear him roll his eyes again.
“Touche.” She muttered.
“Are you almost done?” He called out from the other room. She could hear him pacing.
She brushed her hair quickly, and pulled it up. She applied mascara, eyeliner, and lip-gloss sloppily, looked in the mirror, and sighed heavily.
Stepping out of the bathroom she looked at the ground sheepishly.
“This will never work.”
Dean studied her for a moment, and said “Sure it will. Pull your hair down.” Pulling the tie from her hair, it fell around her shoulders. She ran her fingers through it, not really sure what she should be doing.
“Do that flip thing.” He said, motioning with his hands. She turned and faced the mirror above the desk, parting her hair down side, she flipped her bangs over. She made a disgusted face, and turned back to Dean.
“Like this?” Neither of them had any idea what they were doing. She had no mother figure, and other female hunters were few and far between. The only female hunters she’d ever met didn’t do their hair, or makeup, so the issue never came up. John rarely, if ever, took the kids anywhere people might question him. She carried the makeup strictly because it made her look a little older if necessary.
“Perfect, let’s go!” He said grabbing her arm, and pulling her to the door. Dean could care less what she looked like, just as long as she looked old enough to get in with the ID he’d made.
She stopped, “Why are you asking me to go with you?” She asked.
“Dad’s been kind of hard on you lately, and you seemed like you needed a break, or some fun.”
“You’re not doing this because of me.” She said, knowing better.
“OK, fine. I didn’t want to go by myself, get your shit, and let’s go!” He said giving a genuine smile. Truth was, he liked her as much as she liked him, but he wasn’t about to tell her that, yet.
She grabbed an old, faded Carhartt jacket on her way out of the room.
“Where are we going, and how are we supposed to get there?” She quietly asked over her shoulder as she locked her door.
“That bar we saw on the way in.”
“OK, but how?”
Dean cleared his throat, and she heard jingling. Surely he hadn’t…
She tucked her room key in her pocket, turned around and saw he was holding up keys. Not just any keys, the keys to his father’s ‘67 Impala.
“Yup, it’s official, you’ve lost your fucking mind.” She said, pulling her key back out. Dean reached out, and quickly grabbed the key out of her hand.
“I told you, my dad is passed out, as in blacked out. He’s not getting up anytime soon.” He was so sure of himself.
She continued to look at him with uncertainty.
“Just help me get the fucking car out of the lot, and stop being a little bitch.” He said, winking.
Wanting to impress him, she nodded and they hurried to the car. Dean whistled and she looked up. He tossed the keys to her, and she grinned excitedly.
“Don’t get any stupid ideas, just put it in reverse and steer.”
Disappointed she opened the door, and jumped in the driver’s seat. That was the first, and only time she’d ever sat there. Her elbow tapped the horn as she turned to toss her jacket in the backseat. “Shit!” She whispered angrily to herself.
Standing in front of the car, Dean threw up his hands, and mouthed “What the fuck?”
She raised her own hands, shrugged her shoulders, and mouthed “I’m sorry.”
They waited a minute, and when they were sure the coast was clear, Dean pushed, and she steared. When the Impala was facing the road, she slid across the leather bench seat to the passenger side. Dean hurried in, “Drive much?”
“Sorry.” She mumbled.
“You know, now would have been an awesome time for you to…”
“Shut your mouth, or I’m going back to my room.” She said before he could finish his statement.
He looked away quickly, and started the car. The silence lasted too long for Dean, who held up her key.
“You can’t go back to your room anyway, I have your key.” She shoved him hard.
“I can still get into my room, dumbass.” Growing up with hunters you learned pretty quickly you were never truly locked out of anything.
“Touche.” He said, smiling at her. She returned the smile, giving him a look that only a teenage girl with a crush can give.
As they pulled out of the hotel parking lot, she glanced back at the hotel and saw Sam peeking out the window. Her heart sank, but there was no backing out now.
“Why couldn’t Sam come with us?” She asked as they flew down the road.
“Sam couldn’t pass for 21 if he tried, besides he’s sleeping off almost getting his head kicked in.” He chuckled, adjusting the rearview mirror.
Sam was 14, but he truly did still look like a little kid. No one would have guessed by 18 he’d be towering over all of them.
Dean tossed an ID to her, and she turned on the overhead light to looked it over.
“Amanda Perry?” She said raising an eyebrow, and rolling her eyes. She already knew where this was going.
“Get it? A man, duh.” He laughed
“Wow, Dean, you’re hilarious.”
“Shut up, and Perry’s for your stupid crush on Joe Perry.” He said with an exaggerated eye roll.
She smacked him on the arm, and tried not to get excited he’d remembered something so trivial.
“Hey, no hitting the driver!” They traded glances, and both cracked up laughing.
Lightly punching her in arm he said, “Hey, good save today.”
“You’re welcome.” she replied sarcastically while watching the lines on the blacktop race by.
“I’m serious, my dad won’t say it, but you’re kind of a badass.”
She looked over at him, and beamed. “Really?”
“You know, for a girl.” He said glancing over and smirking at her. Being a girl had nothing to do with it, and she knew he was only picking on her. 

They had tracked a Wendigo in Shenandoah National Park in Virginia, where they’d camped. This was not her first hunting trip, but at the time was her scariest. It wasn’t the monster itself, it was the fact that it had almost killed the lot of them.
“Yeah well, someone had to do it, and it didn’t look like any of you were going to get it done.” She said coolly, and looked back out the window her worries fading away.
They made it to the bar quickly. Getting in wasn’t as big of deal as they’d imagined. They were in some Podunk town where no one cared as long as your ID looked good. They spent the next few hours drinking, and laughing with the locals.
Driving back probably wasn’t a good idea, but they had to get the car back before John woke up. They laughed and joked the whole way back, singing along with a classic rock station John had left on the radio.
Their victory was short lived.
As Dean coasted the Impala back into the hotel parking lot he whispered, “Fuck!” and pound his palm into the steering wheel. John was sitting on a bench in front of the hotel waiting on them. A sinister look was on his face.
She looked over at Dean, “I’ll tell him it was my idea.” She offered.
“Pretty sure that’s not going to help.” He mumbled, as he put it into park.
“Just don’t say anything unless he asks, OK?”
“Fine.” She said softly. They both exited the car looking at the ground, unsure of what to do with themselves, trying to act sober.
John stared at Dean in his drunk stupor for a moment, but it felt like an eternity.
“Mr. Winchester, Sir...” John turned his angry gaze to her. Dean shot her an incredulous look.
“Get your ass back to your room!” He said loudly, pointing toward her door.
“Yes, sir.” She sneered.
John grabbed Dean by the jacket collar, and drug him into their room, slamming the door. He didn’t bother to make sure she’d done what she was told, he just assumed that she would.
She stood outside for a few minutes listening to the familiar sounds of one of the many “altercations” between Dean and his father.
“What the hell were you thinking? You could have killed her!” Something crashed to the floor. She could hear thuds through the door. “And you stole my fucking car!” More thuds, and then Sam yelled, “Dad, stop!” Another crash. She’d heard it before, and was always too afraid to intervene. She noticed the curtain was still pulled back from Sam watching them leave, and she peeked in. Dean was on the floor covering a bloody nose. Standing over Dean, John had his back to her, his fist back ready to strike him again. Sam was pulling at him, begging him to stop.

Tonight, and many nights after, whiskey gave her the courage to do what she felt was the right thing. Searching her pockets, she found a bobby pin, and let herself in. No one heard her enter. She silently crept up on John, by the time Sam reacted to her presence it was too late. Shoving Sam out of the way, she kicked John in the back of the knee just hard enough to make him fall, but not cause any real damage. John landed on his knees with a loud groan and a thud.
Moving in front of him, standing over Dean, she punched John Winchester in the face with almost everything she had. He didn’t have time to process what was happening.
He recoiled, but was too drunk to defend himself. His face was one of shock, and anger as he sat there, his nose bleeding, eyes watering. He couldn’t believe it was her who’d hit him, and his face turned red. She knew he wouldn’t hit her back, and she still decided that kicking his ass would be satisfying. Someone had to stick up for Sam, and Dean.
Glaring at him with hate in her eyes she pulled back her fist, intent on hitting him again. Dean jumped up, and grabbed her from behind. “Stop!” He yelled.
Acting on instinct, and everything she’d been taught up to that point she flung head back, and it connected hard with Dean’s face. He staggered backward, and shook it off. Just as she was about to sock John again, Dean grabbed her by both arms.
“Stop!” He yelled again. His grip was strong.
Struggling against his grasp, She screamed. “Lemme me go!” Barely noticing the hot, angry tears streaming down her face. Her hands were shaking, and her breathing quickened. She was getting more upset by the second.
John’s empty booze bottle shattered on the floor.
“It’s OK!” Dean yelled.
“This is Not OK, Dean! How long are you two going to put up with this?” She sobbed, standing over John staring him in the eyes, he was wiping at his bloodied nose,sweat rolling down his face, he was trying to control his temper.
Her entire body was quivering now. Dean released his grip, and wrapped his arms around her tightly from behind, pulling her close.
“Just stop. It’s alright.” He whispered in her ear. She took a deep breath, and exhaled quickly.
“I’m sorry.” She whispered back, choking on a sob. She wasn’t sorry for hitting John, and Dean knew it.
“Don’t be, I did it to myself.”
She shook her head sadly, and wiped the tears from her face. Taking another deep breath, she exhaled slowly. Her breathing slowed, the tremors subsided, and Dean let her go.
She gave John one last long, hard look. To her satisfaction, he looked pretty pathetic sitting on the floor with a bloody broken nose courtesy of a little girl.

Stepping over him, she gently grabbed Sam by the arm, and pulled him to his feet. Brushing his hair away from his eyes, she said “I’m sorry, Sammy.” He stared at her with a shocked expression, but didn’t say anything back.
She left the room, not looking at Dean. She didn't close the door behind her.
“Come on, dad, get up.” She heard Dean say, as she headed back to her room. She could hear muffled voices as she entered her room.
Once she was alone, she screamed, her voice vibrating through the walls. There was a loud crash as something heavy hit the floor. Nobody came to check on her.
Her hate for John was only just beginning.
*****************************************************

She waved to the bartender again, and asked for yet another drink. “Bad day?” He said as he grabbed the bottle of Jack pouring her another double.
“Depends on who you’re asking. I’m having a pretty good time right now.” She smiled weakly. He gave her a confused look, shrugged it off, and extended his hand, “Rick.” he said. She took his hand and shook it politely, but firmly. “Addison.” she said with a slight southern accent, and a brighter smile than before. “Pleasure to meet you.” She added, raising her glass to him in a silent salute.
“Likewise.” Rick replied smiling, and nodding, then returned to his bartending duties.

She could feel eyes on her back, and heard a few people whispering about “The new, hot chick,” but wasn’t worried about it. She wasn’t planning on being there long enough to make any kind of social wave, so what did it matter?
She’d been outside the bar plenty of times, but never ventured inside. She shouldn’t have come in tonight, knew better, but she was irritated, and if she was honest, just plain bored.
Over confident was more accurate.
Dean was up to something, she was sure of it. She thought she knew, but was going to find out for sure. I mean why else would he be hanging out at some shitty bar, and fucking the local chicks that he'd normally never give a second glance? Even she knew that was beneath him. He was just slumming it, whoring about.
Gross, Dean,do you even see yourself? Have another drink. She thought, disgusted with him.

No one had ever seen her before, and that would have been problem in a small town, but not for her. She stood out, but only because she wanted to. It was kind of the point, really. Kind of hard to get a man’s attention if you were plain, and boring. He could find that with any of the local women cruising the bar. She needed something to get his attention, especially if the kind of attention you wanted were coming from someone, something, you knew wasn’t really interested in anything, but hiding, drinking, fucking, and fighting at the moment.

The jukebox paused briefly before Willie Nelson’s “Blue Eyes Crying In The Rain” came on. She rolled her eyes. Fucking hick town.
The sound of heavy, stumbling, boot steps on the wooden floor directly behind her caught her attention. She could feel the man standing behind her, warm air assaulted her neck. She caught the sweet smell of tobacco, and whiskey on his breath.
From the sound of his gait, and breath on her skin, she guessed he was just barely under 200 pounds, maybe 5’10”.
Perfect. Too easy.
“What’s a pretty girl like you, doing in a place like this?” He slurred with a thick Texas drawl.
She raised an eyebrow. Really?
Instantly annoyed by his presence, but hoping he’d be useful, she lazily replied, “Not happening, fuck off.” He gave her a confused look.
She smirked, and swirled the amber liquid in her glass.
“Oh come on, don’t be like that.” The intoxicated man said, taking a seat in the stool next to her. She glanced over. His bright red hair was mussed, and his shirt was wrinkled. He’d been here for a while. He was dressed in a green and black plaid button up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, Wrangler jeans that were starched and way too tight, and scuffed black cowboy boots that he’d probably shined before leaving the house. His straw cowboy hat was tipping off of his head, dangerously close to falling to the floor. His bottom lip sticking out full of dip, explaining the tobacco smell. If he were any more of Texas cliche she would have laughed in his face. She just might, anyway.
He was so drunk he slouched down against the back of the stool, unable to sit up straight. At least he had the sense to sit in something with a back on it.
She just rolled her eyes, and finished her drink.
Please give me a reason to kick the shit out of you, she thought to herself. She really hated men that assumed that because she was pretty, and petite, that she was stupid, or an easy target. Especially stupid enough to go home with any man who gave her any kind of attention. But then again, that had been what she was going for.

He smiled, his yellow teeth peppered with grains of tobacco, and tried again, “Haven’t seen you in here before.” The wad in his lip further inhibiting his speech.
She spun quickly in her chair, facing him with a go to hell look that could kill. “Won’t see much else if you don’t fuck off!” She replied sharply, stifling a laugh.
Leaning into the bar, trying to sit up, he spit in an empty beer bottle.
Pleasant.
“Now, now, don’t, don’t be like that.” He reiterated, fumbling his words, and leaning in close to her. The smell of cheap whiskey, and tobacco almost gagged her, and she leaned away from him.
“I’m a nice guy, you look like a nice girl….” She flagged Rick who took it as a sign for assistance, and nodded at the bouncer. The two men knew where this was most likely headed. Taking notice she smiled, leaned in, and whispered, “Don’t worry about it.” with a wink.
Relief washed over Rick’s face, and he waved off the bouncer. “Another drink?” He asked smiling.
“No thank you, I’m almost done here.” She said, still holding back laughter.
Rick smiled again, and went back to work.
Buddy, she thought, don’t look too happy, I’m about to make one hell of a scene in your little bar, sorry.
“So what do you say you and I….” the intoxicated asshole continued. Addison quickly spun her chair toward the obnoxious redhead, and hissed. “ Look buddy, I said fuck off. You’re lucky I even said it twice. Buh-bye, now.” Starting to actually get angry.
Good job asshole, now give me a reason. She thought, agitated.

Mr. Inebriated was speechless for a moment. His face turned red. Just who the hell did she think she was? Did this strange woman think she was better than him? That pissed him off even more.

She leaned on the bar half ignoring the drunk next to her, contemplating her intentions of the night. This could all go well, or this could go very badly. She was very skilled, but hadn’t been up against anything like this before. Certainly not by herself. Her source put their trust in her, and that was more than enough for her. Besides, she had it under control, right? She’d fought demons before, easily.
She had been warned that he was different, and to keep her distance for now. So much for that.

Demon, or not she knew that Dean would not sit by, and watch a woman in distress. Not that he really cared at the moment, but it was far more interesting than the local tail he’d been picking up, and he was incredibly bored. That’s what she was counting on, anyway.
She needed Dean’s attention, and Mr. Asshole was doing a great job.

Rick could see him getting angry. He looked to Addison, and back to the man. “Bill, if you don’t cool it, I’m gonna have to toss ya out.”
“Horseshit!” Bill spat. “I didn’t do nothin’!”
“The lady told you no, now back off!” Rick replied irritated, and nodded at Mark the bouncer who started to make his way over to the scene.
“You gonna throw me out over a piece of ass?” Bill slurred.

As soon as the words left his mouth Addison flew off of her stool, knocking it to the ground. With her right hand she grabbed Bill by the right wrist, twisting it hard. As she pulled him out of his seat his hat fell to the floor. His chair balancing on one leg, she kicked the stool out of her way, and pulled his arm behind his back. Crushing his straw hat with her boot, her left arm came across the back of his shoulders slamming his torso into the bar. She put some weight into it, and Bill screamed. “What the fuck!”

Rick jumped back in surprise, but suppressed a laugh. He hadn’t seen that coming. Every eye in the room was definitely on her now. She wasn't completely unaware, but focused on the situation at hand. She leaned in close to Bill's ear, and whispered, “I’m not some piece of ass you fucking asshole.”
“Fuck you bitch, let me go!” She twisted his wrist harder, putting more muscle into it. He flailed wildly with his free left arm, knocking over glasses. The room went silent except for the jukebox.
Dean watched from his corner, his expression one of boredom, but interest in the woman. It wasn't the first time he’d seen a woman handle herself, but she did it with such grace, and skill. He was actually impressed, and very entertained. He tilted his head, and continued to watch with smirk on his face.

Bill continued to holler in pain. “You’re breaking my arm, bitch!”
Addison smiled, she wasn’t even close to breaking his arm. “How about an apology, or I will break it, motherfucker!” She could could feel bone, and cartilage grind in her hand. If she twisted, and pulled any harder the bones would snap. “Fuck….” He never got the words out. Sliding her left arm further up, she slammed his head into the counter using her weight. She was so focused on Bill she forgot her surrounding for a moment too long. A strong hand grabbed her gently by the shoulder. “Alright, I’ve seen Enough!” an unfamiliar voice yelled from behind her. She hadn’t heard him approach, which was very much unlike her. Still, she didn’t let go. If she was worried about some drunk redneck, and a hick bouncer, she was in the wrong business.

“Get this fucking bitch off me!” Bill whined. Addison’s hand grabbed a fistful of flannel at the collar of Bill’s shirt ready to finish what he had technically started. Mark’s trunk-like arm came across her chest from behind, and he pulled at her firmly. “Let go, I’ll take it from here.” She shoved herself back from Bill using her weight to slam Bill’s head into the worn wood one last time for good measure.
She released her grip, as she shoved away, she slammed into Mark who stumbled back slightly. He grabbed her roughly by the arm, and started to say something. Her full lips turned up into a cocky smile as she waited to hear what he was going to say. She felt a presence next to her, and turned to see who else had joined the party.

Glancing over and saw Dean, who had moments before been sitting in the corner bored out of his mind, grinning. Now this was something she’d like to see, though it really shouldn’t have been entertaining to her. She could care less at the moment. It’d been a long time since she’d seen Dean Winchester in action.
Dean punched the tall, stout man in the face, and he dropped to the ground, landing on one of the upturned stools. Mark was out.
Dean wasn’t even trying. That should have set off alarm bells then, but she was distracted.
Dean then turned his attention to Bill.

“The “bitch” as you so simply called her, gave you multiple fair warnings, but you just couldn’t listen.” He said expressionless. Bill looked at Dean incredulous. "I saw where you sit. How'd you even hear that?" Dean leaned in close to Bill’s ear, "I hear everything." He whispered maliciously.
He moved away from Bill continuing to survey him, and chuckle. Not giving a damn about the quiet bar, and eager eyes.
“Who the fuck are you? Her bodyguard?” Bill slurred.
Dean scoffed, “Does it look like she needs a fucking bodyguard?”

“I was just trying to make conversation with the pretty little lady.” Bill said, his face pale from too much alcohol, and the pain in his arm. Addison had held back as well, she could have easily broken his arm, he was sure to have some sort of damage, though.
“Well, the "little lady" said no more than once, and then handed you your ass. So I’d probably watch my mouth from now on.” Dean sneered
“Fuck you, too!” Bill said wiping blood from his head, and holding his arm. Dean cocked his head, and sighed a laughed, “Wrong answer.” he said as he grabbed Bill’s already injured arm, and snapped it effortlessly with one hand. The cracking of bones was loud in the the silent room. Addison’s dark side admired the fight in Dean.
Billed screamed. “What the fuck? Fuck you, I’ll kill you!!” He yelled, his face turning red. Beads of sweat rolling down his face.
Dean laughed, and said “Good luck with that.” Everyone was staring in a state of shock, afraid to move. The tension in the air was thick and tangible.

Addison looked over at Dean sizing him up, unsure of what was actually happening now. What he going to stop there? Dean was looking around the room, waiting for someone to challenge him.
In the brighter lighting at the bar she could appreciate his dark brown hair that had a hints of red, chiseled jaw line, lips to die for and green eyes that could kill. They were cold, empty. The kind of dead eyes that send chills down your spine. She wasn’t afraid of him at the moment. More in awe, and more than a little surprised that he’d come to her “rescue.”
She was suddenly aware that everyone was looking at them with fear instead of interest, anymore. I think I fucked up here, she thought to herself. She pulled a wad of cash from her pocket handed it over to Rick, as she made her apologies to him. “Next round’s on me, and how ‘bout we forget this happened, and that you ever saw me?”
“Sure thing.” Rick replied grabbing the bills off of the counter. He didn’t bother to count it, he could tell it was more than enough. “What do you say you let me keep that bottle?” She said winking, and pointing to the almost half empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the shelf. "sure" Rick replied nervously.
She thanked him, took the bottle and turned to go. As she spun around she noticed two sheriffs entering the bar.
“Fuck!” She whispered. Someone had called the cops.

Dean grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her in another direction, hurrying her out the back door. She didn’t protest, she was getting what she wanted, but the voice in the back of her mind was still sending her warnings.
Once they hit the back alley they broke into a run. She ran towards the front to motorcycle she’d rode in on. Dean grabbed her again, pulling her in different direction down the alley where he’d parked his car.
As soon as she saw his car she stopped in her tracks. There sat Baby, in all her glory. She was 1967 Chevy Impala, with 502 Big Block, and 550 engine. Damn, she loved that car. It was one of the most beautiful pieces of machinery she’d ever seen. The windows had been left down. Really?
Her admiration of the vehicle was short lived. Dean started her up, the engine purred loudly, snapping her back to reality.
The Doors’ “Riders On The Storm” blared on the old radio.
“Get in, or I’m leaving you here.” She didn’t have to be told twice. She flew into the ‘67 Chevy, and buckled up. He put his foot in it, Baby roared and jumped to life, tires squealing they fishtailed out of the alley. He didn’t bother to turn down the radio.

She had to give it to him, the man could drive, and in no time at all the cops, the bar, Bill, were long gone in the rearview mirror.
She looked down, there was trash at her feet. She looked in the backseat with horror. The seat, and floorboards were littered with debris. Was that a cigarette butt? She was torn between shaking the man, and cleaning up the mess. Seeing as how the latter was impossible unless she wanted to throw it out the window. She opted for shaking her head, biting her tongue, and sinking into her seat. Your daddy would knock the shit out of you for this, she thought, and this time I’d probably let him.

Inhaling the scent of leather, it almost smelled like home. Almost. This wasn’t her home, it belonged to the Winchesters. She didn’t actually have what you’d consider a home. Home sounded like a bad joke to her. It was a place shoved deep down in the pit of her memory. Barred, chained, and locked up tight. Only she held onto the key. Maybe one day she could visit, and not wake up screaming, but it didn’t seem likely.

Cruising down the blacktop, pushing 90 miles an hour, Dean bobbed his head to AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck.’’ drumming his thumb on the steering wheel.
She smiled to herself, tapping her fingers on the on the driver’s side door.
“Rode down highway broke the limit, we hit the town. Went through Texas, yeah, Texas, and we had some fun...” She sang as her hair whipped her face. Dean looked over at her, and smiled.
Perfect. Maybe a little too perfect. Things had a tendency to go awry the moment you got a little too comfortable.
They drove in silence, listening to a plethora of classic rock. Forty- five minutes later they pulled into the driveway of an old abandoned house. She exhaled quickly, and silently. She didn’t want to go back in there, especially with him. It wasn't fear that was holding her back. She just couldn't deal with Dean being her mission, her job. The thought that Dean saved her, and took her back to her place as possibly his next victim wasn't lost on her. She would not be a victim, and Dean had no idea who he was messing with. The only thing he knew was that she could fight a little.

Dean got out of the car,walking up the old dirt driveway, and ascended the front steps of the old, but still quite sturdy house. She climbed out of the car, the bottle of booze sloshing in her hand. Carefully closing the door, she took a long, loving look at Baby. Of all the things ever changing in her life, she had remained on of the constants.
“Good girl.” She whispered into the breeze.
She had been almost thirteen the first time she saw Her, and had been curled up on the couch inside Bobby Singer’s home, one of the many places she’d stay throughout her ‘teens, reading Kerouac’s ‘On The Road.’ The rumble of the old engine interrupted her. Spying through the curtains she saw John Winchester ease her into the drive, and two young boys scrambled to get out. No one drove anything like that where she had come from, and she was more interested in the car than the boys for the time being.

She shook her head. ‘Get it together’, her brain yelled at her.
The sound of the trees blowing in the cool, but humid breeze snapped her back to the present.. She’d give anything to go back to the early days. To convince the boys to run away. Not necessarily with her, but at least together. Together they would have maybe had a chance at something normal. It wouldn’t have done any good of course. By then they had all been through too much. Dean would never just leave John, but Sam eventually left them both. Good for him. He’d almost made it.

She scowled, and looked up at the creaky old house, two-story house. Tilting her head up to the night sky, she inhaled the scent of rain. From the many songs on the jukebox, and radio about rain, she already knew it would be coming down soon. Not just a little rain, but a decent storm. Call it intuition. Things like that happened around her a lot, and she was never wrong.

That nagging feeling that she really shouldn’t be here wouldn't go away. The feeling was strong, and she felt it in her bones. It was a little late to back out now, at least that's what she kept telling herself. At this point she wasn't afraid of Dean. She was pretty sure she'd fought worse, solo. As much as she knew about demons, and monsters, she had never come across something like Dean supposedly was now. Still she wasn't convinced there would be an all out fight between the two of them. She thought she was ready for what needed to be done.

Dean entered the house, leaving the door open behind him, and disappeared inside. She followed slowly.
He walked over to a chair, and took a seat. She stood in the entryway of the room, and stared him up and down. Even with his messy hair, and wrinkled clothes, he was beautiful. God, he was still fucking gorgeous! FOCUS, damnit! She cursed herself. She was almost that teenage girl again.

“So you gonna stand there all night, and stare, or are you gonna a have a seat and share that with me? The way I see it you kind of owe me.” He said gesturing to the bottle, then to the couch.
“Well, I seem to remember handling the situation fairly well.” She said making her way to a couch near his chair.
She sat down, and made herself comfortable while taking in everything around her. Dean, the sounds of the house, the increase in the wind outside.
“And I remember finishing it, and getting us the hell out of there.” He replied in a presumptuous tone.
She couldn’t argue that.
“You have any glasses?” She asked him with mock innocence.
“I don’t have anything you have to worry about, sweetheart.”
I guess you can’t catch ‘demon.’ She thought to herself, and stifled a laugh. There was plenty to worry about, but she was loosening up. Maybe the four doubles, or was it five, at the bar was a really bad idea. She handed over the bottle. He opened it up immediately, took a long swig, and handed it back to her who did the same. She recapped the bottle and placed it on the the table between the couch she was relaxing on, and the chair he had collapsed in. “ So you’re Addison” He said matter-of-factly. She looked over stunned. “Don’t worry, I heard you say it at the bar.”
“And you’re…”
“Dean.” He finished with a wink. Smug bastard, she thought with slight annoyance. That damn charm of his was her weak spot, and he had no idea.

************************
“So, where’d you learn to fight?” Dean asked, grabbing the bottle off of the table casually drinking taking a drink, grimacing as he swallowed.
“Some might call it a misspent youth.” She replied sourly. She snatched the bottle away from him, and took a giant drink, winced as it went down, and sighed. She placed the bottle back on the side table.
“I may know a little about that.” he said with a roll of his eyes, and left it at that. He didn’t actually care, the look on his face said as much.
He raised his eyes to her. She pretended not to notice.

She leaned back into the sofa, and closed her eyes. The couch was brown leather, cracked and rough from years of wear, and neglect. She relaxed a little. The excessive amount of booze had helped, or most likely hurt her situation. That would remain to be seen. Her eyes still closed, she sighed.
It was the sexiest sigh Dean had heard in while, and he’d had his fair share of women.
She was a little warm for comfort, even though the the draft in the old house had made it a little cool despite the Texas heat. It was late November after all, so no doubt it would be cooling off in the night air.
She looked over at the demon who was casually eyeing her, those brilliant green eyes shining though the alcohol induced haze. She couldn’t repress the smile that came across her face, and lit up those intense blue eyes. He was a charmer without even trying. Dean leaned over toward her, and grabbed the bottle from the table between them. His eyes never leaving hers, he finished the contents in one full gulp. He tossed the bottle over his shoulder carelessly, and it shatter on the ground behind him. He really didn’t give a shit.
Really, Dean? She thought.
Addison didn’t even startle at the sound. She looked away for an instant, and rolled her eyes, and continued her trail of thought. Well, let's see if I can get him upstairs.
Looking back at him, “Hot in here, huh?” she said nonchalantly. She removed her leather jacket, carefully folding it over the arm of the sofa. She slouched, leaning back into sofa and closed her eyes again, “mmmm, better.” She almost gagged at how stupid, and girly she was pretending to be, though not for the first time in her life. For some ridiculous reason, some men’s alarm bells didn’t even sound with an idiotic female. Dean should know better. One of the first things they were taught was trust no one.

Dean stared more intensely at her. Her low cut tank showing off more cleavage than the jacket had allowed. Her shirt had risen in her slouch showing off her midriff just slightly, nicely cut hips peaked out of her low cut jeans.
She put her boot clad feet up on the table in front of her. So far he had no idea she had a Sig .380, and demon blade, and a flask of holy water tucked snugly in her boots. She opened her eyes, and caught him staring. She returned the gaze through her own bleary eyes. She smiled again. In that moment she wasn’t staring at demon. She staring at Dean Winchester. The infamous hunter, badass. Bad reputations aside, she would always have a great amount of respect for the Winchester boys. No matter how angry she may have been with the two of them.
How many times had they saved the world? No matter what the cost, they got shit done. They saved thousands, no millions of lives, and almost no one knew about it unless you were in the hunter circle. She preferred it that way
Dean stared hungrily at her. She really was one of the most attractive women he’d ever seen. Her pale skin set off her radiant blue eyes, black hair, and full red lips. It took everything he had not to act on animal instinct, and just take her right there.

Addison couldn't stand the mess Dean had
left behind him.
He watched her walk around his chair to the mess of broken glass that he’d made. She swayed he hips when she walked, and he thought it was extremely hot. Even her stumbling a little, was driving him mad. She was graceful and sexy, even while inebriated. His eyes flashed black for a moment, and he sighed through his teeth. She heard it, and ignored it.

“You don’t happen to have a broom around here do you?” Her intoxicated mind wondered aloud.
“Does it look like I have a fucking broom in this dump?” he said his eyes shining green again upon her gaze. “ Well, I can’t just leave this here.” She said with a slight slur, stooping to pick up the broken pieces by hand. Dean couldn’t help himself, he turned and stared at her amazing ass, eyes going black once more.
Distracted, wondering about how this night would go, and maybe just a little inebriated, she fell forward catching herself on a rather large piece of glass. “Fuck!” She exclaimed loudly.

She stood up, pulled the glass from her hand, and examined the fresh wound, blood pouring from her right hand. That was it for the demon. He was on his feet, and behind her in a second, eyes black as night. He stopped short, took a breath and closed his eyes, when they reopened they were their natural color again, with a slight haze from alcohol. He wanted her badly, but he wasn’t going to just attack some innocent little thing. How easy, and fun it would be though.

“Let me take a look.” he said forcefully spinning her around, trying to contain himself. “It’s not too bad” Addison said annoyed with herself.
Dean examined the wound briefly and pulled a bandanna from his back pocket, and wrapped it around her hand. “Yeah, It’s not so bad, but could probably use some stitches.”
“Well that’s not going to happen tonight.” She replied, annoyance in her voice. It was definitely not something that should slow her down.
Dean still had a gentle hold of her hand, but she could feel him looking her in the face.

She looked up into those emerald green eyes, and her mind was gone, lost somewhere in the shards on the floor. Demon who? She thought.
She’d always had a thing for Dean, whether, or not anything serious would ever come of it, she probably always would.

There was no denying the look of lust in her eyes. Dean took the signal, and grabbed her by the waist pulling her tightly to him, kissing her forcefully. She didn’t object, and instead kissed him back, hungry for more. She grabbed him by the back of his dark hair, and deepened the kiss letting tongues entwine, moans coming from them both. Hands groping at each other. Dean ran his hands through her hair, and gave it a gentle tug. She moaned loudly. He ran his hands down her back and cupped that beautiful ass, pulling her even closer to him.
Breathing heavily, Dean broke away, giving her the sexiest come fuck me eyes she’d ever seen “Wanna take this to the bedroom?” Dean asked. She grinned, breathlessly.
Dean took that as a yes, and grabbed her hard by the arm, and led the way up the creaky stairs of the old house, to a bedroom that was actually nicely kept.
The bed was an old queen with new sheets, and pillows on it. The old dresser in the room was clean and bare.

She took a moment to glance around, “This is, um, nice.” She said, feigning interest. She’d already seen it.
Dean grunted, and grabbed her by the hips slamming her into the wall.
Her body’s impact with the old wooden wall was slightly painful, but she liked it. She grabbed him by the neck kissing him again. Running her hands through that irresistible hair. He bit her lip, teeth pulling ever so gently. He was teasing her. She had no Idea what she’d gotten herself into, the demon though. The thought made him smile wickedly. He grabbed her just above her thighs, lifting her effortlessly, and carelessly. Holding them both against the wall using just enough of his weight against her pelvis, he began running his hands from her hair, to her shoulders, down her sides, over her breast,
down to her waist. She moaned into his mouth. No one had ever Kissed her this way. This forcefully. She yearned for more. She wrapped her legs around his waist. She wanted him as close to her as could. She pulled at his hair kissing him passionately. He ground himself against her, letting out a low growl.
Nipping at her neck, his eyes changed back to black. Lost in a moment of ecstasy, she didn’t notice. She couldn’t stand it any longer. She released her grip from his neck, and he placed her back on the hardwood floor. Legs shaking, she almost staggered. He caught her by the waist steadying her.

She grabbed him by his black button up, tearing it open sending buttons flying everywhere. Dean grunted in surprise he had not expected that from her. He grabbed her by the hair again biting her neck, hard. Not hard enough to break the skin, but it’d definitely leave a mark. Hopefully not the first of the night. She thought carelessly.
She cried out in pure ecstasy.
Please! She begged in her mind. She smiled at him, and laughed a naughty low laugh into his ear, leaving tiny trails of nips down his neck. He tasted musky, salty, with a hint of sweetness from the whiskey.
She planted kisses on his chest. She stopped at his tattoo on the right side of his chest, and traced the outline of a Pentagram. If only this had been enough to save him, she thought.
“Just a phase.” He explained, and she let him lie. She had a few phases of her own that she’d prefer to keep hidden. Another reminder that she had no business being here.
She pushed the thoughts out of her head for now.
In one fell swoop his shirt was on the floor. She sucked in her breath. Never in life had she seen anyone who had been through all of the things he’d been through, with such perfect skin. She ran her hands down his chest, raking her nails down unblemished skin. He smelled amazing. That beautiful, natural, clean man smell, with a hint of smoke from the bar. She couldn’t get enough. She slid down the wall kissing lower, just below his bellybutton, and biting at his jeans. Dean grunted. She could feel him getting hard, but Dean wasn’t ready yet. He wanted more of her. Dean's hand grabbed her by the chin, and pulled her face to his again. He pressed her against the wall again, a little more gently this time, but firmly. Kissing her wildly. Grinding his pelvis into her.
His hands were at her jeans, pulling at the waistline, teasing. Her mind was spinning.
Wasn’t there something she was supposed to doing? The thought was gone as he grabbed her by both wrist, pulling her hands over her head.
She froze. Noticing her reaction, he commented,
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you….. Much.” He said with a sly grin. It wasn't that she was afraid of. She knew what was coming, and knew as soon as her shirt came off her cover would be blown. “Maybe we should leave the shirt on?” She said forcing a smile.
“Not a chance” He replied, He dropped his left hand, tugging at the hemline of her tank top. His right hand still firmly holding her hands above her head. She tried to struggle to move out of his grasp, but he was too strong. She wanted him badly. More than any man she’d ever known, but knew as soon as he saw what was underneath the thin, white fabric he would know, and the fight would be on. So much for the best fuck of her life.

Addison protested a little more, and finally just gave in. Maybe she could explain, or just not talk about it at all. Her alcohol fueled brain told her. Yeah, good luck with that.
A hunter almost always knew. That wasn’t the worst part though. The mark, or marks on her back were telling enough if he didn’t figure it out by her plethora of scars.
She knew once he saw that, she’d better be ready for a fight. He wasn’t going to like being deceived, and possibly feeling used. Though she wasn’t using him anymore than he was using her. She knew why she was here, why she wanted him upstairs. It wasn’t to fuck his brains out. Though that could have been a bonus the darkness in her told her.

It was to see if he had brought her home for a reason, but she couldn’t help thinking Dean was still in there, somewhere.
She started lifting her shirt, and panic set in. It wasn’t like her to let her guard down, let alone panic, especially over a guy. Well, a demon. She’d already broken one of her main rules, no going back now. This had already gone way too far. Fuck it, might as well get it over with. She thought.
Dean sensing her rising panic, leaned in close, and whispered in her ear, sucking on her earlobe for emphasis. “I’m not going to hurt you, unless you want me to.” She shivered. He was lying, and she knew it. He bit her bare shoulder, hard, and then kissed it, to show he was serious.
God, Please hurt me. The sadist in her screamed. Part of her just didn’t care at all that this was a demon who looked like Dean.
She let a moan of pleasure escape her lips. Dean pressed his hips against her’s again, holding her against the wall, and in one swift movement her shirt was off, and on the floor.
His eyes went from her’s, trailed down her chest, and stomach, and stopped. He froze. Her torso was a battlefield of old, and new scars. Scars from knives, bullet wounds, crappy stitching jobs, but the angry red and purple claw mark was what really sealed it.

Cocking his head to the side, he took a few steps back.
His eyes were cold again, and this time he didn't hide it. His eyes filled in a deep, shiny black.
“I had a feeling, but I wasn’t quite sure. Not many hunters go around fuckin’ demons.” He growled in a low voice. He’d killed much larger men for far less.
“What? I’m not...” She never finished her sentence.
His anger exploded. He shoved her into the wall hard enough to slightly knock the wind out of her. The demon laughed. Amused that this small woman had probably thought she could take him, and now she was trying to lie about it?

“A little girl playing hunter? I don’t think you realize what you’ve walked into here.”
She shook it off, and took a few careful steps forward.
He shoved her again, this time harder. She thought she heard the old wood crack when her body made contact with it. Her shoulder blades screamed, and the the air rushed from her lungs. She collapsed to the floor, falling into a fighting stance despite the pain.
Clothed In nothing but a pair of blue jeans, boots, and a bra she looked pathetic to him. Not that gorgeous girl he’d wanted hold against the wall, and fuck until she screamed his name, and possibly passed out.
She caught her breath, and Instantly she was pissed, and in fight mode. “Kill, or be killed.” A voice from her past echoed in her head.

“You wanna play this game, fine.” She said, her eyes never leaving his. Carefully watching his every move.
Guess there was going to be a fight after all. She thought with a slight smile.

“I had a much more entertaining game in mind actually,” He said with that charming snark of his. “but you tracked me down, your first mistake, played nice with me, your second mistake. Your biggest mistake? I don’t play nice. He said heatedly
Then, you actually try to fuck me?” He said with a raised eyebrow.
“What kind of hunter are you? You're a traitor to your own kind, you know?” He laughed. “Good for you, though. Serves them right.” He laughed
“I was having a really good time” He continued. “And now? Now, I’m going to kill you, slowly, and painfully if you don’t tell me who you’re working for. I may just kill you anyway. I was already thinking about it.” he said casually.
Addison’s expression went cold. She wasn't sure if this was a manipulation, but there was no doubt in her mind that he’d kill her without a second thought. She knew from her source that he’d said as much about his own brother. The man he’d died so many times for. Went to Hell for. Took on the world for.

She would never in a million years tell him what had actually brought her here. She’d rather die.
“Look at you, don’t you look so tough, crouched on the floor with that scorned woman look. Pathetic!” He said rolling his eyes again, and laughing.
He turned his back on her, and walked toward the the dresser, leaning on it with his palms, and looking in the mirror. The Mirror faced the opposite wall from Addison, at an angle he couldn’t see her in it, but he wasn’t worried about her in the slightest.
In her crouched position, she silently pulled the demon blade from her boot, tucked it into the back of her jeans, and returned to her original position.
He’d been watching her all night, and from what he could tell she had no weapon, and fighting him hand to hand wasn’t out of the question, but not altogether logical. She had no idea what he could do.
Dean had to wonder, what did she think she was actually going to do here? He turned back around, and paced a little as he thought, his boots heavy on the rug that covered the middle of the wooden floor. Addison continued to watch him. It seemed like she was in a lot of trouble. Death, a world of hurt, or both.
Nah, she should be able to fight him. She thought with overconfidence. "You loved to hear yourself talk, huh?" She sneered at him.

Dean's eyes had changed back to their lovely shade of green, yet still cold. There was nothing there anymore. No hunger, no passion. She wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but the amused look on his face told her that he was thinking up something special.

“You know when I said don’t be afraid, I’m not going to hurt you?” He said, glaring at her.
Addison, giving him a cold hard stare of her own, kept her mouth shut.
“Well, I guess I lied. I’m going to do things to you that will make you wish for death a thousand times over, and then I’ll really get started.” In Addison’s mind she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. How was this Dean Winchester? A fucking hero? My hero?

Dean kept looking at her like she was just some sad little play thing.
She was after all just some pretty little girl, playing hunter as he had put it. HE really had no Idea what he was up against. The thought made her smile.
“Maybe you’re not as innocent as you seem?” He said hopping on the bed like child. “I mean why the hell would they send a woman, especially one of your size, and questionable morals to come take me out? I’m assuming Someone sent you, because I sure as hell don’t know you, or have I managed upset you somehow?” He laughed, slapping a hand on his knee.
Well, at least someone thought he was funny.

“Are you really that good? Do they know you like to fuck demons?” he continued, mocking her with a sarcastic grin.
“Wanna find out?” She said with a wink.
He was long bored. Getting up from the bed, he started to walk towards her with a nefarious smile. She’d only have maybe one shot.

As soon as he was directly in front of her, She jumped to her feet. Pulling the blade from the back of her jeans, she lunged, and drove it into the demon’s chest, purposely missing his heart. Bright red light crackled around the wound.
She wasn’t supposed to have even engaged him, but if it came to that she was to take him down, but keep him alive if at all possible.
She pulled hard on the blade, it made a sucking sound as it came out from between his ribs. Dean shocked, eyes as black as pitch, screamed an animal like noise, and immediately went after her. She was too fast, and ducked at his first swing. Eyeing him, she had her left arm raised protecting herself, and the knife high in a tight grip in her right hand. The cut inside her right palm throbbed a little.

“OK, Winchester. Let’s see what you’ve got.” She smiled. She so loved a fight. I didn’t even matter if one day it got her killed.

Dean still didn’t know who she was, or what she was capable of. Sure, most hunters could fight, but to his level, demon and all? He was curious to see.

She’d sparred with him several times growing up, and had had her ass handed to her more than once. He’d never let her just win, but she’d won her fair share. Dean never intentionally hurt her, but this wasn’t sparring, this was about survival.

Dean circled her like an animal, she followed his every step keeping her eyes on only him. He stopped, and she stopped with him. He stood staring at her for what seemed like an eternity. It was meant to distract, and intimidate, but she was not at all impressed. She’d been taught by some of the best after all. She just watched him closely. Her entire body on high alert. Then, out of nowhere Dean lunged at her. She moved out of the way quickly, dragging the blade down his back as hard as she could as he passed, splitting the once perfect skin, as he passed her. A red flash of light illuminated his skin from the warded blade. He screamed in agony, and rage. Blood dripped on the floor.
He turned to her breathing hard, and laughed.
“You know you can’t kill me with that thing”, he said grimacing, yet giving her another look of contempt.
“I may not be able to kill you with it, not that I’m aware of yet, but I damn sure can hurt you with it. Please don’t don’t give me another reason to try... Or do, your choice.” She taunted.

Dean’s wounds were already healing, and he was beyond pissed. As he stood there recuperating she quickly grabbed the small flask securely tucked in her other boot, unscrewed the cap, and tossed the holy liquid in his beautiful face. He screamed again, his eyes went wild. Over the sound of his skin singeing she said, “Yeah Dean, it’s true, you were my mission so to speak. I‘ve been following you for a while, actually. For a demon, you’re pretty boring. I knew you were in this house. Just like I knew you were in that bar. You couldn't think of anywhere else to go?” She mocked. “I watched your every move, every time you left this house. And yes, I’m Very good at what I do. Good job watching your back.” She teased.

She tossed more holy water into his face, and as he screamed, she shoved the knife into his stomach. He howled in pain. While he was doubled over, distracted, she dropped to floor, sliding on her knees across the wood floor stopping at the dresser. She quickly fished underneath it and found exactly what she was looking for. Dean caught a flash of metal as she rose to her feet, butwas in too much pain to understand what he was seeing. Addison calmly walked over to Dean, and hit him hard in the face, wearing a pair of brass knuckles with wardings on them. He hit the ground hard. She was strong for a woman of her size.

She grabbed one of his wrists, and locked a shackle to it. He screamed, and she hit him again, “Shut the fuck up!” She yelled, grabbing the the other wrist, clasping the remaining shackle to it.
She quickly pulled to knife from his stomach and he howeld.
She shoved him off of the rug he had fallen on, swiftly grabbing it and throwing it aside. Underneath was a Devil’s trap, painted bright red. Dean was furious. She shoved him hard with her foot into to the trap. Dean was making noises she’d never heard from a person, a demon, monster, or animal. It was unnerving, even for her. She ignored it.
“You know Dean, I was going to blow this so called mission, and have a different kind of fun with you.” She said with wink, and sat on the bed.
“Honey..” he said through gritted teeth, “You couldn’t handle me anyway.”
“Oh but sweetheart, I just did..” she said waving the demon blade at him, and smiling. Dean was speechless.

He glared at her. His black eyes had almost a red ring around them. She stood up from the bed, and walked to the corner of the room, where they had been before things had gone horribly wrong. Not that she had expected them to exactly go well in the first place. She bent down, careful to hide the marks on her back, picked up her top, and pulled it back over her head.
“By the way, you have very poor taste in women.” She said, crossing the room so that she was standing in front of him, just outside the devil’s trap. He laughed, and started to say something snarky, but before he could get the words out she added, “Yeah, that means me too. I mean Dean Winchester, ex-hero, hunter, demon, seduced, and tricked by a girl?” She laughed. “Little ‘ol me? Who, by the way, just handed you your ass.” She reminded him again for her enjoyment.
He continue to glare at her, not saying a word. It probably wasn’t the greatest idea to taunt a fucking Knight of Hell, or whatever he was, but fuck it, might as well have some fun. There was no telling how this would end.

You should not be here. You definitely should not be doing this. Her mind yelled at her. She pushed the thought aside,
“What I Don’t understand was why you’d come over, and help me with some asshole. Wanna tell me about that?” She thought she knew the answer, but desperately hoped she was wrong. Either way it was all bad.
“Fuck you!” He spat at her. He wasn’t telling her shit. He honestly didn’t care one way, or another. He just wanted a piece of ass, he liked fights, and tough chicks. They were pretty wild in bed.
“Come on Dean, we’re gonna be here for at least a few more hours, may as well get comfy, and have a conversation.”
He didn't respond. A few more hours? What did she have planned? If it was torture, bring it on. He could use a little fun.. He hadn’t gotten a chance to get his rocks off, so that would do.
She was getting bored. He was bound, and not going anywhere any time soon.

The shackles were warded by the same magic that Sam and Dean had found in the Men of Letters bunker where they had been living in. From their research, they could hold any demon for as long as needed, but a Knight of Hell was a different story, and wouldn’t hold Dean long, but long enough. At least that was what her source had told her, and she trusted them.
The Devil’s trap wouldn’t hold him long either. “Look, I know you’ve got more booze in this place, I’ll go get another bottle, and we'll have a nice chat.” She said reaching through the trap, and patting him on the head. She left the room, and rushed downstairs to the kitchen. Of course she knew her way around this shithole; she’d just been inside a few hours before. She paused in the kitchen, and took a deep breath. Looking down at her hands, she shook them hard trying to ease the anxiety that was creeping in up on her..
This wasn’t supposed to be so hard. She shouldn’t be having mixed feelings. If she couldn’t fight him, she could call for backup. That seemed appealing to her, asking for help. She knew she could handle the situation, though not the way she wanted to.
She grabbed the first full bottle of whiskey she saw on the counter, and hurried back up the stairs. Just outside the doorway she froze. Something wasn't right. There were no sounds coming from the bedroom. She quietly placed the bottle on the floor next to the door frame, and pressed her back against the wall in the hallway. She took a deep breath, and held it. She drew her knife from her boot, .380 from her other. She continued to hold her breath, and listen.. Nothing. No way he was dead. What was going on?
She sucked it up, and jumped into the doorway aiming the small firearm in the direction of where she had left Dean, and froze. The shackles were left in the middle of the trap, and there was no sign of him.
Her eyes scanned the room. She slowed her breathing, listening to every creek of the house. She’d been gone maybe three minutes tops. How did he get out, and where the fuck did he go? How had she not heard him? She slowly entered the room pistol in her right hand, knife in her left. She never lowered either. She listened harder still. She looked at the ground. Blood stains. That was a good start. It was so incredibly, eerily, quiet, save for the creaks, and moans of the old house as the wind picked up outside. Well, this should be fun. She thought. Nothing like chasing a fucking demon powerful enough escape warded cuffs and a Devil’s Trap, in the pouring rain. Good times!

She walked on the balls of her feet checking every corner of the room. The closet, under the bed, the side of the dresser between the wall. Nothing.
He was gone, but as intrigued as he had seemed to be she doubt he’d left. He was playing a game. Hunting a hunter. Quite the sport she supposed.
As quietly as she she could she pulled opened the draw in the middle of the dresser, tossing out the clothes that Dean had actually folded and put away. She paused, and listened again. She glanced around the room quickly, once more. Where the hell had he gone, and why hadn’t he come back for her?

No time to think. She had to hurry. He could be anywhere, and the very last thing she needed was to get caught doing what she was doing now. She pulled her knife from her back pocket and used it to jimmy the bottom of the draw loose, and tucked it back in her back pocket. With a quick look over her shoulder she pulled the fake bottom she’d made out of the old draw. Inside was a Spyderco Civilian knife. You get cut with that just right, and it’s game over. Not that that would hurt Dean, but it may slow him down. Next to it was a Sig Sauer P226 .9mm that she tucked into the back of her jeans. Her absolute favorite side arm. Decent caliber, and with the right ammo got the job just fine. She grabbed the paddle holster next to it, and placed it on her right hip, grabbing the .45 1911 that went with it. What was special about this particular weapon was that she had carved Devil’s traps into the points of the bullets. Those would definitely slow him down for quite a while. She glanced around the room once more. Always watching her back. Always listening. Bless you, Bobby, for being a paranoid old bastard. She thought with a sad smile.
She rose to her feet, and shoved the .45 into the holster until she felt it snap into place. She looked around the room again, noticed small drops of blood that led out of the room.
The trail wouldn't be a long one. In fact it was probably gone by now, at the rate that he healed.

She quietly left the room, .9mm out checking both sides of the hall before exiting. She headed for the stairs. No way he’d hide in any of the rooms. Sure, he’d want to play a game of cat, and mouse, but he’d be bored hanging out in a bedroom waiting on her to find him. This was Dean. They trained together as kids, and Lord knew he’d never made anything easy on her. Of course he didn’t know it was her, and that, perhaps, made him even more dangerous. She was a danger to him as well. She knew his fighting styles, his techniques. They'd had a few of the same teachers, though her's had probably been a lot harder on her, than him. Gotta toughen up the girl, right?

She tiptoed down the old stairs trying to be careful to avoid making them creak, but at this point what did it matter? He already knew she was looking for him. She cleared the end of the stairs careful of her surroundings.Gun still raised in front of her finger over the trigger guard, she walked back over to the couch that she’d not too long ago been so comfortable on. She surveyed the room quickly. Lowering her pistol, she grabbled her leather jacket, and pulled it on. In her tank top she was vulnerable to cuts, and gashes, and couldn't afford to be slowed down in the slightest. The leather would help protect her just enough. There was no telling if he’d had a weapon or not. Not that he’d really need one, but nonetheless he could have one just for the fun of it.

She heard the wind pick up even more. The trees blowing against the windows, branches scratching the sides of the house, making noise like nails on a chalkboard that she just simply pretended not to hear. She suddenly heard a repeated banging noise coming from the kitchen. She froze, listening. Wondering what it could be she waited, and realized it was the back door slowly banging from wind. She raised her pistol again, quietly moving toward the kitchen aware that it could be a trick. She slowly peeked around the kitchen entryway gun first. The room was empty as far as she could tell. She walked around the small empty room. Checking the pantry. Empty of course. There was no other door for him to go through, and he hadn’t come into the living room, so he had to have gone outside.

“Great”, she mumbled to herself. Of course he’d want to go out into the oncoming storm. With the roaring wind it’d be difficult to hear him sneak up on her. She walked to the clanging door, pulling it all the way open. Checking left, and right from the doorway, gun out, finger on the trigger. She wasn’t taking any chances. She stepped out onto the back patio peering into the shadows. It was already sprinkling rain, and no sooner had she stepped off of the porch, it started pouring. Wonderful, she thought to herself. Normally she loved the rain. It was soothing, but not tonight. Tonight it was hard, loud, and blowing sideways from the wind. Tonight it was another enemy. It stung her face, but she ignored it, still trying to listen to any unusual noises besides the heavy rain. It made the ground soft. That would definitely make it difficult for her to hear him in his heavy boots sneak up on her. It also worked to her advantage, making it hard for him to hear her as well, even though his hearing was now impecable. She knew he could see extremely well in the dark, but she’d spent years chasing creatures in obscure light. Thankful for the full moonlight she moved on, checking the ground for footprints. He had a heavy gait, and it would be difficult for him to cover his tracks. Not that he could care less anyway. She on the other hand in her light but sturdy combat boots, and small frame wouldn’t have too difficult of a time hiding hers. Her long loose hair was matting to her face. She should have pulled it up, wish that she had. She knew better, but had been a little busy trying not to be murdered by a fucking demon. It was a little too late now. She pushed her wet hair back with one hand, the other still holding her pistol firmly out in front of her.
A few feet in front of her, large boot prints led to an old dilapidated shed. She crept towards it. The old door was broken, and open. It was broken when she checked the house earlier, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t inside. Going inside was a mistake, she knew it. It would be better to just draw him out, and fight him in the rain.

There were rotting wood shelves containing rusted old tools throughout. Nails, bolts, and screws littered the floor. She walked in further, her boot struck an old corroded piece of pipe, and it rolled noisily across the concrete floor. "Fuck!" She cursed quietly to herself.
Standing still she peered harder into the dark corners of the shed. Nothing.
She cleared the room, and stood listening to the building sway. Maybe he had the same thoughts she’d had? Could you make it a little easy on me, Dean? Promise I’ll be nice. She smirked thinking to herself, tiptoeing her way back out into the storm.

She pulled up the collar of her jacket with her left hand.
The cut on her right hand stung against the gun in her grasp even with the cushion of the bandanna. She continued to try listen to through the intense rain. just as she was thinking the foot prints to the shed had been too easy she heard crack. It was the sound of a branch on the ground breaking. She swung her body, and gun in the direction of the sound. It was too late. He was too fast.
Heavy boots splashing through the puddles on the ground came at her quickly. This time she wasn’t fast enough to move out of the way, and in moments she slammed into the ground landing on something hard. She cried out in pain. Her .9mm knocked from her hand. Fuck! The wheels of her mind began to turn quickly.
She pulled her brass knuckles from the pocket of her leather jacket, sliding them on quickly.

He was heavy, straddling her. He leaned in close, bad move, she palm stuck him hard in the nose, the inside of her brass knuckle breaking his nose. Blood immediately gushed.
He laughed. “Come on! Really, bitch?” Anger surged through her. She leaned forward, and struck him hard in the mouth, splitting his lip. In return he punched her hard in the face, her cheek split with a pop. She could feel it already beginning to swell. Blood ran into her ear, and hair.
His wounds had already healed. She tried to gain some traction with her boots, but the muddy, wet ground made it nearly impossible. He smiled. “Keep struggling, you're making me hot, or isn’t that what you wanted?” He said leaning in close again. So he was still sore about that.
She raised herself up on her elbows slamming her head into his nose, hard. She heard, and felt the crunch. Blood gushed again, filling his mouth. Maybe that would shut him up. He laughed again, blood staining his teeth. “Fuck you, you demon piece of shit!” she screamed struggling.
He smiled, and spit blood in her face. “You didn’t have a problem with that earlier.” She screamed in rage, her face turning red.

Dean’s face was a mixture of anger, and enjoyment. He was really having fun. Addy struggle harder. She stared at him realizing only just then that he was still bare chested. Rain cascaded down his sculpted chest.
She reached for her Spyderco knife clipped to her front pocket, she yanked it out and flipped it open, the blade glinting in the full moonlight. She drug the blade across his torso from the bottom to the top as hard as she could, the brass knuckles hindering her grip just slightly.
Blood spilled out profusely, soaking her clothing even through the pouring rain. He screamed wildly, and grabbed her by the throat with one hand, and squeezed. He hit her in the face with his other, crushing her nose, her head slamming into the ground. She dropped her knife as white spots filled her vision, now lost in the mud. His grip tight, his black eyes shining in the effulgence of the moon, the smile from his lips gone. Suddenly Addison was hit with confusion. He wasn’t squeezing tight enough to completely cut off her air, just enough to make her panic.
Once again being small worked to her advantage. Her feet finding hold in the grooves in the ground she’d dug with her struggles. She pushed her hips up hard throwing him off balance just enough enough to slide a muscular leg up catching his bent knee with her foot. She kicked as hard as she could. She felt the knee give, and Dean screamed. He fell to the side. She immediately got to her feet, as did he. He popped his knee back in place, and was ready for whatever came next.

She was standing arms raised in a protective stance, brass knuckles gleaming.
“Oh, you still wanna go?” He seemed almost shocked. “You must have a huge hate-on for me”
“Something like that.” She said catching her breath.
“I can do this all night, sister”
“For your sake I hope you don’t.” She mumbled.
“Or what? You’ll try your tricks again, Holy water, Devil's Traps, Shackles, Demon blade? Psshh!!!” He stepped closer to her and laughed in her face.
“Come on give me your best.” He really didn’t want to see what her best actually was.
She took one step forward, planting her back leg for balance, and punched him as hard as she could in the nose. Really putting all the muscle she could behind it. Before he could even start to heal she hit him again in the right cheek. He stumbled backwards, and she moved forward throwing combos, punch after punch, left and right. She was really making him angry. She hit him in the ribs, and he groaned, as he started to reach for them. She hit him in the face again, and again. She was growing tired, and Dean knew it.

Dean, having had enough of this shit, hit her in the face as hard as he could. She dropped to the ground still conscious, but her vision blurred. She tried to regain her footing, but was kicked hard in the left hip, he’d missed her ribs, and she fell to the ground again. “You done now?” he asked amused. “ Not that this hasn’t been one of the best fights I’ve ever been in. Real fun." He taunted.
"Who’d have thought a little thing like you could hold their own with me. Normally I'd just have killed you, and gotten it over with, but you have some real talent, you’ve got grit.”
She glared at him from the ground.
“Fuck you, pussy!” She screamed.

He kicked her hard again in her left hip. She tried to move away from him, and was assaulted with multiple blows to her back, ribs, shoulders, and her arms from his boots.
Jesus Christ! Stop! I’ll fucking kill you, whatever it takes! She thought in an insane rage. The barrage of blows to her body stopped, and she was still. She lay there trying to catch her breath. Her back, and shoulders burned. Her ribs ached terribly. The pain was spreading throughout her body like waves of fire.

“This whole hunting thing doesn’t work out for you, you should consider joining my Side.” He said genuinely. She turned her head spitting out blood from a split lip.
“Never in life, bitch! I’d rather die!”
He just shook his head “ All the goody-two-shoe hunters want to believe that their side is the right side. Why not join the winning side? There’s a reason we’re winning.”
He’s really lost his fucking mind. She thought. He caught her rolling her eyes. He was giving her that menacing glance again. She crawled to slowly to her feet.
He stepped a little too close to her. She punched him again, exhausted. Dean swiped her legs out from under her, a move she should have see coming.

He was on top of her again. She wrapped her strong legs around his torso, and wasn’t letting go for anything. Dean was hitting her in the face, the ribs, anywhere that would hurt, or disorient her long enough for her to let go. She squeezed her legs tighter. She sat up, legs locked around him, landing her own blows, but knew they were ineffective. Falling back, she felt a blow to her jaw, though not as hard as before.
He was pulling punches now? She rose from the ground, briefly locked her hands around his neck, and pulled him towards her as she lay back again. Pulling her legs up she pushed her feet into his stomach, and using all the muscles in her legs, pushed, sending him over her head, and onto his back.
Sliding to his side in the mud, she straddled him, now. The bandanna on her right hand was soaked in blood, and dirty rain water. The cut from the long forgotten shattered glass had split open wider when she’d stuck him with the brass knuckles. She punched him in the face as hard as she could with her left, the knuckle dusters were doing damage, but none that was lasting long.. He just laughed some more.
“A lefty, huh?” She was thoroughly pissed now. “No, darlin’, I can kick your ass with both hands, probably tied behind my back.” she smirked, and rolled her eyes. It was such a “Dean” remark. Though not really a joke. At more than one point in last several years she actually had fought with her hands tied.
“Oh you have a sense of humor now?” Dean said giving her a look of amusement. She hit him again with her left.
“I never lost it, bitch.” In single movement she pulled the demon blade she’d tucked back into her boot, and held at his throat. “Let’s see how fucking funny you think this is.” She growled.
He gave her a smug look, “Do it.” He said raising his hands with a smile.

She pressed the knife against his skin hard enough to draw blood, She hesitated, and could not bring herself to slice through the arteries. Any other demon, and she would have never hesitated. It wasn’t the fact that she’d been told to bring him back alive.
That had gone out the window the moment he threatened her, escaped his bonds, disappeared, and she had been somewhat in fear for life. She hadn’t been afraid really. It had just been fun, and games up until this point now.
The reason she couldn’t do it was because his eyes were now green again, with flecks of gold, and touches of almond brown. He was giving her his beautiful pouty-lipped, innocent loot. It was almost Dean, but not quite. He was still a monster, and maybe he’d have to be put down, but not at this moment. Not by her. Not just yet, but if he gave her another reason she’d skip slicing his throat, and just plunge the knife into his heart, or what was now left of it anyway. Possibly both. She knew the Winchester's history with Knights, and seeing as how she didn’t have the weapons, or the spells to stop him, it was old school all the way for now. She knew the knife wouldn't kill him anyway.

They continued to stare at each other, neither moving. Neither trusting. Rain poured down on both of them. Her hair was sticking to her face.
She stared into those eyes lit only by moonlight, beautiful still. No, She wouldn’t allow herself to go there.
Thunder boomed, and lightning illuminated the sky.
Straddling his hips, pressing the knife to his throat, she couldn’t help but notice the way the rain cascaded over his perfect bare skin now. You beautiful son of a bitch. Remembering long lost feelings, and their moment upstairs she was distracted, only for a moment, but it was long enough.

Instant regret as she felt cold metal slice through her jacket cutting deep into her left arm. The forgotten the Spyderco knife. It was incredibly sharp, and leather or not, there was nothing that would stop that blade from doing it’s intended job. She grimaced, and slugged him hard with her right.
How could she have been so stupid? He smiled, “ Doesn’t feel very good does it? Or didn’t you like it rough?” His eyes black once more, reminding her of just who, what, she was dealing with. Knife still to his throat, she raised her left arm again, fully intending on breaking his jaw this time, he sliced her across her belly. She barely felt it. She started to bleed badly through her now ripped shirt. He was inhumanly strong, and that blade was specifically designed to kill. How had he not just ended her?

What game was he playing? Was he toying with her again? She squeezed her knees tighter around hips, not moving the knife. She hit him with another left hook. Smiling, he turned his head, and spit blood. He really seemed to be enjoying this. He raised the knife again, and quickly shaking off the brass knuckles she wore on that hand she grabbed his wrist with her left hand, pushing with everything she had. He was too strong, and in seconds she was thrown onto her back landing hard in the mud, her head bounced on a hard patch of grass.
He jumped up. As she started to climb to her feet he kicked her in her already throbbing ribs. She wheezed out a scream, and tried to inhale. As bright spots filled her vision, she began to shake. She rolled onto her back holding her ribs, looking at him with fury.

She started to raise her hands, and thought better of it, instead held her ribs and focused on breathing.
He knelt down to her side, tilted his head and stared into her eyes, looking her up and down, watching her bleed, and tremble.
He turned his head up to the rain, closing his eyes and inhaling the smell of earth, rain, and her blood. He turned back to her and grinned. Though it hurt, her breathing quickened. She was sure this was it.
She’d failed. She always told herself that if she died doing the job, that she would go down swinging, shooting, or stabbing, and she had. With all her might, she had. Only she’d failed. Of course if you were killed doing the job, you probably died a failure anyway, unless you went down taking the thing you were fighting with you. That, you could consider a win, unless you also took another human with you as well. She always thought, though, that she could be proud of that. Proud to go down fighting, but not now. This had been personal mission. She couldn’t fail. Only she had, and that hurt more than any wound she’d ever received, and she’d received many over the years.

Dean continued to stare into her eyes. Almost studying her. She was angry, and she wasn’t even close to being afraid. Her body quivered, hands shaking. He leaned in close, despite the wind, and the rain she could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck. He breathed in deep, sat back on his heels, and just stared at her, head cocked like an animal. Squinting at her her said, “You really aren’t afraid of me. I could smell it the moment you entered the house. The first time you swung your knife. When you searched for me through the house, when we fought.Not once have you been afraid of me. Now, that is unusual. What’s wrong with you?” She stared at him.
Haven’t you figured it out yet, Dean? She screamed at him angrily in her head.

She probably should have been afraid at this point, but she truly didn’t remember the last time she’d really feared anything. No, that was a lie. She really didn’t have much to be afraid of after all she had been through. There had been a time, but she quickly pushed the memory away. No point in going to dark places.
“Interesting.” He said, then, as if he couldn’t help himself he quickly, and fiercely sliced her across her right thigh with the Spyderco right through her jeans. It was like slicing butter. It was a deep wound, and she howled in pain. She pulled in deep breath after ragged deep breath. He just watched her. She tried to push herself up with her hands, the wound on her right hand tearing further. Her ribs screamed. She fell back flat. She breathed hard. The pain in her head, and the rain rushing into her eyes blurred her vision.
“I’ll fucking kill you, I swear! If it’s the last thing I do!” she screamed as the rain washed over her. The wind moaning as it blew all around her. She was so cold.

“I hate you!” She didn’t know why she’d yelled that, and stopped short. Shit! He was sure to figure out that he knew her sooner or later, and she thought now she’d just made it easier on him.

“Huh.” He said.
He stood suddenly, turning away from her, and very slowly started walking back toward the house.
The pouring rain stung her fresh wounds. Her attention was completely on him now, and nothing else.
She watched him tread back to the old house, never once turning back to her. She laid in the mud, and the water, letting the rain rush over her body. Staring at the trees blowing angrily above her, she screamed in frustration.
She stared at the brilliant moon, begging the Gods for some kind of help. Dizzy, and exhausted, the stars appeared to be melting together. She blinked hard, trying to clear her head.

“What the fuck do you want with me?” She yelled. She knew this wasn’t the end, not yet. Not when she had her own personal secret weapon she'd been saving.

Sure he was still toying with her, she rolled over, and climbed slowly to her feet. Dean had already disappeared into the house. She pulled the .45 from her hip. Kill, or be killed, right?
She wasn’t about to be killed by some monster, no matter who he had once been. Maybe she was too late to save him anyway? Maybe that person was long gone. She limped back to the house.
Soaking wet, her leather jacket too heavy now. Fuck it. She was already injured, what did it matter? She peeled the jacket off, and left it on an old bench on the worn out back deck. Blood was pouring down her right leg at an alarming rate. She entered the house where he’d once again left the door open. Inviting.

She had her pistol raised, finger putting pressure on the trigger. No more playing around, no more games. She limped through the kitchen her boots squeaking with every wet, and bloody step. Through the kitchen entryway, she stepped into the living-room, and found Dean standing near the sofa glaring at her with those menacing black eyes. She was done playing, done fighting. She was too tired. Too emotionally drained. This had to end. They stared at each other in their dirty, blood soaked clothes.

“Why don’t you come take a seat?” he offered dryly. No humor in his voice now. Just another demon trying to fuck with her and she was done with it. He took one step toward her she and pulled the trigger on the .45. It bucked in her grasp, but she hardly noticed. Dean laughed as the bullet hit him in the chest just left of the heart. “ You missed, bitch.” He said voice cold as ice.
“I never miss.” She said pulling the trigger three more times, each round hitting him center mass. Dean just stood there. Confusion, shock, anger, and was that pain on his face? His hand went up to his chest, pulling it way he saw blood. Only this time it felt different.

He felt true physical pain, where before any injury had been merely just an annoyance, a game to him. Something he’d easily recover from.
He slumped to the floor, trying to understand what had just happened. He fell over, lying on his back looking at the ceiling. He couldn’t move. He was in unbearable pain, but never made a sound. He breathed heavily, a sucking sound coming from his lungs now filled with blood, and holes. Keeping the gun pointed at him she walked over to his side. He turned his head, and clumsily he reached out for her. A bloody hand stroked her boot, the closest thing he could reach, and he stopped moving.
He was fully incapacitated for the time being, and should be for quite some time. Addison hit the magazine release on her weapon, and showed him the rounds she’d so carefully made. He rolled his head back up toward the ceiling, sighing hard again. Blood poured from his chest onto the old, cold wood floor.
“I deserve that, but you know it won’t kill me. Just finish it already.” he moaned.
Why is he being a baby? She wondered gently shaking her head.
Addison, feeling dizzy, sat on the ground next to him leaning against the couch still ignoring the pain she was in. She ripped the bottom of her shirt off, and wrapped it tightly around the deep gash on her arm, using her teeth to help pull the knot tight. Blood pooled beneath her, running across the floor mingling with Dean's.

She looked around the room, and saw a discarded shirt draped over the back of the couch that she must have missed while she was drunk. Using her elbows she raised herself to the couch. She reached painfully, grabbed the shirt, and pulled the spare Kershaw pocket knife from her back pocket. She cut, and tore the shirt into strips, and tied it around her heavily bleeding thigh. Her belly was still bleeding, but no too badly, and she placed her hands over it, pressing hard, trying to make it stop. That wound didn’t seem too bad, but the arm would need suturing. She had a first aid kit upstairs, but didn’t want to get up at the moment to tend to her wounds. Her leg was a different story. It continued to bleed, and she tried to hold pressure on it, but to no avail. She was so tired. She tightened the makeshift tourniquet a little more.

She leaned forward looking at Dean. He had fallen just close enough to the couch that he could reach her, but at this moment he physically couldn't. His eyes were that beautiful shade of bright green again, with touches of yellow.. They looked sad.
She watched him as she held her ribs gently with one hand, and tried to apply pressure to her leg with the other. She knew he couldn't be sad, that was a human emotion, and he wasn't human anymore.
Dean coughed, blood covering his beautiful red lips. She turned her head. She’d seen a lot, but couldn’t watch this. That awful sucking noise coming from his chest was almost too much for her.
Now, all I have to do is paint another magical trap, and get the magical handcuffs from upstairs. I should have shot him sooner. The thought was funny, if her ribs didn’t hurt so bad she would have laughed out loud.
She held back the laughing for now. None of this was funny. He had been human once. Someone, people, stilled loved him. Still wanted, and hoped that he’d come back home, and return the same way he had left. Black eyes gone forever.

Dean breathed deeply again, wheezing. His eyes turned black. “ I Said Kill Me, Bitch! DO IT!” She kicked him hard in the ribs, and he gasped in pain, rolling to his side. He was having trouble breathing, but he wasn’t dying. “ Please,” he begged.
She just stared at him emotionless. She hadn’t felt pain like this in a long time. Not since watching her family die, but that had been ages ago. She couldn’t tell if Dean meant it, and it tore her heart in two. Surprising herself, her eyes filled with tears. Far away memories flooded her mind, and she shoved them out quickly. His breathing was shaky, wheezing with every inhale and exhale. He coughed more blood. She just sat, and watched him.
Get it together! You’ve got a demon who tried to kill you lying at your feet. Do something!

“I’m done.” she said as she carefully stood up.
“I’m done.” she repeated. “I’m not doing this anymore, I’m out. I hate this life, I don't want anything more to do with it.” Tears spilled down her cheeks as she sobbed watching the once strong man struggle to breathe. She tossed her gun to floor. “When you eventually recover, which shouldn’t be much longer, I’ll be upstairs, you’ll know where to find me. Then you can kill that little girl that they sent after you. That little girl that had no problem killing you.”
He rolled his eyes toward hers, still black, and glistening. Confusion still on his face
“I’d have done it, too. Even though I was asked to bring you back alive, but you and I both know that’s not going to happen.”
His lungs whistled as he sighed a deep sigh, winced in pain.
“There’s only one way this is going to end, and it’s not going to be me bringing you in.” Her voice caught through her sobs. “ I’ve been tired for a long time, Dean, and I’m sure you have too. I’m fucking done. So when you can, come find me, and just end it, and be free. Be free to be what you are now. No pain, No regrets, not a care in the world. Who the fuck am I to stop you?”
She looked at him sadly.
“I kind of envy you, really. I know, me, envy a fucking demon? I must be as fucked up as you said I was, or was it questionable morals you said I had? Doesn’t matter. It’s too much.”
She sighed heavily. “ I just need all of it to end. The pain, the nightmares, the fear. So no, YOU do it! You kill me. I know you will anyway, because obviously I can’t kill you.”

Dean closed his eyes. Was this badass hunter actually giving up? She was a real fighter, and now? He didn’t understand. He didn’t like the way it made him feel.
Feel. That was a funny word to him, and he half laughed through his physical pain at that thought. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt anything. He’d been too busying forgetting, and having fun. Being a demon had it's perks. Murder, mayhem, he could do whatever he wanted without regret, and no one could stop him.

Addison turned, leaving Dean wheezing on the floor in pool of both their blood combined. She trudged, limping, up the old staircase. The gurgling sound he made as he choked on his own blood, and the whistling of his chest with his every breath almost broke her, and she slowed. Since when did she care so much? If it wasn't Dean she honestly would have made sure he was dead, and gotten the fuck out of there, and cleaned herself up.
She was furious with herself. It wasn’t like her to be so careless, and distracted. Especially because of some man. But Dean Winchester wasn’t just any man. In their youth they had gotten pretty close. They were best friends, and more. She had loved him fiercely, until John had put a stop to that. They even both looked out for Sam. She hung her head momentarily.
Poor Sam. She couldn’t think about any of that, any longer.
Her body started to tremble the more pissed she got. She stopped her thoughts there, standing on the steps for a moment longer, controlling her anger. She took a shaky breath, and continued on.
Holding onto the rail on the left of the wall for dear life with both damaged hands. She made it to the top gently holding her ribs with her left hand, she leaned against the right side wall for support. Her bloody, marred right hand left marks across the wall. Blood still spilling down her right leg, She made it down the hall leaving a trail of blood in her wake. She entered the bedroom where the fight had first started, dragging her right leg behind her.
Would she really let it end here? All of it? No more running, hiding, killing, starving, stealing, exhaustion? Could she actually be serious?

Of course not, it was a ruse, and by the way Dean had reacted back there she could tell he still had something resembling human inside of him. That was a little reassuring. She almost did feel bad for him. Pitied him was more like it, and she didn’t pity anyone. Didn’t have time for it. It was useless emotion for something like him, just another distraction.
That had been Dean lying on the floor not just some demon. Damnit! She scolded herself.
In that moment she truly believed that she had been the wrong person for the job, regardless if she was supposed to just watch him, or not. She was being careless, and sloppy. Too distracted with her own personal demons to be efficient.

She shouldn’t have left the gun with him, but was too tired to carry it. She’d barely made it up the stairs. She was sure he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon. Besides she had still had a wild card if she just absolutely had to use it.

She wiped her face with her shirt, wincing as she cleaned sticky blood, sweat, and false tears from her cheeks. She eased herself to the floor by the bed leaning her sore back, and shoulders against the side of the mattress, her legs stretched out in front of her. Her whole body ached.
She really was exhausted, that much was true. This wasn’t a life she would have chosen for herself, but it wasn’t like she’d been given much choice. She been thrown into it to save her life. Well, that's what she'd been told as a child.

She tried to reach for a bag she’d slung underneath the bed not two hours before she had entered that bar, and stopped to catch her breath. Her ribs were singing “Ave Maria” and she groaned in pain. She looked down, and saw blood pooling from underneath her. The slash in her thigh was bad. Undoubtedly bad, but she doubted it’d kill her. She’d has worse, right?
She couldn’t tighten the tourniquet any more than she already had for fear of cutting off the blood supply to her leg.
She was losing energy, that was her biggest problem at the moment. She really needed to get out of here.

She stopped, and took a very slow deep breath. “You’re fine.” She said trying to reassure herself. “You’re gonna be just fine.”
Instinct told her she had to fix herself up, and fast. She grunted, searching for the bag. She needed to stay the bleeding from her leg before she passed out, again she wasn’t too terribly worried about dying. She’d had worse, but had never even come close to fighting a fucking Knight of Hell. She knew she was in trouble. She knew she should have done what she was told and only observed, but how could she? Wasn’t the whole point of “the job” to protect the innocent?

The truth was she really didn’t want to die. Wasn’t ready yet. She didn’t know what was in store for her if she did. She knew there was a Heaven, and Hell, but who would take her? Who would get to her first was more like it. She certainly knew which side wanted her.

“This is bullshit!” She whispered harshly to herself. She wasn’t used to being so personally wrapped up in a job, and definitely wasn’t used to getting her ass kicked. She was getting angry. The tremors started again. Just breathe, you’ll kick his ass later. She told herself, taking another slow breath. She knew he wasn’t dying, just indisposed.
Her hand found the handle of an old backpack, and just as she started to slide it out from under the bed she heard movement down stairs. She froze straining to listen above the storm making the old house groan in the wind.
She heard shuffling on wood. The sound was definitely coming from inside the house.
Her heart jumped in her chest. “Shit!”
How was he moving so quickly after that? He shouldn’t be. Couldn’t be, right? Unless he was actually doing what she had thought he was doing... and it worked, but to what effect?

Pulling the bag out, she left it at her side, leaned back against the bed, and closed her eyes. She took a silent breath, and exhaled slowly. Boots on the stairs made her eyes snap back open. “Fuck!” She whispered to herself. One shaky hand went for the demon blade she kept tucked in her boot, on impulse, but she couldn’t find the strength.

She was covered in cuts, scrapes, bruises. Who knew what was broken. Her back, shoulders, and ribs hurt with every breath. Her right eye was swelling from the massive blow to her cheek that was still bleeding. That most definitely had to be fractured. She was bleeding terribly from an eight inch gash inside her thigh, and was getting dizzy. She didn’t think it was an artery, but couldn’t seem to care. How had she made it up the stairs? Her eyelids were heavy.
The pain wasn’t what really bothered her. The fact that she could barely physically defend herself was the worst part for her. She was almost useless. Almost. She was cold, but sweat rolled down her face. She wiped it away with her left hand, smearing blood across her face. She dropped her hand back down to the floor, still listening.

Slow footsteps down the hall. She tensed up again, and winced as every muscle seemed to beg her to stop moving. Dean’s boots scuffled on the old wood floor in the hallway. He had a limp. Lot of good that does me, he’ll shake that off in no time. She thought to herself, annoyed.

Thunder boomed, resonating throughout the house, then it was quiet again.
When she looked up, Dean was leaning in the doorway holding the .45.
“You really shouldn’t just leave these things lying around, someone could get hurt.” He said scratching the side of his head with it nonchalantly. He crossed the room slowly, skirting around the devil’s trap. She watched him move, eyeing him up and down. He was still injured as far as she could tell, but not for much longer. He stopped at the dresser, turned around, and pressed his palms onto the hard wood, leaning against it.
There were 4 angry welts where her bullets should have ripped apart his chest.

“Stand up.” He said looking at her with a cold blank expression. Eyes green, but they’d lost their charm long ago.
She stared at him, sighed, but didn’t argue. Reaching for the bed behind her she slowly struggled to pull herself up, crying out from the pain coming from her entire body. She tried to stand, and fell onto the bed in a seated position. Squeezing her eyes shut, she leaned forward. She didn’t think she could do it.

“Stand. Up.” He repeated, emphasizing the words. He was pissed.
She looked up at him slowly. Eyes almost pleading, but still not ready to give up just yet. Dean pointed the gun at her, aiming for her face. Palms pressed hard into the bed for support, she shoved herself to her feet, leaving bloodstains on the sheets from her various injuries.

“Now take a few steps forward.”
She complied.
“Good, stand there.” He walked over, and held the gun out to her sideways. “Take it.” He said in a low rough voice. She took the weapon. What did he want?
Was making a half-dead girl stand on her feet the beginning of some kind of torture, because she could probably teach him a thing, or two.

She held the gun in her left hand though it throbbed from the many blows she’d managed to land on his smug face with the long lost brass knuckles. God, I hope he doesn't have those. Her confused mind said.
Her right hand was bleeding freely again from forcing herself from the floor. Blood was pouring down her leg, soaking her jeans, spilling over her boot onto the ground. She swayed on her feet.
She sighed shakily, painfully. All she wanted to do was collapse on the floor, and never get up. She’d been beaten before, sure, but had always managed to pick herself back up. Stitch, and dress her wounds, find the thing, and kill it. This time she didn’t want to. Not just because she was exhausted, but because she truly would kill him if she could find a way.
Every fiber of her being was screaming at her to fight. To shoot the demon, kill him if she could, and get it over with. She didn’t want to have to kill him, but if she couldn’t save him, may as well put him down. That was the job.

“You asked me to kill you, because you couldn’t kill me.” He said glaring at her. “Dude, who fucked you up so bad? Was it mommy, or was it daddy? Both?”
She started to shake. The mentioning of her parents caused her heart to race. Blood soared through her veins. Her bruising face reddened.
Using what little strength she could muster, she raise the gun.
“There’s that anger! You really should work on that!” he laughed pointing at her.
She was on the verge of losing it. She closed her right hand in a fist, blood dripping to the floor, with her left she squeezed the grip of the pistol so hard her knuckles turned white, focusing on the pain to keep her from losing her cool. She inhaled slowly causing sharp pains from her ribs, and closed her eyes momentarily on exhale.
She heard him walking up to her, and opened her eyes to find him circling her slowly. Unable to follow him she continued to watch him, not saying a word. She was being toyed with, and she knew it. The question was for how much longer? What was his end game?
Maybe he was still trying to figure her out? It didn’t really matter.

He stopped behind her, “Now, I gave you your precious gun back. So, you’re going to tell me a story.” He whispered leaning his face against the side of her head. trying to move her face away from his, she swayed, almost falling. He caught her from behind, causing more pain. She gasped.
“Nope, not yet.” He said holding her arms firmly. Causing the laceration to start bleeding down her arm again. Blood dripped from her fingertips and over the gun. She was so cold.
She wanted to lean into him, and just close her eyes. He was radiating heat, and smelled of sweat, blood, rain, and sulfur and it stopped her. This wasn’t her Dean.
The smell was much stronger than your typical demon, and unless you knew better you’d never guess the smell was sulfur, let alone that it was coming from a demon.

She was nauseous. The booze had definitely not helped her situation. Her stomach turned. This was not like her at all.
The stench was so strong that she couldn’t help but wonder if he was getting stronger. Not just embracing the demon he’d become, but actually letting it take over, and becoming a true Knight of Hell.

He did seem to manage to recover from not one but four .45 rounds to the chest with Devil’s traps rather quickly, or was she losing track of time. She couldn’t tell anymore. Her head was swimming.
He quickly let her go. She stood on her own, shoulders slumped, she was going to fall any second.
“Ok, I’ll start, who’s looking for me, and how are you associated with them?”
She just stared at him. This again? Come on! She thought with annoyance.

“Conversations usually work better if the other person talks too. Wanna try that again?” He asked waving his hand in a "get on with it" motion.
She wouldn’t be giving up her actual source, ever in life.
So she said “They didn’t give me a name, just a number.”

“ .... Aaand who are They, and what number?” He asked, truly intrigued.
“I met a few interesting characters at a bar, and was informed of your situation. The number was your address, dumbass.” She said slowly, trying to breathe, shaking. That was a lie.

Dean laughed, “ My situ.. My situation? My situation was wanting to left the fuck alone. Even Sam knew that. You haven’t heard from him by the way, have you?” He sneered, glaring at her.
She looked up quickly at the name. He hadn’t mentioned his brother once since their encounter.
“No one has, actually.” She replied. “We all just assumed you killed him, and skipped town.”
Dean shook his head, and laughed to himself.
Avoiding the topic he asked, “So what’d you find out from your friends? Don’t skip the details, now.”

She looked down at her feet. Was that much blood on the ground from her? The room seemed very bright. She was cold. His words sounded so loud, then they started to jumble. She was going into shock.
She swayed again, started to double over, but steadied herself.
She looked back up at him, “That you’re an asshole.” She mumbled.

“Point. I’m sure many would agree with you, but let's get back to those new friends of yours.” He said waving a finger at her. She shut her mouth.
Dean walked back to the dresser, and pulled the Spyderco from the back of his jeans. Leaning against it, facing her, he waved the knife as he spoke,
“You’re going to tell me what I want to know, or I’ll have to get creative with with this really pretty knife you left me. Very nice choice, by the way. Trust me, you’re not dying, not yet anyway, but by the time I’m done, you’ll beg for death.”

“Fuck you!” She snarled just above a harsh whisper. She wasn’t giving up. She couldn’t physically fight him, but she wouldn’t let him win.

The gun was too heavy in her aching hand. She couldn’t hold it any longer, and she wasn’t about to let the demon have it a second time. She was sure he wasn’t interested in it, he seemed to like up close and personal. Most likely torture.
Not taking any chances she hit the magazine release, and the magazine fell into the puddle at her feet. With all the strength she could muster she racked the slide, ripping the laceration on her right palm further open. The remaining round clanked noisily on the hardwood floor. She weakly tossed the empty gun as far away from them as she could. Dean just shook his head, and laughed.

She was pissed. She was done with all the bullshit, and games.
“So, what’d you do with the girl?” She asked.
Dean grinned. “What girl?”
“I’m not playing games with you anymore, demon! Where is she?” Her voice louder now.
She had been casing the house for days. There had been a few girls in, and out of the house, but when she watched him leave that evening, his “date” from the night before had never left.
“So that’s why you’re here.”
He gestured at his chest. “Oh this? I’m fine by the way. Learned a new trick from Sammy.” He laughed, black eyes shining.
“Yeah, I bet you are.”
“If I were you, I’d have killed me while you still had the chance, that’s if you could. What are they teaching kids these days?”

He continued talking.
She glared at him through wet, dirty, dark hair that had fallen into her face. She could barely hear him now with the ringing in her ears. Something about being flayed alive. She leaned forward, and placed her swollen left hand on her bent left knee. Supporting herself on her left leg made her left hip throb. He’d kicked her a lot harder than she’d thought. She didn’t think she could hold it together much longer. The cut on her stomach burned, and bled. All of her makeup either washed away, or smeared across her face, along with blood. The gash on her cheek was still bleeding, trailing down her face, jaw, and neck. That was a scar she wasn’t looking forward to.

She was certain she would be dead before he’d get his chance at flaying anything..
She was covered in mud, blood, sweat. Her ripped white tank top, a dark orange rust color, and brown from bloodstains and mud, clung to her skin. Her blue jeans were still damp with rain, soaked in blood, and caked in filth. Her already pale skin was ghost white. Her eyes hollow. She trembled when she breathed. At least the pain was fading. For all intents and purposes she was dying on her feet. She stared at the ground trying to get her mind focus. Things were going gray. She tried to stand up straight.

“You really do love to hear yourself talk don’t you?” She muttered. She couldn't help her snark, and sarcasm in every situation.
Her body started shaking violently, and she was losing the control she desperately hung onto.
Dean took a step back, and cocked his head, staring at her with squinted eyes.
Dean walked back up to her, looking her in the face. Once again taking in her scent. Really creepy, Dean. She thought repulsed.
He stopped, and looked her right in the eyes,
“Weren’t your eyes blue?”
Oh shit! She thought, briefly. Her heart palpitated. Her blood pressure suddenly soared, causing severe vertigo.
Dean started to say something else, she started to fall, before she was caught by blackness, she heard the windows explode.
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