Disclaimer: The Winchesters aren't mine *sigh* all hail King Kripke and the CW.

A/N: We all know Sam and Dean pretty well at this point. We also know their backstory and can understand why they are so good at their jobs. But one thing the show never really seems to go into is what happens when normal people run into the Winchesters and see two crazy guys running around killing things. So this is an attempt.

Please review! Even if it's only three words. "I like it" or "It needs work" would be awesome! :)

I was ninety-nine percent sure that I had just killed someone with my car. Holy Crap, I was totally going to jail for vehicular manslaughter.

Panic compressed my chest into a tight knot. When I tried to detach my hands from the steering wheel, they refused, unrelenting in their death grip on the cold leather. My knuckles were practically creaking with how hard I was gripping it.

Frick! I was only seventeen, and I was going to jail for the rest of my life. Goodbye social life, goodbye texting. I was a killer.

At least that's what I thought. When the man I had supposedly killed starting stirring back to life in front of my car, I screamed and threw it into reverse. Then, with a screech of rubber, I stopped backing up and threw the car into first gear, running the man down again. There were two horrible thumps, and then his limp form appeared in my rearview mirror. I slammed on the brakes, hyperventilating as I sagged against the steering wheel and the stiff strap of my seatbelt.

But hey, at least I'd remembered to put my seatbelt on while I was being chased down by an honest-to-goodness monster.

And it wasn't like I'd actually planned to be hunted by a friggin' vampire. I wasn't Bella Swan, searching out monsters and conveniently isolating myself in the woods to reveal that I knew their secrets. I was way smarter than that.

So when I'd found myself running for my life, regardless of my completely logical and mentally stable life choices, I'd been less than pleased. I hadn't even been making sketchy decisions like walking home alone. In the dark. Late at night.

No. Freaking Chomper McBloodsucker had sought me out in at the veterinarian clinic where I worked in the middle of the day. Here, I accidentally hit this dog, and also, you smell nice. Would you like to see my freaking fangs?

My brothers had taught me how to take care of myself, though. You don't grow up with three ridiculously athletic older siblings and somehow not learn how to tackle or kick a guy in the nads. It simply wasn't possible.

That's what I had done actually—kicked the guy in the nads. He had set the injured dog on the table, and I'd whipped out my phone to call Sara, the actual Vet. I was only a volunteer, really. But since it was a small town, I did a lot more than just clean out cages and exercise the animals. Not that it mattered.

Either way, Sara had been on her lunch break, and I had started to call her. Except, when I had turned back around, the man had stepped closer to me and had opened his mouth with a creepy hiss. "You smell nice. I knew you were the one," he'd hissed—hissed. Who even does that? Well, vampires, I guess. Vampires apparently hissed, who knew?

When his fangs had slid down, an entire row of pointy death spikes, I had nailed him in the goonies and blasted out the back door. I was by no means a track star, but adrenaline does things to a girl's top speed. I swear, if any college scouts had been there to see it, I might have actually gotten a scholarship. Lord knows I needed it.

But now…now I was huddled in my car, having run down a man who was trying to eat me. And honestly, those little "Five Steps to Help Guide Your Future" pamphlets the guidance counselor kept throwing at us didn't exactly cover vehicular manslaughter or how to deal with a bloodsucking maniac.

And it wasn't like I had planned to run him over. Well, the first time, at least. I had just been trying to get out of there, and Chompy had stepped in the way of my little Honda Civic. Then of course, I had willingly and maliciously run him over the second time. Yeah, I was menace. I probably needed some type of mental health check. I should look into that—if I made it out of this alive.

I was still hyperventilating, and getting more than a little lightheaded, when there was a tap at my window. I screamed again and slapped the lock down, before catching a glimpse of the person standing there. It wasn't Chompy. A quick glance in the rearview confirmed he was still down for the count. In fact, there was a giant man leaning over him, and he was using what looked like a machete to chop off Chompy's head.

I covered my mouth with a hand, completely horrified, but I didn't scream. I was done screaming. Another tap at my window, however, and I was friggin' horror movie starlet material. Ok, maybe not done screaming.

I unbuckled quickly, hit the button that would lock the rest of the doors, and scooted to the middle of the car. Middle of the car, furthest point from any window. Why did that still not fill me with confidence? Oh, right, because my day had just turned into some kind of horror show.

"Whoa, easy there tiger. No need to freak out," the guy at my window said. As if finding out vampires were real and watching a real life decapitation weren't reason enough. Then there was the whole gun thing.

He must have seen me staring, because he glanced down and caught sight of the gun in the hand he had used to tap on the glass. "Oh," was all he said. Then he straightened and shoved the gun in the back of his pants before leaning down to peer through the window again. Yeah, dude, putting your gun away made it totally better.

Green eyes stared at me past a strong jaw covered in light, reddish stubble, and the guy ran a hand through his spiky brown-blond hair. He looked nice enough, in his leather jacket and jeans, I supposed. But with the whole gun and machete thing, I wasn't really willing to chance it based on sheer attractiveness.

"Look, we're not here to hurt anyone," he said, trying again. I flashed a quick glance out the back window, where the tall one was wiping the blood off his machete, and then back at the one in front of me. His mouth went flat when he saw my dubious look. "Not here to hurt you," he amended. "Look, kid. Just open the door. We'll explain everything."

I shook my head, utterly petrified. No way was I going to get out of the car and talk with two homicidal weirdos. Yes, they had just killed the vampire who was trying to eat me. And yes, I had just been trying to do the same thing a minute ago—albeit somewhat unintentionally. But still, common sense told me to stay in the car, and I was inclined to listen.

The guy threw up his hands and stepped away. "Fine," he snapped. "Stay in there." He turned and paced a few steps away. I cautiously eased back into the driver seat while he wasn't focused on me. "Sam," he called back to the tall one, "let's move the body before anyone else sees it. Geez, vamps hunting in broad daylight. I don't like it, Sammy."

Lunatics, homicidal lunatics, the both of them.

I started the car and jammed it into first gear, surging forward and out of the parking lot. The shorter one chased behind me for a few feet, yelling something unintelligible and throwing a hand in the air, but I didn't care. I just wanted to get home.

Home was normal. Home was safe. Home didn't have monsters in it that shouldn't have existed outside of fiction.

That was the theory anyways. Sometimes life has a way of discarding theory and cheerfully kicking you in the face. Who knew?