I have returned! You know, I've had a laptop at my disposal in one way or another for about three years, and until I didn't have one at all, I didn't realize how much I depended on it for a source of entertainment (I live in a very small town, so I don't have a lit of options). But, today, my charger came!

Anyway, before you all read this chapter, I think you should know that I know very little about the military (the modern military anyway, I'm really more of a WWII buff). So, if I have made any mistakes, or something is inaccurate, please tell me in either a review or a PM. And yes, I also know that this situation would probably never happen in real life ever, but I wrote this pretty quick once I got my laptop back, so I didn't have days to think about it and stare at it until I think of something better like I do with most of my other chapters.

So, read on! Find out whats up with Chris! And maybe leave a review after. ;)

~Christianne

Nikki POV

I hung up, feeling numb.

"Dean, stop the car." I said.

"What?" He asked, looking at me in the rearview mirror.

"Stop the car." I said a little louder.

"Why-"

"STOP THE DAMN CAR!" I yelled. The Impala screeched to a complete stop in the middle of the road. We were in some small town in Illinois, a few blocks from the center of town.

Dean was looking at the dashboard wide eyed. "What the Hell, did you do, to my car?" He asked in a low, slow voice. I ignored him and reached over the seats, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder to reach the keys. I yanked them out of the ignition and got out of the backseat.

"Nikki?" Sam asked, getting out of the car with me.

I didn't say anything. I opened up the trunk and grabbed my duffle bag, shoving a few scattered things in it before zipping it with shaking hands.

"Nik-" Sam started, but I shoved my duffle at him. I bit down on my lower lip hard to keep it from quivering. I shoved my knife, and the gun I'd been using into my backpack, as well as an extra full clip.

"I-I have to go. Now. I'll call you guys when I get a chance." I said, slinging my backpack over my shoulder, shoving the hood of my sweatshirt out of the way before throwing Dean's keys at him and reaching for my duffle bag. Sam tossed it onto of the closer trunk, out of my reached and grabbed my shoulders.

"Nik, what happened?" Sam demanded.

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "Its personal." I managed, forcing my way past Sam and grabbing my bag.

"Whoa, Nikki-" Dean grabbed my arm as I walked past him. On instinct, I yanked my arm free and gave his shoulder a hard shove, making him stumble back into the side of the Impala, a good seven feet back. I had to admit, I was a little surprised at my strength. I have no idea where it came from.

"It's personal." I snapped, my voice on the verge of breaking. "It's not life threatening, it's has nothing to do with the demon and cross my heart 'n hope to die I can handle this."

The brothers looked at me with concerned faces, but didn't say anything.

"I'll call you guys later." I promised before walking towards the bus station I saw a few blocks back.

A day later, I got off the bus and took a deep breath.

Washington DC.

I'd been here before, a few times actually. A family vacation the first summer I was with Olivia and Greg, and when Chris was awarded a Purple Heart and promoted to Captain.

I'd been happy on those trips. This one though…I'd rather fight vampires.

I managed to find a motel, and after I took a shower, I called Sam.

"Hello?"

"Hey." I said. I hated my voice. It sounded to dead. "I just got off the bus." I said dumbly.

"Oh…Good. Where are you?" Sam asked, trying to hide how worried he was. If I told him where I was, and why I was there, they'd come here. This was something I needed to do on my own.

"East coast." I said simply. I heard him sigh in frustration on the other end of the line. I could almost picture him rubbing his temples or forehead with his free hand. "Look, Sam..." I started.

"Nikki we're your friends." Sam cut me off. "Ok? So, supernatural or not, if something's going on with you, we want to help."

"You and Dean can't help me with this." I told him. "I'm a big girl, Sam. I can take care of myself. I did it for 22 years before I met you guys, I think I can handle a few days on my own." There was silence on the other end of the line. "Sam? You still there?"

"Yeah…Yeah, I'm just thinking about the last time you said you could take care of yourself." Sam said in a low voice. "I found you unconscious in your bedroom."

"Things happen." I said flatly, playing with a string on my sweater. I sighed and rubbed my eyes with the heels of my free hand. "Look, don't worry about me, ok? This is just something I have to do by myself."

There was more silence. "You…You're coming back though, right?" Sam asked. If I listened really hard, I could almost hear a tone on his voice that told me he wanted me to come back.

"Yeah. Yeah I'm coming back." I said, a smile twitching on my face. "I have the same beef with the demon as you do. If I can help put him down, I'm doing it."

Sam chuckled a little. "Yeah…yeah, ok. Uh, so, talk to you soon?"

"Yeah. Soon." I said dumbly, then I hung up.

I felt like I had a cinderblock on the middle of my chest. I had to take slow, deep breaths to get any air.

I walked up to the man in fatigues behind the desk. "Hi. I'm here to speak to Lt. Colonel McKinley." I said emotionlessly.

He nodded, typing on the computer. "Put this on your shirt please." He said, handing me a badge. I knew the drill; civilians had to wear badges clipped on their shirts when they were going where I was going on base.

"His office is-"

"I know where it is." I said, cutting him off politely as I went down the hall to the left.

I knocked on the half-open door. "Hey Allen." I said.

"Nixxie," Allen, a tall, dark haired man said, getting up and giving me a tight hug. "God, you didn't grow at all since you were in high school." He said, mussing my curls. I smiled a little, shoving my hands in the pocket of my hoodie. Allen was a lot like Chris; both of them were like a brother to me.

I sat in one of the chairs across from Allen's desk and waited for him to talk.

"Look, this sort of thing doesn't usually happen, ok?" he started. I didn't say anything, I just stared at him wide eyed. I needed him to tell me exactly what happened. When I told him that, he sighed and got up to close the door.

"Chris was supposed to go home the next day." He started out. "There was a nearby town that was taking heavy fire from insurgents and all available units were sent out. It was supposed to be easy. Seven hours, ten hours max, was the initial plan.

"After 8, things were stable. We were ready to leave, waiting for the support team to get there. Luke—you remember Luke, don't you? Tall guy, red hair?—He noticed Chris wasn't with us. At first we weren't that worried; probably helping some kid finds his mom, he was that kind of guy, you know?

"After an hour or so we started to look for him. Thought he got hit and was holed up somewhere until we found him, like last time."

Chris was shot in the right shoulder in 2003. He was trying to get some Iraqi school girls to safety behind the blockade the Army had set up outside a town. He got shot saving 5 little girls.

Allen swallowed thickly before speaking again. "After three hours of searching we didn't find anything. Then, this kid, a boy, maybe seven years old, runs up to me, babbling in Arabic. He grabs onto my sleeve and just keeps tugging. I don't speak much Arabic, just the basic stuff. Didn't understand what the heck this kid was telling me.

"Had to wait for Henry, kid's a wiz with languages. Didn't tell us what the kid said, just hollered 'Show me! Show me!' at the kid, that was one of the basic phrases we all knew. I followed them to a house on the edge of the village."

I was holding my breath, waiting for Allen to finish the story.

He dropped his gaze from me and looked at his desk as he kept talking. "Found Chris's gear; vest, helmet, gun, radio—everything. We reported him MIA, sent your parents a letter."

If this was the day before Chris was supposed to go home, Greg and Olivia were already dead. Had been for a few days.

"Didn't know they…We didn't know that they passed until last week. Tucker went home to Chippewa Falls and decided to make a detour to Peshtigo. Heard about them. That was yesterday." Allen informed me.

"That…That was three months ago." I said quietly. "Olivia and G-Greg died three months ago."

Allen cleared his throat. "The area we lost Chris was a red zone, full of hostels and rebels. As you know, Chris was Special Forces, he knew things that other soldiers didn't."

I thought I'd be crying. But I wasn't. I felt numb, like as much as I knew this was real and happening, I couldn't believe it.

"The…Probability, of finding him alive after 3 months in the Afghan desert with no support and no contact…" Allen looked at me sadly. "Look, Nix…Nikki-"

"He's dead." I said, my voice quiet. Allen didn't say anything. "I mean…That-That's what you were getting that, right? 3 months, dessert, no contact; he's dead."

"I'm sorry Nikki." Allen said honestly.

I nodded and looked away. "What do I have to do?" I asked, looking back at Allen.

"If you want to declare him dead? I'll handle that. A stone in Arlington, like he wanted, right?" Allen asked. I nodded. "After that, it's just his personal effects." I nodded again.

"Oh, before I forget," Allen said, opening a drawer. "This was found with his vest and gear." He said, holding his hand out to me. I held mine out and he tipped the chain and two pendants into it.

I felt my lower lip tremble as I looked at the necklace in my palm. The chain was sterling silver, same with the two oval pendants. I bought the chain for him right before he left; he'd had the pendants on a string that he probably found on the floor of Olivia's craft room.

"St. Martin, right?" Allen asked. I nodded, looking at the first of the two pendants.

"Yeah…St. Martin of Tours. Patron saint of soldiers." I said quietly.

"Thought so. What's the other one? Chris told me a while ago…Can't remember." Allen asked me.

"St. Jerome Emiliani." I told him, glancing up at him. "Patron saint of orphans and abandoned children."