Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize. Rub it in my face, why dontcha? BTW, I'm not doing this every chapter, so consider this a blanket disclaimer for this fic. If I somehow gain possession of anything Supernatural-related, trust me, I'll brag here first.

Spoilers: Everything up through AHBL2 is fair game.

Reviews: I like 'em. They make me happpy. LEAVE 'EM! Please. :)

Summary: This story picks up where Sometimes The Hunt Comes To You leaves off. If you haven't already read it, you should probably read it before you read this, otherwise a lot of this story won't make sense to you. Seriously. I'm not just plugging my other fic. Seriously. For real.

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As far as the casual observer could tell, she seemed fine. The wicked-looking gouges cut into her skin by an attacking werewolf were healing well. The small bruises, abrasions, and lacerations from encounters with branches and the ground were fading fast. She busied herself with the preparations for her imminent departure from the world of the regular into the world of the supernatural. With the money she had gotten from the insurance company when Isaac died – well, at least when they thought he had died…she didn't let herself dwell too long on the difference – she paid off the mortgage on the house. She paid off her own and Isaac's educational loans. She paid off Isaac's car and all of their credit cards. She paid all the utilities on the house for the next year. And she bought herself a few new weapons and other necessary supplies. It seemed that she had put the past firmly behind her and was moving on with her new life. She was ready to become a hunter.

Except that she hadn't slept or eaten since she had walked out of that clearing, her late husband's body a sizzling pile of burnt flesh behind her. She only spoke when spoken to. And she hadn't cried. It had been three days.

Dean and Sam were still around. Dean had wanted to call a friend or someone to come and help her get through the trauma. He didn't get involved in that emotional stuff if he could help it, and he was ready to head out in search of the next hunt. But Sam wouldn't leave. For one thing, he knew that they were the only ones that could possibly help Melody get through the trauma of having to kill her own husband to keep him from turning her into a werewolf. No one else would believe her. For another, he was determined to figure out how the hell she had known who they were. And finally, although he certainly wasn't about to admit it to Dean, he kind of liked being around her. She was smart and funny – at least when she would talk - and pretty damn easy on the eyes. And she cooked. She cooked meals like he and his brother hadn't eaten since…well, since ever. She took care of them, even when she wouldn't take care of herself. And he was determined to help her get through this.

It was Sam who had led her out of the woods that night and gently bundled her into the Impala, careful to avoid the bloody slashes running down her right side from the werewolf that had attacked her during the fight. It was Sam who had sat her down on her sofa to examine the damage, and it was he who had gingerly cleaned and bandaged the wounds. He told her she was lucky that she wouldn't need stitches. She had looked at him and smiled slightly, the look in her eyes saying that she didn't feel very lucky. But she said nothing. He was happy she had even looked at him in comprehension of what he had said. Up until that point, her gaze had been eerily vacant. She hadn't even flinched when he had carefully peeled her shirt over her head and poured hydrogen peroxide and holy water into the open wounds marking her body. It was as though she were still standing in the field looking down at Isaac's smoldering corpse.

Since that night, Sam had gotten progressively more attached to her. Dean might have been the one with the pervasive big-brother syndrome, but Sam had his own attachment to people in need of protection. Melody, as far as Sam could determine, was certainly in need of protection.

On Wednesday, the third morning after Melody had emptied dozens of bullets into her werewolf husband's body before salting his bones and setting him on fire, Dean walked into the living room where she was sitting, staring into space. Sam was still asleep.

"So…" he started. When she didn't respond, he plopped down on the sofa beside her and continued, "How ya doin'?" When she finally looked at him, he jumped. "Since when do you wear contacts?" he inquired cautiously.

"I've worn contacts since high school. But today, I'm not. Because a few hours ago, I realized that my vision was so blurry I couldn't see a thing. I went to the bathroom, took out my contacts, and discovered that I could see perfectly without them. And then I noticed that my previously brown eyes had miraculously transformed into this perfectly startling shade of blue." She stopped and looked down at where her hands were folded tightly in her lap. "Dean, what's happening to me? First, I was apparently the only person in the world who knew all the intimate and sundry details of you and Sam's lives. Then, I apparently became precognitive. Then, I found out that my husband was one of the monsters that you hunt, and I killed him. And now, I've got blue eyes. Dean, please tell me that things are going to stop changing now," she whispered. "'Cause I don't think I can take much more of this."

"Shit," he muttered. "Mel, I don't know what to tell you. Ummm…does anybody else in your family have blue eyes?"

She shot him a sharp look, then responded slowly. "Yes…my grandmother does, and several other family members do, too. My mom always said it was because they were carriers of sickle cell anemia. But I'm not a carrier, Mom had my sister and me tested when we were kids." She heaved a heavy sigh. "Fabulous. So now, not only I'm I a murderer, I've also got an incurable disease. That's just awesome."

He raised his eyebrows. "You're not a murderer."

She let out a short laugh. "Of course I am. I killed my husband three days ago. Emptied three guns into him if I recall correctly. And then I set him on fire."

"Mel, that wasn't your husband. That was a werewolf. Your husband was long gone by the time you got there."

She shook her head slowly. "Dean, you know that's not true. Werewolves aren't demons. They don't take over people's bodies and make them into something they're not. They make some pretty substantial physical alterations to the werewolf's body, but they don't change anyone's personality. That person in that field was Isaac. For the first time in my life, I saw the real man." She tucked her denim-clad legs underneath her. "I always sort of knew the kind of person he was, but I never admitted it, not even to myself. I always laughed off his ruthless ambition, his frightening temper, his frequent mentions of getting us a live-in mistress or moving somewhere that he could marry multiple wives…I ignored it all. But the thing that changed him didn't really change him. It freed him to be who he always was. Apparently, that was a cold-blooded killer who never really gave a damn about me. He was just using me to get to where he wanted to be in life." She sighed again. "I wish he had told me. I'd have been able to leave him a long time ago. I was so unhappy with him for so long, but I wouldn't leave because it wasn't his fault that I was unsatisfied, it was my own restless longing. And I thought he cared about me. I thought he would be devastated if I broke up with him. So I stayed, and only now do I find out that we were both miserable."

Dean said nothing. Melody resumed her staring into space. Finally, Dean spoke up. "Well, your new eyes are pretty." She slowly turned to look at him, an unreadable look on her face. After a second she burst into laughter. Within moments, she was holding her sides, tears streaming down her face, struggling to hold herself upright.

"What the hell is so funny?" he demanded, laughing along because he couldn't help it.

"Oh my god, Dean," she choked out between giggles. "Only you could follow up my woe-is-me tale of angst with a comment about my new eye color, which, if you recall, was very likely brought about by disease!" All of a sudden, she burst into tears. Dean stared at her in shock before folding her into his arms. She only cried for a few minutes before pulling herself away. "Jesus, this is ridiculous. I don't know what's wrong with me!" she cried in frustration. "One minute I'm laughing, the next I'm crying, and I don't know whether I'm happy or sad, and my goddamn eyes have turned blue! Am I possessed?!" She stood up, strode over to the telephone, and quickly dialed a number.

"Mama?...yeah, hi, I've got a question…sure, Mama, I'm fine…no, I haven't been crying…I've got a cold or something. Listen, can I ask you something?...remember how you said Miriam and I weren't sickle cell carriers?...how sure are you about that?...completely positive?...well, my eyes turned blue today…Mom?...Mama, are you there?" Melody thought she heard a muffled sob come across the phone line, and she turned and walked into her bedroom. "Mom?" she asked again. "Are you crying? What is it?"

"Oh, honey," Margaret sighed into the phone. "I wanted so badly for this not to touch you."

"Uh, Mom, you're scaring me. What are you talking about?"

"Listen, Melody, this is something we need to talk about in person. Do you have plans for today?"

Melody hesitated for a second before responding, "No. No, I don't have any plans. I can be there in a couple of hours. But, Mama, this is really freaking me out. What's so important that you need to see me in person?"

"No, don't come here. I'll come to you. And I'll explain it all when I get there. I'll see you in a couple hours."

The line went dead. Melody walked back to the living room to set the handset back on the base. Dean was still sitting on the sofa looking confused. Melody leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. What the fuck?