A/n – I don't own supernatural. I tried. It's too expensive.

a/n 2 – As you can see by my profile, I haven't written a fan fiction in a REALLY long time. I love reviews, both rave and critical. Show some love… or at least appreciation for the work done lol

a/n 3 - M rating is for later chapters. If the M is why you are here, just bear with me! :)

Final A/N, I promise! - The M is coming later, I promise ;)

Prologue

My life sucks. I'm not talking about the superficial, "I can't get a boyfriend! My butt's too big! I have huge pores!" kind of sucks. I mean being happy that I get a hot shower in because the cheap hotel where I'm staying doesn't do maintenance kind of sucks. The kind of sucks where in you don't stay in any hotel for very long so it doesn't matter. It's the, "All of my clothes have blood in them, how do I get this out of my hair, why is my gun sticking, someone give me a knife, damn it!" kind of sucks. But hey, life sucks and then you die, right? It's the same for everyone, really. For some of us, though, the suck is a little more intense, and the die is a little sooner. I'm not a thrill seeker, and I haven't been laid in, well, a while. Comes with the territory. I'm a hunter.

Sioux City, Iowa

Hunting is usually a family business. Mom and dad feel a spark in dim lighting over a nice batch of dead man's blood and boom, Mr. and Mrs. Hunter are in a family way. The wife keeps the kid's safe at the hotel herself if they are loners, and groups of hunters take turns being on kid duty. Eventually, parents don't come back, and suddenly it's like, hunter graduation time. Having a vengeful rage boner for a particular species of nasty that killed some loved one is a bit of a rite of passage in a hunter family.

That's why it's particularly odd to find myself in a shockingly low mileage Ford Lariat older than I am, (It's got the 86 mustang 5.0 liter v-8 engine! But I digress), heading northbound on i-29 out of Sioux City, Iowa. My parents are still very much alive. Oooooold. But alive. As is the case with nearly EVERYONE over the age of 60, my parents are completely oblivious to the fact that there really are things that go bump in the night. Like my sister and my brother, my mom and dad are both teachers (retired, of course.) I'm going to have to remember to call home every once in a while to let my parents know I'm still alive.

Actually, it's my boyfriend's fault that I've found myself with the strange calling to kill things that should only exist in stories in the first place. Ex boy friend, I should say. He may have been a vampire dick weed, but for most of the three years we were together, he was just a dumbass whose dumbass-ness was just endearing enough to put up with. We had a rough couple of years, and I assumed when he started acting weird that it was drugs, or that he was cheating. I wouldn't have stood for it, but they wouldn't have been killing offenses. Of course, when I came home and found him necking with a chick on the couch, I thought I was proven right, he was a douche bag, and I could move on.

I was wrong. He did cheat on me, of course, but with a vampire. I walked in on his first feeding, a rite of passage for dick weed vampires. I was PISSED. And a little terrified. It took me a while to figure out which emotion was stronger. It was the terror. I hopped in his dad's old Lariat and drove the hell away to my parent's house. They were out of town, and I was a college drop out with no resources, so I 'Borrowed' their interweb and did a little research, because I was not going to put my life in the hands of old Dracula movies and the Twilight series. (Guilty pleasure from my youth, please don't judge.)

Not being in "shape," lacking anything that could be called a "weapon," and not sure how I felt about the whole dead man's blood thing, I grabbed a rusty old axe and headed home. I knew I couldn't kill my ex, but I knew I might have to get over that real quick, and I didn't want to be empty handed.

Being abnormally affected by Murphy's Law, I wasn't surprised to see Dick Weed and his new Vampire Bitch Friend were having some sort of strange vampire kill sex on my BRAND NEW COUCHES. I snapped, and, very messily, hacked off the vamp-bitch's head. My damn couches still ended up ruined because irony and karma are buddies, and I found myself facing down the man I loved for years, and went through a lot of shit with. After all the loss we experienced the last couple of years (loss that now, seems a little supernaturally suspect,) I just couldn't bring myself to put him down. I'd like to think he felt the same way about me. He may have. I mean, damn, he could have killed me, but he didn't. He took the girl off the couch, nodded good-bye to me, and pretended to mean it when he said that if I'd let him go he'd make sure never to kill anyone. I pretended to believe him, and he went on his way.

I'm not sure how vampire society works, they must value secrecy, because not two days later, his "body" was found, and I was at his funeral in under a week, knowing he was still "alive" out there, somewhere. I'd like to say that I pretended to mourn, but I didn't. The fact of the matter is I was really and truly mourning the cheating son of a bitch, because out there or not, he was dead to me. I buried the man I knew and loved in the same cemetery as far too many people we had both loved, and I guess I must have also buried that part of myself that specializes in self-preservation, because as the attendees slowly started drifting away towards home, I had begun to formulate a plan.

Admittedly, it was a shitty plan. Like really amateur hour crap. I knew for sure decapitation was an option, and I hadn't returned my dad's axe yet, so, I figured I would spring a trap. From what I could tell, vampire's nested. Like rats. That meant that with my ex leaving town and his vamp tramp dead, I could be dealing with between 3 and 6 remaining vamps. Since up until a couple of weeks ago I thought vamps were a fairy story, it was hard to tell online what was real and what was fiction, so I used the news paper to mark off a sort of perimeter of suck on a city map. Rationally, somewhere in the middle of all the suck would be the suck hive. And I only half intended to make a pun.

I figured, head to the area (Near the stockyards, not half a mile from my house) with my axe strapped to my back, 911 on speed dial, and wait for an attack. I could probably take one on my own, maybe two if they are stupid, and any more would be arrested, because like I said, the plan was freaking stupid.

Near midnight, I headed out on foot, axe strapped to my back over top of my Jack Daniels hoodie. My tennis shoes seemed to slap louder than normal on the pavement as I headed down the hill and under the train bridge that separated my house and the main road, Transit, from the old industrial stock exchange. A lot of the buildings seemed abandoned this late on a Saturday night, but only half of them were. I ended up loitering near the old strip club, Mavericks. It was where old strippers went to die, and new strippers went to cut their teeth before moving on to bigger and better things, and a likely place for a vampire to find prey.

I was near giving up after about an hour. It was 15 minutes until last call, when drunk, sweaty perverts would be filing slowly out of the strip club and the little dive bar next door, and my nerves had brought up quite a bit of thirst. I was on bereavement leave from the call center where I worked, so I didn't have a whole lot of cash, but I needed a little courage. Rather than waste money on the 5$ cover to see inexperienced or long in the tooth strippers, I headed to the dive, winding down despite the weekly karaoke. I found myself distracted for a moment by an old classic car in the parking lot, thinking of how much the ex would have liked to talk to the owner before heading in the door, setting the axe down in the shadows by the building on the way.

An off key rendition of a country song was in the air, and I found myself pining for the days when I would come down here with a few bucks and drink until my singing was good. To me anyways. There wasn't time for that tonight, however, and I be lined it for the bar, throwing down my last twenty and ordering 3 shots of southern comfort. I tipped a dollar and still had enough money left over for a pack of smokes later. While the bar tender, a girl I didn't recognize, filled the shots, I leaned back and surveyed the surroundings. It occurred to me that anyone in the bar could be a vampire, from the off-key Shania Twain wannabe to the two handsome out of towners at the bar. I rolled my eyes as one of them made a comment to the bartender, watching her saunter back over to me, shots in hand. I turned to face the drinks, shook my head, and raised the first shot glass to him as I downed the first shot quickly. I moved through the last two and coughed a bit. Southern Comfort is strong, but syrupy sweet. It's a strange combination, but a good one, and it lit the fire of courage and bad decision making in my belly as I nodded to the bar tender and headed out, catching the guy from the bar shaking his head as I walked out into the night, retrieving my axe.

I lingered in the shadows of the gravel parking lot, smoking a cigarette and watching the crowds dwindle. It wasn't long before the only car was the classic muscle car that reminded me so much of my ex, and I kind of gave up. Fall in Iowa was like winter in some places, and even though a natural born Iowan like me can call 50 degree temps shorts weather, the crisp breeze and wet, misty atmosphere brought on a chill that could sneak up on you so gradually; you're a people-sickle before you even know it.

Sighing in defeat, I dropped my butt and ground it into the gravel, walking through the alley between buildings to get to the road. The streetlights were alternating, some off, few on this late at night, and I found myself in a pool of darkness behind the strip club, shaking a bit from the chill temps, and a sudden, dire feeling in my gut like I was being watched. I didn't know if I was experiencing some form of Southern Comfort induced spidey sense, or the creepy vibe of the stockyards, abandoned due to the late hour on a weekend, was getting to me, but I opted to ready my phone to dial 911 and held on to my axe, using it as a walking cane as I moved to head towards home.

I didn't make it four steps before the lights of the strip club and dive bar went black. I couldn't help but hum a few bars of "Closing Time" to cure the jitters the sudden darkness and the feeling of being watched brought on. Pretending that I wasn't afraid, I started up the long road through the industrial exchange towards the train bridge, Transit, and home.

There was no traffic, no signs of life, as I made my way. I had finally lulled myself in to some sense of security. I guess that's why I jumped seven feet in the air when someone spoke from just behind me. "Shouldn't be walking out here by yourself," the someone said.

Somehow, I knew the warning wasn't because they were concerned for my safety.

I spun, hand tightening on the axe, but not raising it. I was fairly certain this was a vamper, but hey, call me crazy, I didn't want to risk killing actual people. "Thanks for the warning." I smiled weakly, unsure what to look for as a clue that this guy wasn't just some normal creep.

I didn't need to look for clues long. I noticed around the asshat in front of me that the shadows seemed to move. Vampires may not be magic, like in movies, but they could sure as hell be stealthy. I hefted the axe up as 5 more "people" materialized in front of me, dropping my cell phone. "Damnit." I hissed, swinging like a major league batter at the vamp directly in front of me. I made contact and got his head off, but it's not like how it looks on TV. Bones are HARD. Blood is MESSY. And I was, at this point, a bit of a wuss. I wiped my now bloody hands on my favorite blue and black jeggings (See: Not good at planning, just a bit ago.) and got in position, hoping they would be dumb enough to come at me one at a time.

Vamps are dumb. But not that dumb. The five bum rushed me, and I was hard pressed to keep them back, let alone kill any, swinging wildly with my axe. I saw some movement up the dark road, but I ignored it. If that was someone who could help coming, they wouldn't do me much good if I was dead before they got there. The streetlights flared on in their rotation, and I thanked God for the first time in years. It was the black classic muscle car, heading our way. With the added bonus of now being able to see, I swung with renewed vigor, actually managing to take a hand and put a nice dent in a vamper's chest before the black car skidded to a stop and the two men from the dive bar emerged. Roaming eyes got out of the driver's seat, and his buddy, who I now noticed was like, seven feet tall, got out the passenger, and they each had a machete.

I'd like to give you the amazing play by play of the fight that ensued. I'd love to tell you that I got myself another two vampers and that the guys barely had to save me. That would make me very happy. It would also make me a liar. What happened, is that the overwhelming relief at having assistance caused my adrenaline rush to taper off, and it was all I could do to stay alive while the guy's handily, and messily, dispatched the remaining 4.5 (Giving myself credit for body parts) vampires.

When the carnage was done, my arms fell to my sides, limp, and I dropped the axe. I dropped my ass, too. Right onto the ground, not even noticing the chilly, wet pavement. I had my head between my knees, fighting off a bit of a panic attack, so I only heard about every third word of the conversation that occurred between the two guys.

"…Take her to her hotel, I guess?" In retrospect, that was the tall one.

"…Another hunter… Small time vamp nest…" That was the one that had annoyed me in the bar.

"It was a good warm up case…"

"I need a drink."

By this time I was getting to my feet, thinking about the sore muscles I was in for in the morning. "I need seven." If I'd have known at the time who I was speaking to, I may have tried to be more creative, more witty, with the first words I said to them. I didn't, however, and all I could think about was a bath, and the opportunity to get drunk.

"Do you need a ride back to your hotel?" The tall one asked me.

My brow furrowed in confusion. What sort of out of towner would be walking through the industrial exchange? Then again, these were the guys that I didn't recognize in MY bar, listening to MY bad karaoke, and while I went there enough to know they weren't regulars, they had no way of knowing I was a local. "Hotel? I could barely afford an hour at the Town and Country, and I'm not a fan of roaches, so I wouldn't stay there if you paid me. I only live a few blocks from here. I can walk the rest of the way."

"That's where we are staying." Why did Mr. Annoying God's Gift to women bug me so much?

"I'm not sure that's a good idea. Vampires usually only send out their young to hunt. There may still be some left." The tall one again. I raised an eyebrow.

"So you want me to get in a car with machete wielding strangers as the alternative?"

"She's got a point Sammy. Have a good night!" The bothersome one gave me a half wave and headed back towards the car. I rolled my eyes again. Unbecoming in a 27 year old, but completely involuntary. It seemed to be my reaction every time he opened his mouth.

I reached down for my now completely demolished cell phone, and sighed. "I don't want to make you feel like I don't appreciate the help. You probably saved my dumb ass-"

"You got that right." The annoying one quipped, standing in the open driver's seat door. I pursed my lips in frustration to keep from rolling my eyes again and took a deep, not so calming breath before I continued.

"Do you want to use my phone at least?" The tall guy seemed nice. I looked down at my bloody axe. I shook my head and lifted it off the ground, wiping the blade on my already ruined favorite jeans. It suddenly struck me how weary I was, how heavy the axe was, and how useful it would be if I couldn't swing it at something on the way home.

"You insist on being nice, don't you?" I sighed, and the tall guy smiled just a little bit. "Jesus, fine, I'll take a ride. The faster I get home, the sooner I can clean up and drink ALL the Southern Host." I followed the tall one to the car.

"Thought you drank Southern Comfort?" The annoying one said as he slid in to the driver's seat.

"Southern Host costs half as much and get's you drunk twice as fast. I'm broke. That makes me a bargain drinker." I shrugged, looking down at the leather seat and the blood on my pants. "Are you sure about this? I don't want to ruin your seats."

The face Mr. Annoying made was half surprise, half pleased. "Sam, get her the blood blanket from the trunk."

"Or you could." So, the tall one must be Sam.

"I could, but I'm not going to."

'Mr. Annoying sure is consistent,' I can't help thinking to myself. "Pop the trunk. I'll get it."

"NO!" Both Tall Sam and Mr. Annoying speak up at the same time. I raise my eyebrows, a bit suspicious but fully prepared to lie in the bed I made. "Just a sec." Sam hopped out and went around the passenger side, opening the trunk. I leaned over a bit, saw an arsenal, and strange custom paint job that looked like a gothic kid's first tattoo, but I decided at this point it would be wise to keep my mouth shut. I decided, between the weapons in the trunk and their vampire destroying skills, that I must have just met the world's first real vampire slayers, or the weirdest serial killers. Either way, like I mentioned before, not much of one for self-preservation anymore, so I shrugged to myself and hopped in to the car after the one called Sam spread out the blanket to protect the seats.

The drive home was only a few minutes, but I took them around the back way, so they could come in my ally right to my back yard and hopefully not see the main streets leading to my house. As we pulled in, I finally broke the silence. "Thanks for the help, uh, Sam. And…" I trail off, waiting for an answer, but Sam's friend didn't speak. He looked broody. And kind of hot. In like, a hateful kind of way. "Okay. I'll just call you Mr. Annoying." The one named Sam smirked a bit, and I grabbed my axe, opening the door and hearing the familiar sound of my Rottweiler, Ninja, barking up a storm. He missed his mommy. Up on the hill, I can look towards the stock exchange and see flashing lights. I guess someone was able to alert the cops to the ruckus. I may have even gotten the phone call to 911 out before the phone went dead.

My dog's barking intensified as sirens swarmed through the neighbor hood. "Say… I'm assuming that those cops and paramedics won't realize those dead bodies belong to blood thirsty un-humans. It may not be a good idea to go driving around until they disperse."

Sam nods, and Mr. Annoying just looks angry that I made a good point. "You can sit out here until things cool down. Or you can come in, I guess. Whatever. I have a puppy. I hope you aren't alergic." I shrugged, scooting out of the car and heading to the door, fumbling with the lock for a bit. I heard car doors shut, and nearly dropped my keys when I looked up and saw that Mr. Annoying was standing just a foot or two behind me. I flushed a bit as a noticed that his eyes are green, and reminded myself that I am in no place to be making a note of such things on any guy, let alone one that works with a machete so well. I did notice that his stare was kind of haunted, and I couldn't tell if it was a "Please screw me I'm so damaged and only your love will save me" act, or if he'd really seen some shit. Deciding it was a bit of both, all things considered, I chuckled nervously, turning back to the door and finally getting it opened. I led the way through the mud room, kicking off my muddy, bloody shoes and hoping they did the same before rushing into the living room to throw a blanket over the blood stain on the couch. I got most of the blood out, but my tan couch now had a pretty large brown spot that would probably be there forever.

"Bathroom is that way, through the kitchen. Only room off-limits is my bedroom. I'd say it's because I'm a lady but I'm too bloody to believe it myself right now. Beer is in the fridge, liquor in the freezer, and please, for the love of god, don't get my dog drunk!" I open the bedroom door, and all 250 pounds of German Rottweiler bum rushes me, nearly knocking me in to Mr. Annoying. He's really just a big ol' teddy bear, but you wouldn't know it from looking at him. I love that about my doggy. I grabbed his harness and led him outside, hooking him to the chain and letting my cat in before making a be-line to the bathroom, hearing Mr. Annoying mutter "Thought it was supposed to be a puppy," before turning the water on as hot as it would go and stripping of my now sticky, bloody clothes.

When the shower was done, I realized that nothing had really hit me yet. I should be curled up in a ball in a corner. I should be going nuts. There was no reason for me to be handling my discoveries of the last couple weeks this well, let alone my activities of the last few hours. Then again, I've dealt with a lot of grief, and I'm familiar with the way I tend to processes it. Keep moving forward, one foot in front of the other. If something is too difficult to deal with, you stick it somewhere in the back of your mind where it can't hurt you and move on until something stops you. If the little ball of hurt breaks open, you pick up the pieces, and start over again.

Still dripping wet, wrapped in a towel, I rushed through the living room, hoping I moved quickly enough that no one noticed I forgot to bring a change of clothes in to the bathroom with me. I toweled most of the water out of my hair and let it hang down my back, slipping in to some leggings and a sweater before heading in to the living room. When I come back, I saw that Ninja, my dog, was sitting next to Mr. Annoying, tail nubbin wagging excitedly as Mr. Annoying pretended to dislike him. I saw that Sam was sitting on the blanket that concealed the blood stain, and I grabbed the bottle of southern host that Mr. Annoying helped himself to off the coffee table, taking a couple of long pulls. I lit a cigarette to kill the burn.

"Those will kill you, you know." Sam points out.

"Apparently, so will vampires." I snapped back, taking what I think is a well deserved drag.

Mr. Annoying snorted. I rolled my eyes.

"How long have you been hunting?" Sam changed the subject.

"Hunting? Vampires? This is my first time, officially."

"Officially?"

"Let's just say I've killed two total. One was tonight. The other was a couple weeks ago."

"In your house, right?" Mr. Annoying decided to contribute verbally to the conversation.

"I-" I didn't know what to say. I decided to say nothing.

"Well, that explains the blood stains." He shook his head and took a drink of the whiskey. I blushed.

"Remind me to get a refund on that oxy clean. It must have been defective." I tried to make light of the situation, but failed. I rushed in to the kitchen and rummaged in the fridge for a minute, popping some left overs in the microwave. I came back with some reheated cherry pie. That led to the first spark of interest I saw in Mr. Annoying's eyes. "I made this to practice for Thanksgiving." I took a bite. "Hmmm… So good." I raised an eyebrow. Mr. Annoying was licking his lips. "You want some?"

"I mean… If you're offering, I won't turn down pie."

"Okay. How about I warm up some pie. And you guys can kindly explain what you are doing in town, killing vampires, what it means to be a hunter, and exactly what I got myself in to."

A/n - Reviews=love! I appreciate the reader input to help make a more enjoyable reading experience.