Written for the summergen Challenge livejournal.

Prompt: I'd like a story where the OCs have agency, especially some female OCs.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Just playing on Kripke's playground.

Dreamers and Renegades

by annj_g80

Nebraska, Middle of Nowhere, 21st July 2007

The Winchesters had touched lives as they had touched death. That's what they did.

What goes around, comes around, ain't it.

Isn't it now what this is called? One huge closing circle with no beginning and no ending. Always on the road. New cities, new folks, new victims to save. No one said it was easy and usually … no one said thanks. Which was okay. Getting shot in the back by the confused almost-victims of a loose Wendigo in the Wisconsin woods was not surprising, either. Hell, it wasn't even new. It was just...

"That sucks, man," Dean bellowed, hitting his hand against the steering wheel. "We just saved their sorry butts and they shoot us? That's not cool, man. That is so not cool."

Sam flinched, when his brother drove the Impala recklessly through the narrow, unpaved street. Not mainly because of the shotgun's pellets in his back, which fortunately had mostly been held back by his jacket, but because Dean seemed to take every pothole with full force and without even attempting to avoid them.

"Dean, watch...!" The car complained loudly, when it hit another hole, a loud clang rang out and now even Dean flinched and took his foot from the gas pedal. "...out."

"See, now they're even hurting my baby."

"Your... " Sam swallowed the next words, counted until twenty – in steps of five – and tried his best to lessen the pressure against his mistreated lower back where obviously some of the pellets HAD hit its home. "You're the one driving like a maniac along a dark and unpaved back road."

Dean threw Sam a "don't mess with me now"-look. "I need a beer. The faster, the better."

"Could we please..." Another pothole and Sam winced, hoisting his butt of the seat when finally Dean seemed to realize Sam had some... other problems.

"Dude, did they get you? Did they HIT YOU?" Dean's eyes went wide and it would have been comical if Sam hadn't felt so utterly and indescribably embarrassed.

"Well, let's just say, you might need more than one beer before you patch me up.

This time, the older brother groaned and put his foot back on the pedal.

"This case officially sucked."

And if only knew how things were not going better from this point on.

oOoOo

White Pine Elementary School, Idaho, Boise - January, 21st 1996

The hallways of the school were bathed in the greenish colour of the emergency exits lights. Their steps were echoing from the walls, decorated with innumerable posters and announcements and information sheets.

"Hmmm, cake sale, next Tuesday." Dean whispered and Sam could hear him grinning, all teeth and eyes.

"Shut up!"

The soles of their feet squeaked and with just a little imagination it'd pass for mice.

"Come on, Sammy. Apple pie. Real apple pie. Not the one that comes in a plastic wrapping."

"Shut. Up!" Sam replied, hunching lower next to the information counter in the little office, where Ms. Bender usually sat with a face sour enough to make lemons sweet. "And it's Sam!"

It was just a recon mission. In and out. Get the information about the teacher they needed … and out again. No one would see them. No trouble at all. Their father expected them back in twenty minutes with the needed input.

Easy as pie.

"I'm hungry. Stupid poster!" Murmured Dean and this time Sam just rolled his eyes, not even acknowledging his brother's remark. "Let's hurry. We could pick up a burger on our way..."

"Quiet!"

It must have been the tone that made Dean's mouth act like a dying fish on shore.

"What is it?"

Sam pointed to the small streak of light coming from the open door to the director's office. Clicking sounds were coming out of its direction, followed by an angry "Crap, crap, CRAP!"

Sam and Dean looked at each other, then towards the door.

That so hadn't been planned like this.

"Who do think is in there?"

"Definitely not Director Schyder" Sam answered, creeping further to take a peek around the corner. "He hates this school and doesn't want to spend more time in it than necessary." He frowned, eyeing Dean quizzically. "Kinda like you."

"Ha! Smart ass!" Without making any noise Dean passed Sam's position to lower on the other side of the open door.

"You stupid... thing!" The voice squeaked again and Dean could see Sam's eyes getting round as saucers.

"What? You know who that is?" He whispered and risked to take a quick glance through the window glass that covered the upper part of the door. "That's a girl."

"Well yeah," replied Sam and groaned. "That's Boo."

"Huh? Is that the new way of saying "That sucks" or something like that?" Dean huffed. "Weird, the kids today."

"Dean, you're a kid, too."

"I'm seventeen."

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

Dean thought for a moment, searching for a convincing argument. "I can drive."

"Doesn't mean you should."

"You..." Searching for the right words Dean's mouth opened and closed a few times before he settled into a nice and reliable. "And you stink."

"What?" Sam pressed his lips together, curled his lips and counted till twenty... in steps of five of course. "Also, that's her name."

"Her name's Stink? Poor girl."

A noise, deep and throaty escaped Sam's lips and he replied, still trying his best to keep his voice down. "Boo. That's her name, you moron." Which didn't help easing Dean's bewilderment.

"Boo? That's even worse. Who names his kid Boo?"

"My Mom did!", chirped a new voice, loud and clear and with sounds, that twinned themselves at both sides of the door, Sam and Dean landed on their respective butts. "And it's not really Boo, it's Bozica. That's Slavic. It means 'Born on Christmas'." She explained happily, as if they weren't meeting at night in the school in front of their director's office.

"What are you doing here?"

Folding her arms in front of her chest she frowned. "I could totally ask you the same, you know?"

"Yeah. You could. But you really don't want to," Dean replied smugly, getting his feet under himself and up. He straightened to make himself as threatening as possible but the girl, who was a whole feet smaller than him, didn't even have the decency to blink.

"So, maybe I'm really curious?" She said and crossed her arm provokingly in front of her chest.

"Don't you know what they're saying? Curiosity killed the cat." Dean grunted mockingly and imitated her stance, leaning casually against the window glass.

"Lucky for me I'm not a cat, huh?" Her smile was wide and honest and Sam huffed unbelieving. This was even better than TV.

"Guys!" he turned their attention towards him – adding awkwardly "... and ... girl," when he realized her affronted expression. Both of them were looking at him expectantly until he, all of sudden, grabbed her shoulder and pushed her out the way of the big, ugly and totally unexpected tentacle that came out of one of the open cabinet doors in the office behind them.

„Hey!" She yelped indignantly and when Sam had made sure she was out of harm's way and tucked more or less safely under the table he let himself drop, too.

„What the hell?" Dean cursed in the meantime and Sam could see him jump into motion, pulling his out of the sleeve of his jacket and aiming at the thing rather erratically. „ Woah, what is this? That is disgusting."

A surprised cry came from somewhere behind Sam and again he made sure Boo was not moving out of her hiding place before he rushed towards his brother, who had obviously some minor problems with the glibbery thing... which was now wrapped around his torso.

"Sam! Do something!"

"What?"

"Sammy. Your brain is big enough to memorize freaking Shakespearean sonnets! What do I know? Make a bomb out of a paper clip and ink cartridge or something."

Sam smirked, mumbling "No more McGyver for you!" under his breath but set himself in motion when Dean made a painful gasp. "The knife! Where's the knife!"

"Kinda... indisposed" Dean grunted his teeth nodded toward the tip of the blade that was peeking from between his chest and the talon.

"Great, Dean! Way to go! "

"Shut up and.... ngghh!" The rest was muffled by the tentacle, which was curling closer and tighter around Dean until only his eyes were visible, wide open and screaming bloody murder.

This was not going like planned. What happened with the "going in, going out, grab a burger on the way home"? Ruffling his hair in a confused way Sam looked around. This was a secretariat for God's sake. There was a copy machine, some pencils, a broken ruler, a few loose papers and a monitor bulky enough to slay a grown up cow with it.

Well yeah, he thought merrily, I could kill Dean with it. The tentacles will probably loose interest in him this way.

Throwing one last look at his brother who was slowly being dragged into the cupboards direction he rummaged through drawer after drawer until, with a victorious scream of triumph, he found what he was looking for.

Letter openers should be forbidden in public schools. Someone could get hurt. Seriously.

The foul stench of rotten eggs penetrated his nose when he neared his brother and stabbed the scabby skin over and over, ignoring the painful complains of his brother when he accidently nicked his brothers skin with the blade's tip.

"Sorry!" He squeaked repeatedly until the thing seemed to loosen its grips.

He almost dropped his weapon when he found himself next to Boo, who was happily pressing the stapler against the slimy tentacle followed by a clicking sound.

"Ha, eat this!" She said dramatically, holding the small device like .45 in her right hand.

"What are you doing, Boo?"

"I'm helping."

"No, you're not. This is... disturbing. Stop it!"

Dean, his mouth finally free, sighed. "Okay, stop flirting." To Boo. "Creative. I like that. You can send us a fruit cake as a thank you. We might even not snitch you on the police for breaking into a public building." Brushing the limp tentacle aside he stepped away from it, shaking himself with disgust. Where he had been wrapped he was covered in a sticky, purple substance and as if it was Sam's fault, he threw him an annoyed glance. "You totally blew this, Sammy."

"What? Now the slimy monster is my fault, too?"

The mangled limb was backing away sluggishly and vanished into the cabinet, actually closing the door behind it. Really, this was the weirdest case ever and Sam and Dean stared at it for a few seconds, heads dipped to their side before getting back to their former argument.

"Well, I'm not the one telling Dad about a tentacle coming out of the closet when everything we were supposed to do was getting some … stuff!" Sam finished lamely after throwing an irritated glance at Boo. She seemed interested enough and the only thing missing were the 3D glasses and a bowl of popcorn.

"Would you mind?" bellowed Dean after a short pause. "This is a family thing."

She shrugged and strained her eyes, thinking really hard for a second. "So..." She finally said and it sounded more conclusively than questioning. "You guys do this a lot, huh?

oOoOo

Nebraska, little less middle of nowhere, 21st July 2007

The bottle of Whiskey was almost empty and Dean was really glad, he still had enough left to give the alcohol the chance to drown the last half hour of his life.

"Next time I get shot I promise to present my body in another angle," Sam had promised right before he had plummeted himself prostrate on the bed and Dean had collected the first aid kit to stitch up his brother's backside. Most of the splints had embedded themselves just above Sam's waistline... but not all. And so Dean had ended up drunk before he even made the first stitch. He returned the bottle in Sam's shaking hands only after he felt his sight blur. And a blurry sight while putting a needle in his brothers ass? Oy, that would haunt him for centuries.

Carefully cleaning the slightly blood crusted skin from his sleeping brother's back he took some steadying breaths and waited until the room stopped making somersaults like a hamster in a plastic ball.

"You owe me for that one, Sammy," He noted, more to himself because Sam was out cold ever since his second gulp of the amber colour liquid. "Ridiculous," Dean commented, half amused, half disappointed and collected his utensils, throwing the used cotton pads into the waist bin.

Sam's breathing was steady, deep, and Dean waited just a few more seconds, before he took the bottle from Sam's lax fingers and drank the sorry remains. Unfortunately it wasn't enough to actually make him forget about the incident rather than making his world tilt again and he felt suddenly sick to the stomach, resisting the urge to get rid of its little contents. Great, now even the alcohol was turning against him. He turned the lights down and lay into the second bed not even bothering to take his shoes of. If Sam was allowed to lie in bed with his head and arms hanging over the edge like a drunken sailor over the rail, then he should be allowed to leave his boots on, thank you very much.

A car was passing the motel and the headlights flew over the ugly wallpaper like spotlights in a theatre play. Before they had reached the other side of the wall Dean's eyes had closed shut and his contented snores were filling the air...

… only to be interrupted what felt like seconds later by the obnoxious ringing of a phone. He yelled at it before he even hit the green button, which it got him an irritated glance from Sam, who had problems coordinating his eyes. One of it was almost open while the second eyelid looked glued shut by both sleep deprivation and one mighty hangover from hell.

"What?!" Dean bellowed into the device and winced at the same time, his head obviously not very approving of the loud voice and the fast movement. "Oh hell, please swallow me whole already!" He mumbled, holding his stomach for a second before letting the phone fall and running into the small bathroom, from which retching noises could be heard seconds later. It took Sam some time to realize that a) Dean was puking his guts out, b) he did that after picking up the phone and c) the tinny voice he heard from the floor in front of him did not in fact belong to the ugly umbrella stand that decorated the spot next to the entry.

"B'bb'?" He cleared his throat as best as he could and tried again, louder this time and hoping he did not sound as awful as he felt. "B'bby!" No such luck.

"Sam? Boy, is that you?" The voice yelled from the distance of three feet plus a couple of hundred miles air telephone line.

"Mmh, yeah! I think." Sam answered and hoped, there would be no need to move to get the mobile. But obviously Bobby was hearing him just fine because he yelled on, his voice loud and clear even though it wasn't on loudspeakers.

"What the hell have ya gotten yourself into again?"

"Uhm..." Sam thought for a second which was surprisingly hard work because his streams of thoughts kept losing their way, strolling away out of his ears and Riverdancing on the top of his skull. "I think I was shot," he finally answered and, boy, he was as proud of his conclusion as he was when he finally learned how to make a knot out of bunny ears.

"You were shot?" There was a short pause on the line and Sam was already close to falling asleep again when Bobby's returned to its in-corporal way of fretting. "Are ya 'kay, son?" The older man sounded strangely dramatic and Sam wanted to tell him it was okay, he was okay, he shouldn't worry but it felt like too much to ask. "Where's Dean? You a'right?"

"Well, no. I was shot. And ... I think I'm a little.. out of it." Understatement of the year.

"Out of it? Are you on drugs?" Bobby wanted to know and Sam felt like he should be affronted.

"Drugs? No... don' do no drugs."

"Sam! Concentrate! Are you severely injured?"

Sam couldn't help it. Snorting helplessly he replied. "On'y my pride. I wa' shot in the ass."

His head seemed to have cleared a little even though the rest of his body was still in some kind of a waking coma. Moving was totally out of question if he intended to not imitate his brother's prayers to the porcelain God.

"You were..." Bobby started and Sam had problems understanding the rest of the sentence. Mostly, because it came out as a barking laughter.

"That's not funny, Bobby." He complained as seriously as he could manage and was glad when Bobby finally calmed down enough to stop coughing and wheezing into the phone.

"Sorry, boy." Sam could hear him take a deep breath and adjusted his hurting body on the mattress. "I just thought ya morons already pulled every stunt … twice."

"Why are you calling, anyway?" Sam grunted and finally stretched his arm out to grab for the phone to hold it against his ear... which was easier said than done.

"To remind ya of the idjits that you are, of course." Bobby's tone had finally found back to its usual gruffness and Sam felt less humiliated immediately. There'd be enough teasing of Dean to deal with. Having Bobby laugh at his little... dilemma was more than inconvenient.

Apropos Idjits... "Hold on for a second, Bobby," Sam said and turned towards the bathroom door. "Dean?"

"Yeah?" came the subdued answer, followed by another gagging sound and a moan. "Oh, those burgers were baaaad."

"Dean's okay. It's just his eating habits catching up with him." He couldn't suppress the evil smirk on his lips when he remembered the greasy looking burger from last evening. They had smelled worse than some things they hunted but Dean wouldn't listen.

Bobby made a huffing noise and harrumphed, his manner back to business. "Where're ya?"

Sam strained his memory once more – no more alcohol for him... ever … by the way. "Wyoming. Why?"

"Got something for ya and I doubt it's good news."

"Is it ever?"

"In your world?" He made a hacking sound that could have been another laughter. "Anyway, had a visit from a young woman, redhead. Ya can't trust a redhead. Worse than a rabid chihuahua, I tell ya. Wanted to know how to reach ya. Told her, I didn't know you."

"Who was it?"

"Told me she was a friend of yours, which..." He gruffed an unbelieving sound. "... hope not. Said her name was Boo-something and she needed your help. Got a bad feeling. She doesn't bring flowers and butterflies, I tell ya."

"Boo? Her name was Boo?" Sam cleared his throat before speaking on. "Boo? Brings Christmas-something?"

"Yeah! So, you know her?"

Sam let his head fall back onto the mattress and sighed.

"I suppose. Don't tell me she had a fruit basket with her?"

oOoOo

White Pine Elementary School, Idaho, Boise - January, 25st 1996

Monday morning. The stream of students waltzed across the lawn, coming from all directions like a single snake winding its way into the building. Sam watched them pass, listened to their chattering, observed their carefree appearances, their stable life in front of them but not able to see or appreciate it. Something in his stomach twisted when he reminded himself that this was just going to be another goodbye. And it definitely wouldn't be the last. Just another step on the long ladder of rising towards his own freedom.

After only three months in Boise his father had caught all the baddies, had cleaned up the area like a garbage man collecting all the dirt from the streets and now it was time to break camp and move on to another place where the things still bumped in the night. He had liked the school, the teachers and even had found a few friends. Friends, who he never would be seeing again but never forget their names.

He felt the annoyed and impatient gaze of his father on his back and finally got his gear in motion. Pressing his books closer to his chest he moved towards the entrance. Even though no one knew his real name or anything particularly important about him or his family or his future whereabouts he did not intend to leave this place without returning the library books. („Honestly, Sammy. We're probably wanted in 53 states for credit card fraud and assault and you don't want to steal library books? Sometimes you're freaking me out!")Admittedly, his brother's laughing fit was probably well deserved but he didn't want another guilty conscience added to his ever growing mountain of bad karma points, even if it was just a tattered copy of A Tale of two Cities which no doubt would never be touched again by anyone except the librarian, who sorted it back into its ancestral spot in the shelf where it would degenerate and collect dust like a vacuum cleaner.

Holding his head low he bustled into the building and strode straight ahead into the adjacent library, where Ms. Wildingham was just about to boot the computer, where she administered the loaned and returned books.

"Good morning," he greeted her and she looked up surprised. It was rare, not to the first time, that a student entered the library even before the first period had started.

"Sam? Good morning."

"Just wanted to return my book before..." He stopped short and put the book on the counter, taking a step backwards as if to remove himself from his last life as fast as possible. "Gotta go. Calculus..." He turned around... and the swinging door hit his nose with vengeful bravado.

"Mngh ww!" he yelled and pressed his hand against his pained nose. Blinking beyond his fingers he recognized Boo, who was pressing her own hand against her o-shaped mouthed.

"Sam? Oh God, I'm sorry I didn't mean to..." She had come closer fast and tried to pry his fingers away from his nose, which was already swelling rapidly. "Oh damn, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, Sam. Really. I didn't see you."

"Oh lucky me," he muttered and felt like Bambi driven into a corner. Which made Boo the trigger happy hunter.

"I think your nose is bleeding," She stated matter of factly and produced a tissue out of her pocket, holding it towards Sam. "Oh, and I got something for you."

Oh, this couldn't be good.

"See..." Now she looked down, her right arm still hidden behind her back and Sam was almost afraid of what she would want to give him. He didn't know why, but her presence made him itchy, uncomfortable and more aware of his fading life forces than a whole family of Shtrigas. "I never got the chance to say, you know..." Her shoes seemed very interesting in this particular moment and she did not look him in the eyes when she held him something large and … exotic smelling under his still bleeding nose.

"A fruit basket?"

She grinned apologetically. "Nothing says more Thank you than a sweet pineapple."

It had taken days for Dean to recover from his laughing fit whereas for Sam, pineapples were never the same again.

oOoOo

Epiphany, South Dakota, 21st July 2007

Driving the 635 miles back to South Dakota was no fun. No fun at all. Not just for the fact that Dean felt miserable and looked green around the gills whereas Sam cursed the human anatomy for its incapability of having a second butt to sit on, but both of them had the distinct feeling of driving headways into their doom.

"Tell me again why we're doing this, Sam?" Dean said quietly, not trusting his stomach enough to glance sideways at his brother.

"She needs help."

"I don't know, man. I have a bad feeling with her. Plus, if you haven't noticed, we're not exactly the dream team right now. I'm sure, Bobby could handle it."

Sam was spared an answer when Dean suddenly stepped on the break and dashed out of the car, before it even came to a complete standstill on the narrow breakdown lane. He gagged a few times but his stomach apparently had emptied enough to just annoy him with repeated cramps.

"Oooh," the older brother moaned when he finally returned and let himself flop in the driver's seat.

"She said, she wanted our help." Sam replied and rubbed his nose, still feeling the phantom pain of his broken nose from so many years ago. She had apologized profoundly, over and over again on Sam's way out of school until he had watched her getting smaller and smaller standing on the stairs leading towards the school main entrance through the back window of the Impala. "And that's what we do, we help people. Or did we change our MO last night and I happened to miss it?"

"You mean when you got shot in the ass by the people we helped?"

After carefully looking over his shoulder Dean steered the car back on the road.

"Well, that was a... misfortune." Sam couldn't believe what he was saying. Neither could Dean.

"Bullshit!" Dean almost sent them back into the ditch. "People are nuts, I tell you. And as far as I can remember she was the queen of nuts. Come oooon, Sam. She gave you a fruit basket."

"She said thank you."

"Yeah, with a fruit basket"

Sam didn't have an answer for that. At least not one that he could make sound believable enough.

"Admit it, Sam. She was strange." He snorted. "Must have been the name."

Again, Sam didn't answer and instead concentrated on unburdening his body weight from his aching back as much as possible.

They reached the border of South Dakota in the late afternoon. The sun was standing low behind them and the Impala's shadow stretched long in front of them. They were tired, they were bad-tempered, they were hungry... or at least Sam was. Dean was still fighting with the after cramps of his food poisoning. They had called Bobby once more, asking for directions to her motel and Bobby used his chance to laugh at them once more... right after telling them what horrendous idjits they were. Nothing new. And both brothers felt surprisingly better afterwards.

"This must be it," Sam announced, pointing towards a small bed&breakfast at the side of the road. The wooden, two-storied house looked homey and almost kitschy with its geranium pots decorating the length of the veranda. It was painted in a dark, reddish colour, speckled with bright yellow shutters that showed small windows with chintzy drapes and motives that looked like ducks or birds or something. A large sign was placed near the street so it wasn't hard to notice.

"Granny's Bed&Breakfast – Home far away from Home"

"Hm.... tacky!" Dean noted. "I think I'm gonna have to puke." Carefully, he drove onto one of the three parking lots signposted as "Visitors only". Not able to avoid a relieved sigh Sam got out of the car, stretching his lanky body, his neck snapping and clicking in places where should be nothing to click or snap. Dean, in the the meantime, bent over the railing of the stairs and blessed the bushes next to it with some stomach acid. Sam wasn't so sure whether it was still the food poisoning or the kinky look of the house in front of them.

"This is one fucked up case already," Dean moaned petulantly but got back to business when Sam caught up with him.

"You okay?" Sam asked and it was only half amused. "You haven't eaten since last night. There should be nothing in you anymore."

"It isn't." With his thumb he pointed to the bushes. "I think I just puked my kidney out."

"Don't worry, you got two of them."

"Smartass!"

"Bitch!"

"Jerk!"

Smiles.

The reception was ...scary. There was no other word in the English language to describe the interior. In one corner was a seating arrangement Victorian style. Two armchairs, one sofa and cushions that screamed Hello Kitty in six different languages. Sam counted seven vases with bouquets, three oil paintings showing idyllic landscapes and at their feet stood one yapping West Highland White Terrier guard, which apparently responded to the name of...

"Conan! Shht! Be quiet! This is not a nice way of greeting customers." Turning towards Sam and Dean the old lady smiled and leaned heavily on her cane. "How can I help these young, fine men?"

"Uhm", Dean begun and gave his very best to appear casual in the face of the pink hair rolls and bunny slippers. "We... uhm..."

"We're looking for a friend of ours. Bozica... I think." Way to make an impression. He didn't even know her last name.

"Oh, you're the ghost busters?" Her face lit up in childish amusement and Dean took a wary step backwards.

"Please... what?"

"Boo, told me she'd be getting visitors. She's been here for a few weeks now. She's such a sweet little girl though..." The old lady paused. "... a little coo-coo if you know what I mean."

As if waiting for the perfect timing, something banged from the back of the house and a bright voice rang out hastily: "Sorry, I'll clean this up immediately."

"Not to mention clumsy." The old lady complained but her eyes twinkled. "Don't worry, honey." She yelled back.

"So... Conan, huh?" Dean said while throwing wistful glances at the little ball of wool still yapping and growling at his feet.

"She's a real fighter," Came the reply like this explained anything.

Dean mouthed an unbelieving "She?" and Sam hid a snort behind a well-played cough.

"So, could you please tell her we're here, Ma'am?" Sam asked which made the old lady scrunch up her face.

"Oh sweetheart, don't call me Ma'am. It makes me sound snobbish." Luckily, she had already turned around shuffling away with little steps so she didn't not see Sam and Dean look at each other, rolling their eyes.

This was totally the Twilight zone?

They entered a kitchen, complete with an old wood-fired oven that looked even older than the landlady. Clattering sounds came from behind the kitchen counter and a head bobbed up from behind, blinking sheepishly. Her curly hair was fervently red and furiously sticking in all directions. She had rather unsuccessfully tried to ban them under a green haircloth and when she recognized the two newcomers her face lit up like an atomic power plant.

"Sam? Is that you? Oh my God, it's really you! What did they feed you with? You're a giant." She all but screamed and got up, almost falling back when she managed to slide on a piece of broken porcelain. "I didn't think you'd come. The grumpy old man kept saying he didn't know you."

She came around the counter and patted some invisible shards off her sweater and jeans.

„Did he?" Sam answered unsure. "Well, you can't be careful enough in our metier, right?" Another pause. "Bobby said, you … needed help?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Well, yes. I kinda do." She ducked, as if she was feeling ashamed. "I didn't know who else to ask," she said and her face fell a little, even though her green eyes kept radiating joy and buoyancy like they didn't know how else to shine.

Silence fell and they listened to the landlady cleaning the rest of the mess until Sam finally sighed. "Maybe..." He begun and threw an apologetic glance to his brother. "... you should start at the beginning."

The landlady, her name they found out, was Juliette, shooed them out through the back door and they followed Boo into the garden. A pond, big enough to have a little bridge arching over it, lay at the far end of the estate and it looked peaceful and serene. Small solar-powered lamps hemmed the pebbled ways and the crunching sound almost drowned the quaking of the frogs.

Boo sat down on the wooden plank, her naked feet hanging in the water.

"So, did you like the fruit basket?" She began casually and Sam's eyebrows arched.

"What?"

"The one I gave you."

"Uhm, yes," He said, hastily. "Rich in vitamins."

"That's what I thought." She nodded. "You know, this whole hunter business was too exciting to let it go. I was curious. And it's surprising what kind of monsters you find when you look for them..."

She started telling. Her very first hunted monster was a hinkypunk. She impaled it with a pencil. The second one was an old, senile ghoul. She drove him crazy with an infinite looping of Michael Jackson's Thriller. The third one was a Vampire. He died in a bathroom, showering under Holy Water.

It was a funny story, actually, and if Dean kept rolling his eyes like this, they'd be stuck Sam told him with a single glance. It didn't actually sound like Boo was a real hunter. More like one mighty unlucky fellow who stumbled from one catastrophe into the next. Or a really lucky one because she had obviously survived them all.

"I didn't even mean to hunt. It was like... they came to me, you know?"

Dean's eyebrow shot into his hairline. "Not exactly." He huffed and adjusted the straps of his backpack. "Honestly? You're not a hunter. You're a human sized demon magnet. Which makes us get away from you as far as possible." Punching against Sam's shoulder he was about to turn around and leave but Sam was standing his ground.

"Wait, Dean!"

"Why? What for? She's muttered," He muttered quiet enough so she couldn't hear him. "This could be a trap for all we know. I have no idea why we came here at all."

"We should at least listen what she wanted to see us for."

Dean grunted but didn't walk away.

"I know you have no reason to believe me," Boo said and looked directly at Dean. "But I need your help. Because... because I think I'm..." Her voice turned pained. "I think I'm haunted and I need you to exorcise me."

Well yeah, that made totally sense.

"Say again?" Dean said.

"I said, I think I'm haunted..."

"No! I got it the first time you said it," Dean intercepted, his hands lifted in a gesture almost like he wanted to stop a rushing train.

"Then why did you ask me to repeat it?" She snorted. "That's not helpful."

Sam finally found his voice back. "What do you mean, you're haunted? Like... demon-haunted?"

"No... yes. I don't know." There was some sense of urgency in her after all. A flash of confusion, embarrassment and something like fear crossed her features and for just a small second, she looked defeated, hopeless. But it was gone so fast Sam already thought he had imagined it. "I'm not crazy!" She insisted, her voice rising and she threw Dean an angry look. It was true, you didn't need to be a mind reader to know that Dean thought she was beyond crazy. Still, somehow, for Sam it felt important to listen to her even if it was just to offer an open mind. In their profession they had seen stranger things.

"Look, maybe it was a bad idea to ask the two of you to help me. Because... bad things happen to people around me. To people and demons and monsters. It doesn't matter. They just... end up dead. It doesn't make me a hunter. It makes me a calculative train accident."

"Well, great motivational speech here," Dean sulked. "I have an idea. Stay away from people."

"I tried." Again, she sounded almost apologetic. "But it's not working." Her shoulders slumped. "And I don't want to end up living alone with a bunch of cats, which I'll probably kill in my laundry machine."

"What makes you think you're haunted?" Sam asked, now curious.

"I think I know who's haunting me." She breathed deeply, letting her gaze wander from Sam to Dean and back. It was clear, what she was going to say wouldn't sound any more convincing than what she'd already told them. "I think I'm haunted by one of my parents."