(Disclaimer: I do not own the show Supernatural or own any of the characters. I only make claims to my own OC, Kat.)

First Supernatural story.

Hope you crazy kids enjoy.

ONE: Gathering of Old Friends

Dry Prong, Louisiana

I was getting drunk. More drunk perhaps, than any other local townie sitting in this shady-ass bar. Believe me; I didn't get drunk that often, so when I did, there was always a reason behind it. The reason usually being depressing and probably leading to the conclusion that I will have a mid-life crisis by the time I'm thirty. Pathetic, right? Sadly, that's where I am in life right now.

What's even worse is that I know I'm going to get so drunk that soon I'll be flirting with trashcans. Not that my standards have ever been any higher.

God, this is probably the worst way I could have introduced myself, but unfortunately I can't say something really impressive like I'm a grad student who majored in law school, or I went down to South Africa de-worming orphans. Hell, I can't even day that I graduated high school. The reason being is that some of us had had our lives put out in front of us since birth and are forced to see the sad and ugly truth from a very young age. And I, Kat Thornton, am one of those people, and I've come to accept that my life will never really lead to something great and important.

The sad truth is I will either die by some terrifying demon on one of my hunts, or from alcohol poisoning.

"Can I get you another one, honey?" the bartender, Mr. Willy, asked me kindly, walking up to me with a dishtowel in his hand and wiping one of the glasses dry. I looked up at him, realizing I was absentmindedly stirring my toothpick in the ice of my now-empty glass. The barman was a slightly porky, squat little man with a babyish round face and large blue eyes. He had a patch of balding brown hair but still had very out of date sideburns. He looked good-natured and always threw his head back and placed his hands on his large beer-belly whenever he laughed.

I've been visiting the bar often these past couple of weeks so I was growing accustomed to the people who hung around it. I liked Mr. Willy a lot mainly for his good humor, constant cheer, and kind words he always had to offer to his customers. He was one of those bartenders that looked forward to listening to the complaints and stories that all of his patrons had for him. Probably because he liked solving things and helping around whenever he could.

"No, I better not," I said with an ill-attempt to smile. "I don't want to crash on my way back home."

"I can call a taxi," he offered with a slight shrug.

I hesitated in the moment of considering this option. It was very tempting. Lately, I haven't had any desire to stay in my right mind and preferred my state of mind to be foggy and blurred out. Yet sense came back to me.

I shook my head.

"Rain check?" I suggested, grabbing my brown leather jacket from the back of my bar stool and standing up. "Thanks, Willy."

I reached into my pocket to pull out my wallet, but Willy waved his hand aside.

"On the house, sweetie. You have a good night."

I was about to protest with my fingers clutching the twenty-dollar bill, but I knew he wouldn't accept it. I smiled and nodded at him gratefully.

"Thank you," I said, shifting on my jacket.

"Have a good one, Katy," he says, waving goodbye as I walk toward the exit.

The air outside was hot and humid, as most Louisiana nights are. In the nearby marsh that was settled in the trees, I could hear the crickets, loons, and all other night animals make their calls known from the shadows. The wind picked up and brushed against my slightly sweaty skin, making me breathe in a sigh of relaxation.

I registered the practically empty parking lot for a moment before pressing forward, my shoes crunching against the gravel. I approached my beaten up 1969 Chevy pickup truck and unlocked the door, wishing the swaying in my head would stop. I climbed in and adjusted my rear-view mirror, about to place the keys in the ignition. But my eyes spotted something in the mirror.

I glanced over my shoulder where I was sure I just saw a figure standing a few yards behind my truck. There was nothing now. I turn back to face the wheel, my eyes frowning back in the mirror. I hesitated with the keys still dangling in the ignition.

If I was smart, I would know that whenever you see something slightly out of the ordinary or anything that gives you a strange gut feeling, ninety percent of the times it's something that wants to kill you. I suppressed a sigh and dug in the back seat of my car and pulled out a shotgun that was filled with rock salt.

I kicked my truck door open and strode out into the apparently empty parking lot. I held my gun tightly in my fingers as my eyes scanned the area for any signs of movement.

"Come out, come out wherever you are," I said dully. "Come out and fight me like a . . . thing."

I received no reply but I wasn't really expecting one. I released a small sigh as I walked to the other side of the parking lot, looking up and down the row of various cars that were parked a good distance from the bar establishment.

I was about to make another comment, but before I can even open my mouth I was cut off by sudden shouting from nearby.

"Come on! It's getting away!" I heard.

"Sam, move your slow ass up! Get me the gun!"

My eyebrows pushed together as I heard these words. I whirled around in the direction of the nearby marsh. For merely a second in the light of the half-moon, I saw in the distance two figures running at full speed into the entrance of the swamp. I stood there for five more seconds before clutching my gun tightly to my chest and hurling myself over the parking lot railing and into the brush.

As I grew closer to the swamp entrance, I heard more shouting. I ran in without hesitation and was instantly overcome by the intense stench of bog water. I was careful to avoid stepping into the water so as not to attract any unwanted attention from the alligators.

I continued to follow the voices and realized the people must have stopped at least ten yards away from me. I peered around a mossy tree to get a good look at what was going on.

Two figures, of what I guessed were male, were enclosing in upon a tall silhouette that was making slightly disgusting gurgling noises. By the odd, slightly deformed shape, I was guessing this thing was a demon of sorts. Rock salt wasn't going to serve me much good.

The thing had suddenly ensnared one of the guys and pinned him up against a nearby tree, hurling the other one into a nearby pool of swamp water into the process. I didn't hesitate this time and lunged forward out of the brush and advanced on the demon.

I jumped forward and ended up instinctively placing my gun around the demon's neck in attempt of suffocation. In general, this would really have no effect, so my guess was that it merely dropped the guy out of surprise.

It was worse than riding a mechanical bull. The scaly creature thrived and thrashed, causing me to almost buck my own head with my feet. I gritted my teeth and held my gun tighter to the thing's throat, determined to cause an impact.

It revved up against a tree where my back was slammed hard into the bark and I felt a temporary failure of strength and also the loss of breath. But thankfully, the two guys seemed to have gathered that I had come to their aid. The one who had been thrown into the water now appeared to be loading his gun and trying to get a good aim.

"Get off the damn thing!" he shouted. Even in the fit of confusion and struggle, the voice seemed very familiar to me.

With some trepidation, I loosened my grip upon the demon's neck and was instantly thrown into the air and landed hard on the ground. I let out a groan of pain as my rib came in contact with a rock. I looked up just in time to see the guy aiming his gun at the thing. An extraordinarily loud gunshot rang through the swamp's atmosphere and pounded through my ears like cymbals.

The demon, whatever it was, fell almost instantly to the marshy earth face first. There was a moment in which I struggled to lift up my shirt to see if there was any damage. It was too dark to really see but at least I wasn't bleeding. I looked up to see both of the guys walking towards me. One of them offered me a hand. I hesitated before taking it and they brought me swiftly to my feet.

"You're not exactly the brightest crayon in the box, are you?" one of them said with an edge to their voice.

"Dean, shut up," the other said angrily, turning to face him. "She just risked her life to help up us."

"Yeah, well, we didn't need it. Sorry, sweetheart."

Wait a minute. Dean? And, did I hear him say Sam before?

I frowned into the darkness, trying to make out their facial features. I suddenly felt my eyes grow wide as my entire body had something of a shock run through it.

"Dean? Sam?" I said, barely more than a whisper. They looked at me, obviously trying to decide whether they recognize me or not. "It's me! Kat!"

There's a short moment in which, even in the dark, I can see the sudden comprehension be written clearly over each of their expressions.

"Kat?" Sam asked, his voice shaking with both skepticism and amazement. "What the—what are you doing here!?"

.

"I don't believe this," said Sam as I poured him and Dean some herbal tea into the fragile china cups. They both took them into their hands gratefully as I got myself a cup of my own and sat opposite them. We were sitting in the living room of my charming little two-bedroom cabin that was placed fairly deep within a forest.

"Yeah, Kit-Kat. What are the odds?" Dean said, waggling his eyebrows before taking a sip of his tea. He grimaced slightly. "Do you have anything stronger?"

"Like tea?"

"Like booze."

I suppressed a small smile.

"I'll check."

I set my cup of tea aside and got to my feet, walking up to the kitchen and opening one of the top cupboards. My hand froze on the surface of a brandy bottle. I bit down on a Cheshire cat grin.

It certainly had been a long time. Six years, at the least. And who would have guessed that out of all places, all times, and all possibilities could Dean and Sam Winchester be the ones that I saw running into a swamp and chasing down that demon? As Dean said, the odds were a little slim. So maybe that meant there was something else going on here.

Yet at the moment, I didn't care. I had grown up with both of the boys because both of our fathers were hunters and very good friends. I was there with Dean and Sam when our fathers were out on a hunt and we were stuffed in a moldy motel room with nothing much to do except watch cartoon re-runs.

When I looked back, I had known the Winchester boys since birth and I wouldn't have guessed in a million years that I would be seeing them tonight. I loved them; both of them. They had been my siblings growing up and we held many similarities consider that both of our mothers died when we were very young.

I shook my head and took out the bottle and returned with it to the living room.

"Ah. Perfect," said Dean as he took the bottle from my hands and poured a generous amount of the honey-colored liquid into his tea.

"So, Kat, what have you been doing all this time?" inquired Sam curiously. "I mean, last I heard you were still living with your father in Montana."

My heart skipped a beat and I glanced down awkwardly, staring determinately into my cup of tea as though it fascinated me.

"What? What's wrong?" asked Dean, setting aside his cup and trying to meet my eye.

"Kat—did something . . . happen?" questioned Sam.

I looked up at them, running my fingers through my reddish-brown hair. I sighed out of my nose.

"Is he alright?" asked Sam.

"He's fine," I assured him. "Just—about a year ago—we, uh, got in a fight."

"And this fight was big enough for you to run all the way down to redneck Louisiana?" asked Dean as he eyebrows rose.

I looked at him. He took my silence for an answer. He sat back on the couch, his eyes still studying me.

"What was the fight about—"

"It's really none of our business," Sam said, cutting across Dean.

I didn't answer but gazed out of the window, wishing dreadfully that the subject would change.

"What about you two?" I asked forcefully, raising my head and forcing a smile on my face. "What kind of mischief have you guys been getting yourselves into?"

The brothers exchanged looks.

"A bit too much for my tastes," said Dean.

"Meaning?"

Dean cracked me a sideways smile.

"We've been driving across the country taking out demons left and right. Probably for more than two years now."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Look who's been busy. I've been lying low the past year, occasionally taking out a passing by demon like the one tonight."

Dean let out a low whistle.

"Your life got boring, Kit-Kat. You also had to choose possibly the most boring town in the country. I'm not even sure I would call this a town."

"I don't like big crowds," I said.

"Noted. The alligators out-populate humans here."

I smiled tiredly.

There was a short pause in which a loon made its call from the watering pool that was placed beside the house. I let out a small yawn and got to my feet.

"C'mon. I have a spare bedroom for one of you, but the other is going to have to take the pull out couch."

"I'll take the bedroom," stated Dean. Sam shot a quick glare at him.

"No way," he said. "Why would you get to?"

"Because I'm the oldest," said Dean as though it was perfectly obvious.

"Rock, paper, scissors," said Sam.

I watched in high amusement as the two brothers played the game like small children. And like I remembered, Dean would only choose scissors.

I held in a little giggle at the sight of Dean looking very childishly put out as he predictably lost.

"Follow me," I laughed. I led the two boys into the spare bedroom where a single, soft twin bed was placed against the wall. It was already made so Sam automatically jumped upon it and gloated slightly at his brother. Dean scowled.

"I'll help you make your bed," I said, opening the closet and taking out a sheet and a few blankets.

Dean grinned at me.

"Or, you know. I can just kick it with you in your bed," he said impishly. Sam rolled his eyes and was suddenly looking extremely apprehensive.

I smiled slightly.

"Not tonight, Don Juan. You're bunking on your own."

"Aw, c'mon, Kit-Kat," Dean persisted. "We used to sleep in the same bed all the time."

"Yeah but that was when we were five and in footie pajamas," I said, stuffing the sheets into Dean's hands and turning to face Sam with a smile. "Night, Sam."

"Night," he called as Dean and I left the room.

"How did you manage to get a place like this all on your own?" inquired Dean as we entered the living room again. I took the end of the coffee table and scooted it out of the way as Dean soon began to help.

"Technically, I didn't," I said, starting to take off all of the cushions off the couch and throwing them onto a nearby armchair. "The woman who owns this house is on a three year trip to Europe and pays me to house-sit while she's away."

I took the handle on the end of the couch and pulled the bed out, flattening it out against my palm.

"Pretty good deal," said Dean. He handed me the other end of the sheet and we began to tuck it in the sides. "It's pretty isolating, though. Don't you ever get sick of the quiet?"

"I like the quiet," I said absentmindedly as I pulled a quilt over the bed and placed two pillows at the head of it.

"You were never the quiet type," said Dean.

"Times change."

"I'll say," sighed Dean stiffly. We glanced at each other. There was a short and slightly awkward pause. I was unconsciously straightening out the blankets just for something to do.

"I'll admit," I said finally, breaking the ice. I met Dean's green eyes, eyes that were the exact same shade as his brother's. "I never expected you and Sam to become a team. All the time I've known you guys you've been like vinegar and baking soda; when mixed you both kind of explode."

Dean let out a humorless laugh.

"Yeah, I won't deny that there have been times that I've been convinced to tear Sam's head off. But, he's my brother," he ended shortly. "We're all we've got."

I frowned.

"What do you mean?" I inquired steadily. "I mean you have . . . you have John, right?"

Unexpectedly, Dean's face hardened and he looked down, determinately not meeting my gaze. Something inside of me was suddenly broken before I even knew the reason behind it.

"John—he's—he's alright, isn't he?" I breathed. I knew the answer before Dean met my eyes again. I swallowed, my heart seeming to reduce to a very painfully slow pace. I stared at Dean.

John was as much as a father to me as he had been to Dean and Sam. I had known him since before I could walk or speak, and he had been there for me more times than I could count. Not that my own father wasn't, but between the two I had grown up with more love and adoration than I probably deserved.

There was suddenly a very painful lump rising in my throat. I took a deep breath.

"When?" I asked.

"A few months ago," said Dean absently, his gaze still on mine.

I shook my head. I didn't ask how; I didn't want to know.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered. "I should have been there. I should have known."

"How could you?" said Dean with a halfhearted shrug. "Don't worry about it, Kat."

"Yeah, but before I was going on and on about being mad at my dad and running away from him while you lost yours. I'm sor—"

"Stop apologizing," Dean said firmly with a rough edge to his voice. "Seriously. I should have called but, uh, I had no idea where you were up until this point."

I shifted guiltily.

"I could use another drink, though," said Dean after another pause. I laughed dully under my breath.

"I second that."

A few moments later I returned with two brandy glasses and set them on the coffee table. Dean poured both of them to almost the brim.

"Cheers," he muttered. We clinked our glasses together. I drank deeply, grimacing slightly as I set it back down.

"I can't believe how much has happened," I said quietly as Dean took another sip.

He gave a small shrug. "Well, that's what happens when you live in the world of demons," he said. I bit down on my lower lip.

I glanced toward the clock and saw it was almost one in the morning. I sighed.

"I'm going to bed," I said as I got to my feet and drained the rest of my drink.

"You don't want to have another one with me?" Dean said with a mock-hurt expression.

I managed another small smile.

"Maybe another night," I said. I hesitated for a second. And suddenly, whether it was the brandy now burning in my stomach controlling me or out of pure whim, I bent down suddenly and embraced Dean in a very tight hug. This seemed to take him aback a great deal because it was a second or two before he responded to my touch.

"I've missed you, Dean," I said quietly. "Both of you. I didn't realize it until I saw you two in the swamp, but I'm really glad you're here."

Dean obviously didn't really know what to say. He held me somewhat awkwardly before I withdrew. He cleared his throat.

"Yeah, um. Same to you, Katarina," he said stiffly.

"Please don't call me that. I hate it," I said, but I was still smiling. He managed to smile back.

"All the more reason I'm going to," he said.

I backed up a few paces to my bedroom door.

"Sweet dreams," I said.

"Back 'atcha."

I entered my bedroom and shut the door quietly behind me. I changed into my Snoopy Dog pajama pants and pale blue tank top. In the bathroom, I met my reflection in the sink mirror. My complexion remain its dull, ivory state that lacked the right amount of rosy color. My mane of coppery hair rested on my shoulders and back with a fit of mild and stubborn tangles.

It was always my eyes that I looked at last when coming face-to-face with my reflection. A shade of hazel that held more brown than green.

And almost in unison with my fear, my eyes flashed a terrible, bottomless jet-black screen. A screen that covered the whites of my eyes completely as well as my iris.

You'd think I'd be used to the sight by now, but every time I see it my heart comes close to stopping and sorrow and fear encase over me like a disease. It was a sensation of a claw attempting to rip my spine out.

I grasped my hand to my mouth and clenched my eyes shut, hoping against hope that they would return to their normal hazel shade. I didn't look to find out. I turned my back to the mirror and shut off the bathroom light and climbed into the king-sized bed. I hugged my knees to my chest, staring into the darkness that was not so dark to my eyes anymore.

I was afraid. That much was obvious. I've known for little less than a year and I can't get used to it.

But how was I going to explain to the two guys I loved most on this earth that I've turned into the thing that they hunt down?

Would love to hear your thoughts on the first chapter, lovelies.

Thanks for reading.