word count: 4,490

rating: M (for later chapters)

Authors note/disclaimer: this is an OFC fic. I know many people don't like those so I wanted to get that out there right up front. There will also be a lot of dialogue and references to episodes of the show. I know "be original GOD!" but my brain had this thought of what would the life of a girl who gets tossed into this mess be like and since my brain doesn't know how to shut up this was born. There isn't any direct relationship between my OC and the boys, but there is an inferred PAST "relationship"/current angst between her and Dean for a while. (I know ppl hate that too so I wanted that out there as well.) Please DO leave comments about anything that you think isn't working or that is working well. Please only constructive criticism, outright wank is just juvenile and uncalled for. If you honestly hate it and have nothing constructive to say please keep those comments to yourself. THANKS! And I hope you enjoy! This is my introduction to fanfic writing and I don't know how to keep things short so it will be rather long and I apologize for any hellatus in between chapters.

Chapter One

The straps on her wrists cut deeper as she writhed in agony. The man she had grown to call her uncle dragged the blade of his knife across her skin for what she felt was the millionth time. The dim candlelight revealed his son, who wasn't much older than twenty-two, waiting in the corner behind him with fear in his eyes and indecision etched all over his face. She didn't blame John for what he was doing; all signs pointed to one conclusion. He was doing what he thought he had to. After all, she had lead them straight into an ambush and had almost gotten them all killed.

"Dad…" the boy in the corner whispered cautiously as John wiped the blood from his knife and dipped it into a large plastic jug of holy water.

. "Dean, either help or get out!"

Dean gave her a pleading look. She shook her head. He closed his eyes in defeat, walked out of the room, and slammed the back door as he left the house.

Strapped to the chair and unable to defend herself, she watched as John walked towards her, his face a picture of disgust and anger. "Now that we're alone, let's get this show officially on the road."

She could have sworn she saw a twisted look of remorse and apology flash across his face just as he brought the blade down across her left cheek.

Brooke awakened with a start, sweat covering her body and soaking her shirt. She sighed in relief when she realized she was still in her motel room, safe and alone. She slowly stood and walked the three feet to the bathroom. It had been five years since that long December night in Illinois, but she could still feel that blade slide across her skin.

As she walked across the bathroom she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and stopped to give herself a good once over. Long, chestnut wavy locks all in a jumble from tossing and turning - emerald green eyes above dark circles and bags from too many long nights; to the outside world, she was pretty, but the job had really taken its toll. Her small-breasted, twenty-two year old body was lean and strong, but all she saw were the scars. The faint lines that adorned her body were a reminder of her way of life, yet they were nothing compared to the pink scar on her left cheek that still haunted her. She lifted her hand and began tracing it from her left temple, following it dangerously close to her eye and down across her cheek, ending just before her bottom lip. Her mind flashed back to that moment - the moment John's blade slid across her face. The moment her father had burst into the room, saving her from further interrogation. The moment her family fell apart. She shook off the memory as she peeled off her tank and panties and slipped into the shower.

After Brooke had showered, dressed, and expertly concealed her scar with drug store makeup, she tossed her things into her duffle and walked out the door. With her job here complete, she was to return home to Minnesota. She knew her father was off somewhere in Ohio on a case, but it was their rule to return to base when they finished a job. She had been working cases on her own for only a few months now. It was nice to finally be out on her own, but going home was always something she looked forward to. She tossed her duffle in the back seat of her '69 Camaro, also known as the love of her life, and headed to the office to check out.

"Well, Miss Strandferd, did you enjoy your stay with us?" the wiry middle aged manager asked, as she handed him her room key. She just smiled. "It's all on your card. Will you be needing a receipt?" He had barely uttered the word "receipt" before she was out the door.

She slid into her car, popped open the glove box, and extracted a small black bag. She cursed as its contents spilled all over the passenger seat. There were credit cards and IDs of many different types, all containing various names from Baker to Marks to Young, none of which were hers. She quickly collected each piece of plastic and shoved them back in the bag along with Amy Strandferd's credit card. She sometimes felt guilty using fake IDs and cards that weren't hers, but this life didn't have a pay check. That was the life, and she accepted that a long time ago. She tossed the black bag back in the glove box next to her 9mm, revved the engine, and was on her way.

As Brooke drove along she couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. Another job well done, another family that can sleep soundly once again. She didn't get paid and it required breaking hundreds of laws, but knowing she'd made a difference in someone else's life made it all worth it to her. As per the rules she picked up her cell and dialed her father's number to check in. It went straight to voicemail, so she left a quick message telling him she would be back at base in just under a day's drive.

After a few hours on the road, her mind wandered back to the dream that had awoken her, the memory of the night she hadn't thought of in years. Her father and John had worked together off and on for years starting when she was just twelve. Their way of life doesn't allow for much in the department of relationships, on any level, but her father and John were thick as thieves. Whenever one needed help on a job, the other was right there to back them up. But that night… the night her father had trusted John to take her out on a hunt, the night she almost got them all killed, was the night that all fell apart. When her father walked into the house and saw her tied to a chair with John standing over her gripping a bloody knife, it was all over.

Her father pulled out his pistol, pointed it at John, and demanded that he drop the knife and step away from her. John tried to reason with her father and explain his actions. "You've seen it, she's not herself! Something is wrong with her! She's not your daughter!"Her father replied by putting a bullet in John's shoulder, sending him to the floor.

The sound of the gun going off brought Dean running back into the house. She watched him take in the scene of her father standing over his with a gun in his face. His eyes flashed to hers, looking for her to give him his next move, but it was all over, there was nothing left that could be done. Her inability to deal, her inability to handle what the two of them had done had broken her family apart.

"Get out of this house, don't call me again. I never want to see your face ever again. If I ever see you or your sons," he pulled the hammer back, "I swear to God."

That was the last time she ever saw any of them. Sam, who was just shy of a year older than her, had left for college two months prior and (as far as she knew) was unaware any of this ever went down. No one had really talked to him since he'd left. It was kind of a sore subject for John and Dean, and as she understood it, they parted on bad terms. Thinking back though, it did seem a bit melodramatic to allow herself to undergo torture so everything was kept a secret from their fathers, hers in particular. But she knew her father, they couldn't have said anything.

Dean was supposed to have been looking out for her, and if her father knew what went down…

She knew John wouldn't hurt her too badly, she could take it, but what her father would have done to Dean would have been much worse. Her father was a kind, loving man, but family was something he held sacred, and if anyone put his family in danger he wouldn't hesitate to put them down.

She smiled in spite of herself. Even with the way they all parted, the secrets, the drama, they were still part of her family. John may have tied her to that chair and cut her up pretty good, but he was still like an uncle to her, despite it all. John was the one who taught her how to work on cars and even helped her get started on the Camaro. She learned more from John and those boys in those five years than she had from her own father her entire life.

Brooke and the boys had their own unique relationships. She could talk to Sam on the phone for hours about everything – he hated this life and always wanted out, but she always managed to convince him that at the end of the day, it was all worth it. She liked Sam, they had a great rapport and were always there for each other. She was just never comfortable with him in person. She couldn't really explain it, she just got an uneasy feeling whenever he was around. She told Dean once, but that only started jokes about she and Sam having crushes on each other. When Sam left for school, he stopped calling and stopped taking her calls. He completely cut himself off. At first she was angry, but she learned to understand that you have to cut all ties and contacts in order to really get out. She missed him sometimes.

Brooke's relationship with Dean, who was nearly five years her senior, was a bit different. She'd admit she idolized him a little bit, even if he had the tendency to be a jerk sometimes. Having grown up in this life he had become an amazing hunter and learned to adapt to situations quickly. He knew what it took to get the job done, which for him included using his good looks and charm to his advantage. Dean was the one who taught her how to fire a gun when she was thirteen; he even gave her the gun that she kept in her glove box. Dean was the "Keeper of Sam" as she liked to call him, since he'd watched out for Sam ever since they were little. When Sam left, that need to protect someone seemed to transfer to her. She'd found him more annoying than her father at times. She had a lot of fond memories from those five years though, and knowing it was her mistake that led to the end made her heart ache.

Dean blamed himself for the lot of it, of course. Two days after her father had chased them away she got a voicemail from Dean apologizing for everything "It's me. I just…God… I promised I would always have your back and I let you down. I don't know what I was thinking, maybe I wasn't thinking, but I shouldn't have let it go that far. I should've..." He began to sniffle as he continued. "I should've stopped my dad, I should've just stepped in and ended it, but you had asked me not to say anything, so I didn't, But God, Brooke, I should have! And I'm sorry. It's all my fau-" and the message cut out. That was the first time she had ever heard him come even remotely close to crying. That was Dean though - always shouldering the responsibility. She had tried to call him back, but his number had been disconnected. She saved it though, because it was the last time she would ever hear from him. She listened to it so many times she lost count, but deleted it a year later when she decided she needed to move on.

So now it was just Brooke and her dad, since her mom had died when she was just a baby. Her dad kept the details pretty much to himself, but he told her when she was eight, after much crying and pleading. Something had killed her and he was determined to find what it was, and that was why he was hardly ever home. That was something over which he and John bonded. John had lost his wife to something as well and had a vendetta to find the thing that did it. It was John who convinced her father that keeping her in the dark and not teaching her to defend herself would come to no good. Little by little her father allowed John, an ex marine, to teach her hand to hand combat. She also pretended not to know how to use a gun when her father decided to teach her a month after Dean already had. She wanted to help, she wanted to be useful. She knew, just as John had explained, that she was a liability as long as she was kept in the dark, rendered useless. So she learned, and she learned as much as she could as quickly as she could.

She hadn't thought about those boys in a long time. The sound of her cell brought her back to the present and she let out a little laugh as she fished it from her jeans pocket. She noticed the sun had begun to set as she glanced at the caller ID. She didn't recognize it, but fellow hunters were always changing their numbers.

"Hello?"

"Brooke?" Her heart stopped. It had been five years, but she would know that voice anywhere.

"John?"

"Yeah it's me. Where are you?" There was a hint of concern in his voice.

"On I-90, just outside Winona."

"Pull over."

"John, I told Dad I would be home by nightfall, I can't just-"

"Just pull over." The sense of urgency in his voice had her concerned.

As she pulled the car over to the shoulder a terrible thought crossed her mind. One of the boys was dead. It had to be, why else would he break the silence after five years? Her mind began to race, trying to figure out which one it could be, how it could have happened, mixed with reminders to stay calm and wait for an explanation. She killed the ignition and prepared herself for the bad news.

"Parked. What's going on, John?"

"Don't go home."

"What do you mean, 'Don't go home'?"

"Go West on 90 until you hit Sioux Falls."

"You want me to go by Bobby's? Is there a job he needs help with? I mean, I'll help. Dad's in Ohio on a case, so I just gotta tell him I won't be home as planned."

"NO! Don't call your dad. They can't know where you are."

"Who's 'they', John? What's going on?"

John sighed and a sick feeling settled in her stomach. He wasn't calling about the boys.

"Dad's not in Ohio anymore, is he?"

"No. Caleb called me yesterday to tell me Pastor Mike was killed and that your father was on his way to help investigate."

She remained silent, waiting for the inevitable.

"They're gone, Brooke, Caleb and your dad. I'm so sorry." He paused for her reaction; all he received was more silence. She couldn't process what he had said. She heard it, but her brain refused to connect the dots. "This demon we've been chasing...it's going after everyone we've ever worked with, and when I found out about your dad, I had to be sure you were okay."

Her mind began to reel. Her father was gone, killed by this demon that John was after, killed because John was after it, killed because they had been friends. Her father was gone. She was all alone.

"Brooke, you there?"

She had to collect herself. Yes, her father was gone. Yes, she was all on her own now, but if what John was saying was true, she may be in danger. She had to compartmentalize and focus. A skill she was forced to master at a young age.

"Yeah, John, I'm here. So...Bobby's?"

There were very few hunters that didn't know Bobby Singer. He had become a staple in the community with his knowledge of the supernatural and his ability to uncover any information that one would need. If there was anywhere that Brooke would be safe from this demon, it was with Bobby. It had been a little over a year since she had seen the crotchety old man. She hated dropping all this on his door step after such a long hiatus, but she didn't think she had a choice.

She took a long look at the decrepit old house on the right as she rolled past broken down, rusting cars that filled his lot, a reminder of the life he led before he started hunting. He used to run a salvage yard – still did on the side, as a matter of fact. But just like all hunters, once you got into this life, it consumed you.

She parked her car behind the house, got out, and looked around. She saw the shop a few hundred yards away where she'd done some work on her Camaro years ago. This was also where she and her father had gotten into their first real fight. She was just a week shy of eighteen and he was getting ready to head out on a job with John, leaving Dean and Brooke at Bobby's. She had gotten wind of what she believed to be a potential haunting of a house in a town not too far away, something small, something easy, and she wanted to see if she could help this family out.

"Absolutely not and that's final."

"But Dad, it's just a simple haunting, nothing major." She said as she pulled a sawed off out of the trunk of her camaro and placed it in a duffle.

"I said no," her father had said taking the duffle out of her hands and tossing it into the trunk.

"I'm eighteen, I've been hunting for nearly six years, this is child's play compared to some of the hunts we've done."

"I don't care how long we've been at this and what kinds of things we have hunted, you are not doing this job alone." He shut the trunk with force and turned his back to her to walk away in an attempt to end the conversation.

"Than I'll have Dean come with me. He's done jobs like this on his own before it'll be like a milk run for him," she stepped in front of him cutting off his path to the exit. She was determined to go on this job. She was an adult now and she felt she needed to start proving she was truly useful. This wasn't the first time her father had dropped her at Bobby's to go on a hunt without her. Ever since she could remember he was ditching her here and there if he could. She always got the feeling that he didn't fully trust her as a partner. She knew it wasn't just out of protectiveness because when she was on a hunt with him he was always more concerned with getting the job done than her getting hurt.

"Absolutely not!" He startled her with how quickly and loudly he responded that time, "I don't care how many hunts he's done on his own, you sure as hell are not taking him with you."

"So does that mean I can go on my own?" She knew she was being overly hopeful, but a girl had to try.

"NO!" He pushed her aside and pulled open the door, "and if I even HEAR of you THINKING about going on this hunt, alone or not, I swear to God, Brooke," he gave her a glare to rival all glares before walking out the door.

She was so furious with her father that that night she snuck out of the house. When she opened the door to the shop she was almost surprised to find Dean leaning against her car.

"I figured you couldn't let this one lie," he said with a smirk as she popped the trunk to take quick inventory of her stash.

She had collected quite the arsenal over the years. Any time they had come across a new weapon she would find a way to fit it into her hideaway that John had helped her fit under the fabric in the trunk, mirrored after the one in his own car.

"I also figured that since this would be your first case without the old man that you might like some back up," he had added when she had remained silent.

"Thanks, but I think I can handle this on my own." She was too angry with her father and too determined to prove herself that she didn't want to deal with his annoying commentary at the moment.

"Did you completely read the file Bobby had on this?" He pulled a folded manila folder out of his back pocket and opened it, "apparently the family has been to the hospital a few times already for 'unexplained injuries'," he glanced up from the folder to take note of any recognition on her face. When he found none he continued, "So I kinda think that this spirit isn't too happy about something and probably won't like a stranger popping off salt rounds at it, but if you think you can handle a pissed off spirit on your first time out solo than be my guest." He folded the folder up and crossed his arms as he leaned against the car.

He was right. If this spirit was hurting the family it was definitely pissed off about something and the last thing she needed was to be tossed around a room and have her ass handed to her with no one to back her up. She knew that she could count on Dean not to snitch on her, but she also could count on him having a tiny bitch fit for leaving him behind. Besides, she could always trust Dean to have her back, he hadn't failed her yet.

"Fine," she couldn't help but smile when he raised his eyebrows and got this look like he was a five year old who was just told he was going to Disneyland, "but we're not listening to classic rock the entire way." The look of glee was replaced with that of sheer disappointment.

She closed her eyes remembering that job. If she had just listened to her father she never would have been tied to that chair all those years ago, there wouldn't have been the huge falling out and maybe, just maybe, her father would still be alive.

She turned to the house and walked up the steps. The back door opened just as her feet hit the top step and from inside the house emerged Bobby himself. He stopped short when he spotted her.

"Hiya, Bobby."

"Hey," He said softly as he wrapped his arms around her in a hug. "Sorry to hear about your daddy, kiddo," he said as he stepped back.

"Thanks." She stared at the ground. "Bobby," she sighed, "I need a huge favor."

"Anything, why don't you come on in?"

As she entered the house she was hit with the familiar smell of Old Spice and whiskey – the smells of Bobby. His home was an old farm house that had gone to the dogs. On every surface were books upon books, all dealing with the supernatural. In between the books were randomly placed bottles of whiskey, some empty, some on their way to being empty. She took a seat on the old musty couch amongst even more books.

"What can I do ya for?" Bobby said, all business-like as he sat on the edge of his desk.

"I need a place to hide out." No point in beating around the bush.

"Hide out? You think whatever it was that got your dad is after you?"

"I don't know if it is or not, but John thinks it might be and-"

"John Winchester?"

"Yeah, he said this demon he's after is ganking all the people he's ever worked with and told me to hide out here."

Bobby stood up, removed his ball cap, ran his fingers through what little hair was left, and sighed. As he replaced the ball cap he said, "Sure. I can put you up for a bit, or until John figures this shit out, the idjit."

"Thanks, Bobby. And you know I don't expect this to be rent free, I'll help you out with anything you need while I'm here."

"Damn straight you will," he said with a smile.

Bobby was a crotchety old man who spoke his mind, was tough as nails, and one of the best hunters she'd ever met, but he'd always treated her like one of his own. She'd even once heard him say to her father, "I think of her as my daughter too, Chris. I'm not about to see anything happen to her either."

She tossed her duffle on the bed in the spare room, flopped down, and stared at the ceiling. She tried to think of anything else except her father being gone. She tried to think about the noise her car had begun to make on the way here and what that could possibly be. She tried to think about her most recent case. She tried to think about sleeping. But no matter how hard she tried she kept hearing John's voice telling her that her father was dead.

She felt a tear break free and it was all over.

Everyone she had ever cared for was gone. She cursed her life and cursed her father for ever bringing her into this. It was nothing but death. Every time she got close to anyone they were ripped from her, either by death or by the sheer messed up realities of her world. She was quick to remember that it had been John who convinced her father, who had wanted her to remain clueless, that he should bring her in to this. John… if they had never met John none of this would have happened. Her father would still be alive. If John wasn't so reckless that damned demon would never have gone after her father, would never have left her alone in this horrible place. She vowed that she would get out of this life, start an honest, regular life, but not until she found the demon that had killed her father and sent it back to Hell.