Disclaimer: Eight chapters in and loads of adoring fans, you'd think they'd let me in on a little piece, but despair, for I still do not own Supernatural. Songs used are Taproot- Calling, and Hoobastank- Running Away.

Blue Moon

Chapter 8: Happy Anniversary

You want me to stay
And what you want me to say I'll never say
So what do you want from me?

I awoke in a daze of emotion. Thoughts ran around my head like hamsters in gerbil wheels, spinning out new ideas and concoctions even wilder then the last. Little was certain. What I knew was my pillow was wet. In a moment I remembered how, I cried myself to sleep. Oh yeah, that. I also knew I had to get my lethargic ass out of bed.

Rolling off and falling on my back, I groped around under my bed till I found that familiar shoebox, taking my morning medicine and depositing the empty syringe in the nearby trashcan.

A quick shower and a change of clothes, I was entering my kitchen to find Sam working intensely on his laptop, while Dean was cooking breakfast. My stomach lurched at the smell of bacon and French toast.

"You cook? Why was I not informed?" I asked, filling a mug with hot coffee, followed by my usual loads of sugar and cream.

He grinned. "I have a lot of hidden talents,"

I couldn't help but return a smile, and a blush. He was definitely talented all right, as I could unfortunately recall in perfect detail.

"How are you recovering?" Sam asked, looking up from his laptop.

He must have noticed the bandages. Most I took off before the shower, and yes, it hurt like someone poured liquid acid with quick silver on my skin.

The cuts, I counted 4 on my forearms and one on my left upper arm, were already healing nicely. The bleeding stopped and didn't start again; it was enough for me. The nice puncturey claw wounds and the thigh scar still needed to be covered up.

"Better. Most of these look pretty cosmetic, probably won't even scar,"

Dean nodded.

"Good. Now I've got one more reason to kill that sonuvabitch," he smirked, handing me a plate of breakfast.

I shook my head as I sat down. The action made Sam's eyes go wide. He must have seen my artillery.

Today was July 21st, the day Eric killed the last of my family, and turned me. I wasn't taking any chances, hence, I was packing. My Browning High-Power loaded with silver Glazer Safety rounds was hidden in a shoulder draw holster. It blended in well with the black camisole, and the light green unbuttoned over shirt hid it perfectly. Until it blew back that is.

But we're just reaching the tip of the surface. Silver daggers on each ankle, and another that resembled a short sword in a spine sheath. All I had to do was wear my hair down, and voila! Invisible sword.

"With all the research you've done on this gig, I'd figured you'd know," I replied to the younger brother, chasing down the last of my toast with a hot cup of French Vanilla roast.

He nodded grimly. "I don't blame you, just a bit surprised, that's all."

Dean took a seat, with enough food to feed me for a week, looking completely confused.

"What should we know, aside from—nice gun, Browning?"

I nodded, "Thanks. Nothing, just the date."

"The day Eric killed her family," replied Sam with a shy grin my way.

He said it for me, and I was eternally grateful. Sometimes you can say something and then your eyes get all watery, as much as you demand of them to do otherwise. Tear ducts are the most treacherous bastards since erasable pens. Write with one sometime, you'll understand my analogy.

"And that, is never a good day."

As I ate I noticed something, or nothing. Sam seemed very…withdrawn. Almost nervous.

It was probably nothing. I chalked it up to exhaustion and the armed female in the room. Hell, there was that, and the dash I made past him last night. Could have something to do with it.

After breakfast, I explained my plans to the brothers. They were both all for my run and hide scenario, which was perfect for me. Dean, however, still wanted to accompany me to the police station. I won the argument with the point that one hometown girl would have an easier time then an outsider, even if he was a Winchester.

So now I get to my current predicament, as I sped to the other side of town blaring Audioslave, thinking about the warm fuzzy feeling of breakfast with Dean.

I loved it, and yet hated it. I hated it because it caused me pain. Because it reminded me of everything I would be leaving behind.

Last night, while Dean called my cell phone 37 times (yes, 37, I counted twice) I packed. Cash, emergency passports, meds, clothes that would mix and match for every season, the usual chick stuff, plus the one back up gun not in my car; a Beretta 9 ml loaded for werewolves with extra clips of lead and iron. All of that went into a worn brown leather duffel bag, now stuffed under my bed.

I briefly considered leaving then, last night, before things got messy. But immediately nixed the idea. Until Eric was either dead or gone, I was staying. For better or worse. I prayed for the first, but betted on the latter.

Cause I did enough to show you that I
Was willing to give and sacrifice...
And when I get close, you turn away
There's nothing that I can do or say

"What the hells up with you Sam?"

You'd be asking your brother the same damn question if you were sitting on a wooden dock in the middle of a fucking lake instead of tracking down the fucking werewolf that tried to kill the woman you loved. Twice.

"I found something."

"About Eric? Well hell you could have said that 15 minutes of walking ago!"

"No, Dean…about Jesse."

Now it all made sense. Couldn't have dead boy overhearing us now, could we?"

"What?"

"I was taking out the trash yesterday dude, and…I found a syringe."

"You're fucking kidding me."

He was wrong. It was Jesse damnit, there had to be some logical explanation!

"Dean, I wish I was, but dude—"

"No, dude, its impossible. There's no signs, she would have signs,"

"Look Dean, it could be nothing. She could be a diabetic, or, something!"

No shit Sherlock! Jesse's not at addict, and fish don't walk. What else is new?

"Is there anyway to know for sure?"

"Yeah, I just need a few things. There's a high school nearby, I can get them there. It'll take some time to get the results though."

"What about that, uh, the hacking!"

"Same deal. Whoever built Lunar Haven really knew what they were doing. I should be through by nightfall, hopefully."

"Well then get crackin college boy."

Your face is burned inside my brain
I lost my way
Your taste, a stamp flows through my veins...

I was sipping really bad coffee in David's office, waiting for Sheriff Wilson to come back from his meeting. Half the force either glared at me, or checked out my ass. Most of the glaring party was women. Couldn't blame them much there.

My arms were carefully folded across my chest the entire time I had entered, giving my pose a look of constriction. It was either that, or flash my gun. I could deal with a bad translation of body language.

"Hello David," I greeted as he entered, setting my coffee down on the desk. I held out my hand, but got a hug instead.

"Please tell me that has a permit," he whispered in my ear, completely neutral.

"The gun or the blade?"

He laughed, breaking the embrace. "Nevermind, forget I said anything. So, whats this about?"

"When you searched the crime scenes, did you ever pick up a sort of sweetish scent? Like a weird maple syrupy smell."

"Not that I've heard of. You mean molasses?"

"Yes!"

Why hadn't I thought of the sooner? I blame Dean.

"A lot of old warehouses scattered around town used to store molasses back in the 18th century. Check out the town records hall, or the historical center across town."

"I'll do that," which was again, a lie. Why go to some foreign building when the expert on all things 18th century haunts my house?

"Is there anything else you can tell me?"

He rose from his desk, shut the blinds, locked the door, and we spent the next forever going over the gory details.

We had lunch, deciding to catch up on old times. I told him of my college adventures, going for my degree in marine and wildlife biology. He told me of his rising talent in law enforcement, and the weirdest cases that happened in our hometown.

It was wonderful and freeing. For a few hours I felt normal. If you live the lie for long enough, eventually you start to believe it too.

By the time I got home the sun was already beginning to set. As planned, I grabbed a small backpack of supplies for the night, and with a goodbye from the boys, locked the basement door.

Fortunately, they were too distracted to even bother trying to look inside. Places to go, psychos to kill, I understood.

The sun was now a bleeding speck on the horizon, waiting to drop and leave me in the darkness at any moment. The worst part was, I didn't care. All I wanted was on the other side of that door, cleaning his weapons for the "trillionth and one" time today as Danny delightfully put it.

I would NOT fall for Dean Winchester. I told myself this every second of everyday from the moment I laid eyes upon him. But this lie I couldn't live in. Deep down I knew it was just that, a lie. In my heart I realized it was too late, and I had in fact fallen in love with the chauvinistic bastard.

Shove the thoughts aside, I told myself. It was pointless. He may have care for, hell possibly love, nice human normal Jesse. But Jesse of the werewolf curse? I was gonna bet a big, fatal, no.

Shedding my clothes, I donned a pair of jeans that were a good two sizes to big, and one of my grandfathers old work shirts that hung down to my knees. After a fashion and a drink, I locked myself in a cage, waiting for the moon to rise.

So now I need you to tell me the truth
You know I'd do that for you

I was loading my shotgun when I heard him.

"Dean! I think I've found something!"

Guess dead boys opinion didn't matter anymore.

"Whats up?" I asked, looking over his shoulder at some color chart.

"Her account name is behindblueeyes. She's the freaking admin Dean!"

"Meaning?"

"She run's this entire site."

Unfucking believeable.

Seriously. I didn't believe it.

"Damn. She's clever. Use it to lure out other werewolves, hell maybe Eric too."

"No, Dean, that's not it."

Oh shit. He had "the look". The 'I-have-something-to-tell-you-but-you-gotta-promise-not-to-kill-me' look.

"What?" I snapped.

"The test results just came back on that syringe. There's traces of silver and tranquilizer."

"No."

"Dean…"

"No! The test is wrong Sam, you fucked it up!"

"I tripled checked it Dean, there's no mistake," he answered, his voice carefully neutral as he handed me a key on some sort of necklace chain.

"Let me do this one for you, I owe you."

Like hell he did. I grabbed my shotgun, and took the steps two at a time, despite my brothers protests. Jesse was human, damnit. This all had to be some huge mistake. All I was going to find was a very confused, possibly freaked out on account of the date, Jesse.

I was wrong.

To my left was a lab, bottles of different chemicals all neatly labeled. Right next to this were molds and a Bunsen burner for melting down silver to make bullets, just as our own dad had taught us years ago. Kinda fucked up how she could treat herself and kill her own kind on the same damn table space.

But that wasn't the worse. No, not buy a fucking long shot. The worst was right in front of, bared for all to see.

What I saw down the barrel of my favorite shotgun was Jesse in a cage, her once grey orbs glowing ice blue. The exact fucking color Eric's had been last night.

There was one difference in those eyes. Where his held hunger and ferocity, hers showed fear and defeat.

With that soft kind voice, tender and calm, she whispered.

"Please don't kill me."

(Can you believe theres only about three chapters left of this fic? But have no fear, or possibly have fear, for I am already planning a sequel! Thanks for all the love last chapter guys, really helped me work on this one! Now go leave me more loverly reviews so I can get crankin on Chapter Nine)