Chapter One

Mid-January 2009 – Singer Salvage Yard in South Dakota

Dean pushed himself out from under his car when he heard the door leading from Bobby's kitchen to the garage open. His shoulders slumped when he saw it was McKenna and not Sam.

"How's it going?" she asked.

"S'okay," Dean shrugged. When he stood he felt all the muscles in his back stretch and pop, constant reminders that he wasn't as young and nimble as he used to be. McKenna jumped to lift herself onto the wide makeshift wooden table housing Bobby's toolbox. There were wrenches of all sizes strewn across the tabletop, and various car parts – hubcaps, alternator belts, old engines, tires – cluttering the garage.

"How's the job hunt going?" Dean wiped his hands on the greasy rag hanging out of his jean's pocket before riffling through a drawer of the toolbox in search of a different-sized ratchet. McKenna sucked in a breath as her heart raced. Her biological reaction to Dean being so close to her was nothing new, but dressed in faded, ripped jeans, a gray T-shirt that hugged his chest and was streaked with oil, he didn't even realize how hot he looked. His spiky hair was tousled and sticking out in all directions as if he had been running his hands through it every once in awhile, and she noticed a streak of grease sown his stubble-darkened right cheek.

"Slow," McKenna answered. "You'd think paranormal activity would be rampant what with it being the end of the world and all."

"Yeah," Dean said, his attention focused on finding what he needed rather than what she was saying. He found the new socket and attached it to the wrench, then looked at her. His face and eyes were exhausted, the lines around his eyes proof of a hard, strenuous life hunting evil and worrying about her and Sam. McKenna almost reached out to rub her thumb down the grease streak on his cheek, but she knew he hated chick-flick moments and didn't usually invite physical contact.

"Well, I was…um…I just wanted to see how the car repair was going and see if you needed anything," McKenna stammered, looking away from Dean's all too alert green eyes, grateful that he wasn't the psychic in the family.

"I'm good, but thanks," Dean mumbled. "I just wish we had a case or something. I'm sick of sittin' around here, helpless, while the world falls apart."

McKenna sighed, "I know. Me too. We're doing the best we can, Dean, but without Castiel and the Colt there's only so much we can do." It has been a month since their last hunt, which ended in them finding out the elusive trickster was actually the angel Gabriel, Michael and Castiel's brother. Since then, Castiel disappeared again, with Dean's amulet, in search of God, who he believes is the only one who can defeat Lucifer and end the apocalypse. So, for the time being, the three of them decided to return to Bobby's for a little R & R, and so Dean could give much-needed attention to his car.

The first week of not hunting was great, but now all three of them were getting restless. Without Castiel's direction or the Colt, there was not a whole lot they could do except a national search of strange deaths or abnormal activity that didn't seem to be directly related to Lucifer. At this point, anything would do. If Dean had his way, they would be on a frantic hunt for the Colt, but that trail was as cold as the January wind shaking and whistling through the closed garage door.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean muttered, clearly frustrated, as he pushed a hand through his hair before rolling himself back under the car.

"Hey, so your birthday is in three days," McKenna changed the subject. From the lack of clinking tools and metal sounding on metal, she assumed Dean went still at the announcement. "Whaddya wanna do?"

"My birthday?" Dean asked from under the car. McKenna smiled.

"Yeah, you know, the day you were born. You're turning thirty this year, and I think it's only appropriate that we throw you some kinda party. An over-the-hill party perhaps?"

She laughed when a greasy shop rag nearly nailed her in the face. Dean was looking up at her from where he laid on the dolly, his face screwed into an insulted pout, but he would do anything to get another genuine laugh out of the tiny young woman perched on the work table. He hadn't heard anyone laugh at such an innocent gesture for…he couldn't remember when. Even in sweat pants and one of Sam's old hoodies, McKenna's presence could make something stir and come alive inside of him. An emotion he didn't know if he had ever felt. He always thought of her as his safety and comfort, a sister figure he could confide in, but now he wondered if she was supposed to – or if she could be – someone more to him. McKenna knew everything about him, his faults, weaknesses, concerns, love for his brother, and she still laughed at his jokes, when she wasn't pissed at him, and offered her friendship without conditions. But in his experience, those he loved were bound to leave him. It was just a matter of time.

"Thirty is not old," Dean defended himself.

"Whatever you say," McKenna grinned, "Paunch."

"Okay, that's it," Dean sprung to his feet and rushed at McKenna. Before she could react, he was tickling her bare feet. She shrieked, kicking at him and begging for him to stop, while trying not to fall off the worktable.

"So I'm not old," the feather-light touch on the bottom of her feet was her weakness, and Dean knew it. "Say it, McKenna. I'm not gonna stop."

"Fine, fine, you're not old!" McKenna was laughing and shrieking so loud that Sam came out to the garage to see what was going on. But when he saw his brother teasing his best friend, he decided to let them be.

Dean kept his end of the bargain, but when he stopped tickling her, McKenna smacked his chest with a, "You jerk!" But her eyes were still bright with laughter and her pretty face was flushed a cute pink.

"You enjoyed it," Dean's cocky smirk meant he was still teasing her just to get a reaction. "Admit it, Hudson. You just can't get enough of me."

"Actually, I think you're an egocentric jackass with a big head," she shot back, but Dean knew she was joking.

"Ouch. And you wonder why you don't have more friends."

"I'm leaving if you're just going to insult me and exploit my weaknesses for your own amusement," McKenna slid off the worktable and slammed the door as she stomped back inside. Dean just chuckled and went back to work.

Later that afternoon, Sam's cell phone buzzed in his pocket just as he was about to give up on the case hunt. He looked over and saw McKenna asleep on the couch, his open laptop resting on her stomach.

"Hello?" he answered his phone.

"Sam, it's Jo," came the female voice on the other end. She sounded urgent so Sam didn't waste time with niceties.

"What's up?" he asked.

"I found a case…well, actually Rufus called and told me about it. Anyway, it sounded like a low-level demon or poltergeist job so I figured I could do it alone, but it's been three days and I'm stuck. My mom called and told me y'all were looking for a case, so I thought…I need your help, Sam," Jo said in one long breath.

"Jo, where are you?"

"Carthage, Tennessee."

"Okay, we'll be there as soon as we can," Sam told her.

"Please hurry, Sam," she sounded desperate, "before someone else dies. I'll keep researching to try and find out what we're dealing with."

After saying goodbye, Sam pushed his phone back into his pocket as he walked across the living room to where McKenna was sleeping on the couch.

"Mac," he gently shook her by the leg to wake her. "Mac, wake up." When she moved and stirred, Sam closed his laptop and set it on the coffee table just in case McKenna moved and forgot it was on her stomach.

"Mmmmm, what," McKenna groaned, her voice groggy with sleep.

"Jo just called. She needs our help ASAP. We've gotta pack and go," Sam told her.

"Who?" McKenna narrowed her droopy eyes at him, her brain still unable to register everything he was saying.

"Remember? Jo Harvelle? Ellen's daughter?"

"Oh god," McKenna groaned again and sat up, running a hand through her tangled, sleep-tossed hair. "The crazy chick?"

"She's not crazy, Mac," Sam said evenly. "She's just…determined."

"She shoved a gun in my back the first time I met her," McKenna reminded him. Three years ago, after John Winchester's unexpected death, Sam was going through the messages on his dad's phone when he found one from a woman named Ellen. He remembered seeing the name in his dad's journal, so the three of them drove to Nebraska and met Ellen and Jo Harvelle. Ellen's husband died during a hunt with John, so it was her and Jo left to run Harvelle's Roadhouse, a safe haven for hunters. As much as Ellen tried to keep her daughter safe, Jo was hell-bent on being a hunter like her father. And after a hunt in Pennsylvania with McKenna and the Winchesters, which ended with Jo being used as bait to lure the masochistic spirit of a serial killer to his doom, Jo decided to go her own way. She left the Roadhouse, mostly hunts alone, and works as a waitress or bartender to support herself in between hunts. The last time the Winchesters heard she had been in Duluth, Minnesota, but that was at least two years ago. Sam figured if she was calling for their help she had to be in trouble.

"You just don't like her because she's got the hots for Dean," Sam grinned, his blue-green eyes lighting with amusement.

"Who's got the hots for me?" Dean asked, walking in from the garage.

"No one, Dean," McKenna and Sam deadpanned and rolled their eyes at the same time. Dean's shoulders drooped a little, his ego only slightly deflated, as he grabbed a beer from the fridge and wandered back to the living room to collapse onto the couch. McKenna pressed her body against the arm of the couch to put as much distance in between herself and Dean as she could. Sam was right, though. Part of the reason for her passionate dislike of Jo was the pretty blonde's unrelentless flirting every time Dean came around, and it didn't help that Dean soaked up the attention and returned it almost to the point of forgetting McKenna and Sam were even there. After everything that had happened, McKenna wasn't sure her heart could handle watching Dean and Jo play their games. Plus, Jo's overbearing determination and frustrating stubbornness annoyed McKenna to no end.

"We've got a case," Sam informed his older brother.

"Really? Where?" Dean took a swig of beer. His interest was piqued and he was suddenly alert as he sat up a little straighter, but his feet were still propped up on the coffee table. If Bobby was home he would have smacked the back of Dean's head and told him to get his feet off the table.

"Carthage, Tennessee," Sam said. "Jo called and said she needs our help with a job."

"Wow, she actually said that?" Dean asked. Sam nodded. "Sweet, when're we leaving?"

"How fast can you pack?" But Sam already knew the answer.

Twenty hours later, Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot of the cheapest motel they could find, which wasn't hard since the tiny town only had two. Sam signed them in while Dean parked the car and McKenna took Jagger for a walk. They almost literally threw their duffel bags into the room then left again to meet Jo at the county public library.

"So far I've determined it's definitely a spirit that we're hunting, and it's targeting young blonde women," Jo turned away from the computer screen to face Dean, Sam and McKenna, who were reading over her shoulder.

"But you don't know why or how it chooses its' victims?" Sam clarified. Jo shook her head, her long hair swirling over her shoulders and back like a curly blonde curtain.

"Great," Dean sighed, "so we have no idea where to even begin looking until this thing kills again?"

"Hold on," Sam squinted at the computer screen like he saw something that might help them. "Check this out." He took the mouse from Jo's fingers and scrolled halfway down the online news article page and pointed out the street address.

"Yeah, so?" McKenna asked. "What's your point, Sam?"

"Look at all the other addresses of where this thing has hit," Sam explained. He clicked through the rest of the articles Jo had found on the people that appeared to have been killed by the spirit. All of the houses were on the same street, in number order. "Now check out the date of each death. Every third day."

"Hm, nice work, Sherlock," Dean smacked his brother playfully on the back.

"What was the day of the last killing?" McKenna asked.

"Monday," Jo answered.

"Guys, it's Thursday," McKenna moved her attention between Sam and Dean, both of their handsome faces telling her they realized what she was saying. "It's striking again tonight."

"Let's go see if there's a young blonde living at the next address," Dean suggested.