The night was breezy and the air fresh from the summer storms that had ravaged the coast of California. That would be a problem, considering the demon's strong sense of smell. Sighing in contempt for the vile beings, Sarah O'Connor surveyed the terrain for a possible escape route. Coolly she shot a demon in the chest as his eyes turned black, with her shorn-off shotgun. Leaping from the top building, she landed awkwardly on one knee. Grunting in pain, Sarah took up her bike that was leaning on the side of the building. She would have to come back later, when things were less complicated. Panting slightly, she started her black motorcycle. Slamming her helmet onto her head, she took off down the dirt road. There could be no restful sleep for her tonight. Gunshots rang out behind her. She started to change course into the woods surround the old broken down warehouse. Keeping close to the road, she tried to recollect how many demons were now after her. She wasn't worried about being possessed, she was protected. Now out of sight from the warehouse, she swerved back onto the open road. Her plan, needless to say, was useless against the number of demons against her. She was only one person after all. Upon reaching the country motel, she speeded onto the premises, not caring for the customers she would be waking. Stopping the bike at her room number, she took her key from the duffel bag secured to the bike's rear bumper. She took her helmet and the duffle bag inside the room with her. The demons would, no doubt try to follow her. She would have to leave as early in the morning as possible. Sarah angrily slammed the door behind her. She was angry with herself for not anticipating the demon's simple yet smart plan to lure her into the compound filled with members from its own cult. She had walked into the compound stupidly, underestimating her opponent. That was the one thing her father had always told her. Never underestimate your enemy. That was rule number one and she broke that rule without thinking. Setting her helmet on the cheap pine table, she grabbed some rock salt and poured it around the door, window sills and even the little bathroom window. They might even send a child to assassinate her. They had done it before. She had to kill the child after she forced the demon to leave the poor broken body of the four year old boy. She had never forgiven herself for that. Sarah couldn't have any weaknesses; she was too valuable to lose from the organisation. Father Emerson had told her that himself. Double checking she had the room protected efficiently, she prepared herself for her samurai exercises. Plugging earphones into her ears, she took the long blade from its sheath in the duffle bag. With careful even breathing, she pondered the night's events as she gently lilted the blade in the formations shown to her by Father Emerson, excising her muscles and tendons all through her tense body. The demon said that she was too special to simply allow escape. He said that he needed her for one of his plans to gain more power. How she didn't know. All she knew how to do was to hunt these beings with supreme accuracy- an assassin. To her, God was nothing. He sat by and did nothing, while innocent people had to do His job for Him. He was just another excuse for her to get angry. She believed in Him, of course- that didn't mean that she had to like Him. She felt her muscles relaxed from the exercise, weaken and begin to buckle against the weight of the sword. Tenderly sliding the blade back into its sheath, she prepared herself for a long hot shower. She ended up having a cold shower- all the hot water had already been used up by other customers at the dodgy motel. Gasping at the icy water's touch, she tried to shower as quickly as possible. Stepping out from the shower, she wrapped a towel around her still wet body. Something was wrong. Sarah stepped onto the carpet. Her duffle bag wasn't where she had left it on the table. Instead, it was on her bed. She looked around for the intruder but found no one. She felt a gentle wind brush her skin. She looked to the door. It was wide open, slightly swinging in the breeze. Checking for danger, she walked to her duffle bag and searched through it. Nothing had been taken. That was small relief, knowing that what she did for a living was not what ordinary people would deem suitable for a young lady such as herself, especially the weapons that came with it. With what was in her bag to the inexperienced eye, anyone could deem her a terrorist or criminal. A danger to society. A society she was trying so hard to save. Slamming the door shut, she got dressed and hopped into the sheets. Shutting her eyes, she would have to get up early next morning to leave. Father Emerson would not be happy. Sarah slipped into darkness. She never dreamed. Not since the accident.

When Sarah woke up, she was covered in a light covering of sweat, trying to remember her nightmare. Groaning she rolled over to see the time. It was 5am. Sitting up in her bed, she was relieved. Today she would be leaving this place and hopefully never coming back again. Sarah went about packing quickly. After pulling on her favourite pair of jeans and a plain black tank top, she shrugged on her faded green jacket. She was ready to leave. Before leaving the room, she stood at the blind covered window and watched for any demons. After making sure there were no people in sight, she organised some money to pay for the room that she would leave under the door for the owner of the motel with the key to her suite. In times like this, it was safer to not have any association with anyone on the job. Locking the room behind her, she walked out into the early morning sunshine. After securing her belongings to her bike, she made her way to the managing office. It was then the hand came out of no where to grip her shoulder strongly. On reflex, she grabbed the man's hand and twisted the limb up and around, until she had him pushed up against the wall on his knees with one hand twisted up behind his back and the other too far away to even touch her. He was trapped and he knew it. She observed him. He was medium height, with light brown hair and blue-green eyes. He smiled up at her from the ground.

The man laughed uncomfortably. "Uh, sorry- thought you were someone else. My mistake," he said, the cockiness of his voice filling her with distaste for the man. "My name's Dean…I would shake your hand…but well, you got me tied up." It was almost as if he was being sexually suggestive, judging by the slight huskiness of his voice.

Sarah narrowed her eyes and tightened her grip on the man's wrist before letting him go reluctantly. She turned away from him to walk back to her bike.

"I don't remember your name," he said.

"That's because I didn't tell you."

He waited patiently. As if she would tell him. He could turn on her in a second if there were any demons nearby.

"And I am not ever going to," she finished curtly before starting her bike and zooming out of the car park of the motel.

She stopped at a little street café, not long after she had left the motel. She knew it was stupid to stay so close to the motel but she was hungry. Sarah was very disappointed. Already there at the café, was the man she had almost beaten the daylights out of. She watched Dean smile up at her, in what he hoped to be a charming manner. To her, it was repulsive. Dean wasn't alone. There was another man with him, sipping his coffee while tapping away at a laptop computer. Before she could remove herself from the café, Dean called out to her.

"Remember me?"

"How could I forget?" Sarah shot back. "I pretty much beat you up back there."

He glared at her. The man sitting next to Dean sniggered slightly and looked at her.

The man spoke. "You can sit down if you want. Anyone who can take Dean in a fight can sit with us any time."

Despite herself, Sarah smiled. It vanished at soon as it came when she realized there were no more tables. Muttering an apology to Dean and the unknown man, she sat down.

"I'm Sam. This is Dean."

"So I've heard. I'm Sarah," she shook hands with Sam before resentfully shaking hands with Dean.

She heard Dean mutter something under his breath- something about telling Sam her name.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" she asked curiously.

She watched with satisfaction as his ears turned red. "No, no I didn't," Dean replied reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.

As Dean called for the waitress, Sarah sat back and observed the two men. They could have only been brothers. "So, you two are brothers?" she asked.

"Yeah, we are. How did you know?" Sam asked.

"Well," Sarah began, a mischievous glint coming into her eyes, "I knew because two guys sitting in a café together eating breakfast could only be gay or brothers. Judging by your behaviour, I knew you're not gay. If you were gay then it's safe to assume that you would be all over each other."

Dean spat out the mouthful of coffee he had just taken a sip of. After he had coughed a bit, he said, "Yeah right…though I'm not too sure about Sammy over there…"

Sarah laughed at the look on Sam's face, as he protested through a mouthful of pancakes. Looking up at the waitress she asked, "I'll have an apple Danish with cream and a black coffee with one sugar, thanks." After the waitress brought what she asked for, Sam's face turned serious.

"Sarah, we need to know something."

"Ask away," she replied curtly, propping her feet up onto of the spare seat next to her while taking a bite out of her apple Danish.

"We need to know what you were doing last night between 8:30pm and 10:00pm."

Sarah thought about it. She could tell the truth but where would that leave her if they were the enemy? She flattened her fringe calmly over the gash she had received as a parting gift from the demon. "I was washing my hair," she said finally.

"The person, who attacked me this morning, isn't that ordinary. And, you were the only person who owned a motorbike at the motel. We can help you. Trust me when I say that," Dean said.

Sarah took a breath. She still didn't trust them. "I was meeting someone."

"Will you tell us who?" Sam asked.

"No," Sarah shook her head. The conversation had gone far enough. Slapping some notes down on the table, she grabbed her apple Danish and walked out of the café. "Thanks for the seat, guys." She put the rest of the apple Danish into her mouth and put her helmet onto her head. Straddling her bike, she set off back to Lawrence, in Kansas to meet Father Emerson.