Disclaimer: I do not own the concept or characters from the show "Supernatural" or "The Vampire Diaries." Any other characters not related to Supernatural, The Vampire Diaries or the Nightwold book series, however, are mine and are not to be used in any other fan fictions. Some concepts were also borrowed or loosely adapted from L.J. Smith's "Nightworld.". This story involves some characters from my original Supernatural series: The first trilogy is: "Possession," "Broken," and "Sacrifice," followed with a new trilogy, "Mission," "Prelude," and a currently untitled 6th story. I do not own any quotes used in the actual episodes of "Supernatural" or "The Vampire Diaries". Any lyrics mentioned in this story do not belong to me are are the property of their original writers. I make no money from these stories; they're only for entertainment.

If you are interested in reading the other stories, please visit my profile where links are provided for each of installments.

November 2010

"You sure you're all right with this," he asked over the phone, worry permeating through his tired, husky voice.

"I'm fine," she assured as she carefully strolled in her high heels across the slick street. "Look, we need info, I can get it."

Dean sighed, a sign that he was going to give up trying to convince her it was dangerous, but was not going to give up worrying.

"Be careful. Sam and I aren't far. You've got 20 minutes to get in touch with us before we hunt your ass down," he murmured. "It's just been awhile since we've done any of this-"

He was right. It had been years since they'd agreed to take a case, many more since it was one where they worked on together. Usually, if they did take on hunts, they made sure that at least one of them remained home. For their family, their three kids, leaving the opportunity for both of them to be hurt or worse in the line of duty, it was a risk they weren't willing to take.

That was, until that particular case they were working on crossed their paths. Vampires. Her specialty.

After all, if anyone could figure out if a town was truly plagued with them, it would be a vampire.

"Take care," he huffed over the phone. "Be careful. Don't do anything stupid."

"Got it. Love you too."

She hung up the phone and got to work. He didn't have any reason to worry. After all, she was just as professional as the Winchesters, only she also had over a hundred years experience.

Abby brushed back her ebony hair, took a deep breathe and walked into the restaurant.

"I don't know about this place, Sam. There's something off."

"What, vampires aren't enough crazy for you," Sam joked in the passenger seat of the Impala.

Dean turned towards his brother, who was busy doing some research on his laptop, stealing internet from the cafe across the street.

"Huh. Now this is interesting-this place has a history of vampire activity," Sam said as he found some information on some 'reliable' web page.

"What kinda history? Like real evidence of vampires or a history of cult, Twi-hard teens running around here," Dean asked his younger brother, who was intently scrolling down the web page as he listened to his older brother rant. "I swear, ever since those freakin' book and movies came out, it's made our lives harder. 'Vampire' sightings have been everywhere and if I have to catch one more Emo-dork wearing glitter to impress a chick, I'm going to be pissed."

"No, it's not like that. This stuff sounds pretty legit. Listen to this. There's this legend that there was a hoard of vamps taken out in 1864. They were captured and put in the local church and burned to death. The townspeople banded together and the founders of the village took them out. There hasn't been any activity since then-at least none that's documented," Sam said.

"So, what are you thinking? I mean, they just tried to burn them, right? They didn't take enough off the top; so, maybe this is the same group from 1864-"

"Or," Sam interjected. "A different Nest settling in-or a neighboring nest coming back for revenge? I don't know, man. If vamps had settled here long before, maybe they've always just lived here peacefully and something has riled them up."

Who knew what they were up to; could be anything. One thing was for sure, they weren't making the deaths less obvious to cover their tracks. Animal attacks? Dean couldn't figure out why people still would believe that crap. What animal goes around attacking that many people for weeks-months even, and leaves little to no blood? That didn't make any sense and it shouldn't, even for people who didn't suspect the supernatural.

It was funny how the simple folks in 1864 got it right, but the people of 2010 were completely clueless. No, they'd rather pay five dollars for a cup of coffee and go home to watch their DVR, pretending to be completely oblivious.

Part of Dean wished he had that ability. Why the hell was he sucked back into the hunting lifestyle? He'd sat back for years, taking only side jobs, only if they were emergencies.

Sure, he'd admit that every waking moment, he was scared for his family's safety. What if his past came back and hunted him down? He'd die before he let something happen to his kids. Those kiddos were his life and he would do anything to make sure they grew up protected and normal. They didn't know anything about his hunting lifestyle and he was going to keep it that way as long as humanly possible.

Even if he could keep his own past away from them, there was always the chance that Abby's could sneak up on them; she'd been around since 1700-something. That's a lot of time to piss people off.

God, when he thought about it, she was old. Really old, ancient even. He had to laugh when he thought about her as a cougar; she did go after a much, much younger man.

Dean smiled to himself. It still boggled his mind how he ended up with her. For the longest time, he was so damned sure that the supernatural world was completely black and white; all of the non-humans needed to be ganked. Then, during one seemingly routine vampire hunt in Red Lodge, Montana, his world got completely flipped, and shades of gray began to pop up. It wasn't clear what those tinges of doubt meant until he met his future wife during an investigation in Chicago, that he saw that creatures may not all be bad. Some just had intentions like anyone else and expected the same respect they gave humans; you don't kill them, they don't kill you. He could roll with that.

His eyes anxiously glanced at the clock on the car's console. She had ten more minutes to get in touch with him and then he was goin' in. Dean may have trusted her ability as a hunter, but that didn't mean he wasn't nervous when she was scoping stuff out on her own.

His brother must have sensed his tension.

"She'll be fine," Sam reassured. "She was right, she's the only one who'll have better luck spotting them on her own. Besides, it'll look less suspicious having one person scope the place out versus three of us."

Dean sighed, trying to let out any stress; didn't seem to work.

"Yeah. I'm just freakin' antsy 'cause I want to get this job over with. I just wanna home and have a Happy Thanksgiving. I just want turkey with the fam and football. So let's gank these vamps and get the hell outta Mystic Falls. Who in the blue hell names a town Mystic Falls anyway?"

Abby sat at the bar in the Mystic Grill, taking a sip of her martini, pretending to focus on the conversation she was having with the bartender. In actuality, she was concentrating on just about everything else around her.

She had her senses on overdrive, keeping track on many exchanges throughout the establishment all at once. Some may have called her telepathy a gift but she would argue the 'gift' came with a horrendous cost. Using her mind for such feats was a terrible strain on her, bordering on mental exhaustion.

On top of that, she was doing her best to mentally block her own thoughts from anything supernatural that might have the ability to intrude on them. It was as if she used her mind to make a mental vervain; she could focus her telepathy to create an almost force-field of mental energy around her that she could control. Her mind could reach out to listen to others, but that powerful shield kept others from probing into her own thoughts. Who knew if any of the vamps in town had other abilities, telepathy possibly included in the mix. It was better to be safe than sorry.

"You're not from around here, are you," the male bartender flirted as he wiped down the counter.

"Hmmm...what makes you say that," she smiled, stirring her drink.

"We usually don't get anybody as...exotic as you," he winked.

Exotic? What made him use that particular phrase?

"What I mean is," he leaned over the bar to whisper. "Half the time, all we get in this place are the local girls, mostly coming in for a snack after the high school lets out for the day. They're all blonde and bubbly-boring and annoying. There are very few...unique girls in town. I guess I screwed up that compliment, huh?"

"No, no. I was just a little...confused," she admitted with a chuckle.

She took a sip of her drink again, sneaking a quick glance at her watch. Abby had eight minutes before Dean would have a conniption fit.

The glittering diamond in her wedding ring shone under the dim light, reminding her that he was only crazy because he was crazy about her. He'd lay his life on the line for her and she would do the same in return.

With a breathe, Abby closed her eyes and took her few remaining minutes in the bar to use, focusing on the conversations of others around her.

'...you don't get a redo when you hit the eight-ball on the break, dude. I win.'

'...seriously, Bonnie, I think you should wear blue more often. It looks great on you.'

'...I should get home, Stefan. It'd getting late and Jenna will have a fit.'

'Ok, Elena. Let's go.'

Someone sighed beside her. Deeply sighed. Whoever it was definitely down in the dumps.

Abby kept her eyes closed, centering her power, but whoever was seated next to her was throwing off her concentration.

"Yo, bartender," he said, sadness in his voice. "I need another one."

He slammed a glass down on the counter.

She opened her eyes, getting ready to either move away from the guy or leave the Grill all together. With Mister Depression in the vicinity, she wasn't going to get any signals. Plus, she was already pretty worn out.

Abby made her decision to just go back to the Dean and paid her tab, rising out of her chair to leave. At that exact moment, the man next to her managed to turn around and they collided, causing his drink to spill all over her top.

"Shit," she said, grabbing a handful of napkins from the bar, dabbing her red, v-neck shirt.

"Here, let me help," he said, blotting her chest with his own handful of paper towels.

"Hey," she scolded, pushing his hands away from her.

Abby finally looked up at his face and her mouth immediately going from scowl to disbelief.

Him? HIM? HE was in MYSTIC-FREAKIN-FALLS?

His eyes met hers with realization.

"Abby," he smirked. "Abigail Stuart. What brings you to this town? I haven't seen you in-what thirty years?"

"Damon Salvatore."

That's all she could say.

Her head began to pulse, her mind jumbled with so many thoughts and questions. Her heart clenched.

She thought she was going to throw up or pass out but couldn't quite decide what to do at that exact moment. She was at a loss.

"Come on, you need some air," he said, leading her by the arm towards the front of the bar.

He escorted her through the exit, guiding passed the bar and her down the sidewalk.

Took her a minute to realize that she had no idea where they were going or where in the hell he was taking her.

She stopped abruptly, causing him to stroll ahead of her and halt when he realized her hand slipped from his own.

He pivoted around, rolling his eyes at her.

"What," he groaned.

"What," she responded. "You have to ask what?"

"Well, yeah I do," he smirked. "It's good seeing after this long-you're still looking ravishing."

He took her hand in his, bending down to kiss it. She pulled away before he got the chance.

"Ouch," he complained. "You're breaking my heart, Abby."

She scrutinized him, this time really taking a good look at him. He hadn't changed one bit. Well, it wasn't like she expected a drastic transformation. After all, they were both locked in perpetual youth, a snapshot in time that would never change.

One thing did remain the same; he still rendered her breathless with his mischievous smile and his captivating, blue eyes.

There was one more thing that transfigured; she was still mad at him.

Then, once she remembered why she was in town in the first place-that made her furious.

"The question is...why are you here," she asked, approaching him with intimidation, her charcoal eyes seething.

He stood his ground.

"It's my hometown," he shrugged. "I had business here."

"What kind of business," Abby whispered, her face tilted upwards towards his. "There's been an awful lot of mysterious deaths in town. Your work?"

He smiled down at her, brushing a piece of stray black hair behind her ear.

"Maybe. Not all of them though. This town is having it's share of...issues right now."

"Are you the one who is doing the killings," she cut to the chase, her stomach clenching from nervousness. For, if he was the one who was to blame, she knew what she had to do to rectify the situation. Even with their history soured, she'd have a hard time going through with it.

Without warning, he pulled her off to the side and around the corner. Damon pushed her against the brick facade of the Mystic Grill. His eyes searched either side of the empty alley, looking for any witnesses who could be watching their scene. Even if someone didn't quite know what was going on, their altercation couldn't have looked good.

"Listen, in the beginning, we're talking months ago-yeah I'll admit I did my fair share, but I swear to you that I'm not doing it now," he said, his face serious. "Look, you have to be discreet who you talk to about this around here. There's more going on in this place than you know."

She wanted to believe him, but part of her was jerking her away from the concept. Damon Salvatore was never just honest, he was a man who had a consistent ulterior motivation.

"Listen, just get the hell out of town as soon as you can," he whispered in her ear. "You're not safe here."

"Funny, I was gonna say the same thing about you," a voice said from behind him.

Damon smirked.

Before she could vocalize a warning, Damon spun around and pinned Dean against the stone wall on the other side of the alleyway. Dean kicked hard, his foot meeting the vampire's hard flesh, causing his foe to fall to the ground. Damon quickly rebounded, knocking the machete from Dean's hand. It clanked against the wet pavement.

"You're not from around here either," Damon smiled smugly.

"Neither am I."

Sam knocked into Damon, hitting him off kilter. The vampire rapidly bounced back, his eyes turning into bloodshot pools, angry purple surrounding the sockets, his dangerous canines extending. He lunged at Sam, who took a well-intentioned slice at him with his knife but Damon was just too fast.

"Damon, stop," Abby screamed, pushing the vampire away at lightning speed.

He stared at her with a wondering expression.

"You know these assholes," Damon asked. He looked at them again, with their weapons close at hand. "They're hunters?"

His eyes turned into steely slits as he stared her down. Wordlessly, she placed herself between him and the Winchesters.

It was then the male vampire truly understood her gesture.

"You're with them," he scoffed.

"Actually, she's with me," Dean huffed, placing himself in front of her.

"Dean, seriously, let me handle this-"

"Why did he have you pressed up against that wall," Dean asked over his shoulder back at Abby.

"Let's just call it a lover's quarrel," Damon simpered.

"What," Dean and Sam responded in unison.

"Well, ex-lover," Damon continued. "Seemed like a good idea at the time. Too bad the infatuation didn't last long."

That particular comment tore at her like no other, reopening a very old wound. He knew what he did.

Abby gingerly pushed Dean aside and blurred up to meet Damon. He smiled down at her, one side of his mouth cruelly turned upward, as if everything was a joke. Well, she certainly wouldn't be that time around.

She slapped him hard across his face with such force, his head was forced to the side.

"Go to Hell, Damon," she hissed.

"Damon, what's going on," a voice called from behind them.

Her foe's eyes looked over her shoulder and he lowered his shoulders in defeat.

"Look, the cavalry is here! Don't worry, it's nothing, just some hunters and this," he pointed his finger down to Abby. "This will surprise you."

Abby turned around, hearing the footsteps coming closer. Sam and Dean concealed their weapons but kept them in a readied position just in case.

She stared at the approaching pair; a man and a young woman ventured ever closer. But there was something else she sensed, something different about the male. Then there was the way Damon had addressed him...

"It's ok," she turned to Dean. "He's a friend."

"Abby," the male stranger called, walking faster towards her.

Once she finally got within reach, she wrapped her arms around him.

"Stefan. It's so good to see you," she hugged her old friend.

"Funny, he gets a hug and I get a slap in the face," Damon inquired.

Abby spun around, facing Damon once more.

"You're just lucky that I didn't kill you. And, perhaps I still might. There's always a chance."

Damon took casual but purposeful step forward, his grin beaming with cocky arrogance.

"I look forward to when you might try again. Maybe next time you can leave Starsky and Hutch at home and we can meet one-on-one."

With that, he walked away, bumping his shoulder into Dean, and strode out of the alley.