Grace stands over the bloody corpse lying across the glass table. This woman wasn't supposed to be a victim she was supposed to be "the" witch. Well, she is "a" witch judging by the paraphernalia strewn across the room. And the scene is staged to look like she's committed suicide, but Grace just feels that's not what happened here. There's a scraping sound at the front door and the latch clicks open. Someone's entering the house. "Shit." There is no one who can come through that living room door that won't mean big trouble for Grace. It's either a witch or the police. She raises her gun towards the doorway unable to decide which she hopes it is. Two tall men walk into the room with guns drawn.

"Grace?"

Well, she didn't see that coming.

"Dean? Sam?" She lowers her gun and they lower theirs.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean asks.

Grace spreads her arms and looks around the room with an expression that intimates the situation is self-explanatory. Then she cocks an eyebrow and points her gun at the dead woman. "She's not an ex-girlfriend of one of you, is she?" She's remembering the last time she ran into Dean on a case. Well, she was on a case. He was on a booty call. "Because I'm here hunting witches and she's a witch…or she was."

Dean gives her a sarcastic smirk. "No she's not an ex-girlfriend. I just meant…never mind." He waves her off.

She does have to admit that it's bizarre how they keep running into each other. She's never run into any other hunters repeatedly on cases.

Sam is examining the mess of nasty on the floor that the witch had been cooking up. "Looks like she was working some heavy weight evil here." He looks up at Grace who nods her agreement.

Dean is wandering the room looking down at all the mess and nearly walks into the rabbit carcass hanging from the ceiling. "Oh, God!" He shouts startled. He rubs a hand across his face. "Freaking witches, seriously man, come on!"

"Well I guess we know where she got the rabbit's teeth from." Sam comments.

"Paul sure knows how to pick 'em, huh? It's like Fatal Attraction all over again. Why's the rabbit always get screwed in the deal? Poor little guy." Dean laments. Grace snickers. She can't help it, he's adorable.

Grace is still searching the room. She doesn't think Amanda killed herself. She saw victims in her vision that haven't died yet, that means the killer is still out there.

"You know what I don't get. If she was so hell bent on revenge, why do this?" Sam is asking, referring to the suicide.

"Well, she got Janet Dutton, thought she finished off Paul, decided to cap herself and make it a spurned lovers hat trick. " Dean reasons. "I mean this doesn't exactly look like the TV room of a bright and stable person."

Grace is crouched down by the glass table. "I don't think she killed herself." She says reaching under and pulling out a hex bag. She tosses it at Dean.

"Another hex bag, come on." Dean unwraps the bag exposing the contents then tosses it on the table. "Looks like we got a hit. A little witch on witch violence." He takes out his phone and calls to report the dead body.

Grace looks at Sam. "More than one witch. We might be dealing with a coven."

They leave the house and drive to Sam and Dean's hotel. The boys get out of the Impala and start to walk towards their room. Grace doesn't follow them. Sam turns to see what she's doing and taps Dean on the arm. "What's up?" he asks Grace. The men approach her.

"Nothing, but it's late and there isn't much we can do tonight." She doesn't want to go in to their room. She remembers how comfortable she was in Dean's arms the last time they said goodbye. She can't get too close to him or Sam. Her life is solitary and dangerous. It hurts too much to lose someone you care about. And when you're a hunter, you always lose the people you care about. "I lifted Amanda's planner. I'm gonna sift through it tomorrow and check out everyone local. See if I can figure out who else is in the coven."

Sam nods. "We'll probably canvas Amanda's neighborhood tomorrow. See if the neighbors know anything or have seen anything suspicious."

"Right, we can compare notes after that." She gives them a wave and climbs back into the Jeep, pulling away.

The next evening they meet up at a diner for dinner and to share what they've learned. Grace sits on Sam's side of the booth and Dean sits across from them. She would have preferred to sit opposite them both, but they're both so big that it seemed ridiculous to make them squeeze together on one side. Dean tells Grace about Elizabeth's "victory garden" filled with belladonna, wolfsbane and mandrake. Grace confirms that Elizabeth has had some unusually good luck lately. Her husband's been promoted at work and she's recently won some fabulous prizes including a trip to Hawaii. She also tells them Renee has recently had some success with her home pottery business and has won every craft contest she's entered in the past few months.

"I'm thinking we've found the coven." Dean says.

"And Amanda was a loose cannon, so they killed her to keep the situation contained." Grace adds. "Except that the situation isn't contained because I've seen more deaths coming." Both men look at her. "These witches are gonna kill more innocent people unless we stop them."

"You mean stop them, like stop them?" Dean asks. Grace nods. "They're human." He counters.

"They're murderers" Sam interjects and now Grace and Dean are looking to him.

Dean seems surprised by Sam's stance but concedes. "Burn witch, burn." He says. The waitress comes with the check.

"We need to come up with a plan." Sam tells them. "And we can't do that here. Let's go back to the hotel and regroup." He suggests. They all stand up and head out of the diner. Grace watches the Impala pull out of the parking lot and waits a few minutes to follow. 'I'll go in, make the plan and get out.' She tells herself. 'Get this job done and get away from Sam and Dean. Keep my distance.'

She starts the drive to the hotel and half way there comes upon the Impala stopped in the middle of the road. Sam and Dean are out of the car and there's a woman standing in the road lit up by the headlights. The conversation does not look friendly. Grace stops the Jeep and reaches for her gun. Dean tries to shoot the woman, Sam stops him and the woman vanishes into thin air. Grace is out of the car in an instant running towards the men.

"What the hell's going on?" She yells.

"Nothing." Dean snaps. "Let's just get to the hotel." He gets back in the Impala and Grace stares at Sam. He looks sheepish and avoids her eyes getting back into the car with Dean.

"Awesome." Grace mumbles to herself standing alone now in the night air as the Impala drives away.

They all walk into the hotel room together and the brothers start to argue as if Grace isn't even there. She takes out her laptop and sits down at the table by the window.

'Killing witches, that's all I'm here to do. This is none of my business,' she tells herself as the boys argue.

The woman in the road was a demon and apparently Sam has been consorting with her. 'Bad, bad idea Sam.' Grace thinks to herself.

They apparently have a gun that kills demons. 'That must be a useful little tool to have' she doesn't say out loud.

Dean is concerned that Sam is more comfortable with killing people than he used to be. 'Well in his defense they're not just people they're murdering witches' she, again, doesn't say out loud.

Dean's apparently leaving and Sam will have to stay in this crap-hole of a world alone. 'What?' she looks up. 'What does that mean? Where is Dean going that he won't be in this world?' That's when she notices that Dean looks like he's in pain and Dean notices that she's listening to their conversation. But then he doesn't care because he's clutching his stomach and wincing.

"What going on with you?" Sam asks as Dean's pain appears to increase.

"I don't know." He says and grunts in pain. "Something's wrong." His face shows the first signs of panic. "It's like a bunch of knives inside of me." Sam's off the bed and at his brother's side. "Son of a bitch." Dean's writhing in pain now and Grace is out of her seat and on Dean's other side. Dean glances around the room. "The coven, it's gotta be the coven." He says before he cries out in pain and flops backwards onto the bed.

Grace is on her feet and yelling at Sam. "We've got to find the hex bag." Sam is already tearing apart the bathroom cupboards. Grace is under the beds checking if anything is wedged in the frame. Sam's tossing the closet. She checks the nightstand, the radiator. Sam is cutting open the mattresses. Dean is on his hands and knees choking up blood onto the floor.

There's desperation in Sam's eyes. "Dean, we can't find it." Dean falls to his side, still spitting up blood, his body convulsing in agony. Grace continues to look. It has to be in here somewhere.

She hears Dean say, "Sam, what are you doing?" and looks to see Sam grabbing the demon killing gun and running out the door. Dean yells for Sam through his cries of pain.

Grace thinks she knows what Sam is doing. He's going to try to kill the witches with their special gun, hoping that will stop the spell. It should, but looking at Dean Grace doesn't think Sam has enough time. She runs to Dean and drops to the floor next to him taking his head in her hands. His eyes are filled with panic and pain, his face covered in his own blood. "It's gonna be alright." She tells him and then runs out the door herself.

"Grace!" he yells thrashing on the floor.

She runs to the Jeep and opens the back gate. There's a tool chest bolted to the floor on the right side of the cargo area. She starts pulling out ingredients and a brass bowl and stone pestle. She races back into the hotel room and kneels down at Dean's feet. She tosses leaves, seeds and a few drops of brown liquid into the bowl and crushes them with the pestle chanting words over the bowl. Then she pulls a strand of her own hair out and crushes it in with everything. She pours wine into the mix and swishes it around. Dean's still in a lot of pain and the gurgling noises he's making sound like he's drowning in his own blood.

She's by his side and puts the concoction to his mouth. He gives her a scowl, not trusting what's in the bowl. "This will help you. Please, Dean, drink it!" There is desperation in her voice and he hesitates only a moment before opening his mouth. She pours the contents of the bowl down his throat and he tries to swallow, sputtering some of it back up. Almost immediately he stops thrashing. He takes a moment to catch his breath and sits up. Her body sags in relief that he's ok.

"So what, you're a witch now?" He spits, staring at her with the accusation in his eyes.

She signs heavily and stands up extending her hand to help him to his feet. Once he's up she shakes her head at him.

"What?" He asks defensively still looking at her warily.

"You're welcome, first of all and second, no, I'm not a witch." She says, exasperated. "Not all spells are bad, not all WITCHES are bad. Just because something is not natural or you don't understand it doesn't mean it's evil and needs to be destroyed." She pauses. "I know that's hard for hunters to accept."

"YOU'RE a hunter." He retorts, still giving her a pinched look.

"Yeah, well, I walk a fine line between hunter and psychic freak."

When he hears the hurt in her voice the judgmental look disappears. "You're not a freak." He says quietly. She won't look him in the eye and it bothers him. "Grace." She's looking at the floor so he reaches out his hand to lift her chin. When her eyes meet his he repeats himself. "You're not a freak." An unconvinced smiles plays across her lips briefly but slowly fades away. Her eyes take on a faraway look. "Grace?" Her eyes roll back in her head and she collapses into his arms. "Grace!" he shouts, but she is unresponsive. He lifts her into his arms and lays her on the bed. Sitting next to her he pats her face. "Hey, hey, come on, open your eyes. Grace!" Her eyes flutter open and she struggles to focus on him. "What's wrong? What's happening?" He asks.

She can see the concern in his face. Her voice is weak. "Not all spells and evil, but all magic has a price. I healed you, this is the cost." She explains. His eyes are widen and she can almost read his mind. He thinks she's sacrificed herself for him. "I'll be ok. I promise." She tries to calm his fears. "Go help Sam." She manages to say before she slips into unconsciousness.

"Grace?" There's still worry in his voice. He checks her pulse and breathing. She's alive. Knowing she just saved his life, he's torn between staying to watch over her and going after Sam. But she told him she'd be alright, told him to go help Sam. He grabs his gun and walks to the door glancing back at her lying on the bed before he leaves the room and locks the door behind him.

When the boys come back to the room they find Grace sitting on the edge of Dean's bed with her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands. She peeks up at them over her fingers looking like she just woken up with a wicked hangover. "Everything ok?" She asks. They both look like they've been in a scuffle, but neither looks hurt.

"Ding dong the witch is dead…or witches." Dean answers with a smirk.

"And the demon." Sam adds.

Grace nods her head, which is back in her hands. "Good work, guys."

Sam sits on the bed across from her. "Are you alright?" he asks.

She lifts her head and flashes a crooked smile. "Peachy" she answers sarcastically.

"I'm serious. Dean says you worked some mojo to save him but that there's a price." Sam looks deeply concerned.

"It's not that high a price. I'm going to be fine. It was a spell with pure intention to counteract an unnatural malice. The cost is low. I'll feel like shit for a few hours. No permanent damage." Her smile turns more sincere. "However, if you've got any whiskey, that would improve my condition considerably." She looks to Dean who is leaning against the table near the window. He nods and rummages through his bag producing a bottle. He pours three glasses and passes them each one. Grace knocks hers back in one gulp and holds the glass up to Dean again with a questioning look. He raises an eyebrow and nods his approval. Taking the glass he pours her another.

"But I thought a witch's power comes from a demon?" Sam asks, nursing his drink.

"I'm not a witch." She says more sternly than she intended then calms herself. "Some witches sell their souls to demons to be granted power. They get a lot of power all at once for a really high price." She takes a swallow of her drink. "But magic doesn't come from demons. It comes from the energy of the universe. The demon just harnesses a bunch of that energy and bestows it on the witch. And the witch pays for it in one lump sum. But, if you learn how to harness a little bit of that power at a time, you only have to pay for what you use." Sam looks interested but confused. She continues, "It's a different cost for different circumstances, usually relative to the magic. I healed Dean, so I got sick. If I used a locator spell to find someone or something I might misplace a valuable object for a little while. A spell to temporarily read minds might make me lose my voice for the same amount of time."

"Where did you learn about all this?" Sam presses.

"My dad and I just picked it up along the way while we were learning to be hunters. Because of my condition we were more open minded about unconventional hunting methods, more accepting of people and practices most hunters wouldn't take kindly to."

"What do you mean?" Sam asks.

"Most hunters see things in black and white. If it's not natural, it should be hunted and killed. But I'm psychic- or whatever- so the "supernatural equals kill-it equation" doesn't really work in my favor. I help people, I'm not evil. If that applies to me it probably applies to others as well." Sam doesn't look like he's getting her point. "Sam, a lot of hunters, if they knew what I was, they would want to hunt me; kill me." She gives him a sad smile.

Sam shakes his head. "Grace, no."

"Sam, yes." She says firmly. "I speak from experience."

"What!?" Dean stands up suddenly from where he was leaning. He looks angry, which surprises her.

She shrugs. "People fear what they don't understand. Fear leads to hate. It's why I don't tell people what I am, especially hunters. A few years back some hunters found out why we were on a job and it freaked them out. "Supernatural equals kill-it" and I was the "it", so they decided to hunt me. We dealt with it, made sure those guys knew never to bother us again." She's reminded again how alone she is now that her dad is gone. There is no one to protect her but her. Thinking of being alone she remembers what Sam and Dean were arguing about just before the shit hit the fan earlier.

She winces. "Dean, could you get me some ice for my head?"

"Yeah, sure." He walks out of the motel room.

Grace turns her full attention on Sam. "Where is Dean going, Sam?" She asks.

Sam scrunches up his face and gestures over his shoulder to the door. "You just asked him to go get you some ice." He looks at her like she's crazy.

Grace speaks calmly. "Earlier you said he was leaving you in this world alone. Where is he going?"

Sam's face falls and he pales slightly. He looks away from her and shakes his head. "Dean wouldn't want…"

Grace leaves her seat and kneels on the floor in front of Sam. It's obvious he's carrying a burden that's too heavy for one person. Whatever it is, it's bad. She places her hands on his knees. "Sam, please, tell me."

He looks into her eyes and must see something there that makes him trust her. "A few months ago I died." He says hesitantly. Grace keeps her gaze steady even though that was quite a statement. "Dean couldn't let me go, so he made a deal to bring me back. He went to a crossroads demon." Grace can't hide her look of revulsion. Sam voice gets quieter. "He sold his soul to save me. He's going to hell in a couple of months."

Grace's eyes widen and her mouth falls open. She feels like she's been punched in the stomach. She involuntarily shakes her head in denial of what he's just said. "But, crossroad demons usually give you years. He should have more time…" She trails off.

Sam looks completely defeated. There are tears forming in his eyes. "Well, I guess Dean was desperate." His voice breaks. "He only got one year and it's almost up." He says horsely.

Sam is about to lose his brother, his only family, his partner in this horrible, dangerous, frightening job. Her heart breaks for him. She knows exactly what he's going to go through. She went through it herself when she lost her dad. She takes his giant hands in hers and clutches them to her chest.

"Sam, I'm so sorry." Her voice is soft and small. "There has to be some way to break the deal, to get him out of it."

A tear rolls down Sam's face. "Dean says there isn't. He doesn't even want me to try." He sniffs and tries to pull himself together. "But I'm looking anyway. I have to save him. I have to save my brother." Suddenly there's a glint of hope in his eyes. "What about magic?" He asks her eagerly. "You said we can harness the energy, the magic, without a demon. Could we use magic to save him?'

She feels an icy trickle in her stomach. Partly it's fear about the consequences of that kind of power and partly it's guilt about crushing Sam's blooming hope. "I also said all magic has a price. To save a soul would cost a life or a soul in exchange." She tells him.

"I'd give my life. I'd trade my life for Dean's!" He insists.

"Like he did for you?" She's overwhelmed with sorrow. In her mind's eye she can see the spiraling path into the future of two brothers continually sacrificing themselves for each other. "How would that make Dean feel? What would he do to try to save you after you saved him?" Her voice is a whisper.

The light of hope goes out of Sam's eyes and another tear slides down his face. Grace wipes the tear away and wraps her arms around his neck stroking his long hair. He lets her hold him for a few moments, squeezing her in return. Then he pulls away, giving her a strained smile. Dean will be back soon and Sam doesn't want his brother to see him like this. She takes her seat on the bed across from him again moments before Dean comes back into the room with a bag of ice. He hands it to her and she trades him the ice for her empty glass.

"One more for the road?" She asks as cheerfully as she can and holds the ice up to her temple.

"Sure." Dean says looking back and forth between her and Sam. He can feel some kind of tension but instead of asking about it he just pours her another. "Sammy?" he asks.

"No. I'm good" Sam holds up his glass which still has most of his first serving in it. Dean hands Grace her glass and pours himself another. They all sit quietly while Grace and Dean finish their drinks.

Grace stands. "I've got to get going." She says. "It was good seeing you again Sam." Sam stands up and gives her a hug. She holds on to him a few seconds longer than she probably should, but they both need it.

"Be careful out there, Grace." He tells her and she nods.

She turns to Dean and gestures towards the door with her head. "Walk me out?" She asks. He nods in reply and follows her out to her Jeep.

She leans her back against the Jeep and crosses her arms across her chest. He stands an arm's length in front of her with his hands in his pockets looking at her expectantly. She had, after all, asked him to come out here with her.

"Sam told me."

He tilts his head in question raising his eyebrows.

"He told me about your deal." She's trying to remain calm on the outside even though she doesn't feel that way on the inside.

He breathes in and purses his lips. "Yeah, well, it is what it is." He says indifferently.

She doesn't believe he really feels that way. "There must be something you can do, something someone can do to break the deal."

"No." He growls. "If I break the deal Sam dies. There's no way around that and I'm not gonna let that happen. Not on my watch." He stares at her willing her to understand what he's saying is not just his wish, but an order. 'Do not mess with this'.

She understands. Would she consider spending an eternity in hell to be free of the ever-present guilt and despair she feels over the death of her parents? She might.

His gaze is intense. The longer she looks into his eyes, the more she knows that his death will leave a hollow space inside her. They barely know each other, but even now just the thought of him being gone from this world, the thought of never seeing him again, creates an ache in her chest that she knows will only get worse. Tears start to form in her eyes.

"Hey." His face softens when he sees her eyes start to water. "At least I'm going out on my own terms. That's something, right?"

She takes a step closer to him never breaking eye contact. Reaching up she places one hand on each side of his face, brushing her thumbs lightly over the stubble on his jaw. His eyes close at her touch and reopen slowly. Taking his hands from his pocket he reaches for her hips. There's a longing in his eyes, a need, but it's not lust. It's something more desperate. He waits for her to decide what will happen next.

She struggles for control over her voice as she whispers his name. "Dean." She blinks and tears spill onto her cheeks. Besides the longing he also looks lost, broken. She wants to fix him, to give him whatever he needs. She gently tugs on his face, a silent plea, and he complies bending his head down to meet her lips with his own. His mouth feels just as she imagined it would. His lips are soft and full and taste of whiskey. As they kiss his arms wrap around her lower back, pulling their bodies to press against each other. She slides her hands around his neck. They breathe each other in as their lips move against one another. Their kissing, their embrace, all of it is so gentle, so tender. She feels like he's exposing his vulnerability to her and it breaks her heart. She knows this is what he needs. The closeness, to be cared for, to know someone will care when he's gone. To know someone will miss him. Everything around them falls away, everything but the connection between them. But this can't last. He can't escape his fate in her lips and she can't escape hers in his arms. He breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against hers, theirs eyes still closed. There's nothing but the sound of their breathing in the silence. He pulls back his head and she opens her eyes, looking up at him. She doesn't want to let go. She wants to keep him, protect him, save him. But she can't, she can't do any of that.

He wipes a new tear away as it rolls down her cheek and kisses her forehead chastely, reverently letting his lips rest there a moment. She closes her eyes again, knowing he doesn't want to let go either. Then his hands are on her shoulders and he's pushing her away gently. The loss of his body heat leaves her cold. She feels like she's never been so cold in her whole life.

"You should go." He tells her holding her at arm's length, then releasing her. She can't speak. The ache in her chest is now a lump in her throat, so she says nothing. She backs up until her hand finds the handle on the Jeep's door and climbs inside keeping her eyes on his the whole time. She turns the car on and puts it in gear. 'This is the last time I'm ever going to see Dean Winchester' she tells herself, trying to memorize every detail of him standing there. She finally forces herself to look away and pulls out of the parking lot.

She drives about a quarter of a mile down the road, just out of sight of the motel, and pulls over. Folding her arms over the steering wheel she bends her head forward and lets go of everything she's been holding back. Her body is wracked with sobs and within moments her sleeves are soaked with tears.

(more later)