Blood On My Hands

Author: Insult

Rating: R/NC-17

Warnings: Sexual situations, language of the strong variety, mentions of rape(not of main characters though)

Pairings: Dean/OFC, Sam/Sarah

Summary: Dean meets a crazy psycho hunter. She's kinda hot. Very AU.

A/N: Been awhile, I know but I decided to revisit this story. I've redone most of it so if you're a returning customer reread the first few chappies. Also, in my world, season 2 stretches over two years instead of one (you'll see why).:

Walking into the Roadhouse a feeling Dean hadn't had in years began to surface. Maybe it wasn't strong enough to call home, but after spending twenty-two years living out of your car and going from motel room to motel room a sense of familiarity that wasn't tinged with death was nice. Ellen's place smelled like a dozen other bars he'd been to, filled with the same type of peop le playing the same game of pool he'd hustled a dozen times before, and yet. Beneath the smoke and alcohol and cheap sex smells that permeated the air, Dean could sense cinnamon from the apple pie Jo and Ellen had made early in the day and without having to look, he knew the dirty clothes he'd left last time would be washed and folded in the back office. Even Sam looked like he was glad to sit in the dimly lit room that had become a sort of base.

Jo had already seen them and was coming from the kitchen with a basket of biscuits and a few beers to their booth. Dean's mouth began to water.

Biscuits.

Probably the same that were made in every single diner from here to Tennessee, but for some reason they tasted better than anything some fry-cook could ever make. Dean reached for a biscuit while taking a good look at Jo's jean-clad form. Maybe later he could get his hands on more than her biscuits.

"How was Milwaukee," Jo asked, pulling Dean from his gutter thoughts.

"Nothin' special," he replied with a shrug.

Jo gave him a soft smile, then turned to Sam, "Keep him out of trouble for a while, there are too many people in here to start-" she shot a look back at Dean mimicking, "a friendly dispute."

"He hit me first," Dean said with a petulant look. Jo just rolled her eyes at him and shook her head.

"I gotta go back to work, stick around til it clears out a bit then we'll talk."

As she turned back towards the bar, the front entrance swung open with a creak.. Black army boots took the newcomer towards where Ellen stood with her back turned, talking to a customer.

When the hunter she'd been speaking with about Minnesota Viking curses pulled out his gun and cocked it on the table with a sneer, Ellen turned around. A look of disgust and fear fixed on her own face but she squared her shoulders and crossed her arms in preparation for battle.

"Heya Elle," the stranger said mockingly.

The patrons around them quieted or moved away, not sure they wanted to anger either the bar's owner or the deadly-looking woman speaking to her by staring.

"What do you want?" Ellen asked, picking up a rag and slinging it over her shoulder.

"I need to speak to you," returned the woman.

"Now's not a good time,"

"Make it one." Ellen's look of disgust grew and the fear that was there before became anger.

"I want you out of my bar. Now."

The woman smirked and glanced languidly around the room, noting that hunters throughout had stood up to watch the exchange, many even placing their hands on concealed weapons. This made her smirk turn into a full-fledged, sadistic smile. "Come on now Elle, we both know I could make things quite unpleasant in here."

"Five minutes," Ellen said walking towards the door.

The night air was cool as the two women stepped outside. The mockery and sarcasm faded and all that was left was numb hatred.

"What do you want Dax?" Ellen asked.

"A while back, your husband worked a job in Mount Seana, Washington. Couple of witches hacking at little girls, but when he left, he, the bitches and a few local kindergartners all came out alive."

"And? My husband was good at his job, he had a way of making sure everyone came out alive."

"Up until his last one, that is."

"Get the fuck out of-" Ellen was cut off before she could finish and throw in a punch.

"He had something. Something that took the witches' power from them. Apparently killing a human was too much for his sensitive conscious to live with," Dax pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, "personally, I would have wasted 'em. But to each his own."

"Then why do you need to know how he did it. Why don't you just kill whoever your dealing with? I assume you wouldn't be asking unless you were dealing with a black artist."

"Oh, I killed him. Little shit just wouldn't stay in the ground. I need to strip his powers or he'll just keep poppin up."

Ellen paused, unsure what to do. How did Dax know about one of her husband's jobs. It's not like she chatted up the hunter community often. Hell, most of them hated Dax as much as Ellen did. And where was the warlock Dax was fighting? Was it nearby? Ellen didn't think Dax would have gone out of her way to come here, so it had to be close. Ellen would have turned her away, but at the end of the day, Dax was a hunter. A psychotic bitch who probably killed someone if they got in her way or pissed her off, but a hunter nonetheless. Besides would it really hurt if Ellen gave her a non-deadly way to save people? Not to mention knowing what could strip a dark artist's powers might come in handy later down the road.

"I'll dig up what I can. For now I want you to leave. Give me a number where I can reach you."

Dax gave a nod and wrote her cell number on the back of a motel matchbook. She handed it to Ellen before getting on a black bike and pulling out of the parking lot, leaving nothing but dust behind. Ellen glanced down at the matchbook and noticed it came from the same place the Winchester boys were staying.