(A/N): Hi, this is my first Supernatural fanfic, so please be courteous. All details not in relation to my OC are canon. I would like to thank superwhofilesjackson and Wiznerd The Eagle for beta reading. I hope you enjoy! Updates weekly. :)

Hebron, Nebraska
12:00 p.m.

Beep beep beep. The alarm next to her bedside sounded that same old familiar noise. Her left arm was brought down like Thor's hammer on the snooze button and she almost crushed the clock, as she pushed the covers down and off of her torso. She had set the alarm for noon because she hadn't gone to sleep until around three a.m. She was content with her nine straight hours of sleep. She threw her legs over the left side of the bed and stood up, stretching her arms over her head and yawning as she stood up on her tip toes. Her back cracked and she put her hand on the back of her neck, underneath her hairline, rolling her head both ways. Satisfied, she reached down to the left corner of her white t-shirt and yanked it up and over her head one-handed, flinging the shirt across her motel room, hitting the pale yellow wall before sliding to the ground.

She walked to the bathroom, her bare feet padding across what was once a swirl-patterned carpet, but the only place it was visible now was near the walls, where no one had stepped. She picked up her flat, round hair brush and combed through her tangled red locks. After she was done she walked back into the main room and picked up her duffel bag, pulling out a plain black Merona tank top that fit her perfectly. It was her favorite. She pulled it on and fixed the clasp on her necklace and straightened the stainless steel cross that hung from it against her collarbone. She then reached in for her blue and white plaid flannel overshirt, shrugging it on to her shoulders and leaving the front unbuttoned all the way down, so it hung loosely on her frame. Bending down to the bedside, she lifted her worn black combat boots from the floor and tossed them on the bed, sitting down. She pulled socks over her feet and straightened the pant leg of her medium-wash blue jeans, lacing up her boots. She trotted back to the bathroom and brushed her teeth quickly, gargled some mouthwash, and spit it out, wiping her mouth with her entire hand.

Finally, she walked back to her bed and stooped down, grabbing the duffel bag by its strap with her right hand, and then tossed it over to her left. As she strode towards the door, she grabbed her motorcycle keys off of the table and stuffed them into her pocket. With the same hand, she grabbed the leather jacket that was hanging on the coat rack, pulling it on before gripping the doorknob and twisting.

She stepped outside, relishing in the crisp morning air. She breathed in deeply before slinging the duffel bag over her shoulder and ambling over to her bike. It was a yellow and black 2013 Zero S electric motorcycle. As she approached, she pulled the keys back out of her pocket again. The girl secured the duffel bag on her back and swung her leg over the seat. She inserted the key into the ignition, turned, and sped away from the Riverside Motel.

She pulled up into the parking space in front of the small post office. It was a very short drive; she could have walked there. But no, she was going to need her bike later. She ascended the concrete steps up to the brick building and gripped the metal bar across the glass door which was covered in wanted and missing posters. The bell rang as she it pushed open, into the familiar atmosphere of the building. Light, worn mahogany paneled walls and lighter wood floorboards. It smelled like warm, fresh paper and spice, with a hint of chicken feathers. She looked straight ahead to the counter, and saw why. There was a white cardboard box labeled FRAGILE and she could hear chirping noises coming from it. She smiled.

She walked forward and lay her arms across the counter, ringing the small bell. She knew she didn't have to though; they had heard her come in. She poked a finger into the box and rubbed one of the chick's light feathered heads gently while she waited. The grey-haired man stepped into view through the small window, smiling when he saw the girl he hadn't seen in two years grinning back at him.

"Hey Ron," she said cooly.

"Hiya Grace!" he replied excitedly, "My, how you've grown!"

The girl blushed, "Well, you know, still just the same old Grace."

The old man grinned even wider. "So, what's the special occasion? Haven't seen ya in nearly two years and then ya just show up? I don't believe it for a second," he chuckled, shaking his head.

"You caught me, Ron. I'm here to pick up a package," she admitted, smirking.

Ron turned and began to walk back farther into the storage room, searching for the white plastic casing. "I knew something was off when I got a package under the name Motley. I figured it was for one a' yer grandparents, but the only packages they been gettin' is from you," he relented, noticing the small look of disappointment that crossed her features as he approached again, package in hand. But just as quickly as it had come, the look was gone, replaced by a bright smile and shining blue eyes with small, focused pupils.

"Aw, well, that's too bad. Is that it?" she asked, gesturing to the package.

"Yep, here ya go," he handed it to her, watching as she looked down upon it happily. "So, what in there's so special that I earned a visit?" he asked, jokingly.

"It's a book," she paused, "one that I've been waiting for for a very long time," she mused quietly as she smiled down at it. Ron was happy to see her, even though he knew he wouldn't again for a long time. "Thanks Ron," she said, looking up at him through the glass window.

"No problem at all," he said as she turned back towards the door. He continued, "Don't you stay gone too long now, ya hear?"

"Yes sir," she joked over her shoulder, slipping out through the creaking door. As she descended the steps, she felt the now shining sun blazing down on her. She shrugged off her duffel and brought it around to set it on her bike's seat. She zipped it open and slid the still-wrapped book in with her other belongings. She zipped it back up, but this time she popped the bike's small trunk open and dropped the duffel in on top of her Taurus Model 92 and silver machete. She remounted her bike, hands gripping the handlebars comfortably, used to the feel of the soft rubber soothing against the rough callouses on her own hands.