A/N: You all are too much with your reviews. Seriously, thank you all so very much. SyLaR'sMEmoRyGuRL I definitely want to hear more of your thoughts and ideas. I even modeled your mattress line in this chapter. TheSouthernScribe, I think that you have more confidence in my writing than I do, but I'm glad to have you in my corner, and I plan to show some major consequences for Dean's return on Bamon's relationship. Also, thank you to gosteadyonme and LadyHan for alerting this story. It means a lot. Now before we get to it, I have to tell you two things. First off, this chapter is long. But that's not what I have to tell you. One, it's long because it not only deals with the Bonnie/Sam meeting, but it also deals with part of a situation that changes Dean's life four years ago (this will coincide with a situation that changes Bonnie's life four years ago that I'll describe in detail in her chapter coming up). Two, I just realized that this story will probably be over twenty chapters. I am so sorry to keep you guys hanging on for that long, and I try to make the chapters as long as possible, but I can't possibly wrap this up in under twenty. Twenty one is actually pushing it, but hopefully no more than twenty-five.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, but given the amount of grief (and hours worth of studying that I missed trying to make this chappy perfect), I really should start getting some of their ratings money. Ha ha. Just kidding. Your reviews are enough payment. Now, let's get on with it, shall we?

HIGHWAY TO HELL

Dean's POV

"So, you wanna run this plan by me again in a way that doesn't sound friggin' nuts?" The sun had finally set about ten minutes ago, making it officially safe for everything that lurked in the dark— including me now—to go outside. Sam threw our bags into the trunk along with a cooler filled with fruit and muffins that he'd stolen from an iffy-looking continental buffet this morning after breaking the news that the woman he'd contacted yesterday was an anthropology and folklore professor who lived two hours away from here. Supposedly, he'd heard about a couple of hunts the professor had been involved in during her Girl Scout days and wanted to get her opinion on my situation, which, honestly, didn't stand a snow ball's chance of actually working since there was no possible way that she could relate to "my situation." I didn't care how many monsters she'd tried to stake. Getting an A in Vampire Studies 101 wouldn't make her an expert any more than eating real food would make me human again. That was just a fact.

I sat the bags back onto the unmade bed and watched him check through empty drawers we never used for a mind that he'd clearly lost, in an attempt to stall for time. Out of all the things he'd chosen to stall for, time was probably the one thing that was on my side right now, but I didn't want to wait for an eternity for an answer, while he struggled with reattaching a door I'd accidently ripped off its hinges. I wanted to get the hell out of here. This place was operated like the Bate's Motel, complete with suspicious red shower stains and a Norman type running the front desk. If we hadn't been in such a hurry, I would have made Sam stay an extra night so we could check for stuffed grannies in the attic, but we didn't have an extra day. All we had was right now, so he had better start talking. "Sam!"

He sighed and reached for bags that he was too slow to grab from my grasp. Sweat was starting to work its way to his pores, preparing me for yet another round of cagey half-answers that really only left me with more questions. "I told you, I just want to talk to her. She's really studied this stuff and—"

"So, you're expecting me to give over the keys to my car so you can take me to some grey-haired broad with her nose up some book? Nice. Real, nice," he shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the next, "So, tell me something, who would you have called if I'd been bitten by a werewolf, huh? The lunch lady?" Lines formed between his eyes the way it always did when he didn't agree with the way I was handling things. For the last four years, those lines had practically etched themselves into his damn skin permanently, and I knew that it was nearly a miracle that he was even speaking to me after some of the shit I'd pulled. The part of me that wasn't terrified of giving in to the voice inside my head that kept tempting me to rip his throat open felt for the kid. After all, it wasn't so long ago that I was the one dialing up trouble while he fought to repair all the bridges I'd burned. But I wasn't sure if that sane part of me was strong enough to spend two hours in a car with him without ending his life. I just wasn't. To be honest, I'd barely been strong enough to sleep in the same room with him without having thoughts that made my stomach weak, because I could already see myself reaching down his throat and yanking his heart out. No. It was better if he just took off and let me die. Because there was no way I could ever forgive myself if I let that voice win. Hell, I was having a hard enough time forgiving myself for letting Crowley's cap control me all those years ago.

-THEN-

"So what's on our agenda for today, Sammy?" I was feeling pretty good that day. It was the first day back on the road since Crowley's cap had put a new pep in my step and I couldn't wait to test it out. Add that to the fact that we had a full tank of gas and a six pack in the cooler, and I tell you, life just didn't get any better than that. Sam held a high tech cell phone up to his scrunched up face and tried to pretend like he couldn't understand why the damn thing wasn't logging onto the one of his many internet news sites. Like the fact that we were in the middle of nowhere with zero cell reception hadn't even occurred to him. I slapped the steering wheel, getting amped up by speakers that advertised nothing but easy living on a freeway headed straight for the Devil's playground while Sam gave up and fished a newspaper out of the glove compartment. We were finally getting back to our roots: hunting the evil bitches that some reserved only for nightmares, burning their remains, and dancing on empty graves. It was a welcomed change to the way I'd spent the previous three years of my life: crying like a chick just because things weren't going well until I'd finally taken to choking down coffee, Jack, and No-Doze shakes. Now, I took the rotten stench that accompanied this life as just another battle scar that came with the territory. And scars I could do well.

"Says here, that a young preschool teacher in Lincolnville came down with Scarlet Fever after she reported being attacked one evening in her classroom," I was glad that he was thinking outside the box for our cases, but it just didn't seem like our kind of problem.

"Color me skeptic, Sam, but doesn't that seem a little out of our jurisdiction to you? I mean, this seems more like a job for the feds than us." Not that they'd ever lent us the same courtesy when they screwed up our cases. The way his face lit up told me that I was in for a long lecture that more than likely contained a history lesson. The story went like this: Lincolnville was a suburb of St. Augustine, Florida, which according to him, was widely accepted as a breeding ground for Casper and other Ripley's escapees. When we'd first starting hunting twelve years ago, this would have been type of case that we went for, but I had a deal to uphold now, which meant that we were on to bigger, and meaner things. This teacher was just going to have to fight Scarlet Fever on her own.

"Look, you're the one who made a deal with the new Devil on the block, not me. So, if you don't want to make the trip then that's fine, but I just think you should take into consideration that a place with that many hauntings may be the portal to Purgatory that we're looking for." We were heading out of Tallahassee. I could either head north or keep travelling the Florida coast.

His grin turned into a smirk when he saw me merge onto the interstate, toward the coastline. "Fine, we'll check it out. What hospital is this chick at, anyway?"

"Um…well actually, she checked out a few days ago, and I really don't think that her family is going to be receptive to letting us interview them at her memorial service. But I was thinking that we'd interview the sister of one of her students instead." This was about as close to a wild goose chase as we could possibly get. Something I really couldn't afford. Bobby and Sam had called me every name in the book for agreeing to find Crowley's key to Purgatory, but they didn't know what was at stake if I didn't. Who he would take back if I didn't. Damnit! I knew I should have kept straight!

"Why, was she one of the nurses on call, or something?" I would have taken anything at this point.

"No, but she was also attacked a couple of days ago, after she supposedly snuck out and left her four year old sister at home alone." These still sounded like your average, run-of-the-mill crime sprees to me, but it was probably the only lead that we were going get for a while.

The sister, Pilar Sanchez, was a sixteen year old girl who lived in a cookie-cutter house with her sister, Jessica, and their parents, who were rarely home. They were the typical suburban family: pictures of smiling kids on the wall, Spanish decorations hanging around the room, and polished wood floors. Yet, Pilar, it turned out, lived anything but a typical suburban lifestyle.

"You two don't look like any cops I've ever seen." From the moment we'd flashed our badges and walked into the carpeted living room, the girl's eyes hadn't left Sam once. I asked her what she thought cops should look like, causing her to blush a little.

"Old, fat," her eyes moved from Sam's shoes to his face, "short," the girl pushed some of her hair over her face so we couldn't see her cheeks light up.

"Yes, well, we deal with special cases like yours." That snapped her out of whatever teenage fantasy she and Sam were fulfilling in her head. Clearly, Juno didn't want to talk about what had happened to her, but that wasn't an option that I was going to allow. Hair touches. Subtle glances into the corner. These were all signs that a person had something to hide, and she had used both of them in the last ten seconds alone.

"I've been around a long time, Ms. Sanchez, so I can spot a lie before it even comes out. That little hair flip you just did lets me know that you were about to lie to us. You left little sis to fend for herself and now you're trying to cover your tracks, because you don't want your parents to find out." Maybe Sam was concerned with coddling this little brat's feelings, but I wanted to get to the chase: she was hiding something.

"Ex-ex-excuse me?" She blinked twice.

"Um, what my partner is trying to say is that we're not interested in telling your parents. We just want to get to the bottom of whatever caused your attack so that other young women can stay safe." That was Sam for you, always the peacemaker.

The girl complained about not feeling comfortable giving us information while I was in the room. She said I made her nervous; she had no idea how right she was to feel that way. Sam promised her that I would face away from her and keep quiet. "Well, you're going to think that this is crazy," the girl started, "but right before I left to meet my boyfriend, my sister Jessie kept telling me to check under her bed for La Llorona." Neither one of us followed her on this one, and we'd fought some pretty screwed up crap. "In my culture, parents try to keep their children from straying off by warning them with tales of La Llorona. Then a couple of weeks ago, Jessie, walked in on me and my B.F. right before we were about to…um…study, and she told me that if I let him touch me, La Llorona would kill me. I never believed that she was real, but…" Curly hair went flying as she tried to shake the thought out of her head. "…and I could have sworn that I'd heard a woman crying…" She wasn't making a bit of sense. "…but that would mean that…and that's impossible…"

I couldn't help but turn around then, "Pilar, is there someone else that we can talk to? Someone who may have been there when both you and the teacher were attacked?"

"Um…not that I know of, but you could try my sister. She won't shut up about that damn teacher. It's all she ever talks about. Well, that and La Llorona. Oh, and duendes." She popped a piece of gum into her mouth, offering Sam the other half.

"Duen-what?" I could barely pronounce half of the things she was naming. She completely ignored me, answering Sammy as if he were the one who'd asked her the question.

"They were in a bedtime story I read to her last week," she got up and led us down the hall to a small door where we could hear a tiny, high pitched voice talking to someone named Mr. Pickles. "She's been obsessing about them ever since." We asked if we could talk to her. "Good luck. She hardly ever talks to anyone besides me. It's always been that way." She was right about that, which was unfortunate, because the little girl was just the person that we had come to see.

"More tea Mrs. Pumpernickel?" The little girl held out a small white cup.

Sam looked at me from underneath a blue and white wicker hat, clip on earrings slapping him in the jaw in the process. "Dude, I think she's talking to you." Jessica stared at me, waiting with a cup in her hands for me to take it. Since when did we become Mrs. Doubtfire? I wondered, taking the cup from her small hands.

"Now, Jessica—"

"Mrs. Ladybug!" The kid had a set of lungs that could have peeled the paint off the walls.

"Okay…Mrs….Ladybug," I tried again, "can you tell us what happened to your teacher last week? Your sister tells us that you think it may have been…" I looked at Sam for some help with the pronunciation.

"Your sister told us about the duend-ermphs," before he could finish, Jessica stuffed a plastic cookie into his mouth.

"Have some gingerbread Mrs. Butterscotch," The whole thing would have been funny had we not been sitting in chairs that were a foot and a half too small.

Pilar stood in the background, laughing. "Jessie, tell these nice men what you told sissy about the duendes? Can you do that?"

"I told Mrs. Escatel about the things in the wall but she didn't believe me." She'd moved on to trying to stuff Play Doh into a stuffed bear's face, signifying the end of the conversation. The whole thing looked like a kid with an overactive imagination who'd read too many fairytales, but something still didn't smell right about this. Something that, after hours of research tapped away on Sam's computer, along with a little help from Bobby, pointed right to the little girl herself.

-NOW-

I was willing to own up to all the horrible shit I'd done in that damn place and how it had paved the way to Klaus's door, but running off to some broad in bifocals wasn't the way to go. "She's more than just a professor. She's…" He looked like he wanted to come clean about something, but settled for grabbing the bags and walking toward the door, calling from over his shoulder as he opened it, "…she's gifted, okay? Now can we leave, please? I told her that we'd meet her at this bar in two hours."

Radio stations and the cities that played them bled into each other before he finally spoke up again. "Listen, Dean, before we get to this bar, there's something I have to tell you," I turned around just in time to see him hold his hand up, "and I know you're not going to like what I have to say, but…well it's not like you won't find out soon anyway." I didn't like where this was going. My gut clenched and released, making me really regret that gas station hot dog from two stops ago. I waited for him to fill me in, "This professor isn't just an expert in the field of folklore. She's actually somewhat of an expert on…" he ran his hands through his hair. Up ahead, we were approaching a town. I could tell by the welcome banner that hung above the city limit. We were almost close enough for me to make out what it said.

"She's somewhat of an expert on what? Come on Sammy, spit it out!"

"She's somewhat of an expert on…on you," The sign was in full view now, waving back in forth like it was some lame ass tourist attraction that people shelled out cash to find instead of a hellhole chock-full of walking neck feeders. It was all starting to add up now: the comments about her being "gifted," those Christmas cards I caught him buying every year. Somewhere along the way, he'd taken it upon himself to play Mr. Clean and mop up all the shit I'd left in this town before I took off, but this time he'd gone too far. Scared or not, we weren't going down this road again! Welcome to Mystic Falls.

"Pull over," To him, we were still sixty miles from town, which gave me plenty of time to kick his ass. "Pull over!"

Yes, Dean! Drain the boy dry! That damned voice was back, clawing at my skull. Making the skin under my eyes break out in veins and my throat burn like hell. Sam kept driving, while I stuck myself with more Dead Man's Blood. It wasn't enough as he probably would have given me but it calmed the voice down enough for me to try and reason with both Sam and myself.

"Look, Sammy…things didn't exactly end in hugs and kisses when I left. She'll probably take one look at you and run screaming."

"You," he kept his eyes on the road the whole time he explained, "She'll probably take one look at you and run the other way. She doesn't even know me though." He had a point. She had nothing to worry about where Sam was concerned. So why did I feel like this visit would end just like my last stay in Mystic Falls had: in blood.

As soon as we pulled up to the Mystic Grill, I spotted Green Eyes through the window, sucking on a piece of lime and not looking all that unlike the first day we met. Back then, she was all about keeping her friends close and her enemies closer, welcoming the sorry bastards that came along and blurred those lines, because they made her job that much more satisfying. As for it getting any easier, well that was something that neither of us could relate to; not like we'd related to each other, anyway. I couldn't tell you what had made her look up from the ice cubes rolling around inside her glass and put her trust in a complete stranger that night. My guess was that she liked the excitement that came with sleeping with the enemy—who didn't?—even if that same enemy may come back looking for blood one day. Or maybe, she was just that cocky, taking confidence to a whole new level in a way that only witchcraft could. Because, she wanted a cheap thrill and was banking on the fact that I couldn't tell it from the real thing. But for me, it was all in the way she looked. Like Cassie, but with a far off glare in her eyes that said, "Keep the drinks coming 'cause I could be here for a while," and I should have just left on the spot. Left before the girl with Cassie's face became distinguishable all on her own. I should have left right before she tipped the glass to her soft lips and drank its bitterness straight. Smells like that bitterness still ran through her veins. If memory served me correctly though, she was the one who'd found a new enemy to share her mattress with, not me. At least not while that Katherine bitch's blood was still wet on my damn clothes. That's right, Green Eyes. You're not the only one who came out of that situation with bad blood.

"That her?" Sam nodded to the brunette at the bar; shaking away my thoughts of how different she seemed with straight hair.
"Yeah," was all I could say. Only, now that I looked closer, I wasn't so sure that that was the right answer. She looked just like every other girl I'd ever picked up from a bar, and then forgotten about the next day. Like she'd actually made an effort to look that good, and was enjoying knowing that every damn guy within a two mile radius would be jacking off to her memory in their dreams. It was enough to make me miss the eighteen year old version of herself who drove me crazy with just one flip of her hair. But I had to thank Cas for the one in front of us, because this chick didn't have half of what had hooked me all those years ago. This new Green Eyes wasn't going to be any trouble at all.

She eyed the liquor bottles behind the bar darkly. I'd almost forgotten how much she drank when she was upset, or how bossy and impatient she could be. She must have been waiting here for a while, because she was going at it light—mostly ice cubes and tonic water—but I could feel her getting ready to snap her fingers for something stronger at any second. "Alright, Gandhi, let's get this over with," the way Sam had been staring at her, you'd think she'd just taken her top off. Now he was pulling this deer-caught-in-headlights routine, and he looked pretty freaked.

"Dean, you do know that you can't go in there, right?" This was honestly the first I'd heard about me staying behind, but he had to know I wouldn't go for it. True, I didn't even want to be here in the first place. I'd been perfectly ready to let the sun rise and dust myself, only he wanted to try the witchcraft route first. So I let him drag me here, but I sure as hell wasn't going to let him shut me in the car like a one of the salt guns. He knew better than that. "Look, you said it yourself; things didn't end very well between the two of you. So maybe it's better if I go in and smooth things over a bit before you run up to her, baring your fangs, okay?"

I still thought that this was a bad idea but agreed against my better judgment, "Fine, but make it quick. I'm getting hungry."

His face got all nervous like it did every time I mentioned being hungry now. It was like he thought I was going to pull an Ozzy and start biting the heads off of bats and shit. Finally, he recovered, and agreed to bring me a cold one when he got back. "Hey, bring me back some nachos too, will ya?" Last night, we found research claiming that eating normal food helps new vamps curb their cravings. So far, I'd eaten five large pizzas, and a whole bang load of crap from the fill-up station, none of which was actually filling me up yet. At least I didn't feel so much like a pregnant chick in a bakery, though. Too bad it didn't stop the mood swings. Or the thoughts of killing. He shook his head and got out of the car. "No wait, make that hot wings instead." The kid waved me off without looking back. "Ooh, and see if they still have this thing called a Mystic Melt. It's like a Philly cheese stake but without the—"

"Dean," Sam stuck his head through the window, "I can't hurry up if you keep calling me back."

"Alright, hurry up then," I slid over onto the driver's side and stroked the dashboard while he walked toward the entrance. "It's okay, baby." It was bad enough that I'd had to cheapen the Impala up with a makeshift, homemade tent job just so I could go out in the daytime without frying, but now the seat was all warm. I was still cringing from the fact that Sam had driven all the way here in my car, when I thought of something else, "And cheese fries!" He gave me one last look of frustration, before going in. "I like cheese fries."

The moment he stepped inside, Green Eyes's back straightened up a little bit letting me know that she recognized him, probably from dreams, or however this witch stuff worked. I really hadn't stopped to ask her before I left, and the only other time we'd dealt with witches before then ended with Sam and me needing help from Ruby. I figured that, until Sammy and I were back on the road, it would be best if I just treated Green Eyes like another Ruby. A necessary evil that we could use to our advantage while keeping our eyes open for whatever curveball she had hidden up her sleeve. But I still couldn't look into her green eyes and see Ruby's evil blues/browns glaring back. No matter how much I tried. Nevertheless, she zeroed in on him just as quickly as he'd noticed her. In no time, she had a bartender who didn't even look old enough to drive taking Sam's order. He quickly set the drink on a napkin where he'd also written his phone number for her. What the hell is this? 1987? Just do your damn job, Beiber. She smiled politely, waiting for him go refill a couple of empty glasses before throwing the napkin away. That's my girl.

Sam added hot wings and cheese fries to the list of orders he'd be making that night, gaining a lazy chuckle from Green Eyes followed by a comment on how big appetites must run in the family. "How is he, by the way?" She asked like the answer was the last thing she actually wanted to hear but was asking for small talk's sake.

He shrugged and tried to snow her with vague answers like "fine" and "he would have come in himself, but he' kinda on a strict diet that doesn't include…alcohol." Smooth, Sammy. Real Smooth. Just when his evasiveness was starting to make me proud, he had to go and feed her some unbelievable bull that set him two steps back. She looked away from him twice: once at all the untouched food sitting in front of him, and once at the window over his shoulder, and reached out to grab his arm. Just as quickly, she snatched her hand back, demanding for him to tell her about some little girl that she'd seen in a pissy voice that felt like old times.

"He kinda snapped on a hunt in St. Augustine four years ago."

"What happened to the girl?" After she'd taken her hand back, Green Eyes had signaled the horny bartender back and ordered a gin on the rocks. Her first real drink of the night. It lay sweating bullets in her hands.

"It's what happened to him that I'm more worried about, which is sorta the reason why I called. See, he ran off a couple of nights ago, and—" Before he could break it to her that he hadn't driven all this way for hot wings and small talk, a tough-looking chick with short blond hair walked up to the bar, swaying on her feet. She wanted them to think that she was drunk, so they wouldn't notice the clear liquid she was slipping into Sammy's drink. It smelled like the stuff Green Eyes used to slip me. Some anti-vampire crap that started with a "V." Green Eyes was too preoccupied with pouring something equally clear into her drink. But she still didn't take a sip. Sam noticed the girl's slip, but didn't let on that he knew.

Green Eyes; however, didn't have a problem setting the record—and the sneaky blond—straight, "That's enough Ms. Lewis." To Sam, she made introductions, "Reny, this is Sam Winchester. Sam, this is Reny Lewis. She's one of my students who also happens to be a wi—" she stopped for a second, trying the evasive approach out for size, "well, let's just say that we have a lot in common. And don't worry about your drink. It's just Vervain. It'll protect you while you're here."

"Wouldn't want those bed bugs biting," one wink at him, and the kid was all dimples. He gulped his beer down. Hard. Just great, I thought. Leave it to Sabrina the Teenage Witch to be the first chick since Ruby to get my brother's juices flowing. Literally.

"Guess it runs in the family," the man sitting next to me didn't even try to hide the smug British tone in his voice.

"Ah, Crowley, Duke of Dicks. To what do I owe the pleasure?" I tried to patronize him.

"As if you don't know," he waited for me to fess up to something I really had no clue about. "Don't insult me by pretending that you didn't sic your little guardian angel after me." I was still wracking my brain and coming up empty. Since when did Cas listen to my damn calls? And why the hell was he talking to Crowley? I made sure that he answered this before I knocked his screws loose. That piece of shit still owed me for the faulty cap. "Which is precisely why I'm here. It's been brought to my attention that your cap didn't pop until Dracula's blood penetrated your veins."

"Wow, Crowley. Only you could make it sound so Brokeback," the steering wheel grew hot beneath my grip. "Really, does being a grade-A dick take practice or is it just a natural talent?"

He went right on like I'd never even said anything, "Be that as it may, Castiel has so graciously taken time out of his busy schedule to remind me that without the cap I promised you, our deal is null and void. And as long as you're a vampire, I can't put the cap back on." Something wasn't right about this situation. Demons didn't usually let people out of their deals no matter what the details of those deals were. And angels didn't fight humans'—or whatever my case was—battles unless they knew something.

"What's the catch?" Sam was still hamming it up on the inside.

"No catch. Say, you haven't fed yet have you?" He knew damn well that if I fed, I wouldn't even have a chance of turning back. If that sort of thing could even happen. Then again, he wasn't just finding out about the cap. He'd known before Sam had invited me into our motel room. "Good. Don't. Because I think I just found something even more valuable than Purgatory." Before I could question what that meant, he was gone.

Back inside, the blond asked what Sam had said his name was again. The answer made her eyes grow wide and her to turn to Green Eyes, who kept looking at her watch, and scream, "As in brother of 'He had a million ways to send me to hell…?'" Neither me nor Sam knew what that comment meant, but obviously it was some kind of inside reference to me that I didn't appreciate at all. Green Eyes shook her head reluctantly and motioned for the girl to leave, which she did, laughing the whole way, "Damn! This town just keeps getting better and better."

Needless to say, the girl's nosiness had put Green Eyes in a foul mood that even Sam couldn't brighten. She saw through his motives on the spot, and I could tell that she was ready to leave by the way her arms crossed in front of her chest. "Alright Sam, what is going on here?" Sam took a deep breath and picked up a fry. He put it back down again, looking straight into her eyes, calling her bluff.

"Look, I know that you and my brother were close once. That he confided in you about what we do, and that you cared enough for him to keep it in confidence." This was clearly the wrong approach for someone who wasn't interested in reliving the past. It certainly wouldn't have won me over; he wasn't winning any sympathy points with her either. She just looked more miserable.

"I was just a messed up kid," it was a whisper. When she looked back up, her eyes were sad, "I was just a lonely, messed up kid with a crush on the town's new bad boy. That's all!" Sam tried to reason with her, tried to get the conversation back to where we needed it to be, but she stepped away from him, grabbed her coat, and laid a few dollars down for the bartender. "Look, Sam, you seem like a nice guy, and I really hope that Dean is okay, but as you've just mentioned, I know what you guys do, and well…I happen to love a lot of people that you two go after, so I'm going to tell you something that I once told a very close friend of mine before I met your brother," she squared her narrow shoulders and stepped up to where Sam was sitting, "If he so much as spills one drop of vampire blood in this town, I will be forced to take him down," she was whispering now, "even if I have to take you down with him." It wasn't a threat. And I wasn't intimidated by it. But I was pissed.

"Bonnie, please. We need your help. He's a…he needs you." She turned around for a moment, and it was a moment I thought we'd won. I should have known better though. Witches were all the same. Only out for themselves.

"Well he's about seven years too late," she stepped into a leather jacket two sizes too big to belong to her. "I've got someone else who needs me now." Then, she walked out. I'll admit it: that last part cut into me like a steel knife between my ribcage, which trust me, after being stabbed more times than Swiss cheese, I knew how much it hurt. This was worse. Still, hearing her play the victim card like she didn't carry a damn bit of the blame made my gums hurt. I wanted to punch something. No, I wanted to momentarily forget how much I hated myself for becoming what I'd once hunted, let the fangs grow, and rip someone's head off. Anyone. Maybe even the next person who walked past this car and bumped her grille on the way inside. I knew I had to get a grip before I lost control.

"Well that went well," by the time Sam slid back into the car, I was back to my old self—as much as I could be considering—"told you this was a bad idea."

"Unbelievable," his face was still turned up in confusion, "she's just as stubborn as you. It's a wonder you two didn't kill each other."

"Yeah, well, I was too busy helping her out of a 500 year old jam so, she kinda owes me." I backed the Impala away from this sorry ass excuse for a bar and sped off."

"Where are we going?" Sam's death grip on the door handle was almost offensive. He looked like he were about to pee himself.

"To make sure she doesn't forget it."