Oops, I did it again! I have mistakenly stumbled into another fandom... and my brain is forcing me to do this again. I did not want to get involved in this fandom at first, but here I am. So here we go! Will I ever finish any of my other stories? Hell, if I know!

Disclaimer: I don't own, or claim any rights to, Supernatural or any of its affiliates.

Story begins in season 1, and this is a crossover type of story, so... I'll do that disclaimer later as to avoid spoilers. If the summary didn't already give it away.

Enjoy.

Dean smiled, happily ignoring his brother as he rambled on about which jobs they should take. He wasn't actively not listening to Sam—well, maybe he did ignore half of what his brother said most of the time—but the chips in his mouth were too delicious to ignore. It was a shame this small town was the only place to get them. Stocking up on the small bags of chips seemed like a good idea. "Hey, do you know how long the expiration for chips is?" Dean asked out loud. His brother only answered with silence. He looked up from his place on the bed to see the pinched look Sam was giving. It was a look he was used to seeing—pursed lips, glare, and knitted eyebrows. The works. Dean had affectionately dubbed it as 'The Bitchface.'

"Have you been listening to anything I've said?" Sam asked, a frown working itself onto his face.

"Of course I have, Sammy!" Dean replied in mock offense. "Something about an old lady dying… mysteriously?" The look did not change on his brother's face. "Not mysteriously then?" Sam sighed heavily, eyes returning back to whatever newspaper article he had in his hands. If his hands weren't already occupied, surely they would be on his hips.

"Dean…! I'm trying to find a decent route and you're thinking about chips?!"

"To be fair, they're really good. Salty with just a hint of sweetness at the end. Genius."

Sam opened his mouth, most likely to rant more—and Dean was fully prepared to tune him out again—but words never came. Instead, his brother sharply inhaled and stared wide-eyed at him. No, not at him. Through him. Dean called out to his brother, but Sam remained frozen in place. Just to make sure, he looked behind him to see if his brother had seen a strange entity on the wall. There was nothing there but a bad paint job. Dean hurriedly moved into a standing position and crossed the room over to where his brother stood. He called out his name several times, snapping his fingers in his face for good measure. It did not work.

Sam continued to stare at nothing for another five seconds. Then the breath left him and he blinked rapidly, gaze darting around as he nearly panted. As the concerned older brother, Dean immediately demanded to know just what the hell had happened. Finally, Sam's breath evened out and his eyes turned to him. "Dean, I… I think I just had a vision," he said. "Someone's in danger."

"Again?" Dean resisted rolling his eyes. "I mean, but you're awake. I thought these weirdo visions only came when you're asleep."

"Oh wait, let me just get out the handbook on visions, and I'll get back to you."

"Leave the sarcasm to me, Sammy."

Ignoring him, Sam went over to his already packed belongings. He pulled out his laptop, then sat down on his bed. "It was like… multiple visions, though. There were flashes—I could barely keep up, but…" Dean watched his brother lift the screen of his laptop and immediately began typing. "There was one that stood out. A girl, and she was running away from something."

"How do you know she wasn't running to something?" Dean asked. Sam just gave him his pinched look again. This time, the older brother could not stop his eyes from rolling. "Fine—you have any idea where this girl is?" Sam dropped his eyes back to the screen, and then turned his laptop around so that he could see. On the screen was an image of a giant purple bird—a mascot by the looks of it. "High school mascot?"

"College, actually," Sam corrected. He used the mouse pad to click on the image. The name of the university popped up. "I think this is where to find her. The mascot walked by in the vision."

"Looks like we've got our route then," Dean muttered. Sam nodded his head and shut his computer. "Hey, are we really going to investigate every time you have one of these psychic moments?"

"These psychic moments are the reason a family is safe, Dean," Sam stated. "And we got to see mom, so…" Dean lowered his head, knowing his brother was right. "We don't know where these abilities come from, but if it helps people along the way, then yeah, we're going to investigate. Every time."

Sighing, Dean shut his eyes for a moment. "Fine," he said. Truthfully, he didn't like that his brother had these visions. As if their lives weren't already far from normal, life decided add psychic powers to the mix. Hell, they might even be distractions. But he couldn't deny that they did help. And seeing their mom again, even if she had been a spirit, was actually pretty… nice. "Let's go to Ashland, Ohio." Sam stood up, preparing to put his laptop back up. "But can we stop at a store first to get some more of those chips?" The reply only came in the form of an annoyed grunt.

0-0

Sam was on edge. He had been ever since the vision had come to him. It was unlike any other vision he had had before. For one, like Dean had mentioned, it was the first time he hadn't been asleep. Did that mean his abilities were getting stronger? He hoped for a no. Eventually, he planned on breaking free from this life. After all this was over, he was going back to school. He would move on and live his own life. Sam did not look forward to that conversation with Dean. It would be an argument. Maybe several. In the end, though, his decision would be final.

For now, he would use these strange abilities for as long as he was in this life. Another thing about this latest vision is the amount of things he had seen. Normally, the dreams consisted of one thing. This particular vision had been like a bundle, centering around one girl, separated by flashes. Like had had told Dean, the visions happened too quickly for him to make out anything, except for two in particular. The girl walking out of a building, talking to the giant purple bird. And then the same girl running away from something in the middle of the night. Those two had happened slower than the others, but Sam was sure he had seen her face in the other visions.

Lastly, there hadn't been any pain. Normally, he would wake up with a searing headache like a drill had been jammed through his brain. The effects of the headaches had always been lingering. He hadn't told Dean about that, and he honestly didn't want to. Headaches, he could handle, so there was no point in having his brother worry even more than he already did. This vision didn't have pain, fear, or sense of dread. Not even a sense of urgency despite seeing the girl running for her life. Instead, an unknown sensation swept throughout his body. It felt as though his entire being took its first breath.

If he had shared that with his brother, more likely than not, Dean would feel the need to mock him for it. Sam already felt apprehensive. He didn't want to add annoyance to that. So he had spent the car ride mostly silent, contemplating what the set of visions could mean. It hadn't been until they reached the town had they started a plan. The main concern was finding the girl before anything happened. Also, they had to, at least, have an idea of what they could be facing. They had spent hours researching in their hotel room.

They hadn't come up with anything. Sure, Sam did most of the research—he was quite sure that Dean only pretended—but there had been no freak accidents, local legends, or suspicious sightings. They hadn't been able to find anything on the girl either. Since there hadn't been a name to tie in with the vision, there hadn't been much to go on. So that's why they found themselves at a party one of the fraternities was throwing. It was a Saturday, so college parties were common. It would be a chance to gather information from the students.

So far, though, the only information Dean had thought worthy of attention was that the college was ranked in the top ten for best food. His brother planned on pickpocketing for access to the cafeteria. Sam, himself, hadn't had any luck either. All of the people had spoken with ultimately replied with 'Nothing ever happens in Ashland.' Sighing in slight frustration, Sam stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. Despite the lack of information on strange occurrences, he had been keeping an eye on the mascot since arriving at the party. The giant eagle had been in the vision. Eventually, the costume would lead to the girl.

"Hey! We're out of drinks! Tuffy go get some more snacks!"

The exclamation caused Sam to push himself from the wall he had been leaning against. The mascot had hopped from the seat on the couch, and with a salute headed for the front door. Sam took a glance at the place he had last seen his brother. Dean was still chatting up a pretty blond with a skirt that was just shy of being too short. Not wanting to interrupt, Sam moved over to the door. He would call his brother if something happened.

With that thought in mind, he headed out into the night, making sure to stay a short distance away from 'Tuffy.' The mascot walked at a brisk pace away from the fraternity houses. Sam followed for a good five minutes before the purple bird came to a stop outside of a building. It looked as though it went with the campus because of the purple and gold paint. Sam stayed across the street and watched the mascot open the door. Instead of going in, it appeared as if he were holding it open. Seconds later, a girl came out, nodding to the bird in thanks.

Sam held his breath for more than a few seconds. It was her—the girl in his vision. She patted the mascot on the back as she moved by. Her mouth moved with unheard words, but he focused on her shirt. It was the exact same cerulean shirt with purple palm trees that she had been wearing as she ran away in his vision. Whatever was going to happen would happen tonight. Sam quickly pulled out his cell phone and sent a short message to his brother. Found her. Will call if anything changes.

Slipping his phone back in his pocket, he began to trail after the girl. She seemed to be heading away from campus. Instead of following at a short distance as he did with the mascot, Sam decided to stay back as far as possible without losing sight of her. He wanted to avoid detection from her as well as any would be pursuers. She didn't look back not once. In fact, she didn't really pay attention to her surroundings at all. Sam sometimes wished he had that type of ignorance. To not have to question every noise. To not have to look over his shoulder. To not instinctively reach for salt at the slightest change in wind.

Unfortunately, with being raised by John Winchester, those luxuries seemed out of reach. Sam frowned, watching the girl enter a bar. He looked behind him. The college campus was still visible from his point of view. Maybe ten minutes away? If something happened, it wouldn't take his brother long to reach him. He turned his gaze back, wondering if he should approach the girl at all. According to his vague visions, she wouldn't be in trouble while she was here.

Sam decided to scout the area first. He walked around the building, counted the vehicles—just two—and listened for any strange noises. So far, nothing seemed unnatural. It was a warm, quiet night. Only crickets seemed keen on filling his ears with noise. Finally, finding nothing out of the ordinary, Sam pulled the door open to the entrance. The inside wasn't just a bar. There were tables and booths, too. Bar and grill, most likely. Two people sat at the bar. Another was watching the large television—basketball—while eating from a pile of wings.

He didn't see her yet and briefly wondered if she worked here. Then he actually did spot her. At the far end of where the booths were lined up. She sat there, quiet and unassuming, completely focused on the book in front of her. It was pretty dim, so if he hadn't been looking, he probably would not have noticed her at all. Even with the bright red band that held her dark hair back, she seemed to just blend in. Sam breathed out slowly, and then began making his way over. Because he did not know how to start a conversation with her, he almost walked right pass. However, he caught a glance at the text she was reading.

"Is that Latin?" he blurted out, unable to control how incredulous his voice sounded. She blinked once as though comprehending that someone had spoken to her. Then, without looking his way, she parted her lips.

"You think this is bad," she began, slight chuckle in her voice. As though she found his question mildly amusing. Like it wasn't the first time she had been caught reading a foreign—dead—language. "Try Korean. Fun to talk, confusing to read. Latin is so much easier." Her gaze finally shifted from the text and traveled slowly up his body before settling on his face. There was a flash of something within her dark brown eyes, but it was gone too fast for him to guess. Her expression settled on confusion.

"Why are you reading Latin?" Sam questioned. "Do they teach that here?"

"Oh, no… This isn't a school book. It was a gift from my father," she answered. Briefly, her eyes turned to the page. A red painted nail marked her place. "I always end up reading it before going to bed." When she looked back at him, the confusion was gone. Sam hadn't realized he had been tense until his body relaxed. "Sorry—do I know you? Your face seems familiar…"

"I don't think so," he answered. "Just got to town, and I've never been here before. I think I just have one of those faces." She nodded in understanding before shifting her eyes back to her book. "You know, I know a bit of Latin myself."

"You do…? Not many people would even want to."

"My dad made me learn when I was younger."

"Shyeah—my dad's the reason I started learning languages." She looked his way again, a slight smile on her face. Then she glanced at the seat opposite of her. "You want to sit? I'm not trying to get a crook in my neck from looking up at you." Sam blinked once, and then nodded his head. This was great actually. Maybe if he could distract her long enough, he could prevent her from being targeted in the first place. He slid into the booth as she closed her book. "So what brings you to Ashland?" He had half a mind to tell her. For whatever reason, he had to actually stop himself from answering truthfully.

"Nothing in particular," Sam replied. "My brother wanted to go on a road trip. It's one of our stops, I guess."

"Here…? Nothing ever happens in Ashland."

"So I've been told… a lot." She picked up on his small exasperation and grinned at him, revealing the slight gap between her two front teeth. It was almost trivial with the way her entire face lit up. Sam found himself returning the smile. "Do you usually read Latin books here?"

"Just on the weekends. My neighbor listens to screamo music until around 2AM, so you can imagine the distraction that causes right before bed."

"Can't you tell him to stop?"

"His aunt owes the building."

"Ouch."

"Shyeah—not exactly an ideal situation, but the rents cheap, so what can you do?"

"What do you do on weekdays?"

"Work. He works, too, but at night, so I can sleep peacefully."

"So you don't actually go to the college…?"

"Nah! Took two years, decided it wasn't for me, and quit. Father wasn't too thrilled with me. Kept the job much to the chagrin of actual students." She grinned again, unapologetic to the plight of students that could potentially pay their way through college with her job. "What about you? You look like a studious sorta guy. What was your field of study?"

"… Law," he stated. "I didn't actually finish, though."

"So you… decided to trade in a potentially high-paying job to road trip?" She raised a dubious brow. Well, with the way she asked, of course it wasn't logical. But she didn't know all the details. She didn't know about the fire. Jessica. Or his dad. Sam opened his mouth to retort, but she interrupted, holding up her hands. "Hey, now, I'm not judging. To each their own." He swallowed, wondering if she had seen the ire show on his face. Sam forced himself to relax again. "Hey, I'll buy you a beer as an apology."

"Alright," he shrugged.

"Marlena! Can I get a cold one! And my favorite?!"

"It's Maria, dumbass!"

She rolled her eyes and returned her attention back to Sam. "Don't mind the vulgarity—she loves me." Despite the sarcasm, a smile managed to spread on his face. "So tell me about this road trip. Can I ask why you're on it?" Per usual, whenever anyone asked about what he and Dean did on the weekly basis, his first instinct was to lie. Lying had gotten too easy over the years. Underneath the instinct, though, he wondered if it would truly be so awful to tell someone. How many people would still be alive right now if they only knew? Still, disbelief would be a common reaction, followed by laughter, and then maybe anger. So Sam opened his mouth to lie.

"My dad, actually—he's kinda missing right now, so my brother and I are trying to find him," he said. She gave him a look that told him to explain further. "He likes to… hunt cross-country, and we're going to his favorite spots in search of him."

"If he's missing, shouldn't the police be involved?"

"He's not really missing. He contacts us occasionally, with orders-" He said that with a hint of bitterness. "-But doesn't let us know where he is. We're looking for him because we all have to do something together."

"Wow… My father does stuff like that, too," she muttered, crossing her arms. She leaned back in her seat and sighed. "Haven't seen his face in two years, but he still calls to see if I'm still doing as he says. My father sounds similar to your dad."

"I sincerely doubt that," Sam remarked with a cynical chuckle. John Winchester was one of a kind, and if he wasn't, his prayers went out to whatever family was stuck with someone like him. She knitted her brow and looked as though she had a comment, or two, but a beer was set in front of him, which diverted his attention. "Thanks," he said to the waitress. He was ignored. Sam watched, startled as the two females began conversing in a language he could not recognize. It sounded like a very heated argument, causing him to look around uncomfortably. No one else in the bar seemed to care.

"Yes, ma'am," she finally spoke in English, and then rolled her eyes. The waitress tittered softly before leaving the two alone. "God, that woman…"

"What was that about…? And what language was that?" Sam couldn't help the curiosity he felt.

"Just something about my tab—unimportant." She slid her glass in front of her with one hand and shoved the book off the table with the other. She then grabbed the straw that was left behind and dunked it into her clear liquid. Half of the glass was filled with bright red cherries. "Said she couldn't wait to see my father again. Says he has a cute butt, so I demanded that she not talk about his butt in front of me." She swirled her carbonated drink with the straw. "But I promised the next time he calls me, I would tell him about her obsession."

"And the language? How many languages do you know?"

"That was German, and I know ten languages."

"Ten…?! That's impressive!"

"You think so…? There's thousands of languages out there. My dad knew seventy-three," she went on, seemingly ignoring his shock. She took a moment to take a sip. "And really, I only know eight other languages. I was counting English and 'Proper English' in there, too." She gave air quotes for what Sam assumed was British. Unbidden, a chuckle burst from his lips. He supposed he had been a bit wrong about her. She wasn't quiet or unassuming. Maybe she just chose the quiet. It seemed as though she chose a lot of things in her life. It was envious. "Anyway, I'm serious—your dad and my father would get along. One time, he left me a voicemail telling me to retrieve this musty old book from our attic, and then called it a birthday present. He called to make sure I found it!"

"That's nothing—my dad recently sent us coordinates to-" Sam cleared his throat. "-to find something for him—something he had left behind, and then told us to stop looking for him." She giggled, showing her teeth again. He was finding it easier to smile. Taking swig from his bottle, he kept an eye on her smiling face. "When I was young, maybe nine, I told him there was something in the closet and his response was to give me a gun."

"Was it loaded?" Her eyes seemed a bit brighter and more intrigued than before. He nodded his head in answer. Laughter burst from her lips and she tried to cover it with her hand. Sam had always recalled that memory with resentment, but hearing her laugh at it, maybe it wasn't as bad as he had thought. "When I was fourteen, my father gave me a crossbow for Christmas."

"What? Why would he do that?"

"I showed an interest in the Archery class my high school had. He took it upon himself to jump on that interest, and he made me learn how to use it. Fun times."

"Sounds like an interesting childhood."

"Sounds like I can say the same thing about you." She raised her glass. "Sins of the Father?" The top of his bottle clinked with her glass.

"Sins of the Father," Sam agreed. He wondered if she knew that phrase was a biblical reference and not from a song. After taking another gulp of beer, he set the bottle back down on the table. For a few moments, he watched her drink, occasionally plucking out a cherry by the stem. It suddenly occurred to him that he still did not know her name. Not knowing did not make him feel any less at ease. Still, at the back of his mind, there was a curiosity that wouldn't go away. The visions he had had previously all seemed to have some connection. Did that mean this girl—woman—in front of him had a connection, too? Was he supposed to save her from a festering wound? That couldn't be it. Nothing ever happened in Ashland. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"You've been asking questions already," she stated, giving him a pointed, teasing smile.

"Yeah, I guess I have," Sam chuckled. "Are you from Ashland?"

"Not originally, no." She tapped a cherry to her lips before ripping the fruit from the stem. She had done it to other cherries before devouring them. He tried not to become distracted by her actions. "My father moved me here when I was eleven. I was born and partially raised in Washington."

"D.C.?"

"Nah, the state."

"Why'd you move all the way to Ohio?" Sam asked. She didn't reply right away. In fact, she hesitated. "I'm sorry if that's too personal."

"It's fine," she murmured, shaking her head. "If you weren't so cute, I probably would have ended the conversation when you glared at me." Sam felt his cheeks grow warmer, both embarrassed and flattered. He had glared? He looked away for a moment, letting her compliment sink in. She found him attractive. It wasn't the first time that happened, but this felt a bit different somehow. He thought she was cute, too. … Sam waited for the inevitable guilt to rise. Whenever he had even thought of another woman in that way, he thought of Jessica, which instantly squashed whatever attraction he had for other women. Guilt. It hurt and twisted his insides. Until Jessica had justice, it wouldn't be right for him to move on. But nothing came. No guilt or shame. "… So I guess I just stayed."

Sam blinked once, and then realized she had been speaking. "I'm sorry, what?" She gave him a slightly annoyed look. "Sorry…" He gave her a sheepish smile and she rolled her eyes.

"I said my father wanted to raise me here—headquarters of nice people, he says," she said. "Said it was the safest place. He told me to stay here even when he left, so I stayed like a good little daughter. Didn't want to travel, anyway."

"Safest place…? What was he trying to keep you safe from?"

"He's just overprotective, that's all. Being a single father couldn't have been what he planned," she answered with a nonchalant shrug. Huh. That was something. Images of his own father popped into his head. Of course, his dad could not have planned on raising Dean and himself the way he had if his mom hadn't died. Now he felt guilty. "Tell me some more about your road trip. Been to interesting places? Seen interesting things?"

"Heh… You might say that."

"Tell me," she urged with a grin.

So he did. At least, what he could, anyway. He omitted a lot of what he and Dean got up to on their road trip, but she quite enjoyed when he told her about the various prank wars he got into with his brother. He learned that she didn't have siblings, so she said it sounded fun. He told her Dean was a pain in the ass most of the time, causing more laughter. They also talked more about their childhoods, focusing on the strange things their fathers made them do. It more or less turned into 'Not as Good a Parent as They Could Have Been,' type of debate. Actually talking out loud about it to another person—who wasn't Dean—made those situations not as ire-inducing as they had been in the past. Despite the complaints, he could tell that she loved her father. And he felt the same.

Eventually, she ran out of cherries to eat. During the course of their conversation, Sam had had two beers. She had had six glasses of whatever she drank. He didn't think it was alcohol, but he hadn't asked. With a satisfied sigh, she slid the sixth glass against the table, shoving it towards the other five. "Well, it's really late. I should get going." She turned in her seat, picking up the book and shoving it into a large denim bag. She placed the strap on her shoulder before scooting out of the booth, prompting Sam to do the same. They stood across from each other, making him realize how short she truly was. Compared to him, she was tiny. Probably not exceeding 5'2. "You are freakishly tall," she remarked, eyes showing her teasing intent.

"Thank you," he responded with a slight chuckle. Sam stepped aside, extending his arm out towards the exit. "Could I walk you home? It's not a good idea to walk alone at night." It was dark outside. She could still be in danger. He eyed her shirt. Despite the distracting conversation, he knew the job was still a priority. Brown eyes narrowed up at him, mockingly suspicious. He almost believed she would protest, but then she shrugged.

"And here they say chivalry is dead." She walked forward, keeping her gaze on his form until he began to follow her. Once outside of the bar and grill, he walked by her side. On the way, they had chatted a bit—just about the college in general. Sam's attention had been divided, though. While she had talked, he had been wary of every sound that had not come from her. With his eyes darting around, trying to locate an unknown entity, he had nearly tripped over himself as she led him upstairs. They had made it to her apartment door—room twelve. "Thanks for walking me home," she addressed him.

Sam focused all of his attention on her and smiled. "It was nothing," he replied. Nothing had attacked her. Maybe just being with her had stopped whatever had chased her in his vision. He had prevented anything from happening, and that was a relief. "Just glad I could make sure you're safe." She appreciated his words, even if she didn't know the extent of what he meant. "Well, have a good night."

She raised a brow, which made him halt. "What—that's it?" Her question had been laced with incredulity and amusement. "What about what you came here for?" Sam opened his mouth, but words failed him. Had she known? About the visions? No. Of course she wouldn't. She stepped closer to him, hand reaching up. Her palm touched his stomach and slid up to his chest, causing his shirt to rise. He shuddered under her contact and heat spread through his veins. Her fingers curled, gripping the front of his shirt. Slowly, she pulled him down to her eye-level. Sam's eyes widened, grasping the meaning of her question. He could smell the cherries on her breath, and he felt himself stir in response. "Isn't this what you came for?" Her lips brushed against his. Just a brush. A simple brush that had his mind reeling with visions—the same visions—of her. Only this time, the slower visions consisted of her holding him. Her smiling face. Her lips parting to speak his name. Samuel. Oh, God… He had never liked anyone addressing him with his real name. But experiencing the vision of her saying his name was different and… desired. "Isn't it?" she whispered, still a hair's length away.

It was so easy to reach for her. So easy to close the rest of the distance. He returned her light kiss, cradling her face, palms against cheeks. And everything breathed. Oxygen filled him to the core and set his entire being alight. It did not remain a light kiss for long. He had tasted her, and he wanted more. She tasted like cherries. His hands slipped down her body to grip her hips. He pulled her against him, causing a gasp to escape between their lips. Sam couldn't begin to think of which of them had let it go. He wanted—needed this. Was this… his? Whatever this was, did it belong to him? "Yes…" His pressed hard, opening her mouth to him. Opening himself to her.

To both questions.

His. Hers.

Yes.

0-0