Author's Note: Hi guys! This is my second story that I'm posting and I'm trying to experiment a little bit with other character's—besides my own—points of view and thoughts. I just recently started watching Supernatural and I immediately fell in love with the show. I'm not majorly in tune with all the intricacies of the lore and I've only made it to season three so forgive any mistakes I make. This story starts with season one just after the second episode "Wendigo." Anyways constructive criticism is always appreciated and I encourage you guys to correct any mistakes I might make with the story line. Thanks and I hope you enjoy!

Chapter One: First Sight

Marishka was a hunter, born and bred. As she stood on the roof of the rundown dairy factory, she furtively glanced around for any signs of movement. She looked down into the building through the sky lights.

The pulsating techno music and smoke machines made it difficult for her to keep watch over them, but she still saw. She always saw.

Brasov Heights was a small and reclusive town in the most heavily forested part of the Pacific Northwest. Everyone knew everybody's business and family bonds and alliances ran extremely deep. The same applied to their feuds.

The Alenikov family had been in Brasov Heights since the boat had come over from Romania. As such, they were privy to the seemingly innocuous town's deepest secrets. Marishka liked to think of them as the town's very own protectors. Protectors against an evil that the oblivious townspeople of Brasov Heights were more than happy to have forgotten over the past hundred years.

Marishka could spot an outsider in a split millisecond. These two guys, were definitely outsiders.

Outsiders begging to get themselves killed. The taller one—the brunette—was awkwardly trying to avoid the various partiers at the rave. He seemed to shift uncomfortably as girls rubbed against him. Shy, Marishka assessed with confidence.

The other one, who was only slightly shorter with dirty blonde hair, was the complete opposite. He walked with a cocky swagger, welcomed any and all female attention. He commanded respect and the eyes of most of the female partygoers.

Marishka followed them with her eyes. These weren't typical outsiders. She had broken into the back of their car earlier and discovered guns filled with rock salt bullets, silver bullets—good for killing werewolfs, holy water and a Latin bible.

And more guns. Lots of guns.

She didn't know much about hunting demons, but she did know that holy water was especially effective in deterring a vampire. It wouldn't actually do permanent harm, but it apparently burned their skin.

These outsiders obviously carried a heavy burden between the two of them. It was evident in their weighted stances, the almost feral look in their eyes.

The blonde one looked as if he would laugh in the face of death itself. On the other hand, the brunette looked to be the cautious and unsure of what was to come next.

Neither foolhardy bravery or any amount of caution would help them stop the coven of vampires plaguing Brasov Heights.

Marishka's stormy grey eyes followed them as they turned to one another and seemed to come to a decision. They slithered through the throngs of people and exited the rave and the building.

She paused to glance at her father's old wrist watch and found the time. 12:43 am.

She stood up and brushed off her pants. Time still remains, she reminded herself.

"Look Sammy, we've been here for two days and all we've managed to find is a bunch of rotting dead bodies in a basement," Dean reminded his younger brother. "It's probably just a serial killer."

Sam shook his head. "That warehouse building may have been a bust, but there's something wrong here. I can feel it."

"Oh! You can feel it can you?" Dean scoffed. "Well that's definite reason to—"

Dean broke off the as the door to the diner opened. A girl, aged somewhere in her early twenties strolled in and greeted the owner of the diner. He took in her long brown hair and, once she was close enough, started to notice… other things as well. For example, the way her waist curved in perfectly just underneath those—

"What are you lo—" Sam turned around and immediately cut off his statement as he spotted the girl. She had taken a seat at the counter and was pointedly staring at both he and Dean.

Sam rolled his eyes as he turned back towards his brother. "Put your eyes back in your head."

Dean smirked and sipped his water, raising his eyebrows suggestively. "That attitude—" Dean pointed a finger at his brother, "—is why you never get laid."

"Were working a job Dean," Sam reminded him, "try and keep it in your pants."

Dean coughed and laughed slightly. "We still don't even know if anything is wrong with this town. My gut tells me it's just a serial killer."

"A serial killer that leaves victims without any wounds besides bite marks and the occasional piece of missing flesh?" Sam asked disbelievingly.

"Come on Sammy," Dean groaned. "Vampires don't actually exist! Don't you think Dad would've told us about them?"

"Dad hasn't exactly been up front and honest with us lately," Sam reminded his brother.

"Don't you think I know that, idiot?" Dean scoffed.

Sam rolled his eyes again and yawned. He glanced at his watch. 1:13 am. "It's getting late. We can decide what to do about this tomorrow morning."

"Sounds good to me," Dean said, fishing a few bills out of his pocket. He glanced up at the girl once more, shaking his head ruefully and stood up. Sam followed suit and the two of them made their way out the diner.

Once the two of them had gone, Marishka slapped a five on the counter, finished off her coffee and followed the brothers once more.

Marishka sat upon the cheap wooden desk in room 216 at the Chipper Motel. She had been watching the brother's sleep for some time now and nothing interesting had happened yet.

She wasn't sure what she had been waiting for. Irritable movements? For one of them to wake up? Marishka wasn't sure how to handle conversing with complete strangers. It wasn't something she felt comfortable doing. There was a strange pulling sensation in her stomach when she watched the Winchesters; she was intrigued by them.

Intrigued, yet frightened. There were so many unknown variables when dealing with strangers.

So Marishka sat in idle silence, thinking upon her position and the best way to resolve the problem.

The younger, yet taller Winchester, moved around in his sleep quite a bit, she had noticed. He was clearly restless and mumbled nothings into his pillow. Sam, she recalled, havingheard his name back in the diner. He seemed to be more approachable than his brother, and had kinder eyes.

Dean, the slightly shorter brother, stayed completely still in his sleep. It was unnerving for Marishka, who was a restless sleeper herself. Stillness was connected with silence and most likely a dreamless sleep. Marishka was of the opinion that dreams were a direct representation of a person's soul. To have no dreams was like… well having no soul.

Marishka shook her head and hopped off the desk, taking care to make sure that she didn't make a thud on the carpeted floor. She made a snap decision to simply leave a message for the brothers. No human contact necessary.

She drew her knife out of her back pocket and flipped the switchblade walking over to the wall space in between the hotel beds. Carefully, she inched the lamp back and stepped up onto the bedside table, placing the knife against the wall. She started carving the letters into the wall when the older Winchester was startled awake.

"Holy shit!" He shouted, reaching under his pillow. Dean grabbed at his knife and immediately flung it at a screaming Marishka. It plunged deep into her thigh just before she tumbled off of the table.

"La Naiba!" she let out a curse in Romanian. "Please wait!"

"What the hell?" Sam demanded, to no one in particular. He was still groggy from sleep.

"I—I apologize," Marishka ground out through her teeth. "I did not mean to startle you, Sam and Dean Winchester."

"How the fuck do you know our names?" Dean growled. He had grabbed his gun and cocked it as Marishka straightened up, her arms in the air.

"Wait a second," Sam said, holding his arm out in front of his brother. As if that would stop the bullet. "You're that girl from the diner!"

Dean lowered his gun and studied Marishka more closely. "Damn straight," he muttered. He raised the gun again after giving her an appreciative glance. "But seriously, how do you know us? You the one that's been following us?"

"You're hunters and yes, I have been trailing you since you arrived," Marishka hissed, grabbing the hilt on the knife. She looked away as she yanked the blade from inside her quadriceps muscle, hissing as she felt the blade slice through her skin once more.

"How do you know we're hunters?" Sam asked.

"It is obvious from the way that you walk. The things you carry in your car. You hunt things," Marishka said. "Other hunters have passed through in the past." She backed away from the older Winchester who still had his gun trained on her, applying pressure to her steadily bleeding wound.

"First thing's first, what the hell are you doing here?" Dean asked.

"I came to leave you a message," Marishka informed them, pointing to the wall.

The word please was all she had been able to carve into the wall. Dean and Sam turned their attention back to the young brunette.

"You couldn't just speak with us?" Dean scoffed.

"At a normal hour?" Sam added.

Marishka shook her head. "I did not want to make contact with you unless it was absolutely necessary." She glanced at both of them with a superior expression. "You are running around my territory as if you are a chicken with its head cut off. And you are fixing to get yourselves killed if you continue on in this manner."

"Excuse me?" Sam furrowed his eyebrows. "Territory?"

Dean looked at Marishka. "Are you a hunter?"

"I am a protector," Marishka corrected them. "My family has protected this land for centuries."

"Protected the land from what?" Dean asked.

"You know what we're up against, right?" Sam looked meaningfully at Dean.

"Vampires." Dean scoffed at that, rolling his eyes. "They are monsters," Marishka hissed, sensing his skepticism. "Filthy creatures who prey on the innocent. You should leave before you become one of their victims."

"Now hold on a damn minute here missy," Dean snapped, waving his gun around. "We're experienced hunters. And our advice to you is that you go back to the sandbox and wait a few years before you decide to join the big leagues."

"My age is three and a twenty if you must know," Marishka said irritably. She looked towards Sam. "Do you have any stitching material? My father will not be pleased with me if I return home with an infected wound."

"Sure thing," Sam answered quietly, walking over to their duffles.

Dean watched his brother with barely disguised annoyance. "Sammy."

"Cool it, Dean," Sam said. Dean looked surprised at his brother's harsh tone.

Marishka stared at the elder Winchester. "You know not what you hunt, Dean Winchester."

"You know not what you hunt? Seriously?" He snorted. "Where'd you learn to talk? The eighteen-hundreds?"

"I beg your pardon?" Marishka furrowed her eyebrows. "I merely meant to convey to you that you are about as experienced as my youngest brother once was—" Dean raised his eyebrows "—when he was a boy of but six years old."

Dean snarled, stepping closer to Marishka. "You've got a lot of damn nerve walkin' into my hotel room and trying to tell me what to do."

Marishka stared back at Dean, her grey eyes merely searching his face. She turned away as Sam held out their first aid kit. "If you will excuse me for but a moment, I must tend to my wounds."

"I must tend to my wounds," Dean mimicked, infusing his voice with an annoyingly high pitched Romanian accent as Marishka entered their bathroom and locked the door. He turned on his brother, fuming visibly. "What the hell are you thinking, helping this crazy bitch?"

Sam snorted. "Dude, you're not the one stitching up a gaping knife wound. She is. I mean, I knew you kept a knife under your pillow but I didn't think you'd actually throw it before you looked to see who was in our room."

" Oh come on!" Dean scoffed. "What the hell is she trying to do here? She broke into our room and tried to carve some weird message into the wall with her knife."

Sam chuckled. "She did write the word please."

"Yeah, she wants us to please leave apparently." Dean slapped a hand to his face and sat down on his bed. "Please tell me you're not considering letting this little girl boss us around."

"She knows what we're up against, Dean," Sam shrugged, sitting down across from him.

Dean stared at him acidly. "Oh really? 'Cause my bullshit detector was beeping up a storm."

"Look, she's a local and she knows that vampires are behind the killings," Sam reasoned. "She obviously knows something."

Dean shook his head. There were too many unknowns, too many obstacles. And how was he supposed to trust that vampires were even real? Their Dad had never told them anything about it. For all they knew, this girl was just some schizophrenic psycho path. Of course there was always the risk that she could get hurt or betray them and they could get hurt. Anything and everything could go wrong. Dean knew that better than anyone.

"It's a one-time deal," Sam promised.

"I don't like it," Dean growled, feeling his will begin to bend under the scrutiny of his brother. "I mean that I don't want some inexperienced little girl getting in the way," Dean explained. "She could get hurt and then you'll feel bad—"

"I am able to protect myself, Dean Winchester." Marishka appeared at the doorway of their bathroom. A thick band wrapped was clearly wrapped around her upper thigh, obviously where she had stitched the knife wound. "You needn't worry about me."

Dean shared a loaded look with his brother, trying to convey his irritation. "Uh, fine whatever… Look uh—" Dean broke off as he realized he did not know her name.

"Marishka Alenikov," she finished for him.

Sam nodded. "We'd like your help Marishka. We want to find and kill these vampires before they can do anymore damage."

Dean watched as an unknown emotion passed through Marishka's stormy grey eyes at the sound of the word killed. Dean wondered if killing made her squeamish or if she was planning on betraying them.

"If you will not be swayed by the danger, then you must accompany me to my home," Marishka explained. "We will speak to my father, where he will make everything clear to you."

Author's Note: Hey sorry guys, another AN. Just in case you're wondering or if it wasn't clear, Marishka's family is Romanian and English is her second language. Thanks!