A/N: I apologize if I had not gotten back to any one of you who left a review and anyone in particular. I haven't even been to any of my emails in over a week as college is seriously continuing to kick my ass. I have a fiction final draft due this Monday, I have to study for my Psych test that's also on Monday, and I have to prepare a freakin' 7-10 minute persuasive speech for my communications class. All I seem to have time for is eat, sleep and study - and I am close to pulling my own hair out LOL :)

A/N: Thank you darksupernatural for being an awesome beta, a fantastic friend, an even tremendous supporter, and for giving me great advice. And thanks to Mish (if it's okay I can call you that - if not, let me know!) for giving me wonderful advice as well :D And thanks to those who has left a review!! ;D Enjoy!

Chapter 8

Clenching and unclenching her jaw, Monica stared at the bullet hole on her father's chest a minute more before abruptly turning around and walking off.

Dean continued staring at what was once a highly successful man but was now nothing more than an evil supernatural being that needed to be disposed of before he realized that Monica was no longer in the same room with him. Bounding back up the stairs, he was met with Sam nursing a beer at the table and by the look of him, he looked like hell.

"Where's –?" Dean started to ask.

Sam answered, knowing who his brother was referring to, "She left."

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, concerned about his brother as he sat opposite of him.

Not knowing if he should broach the subject considering the possibility that Dean might be a little touchy, he started out carefully, "Do you think you would have killed Dad when he was possessed?"

"Where's this coming from?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Would you?" Sam pressed.

"No," Dean said without hesitation and with conviction.

"Not even when he was killing you?"

"No Sam," he said harshly, "he was possessed, remember?"

"I think I would have," Sam mumbled, ignoring Dean's last question as he picked at the label of his beer.

Dean didn't say anything to that. He was there after all. He had seen the inner struggle his little brother had when it came down to destroying the demon, destroying their father, and he was glad that Sam couldn't do it. Come to think of it, he understood why Elizabeth and Jennifer couldn't and wouldn't kill their father, but after watching Monica pull the trigger in cold blood without any kind of remorse and hatred blazing in her eyes, he started wondering if Sam would have done the exact same thing to their father since he hated the old man. But did he really hate Dad that much?

He knew his brother and father butted heads too often before Sam went off to college and they even butted heads when Sam came back to the family business. He was their referee after all, but he never really thought Sam – his baby brother Sammy – would ever kill their own father, his own flesh and blood. Wait a minute Winchester, don't you go forgetting what he did to that Casey chick. But he just thought I was in grave danger. Yeah, but remember what ole Yellow-eyes said? Remember what Ruby said?

"Sam, listen to me," Dean softly commanded. When he had his brother's eyes, those soulful puppy dog eyes that always asked and sought for comfort of any kind, he went on, "I know how you and Dad were always at each other's throats. I know how frustrated and pissed off you were at Dad, but believe me, you would never ever do anything to hurt him. Maybe give him a black eye every once in a while and a foot up his ass, but I know you wouldn't have killed him – even if my life was at stake."

Sam nodded as he looked down at his half-finished beer, still pulling off the label and said, "You know what Jenny told me?"

"Oh, so it's 'Jenny' now?" Dean teased, trying to make light of the situation.

Ignoring him, Sam continued, "She told me that it was Monica that killed their mother in cold blood –"

"Wait a minute Sammy," Dean began defending Monica, "you saw what their father turned into. Monica had no choice in that matter, so who knows what their mother might have turned into –"

"If their mom had turned into anything –"

"If their mom had turned into anything," Dean agreed, "but my point is, is that Monica would have never killed her parents unless she was forced to. Unless she had no choice –"

"Like I did? With Dad?"

"What do you mean?"

"I had a choice Dean. It was either you, Dad, or the demon. If I had killed that demon, Dad would've been dead too, but you would have been saved."

"We've had this discussion before Sam. None of it was your fault –"

"That's not what I mean," Sam said annoyed.

"Then what is?" Dean asked confused, now not knowing what Sammy was getting to.

Starting off quietly so that Dean was forced to lean in to catch what his brother was saying, he said, "All this time, I thought it was Elizabeth and Jennifer that were the ones not to be trusted. Now I'm thinking that the true monster is –"

"Don't Sam," Dean cut in severely, finally getting the gist of what his brother was saying, "I don't wanna hear it. She is not the monster. Her dad was. And what she did was proof enough for me to believe that she was compassionate enough to spare him –"

"'Compassionate enough?' Are you seriously high, Dean?"

"You weren't there, Sam. And –"

"And what?" Sam challenged. "You're gonna show me some proof that points to your girlfriend's innocence?"

Dean closed his mouth shut at that, but when a thought struck him, he smiled, "Actually, I can."

As he got up and abruptly strode over to his room, Sam followed him, his beer left abandoned at the table, "Where do you think you're going?"

"To find her," Dean threw back over his shoulder.

"Do you think that's wise Dean?"

"What? Am I supposed to be afraid of a woman who's a whole foot shorter than me?"

"With the guns and with unknown weapon assortment in her person, I'd say yeah, you should be scared."

Dean huffed as he made it to his room and picked up his jacket and keys, but as he made a beeline for the exit, he found it blocked by his colossal size of a brother.

"Dean, I don't think you should go alone –"

"Dude, as much as I like the idea of a threesome, I hate the idea of you entering into the mix."

"Hilarious Dean, truly hilarious. But think about it man, I don't know what your little girlfriend is capable of and I'm not about to let you walk right into a lion's den."

"Ah Sammy, you worry too much. Listen, I'll call you once I've found her, okay? Then you can hold my hand and we can approach her together. That sound good?"

Sam gave him a look at that as he got out of the way of the older man.

"Atta boy Sammy," Dean praised as he slapped his brother on the back and left.

Glancing at the clock displayed on the black Hummer's dashboard, she massaged the back of her neck with one hand while keeping the other on the wheel as she turned into a parking lot of a motel, needing the escape.

Monica knew that what she did was right from the minute she pulled the trigger, but it still didn't help make the guilt go away as it continued to eat at the very core of her soul.

After driving aimlessly around once she got out of the confines that was suffocating her with only her thoughts keeping her company, she stopped first at a liquor store to buy some Jack Daniels hoping that it would quell her screaming thoughts and provide her with some well-deserved sleep.

She at first wanted to drink the whole bottle while driving, but her common sense told her that it wouldn't be the wisest thing to do, and spotting the time, 12:30 in the morning, she spotted a fairly nice-looking motel and decided to tune in. Or more like drink myself to sleep…

After using an alias name and paying in cash, she grabbed her bags and gear, and made sure the windows and door was salted before sitting down with her back to the board on the queen size bed as she let her thoughts clash with one another, the bottle of Jack Daniels forgotten on the small table.

She knew what she did was right, but it sure didn't feel like it. He was just one casualty… just one casualty, she kept telling herself, he had to be disposed of for the sake of all.

Problem was, that was the same thing she kept telling herself with every man, woman, and child she had killed. And the nightmares never truly stay gone.

Musing about that, she realized with both a heavy heart and with relief that the nameless people she eradicated had ceased to haunt her.

But mentioning her past profession to Sam had opened the floodgates to thoughts and memories she thought she had long forgotten.

Ten years. It's been exactly ten years ago when she so naively signed up for the CIA, wanting to make a difference, and six years of trying to prove her capabilities to her superiors by signing on to missions she knew now was a big mistake. But what doesn't break you will only make you stronger, right?

Letting out a long sigh, she wished that statement was true. The shit she went through didn't make her stronger, it made her weaker – weaker to the point that she had found herself constantly questioning her decisions and seeing the supernatural world in black and white. I'm acting more like Gordon…

Shuddering at that thought she let her eyes roam over to the unopened bottle of whiskey, temptation so hard to ignore, but she managed to suppress her desire to have a drink just because she knew it had never helped her before.

A sharp knock resounded on the door, startling her out of her guilt trip.

Grabbing her Desert Eagle she made her way across the carpeted room as silently as she can. Slightly opening the window curtain to peer outside, her eyes grew wide as she spotted something familiar.

Putting away her weapon, she opened the door and asked wearily, "What are you doing here?"

Glancing at the clock displayed on his baby's dashboard, he massaged the back of his neck with one hand while keeping the other on the wheel, searching eyes looking everywhere for the missing sister.

2:00 a.m.

He'd spent the better of an hour searching for Monica and turned up blank. She can't be that hard to track down, can she?

Dean almost gave up his search until he made a left turn and spotted a peculiar black Hummer sitting innocently in a parking lot of a motel.

Parking right next to it, Dean contemplated about calling in the cavalry, but decided against it as he turned off his phone.

As he got out of his car and walked to the door, he felt something he had never associated before but knew exactly what he was feeling as the butterflies in his stomach made their presence more known.

He took a moment to settle the frenzy his beating heart was making by taking deep breaths before knocking on the door. He didn't have to wait long before he heard her unlocking the door to open it.

Monica opened the door and asked wearily while keeping the opening blocked, "What are you doing here?"

"Are you gonna let me in?" Dean asked, trying to use the puppy dog eyes his brother had so perfected over the years.

Letting out a sigh, she shrugged her shoulders and said as she stepped aside, "Enter at your own risk."

He raised his eyebrows at that as Sam's warning replayed in his mind. Shaking his head to clear it, he entered a bit cautiously.

The beige walls that were tastefully decorated by pictures of the outdoors and live plants all around, combined with the lush deep golden carpet, made this little motel room look welcoming.

Spotting the whiskey on the table, he asked, "You drinking that?"

Shaking her head as she sat down at the table, she said, "Help yourself. By the way, you didn't answer my question."

Taking his time filling the two shot glasses that were located near the whiskey and giving one to Monica, Dean said, "I want to know everything."

She raised an eyebrow at that, "Everything?"

"Yeah, I think I'm entitled to, don't you? Helping you track down your dad and keeping your sisters from making a mistake…must I go on?"

"Everything?" She repeated.

"Everything," he agreed, and grimacing, "And don't forget I already poured out my heart and soul to you, so now it's your turn."

Looking down into her glass, she slide it away from her and gave it to Dean sighing, "Elizabeth was Daddy's little girl. His own chip off the old block, apple never falling far from the tree sorta thing. And Jennifer was always Momma's little girl. Her own chip off the old block kind of thing."

"And whose 'little girl' were you?"

She smiled sadly at that, "No one's. Well, except my Nana's. You see, right after Lizzie was born, my parents were hoping and wishing and praying for a boy, but I came along instead. They gave me to a sweet old lady who they paid very handsomely for to take me off of their hands. I didn't care at all. Her husband died in Vietnam and she never had any kids of her own, so she was thrilled to have me. I actually even grew up thinking that she was my mom."

"So then what happened?" He asked, trying very hard not to let the anger show in his voice as his jaw clenched and unclenched in fury of what her parents did to her.

"After my Nana died when I was twelve, I started doing almost anything to get my parents' attention: drugs, alcohol, even starting fights, but not at school though. I wasn't that stupid. I was taught by my Nana of the importance of education, and I saw the kind of freedom I can have with an education, so I didn't do anything to jeopardize my schooling."

"What about the fights? How did you get involved in those?"

"Enrique apparently believed enough that one should always learn to protect themselves, especially women. So he had enlisted his daughter in anything and everything that has to do with martial arts. Later on after much bitching from his wife, Jenny was enlisted too. And after much persuasion from my Nana, he grudgingly enlisted me too. What he didn't like was me beating my two sisters at everything. And as for the 'fights', let's just say I was into the whole 'vigilantly' type of the law – if a guy steals a woman's purse, I'd ran after him and kick his ass."

"And you didn't get caught?" He asked disbelievingly.

"And what about your schooling?" He asked when he saw her shaking her head in answer to his first question.

"Lizzie and Jenny both went to private schools while I went to public schools. I hated going to school, but even after my Nana died, I pushed myself for that little piece of paper that said I was a High School Graduate. I graduated from high school and at the top of my class when I was fifteen – and no, I was not a so-called 'geek'," she answered when she saw the question forming in Dean's eyes as he was opening his mouth to voice them.

"A week after I graduated, Jasmine 'disappeared'. It was reported that she was attacked in Jenny's bedroom by some crazy men and forcefully taken by them."

"So does that mean the only person who saw exactly what happened was Jennifer?"

"Exactly. But at twelve years old with two older sisters and a father, no one believed her. She repeatedly told her story to anyone who ever bothered to listen to a child, but because the story sounded ludicrous, sadly, no one believed her. She was grieving the loss of her mother, Enrique was grieving the loss of his wife, Lizzie didn't care and was struggling through her senior year, and I was busy keeping away from everyone else. And as you might have guessed, the case was never solved."

She took another deep breath before she continued, "My moment of freedom came when I joined the CIA when I turned seventeen –"

"Wait a minute. Weren't you supposed to be eighteen to sign up?"

She smiled sheepishly, "I changed my age, and no, I never got into trouble for that. I spent six months in training camp and they were going to give me a desk job. I didn't like it. I guess I wanted to be like James Bond: an actual, bona fide spy. So I fought. I persuaded my superiors to give me a field job, and I ended up signing onto any kind of mission that was presented to me."

She laughed bitterly, "Who knew the government needed their own 'cleaners'? Anything that went wrong on a mission, I had to clean it up, hence the killings I did. I spent six years traveling around the world taking out civilians whenever something didn't go right. It was the government's way of protecting themselves, and luckily for them, the fatalities had to look like 'accidents'."

"But it wasn't your fault. None of it was. You were given a direct order that needed to be carried out and –"

"I wasn't a goddamn soldier – I was a goddamn CIA agent. I had a choice…and I didn't make the right one. A lot of people lost their lives for nothing, and I didn't do squat," She gritted out, unable to hide the pain from her eyes for once.

"Hey, listen to me," Dean implored, grabbing and holding her hands, their drinks forgotten, "You are a good person. You cannot change what you did back then, and look at what you're doing now – you're saving people by taking down each and every single evil sonofabitches you can possibly find. And you are not gonna stop until the war is over. Besides," he added with a tiny smile, "how did you get into this hunting business?"

Smiling gratefully at him for listening as well as his attempt at changing the subject, she said, "Six years after doing what I did, I took a vacation and headed back home – or at least I headed back to where Lizzie and Jenny called home. Lizzie and Jenny were also on vacation from their work at the hospitals they were working at. A few days after I got there, Lizzie and her dad were walking around their usual walking trails until some dude jumped them and attacked Enrique. All I remember from that was Lizzie barging into the house screaming that Dad was being attacked and that we should help. Once we got there loaded with weapons, we found Enrique unconscious on the floor. Before any of us knew what was happening, the police and the media got involved. Two days after the attack, your dad, John, knocked on our front doors, as a member of the 'FBI'. I knew he wasn't what he said he was the moment I laid eyes on him, but because Lizzie and Jenny were so distraught after what happened, they didn't notice the phony FBI badge or the piss poor performance you dad put on – no offense."

"None taken," he said, highly amused as he can see his dad being red under the collar as Monica interrogated him on his legitimacy.

"Well, just as soon as he started his investigation, Enrique escaped from his confines at a hospital. Soon afterward, John tracked him down to an abandoned warehouse and…well, let's just say Enrique gave him a run for his money. John got infuriated with me when I showed up and scared Enrique away, only injuring him. After that, I demanded the truth from John and I helped him locate the next location Enrique might've gone next. This time I made the mistake of bringing my sisters along to help with the hunt. And as you probably already guessed, the hunt was jeopardized when Lizzie and Jenny made sure John and I didn't kill the werewolf, forcing it to flee far from where we found it. After that, John berated me and told me I should ditch my sisters if I was serious in becoming a hunter."

"Huh, I think you should've heeded his advice. So who taught your sisters how to shoot?"

"I did. I taught them everything I knew from my experiences at the CIA. Since then, we've never really looked back. We quit our jobs and started this life."

"So how did you manage to meet Gordon and Bela?"

"About two years after we learned what was really out there, we went to Alabama when we heard about a vampire infestation. Upon investigating, we…we uh, met our mother. It was then that we found out that the 'men' that attacked her and kidnapped her were vampires. Lizzie and Jenny, especially Jenny, were hell bent in wanting to find some kind of cure to save her – and just like with Enrique, they pretty much thwarted every chance I got to exterminate her. Well, that's when we met Gordon. He came to Alabama to get his hands on vampires. Now we just kinda crossed paths and he inadvertently insulted us by saying that we as women were not capable in any way to get involved in the hunting world and to bugger off."

"Let me guess, you showed him otherwise by saving him from a vampire."

"How'd you –? Never mind. So anyway, he showed us that he was such a cool guy, and I actually liked him in a sense that I had something in common with him – or so I thought."

"So what happened? What happened that made you change your mind about him?"

"Jasmine decided she wanted her daughter to be with her. She kidnapped Jenny and of course Lizzie and I rushed to save her. Gordon on the other hand, followed us and wanted to exterminate each and every piece of shit – regardless if Jenny was in the way. We had to stop him –"

"How?" Dean asked quickly.

"We knocked him out. I was wanting to hog tie him and dump him at the vampires' front door – either that or at least break both his legs – but Lizzie wanted to do the safe orthodox way which was to knock him unconscious, tie him up, and leave him in an alleyway. Unfortunately, we did just that."

"Why 'unfortunately'?"

Shrugging her shoulder, she said simply, "He deserved worse than that. "

Dean smirked, "Couldn't agree with you more. So how did you manage to get out of that?"

"We got there just in time before Jasmine fed vampire blood to Jenny, and even though both Jenny and Lizzie begged me not to shoot, I did. I shot an arrow dipped in dead man's blood and just when she was weakened by it, I cut her head off with a machete," she finished in coldness, eyes showing no kind of remorse.

"You know you had to do it, right? Besides, how'd your sisters handle it?" Dean asked, knowing the cold unreadable expression she was showing was really hiding the deep raw pain she was no doubt feeling.

Shaking her head, she said, "It still doesn't make it much easier. It was either her or Jenny, and quite frankly, that wasn't a hard thing to consider. And as for my sisters, I kicked their asses and cuffed them to whatever was available at the time."

Dean smiled at that, truly smiled, and asked, "How'd you meet Bela?"

Monica stiffened at the name, "To make that story extremely short, she cost us an innocent. Apparently acquiring special artifacts were more important than the life of an innocent. So I took the liberty of breaking her nose."

Dean stood shell shocked by that, "Now how did that happen?"

"After the death of an innocent little girl, we confronted her about her end of the deal –"

"Wait – deal?"

"The 'deal' was that we would lead her and help acquire a damn stupid artifact, and in return, she would help us with a very nasty vengeful spirit. The little girl that was targeted by the spirit was killed by it. The problem was that Bela was right there. She could've done something, but she didn't. So when we confronted her, I don't know…I just lost it. I snapped. I punched her over and over, and if it wasn't for Lizzie and Jenny, Bela would've been killed, by my hands, no less."

Dean sighed wistfully, "What I wouldn't give to be in your position."

Monica huffed, "You'd probably have dirty angry sex."

He shifted uncomfortable at that as his mind tugged at a memory when Bela said exactly that, "So what happened after that?"

She shrugged, "We started tracking Enrique and killing every evil SOB along the way. But right now, I want to discuss you."

"Me? Uh, how did Elizabeth meet her husband?" He asked, keeping his eyes trained on a hole of his jeans.

"Nice. Boy meets girl, girl meets boy, they fell in love, and they got married. Now, about you –"

"Have you seen Ellen at all? How is she?" Dean asked, desperately trying to keep the subject off of him.

"She's working at the same bar as her daughter, and I hear she's planning on rebuilding the Roadhouse at the same location. I also hear her daughter is infatuated with you," she said, amused, "Now let's talk about you, shall we?"

Dean sighing in defeat, said, "What do you want to know? You already know everything."

"Here," she said suddenly, shoving a piece of paper toward him.

"What's this?" He asked as he examined the contents of the paper.

"It's my number as well as Lizzie's number and Jenny's number, and the locations of our homes throughout the U.S."

"Why? And I thought your dad disowned you?"

"He did, but thanks to Lizzie and Jenny, they gave me some property of my own."

"But why?" he asked again, looking at her with the paper in one hand.

"Let's just say that there will come a day you might need it," she informed cryptically, "but promise me you won't tell Sam. I want what we discussed here to be between you and me, but whatever you do, do not, under any circumstances, tell Sam anything."

"Why?" he asked truly perplexed as he slipped the piece of paper in his jacket pocket, "you don't trust him?"

"You'll find out soon enough. And now, there is something I want to discuss with you."

"If you're wanting to discuss my deal, then you can forget about it," Dean glared at her.

"Dean," she started frustratingly, glaring right back, "we can help you. We've done this before –"

"NO!" Dean shouted, "I don't want your help. You know what'll happen to Sam? He'll die if I try anything to get myself out of the deal. I just can't – I won't. I made a mistake, and I'll pay for it."

"What do you mean you made a 'mistake'?"

"I shouldn't have –" he stopped short before beginning again, "My dad sold his soul for me when I was supposed to be dead, and now I've sold my soul when Sam died. Don't you see? We screwed up the natural balance, the natural order, of life. I should have died when it was my time. My dad should have never –"

"Dean, stop it," she ordered harshly, eyes blazing in anger, "just stop it. I don't know how you grew up thinking less of yourself. You are by far the smartest, bravest, unselfish good person I have ever met, so don't you dare think little of yourself. You know what? Scratch all of that. I think you're an ass. One huge –"

She was cut off as Dean leaned across the small table and kissed her long and hard. Time stood still for both of them as Dean maneuvered around the table to reach her better. Monica snapped out of it before she completely lost herself to the sweetness of it. Putting both hands on his chest, she forcefully pushed him away, breaking the kiss.

Breathing hard as if she had ran a marathon, she struggled out of the chair and turned her back on him as she walked to the other side of the room. She took a moment to marvel at what had happened and the sensation she felt with just that one kiss as she tried to calm down her wildly beating heart. The dates she went on, the kisses she had share with other guys – all of it had never came close to what she was experiencing right now; that little spark of electricity that was still coursing through her was all she needed to realize the possibility of their relationship. And all of a sudden, she grew afraid. She was afraid of what might happen next.

Breathing hard himself just as if he too had ran a marathon, he stood where he was at as he too marveled at what had happened. After all the women he's been with, not one of them – not even Cassie – had made him feel like that. The spark of electricity he felt coursing through his body was like no other sensation he had experienced. With that thought in mind, he too grew afraid of what would happen next, but he knew deep down in his very soul that he didn't want to let her go.

"What happened back in the park?" he asked gently, as he tried to calm both of them down, hoping that the change of subject would help alleviate the electric tension in the air, "I mean when I died…I know I died…I saw Hell…but how?"

Turning to face him, concern etched all over her face, she said in a shaky breath, "You tell me. I just remember you dying in my arms, but I don't know what happened. All of a sudden, you just came back. I don't know how, but you did."

Smiling tentatively in gratitude at her, feeling that if it wasn't for her, he would still be in hell, he said, "Well, whatever you did, uh, thanks."

And without further ado on either of their parts, he crossed the distance in one long stride and pulled her into a kiss. This time instead of her bringing her hands up to stop him, she snaked her arms around his neck as she met his demanding kiss with one of her own.

Growling deep down in his throat in delight, he picked her up and placed her on the bed, never once breaking the connection their lips seemed to want. Once atop of her, he started trailing and exploring the depths of her neck with his lips, wanting to take his sweet time and taking pleasure in hearing her moan in protest, knowing that he was making her impatient.

As his lips started exploring each part of her skin he was exposing, she shoved her knee in his ribs to throw him off of her as she rolled on top of him. Torturing him like he tortured her, she took her time in doing the same thing and taking pleasure as she felt him tremble with her touch.

It wasn't until when she placed her hand on the zipper of his jeans that their playful manner turned serious. Kissing her like he had never kissed her before, he moved her under him as their desire for one another mounted with each passing second.

Piece by piece as their clothes were thrown and left in disarray around the room, the passionate moans of pleasure and satisfaction coming from the couple occupying the queen-size bed never seemed so right in a dark time such as that.

TBC...

A/N: Just one more chapter to go and this story will be done! And just a little reminder: this is my very first attempt at writing fan fiction and so this is my very first story. If you love the girls, if you hate the girls, or if you think they're alright, please let me know. I really need to know what works and what doesn't. If you think the little sex scene was too inappropriate, then please let me know! Pretty please leave a review! ;D