Disclaimer: Teen Wolf characters are not mine. Whoa. Nope, wrong story. Supernatural characters are not mine.

A/N: Nursing school starts in less than a month. I don't know how good I'll be about updating when that happens. Sorry.


Sam and Dean were coming. They were only a seven or so hours away. How the heck they just happened to be so close was beyond me, but I wasn't complaining.

Actually, I wasn't doing much of anything.

They'd told me to look up the first motel in the phone book. I had. That was where we'd meet when they got here. Then they'd told me to ditch my phone. I'd done that too.

Now I was just waiting.

Because I couldn't handle just sitting on my hands while I waited, I decided to do some research.

My mother had worked with me pretty extensively on how to research. And, for the last couple of years, she'd pawned the duty off on me entirely.

I didn't have a laptop, so I went to the first place I could think of with computers. And actually, the public library was only a twenty minute walk from the school. The walk gave me time to calm down and pull myself together.

By the time I walked up the library steps, I was back in business. I wandered around a bit, pretending to be interested in the books before making a beeline for the computers. The library made them free to use. I signed in under a fake name and went to work.

My mother and I had come up with a pretty good system. She Hunted the monsters and I researched. I was pretty dang good at it, too. I figured out what we were facing, and she took 'em down.

When I was younger, I used be indignant when she'd leave me in whatever skeevy motel room we were staying in. But the older I got, the more I appreciated what we had. I didn't want to kill monsters. I didn't want to kill anything. I was just fine doing the research and knowing that I was indirectly helping people with my work.

I didn't appreciate it right now, though. When the man had grabbed me, I had panicked. One, I hadn't known what I was facing. And two, even if I had known, it wouldn't have helped. My mind had gone blank and all I had done was run away.

Riley wouldn't have run away. Riley would have kicked the crap out of whatever it was. That much I was sure of.

Still, I couldn't shake the sense of unease that the unknown monster created. He'd known who I was. Maybe even what I was. Which meant that I needed to learn everything I could about him or his kind.

I'd never encountered black eyes before. Neither had my mother, I was sure of it. She had kept a running log of our Hunts on a zip drive. Mostly just so we wouldn't have to do the research again in case we had a repeat case. Black eyes, though. That was completely new.

I Googled every variation of "black eyes" and "telekinesis" that I could think of. I even looked at some of the more obscure websites where I'd found lore before. Nothing.

I didn't know what that man was or why he was able to fling me through the air with his mind.

Then it dawned on me that I was in a library. An old episode of Doctor Who once proclaimed that books were the best weapons in the world.

As I headed into the mythology section, I couldn't help but agree. Knowledge was powerful. Knowledge made human dangerous when faced with things that go bump in the night.

I kept thumbing through books, bypassing the traditional greek and roman myths in favor of more arcane sources. It wasn't long before I'd worked down the shelves, through the entire section and into another. And that section...that was where I found my answer.

It was a tiny sketch—old and hidden in the back of the book, squished into the margins beside beautifully flowing script. It was a pair of eyes, gazing out at me. Only they were all black, intentionally matching exactly what I'd seen in the man's face.

I traced a finger down the text, trying to decipher photocopied nineteenth century cursive scrawl. It was beautiful but hella hard to read. There was a lot of "Brother this and Brother that" tossed in with some latin. But I did pick out a couple of words from the bunch, and they made my stomach shrivel.

Black eyes. Demon possession.

I tipped my head up, looking for the heading on the bookshelf. I had moved out of the mythology section, and now the neatly printed letters told me everything I needed to know. "Religion," the label said.

Good Lord, I had a demon chasing me. Most likely because I was a second generation psychic. I didn't know what it wanted, but it couldn't be good.

Holy crap, demons.

If demons were real, then that meant angels were real. Demons were, after all, fallen angels. And if angels were real, then that meant there really was a big man up in the sky.

I knew Riley believed in God. She prayed a lot and things seemed to get better because of it. But I'd never given much thought past what I'd seen on TV and such. Jemma wasn't exactly the Sunday morning church type person.

It was something I'd look into later. I would have to gather evidence and make an informed decision. But for right now, I had bigger things to deal with.

I closed the book after finding nothing more of value. There wasn't a lot of information past "Lucifer's touch" and pitch black eyes. There was a very brief mentioning of holy water, but I didn't know how to get my hands on any.

The library closed at seven. I walked out ten minutes before seven, snagging a black hoodie from the lost-and-found bin. Dropping my backpack on the ground, I put the hoodie on and flipped up the hood. Then I slung my broken backpack over one shoulder and began the long, slow walk to the College Motel.

I was too young to be able to rent a room, not to mention I had no money. So when I got there, I sat on the bench facing the main parking lot and pulled my knees up to my chest.

I probably looked like a runaway, if I was being honest. I was wearing an oversized black hoodie, ripped jeans, and brown cowboy boots. And I was toting a faded, battered backpack around with me.

The horrible part though? I was a runaway.

Exhaustion swamped me, followed by a heavy sense of helplessness. It was kind of a familiar feeling, though I had never once felt it for the entire month and a half I'd stayed with Missouri. She had trained me, taught me. She had made me feel safe, made me feel powerful and in control.

But that was gone again. I was on the run and I had no idea how to keep myself safe. The last time I'd felt like this was when the vampires had been chasing me and Riley.

Settling my chin on my knees, I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to keep the tears at bay. I was crying. Again. Stupid. This was so stupid. Riley wouldn't turn into a blubbering mess. She would be brainstorming a way to kick butt.

She was strong and capable, and I wanted nothing more than to be her. But I wasn't Riley. A week spent watching her destroy vampire after vampire proved that.

I sniffed, using the sweatshirt sleeve to swipe at my runny nose. Okay. No more pity party. I was going to sit here and use the time to come up with a plan. Yeah. That was good.

A plan…

Just me, sitting here, thinking of a plan.

I closed my eyes again, but I didn't think of a plan. Instead, I fell asleep.

A swarthy rumbling woke me up. I raised my head just in time to see a car pull into the parking spot in front of my bench. It was black and beautiful. I recognized it instantly.

The engine cut off and the driver door opened. Dean Winchester rocketed halfway out of the car. "You okay?" he called. The concern in his voice made my stomach shrivel up.

I nodded.

The Winchesters got out and carried their stuff into the room behind me. I followed mutely, sitting in a crappy motel chair while they settled in. Sam gave me a plastic grocery bag. In it were basic supplies. Shampoo, conditioner. A hairbrush. Deodorant. Toothpaste and a toothbrush. Best of all, a plain gray t-shirt.

I clutched the bag to my chest and practically ran into the crappy bathroom. I took a quick shower, and then got out, almost tearing up as I pulled on the new shirt. It was way too big, but I didn't care. The new shirt could have been neon orange with the word "Loser" plastered on the front for all I cared. It was clean and soft, and I loved it.

My current shirt used to be white. Now it was of an indecipherable color, torn in a couple places, and stained with sweat and dirt. In fact, I was surprised that no one at the library had confronted me about my appearance.

When I exited the bathroom, I thanked Sam. He just shrugged with a small smile. I settled back in the chair, using the brush to detangle my hair.

Dean tossed his duffel bag on a bed and sat on the end of it, facing me. Uh oh. That meant we were in business mode. "What happened?" he asked grimly, staring me down with green-eyed laser focus.

I shivered, wrapping my arms around my knees. "A man showed up at school. He asked who I was...but he knew my name. My real name, not the one I've been going by at school. And then his eyes turned black and he threw me into a car without even touching me. I didn't know what that meant, but I ran, because I knew if he caught me, then something very bad would happen."

I scrunched my eyes shut, dropping my forehead onto my knees. Black eyes flashed through my mind. I saw them every time I closed my eyes. They were wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong.

Swallowing convulsively, I continued my story. "I ran through the parking lot towards the road. And I had a vision of a truck coming, one that wouldn't be able to slow down in time. So I ran into traffic right before it, and the man tried to follow. He got hit by the truck."

I looked up, wanting to see their faces. "I killed him." I peered from brother to brother, searching for the disgust and judgement that I deserved.

Sam and Dean just looked a little stunned. Then Dean shrugged. "Well, I guess that's one way of taking care of a—"

"Demon?" I asked, cutting him off in a slightly terrified, reedy voice.

His forehead wrinkled. "Yeah."

I looked down at my scuffed cowboy boots. "I researched...while I waited for you guys to get here. I found an old, nineteenth century reference to demons." I closed my eyes again, fighting back another shudder. "Do they really possess people?"

Sam cleared his throat. "Yes," he said softly.

A stray thought pinged through my brain, along with a twist of fear. "What do you think a demon could do if it possessed a psychic?"

Sam and Dean traded a look. "Nothing good," Dean muttered. He rummaged around in his pocket, pulling out a leather cord with a weird pentagram type symbol on it. "Put this around your neck. It'll ward against possession until we can get you a tattoo."

My eyes widened and I shook my head slightly. Sam pulled down the collar of his shirt. There just beneath his collarbone was the same pentagram symbol surrounded by wavy looking flames. "You don't want to be possessed. Trust me." His face pinched slightly, and Dean's face turned grim and flat and just a little dangerous.

Dean stood, clearing his throat before smacking Sam's arm with the back of his hand. "You should sleep."

Sam gave a token protest, but it didn't take a genius to tell how haggard he was. He started shedding his multiple layers of jacket and plaid and then headed to the bathroom with his duffel.

It wasn't long before he came out again and flopped onto the bed with a happy groan. His long legs shifted slightly, and eventually, he went still, breaths evening out.

Dean sat at the table, cleaning his gun. I watched in fascination as he disassembled it into a bajillion different pieces. After running a cloth through it and oiling different pieces, Dean calmly put it back together. Sometimes he didn't even have to look at what he was doing. One such time, he caught me watching.

Hefting the finished product in one hand, he eyed me. "Ever held a gun before?"

Jemma had never let me so much as touch one, but Riley had. I nodded. "When Riley went to talk to the main vampire, she gave me hers and barricaded me into the bathroom, just in case."

Dean's face went all blank again, and it kind of scared me. It was a cold, dangerous expression. Riley got it sometimes, when she was preparing to go kill stuff. She didn't like killing, but she'd done a lot of it to protect me. I'd seen that face from her way too much that week. But she'd powered through and got the job done.

Just like she had with Jemma.

I propped my chin on my knees. "Have you ever noticed how Riley is like...like...Sarah Connor?"

Dean looked up sharply, raising his eyebrows quizzically. "From Terminator?"

I nodded slowly. "Like, at first she might have been kind of scared and innocent, but then she somehow turned into a badass. Because she kind of had to." Then, because doing nothing was killing me, I unfolded my legs from the chair and pulled my backpack close.

Opening it up, I pulled out my notebook. Because I had entered the school year late, I'd been relegated to take one of the lame classes that meant nothing, just because there had been open seats in it. My least favorite class was called "Self Studies." It focused entirely too much on self discovery and self image. Each day, the teacher would draw from a jar of prompts and tuck the little slip of paper into our notebooks. Each day, we would be required to journal about that prompt and turn in the notebook the next morning.

Flipping open the front page, I snagged the paper slip and unfolded it. "Create a comparison chart of pros and cons. These are things you are proud of and not proud of. The focus should be on your actions, talents, flaws, etc. As you explore your self concept, reflect on what kind of person you are shaping up to be," I read softly to myself.

I stared down at the notebook with a frown. Then I thumbed through it for the nearest empty page. It was stupid, doing homework when I was never going back to that school, but I needed it. I needed the normalcy.

I drew a giant T, labeling one side pros and the other cons.

Pros. I fingered my pen, rubbing it with my thumb as I brainstormed. My mind went blank, so I moved to the Cons list.

Cons. Things I was not proud of. Oh boy. I didn't have to think very hard for this one. I gripped my pen tight and started writing.

Unashamedly jay walk on a daily basis.

Once chose to eat three burritos when traveling for multiple hours in a tiny vehicle.

Maddeningly unable to talk to the boy I like until flush with adrenaline from a fight.

Can see the future, have not tried predicting the Lotto.

Faked appendicitis so my mother could steal a prescription tablet from the doctor's office.

Broke the school's rules and went in the Boys' locker room.

Beat up three bullies in aforementioned locker room.

Once ran away from my mother and got kidnapped.

Uselessly watched as a friend was forced to kill multiple vampires to keep me safe.

Have buried a vampire in the woods.

Once cleaned up a murder crime scene.

Purposely ran into traffic and got someone killed.

Have…

My heart beat hard, and my fingers cramped around the pen. The world seemed to slow down around me. Full of shame and self loathing, I forced myself to pen the one thing that had been weighing on me for a while now.

Have helped a friend frame my mother in order to send her to prison.

Unexpected tears pricked my eyes, and I glared at the paper. Reflect on what kind of person I was shaping up to be, huh? Well, there was no denying it.

"I'm a horrible person," I croaked, flinging my notebook and pen away with a sudden vengeance.

Then I slammed my face into my palms and tried to hold back the floodgate of tears.

There was a creak of a chair followed by a rustle of paper. Dean was picking up my notebook. Normally, I would have freaked out, not wanting anyone else to read my private thoughts, but at the same time, I just didn't care anymore.

A few minutes later, there was a weird whistling rustle and the notebook hit my feet. Shoulders slumped, I peeked at it. Then I picked it up. The pros column was no longer empty. Scrawled in messy, but legible, letters were three bullet points.

Fights bullies.

Saved Riley's family.

Has seen Terminator movies.

I set the notebook down but couldn't meet Dean's eyes, so I turned and snuggled sideways in my chair. Then I tried my hardest to fall asleep instead of breaking into hysterical sobs.

It was almost laughable, the thought that occured to me next. I was fifteen, but in that moment, I missed someone terribly. There was no sad, little "I want my mommy." No. I wanted Riley. I wanted Riley so badly it hurt. I wanted to hear her voice. I wanted her to hug me. To set her chin on the top of my head and tell me, "I got this" in that unwavering confidence she possessed.

Please let her be here soon, I said mentally, sending it up as some kind of prayer. I need her.