Hey guys! It's been a difficult week for me, I've had some health issues and that's never fun. Anyhow, tried to keep on writing. I'm pretty sure this chapter has a ton of typos and other mistakes but I just wanted to write some and update some, to get something else to think about. So please forgive me if this is crap.

As always - I love you guys so much, your nice words, your support, your encouragement means the world to me. Special thanks to EmilyAnnMcGarrett-Winchester, Kagz419, frankannestein, and Idshipthat101 plus that one super encouraging guest who wrote a nice review to the latest chapter.

Jackie didn't like guns.

Maybe it was because they had barely existed when she had been young, so she had never come to rely on them, maybe it was just the fact that she found them to be one of the most moronic inventions humankind had ever made. Nevertheless, she had always preferred other weapons - her own body, a katana, a crossbow.

Guns - they were just so boring.

Though now, having a gun pointed to her face, being bored wasn't Jackie's primary emotion.

"What the Hell was that?" cried Dean, holding the gun in his steady grip. "Who are you?"

Jackie let out a sigh. Things had really taken a shitty turn. If it hadn't been for Raphael distracting her thoughts, she never would've jumped into this situation.

"You know who I am."

"Apparently not."

"Dean, come on-"

"Start talking, or I'll start shooting."

A moment of silence, the only sound in the room Dean's sharp inhales. He looked like he meant what he said. Jackie slowly put her phone down on the table in the most unintimidating way possible while Dean's eyes followed her every move.

"Where is Sam?" She asked.

"Went out." The gun was still aimed straight to her face, Dean's eyes were cold, his jaw clenched tight.

"Dean, come on. Put the gun down."

"Like Hell. You appeared from the thin air-"

"Why do you even carry a gun in your own home?" she interrupted. "Isn't that kinda paranoid?"

"Clearly it isn't."

"Oh, I get it, you need to be prepared for the scary moments like this when your brother's girlfriend walks into the kitchen wrapped in a towel. I can see how that would freak you out."

"Cut the bullshit. You didn't walk in here. I saw you."

Well, it had been worth a try.

Jackie gave another sigh as she observed the situation at hand.

She could, of course, just teleport the fuck out of here. But that would mean leaving all this mess for Sam to handle when he returned home, and that would hardly be fair. Besides, fleeing wouldn't solve anything - Dean knew where she lived. He'd be pointing this gun to her face again sooner or later if Jackie didn't find a permanent solution.

But she really, really didn't want to get shot. Not now. Not now, that she finally had found something worth living for.

The gun Dean was holding was just an ordinary handgun, a stainless steel colt. Getting shot by it probably wouldn't kill her, but it would hurt like hell. Jackie wondered about the bullets, though. They might be silver. And silver bullets, well, they hurt worse. And they caused more damage too - the wounds took forever to heal.

"Dean. It's me. It's Jackie." She tried again. She didn't want to fight her way through Dean if it could be avoided. "We've sat here talking and having a beer dozens of times. You know me."

"Told you to cut the bullshit. What are you? Huh? A monster? A demon? A witch?"

"A witch? Seriously?"

Anger flashed through Jackie's heart like a burning arrow.

Damn humans, always accusing others of being witches. Jackie held no love for witches, but the only thing that was more dangerous than a bunch of them was a bunch of people accusing each other of witchcraft. Countless people have lost their lives because of that kind of blind hatred (including Mom), and Jackie was pretty sure it was a lot more than all the witches on Earth had ever managed to kill combined. Having red hair and a will of her own, Jackie had faced her own good share of superstition and witch-hunting lunatics in the 17th century.

Those memories had a bitter taste on her lips.

You should've known better. You should've known from the first time you ever laid eyes on Dean. Hunters never change.

Jackie had learned the hard way, that hunters only knew one thing. To kill everything and anything they didn't understand.

"You bastard." Jackie hissed. "Calling me a witch and thinking you're all holier than thou. Like you have a right to live more than I do, just because you're a human."

Dean cocked his gun.

"So, you're admitting that you're not?"

"What I am, is none of your business, boy. Put the gun down, now, if you value your life."

"I wouldn't worry about my life in your shoes."

Jackie wrapped the towel tighter around her body. The anger that was burning in her heart was so familiar, it felt as natural as breathing. It was something she had been consciously trying to suppress for weeks now, more or less succeeding. All this time with Sam - well, maybe she had been faking when she had told herself she could be a good girl, that she could be a human, that she could keep all this under control. But now she felt it whispering to her ear again, the anger, the rage, the promise of blood and storm, fire and revenge that had always been there, that had been singing in her veins from the night of her birth.

And now—

She heard the thunder, lightning struck somewhere nearby, the air was thick with electricity, and it was flowing into her body, she was breathing it in and out, every sharp inhale, it gathered within her soul and her body and all the hairs on her bare legs and arms stood up.

It was suddenly very dark in the room.

"You should be running." The words had a metallic tang on her lips.

She saw the fear in Dean's eyes, as he pulled the trigger.

Time slowed down.

The bullet went flying through the air, but Jackie was already in the darkness, stepping into the shadow world, and then out of it, right in front of Dean. She emerged just in time to hear the sound of the gun, as she grabbed his arm, and easily yanked him over her shoulder. He hit the floor, the gun fell from his grasp.

"The fuck-!" he cursed, but moved fast - a trained hunter. He was trying to get to his feet, going after the gun, but Jackie was faster. She kicked him on the chest, hard, and he flew through the air, hit his back on the wall with a loud 'thump'.

He groaned a muffled curse.

Jackie saw how his chest heaved, saw the pain in his eyes, but she didn't care. She didn't even want to care. She wanted to end this, to end him-

That fucking hunter who called me a witch! As if I wasn't God-spawn, and his words nothing but buzzing of flies in my ears.

She grabbed the gun that was on her feet and aimed it at Dean's face with trembling hands. She didn't like guns, but that didn't mean she couldn't use them. The electricity was still sizzling in the air, flowing in and out of her body, making the hair in the back of her head stand up.

"I don't want to hurt you." she managed through her teeth. "But I will if you don't fucking stop attacking me."

Dean groaned and coughed, took a shaky breath, but made no sign to fight her. The gun was so cold, so heavy, so alien in Jackie's fingers.

"Damn," Dean growled. "You're-"

"Not a witch."

"Was gonna say naked."

Only then did Jackie realize that she had lost both of her towels in the few seconds of the combat, and was now indeed standing over Dean butt naked, her chest heaving with deep breaths, her hair flying around her upper body in the invisible electric currents.

Despite the circumstances, Dean's eyes moved to her chest.

At that exact moment, Sam stepped in the front door, carrying bags of groceries - and froze on his feet in the doorway.

"What the fuck?-" the bags fell from his fingers.

Dean turned his eyes from Jackie's boobs to his brother.

"Sorry to break it to you, Sammy," his voice was still thin and stretched with pain. "-but your girlfriend is a freak."

"And your brother is an idiot."

Sam glanced from Jackie to Dean, and back to Jackie. In front of his gaze, his disappointment, his shock - Jackie felt her power slipping out of her, fading like a shadow, her anger falling to her feet, being sucked to the carpet.

Sam slammed the door behind him. "I don't care-! Stop pointing a gun to his face!"

"But he started it!"

"Just..! Just stop." Sam had closed the distance between them and reached her side. "Just give me the gun, Jackie. Please. He is my brother."

Jackie was still gripping the cold handle of the gun, gripping it so hard it dug into her palm, but she turned her eyes to Sam. His eyes were wide with fear, his face, so serious, so stern -

Oh God, what have I done?

He looked at her as if he didn't even know her. As if he was scared of the things she could do, and it hurt more than anything. It hurt more than Dean's plain hatred and angered accusations, it hurt more than Jackie could take.

"Sam-"

"Jackie, please. Please, give me the gun."

Every beat of Jackie's heart was an eternity. So slow, so painful.

She should've known the day would come that he'd look at her like this. That he would lose the faith he had in her, and with that, Jackie would lose everything.

"You knew?" Dean's voice cut through Jackie's thoughts. "Sam, you knew about this?"

But Sam didn't reply. His eyes never left hers, as he raised his hands and so very slowly, more gently than she deserved, removed the gun from her fingers.

Jackie let him take it.

She turned her eyes back at Dean, who was now getting back to his feet. Dean, his tousled hair, his beautiful lips - that was Dean, not just any hunter, but Dean, not a blood-lusting lunatic but Dean, her boyfriend's brother, her friend, almost family, Dean who loved dirty jokes and good pie, Dean who always made her laugh, Dean whom Jackie loved enough to want him to date her own sister.

If Sam hadn't stepped in when he did—

Jackie felt a dagger of guilt and shame cutting through her gut, and it washed away all the sizzling power that had engulfed her just moments ago. It left behind only weariness, a void, a black hole of nothingness where her heart should've been.

"I'm sorry," she said, turning her eyes back at Sam. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Hell you didn't." Muttered Dean. "You almost wasted me."

Jackie didn't comment on the fact that it had been Dean, not her, who had actually pulled the trigger. Saying that would've been pointless - now they both knew what she was, and how little his shot could've hurt her.

"Here, take this," Sam said silently and offered her the towel that had fallen to the floor, which reminded her of the fact that she was still naked. She didn't care, but took the towel nevertheless - for Sam's sake, if not for her own.

Dean was on his feet now, staying as far from Jackie as possible in the tiny kitchen.

"So, Sammy—" he said. "Something you want to tell me about your girlfriend? Seems like you've been keeping secrets."

Jackie glanced at Dean. He seemed to be physically okay - thank the Lord! - but the smile she was so used to seeing in his eyes, was gone. He looked so much like his father at that moment, that it was terrifying. Jackie knew he didn't see her anymore. He didn't see her as she was, as a girl who was in love with his brother. He saw the other her - the one who had feasted on human blood, who had cut the throats of her enemies, the one with a broken heart and a tainted soul and a past that could never be erased.

"Dean, I—" Sam replied, but Jackie cut his sentence.

"It's okay, Sam. Tell him what you must."

"Are you sure?" Sam asked, and laid his hands on her bare shoulders, but Jackie avoided his eyes.

"Yeah, go ahead and have a nice little brotherly talk." She said. God, she felt weary - it took all her strength to stay on her feet. "I'll leave you to it—"

"Are you… are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

Jackie turned her back to him, for she could not look him in the eye, so scared of the things she knew she'd find there. She took her phone from the table and it was buzzing again - fucking Rafe.

Rafael de la Cruz.

Jackie didn't pick up.

She didn't even want to think about Raphael right now.

But suddenly the memory was upon her, the memory of him, as he had been then, in New Orleans, 1879. His lean and tall frame, narrow hips, long, graceful limbs, the silky strands of his hair flying around his shoulders as he turned to look at her, those black eyes endless wells of darkness and sweet promises of delights and passions, unlike anything she had ever known. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal the pale skin of his wiry forearms. He stood in the dark alley as if he was the prince of it, the shadows playing under his high cheekbones. The front of his white shirt was covered in blood, the smell of copper thick in the air.

He smiled and her knees went weak.

"You look like you know how to have fun," Raphael said. "Want to join me?"

And right then, Jackie had known that he saw her. And despite all that had happened since, she still felt that perhaps he had been the only one to ever truly see her as she was.