Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or anything you recognize from it.

Hi everyone. So, we're finally here! It felt like it has taken us years to reach this point and maybe it has, but I do hope you all enjoy it. I wasn't really planning on continuing with Tony's story as I didn't think there were still interested parties but colour me surprised when I received a huge response. So, here it is. There will be A Lot of changes from the head cannon but I've kept the basics. I've also tried something a wee bit different for this chapter; I'd love to hear your thoughts. I really do hope you'll enjoy this and please review and let me know what you think. This sequel is written just for you.

Chapter One

An Incompatibility of M&Ms, Resurrections, and Weariness

Tony leaned farther back into her chair, her muddied boot clad feet resting on the kitchen table in her motel room, her entire body frozen in concentration. Her eyes were glued to a calendar she had tacked to the wall upon entering what would be her makeshift home for however long it took her to complete the hunt.

It had been exactly three months to the day when she had sold her soul to bring Sam back from the dead, to save Dean from a life of self-hatred, guilt and loneliness…but to be perfectly honest: she was selfish. She sold her soul because she couldn't bear the thoughts of Sam being buried in the ground while she kept breathing, never being able to see him again. She was honest enough to admit that she was a selfish fool, but still, she didn't regret anything. If she had a chance to redo the deal with the crossroad's demon, Tony McBride Holloway would not have changed a thing.

So one might ask, if Tony adored the Winchester brothers so much, why did she leave them three months ago? In her way of thinking, she was protecting them and she was still adamant that it was for the best. Regardless of becoming an insomniac, of losing an inappropriate amount of weight, and taking unneeded risks when hunting. No, Tony honestly believed that leaving Sam and Dean behind so they could move on with their lives was for the best. She didn't want to become a constant reminder of Sam's death and resurrection, of Dean's self-appointed guilt, and of her impending death. No, she wanted them to move on with their lives and use her death as a gift of sorts, this was their second and last chance at a life and she hoped they weren't going to screw it up.

When she had left Bobby's house those months ago, Tony had sped away in her 1969 Dark Blue Chevy Camaro, aptly named Tracy, and refused to look back. She hadn't cried during her drive, she hadn't cried when she left Bobby's house, hearing things smash and break in her wake, she still hadn't cried when she smashed her mobile phone and got rid of the plastic pieces. And when she found herself three states over, standing in the doorway of her empty motel room, hopes stupidly rising when her mind tricked her into believing both brothers would stumble out of the bathroom and envelop her in a crushing hug…no, she hadn't cried then either.

She had haphazardly-strewn salt around the doors and windows, not bothering to unpack her duffel…in all honesty, she didn't even care if the things that went bumping in the night would come and pay her a visit. Hell, she welcomed the idea of an early death. It was a fool's thought but true nonetheless. She was tired of fighting against things that never even died, she didn't want to go on anymore without Sam and Dean but she would. She had a year to live and she would spend that entire year killing as many sons of bitches as she could find.

Tony never really thought deeply about why she had sold her soul, yes, she was selfish but there was a darker and deeper seed in her: one that she had only ever thought about in desperate and very dark days. It was the recognition of her end, the acceptance that she was okay with the idea of her dying, she had lived a long and full life: she was so very tired that even her marrow ached.

She heard a beeping and glanced down to the mobile phone on the scarred table resting near her elbow, and sighed, "Hello?" She asked, her voice heavily laced with weariness and lack of sleep.

"Are you ever going to tell them where you are hiding?" She heard Ellen's worried and annoyed voice whisper over the static into her rebellious ear. She didn't want people to care about her; she wanted to disappear from everyone's thoughts and memories so that no one would ever mourn for her. She didn't want anyone to feel pain over her death. Tony knew this was Ellen's weekly check-in with her and lately she was becoming more annoyed than grateful.

When she had destroyed her last phone and bought a new one, she had used a few tricks Ash had taught her, so that she would remain untraceable. Not even the CIA would be able to trace her. She had finally relented one bitter cold morning and phoned Ellen, wanting to hear something comfortingly familiar. But that had been months ago and now Ellen's weekly phone calls were becoming weekly annoyances rather than welcomed moments.

She could now think of Ash with nothing but a dull ache and a fond smile, she knew that all of the people she had lost in her life were steps that had to be taken to lead her here. She was still as bitter and angry about some of the ones she had lost but she refused to cry the rest of her days away, she would see them again…its was only a matter of time now.

Tony frowned, not bothering to tear her eyes away from the red circle she had drawn over the date, the day she had kissed the Crossroad's demon, "I'm not hiding, Ellen. I'm hunting." Her free hand absently tapping the gun resting in her lap.

Ellen scoffed, "Even Bobby's worried sick."

Tony felt another wash of pain swarm over her: there had been a time when she had been happy, when she hadn't felt such anguish. But now, it was the only reminder that she was still alive, "That's a low blow, Ellen. Even for you."

She heard a sound, as if it pained Ellen but Tony refused to feel anything more, "We're worried about you, girl. Sam and Dean—"

Tony sat upright, swinging her feet to the ground and shoved away from the table, the chair falling: a loud crashing reminder that she was still not over hearing the names of the ones she had left behind, the ones that still held her heart, "What do you want, Ellen?" The raw edge of steel in her voice: her hands tightening around the phone and gun in rage.

"They're trying to get you out of the deal."