By Fate Or Free Will

by TFK-fan118

In the year 2003, a witch unleashed a spell that drastically altered the fates of thousands of girls and women around the world. Many went about their lives or deaths unknowing of their transformed purpose. However, each were meant to be warriors, capable of fighting evil. The Winchesters meet this different breed of hunter, changing just about everything. For better or worse.

38. Instinct & Half-Truths

I decided not to do Roadkill because it wouldn't have contributed to plot in anyway. Skipped straight onto Heart. Hope you like it.

---

"I don't understand. I already gave my statement."

Tracee wasn't as thrilled as she thought she would be in San Francisco, California. She had kept her sighs mostly to herself, but she was quite disappointed. Finally, they had managed to find a case in one of the places she had wanted to visit the most, but of course, they get here, and it's the coldest time of year for the sunniest place in the United States. She could not believe her luck. So much for sandy beaches and bikinis. More than likely, Dean would decide to move on to the next state as soon as this case was finished. So her mood this time around had been ruined, and the girl's baffled reaction to their presence wasn't helping much.

Frowning, Tracee followed Madison, the eye-witness of their case, further into her apartment. Sam was the one to explain that they were following up on the incident, wanting to verify a few things. They had come to California because they had caught wind of several cases where women were found without hearts. Over the past year, there had been many of them. The outlier, of course, had come when a man had turned up without a heart. The women that had been found had washed up on shore, too decomposed to determine anything. Wouldn't have peaked a hunter's interest too much. However, this guy had seemingly been attacked by a vicious beast, his corpse left behind with claw marks and no heart. In an office setting. Of course, Dean had been all over it. Apparently, werewolves were a supernatural goal for him.

"This is my neighbor, Glen," Madison introduced them to a lean man with a dark beard and short curly hair. The man rose from the couch. "Glen, this is Detective…" She trailed off, obviously having already forgotten their fake names.

"Landis," Dean answered. "Detective Dante," he pointed at Sam. "And this is our assistant, Dr. Wadleigh."

The man, Glen, nodded politely in greeting, and then excused himself. He appeared quite timid as he walked pass them all. He haven't even directly responded to Dean's comment about him being thoughtful for bringing casserole over. Madison said that Glen had come over to check on her—that he was sweet. Sweet on her, perhaps. Tracee saw the appeal, of course. Madison was a tall, slender woman with long dark hair. She also had a doe-eye thing going on. Many, if not all, would find her attractive. It wasn't too surprising to find adoring eyes on her. Plus, her voice was a bit alluring as well. As Madison directed them all to sit at her table, Tracee noticed the lingering gaze Dean kept on her. Typical. She sat down across from Dean while Sam sat down across from Madison.

"You must be pretty shaken up," Sam assumed. "You were Nate Mulligan's assistant, right?"

"For two years, yeah," Madison confirmed, clasping her fingers together on the table.

"So you knew all about him," Dean said.

"Probably knew more about him than he did," Madison replied. "Nate was…" She trailed off, thoughts shifting elsewhere. She gave a smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. Subtle though it may have been, Tracee noticed a slight twitch about her expression. It caused her to narrow her eyes.

"But…?" Sam urged, maybe noticing the same thing.

"Nothing, really," Madison quickly assured. Then she sighed tightly. "You get a few scotches in him and he started hitting on anyone in a five-mile radius—you know the type."

"Yeah. We do, actually," Sam remarked, eyeing his brother.

Sensing his gaze, Dean had the nerve to look offended. Tracee pressed her lips together to keep the chuckle in. Dean cleared his throat, switching his focus back on Madison. He asked if the victim had any enemies she could be aware of. She, again, appeared baffled by the line of questioning, but Dean told her that they were merely covering all bases. Madison pressed her lips together, and then sighed. "This is embarrassing," she began. "But… my ex-boyfriend, Kurt… Mueller. After we broke up, he kinda went nuts. He's… Well, he's kinda been stalking me."

"Sorry, what?" Tracee spoke up for the first time since arriving. All three looked in her direction. "Did you just say that an ex is stalking you? Have you reported this to the police?"

"Well… no. Kurt's-"

"Ms. Edna-"

"Madison," Sam corrected.

"-Are you aware that stalking is a mental assault? That means, it's a crime," Tracee continued, unperturbed. "Any unwanted, repeated advances towards you may result in a major crime. As in a physical—one where someone doesn't get to walk away." Madison visibly swallowed. Well, at least now she appeared the part of shaken. "How long ago did you break up with this person? When was the last time you saw him? Has he been calling? Do you feel threatened in any way? What can you tell us about your ex, regarding this circumstance specifically? How far has this stalking escalated?"

"Tracee…!" Sam interrupted before she could finish the series of questions. She turned to her lover, and he gave her a look. Apparently, she was digressing. They were here to find out about the possibility of a werewolf. They were not here to investigate this guy for stalking. Keeping the huff to herself, Tracee crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair. "My partner—assistant—brings up a good point, though," Sam continued, turning back towards Madison. "Could Kurt and Nate have a… history of some sort?"

"I… He-He got it into his head that Nate and I were involved," Madison said, awkwardly diverting her gaze away from Tracee. "He showed up at my job, and accused me of having an affair. Nate tried to defend me, and a punch was thrown before security could interfere. I was lucky to have kept my job."

"When did this happen?" Tracee asked. "And when was the last time you saw him?"

"Right after I broke up with him," Madison told them. "The last time I saw Kurt… was a few nights ago. Actually, it was the night Nate died. We were all grabbing drinks at this bar, and Kurt showed up. Nothing happened, but… for a few seconds, I saw him. He was watching me. Then he was gone. To tell you the truth… He scares me."

Huh. Does he now? Tracee kept quiet as Dean and Sam exchanged a silent conversation. Then, they collectively decided it was time to go. They thanked Madison for answering their questions, and then quickly made their leave. Once they were outside the apartment house, Dean immediately asked what they thought about the situation. Sam leaned towards the ex-boyfriend being their target. When Tracee said nothing, both brothers halted their steps and turned to face her, prompting her to stop as well. They were only a few feet from the Impala. "Trace…? Something on your mind?" Dean asked.

"I don't know," Tracee replied, looking back towards the apartment.

"And what was up with those questions?" Sam slid an arm around her shoulders. Hm. They were tense for some reason. "What are you thinking?"

"I think… my opinions on this matter are biased," she said. "A few weeks ago, Cassie told me about this story she did on victims of stalkers."

"Hey, yeah, she told me about that, too," Dean said. He grinned then, showing his teeth. "She made the front page."

"Shyeah, right, so I think I got triggered from that," Tracee admitted. "Anyway, I should research werewolves more. In the meantime, let's look into this crazy ex-boyfriend as the possible lupine, shall we? Like you said, it's a theory, so let's prove it."

"Alright, we'll pay Kurt a visit tonight," Dean stated.

0-0

Inside the apartment, Madison stared at the empty seats that had been previously occupied only moments ago. She took a strand of her hair and began chewing on it. She hadn't done this since she had been a child, and yet, here she was, gnawing. She shut her eyes for a moment, taking in several deep breaths. This wasn't the first time she had felt like that. She had felt it a month ago… with Kurt. But that experience had been agitating. So much so that she had nearly vomited when he had tried to kiss her. Her entire body had reeled in protest at his proximity. She had known then that something had been wrong, and had immediately ended things. It had been a surprise for both of them, really. However, the feeling in her gut, now, wasn't twisting. Totally opposite, actually.

It had been like a twitch in her mouth that had spread all the way through her. She had felt so relaxed in their presence. She had to stop herself several times from telling them—Detective Landis and Dante—about everything. God, what good would that have done? They would have thought she was crazy. That Dr. Wadleigh they had with them had certainly been suspicious of her already. All those questions… Madison spit out her hair and wiped at her mouth. There was something about those two that made her want to… lean towards them. There was also about that Doctor that made her guarded. It had been a conflicting reaction, canceling out both. She wasn't sure why, though. The doctor looked about as intimidating as a kitten. Even if her eyes were like a panther. Madison rubbed at her nose, feeling the twitching again.

The three had smelled really nice, though.

0-0

In the dead of night, the three entered the apartment belonging to one Kurt Mueller. Entered being a part of breaking. Dean had skillfully disengaged the lock, allowing them access. Tracee fleetingly wondered if she should try her hand at lock picking. Then thought better of it. After all, she couldn't imagine herself being in a situation where she would need to. Either Dean or Sam would be nearby, and if not, a locked door wouldn't stop her. Quietly, the door was shut behind them. Kurt wasn't anywhere around, so they could search his apartment in peace. They were looking for anything that pointed to him being their werewolf. Five minutes in, they hadn't discovered a thing worth mentioning.

"Anything…?" Sam asked, distractedly looking through pages of some book.

"Nothing," Tracee sighed, uncaringly nudging at one of the many seemingly collectible miniature classic vehicles scattered throughout the apartment. This was dull. Looking through his department, she deduced that their suspect was an average single male. She had been expecting blood, claw marks, and fur. Well, maybe not fur. Dean and Sam told her that real werewolves didn't actually transform into furry creatures. Another disappointing thing she had experienced since coming to California. She had seen way too many werewolf films with furry creatures of the night, so to find out that the species as a whole only grew loner canines and claws had been majorly scowl worthy.

"I've got nothing but leftovers and a six-pack," Dean commented, closing the refrigerator.

"And looking through this guy's fridge is important because…?" Tracee asked.

"I'm hungry," Dean retorted with a shrug of his shoulders. Tracee snorted, mildly amused by his response.

"Who knows, Tracee? Maybe there's some human hearts behind the Häagen-Dazs," Sam teased.

"Ooh, ice cream?" Completely enthused, Tracee practically shoved Dean aside to get a peek at the inside of the freezer. Again, she was met by disappointment. "What? Blue Bell? Now we know this guy's shady!"

"Because of his taste in ice cream?" Dean asked incredulous as he moved towards the glass door leading to the balcony. Tracee merely huffed as she shut the freezer door. She wasn't even going to dignify that with a response. Dean had already proved his lack of understanding when he had argued that all bottled water tasted the same when he had made the mistake of bring home the wrong brand. She shook off memories of Aquafina versus Ice Mountain, and continued to lazily search the apartment. "Sam, Trace, come here…!" Dean called. Dropping the useless search, she and her lover headed out on to the balcony, where Dean leaned a bit over the railing. "Check it out," he said, gesturing over the ledge.

"Finally, some claw marks," Tracee muttered. She narrowed her eyes, examining closer. She wondered when they had been left behind. Fairly recently, it would seem because it appeared as though werewolf had used the wall, bracing his fall. That was strange, though. These murders had been happening for over a year now. Wouldn't there be more marks if this was how he had left his apartment every time? Tracee hummed lightly, provoking a nudge from Sam. "I just find it strange that there's only one set of markings there, and no other sign anywhere on this balcony, or inside the apartment for that matter."

"Maybe it was his first time leaving this way afterwards," Dean suggested. Tracee hummed again. "Besides, we don't actually know if he was coming or going."

"Going," Tracee replied. "The marks are smooth as if-" She mimed clawing at the air in a downward angle. "If he was going up, there would be more marks—one right after the other—choppy and uneven."

"How do you know that?" Dean questioned.

"Because I make similar marks on your brother's back," Tracee said, proudly. Of course, the older brother groaned dramatically and rolled his eyes. He went back inside the apartment, leaving Tracee to snicker in glee. Then she noticed Sam was giving her a look and she abruptly stopped giggling. "What? He makes it too easy." He cocked an eyebrow. "It doesn't change that I'm right, darling. There would be more scratch marks, considering how many bodies have shown up without hearts in this area. And Sebastian's the only one that lives here."

"Yeah, that is weird," Sam agreed. "But to cover all bases, let's keep looking."

"Okay," she said. Then she smiled. "Shall I put more ointment on your back tonight?"

"Nah," he grinned back at her, leaning down. "I like the marks you leave on me." Then he gave her a quick peck to her lips before turning and heading back into the apartment. Tracee pressed her lips together, forcing the pleased giggles inside. Coughing lightly, she followed after her lover, trying hard to stay focus on the task at hand.

They searched for a few minutes more before hearing a single gunshot. The brother immediately dropped what they were doing and ran out of the apartment, leaving Tracee staring incredulously. Had they forgotten what state they had come to? Gunshots weren't uncommon. Sighing, she went about the apartment, straightening things that had been disturbed. Once she was finished, she went to the front door, locked it, and then turned on her heel to exit through the balcony. After shutting the balcony door, she leapt over the side. After a few more jumps, she landed in the alleyway. Soon enough, she managed to find Dean and Sam. They booth stood near a dumpster. Coming closer, she realized they were hovering over a body—the body of a policeman with a massive hole in his chest. Guess she had been wrong about the gang shooting.

"I'd say Kurt's looking more and more like our Cujo," Dean remarked, grimacing.

"Dean, if he's out here, we'd better check on Madison," Sam replied.

All in agreement, the three hurried back to the Impala. Since Kurt's place was clear on the other side of town, not to mention the traffic, by the time they had reached Madison's apartment, the Sun was nearly up. Sam knocked on the door, apartment 3, and waited for an answer. The noise, so early in the morning, caused the opposite door to open first. Glen stared curiously at the three, wanting to know what was happening. "Police business, Glen," Dean told him flippantly. Then, finally, Madison opened her door. She narrowed her eyes in confusion, asking the reason for their untimely visit.

"That's something we'd rather speak about in private," Tracee stated. Her head subtly indicated towards her nosy neighbor. Madison understood and nodded her head. She opened the door further, gesturing for the three to enter. Once they were inside, she shut the door and smiled pleasantly even if it appeared as though she had only recently woken up. She offered coffee, and Dean accepted for all of them. Madison gave them white mugs, and then took the pot of coffee off the burner. "Have you seen your ex since we've last spoken?" Tracee questioned as she poured the dark liquid into Sam's mug. The woman hesitated, pursing her lips. After pouring for Dean, she shifted to do the same for Tracee. "Oh, none for me. Do you have juice?"

"I-I have Sunny D," Madison replied. She turned, setting the coffee pot back on the counter. "Help yourself." She gestured towards her refrigerator. Tracee nodded and almost merrily walked over to the large appliance. "To answer your question," she continued as Tracee opened the door. Immediately, she found the large jug of orange juice, but she also noticed how stocked the refrigerator was. She distractedly wondered if Madison knew how to cook, and gained a new respect for the slightly taller woman. "I… I did see him—last night. He was outside my window… just looking."

"That's all he did?" Tracee asked, pouring the juice into her mug. "He didn't try to get in or try to talk to you?"

"No, he just looked," Madison stated. Tracee hummed. Then she placed the jug of juice back in the refrigerator. "Has he done something?"

"We're not really sure," Sam replied.

"It's probably nothing," Dean mentioned. "But… we just don't want to take any chances. Like Trace said, his behavior might lead to a major crime. In fact, one of us should probably stay here with you, just in case he stops by. Where does he work?"

"He owns a body shop," Madison said.

"You mind grabbing that address for us?" Dean asked. Madison nodded her head, and then went off to get it. After she disappeared around the corner, Dean turned towards them. "Alright, you two follow after the creepy ex. I'm gonna hang here with the hot chick." Rolling her eyes, Tracee took a gulp from her mug. Typical Dean.

"Dude, why do you always get to hang out with the girls?" Sam questioned.

"Cuz I'm older," Dean said as though it were obvious.

"No. No way," Sam retorted. "We settle this the old-fashioned way." He took Dean's mug away and placed his and his brother's on the counter. Tracee leaned against the counter, pressing her lips into a thin line. Sam held up his hands, one curled into a fist while the other was flat and palm up. After a few seconds, Dean copied his posture. They then had a round of Rock-Paper-Scissors. Dean, of course, lost. "Dean, always with the scissors," Sam gloated. Before he could continue bragging, Dean protested and insisted on having another round.

"As amusing as this is, dorks," Tracee spoke up, prompting the two dorks in question to turn her way. "It is ultimately irrelevant." She pushed herself from the counter and moved closer to them. "I'll be staying here with Edna, and you two can go after Sebastian." Both of them had the nerve to give her the same look of disbelief as though she had said something outlandish. She calmly sipped her orange juice, waiting for their verbal rebuttal.

"Tracee," Sam began. She nearly rolled her eyes because she recognized that placating tone of voice. He used that tone whenever he thought what he said next would leave him having to sleep in bed with his brother instead of her. "Out of the three of us, me and Dean are the better shots," Sam explained. "It's gonna take a silver bullet to bring this guy down. I mean, I'm just saying it might be better for one of us to stay behind instead. And since Dean's gonna get distracted, I'm the only option."

"Valid points, darling," Tracee commended. "There's nothing worse than having to fight off a supernatural creature with your pants down." She gave Dean a pointed look. The older Winchester merely grinned.

"If that's how I go…" he trailed off, raising his eyebrows.

Shaking her head, she returned her focus back on her lover. "Still, it doesn't change the fact that I am staying," she insisted. Sam opened his mouth again. "If Sebastian turns out to be our lupine, you will be following him anyway, directly back here. Besides, I don't need weapons to kill something. They're accessories. They just make me feel all girly." Sam frowned and pinched his eyebrows together. "And actually, I believe that Edna is not being as forthcoming as she could."

"You think she's lying about something?" Sam questioned.

"Not lying per se," Tracee shrugged. "Just… withholding. There might be some things she's not willing to say to men. I intend to get to the bottom of it. Perhaps I'll find something that could help. If not, at least my curiosity will be sated." Smiling, she stepped forward again, body nearly touching Sam's. She sat her mug on the counter next to theirs. She tilted her head to the side, reaching up to run her fingers up and down her lover's sides. Unable to help himself, Sam nearly melted because of her soothing ministrations. "So… be careful when you follow him, hm?" Her lover sighed, but nodded his head in agreement. "Thank you," she said gently as she tilted her head up and stretched her neck. Sam responded by dipping his chin and lifting his hands to grab her hips. His kiss was soft and sweet, and she melted in return. To their right, Dean groaned.

"You are so whipped, dude," he remarked.

"There's a reason for that," Sam retorted, barely breaking their lip lock. Tracee hummed in agreement, causing Sam to smirk against her lips. She grinned in response.

"You guys are gross."

0-0

Some hours later, Tracee was sitting at Madison's table. In her hands was a book she had found she had wandered through the apartment. Safety checks, or some such thing she had told her host. Actually, she had found quite a few remarkable books in the woman's collection. The story she had settled on involved a time-traveling woman who had decided to marry her sworn enemy in order to save the world. Maybe. Intriguing read so far, and she wasn't half way through yet. Admittedly, she had lost focus on the reality for quite some time. She might get reprimanded for that later, so better start paying attention sooner or later… after she finished this chapter.

However, fate had other plans because when she flipped to the next page, a slight nudge at the table caught her attention. Tracee blinked once, and then shifted her line of sight away from the words of the page to the woman who had stood on her left. Madison stared back at her, arms crossed over her chest and slight frown on her face. Tracee set the book down, turning her head. She wondered how long exactly Madison might have been wanting her attention. Honestly, she had a habit of ignoring those who wanted her attention when she was in the midst of reading. Dean had learned to just start throwing things. Sam had learned a more… physical approach to gain her attention. Such a smart man. Clearing her throat, Tracee gave her host her undivided attention.

Madison must have showered in the time Dean and Sam had left the apartment to go searching for Kurt Mueller and now. She had lost her giant fluffy robe and had exchanged it with jeans and a thin white sweater. It made her realize that she hadn't showered since yesterday. Her stare became just a bit envious. She had been supposed to condition her hair today. However, it seemed this certain case would span the rest of the day, if not more. Keeping the huff to herself, Tracee opened her mouth. "Yes…? What can I do for you?"

"Doctor…" Madison began. "Your phone has been ringing."

"Really?" Tracee reached into the left pocket of her jacket. As though on cue, the device began vibrating. Damn. She knew she had forgotten to do something before she had grabbed this book. She flipped open her phone, praying that the caller was not Sam. She took a deep breath, and then held the phone up to her ear. "Hello…?"

"Tracee, I've been calling you for five minutes now!" Of course, it was Sam. "I thought something had happened."

"I'm sorry, dar-" She stopped and faked a cough, suddenly remembering that Madison was still standing there. "Detective Dante," she amended. "My phone was on vibrate. I didn't hear it. Has something happened?"

"No, no, I was just checking in," Sam stated. "We haven't exactly found Kurt yet. The guy hasn't been to work for a week, but we do have a lead. Me and Dean are heading over now."

"Where?"

"Uh… Just-Just a place he goes frequently," Sam said. "If we can't find him there, we'll head back to his apartment and wait for him."

"Alright, keep me posted," Tracee said. "I'll switch the ringer on now. Talk to you in a bit?" She couldn't help the smile that crossed her face as she heard her lover mirror her words in confirmation. Then she heard Dean in the background, telling his brother to just hang up already, which, of course, caused a chuckle. "Don't get into too much trouble without me."

"We'll try not to," Sam agreed, also snickering. "Bye."

"Bye," she replied. She pulled her phone away from her ear. She idly thought she might have to purchase a new cell phone. The cracked screen was becoming a bother. She had been carrying this pink one around for so long, though, even after the crash. But they didn't make pink ones anymore. The sound of Madison clearing her throat snapped Tracee out of her idle thoughts.

"Are you and… Detective Dante involved?" she questioned.

"What makes you say that?"

"It's the first time I've seen you smile since I've met you," Madison stated. "It's nice… Your smile." Tracee hummed lightly as she pressed the button to increase volume on her phone. Madison cleared her throat again, this time awkwardly. "Well, anyway, I'm about to watch some T.V…. I just wanted to let you know that you can sit at the couch. It's more comfortable than being hunched over. That is, if you don't mind some soap operas."

"Thank you. I appreciate your hospitality," Tracee said as she stood up from the chair. She slipped her cell phone back into her pocket. Then she followed Madison to the living room area, but not before grabbing the riveting tale she had been reading. She didn't mind the soap operas, but she didn't actually want to watch. It was the type of television programming that Sam might get hooked on, but not her. She had suffered through soap operas during her childhood. Her father had loved daytime television. Probably still did.

Madison sat on the right side of the couch, leaving Tracee to plop down at the opposite end. Her host reached for the remote on the coffee table and immediately powered on the television. She flipped through channels until coming across a show already in progress. Tracee opened the book, crossing one leg over the other. This time, though, she merely pretended to read. No point in getting lost in the words again. She had told the brothers that she had intended on finding out more information from Madison, and she had meant it. She purposely waited until the third commercial break to lean to the side, feigning a move to get more comfortable. Madison thought she was being subtle, but Tracee recognized the way she had tilted her body away.

"Tell me something, Ms. Edna-"

"It's Madison," came the correction, eyes never straying from the television.

"-Do I make you uncomfortable somehow?" Tracee continued. Her host stiffened slightly. "Because I wouldn't want that." That was far from what she wanted. If Madison was uncomfortable, she wouldn't admit anything. "I'm here to keep you safe, after all," Tracee said in a reassuring manner. "I realize that I'm not the most likeable person in the world, but I wouldn't go out of my way to make a person feel uncomfortable."

"Is that why you call me by a different name?" Madison, surprisingly, sassed. Tracee swiveled her head, focusing completely on the brunette. She hadn't looked away from the television, but there was something like cooled boldness in her expression. Huh. Unexpected, given her earlier behavior. Tracee supposed Madison wasn't as uncomfortable as she had believed.

"My apologies… Madison," she replied. "I'm not good with names. It's one of the reasons I've failed history repeatedly. My teachers didn't take too kindly to calling Abraham Lincoln… Jesus." An amused snort came from Madison followed by clearing her throat to hide her amusement. "Shyeah, got marked off a lot in school."

"Well, you made it to doctor status, so it couldn't have been that bad," Madison said. She hummed again. Madison turned her head, doe-eyes shifting to focus on Tracee. "What kinda doctor are you, by the way?"

"I have PhDs in Psychology and Sociology," Tracee said. Well, technically, she would have, maybe, if she had finished college. Those were her best subjects, after all. "So not exactly a medical doctor."

"So you help out the police often? Sounds like an interesting life," Madison remarked. She sighed lightly. "It's kinda amazing."

"You know something…? It is. Sure, it has ups and downs, and I look at gruesome stuff way more than I used to, but… shyeah, it is amazing. Probably because of the people I work with," Tracee said. She stretched towards the coffee table, setting the book down. Then she returned her attention back to Madison. "Not everyone is lucky enough in that regard. It's a little strange that… you're not that lucky. It's actually a bit mind-boggling."

"Why would you say that?"

"For one, there have been no calls or visits from anyone since I've been here… except for your neighbor, but I doubt he thinks of you as a friend," Tracee mentioned. Madison ducked her head, staring down at her lap. "You're attractive, hella smart, judging by your book collection, and you are kind. It doesn't make sense that no one else is checking up on you after you discovered your boss's mangled body." Madison squeezed her eyes shut and bit down on her lower lip. "Can I ask you something personal…? Would that be alright?"

"It sounds like you already figured it out," Madison muttered.

"Maybe so… but it still doesn't make sense to me. A woman like you shouldn't be in that type of situation," Tracee said. "So… can you fill in the blanks for me?"

After a long moment of quiet, besides the television playing in the background, Madison sighed slowly. Then, she returned her gaze back to Tracee. "It was Kurt," she said. "We dated for a year and a half. Gradually, during that time, the relationship with him became more important than others. Because that's what he wanted." As she thought… Madison had been isolated—the first sign of an unhealthy relationship. Tracee wondered if Madison had recognized the sign, which prompted her to leave. "By the time I broke up with him, I didn't have any friends. I moved away from my family to this state for him. We don't talk as much anymore… even now."

"Did he ever…?"

"No," Madison said. "I like to think I wouldn't let it get that far." She lifted her hands, fingers sliding down strains of hair. A wry chuckle escaped her lips. "A woman like me, you said, but… it's not like he introduced himself like 'Hi! I'm possessive and controlling, and I like to punch people. Wanna be my girlfriend?' He seemed normal when we first met. I fell for him because he was nice and caring and… Looking back, though, maybe it should have been obvious."

"No, you're right," Tracee agreed. "My first boyfriend started out normal, too. I fell for his charm, believed every word he said, and trusted him completely. And I didn't exactly notice the signs… until his girlfriend showed up pregnant, threatening to beat my ass if I didn't stay away from her man." Madison winced. "Shyeah, fun times…" Tracee cleared her throat and blinked several times. "Um… But speaking of I like to punch people… Why did your ex go for your boss? I mean, you work with other men, right?"

"… That might have been my fault," Madison admitted. "Once or twice, I told Kurt how… bold Nate was with his hands. He kinda crossed the line between professional and too friendly." Tracee snorted, knowing what harassment in the workplace had been like. It had been one of the reasons she had preferred to work alone. "I guess Kurt remembered after I broke up with him."

"If you don't mind me asking, why did you stay with him for so long?" Tracee questioned. "What was that moment you decided to end things with him?"

"Well… Honestly, I was too insecure to leave even when I realized how unhappy I was," Madison said. "I didn't always used to be a… woman like me. Some stuff happened… and it changed everything. For the better, I think, but I embraced it after a while."

"What happened?"

"… I… I got mugged," Madison replied, hesitantly. Tracee's eyebrow cocked up in surprise. "I know it's strange, but don't get me wrong—the whole thing rattled me quite a bit. Still, it changed my priorities around. I felt—actually felt—a change in me after that. I decided then that I would take control of my life. There was no use in feeling sorry for myself. There's no use in being with someone like Kurt, so once I… recovered, I told him to leave."

"I'm guessing he didn't take too kindly to that?"

"No, he didn't," she stated. "We had a huge argument, but in the end, I made him go."

"Good on you, Madison," Tracee praised. "Sometimes, the greatest change stems from a horrible situation. I think you proved that." The dark-haired woman smiled, taking her hands from her hair. "You know, you are different than what I expected. You have a likeable type of mindset."

"I think I was wrong about you, too. You're a lot easier to talk to than I thought," Madison said, smile growing just a bit.

Tracee furrowed her brow, curious about the first impression she had made, but before she could voice a question, her cell phone began ringing. The ringtone indicated that it was Dean calling. The older Winchester absolutely despised what she had chosen for him, but she believed that Move, bitch, get out the way was quite appropriate. Madison snorted lightly, and then quietly excused herself by getting up from the couch. Tracee waited a few seconds before answering. "Yes, Dean?" she greeted.

"We found him," came the reply, but he sounded preoccupied.

"Shyeah… That's good," Tracee said.

"What's it like on your end?" Dean asked.

"I have a little more insight, that's for sure," she stated. "If Sebastian's our guy, he definitely had motive to go after this latest victim." Dean hummed, choosing not to comment. Tracee frowned, and then strained her ears, listening to background noise. There was music playing. "Where are you?" Before she could answer, she came to the conclusion all by herself. This early in the day. Guy had skipped out on work. Sam's earlier reluctance. Dean's distracted tone of voice. "You followed him into a strip club."

"Damn it! I told Sammy you wouldn't find out," Dean huffed. "God—why do you have to be so smart?" Tracee rolled her eyes. "But listen, he's keeping his eyes glued to the ground."

"What? Tell him not to do that," Tracee said, seriously.

"…. What did you just say?"

"Tell him to focus on the dancers."

"You…You want your boyfriend to ogle other chicks?"

"For research purposes," Tracee explained. "That way, the next time his birthday comes around, I can give him a treat." Dean sucked in a breath, gearing up to retort in the same way he always had. She didn't give him a chance this time. "Or when my birthday comes, he can give me the treat. Do you think we can find a pole strong enough to sustain his weight?" Instead of belting out the standard 'Gross,' Dean shouted and groaned unintelligibly before disconnecting the call. Tracee laughed, absolutely tickled by the reaction. "Oh, Dean, you make it too easy."

"Hey, Tracee! I'm gonna make lunch. You don't mind steak, right?" Madison's voice came from the other side of the apartment, in the kitchen area. "I'm actually really good at it!"

"Steak…? Girl, if it was legal, I'd marry you right now!" Tracee called back, jokingly.

"I don't think Detective Dante would appreciate that!"

"He'll deal with it! Steak's on the line here!"

Shared laughter erupted, echoing through the apartment.

0-0

Tracee stretched her arms up high, and then down towards the floor. Groaning, she straightened her body. The morning sun peaked through the curtains of the living room window. It had been a very late night. She and Madison had spoken for hours, watched television, and had eaten. They had even painted each other's fingernails. Tracee had chosen an electrifying blue while Madison had gone with an emerald green. They had basically had fun. Many times, Tracee had forgotten the reason they were together in the first place. The woman's ex might have showed up. But he hadn't, neither as a werewolf or just another human. She guessed that Dean and Sam hadn't had any luck either because they hadn't called. And with the moon no longer shining, it appeared that they were back to wondering who the werewolf might be.

A knock at the front door caused Tracee to halt her stretching. Humming, she turned and headed towards the entrance of the apartment. Her eyes glanced at the partially ajar doors that lead to Madison's bedroom. There hadn't been any movement, so Tracee took it upon herself to answer the door for her host. The knocking came again, louder than before, prompting her to walk a little quicker. She curled her fingers around the doorknob, noticing that the polish on her index finger had chipped. Sucking her teeth in disappointment—Madison had been very careful when she had done her nails, after all—Tracee opened the door.

She was surprised to find a flushed-face Sam Winchester on the other side. He pushed pass without a word of greeting. "Samuel…!" Tracee exclaimed in a whisper. "What's going on? Where's Dean?" Her lover did not answer. He only looked through the apartment, without word. Just as he was about to enter Madison's room, she intervened by grabbed his wrist before he could push open the door. "Sam!" Her voice caused him to flinch before he turned and faced her. "What happened?

"Is Madison still here?" he asked.

"Yes, she's still sleeping!" Tracee pulled him away from the bedroom and into the kitchen. "Will you tell me what's going on now?" She released him and crossed her arms. "What's got you on edge?" Sam exhaled sharply through his nose.

"We found the werewolf," he stated. Both eyebrows rose in shock. She opened her mouth to question why hadn't she been called, but Sam continued speaking. "Or rather, the werewolf found Kurt. He's dead now. Me and Dean got there too late, and the werewolf attacked us. Dean's unconscious in the backseat of the car right now because he got slammed into a wall."

"What?!" Tracee barely kept her voice low enough. "How come you didn't call me?!"

"I didn't exactly have the time, Tracee! I had to drag Dean outta there before someone called the police because of all the noise," Sam retorted. "Tracee, its Madison." She only furrowed her brow in confusion. "The werewolf is Madison."

"… That… That can't be true," Tracee denied. "I was here all night. She's been sleeping."

"Have you?"

"No!" she protested. Then she felt herself grimace. "Okay, I might have dozed off…" Sam rubbed furiously at his forehead, and released a frustrated puff of air. "But that was only for fifteen minutes. Maybe thirty. There's no way this werewolf is her."

"I saw her, Tracee. Dean got her with a silver knife," Sam said. "Right here, on her arm." He indicated where on his own arm. "It's there, Tracee. It's her. It makes sense, doesn't it?" Tracee opened her mouth, but Sam shook his head and turned around. Pressing her lips together, she followed after him. Once again, he was at the entrance to the bedroom. He pushed open the doors, revealing Madison still in bed, still sleeping. As if sensing their presence, Madison rolled over onto her back. She groaned lightly as she sat up. Blinking away the sleep, she focused on them.

"Morning…" she greeted. Then, upon noticing her state of dress—or lack thereof—Madison gathered the comforter around herself. "Detective Dante…!" she squeaked, cheeks turning scarlet. "Where's my pajamas?!" Because of her frantic movement, Tracee noticed the injury on her arm, right where Sam had told her it would be. Tracee nearly gasped at the sight. It wasn't as though she hadn't trusted Sam's words, but her mind had already cleared Madison. It didn't make sense that she-

And then, suddenly, Tracee saw the pattern. The three victims so far. Nate, the guy who had repeatedly sexually harassed her at work. That police officer, who had probably got in the way when she had been looking for Kurt. And finally the ex-boyfriend who hadn't let her be after she had broken up with him. All were threats. All were eliminated. Tracee swallowed hard, realization dawning on her. The sudden change in victimology had made sense now. She breathed out, shakily. Then she clenched her teeth, curling her fingers to form fists.

"Get some clothes on," Tracee told her, voice like granite. Seemingly confused, Madison frowned. For a little encouragement, Sam pulled his gun from the inside pocket of his jacket and it aimed at her. Her eyes widened in shock, surprise and fear both swirling together. Frantically, she shifted her gaze back to Tracee. She only stared back, unsympathetic. "You heard what I said." Sam cocked the gun for effect so that Madison knew it wasn't just a suggestion.

Later on, the three were all in the living room. Madison, now in a shirt and jeans, had been strapped down to one of the table's chairs. Her wrists were tied to the arms. Sam had taken a seat on top of the table, gun ready to fire at any provocation. He paid close attention to the werewolf in the room. Tracee, however, paced. Hands on her hips, she walked the length of the room. From the entrance to the bedroom to the opposite wall, and then back again. She had been scolding herself. She should have saw it from the beginning. Or, at least, during the middle.

Madison, herself, had told her things that pointed to her as a suspect. But now, she had chosen to remain tight-lipped. Even after Sam had told her the reason for the gun and rope. He had told her she was a dangerous creature, and yet she had said nothing. Nothing of them being crazy for believing such tales. Nothing of her ex-boyfriend's death. Nothing of the accusations that she had been responsible. Of course not because she had known all along. Her silence meant guilt. Tracee should have seen it, but she hadn't. She had been much too enthralled with the story of how a mild-mannered woman had endured and stood up to her abusive boyfriend before he had had a chance to become physically abusive. Her father would be so disappointed in her, falling for that sob story.

Suddenly, there came a knocking at the door, stopping her thoughts. Tracee exhaled sharply through her nose. She glanced at Sam, who nodded his head, before making her way to the door. Not bothering to peek, Tracee opened the door wide. Sam had already checked the nearby apartments. There wasn't anyone around at the moment, and it was highly unlikely Madison would be receiving any visitors on the count that she killed them. Keeping the huff to herself, stepped to the side, allowing Dean Winchester into the apartment. Once he was inside, she shut and locked the door.

"Are you okay, Dean?" Tracee asked, arms sliding around him.

"Besides a little bump on the head, I'm fine," he assured her, returning the embrace. Their arms fell away at the same time. "Where is she?" Sighing, Tracee tilted her head towards the living room. Dean turned and headed in that direction and she followed. "Hey there, grandmother. What big teeth you have," he said in greeting. Madison only looked at him, eyes narrowed and frown on her face. "Not in the talking mood today? I guess that's understandable. I hear too many human hearts makes you queasy." Her expression twitched, but she still did not speak.

"You know they're not real detectives now, right?" Tracee snapped, folding her arms over her chest. "You don't actually have the right to remain silent! So talk! What was the deciding factor in switching from snacking on women to the assholes in your life?"

"I didn't hurt any of those women!" Madison retorted.

"You're lying…!" Tracee hissed.

"Well, all of us seem to be good at that, aren't we?!" she shouted back. Called out, Tracee did not have a denial prepared. She had gotten good at lying since she had first left Ashland because what they did required it. Still, most of what she had told Madison yesterday had been the truth. Tracee had told her things that she hadn't even told Sam and Dean yet. "I don't know anything about Nate, or Kurt, or… or that policeman. I swear…"

"Then explain this," Dean demanded, pressing the barrel of his gun to Madison's forearm.

"I don't know what that is," she said.

"That's funny, grandma, because I remember cutting into you after you chowed down on your ex's heart," Dean retorted. "Then, of course, you knocked me out. Thanks, by the way."

"I don't remember," Madison said.

"That's real convenient now, isn't it?"

"I'm not who you think I am. I'm not," Madison said, turning pleading brown eyes to Tracee. "I don't know about them. I don't remember."

"Look, I don't even know why we're talking about this," Dean said. "We know you're the werewolf. We know you're killing people. So we're here to put an end to that. End of discussion."

Dean cocked his gun, triggering sudden pandemonium. Madison's arms ripped free from the bindings. She gripped the arms of the chair for support, and then her right leg shot up. Her bare foot collided hard with Dean's abdomen. The impact threw him backwards into the nearby computer desk. Shouting his brother's name, Sam stepped forward and raised his gun. Madison reacted quickly by lifting both legs. She flipped over the back of the chair and landed on her feet. Sam fired off three shots, but Madison lifted the chair and the bullets harmlessly hit the underside of the seat. The chair was then hurled at Sam, and it was a direct hit. The younger Winchester toppled backwards, sliding across the table and taking it down with him to floor.

Tracee could only stare, lips parted in utter surprise. This skinny woman just took out two well fit men in under a minute. The strength she possessed should not have been possible, though. According to the handbook, werewolves could not access their supernatural abilities without the moon. Of course, it had mentioned the enhanced smell while human, but nothing else. Madison should not have been able to subdue Dean and Sam. Just what manner of breed was this werewolf? "Tracee, please…!" Madison began, holding her hands out, palms extended in her direction. "I don't want to hurt you!"

"Funny. The feeling's not mutual!"

Tracee struck, launching a straight jab at Madison. However, Madison deflected with her left arm, knocking the intended strike away. She immediately followed up by swinging her right arm. A swift right hook that was aimed at Tracee's face. She narrowly dodged the blow by taking a large step back with her left leg. Gritting her teeth, Tracee tried again. Three rapid punches aimed at Madison's face and chest. All were blocked or dodged. Madison swung around, backhanding Tracee with a hard fist. Tracee used the strike to spin, twisting her body and swinging her leg in a high kick. The top of her shoe smacked against Madison's cheek. Tracee then lifted her opposite leg, balancing on the other, to deliver rapid kicks to her opponent's side. Madison managed to block the one aimed at her side, but not the one to the gut.

She staggered backwards, coughing out. However, the brunette recovered quickly and went back at Tracee. She lifted her knee, but Tracee blocked the strike with her forearm. Madison extended her leg, managing to kick the side of Tracee's head. She stumbled back, putting just a bit of distance between them. Wincing, she attempted to ignore the ringing in her ear. Madison didn't give her time to try to work through it, anyway. She came at her again, fist coming fast. Tracee grabbed onto the arm, fingers curled around the wrist and elbow. She flipped Madison's body, slamming her back against the floor. She then shot her fist downward, intending to punch her foe's abdomen. However, Madison rolled on her shoulder to the right, completely dodging the powerful strike.

Her fist made a dent in the floor. Madison hurriedly stood. Tracee was already in the process of launching a straight kick. The sole of her shoe rammed against Madison's stomach, forcing her back. She hit the cushioned window seat and fell to the floor, ripping the curtains down on her way. Tracee moved closer, grabbing Madison's shoulders and pulling her up. Madison grabbed onto her as well, but she followed up with a vicious head-butt. Tracee's head snapped back. She groaned loudly, mildly disoriented by the pain. Still holding on, Madison jerked the both of them to the side.

The two woman went over the back of the couch, landing hard against the wooden coffee table. The combined weight broke the legs with Tracee taking the brunt of the impact because she had landed on the bottom. Nearly growling, Tracee pushed the woman off of her, and then kicked her in the face. Madison crashed into the couch, front exposed. Tracee stood, arms reaching for her, but Madison shot her leg out, giving a hard kick. Tracee could only bring her arms up in an X form to protect, but the force caused her to slam against the television behind her, cracking the screen. She barely had the time to dive to the side before Madison threw another punch. It completely shattered the television's screen.

Tracee swiftly rolled until she planted her feet. Then she twisted around, backhanding Madison. The strike caught her opponent jaw, throwing her back over the couch. Tracee followed after, jumping from the back. She tackled Madison, but the woman held her ground and grabbed Tracee by the arms. The two turned around and around, deadlocked and trying to gain an advantage, but they were seemingly of equal strength. Eventually, they crashed through the right entrance of the bedroom, wood breaking and glass shattering. They fell to the floor, and it took a moment to get back to their feet. Unceremoniously, they came together again. It was another bout of kicks and punches, dodges and blocks, and feints and deflects.

The two women fought all throughout the bedroom, smashing into furniture and destroying anything that got in the way. This was much more difficult than any previous fight Tracee had experienced. Were all werewolves like this? Or was Madison bitten by some higher level carrier of lycanthropy? Even if that was the case, it didn't explain why Madison hadn't transformed at all, but still had the strength of a supernatural creature. Tracee threw a punch forward, and then rapidly switched to an upper-cut. Madison's head sprung back and she crashed through the left set of doors.

Tracee went through the wrecked doors just as Madison pushed herself from the floor. Both women stood opposite of each other, fists clenched and poised to strike and defend at a moment's notice. However, before any moves could be made, Sam suddenly appeared behind Madison. He knocked her down with a sharp hit from his gun. She fell to her knees, grimace on her face. A second hit to the back of her head sent her crumbling to the floor unmoving. Tracee sighed heavily, both relieved and a bit disappointed. She shifted her eyes to Sam. With his free hand, he pressed a palm against his forehead.

"Why didn't you just shoot her?" Tracee asked, dropping her arms. Her eyes darted over to where Dean's unconscious body laid. He was going to be so pissed when he woke up. Knocked out twice in such a short amount of time wasn't his idea of a good time. Tracee went over to his body and propped him against the wall. Then she turned her attention back to her lover, who had not answered her. He, instead, was staring down at Madison's body. "Samuel…?"

"You…" His eyes moved from Madison to her. He frowned, visibly upset. "You don't know?"

"Know what?"

"Tracee… I think Madison's like you," Sam said.

"… What? Samuel, what the hell are you talking about?"

"I don't think she's a typical werewolf…"

"Sam," Tracee said his name in warning because he had yet to give her a straight answer.

"Tracee, I've never seen any werewolf move that. She moved like you. Like Jo. I think she might be a Slayer."

0-0