I only own Carrie Harrington. Thanks for all your kind reviews! Also, a big, big hug to sweetkiwi604 for being such a strong bastion for me! I owe you a lot!


They had been holed down in Barrington for nearly a week now. The case was at a dead end. No leads, no nothing. Dean could tell that Carrie was starting to get antsy, and it wasn't just because she was on her blood fest. He knew that she didn't like to stay in the same place for more than three or four days and it really didn't help that she had to wake up at five-thirty in the morning to go to school.

"Why do you like moving around so much?" Dean once asked, wanting to know why she liked this life so much when she could have been normal.

"One man's hell is another man's heaven, Dean." Carrie had simply replied.

Now, as Dean stood against the Impala outside of the old school building, he watched Carrie slowly make her way towards him.

"Hey, Carrie," Tommy chased after her with a charming grin, making Dean want to puke. "I was just wondering if maybe you'd like to go to prom with me." Carrie cocked her head to the side, trying to rack her mind for any remembrance of him.

"I'm sorry," She began politely, yet still befuddled. "I don't think I remember your name." Dean, who listened to the whole conversation, groaned inwardly at her lack of ease. He lowered his head, letting out a half-sympathetic sigh.

"I'm Tommy,"

"Oh, I knew your face." Then, while biting her lower lip with an air of sophisticated flirtation, Carrie continued. "I guess knowing your name is just as important." Dean's head snapped up when he heard a little giggle escape her mouth. "I would love to go with you, Tommy, but my brother over there isn't very good at sharing."

"I—I understand," Tommy stammered under the hard glare Dean sent him and started back for the parking lot. Carrie's face dropped when she turned to walk back to the Impala.

"Hey," Dean cupped his hand under her chin. "don't tell me that you're into Blondie over there. We could stick around for a few more days when this job's over."

"Naw," She opened the car door gloomily and sat inside with a thump. Dean's heart sank when he saw Carrie brush a tear from her cheek. She was feeling it now.

That night Carrie sat on the floor outside of the bathroom, enjoying a few hours of Winchester-less moment's in the motel. Starting absently down at the pages she had filled with notes, her trained ears picked out the scratching sound of a paper clip jiggling through the lock on the front door. Setting her notebook down, she scuttled on her hands and knees to stand up by her neatly made bed just as the door creaked open.

"Where's Dean?" A tall dark figure stood on the welcome mat. Carrie made quick mental connections in her head before replying in little more than a whisper.

"You've been parked outside for the past hour and a half. You tell me." John Winchester smirked, looking around the room that she had painstakingly kept spotlessly clean despite Dean's noncooperation.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Funny, I thought you Winchester's were all: shoot first, ask questions later." Despite her struggling, Carrie managed to find her confidence under John's piercing stare. He blinked, having studied her enough for the time being, and brushed back the heavy curtains which were draped over the window.

"Tell Dean that I finished the job here and that I've got a lead on the demon." John shifted his eyes back to the rugged girl with a knowing smile. "Put the safety back on, honey. You'll shoot your eye out." Carrie hesitantly pulled the 9 millimeter Beretta from behind her pillow, weighing it irritatingly in her hand as she snapped the safety in place. "I could teach you a thing or two about Berettas if you stick around long enough."

"Thanks, but no thanks. Dean's Miller Lite runs don't last very long,"

John shrugged at her abrupt cue to hit the road, opening the door and taking one step outside. "Remember to tell Dean what I said, blackbird."

Carrie waited to make sure that the door was totally closed before she sprinted to bolt the lock.

Dean seldom brought up his family in conversations unless the information was directly needed—which was seldom. Nonetheless, Carrie had found a way to know the Winchester's back story. Bobby had been more or less obliging on the matter. She had had the opportunity to ask other hunters such as Caleb or Pastor Jim. Their stories were always the same: Mary Winchester was killed in a fire that devoured the Winchester's Kansas home by a yellow-eyed demon. Carrie couldn't remotely speculate that Dean or Sam, let alone John, would hail from little ol' Lawrence.

For some reason she knew that this demon had to do with Mary. Maybe it was just that guilty glimmer in John Winchester's eyes when he said it. Or maybe it was the way he looked at her with self-loathing in his every move.

Scratching a brief note to Dean on the back of nearby motel stationary, Carrie grabbed her jacket and slipped out towards the café she had seen a mile down Main Street.

Each one of her steps was heavy and scratched against the gravel pavement with arduous strength. She finally stood in front of a coral pink building, the word Waffee shining in bright neon. Retro styled tables lined the walls and a panel of computers sat at the far right. Not even bothering to look at the cashier who kept an eye on her from behind the counter, Carrie perched herself onto one of the high stools in front of a computer, furiously typing into the search engine.

After an hour, she sighed loudly, sliding halfway off the chair in exhaustion—feeling a step behind the whole world. The worker had been beginning to close up the shop, warning her twenty minutes ago but her mind was in another dimension filled with creatures that boggled her very mind.

"Hey," The cashier, a man in his mid-twenties with bright red hair, said gruffly, glancing around the empty shop. "It's closing time."

"I heard you the first time, handsome," Carrie continued scrolling down the page, looking for any kind of information that would help her in the few seconds she had before she would be kicked out.

"Look," The man leaned against the counter beside her computer, sighing exasperatedly. "I want to get home. You mind wrapping up your little study session? And shouldn't you be getting home for your curfew? Why are you so interested in house fires in the 80s?"

She turned her head to look at him, frowning rudely. "It's really none of your business. Back off, man."

"You little bitch," He took a handful of her hair, jerking her back and throwing her onto the counter. The stool loudly clattered against the ground.

"Get off of me." Carrie kicked and struggled, trying to reach her jackknife under his heavy weight as he harshly pulled at her clothes. "Dean!"

As if on cue, the bow-legged hunter burst through the glass door. He nearly threw the cashier against the opposite wall and pulled Carrie off of the counter and behind him.

"Go to the Impala," Dean ordered, his eyebrows furrowed deeply in anger as he pushed the young girl out the door then hauled the fallen man to his feet. "You got off with your balls still on asshole. If I see you ever again, you won't be as lucky. Trust me."

Carrie was wiping the blood that dripped out of her nose with the sleeve of her jacket when Dean slid behind the wheel, casting a sidelong glance at her.

"You okay?"

"Just peachy. What have you got on the case?"

"I think another hunter beat us to the punch. We've been on this case for a week now and we've got buttkus."

"I think you're right." Carrie said under her breath, suddenly afraid to tell Dean about his father's visit. "We should probably get out of here before people start asking questions. They might think that we were behind the killings and maybe they'll think-"

"Carrie," Dean grinned fondly. "shut up."

"I'm just trying to be logical."

"Well, don't. It scares me."

"Well, what's your bright idea Einstein?" Carrie watched as Dean started the engine to the Impala, slowly backing out of the Waffee parking lot. With a mischievous smile, Dean asked,

"How good are you at bar tending?"


The Road So Far...