'Rain. Some say it was God sent and only Noah was spared, some say its just atmospheric precipitation. Either way i hate it. I got into my small one bedroom apartment, and shrugged off my overly large raincoat. Struggling darkly into the bathroom i manged to snag a towel from the rack behind the door. Rubbing my hair with the towel, I wandered casually into my main room and slumped into the chair and threw the towel onto the lazee boy chair sitting in front of my TV.

"Mr Monroe? Zachery Monroe?"

I looked up to spot a petite figure standing next to my window. Outside the window was a fire escape that led to street level and to the alleyway that led between my building and the bakers. Baking bread was usually the first thing i smelt in the morning. Better than any alarm clock.

"Sorry ma'am but my name is Peter Faraday, i am afraid you have broke in here for nothing. I don't know any Munro"

She took a deep breath and a hesitant step forward as if she were afraid to bring herself into the light. She was small, maybe 5' - 5'2, slim build but with big eyes that would put any anime artwork to shame. Her hair was free flowing and sat round her shoulders, framing her face with a halo of blond light. She was beautiful in a fragile kinda way, but she was also memorable and i did remember her...from a different life.

She gestured towards my bedroom, there was no bed in the room, just a desk, some chairs, a laptop and a wall full of names written in marker behind the laptop. I don't sleep, i think sometimes even if i could, i wouldn't

"My brothers name is on your wall."

I had a lot of excuses, previous tenant, graffiti, gang marks, but it didn't seem right to lie to her.

I sighed in resignation

"Yes, it is as well as 734 more."

She looked at me as a scientist examining a curiosity through their microscope.

"What we do stays with us, good or bad. I think sometimes we all need reminding of that"

Her lower lip started trembling. Victims come in all shapes and sizes. There are the ones that populate the graves and the ones who live at the gravesides. War made a lot of soldiers, but terrorists killed a lot of victims. Personally i never saw the difference,dead is dead. It comforts people to know how someone died, if it was nobly for their country or stopping a gang-banger holding up Ma and Pa's grocery store. People take comfort in that kind of action.

At my peak i was a bastard and i don't mean 'oh naughty naughty', i mean war crimes, Hitler was an angel compared to me kinda bastard. I killed people in self defense, but knowing you are better,tougher, stronger than anyone else doesn't make it a fair fight, knowing you are going to win, doesn't make you brave. I could say that if i was loved, by my parents, by the girl next door by the crush i had then it might not have happened. But right here, right now. I am a bastard and this girl deserves to have her pound of flesh.

"Yes, i killed him"

"You killed all those people? On your wall?"

I found it hard to talk. As if somehow if i said 'yes i did' then that would make it more real. People justify actions, but not a lot of them can live with them. I did that cos of that, it wasn't me, it was circumstances, if that didn't happen then i never would have done it. Justifiable homicide, a legal term coined to explain why anyone would want to take anyone's life. Downward spiral is a better term.

"I killed them...all. And i see their faces every night. Tall, thin, fat, small, Asian, Caucasian, African American, Jewish. I did it"

She broke down and collapsed into my lazee boy.

"I want you to help me kill someone"

150 Miles away: The tall FBI agent sized up the female policewoman. She looked from the badge to his face and back again

"Agent Oates? Why is the FBI here? We caught the sum bitch.", her Texan drawl was almost tourist cute. Jess had had one helluva fake Texan accent, it was one of the things that attracted him to her, her love of all things non serious. Smurfs, Halloween, how she nearly always put him first, it made him smile despite himself

He didn't realize he did it, but he did it whenever he thought of Jessica. His face seemed to take on a whole new light. He felt happy that she had made him happy but at the same time, he felt sad as if a piece of his hart had been ripped out. A demon who had haunted him his whole life did it to get his head back in the game. He thought that he had escaped it, but there are two things Sam Winchester learned you cant escape. Family and Fate. And he had tried to escape both at various parts of his life. The demon was dead now, dead and gone but as Sam realized, it was a case of one down and many more to go.

He cleared his throat, "Yeh we know, its just really a followup to make sure we dotted all the 'i's and crossed the 't's, we don't want him getting off on a technicality. He 's going for the insanity plea"

"No sane man coulda done what was done to that Farmer girl, but he stalked her for weeks before. If that ain't sane then i don't know what is and then there was all the other girls, musta been about 10. Cunning, agent, i tell ya, cunning as a rattler, but i wouldna called him insane"

"Yeh true but still, we have to check out everything...again"

Sam put on his tired-of-doing-all-this-crap face and hoped she bought it

"Where the hell was Dean?", Sam thought to himself

Dean kicked up some dirt as he stormed back and forth on his cell.

"Bobby! We cant leave yet, we got a demon here with a touch for the country girls"

Dean heard a sigh on the phone, "Dont'cha think i know that and if it was anywhere else i woulda called someone else but you two idjits are the closest i got. I called Hendricks and Randolph and they should be there by the morning. There good kids. But i got a call from a guy called Zachary Monroe and he wants to talk to you about some guy called Bobby Frampton, that ring any bells?"

Dean sighed and looked at his feet.

"Yeh, five towns back, demon got him to start a rite, we had to gank him. What about it? And whose Monroe?"

Bobby Singer took a deep breath as he sat watching his eggs boiling on his old gas cooker

"I dunno if you will have heard of it but it was a legend in your daddy's day about a hunter who was the best of the best. Every so often something would pop up. Vampire leaving town or demons scarpering, and all other hunters would say was that 'Monroe musta been there'. Don't know what he looks like or what he's like, but judging from what folk say he has been hunting long before your granddaddy's time and then some."

"Bobby, that ain't possible, not without heavy mojo!"

"I know that, but that is what folks say. He is kinda hero to some, and a bitch to others. But do not get on his wrong side or..."

Dean looked at his phone

"Or...what?"

Bobby sighed.

"Kid, you don't wanna know. Just git and meet Monroe in the 'Strong Arms in Buffalo Creek, Michigan"

Dean sighed, "Yeh OK i got it, we will move out first thing tomorrow."

To be continued...