A/N Hello my wonderful friends! I honestly thought that I would have this up sooner than I did, but...yeah, we've been going through it. Not that my story is different from anybody else's. It feels like everyone I talk to is just having a rough time of it. If that is the same for you, then hopefully this can bring you a spot of enjoyment...thank God for Fanfiction. I would also dearly love to know what you think, so if you could leave me a review on your way out, I would greatly appreciate it! :)

This should be updated every Tuesday(and, ah, yes, maybe early, early, Wednesday morning, but that's just the way it be sometimes).

This story (except for this chapter) is set in early Season Five, after 5x04.

Disclaimer: SPN is not mine. Also, I pulled the title from a book that I read by Jaine Baskin years ago.

Prologue

Darrion leaned back against a nearby tree and took a deep pull from the cigarette that he was holding between two fingers. He breathed out the plume of smoke, watching disinterestedly as it disappeared into the night. The light of the moon filtered weakly through the thick grove of trees, trickling over the freshly overturned dirt at his feet.

He would return to the house soon, but for the moment he wanted to be alone.

He had been so sure that she had been the one…

Shaking his head, he took another pull to dull the disappointment that was threatening to encompass him. She was the fourth one, surely, surely, they were getting close now. If they could just perfect that damn serum.

The cigarette was almost down to a stub when the crunch of tires and the soft purring of an engine caught his attention. Darrion straightened, twisting curiously to look over his shoulder and behind the tree.

He couldn't see any headlights, but there was most assuredly a car out there. Hurriedly snubbing out the cigarette under the heel of his boot, Darrion squinted towards the road. Hidden by the darkness of the night, a black car was coming to a stop at the side of the road, partially hidden beneath the shadow of a tree.

Darrion frowned. Cops didn't usually drive cars like that, but that didn't mean that it wasn't them.

Shifting further behind the tree to hide from view, Darrion reached behind him for his gun and pulled it out, releasing the safety.

The doors creaked open, and by the light of the moon, he saw two young men. The taller of the two moved with an urgency that boarded on panic as he sprinted to the fence. He was going to jump it, but the shorter man grabbed him by the arm, yanking him back.

It was a wise move, Darrion noted sourly. The fence was electric and—entertaining as that would have been for him— it would have been a painful way for them to spend the night.

The shorter man began to pull the taller one further up the fence line, and Darrion leaned further out from behind the tree, watching their progress. They came to a small gate that the gardener used, and Darrion caught the glint of metal as one of them bent over the lock, no doubt picking it.

Darrion continued to watch, now more curious than anything. These young men were definitely not cops, nor did they look like typical thieves, but all the same they clearly knew how to break through security. They knew what they were doing, and that made them dangerous.

Not that Darrion was afraid. He was a hell of a shot, and they would be dead the minute that his curiosity was satisfied.

The tall one slipped through the gate as soon as it was opened and took off in a dead-run towards…the trees, and away from the house that was really more of a mansion.

Well, that didn't make any damn sense.

Darrion steadied his grip on his gun, bringing it up and aiming for the boy's chest.

"Hey!" it was a hissed, irritated command from the shorter one as he took off as well, but the other one was already slowing at the tree line, looking around hesitantly. Just as the shorter one caught up, the taller one took off again, his steps slower this time and more unsure.

"Sam, hold up a minute!" He caught up with the man—Sam— and tried to grab his arm. "Seriously, dude, we don't know what we are walkin' into here."

It was a useless plea as Sam shook him off and kept moving, winding his way through the trees doggedly. Darrion stayed where he was, a silent observer as he warily lowered the gun. Sam was undoubtedly guiding them somewhere, but where in the hell were they going, unless…

Darrion's mouth dropped slightly open as Sam passed right by the tree he was hiding behind, leading the other straight to the fresh grave that he had dug not even an hour ago.

"Here, this is what I saw, this is where—" Sam dropped down onto his knees next to the dirt and began to scoop it away with his hands, digging feverishly. "Go back, get the shovels."

"No, I'm not leavin' you alone. We don't know what's goin' on," the other man snapped, keeping his voice quieter than Sam's, enough so that Darrion had to strain to hear what he was saying. He looked around suspiciously, and Darrion was grateful that he had worn his dark coat. Apparently satisfied for the moment, he too dropped to his knees and began to dig.

Darrion should have shot them both right then and there. It wouldn't have taken much effort, and they were going to find the body any moment now…but he was more curious than ever.

The grave hadn't been as deep as it probably should have been, and Sam was the one to uncover her, his hands parting the dirt off of her face. Her eyes were open, staring sightlessly up at the trees.

Jerking back, Sam stared at her with translucent horror. His shoulders dropped, and even from this distance, Darrion could see the anguish written across his features. The other man continued to dig, removing the dirt away from her shoulders, chest, and arms.

"Dean—she's—" Sam didn't seem to be able to find words to continue, but Dean had stopped digging. He too was staring, although Darrion couldn't see his face. His back stiffened, and he spun around, his gaze raking through the trees and surrounding area.

Darrion froze, not daring to move.

Sam brought Dean's attention back around as he let out a low moan, his head bowing as he laid a hand on the girl's head.

"I don't think that there is anything that we could have done," Dean said softly, his hand coming up to brace Sam's shoulder. Sam just shook his head, apparently refusing to be comforted. Despite this, Dean tried again. "Sammy, she's been dead long enough for rigor mortis to set in. We never could have saved her."

"You don't know that, Dean, what if we had left earlier, or-or—" Sam seemed lost for words, his eyes not moving away from the body. Dean wrapped a hand around his neck, twisting his head away from her face and forcing him to look at him.

"We did all that we could. There was nothing we could have done."

"Dean, I had those visions for a reason! I was supposed to save her, she wanted me to save her!" Sam snarled, pulling away.

Darrion wouldn't have been more surprised had a panther jumped out of the trees, and his mouth dropped open. He leaned forward eagerly, listening much more intently than he had been before. His gun lowered completely, coming to rest against his leg.

"Yeah, well, your freaky visions don't exactly have the best timing. We never were goin' to make it in time—it just wasn't possible."

Sam ran a hand across his mouth, looking away as he planted his hands on his thigh. "What's the point then?" His voice broke on the question, and Dean dropped a hand onto his shoulder.

His response was too quiet for Darrion to hear, but Sam only bowed his head in defeat. Dean didn't look any better. He looked like he was about to be sick as he glanced back at the dead girl.

The sight of her seemed to make him uneasy, and Dean began to smooth the dirt back over her. "We don't have time for this right now, man. We can hash it out later. Here, help me cover her back up."

"Dean—" Sam tried protesting, but Dean slapped Sam's hand back when he tried to stop him.

"We don't know who did this, but they can't know that we know about it just yet. C'mon, I don't feel good about this, we need to get out of here."

Sam still wasn't on board with that plan. "No, we need…we need to get her body, return her home," he said heartbrokenly but Dean just shoved him aside, shoveling the dirt back over the girl's body frantically.

"We'll come back for her and figure it out but something isn't right. We need to leave." Dean finished smoothing the dirt out and glanced around again as he stood, bodily yanking Sam upright.

Even Darrion couldn't miss how Sam staggered, a hand going up to his head.

Dean swore softly and grabbed Sam's elbow, steadying him even as he began to shove him back towards the gate.

"But—"

"Not now. We need to do this smart and walkin' in with our pants down is not smart. I promise that I'm not dropping this, we are going to make this right, okay?" Dean continued to shepherd Sam towards the fence line, blocking any attempts that Sam made to turn around.

Darrion hesitated until they were out of earshot before creeping after them. He stuck to the tree line, tucking his gun back into its holster. He would not kill them, not right now.

He had a better plan.

They went back through the fence, Dean hurriedly locking it behind him, before he thrust Sam into the passenger side of what looked like a classic muscle car. Impala, if Darrion had to put a finger on it.

Dean hurried around the car, and Darrion was sure that he was the only one who saw the raw and horrified look that he tossed back towards the grave, before he slid inside the driver's seat, his expression neutral once more.

A little way down the road, there was a streetlamp and Darrion began to run as Dean flipped the car into a u-turn. They were going to pass right under it, and if he could make out the license plate number, he could save himself a lot of trouble. They passed by the light and it was just enough to illuminate the second half of the license plate.

Darrion committed it to memory as they disappeared from sight.

His earlier bad mood forgotten, Darrion turned and hurried back towards the house.

He didn't bother to knock as he entered the office on the second floor. A balding old man looked up from where he was restlessly turning an engraved pen over and over in his hands.

"Finished with the body?" he asked tiredly, dropping the pen onto the cluttered desk.

"Mr. Harris, sir, you would not believe what just happened." Darrion grinned, dropping down to sit in a nearby chair. He fumbled around, pulling out another cigarette—it was the last one in his pack, he would have to pick up more before he turned in for the night—and a lighter.

"What?" Mr. Harris didn't appear to be in the mood for games, and Darrion leaned forward, blowing the smoke out impatiently.

"I found another of those freaky kids."

Mr. Harris sat up straight, his watery eyes going wide. "Are you sure? How did you…"

"It's a long story, but let's just say that he showed up at the grave because he—" and Darrion slapped the desk to make his point, "—he had a vision of me buryin' that girl. Or at least of the grave, I didn't exactly have time to get all the details."

"Are you sure?" Mr. Harris was now leaning forward, a smile creasing his face.

"Yes, sir. He just showed up just now, babblin' about his vision."

"Is it in the basement?" Mr. Harris was already grabbing the pen, pulling a pad of paper towards him.

Darrion tapped the cigarette over the ashtray and shook his head. "Got away," he drawled, not even trying to sound regretful, and Mr. Harris frowned at him. All the same, he pulled open the top desk drawer and tugged out the checkbook.

"How much do you need?"

Darrion thought for a moment. "Seven thousand should cover the expenses to bring him in."

Mr. Harris nodded slowly as he filled out the check. "And then ten thousand upon delivery, just like the others?" he reaffirmed as he ripped the check out and held it for Darrion to take.

Darrion nodded and began to fold the check neatly into fourths, tucking it into his pocket for safekeeping.

"Night, Mr. Harris, sir," he said, dipping his head in Mr. Harris's direction, before showing himself out.

The new maid—Eliza, he was vaguely sure—was on duty tonight, and he diverted towards the basement to see if he could get lucky in all aspects. She was wheeling the mop out of the basement room when he approached. She turned him down flat, telling him just where he could shove his offer.

Apparently mopping up vomit and blood didn't put her in the mood.

Shrugging, Darrion left.

In town, there was a multitude of cheap bars with much more willing women, and he had money just itching to be spent.

#

It took Darrion a little over two months to track down Sam and Dean Winchester, who turned out to be brothers. And hunters at that.

Darrion knew about the supernatural. Hell, he had even gone on a few hunts himself when the price was right, but he would never consider himself a hunter. Hunters did it solely because they wanted to…for the 'good of mankind'.

He didn't understand that, but the thought of chasing after hunters did make him pause.

It would be no easy task. Hunters were paranoid bastards and were as dangerous as they came. The Winchesters would be no exception.

And then there was the issue that the Winchesters seemed to be frequently on the move with no firm location to tie them down or call home.

In the end, Darrion decided that it was worth the risk, but returned to Mr. Harris all the same. He was going to need at least another thousand if he was going to be able to pull this off.

Only, Mr. Harris wasn't there and the house had been stripped bare.

He found Eliza living two towns over, but she refused to let him into her house, keeping the screen door shut between them and her arms crossed as she told him what had happened.

The FBI had come with a warrant not even a week after Darrion had left, gutting the house after an anonymous tip of torture, inhumane acts, and murder. Mr. Harris's case hadn't been helped when the dead girl's body had been discovered in the backyard.

The other bodies hadn't been found, but the FBI had only been looking for the one body.

Mr. Harris was on house arrest near Washington D.C. and was facing a possible life sentence.

When Darrion managed to slip a message through to him, he was told in no uncertain terms to stay as far away from Mr. Harris as he could for the foreseeable future.

With no other options available, Darrion left and attempted to forget about the silk sheets and fine whiskey that had been working for Mr. Harris. Sam Winchester was safe for the moment, there was no point in doing the work that would be required to bring him in.

He wasn't willing to risk his life for a paycheck that might come in.

All the same, Darrion kept an ear out for any other special children, just in case. Mr. Harris was a slippery bastard, and Darrion wouldn't be surprised if he managed to get out of the charges. When that happened, he would be ready with another kid… only six months or so later that avenue disintegrated.

Word on the vine was that all the freaky kids had disappeared.

Darrion supposed that meant that Sam Winchester was gone as well, either dead or worse than dead.

For over two years he forgot that the Winchesters had ever even existed.

And it would have stayed that way if Sam Winchester had not bumped into him at a crowded bar in the middle of nowhere Texas.