Roswell Fanatics

A/N: I swear I've memorized every word of Three Days Grace's One-X album because of this story. It was it's freakin' soundtrack. Couldn't write without it on. The title is three letters away from being a line in 'Animal I Have Become' so we're just gonna credit that with it...

This is a short story since I didn't have much time to flesh it out and like all my stories it will move fast.

XO/SN/Mature

Disclaimer: If I owned Supernatural or Roswell I'd never have to work another day in my life. As it is that's not the case.

Summary: Elizabeth Parker-Evans. Her name was Elizabeth Parker-Evans. Too bad she hadn't been that person for a long time.

“There are some acts a word can check: others nothing can stop.” - The Majabarata

The university library was quiet except for the occasional scrapping of a chair or rustling of paper. The place was packed, briefly explained by the fliers lining the walls outlining the temporary hours of operation for Finals Week. The massive amount of books each student was carrying should have tipped him off.

John was flirting shamelessly with some forty-something bookworm secretary trying to weasel out more information about the recent string of mysterious murders. Murders that had taken place on the same three weeks every year for the last decade.

The sight of the woman simpering behind her coke bottle glasses was nauseating enough to have Dean volunteering to wade his way through the archaic record collection.

He made his way through the aisles, silently appreciating the college ass he was passing and trying to absorb a part of the culture that his brother had abandoned his family for. He suppose it has it's appeal, college life. Women, booze, no responsibility. Appealing but not enough for him.

His eyes followed a tightly clad ass as it walked past him.

Definitely had it's perks.

There were rows and rows of periodicals dating back to the schools founding in the early nineteenth century. Several volumes per year, yellow musky pages that would send up dust and tickle his nose. Dean thanked his lucky stars that he had a general idea of the time period he wanted to look into.

They were carefully kept but haphazardly preserved causing several of the corners to crumble under his fingers as he turned the pages. His eyes skillfully scanned the pages waiting for something to jump out at him.

Nothing did.

With a tired sigh he placed the volume back and scrutinized the selves for the next tome. There was a reason he had always made Sam do this.

He had decided on his next one when a small body collided with his with enough force to make him take a step back. The petite woman stumbled back falling on her ass before he could catch her.

“I'msorry. I'msosorry,” the words blurred together as she quickly gathered her fallen papers. He crouched down to help her.

“If-” the cocky remark died on his lips as their hands brushed. She stilled, her whole body rigid. A tingling ran from the back of his head down his back.

They still hadn't moved.

“Liz,” a womans voice hissed out from the aisle next to them, annoyance lacing it. The dark haired woman jerked her hand back as if burnt and gathered her papers from where they had been dropped again. She was gone before he could blink.

Dean found his mind occupied with one thought: What the fuck was that?

-----

The voices were loud and angry, penetrating every corner of the quad. You couldn't help but listen as the women had it out. A small group of people were not so subtly watching them waiting for the eruption of a catfight.

Dean couldn't see much of them, barely the tops of a brown head and a blond head but he could hear them. Oh yes, he could hear them. Most of the campus probably could.

“I get it Maria, Max is dead and there is nothing you or I can do to change that now,” her voice was tight but resigned telling of an all familiar argument had too much.

“There was nothing we could have done Liz. It was an accident,” he couldn't tell if she was panicked or if her voice hit that pitch naturally.

“It wasn't an accident. It was Max being Max and going off on his own.”

Dean was starting to think this wasn't a fight that they should be having outside.

“He didn't know.”

“Bullshit, he knew. He knew how dangerous it was for any of us to go off on our own. It was his own fucking rule but he still left. All because he wanted to play the hero.”

“You don't mean that Liz.”

“Don't try to tell me what I mean.”

“He loved-”

“Leave it Maria.”

“I'm just worried about you chica. All these things you're doing aren't going to bring him back. They're just going to get you killed too.”

Her response was lost as his father called for him.

They had a hunt to finish.


I'm going to be without internet service for a week but then I'll start posting twice a week. Most likely Monday and Wednesday. It should only take a couple of weeks to have the whole thing up.

Sometime Later:

“And now you're dead inside. Still you wonder why, it's all over. When you're on the edge and falling off, it's all over.” - It's All Over, Three Days Grace.

Liz ignored the way her body was shaking and her heart beating against her chest. Ignored the nervous sweat that was making her hands slick and the way she had to suppress the urge to jump at every little sound.

Her fingers gripped the gun tighter, following the small circle of illumination that the penlight provided. Black Chuck Taylors muffled her footfall as she stepped around the scattered debris of the long abandoned house.

If she got this right...

No.

Not if.

She had gotten it right.

There was no room for confusion or failure or misinformation. Elizabeth Parker didn't allow room for error. When she did something she did it right. This was no different.

There was a vision to see through and nothing, absolutely nothing was going to stand in her way.

A little girl murdered by her father and buried in the basement of the house had stayed behind after she had died and was killing those who entered the house for playmates. That little girl had to be destroyed.

She'd had to lie and flirt, steal and do bodily harm to obtain the information that was necessary to follow what she had seen. But she had gotten it.

The last step creaked under her weight. Salt and lighter fluid shifted in the bag hanging from her shoulder.

Liz would be done in ten minutes.

----

Dean shut the door of the Impala behind him and made his way towards the diner passing his fathers truck, one of the three other cars in the lot. Summer heat soaked his dark shirt making him wish that he could be back on the road with the windows down, cool air wrapping around him.

But first though he needed food.

Before he entered the small roadside establishment he unconsciously sized up his surroundings, everything from the hardware store at one end of town to the real estate office at the other. It was thriving for a one road town, with only one abandoned building on the strip and that was the old conductors house that hadn't been knocked down yet.

He'd just sat down across from his dad when he realized that it was his turn to pay and he had forgotten his wallet on the dash. Ignoring John's grumbling of irresponsibility he quickly left the diner.

The sun had already made the black leather hot to the touch and Dean shoved it back in his pocket. Usually the only time it came out was when he had to pay for something but the hit he had taken two days before had left him bruised and the wallet had dug into that spot as he drove.

Not that the reason mattered. He had forgotten it.

A loud explosion filled the air and Dean turned in time to see the conductors house go up in flames and to be hit in the chest by a small fast moving object. The force of the impact and the backlash of the explosion shoved him to the ground.

Gravel dug into his bruised back painfully.

“Holy shit,” an incredulous voice sounded as a tiny elbow pressed into his gut. “Fucking gas tank.”

The dark haired woman stood not sparing him a glance. She absently pressed her palm to her bleeding hairline muttering to herself. Dirt and soot clung to her skin obscuring her features but Dean thought she looked familiar.

The bell on the diner door chimed.

Dark eyes met his green ones sending a chill down his back. He could hear his father heading towards him concerned. His whole body was tingling. Where had he seen her before?

“It's nice to see you again Dean,” the words shocked him out of his stupor but it didn't matter.

She was already gone.

------
We all run the risk of losing ourselves...
------

Liz ran her fingers along the white mantle around the decorative candles and the picture frames filled with smiling faces, pausing at a shot of two women and two men focusing on the smallest of them. The face from her vision.

The face she was here to eliminate.

Because that's the way it worked. She saw then she destroyed using whatever means she had to. It was as simple as that. Michael had called her a one woman search and destroy unit before he left her. Before they'd all left her.

Everyone always left her.

Maria said it was because none of them liked the methods she employed.

All it accomplished was to keep her from having to leave them first.

A key scraped in the front door admitting the woman. Her targets mother. Using her powers, Max's only lasting gift to her, she silently sealed the door before the woman saw her.

Grocery bags were carefully placed on the kitchen counter as the middle-aged woman hummed to herself completely oblivious to the intruder in the house. Liz suppressed a disapproving snort at the thought that a woman with a son like the one this one had could be so determinedly ignorant.

“Hello Mrs. Koch,” a cruel smirk jumped into place as the woman turned around startled. The container in her hand slipped and smashed on the floor, maraschino cherries littered the ground rolling in their own circus of uncoordination leaving red trails behind them. Liz made sure that the woman saw the gun as she pulled it out of her jeans. “You are going to tell me everything I want to know.”

-----

A girlish giggle escaped the petite womans lips. Slightly stumbling and leaning heavily on her partner, dark hair played across her shadowed features giving them a purposeful delicacy. She ran her tiny fingers seductively across her partners back taking delight in the resulting shiver.

The pair made their way messily through the door of an apartment and to the bedroom. In a move that would tell a careful observer that she wasn't nearly as inebriated as she was portraying herself to be, she hooked her leg behind her partners and landed them smoothly on the bed.

Her partner, a young enthusiastic man, hastily pulled off her shirt and began sucking at her neck, his hands running along the exposed skin of her back enjoying the fact that she was already missing her undergarments.

The woman pushed him down on the bed and began kissing her way down his chest. Small hands made quick work of his jeans buttons and began caressing him. He ran his hands up her thighs and was met only with the thin string of a thong.

He flipped her on her back, her legs wrapped around his waist bringing them closer together.

The man was too absorbed in drunken sensation to realize that the way his partners legs were lifted was not for a better angle but to give them access to the long knife in her knee-high boots.

The almost machete like blade flashed in the light before coming down and severing his spinal cord. He was dead before his weight dropped.

Elizabeth Parker pushed the weight off her chest, watching emotionlessly as the body flopped to the ground. She stood and pulled her shirt back on, ignoring the blood that stained her neck and chest.

A minute later she was out the door without looking back.

Perhaps this is why Maria had left.


Thank You for all the Great Reviews. See you Wednesday :}

If that's the response I'm getting than I must be writing it right :}

About Six Years From Start:

“I want a lover I don't have to love. I want a boy who's so drunk he doesn't talk” - Lover I Don't Have to Love, Bright Eyes.

Smoke clung to the walls and made the air thick. It provided an eerie glow to the already dank and dingy hole-in-the-wall establishment. The glasses were dirty, the chairs might as well had things growing on them but the drinks were cheap even if they were sketchy.

Dean sat across from his brother leaning over his pint wondering if beer was really the only thing in the glass. Neither of them spoke. He was too exhausted. Sam was too disappointed at yet another dead end in saving his brothers life.

The bartender, a slight darkly colored woman whose clothes seemed to have been painted on her – a fact Dean would have enjoyed some other time – brought over another round without having been motioned to. The smirk on her once-upon-a-time childish face had him wondering if it would be worth it to get her digits.

She was walking back to the bar when all hell broke loose.

Some drunken redneck pulled her to him, his grubby hands running along exposed skin. Dean pushed himself out of his chair startling Sam but before either could react the woman had sent the man stumbling back clutching a broken nose.

“No one touches me,” her voice was quiet but vicious causing the pub to drop into silence.

The redneck stood over her shaking, trying to use his bigger stature to intimidate her, “You fucking bitch. You'll pay for that.”

A much crueler smirk crossed her face issuing a clear challenge.

Dean stepped between them Sam right behind him, “Dude, why don't you just leave the lady alone?”

The punch thrown was expected and he managed to use the mans own weight against him. The next few minutes were a blur of flying limbs. Hands and arms, feet and legs. Elbows, knees, and chairs.

Distantly he acknowledged the shout of 'cops' but was too occupied to react so when a deputy pulled him off the now unconscious man all he could think to say was, “Son of a bitch.”

-----

“Sin reputación no hay respeto, Conozco esta zona” Por La Noche, Mala Rodriguez.

Liz had managed to duck out of the growing chaos that had been the bar when the cry of 'cops' had gone up, all the while keeping up a colorful string of explicative.

The eunuch Neanderthal just had to interfere. Couldn't mind his own fucking business and allow her to take care of her own pile of shit. The drunk wouldn't have been any problem, one more hit and he would have gone down.

And stayed down.

Too embarrassed to retaliate.

But no, some stuck up, over-egoed twitcher had to jump into the fray to play white knight.

She hadn't even gotten to punish him for his complete lack of intelligence.

The prick.

Some tall floppy haired no one was trying to get back into the pub, ignoring the cries of the few others that had managed to escape a trip to jail. She was surrounded by idiots.

“Hey, Jackass,” he turned to her.

----

Dean sat in the interrogation room counting the tiles on the ceiling. It hadn't taken long for the FBI to get in touch with the Sheriffs office once he had been fingerprinted. Much quicker than usual. He wasn't sure who he should credit.

The FBI or the local Sheriff.

Probably the local Sheriff.

So here he was, counting tiles in yet another interrogation room. He knew he'd get out. The criminal justice system was if anything, incompetent. There was just one thing he'd like to know.

What the hell happened to Sam?

His eyes had started to cross from boredom when the faint clicking of heels and the scrapping of a key in the brought his attention back to the present. The guard and after a brief moment a woman who he realized was the bartender from the night before, except she was dressed like a middle aged school principle, entered the room.

With a sickeningly sweet smile the woman begged to be left alone with her client. Since when was he her client? The guard left like a trained dog with a final warning of the danger Dean posed.

She carefully placed her briefcase on the table and snapped it open took something out than closed it again. The small keys smacked him hard on the chest.

“Lets go,” he stared at her. She looked back, face blank, “now.”

Dean silently uncuffed himself still watching her as she walked to the window and held her hand over the lock. A moment later it opened.

“What are you doing?” not that he minded that she was bailing him out of anything but the last thing he needed was yet another psychic.

“Bringing you to your brother,” she half climbed out of the window and turned back to him, face still blank. “Then we're going to get your ass out of dodge.”


See you Monday

Only a short one today but after only two days of class I already have two papers due for tomorrow, so those unfortunately are given precedence over extending this chapter. I'll try to lengthen Wednesdays. See you then and thanks for the reviews.

“How we survive is what makes us what we are” - Survive, Rise Against

How exactly Elizabeth Parker ended up traveling with them was not clear, at some point she had just become a fixture and though an explanation would be nice, Sam very much doubted if she would be willing to clear it up for him seeing as she wasn't particularly willing to do much of anything for either of them.

Especially Dean.

His brother did not mesh well with the stone-faced woman. In fact if Elizabeth expressed any emotion at all he was sure that it would be exasperation and anger. And then she would beat him into a pulp.

And enjoy every moment of it.

Sam didn't doubt that she could. There was an air of cruelty about her, of the ability to push aside all that she once was and make the decisions that would make anyone else cringe. But she did them without a second thought.

He shook the thoughts out of her head. There was no use getting stuck on them, it wouldn't change the fact that she wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

The Impala was parked to the side of the gas pumps, a navy blue Ford Explorer predictably next to it. Elizabeth's car. A hybrid. Because even though she treated humanity with a cold disdain she was still trying to save the environment.

Go figure.

The woman in question was currently staring at his brother blankly, leaning up against her car, hands hidden from view. Her whole posture could be construed as defensive, a casual on-edge pose that their father might have taught them.

Dean was waiting readily for his microwave burrito and single serve table pie. Sam couldn't watch as he ate. His brother was disgusting. Somewhere along the line he had forgotten how to eat like a human being.

“Want some Lizzie?” his brother asked holding out the burrito, it was asked in a tone that suggested he knew she wouldn't want any and was asking just to annoy her. Which by the subtle twitch at the corner of her eye, he had achieved.

If there was one thing about Elizabeth's presence that he enjoyed it was that Dean bothered him less and her more. It was nice not being the constant target of abuse.

----

“Life isn't like this” - Survive, Rise Against

She trusted her instincts implicitly, for no other reason than they had rarely failed her, and right now they were screaming at her that something was wrong. Something was very wrong. With the men she was traveling with and whatever they had gotten themselves stuck in.

And a part of her was telling her that she had to see it through.

For a moment she considered being afraid. Because the last time Elizabeth Parker had felt a warning like this her world had fallen apart. The last time she had felt a warning like this she lost a part of herself.

She didn't want that to happen again.

Didn't want to feel that again.

It was the type of feeling that could cripple a normal person but she had practiced apathy for so long all it was just an annoying nagging at her gut. There was something wrong with these men. Especially the short one. The one with the invisible mark on him.

The one she wouldn't touch.

When she touched him she saw into him with something like a connection. And when that opened there was a blackness to him. Not the darkness of a hard life and tough decisions. But black. A void. A mark purposefully put there. It tugged at her mind and tried to pull her in.

There was something seriously wrong about the Winchesters.

And if Dean called her Lizzie or Lizzie-Bear one more time she was going to shove her foot so far up his ass he would have to have surgery to remove it.

Sam wasn't so bad though. His goody-goody puppy dog act (and it had to be an act because no one was so nice and accepting after twenty some odd years of life) did at times grate on her nerves, especially when he tried to use it to get answers from her, for the most he was tolerable.

Still most of the time she was asking herself what the hell she was doing traveling with people at all let alone these people. But then she'd try to leave and the feeling of wrongness would seep in again and she'd go back.

So she stayed, until she could get to the bottom of it she stayed.

The only positive was that they were hunters and good ones at that. Together they handled more cases than she could on her own. Not as efficiently as she might have liked but shit got done and that's all she needed.

“It's not fair when you say that I didn't try” - Let It Die, Three Days Grace

They were in yet another motel, in yet another backwater 'all American' town. Having finished yet another hunt and having followed yet another useless lead to save his soul. Dean tossed in his bed unable to find a comfortable position. The poltergeist they had taken care of had been a mean son of a bitch.

His muscles aching he got out of bed having given up on turning in. Sam shifted in his bed and buried his head deeper in his pillow when Dean opened the door.

Cool night air seeped through his jacket. They were in the southwest and to be honest he couldn't be bothered to remember exactly where, but there was still a chill to the air. All these towns looked the same. He was physically and mentally exhausted and all he wanted was a break.

If he only had five more months to live, he wanted to live.

See things he had always wanted to see. Hunt but not obsessively so. He'd been on the go non-stop since his dad went missing over two years ago. Two years without stopping. Two years of dealing with demons and psychics and nasty ass spirits.

Two years on top of a lifetime.

When the jinn had had him trapped in his own mind he hadn't wanted to leave. It had been perfect. Dean still found himself thinking back to it. That was the way life should have been for his family.

No YED or anything else that went bump in the night.

Just a normal life.

He made his way to the pub across the street from the motel. If he couldn't sleep that didn't mean he had to sit around and do nothing.

-----

“Why do I do this?” - Over and Over, Three Days Grace

Dean's struggling to hold Lizzie up and open the door to her motel room at the same time but she's drunk herself to a state where she can't stand up on her own and they are staying at one of the few places that still use keys on their doors.

“I like the stars,” her voice is slurred. He's surprised that he can understand her at all. “Do you like the stars? I love the stars. Max liked the stars. They were home.”

He makes a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat. She's been saying stuff like that since he pulled her unwillingly from the bar where she had been telling the disgruntled man behind it about spaceships and mind control with an empty bottle of Jack sitting beside her.

In the ten minutes since he left his room and found her pissing off the small number of inhabitants of the establishment he had heard her talk more than in a month of traveling with her. Had spent more time with her too.

It wasn't surprising though. Outside of the active parts of hunts she neither talked to nor spent time around him or his brother. She drove in a separate car, slept in a separate room, she didn't even eat with them.

If it didn't deal directly with a hunt she didn't want to hear it. After this hunt when they had looked into Sam's lead she hadn't gone. Hadn't wanted to know what, why, or where they were going.

He dropped her heavily on the bed and went to take off her shoes, flimsy useless things for their profession. A frivolous amateur move.

“I was married once,” his fingers paused at the laces.

“Is that so,” a smirk worked its way on to his face. Her ramblings just might be worth listening to.

“Yep, yep, yep. But he's dead now,” he pulled one of the shoes off. “Being noble. I don't like noble people. Are you noble? Nope. You're not. I like you.”

She liked him? How'd she treat the people she didn't like? “Then what am I Lizzie?”

It was a cheep ploy to change the topic but he didn't feel like discussing her dead husband.

“Noble is stupid,” she answered ignoring or not having heard the question. “Max was stupid. He didn't listen. We said don't go, it's a trap. Did he listen? Nope. He went and...”

For a moment he thought she had fallen asleep but when he looked up she was staring right through him. Looking right past him at something only her mind knew.

It was the look his dad use to get when thinking about what happened to his mom.

Dean made sure to keep his voice low and calm, “what happened?”

“He got himself killed. He got them all killed,” her eyes started to droop, the alcohol finally catching up to her, “I killed them all. All of them...”

“What did you do Parker? Who did you kill?” Had she killed her husband or the people who had killed him? He was wanted by the FBI for a murder he hadn't committed, they didn't need an actual murder traveling with them. “Parker?”

She was asleep.

Gah! Got sidetracked by reading for class and treasurer stuff for work. Lets just pretend that I got this up a couple of hours ago and it counts for monday because I did realize that I hadn't posted and stayed up to extend it just for you.

Touch of the Wind - Not sure what you meant by John's reaction. Was it hypothetical because this is all post 'All Hell Breaks Loose'

vampyrolover86 - Yeah, Liz does feel guilty but Dean has the feeling that there is more than guilt. There is blood on her hands.

“My world turned upside down so what did you expect” - Absolutely Nothing, Lily Allen

Elizabeth Parker was a bitch. A hardcore sadistic sociopathic bitch. Of this Dean was sure. When she had crashed into their room at six o'clock in the morning, only five hours after he had put her in bed the first thing to enter his mind had been that some catastrophe had taken place. He had whipped his knife out and stumbled out of bed.

Parker had quickly walked over to his jacket and removed the keys that he had taken from her the night before. The knife dipped slightly. Not technically the enemy. Even if at times it didn't feel like that.

“You can wait here for me or you can meet me halfway. Your choice,” her voice was clipped and she didn't wait for a reply, instead she walked right out the door.

It took a second to seep in before Dean was stumbling over his feet, pulling on his jeans and shirt, grabbing his jacket and boots.

“What the hell was that?” She didn't pause as she unlocked her car and tossed her bag in the back seat. “This isn't how things work Parker. You don't just go off the reservation without back up.”

She opened her door and barely paused, “then get in the car.”

“What?” It was much to early to be dealing with her shit but he got in anyway. “Where are we going?” no answer, “I'm guessing there is a reason you dragged me out of bed in the ass-end of morning, Lizzie?” her hand tightened on the wheel but her lips stayed shut, “Where're we going Parker?”

“It's personal.”

“Really? Does it have to do with the stars,” her knuckles turned white as she slammed on the brakes turning on him, her eyes blazing.

“Lets get something straight Winchester, you are in this car of your own choice. I had nothing to do with it. So keep your fatass shut and let me get my shit done,” there was steel in her tone. On any other day Dean would keep pushing her buttons but she seemed just a little too close to the edge.

The ride went by quietly. Parker was concentrated on the road and on her hangover which she was trying to hide but the way she winced when they turned directly into the sun and the way she pressed her palm to her temple gave her away. He briefly wondered yet again at why she had been drinking so much and how long she had been at the bar.

They'd finished the hunt in the wee hours of the previous day but had stuck around just in case. She'd disappeared somewhere around five-thirty.

That was a hell of a lot of drinking.

Dean shifted in his seat, he'd been in uncomfortable situations before but, damn. Her whole countenance was hostile (which could be considered an improvement over her usual apathy) and there was music on but that in itself gave way to awkwardness.

Every song that played was loud and hard, whenever anything less came on she changed it angrily. And the one time he tried to touch it she slapped him. Hard. On the back of the hand. Like he was a little boy with a cookie jar.

Sam would have laughed.

So when they finally reached their destination three hours later Dean couldn't help but smile in relief, even when she snapped at him to stay in the car. Which he didn't do. He got out as soon as she had entered the cemetery.

A cemetery. She drove three hours for a cemetery. If this was a job he was going to be pissed... all his supplies were back at the motel.

Keeping a careful eye on her, he watched her pause at a matching pair of headstones. She had her back to him but he could see her tenderly run her hands over them before turning and walking further down the path.

Curiosity got the better of him as he walked over to them. Dean thought he could understand Lizzie a little better as he read the names.

Jeffery and Nancy Parker.

---

“Was it all too much or just not enough” - Time of Dying, Three Days Grace

She made her way down the worn path of the sacred ground, out of her family plots and toward the newer less used area of the cemetery. She'd only been here once before and that had been briefly just after everything had happened and it hadn't been her idea.

Maria had dragged her there saying that it would give her closure. It hadn't. Just months of nightmares. Liz (cause she would always be his Liz) would see him in that coffin, trying desperately to claw his way out, dying slowly from oxygen deprivation.

It hadn't mattered that the box they had buried had been empty (they wouldn't give anyone the chance to desecrate his body) in her mind Max would forever be trying to get out.

She finally came upon his marker. The cold slate of stone that would forever be a lasting reminder that he had lived in this world, even when everyone he knew was gone. Isabel hadn't been able to stand on her own when they had gone to pick it up.

The carved letters were cold under her fingers as she traced them.

Max Evans.

Beloved Son, Brother, and Friend.

When they use to talk about what each wanted when they died - always with the disbelieving tone that it wouldn't really happen to them, not so soon – he had asked her not to put Husband on there unless the Special Unit had stopped following them. He said he didn't want to make her any bigger of a target.

The additional danger was too much.

It was the same excuse that he used when got nervous about having a baby.

He was right in the end.

She dropped to her knees and closed her eyes tightly. Unconsciously she put her hands over the dead and dying flowers at the stones base and freshened them. His parents must have come recently. Isabel would never come back to this place.

“Max,” her throat burned with a long forgotten feeling. Oh god, she missed him. She missed him so much. It didn't hurt as much as it use to, as much as it was suppose to.

That hurt more than anything else.

“I think I have to say goodbye,” never say goodbye. They were never suppose to say goodbye. It was suppose to be Liz and Max till the end, “but I don't know how.”

She wasn't sure how much time passed before she got up and collected herself but her head throbbed from crying and the remainders of the night before and the cold had seeped into her bones.

There were few places she hated more than this one.

Dean was sitting on the hood of her car when she made it back to the entrance, lazily watching the faint clouds of condensation his breath was making. When he noticed her he jumped off and gave her his cocky 'yeah I know I'm just that great' half smile that nine times out of ten gave him another notch in his belt.

Liz didn't know what possessed her to allow the small return smile to grace her lips as she saw him there but she couldn't take it back.

Touch of the Wind: No, Max is definitely dead.

Jamy21: Dean followed a bit behind but you know him and chick moments. He didn't stick around.

A/N: There is a line in the second half that's a nod to Starbuck, so yeah. I acknowledge that.


“Drop the, Devil, To his, Knees” - Eh Hee, Dave Matthews

There were things they stumbled upon that could boggle the mind. And then there were things they came across accidentally that made them wish they were just a tad better prepared for. For example Dean really wished he had known that when they had stopped in Toledo that they wouldn't only be taking care of a routing haunting but a demon as well.

'Cause that bitch had come out of nowhere.

Which was why he was currently clutching his side trying to find his gun and his bag of supplies that had been lost in the initial scuffle.

If he was being honest he'd admit that it hadn't been so much of a scuffle but rather Sam being knocked unconscious and himself being pinned to the wall up until Parker had surprised them by... well, he wasn't sure what she did. One minute there was one of her and the next there had been two, one of which had hit the demon over the head with something large and heavy.

Dean had forgotten about her casual use of powers when she had broken him out of the Sheriffs office so her using them to take on a pissed off she-demon had him reeling for an explanation. One that would have to wait.

Right now, he was just stuck watching what could only be considered a competition in cruelty.

Both women were circling each other, bone chilling smirks on their faces, Parkers hands turned out ready to let something out, the she-demon exploiting any opening she saw.

Who the hell had they gotten involved with?

“Impressive,” it's said with the same arrogance and contempt that he's heard all demons speak with.

“I know,” there is actually humor in Parkers tone. Humor.

A desk flew across the room towards her but she just calmly raised her hand erecting what could only be described as a white transparent wall that shattered it on contact.

“Very Impressive,” Dean subtly tried to pull the exposed end of his shotgun from underneath the couch. “So tell me Elizabeth Parker, what are you doing with the Winchester's?”

“Oh, you know this and that.”

“Are you going to try and save him?” Dean cursed under his breath. “You shouldn't. It would just be a waste of your time.” Fucking demons could never keep their mouths shut. “I could take him now for your interference but we'll have him soon enough.”

Parker stopped circling, “what?”

The she-demon used her confusion to their benefit, knocking Parker back. Her head collided with the wall with a sickening crack. Dean pulled the shotgun from under the couch but before he could aim it was out of his hands and he was once again pinned to the wall.

Sam had better wake the fuck up soon.

“We're going to enjoy having him. The things we'll do, hmmm they'll be delicious. There is nothing quite like human pain,” it raised it's hand menacingly at Parker who was calmly seated on the ground looking up at it, ignoring the nasty gash on her head that was dripping blood down her neck. “How does it feel to always lose the people you want to protect?”

Parkers hand came up and grabbed the demons where it had, in all likelihood, been posed to kill her. The tension quickly mounted until it was palpable and he was sure that there was a growing smell of burning skin.

“Stay out of my fucking head,” it was hissed through clenched teeth and Dean could see the effort Parker put into getting the words out.

He was aware of the growing ability to move just before the two blew apart. The she-demon landed clear across the room unconscious. Dean left it be to check on the crumbled forms of Lizzie and his brother and was relieved to find two steady pulses.

When he turned back, the demon was gone.

----

“What if you could see the darkest side of me” - Animal I Have Become, Three Days Grace

That's what it was. The darkness. That was the answer. It was right in front of her the whole time and she hadn't seen it. That was the answer. How hadn't she seen it?

“You sold your soul,” the words were past her lips before she could even think to stop them. He had sold his soul. Had given himself an almost expired year before the demon he had struck it with came to collect. He was going to spend an eternity in a place far worse than his worse nightmares.

Liz had seen that place when she had touched the demon which she had only done because frankly the bitch had offered her with an all too convenient way to hurt it.

But that place. That place that Dean was doomed to end in... she could barely suppress the shiver that shook her. The random stops Sam had demanded suddenly made sense. He was trying to save his big brother.

Poor boy.

“I did what I had to,” his voice came from behind her and made her jump. She hadn't even realized that she hadn't been alone.

He was standing defensively waiting for the questions he knew she had. Because anyone with a half a mind knew that there were bound to be questions after a revelation like the one she had just gotten.

She had never credited Dean with any form of intelligence and she was loathed to admit she was wrong.

“To save Sam,” that was the only reason she could see him making a deal with his enemy.

He nodded, “to save Sam.”

Max would have done the same. He had always been willing to sacrifice himself for the people he cared about and in the end he had. It looked like it was going to be the cause of Dean's death too. Leave it to her to be fated to watch good men die.

She shook the thoughts out of her head. They didn't do anyone any good.

“That was some show you put on,” he wasn't looking at her but was leaning on her car and looking up at the stars. She joined him.

“We all have a skill.”

He smiled down at her, she smiled right back.


I really need to start posting these earlier.

Yeah, it's midnight here on the East Coast of the United States so technically it is Monday and considering I have to write two papers today outside of treasury meetings/recruitment campaigns/class etc and I haven't even finished the 2.5 papers that I have due about oh... 14 hours from now. You lot get an extra early update.

Hopefully all I'll have to deal with on Wednesday will be making sure all my paper work for early graduation is in order because that chapter still needs to be typed from where it's written on the back of my old classnotes from over the summer.

Jamy21 - Dean can't that's a breach of the deal and the way I understood it besides being difficult to find (demons aren't stupid), the wording of the deal is so vague that it could be construed as interference and they'd take him anyway.

Wow, long ass A/N. Thanks for the great reviews. Hope you enjoy. Now on to the story.

“I don't care no more so don't you worry” - Married With Children, Oasis

A small body slammed into his side sending him crashing into the glass display cabinets that lined the wall. His hands went to grab it too late. It was too dark to see who or what it was before they danced away. They circled around each other cautiously. Each measuring the other up as best they could.

He managed to catch the fist before it did any damage but didn't expect the leg to the groin. Blinding pain erupted behind his eyes, overriding the knowledge that leaning forward like he was left him more exposed. The sharp blow of a fist to the side of his head brought his attention back.

They went to hit him again, but he pushed forward. Shoulder to the gut slamming them into the wall. An elbow to the head. He went to punch them in the side but paused realizing that the soft flesh he was touching wasn't a gut but breasts.

A woman.

He was getting the crap beat out of him by a woman.

Dean shifted, lifting the slight body off the floor. He clawed her hand away from where it was twisting his ear and the other from where it was reaching for the gun tucked into the back of his jeans.

Dark hair obscured most of her face but the pit in his stomach grew with the knowledge that he knew the woman struggling against his arms. A strong thigh wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer. Her hips twisted where it was pressed with his and he almost dropped her in surprise.

If the circumstances were different that would be an excellent move.

Her wrist escaped his grasp and before he could get it back the palm drove into his nose, tears instantly filling his eyes. He staggered back. There had to be a better way to stop this. A crack filled the air, pain shot across his head making him drop to one knee.

He'd just got pistol whipped by a midget.

-----

She hadn't expected this. Hadn't expected to have to do this. Didn't want to do this. Didn't want to have him at her mercy like this. Not him. Not this way. The shapeshifter wasn't suppose to take one of their forms. Wasn't suppose to confuse her like this.

Elizabeth wasn't suppose to walk into the Wilkins house to see the shape of a man that she had just left at his car with his brother. Not this man. But she hadn't stopped once she saw him, couldn't. If this thing got away who knew how long it would take them to find it again.

Who knew how many people would die.

She couldn't fuck up again.

Just... god, it was Dean. It had Dean's face. Why did it have to have that face. It took all her will power not to drop the gun. Things could never be easy. The shapeshifter just had to take a form whose human counterpart had crawled their way under her skin.

Green eyes took her in, contemplative but not accusing. Not angry. They were his eyes. In his face. With his body. She mentally shook herself out of her daze. Strong, focused, determined. Nothing else.

Couldn't afford to be anything else. All she had to do was take care of this thing and the job would be done. Then she could focus all her energy on pulling the human man out from where he had made himself home.

She pulled out her phone, pistol trained on its head. Speaking quickly, barely waiting for little more than a tick of Sam's voice to come over the line.

“I've got it.”

Focused.

-----

He felt the cold steel of the pistol pressed against his temple. Heard the click of the hammer as it was pulled back. There was no hesitation in the movements. Nothing to tell him that this wasn't exactly what his captor wanted to be doing. The barrel dug deeper, the sight burrowed in, drawing blood. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of leaning away.

“Give me a reason not to shoot you,” the voice was hard, tightly controlled, “Just one reason,” the mask slipped completely, emotion seeped into her voice. “Please Dean give me anything. Just show me it's you.”

“What do you want me to do Parker,” she flinched at the tone, “I can't exactly prove it.”

The gun moved away from his head, a moment of relief before pain lanced through his arm. She'd shot him. The crazy bitch shot him, “Sonofa-” He barely caught the gun before it slammed into his face once again. A tight grip wasn't enough to get her to drop it so he twisting her arm back.

The gun clattered to the floor.

She lashed out, hooking her leg with his so that they both fell to the floor. Her fingers shoved themselves into the open flesh of the bullet hole in his arm. There was no stopping the painful cry or the loosening grip. Bitch knew how to hit where it hurt. Before he could recover, she was scrambling off of him reaching for the pistol.

Dean grabbed her leg trying to pull her away from it. In a smooth practiced move he rolled quickly on top of her, flipping her on her back. The gun briefly raised before he peeled her fingers from it. Lizzie looked up at him, eyes wide with what could be fear. This was it, the moment of truth. He threw the gun angrily away from them, ignoring the crash as it shattered something glass.

“Happy now,” confusion not acceptance played across her face. He couldn't remember her ever being this easy to read before. A small hand came to play with the small cut at his temple. It stung briefly before fading. Hesitant fingers skimmed his face, drawing lines around his eyes and mouth. Playing. Memorizing.

He didn't realize he had lowered himself until their noses were touching, shallow breath mixing with his. Her chest rising and falling below his. Her body shaking almost imperceptibly. Just a fraction closer...

“Parker don't,” Dean groaned and dropped his head to the crook of her neck. “That's really...”

His brothers voice drifted off not having expected the sight in front of him. Furniture broken, glass littering the floor, two people definitely not fighting. Dean glared up at Sam who looked uncomfortable at finding him in such a compromising position with a flushed Parker.

“Yeah, I kinda figured it out,” thata girl.

A/N: about the song lyrics. I can't remember who the second one is, didn't write down the artist because I figured I'd just google it but when I do it comes up as Broken by Robert Downey Jr which I know it isn't cause I don't have that song. I could have sworn it was Death Cab for Cutie but I have too many songs to go through and find it. If anyone knows it that'd be great.

So glad SN is starting soon, cause how they're going to solve the wholse soul thing is bugging me too.


“I don't mind you under my skin. I let the bad parts in” - Degausser, Brand New.

The door slammed heavily making the pictures on the wall shake. She wanted a crash that'd never come, the shattering glass, the splintering wood but the frames were too well fastened to the wall. So she made ones of her own. Flinging anything that was loose, lamps, chairs, bibles, clock, sending the objects to collide with a satisfying crunch against walls and furniture.

It was fucked.

It was all fucked up.

Someone was pounding on the door. Strong steady beats of a fist on cheap wood. Dean. Of course it was Dean. Dean the man who couldn't leave well enough alone. The man who locked on to something and went at it until it was dead. A characteristic that was great on a hunt but not so much for everyday life.

The bastard.

Couldn't he respect personal space?

Cause she'd fucked it all up. Gotten herself too involved in their lives. Too stuck in the illusion of normality that their unconventional nonconformist lifestyle had afforded. Hot tears burned her eyes. She had promised herself that she would never lose herself that way again.

But she'd fucked it all up.

This was it. Proof that she couldn't trust herself to be around people and not get involved. She wasn't capable of it. She was a blackhole swallowing everything that crossed her path. The only solution was to leave. Remove herself from the situation.

Before she fucked it up even more.

The banging hadn't stopped, Dean's muffled voice came through, “Open up the damn door, Parker.”

Elizabeth worked quickly collecting and storing what little she kept as possessions. Her car was parked in the front but if she looped around the back of the building she could bypass what interference that Winchester could offer.

The bathroom window was small but she was smaller and with barely a seconds resistance she was through. Wet grass soaked into her worn Chuck Taylors as her black dufflebag knocked her hip with every step.

She could do this.

-------

“You fell in love with a broken heart” - Death Cab for Cutie?

Everything was completely fucked up. He didn't know how. He didn't know when. But Lizzie had crawled her way under his skin.

Like a tick.

With lime disease.

Or a really bad song that once heard would never leave your head.

His hand was starting to get sore from banging against the door and there hadn't been any movement behind the door in a minute or two. So she was either in bed or she had snuck out the bathroom window.

Resting his head against the rough wood, he ran his hand along his face hitting a clump of dried blood but there was not cut on his temple. Not even a scratch. He'd checked it in the Impalas rearview mirror on the way back and had added it to the ever growing list of stuff he wanted an explanation for.

Fucking Parker.

She was worse than Jo and she had been a pain in his ass in a little sister sort of way. And Parker was anything but a little sister.

He wasn't actually sure what she was but it wasn't a sister.

Pushing himself off the door he turned to leave but movement caught the corner of his eye. He followed it from the top to the bottom. Green, strip of black, dark blue, black and white.

Lizzie.

How nice. She was running away.

“Parker,” his voice ricocheted across the lot. She didn't stop rather she sped up, pulling her keys from her pocket. “Where the hell do you think you're going?”

Typical just when he was finally ready to get some answers she runs off. Dean grabbed her arm and forcibly turned her, but he didn't expect the small fist that slammed into his head.

“Son of a bitch.”

“Let me go,” she raised her fist again but he grabbed it. Both her wrists easily fit in only one hand. It was easy to forget she was so small.

“We have some shit we need to talk about,” he locked her knees between his to stop them from giving him a deadleg.

“No,” there was a flash of green under her skin. Dean dropped her hands but took a step closer so that there wasn't any room between them.

“I need some answers Lizzie,” he whispered to her, lips close to her ear, hands firmly on her hips. Her head dropped backwards and she shivered.

It wasn't cold.

“I can't,” she started struggling against him with everything she had, “I can't do this.”

One arm tightly around her waist so she couldn't get away, the other cupping her face, “Yes, you can and you will.”

Liz stilled, darkened eyes staring right at him - intently reading him. There was a wild quality about them. He couldn't look away but his mind was buzzing.

What was that rule? Never fall for someone crazier than you were?

I hate college, i really do. That's all... enjoy and thanks for the reviews.

“This life is filled with hurt. When happiness doesn't work. Trust me and take my hand. When the lights go out you will understand” - Pain, Three Days Grace

Dean's fingers dug into harm as he dragged her back to her room. They were tight enough to bruise but also tight enough to make sure that she couldn't slip away when she tugged at her arm. At least, not without dislocating it.

She'd tried which is why her duffelbag was on the floor about five feet away from her car.

Fucking prick.

“The keys,” she lifted her chin and glared at him. He gave her a shake and used his free hands to check her pockets. Or try to. Big hand. Tight little pocket. Not a good match. “The keys Parker.”

Elizabeth smirked at him. He was too easy, “they're in the room.”

His eyes narrowed and with one kick he managed to knock the door in, breaking the doorjam. Dean better pay for that, she sure as hell wasn't. He pushed her in and slammed the now defunct door just as Sam's questioning voice sounded behind them.

Such a pleasant little boy, holds his temper so well.

The jacket slipped off his shoulders and onto the chair, before he sat he put his gun on the table. The barrel turned in her direction. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, green currents playing down her skin. If he wanted to play hard ball than fine, they'd play.

“I want answers,” she sat on the edge of the bed. Door in sight and in sprinting distance, “now.”

“Poor little Dean. Never getting what he wants.”

She took the knife she always kept close out and opened it, letting it dance around her fingers. The fall back into the persona she had been for such a longtime came easily. The psychotic frigid bitch. Did everyone have such a sadistic streak in them?

“Start talking Parker.”

“Here I thought I was already doing that.”

“What are you?” why did they always start out with that question? Demons, targets, horny men, always asked that first. Like she was really going to answer.

“What are you?” she hadn't noticed that Dean had a tick. He stood to advance on her in an obvious power play but a turn of her hand had him back down. “If I wanted you to know, you'd know.”

“This isn't a time for games, there are lives on the line.”

“Bull, you not knowing means absolutely shit.”

“It means Sam and I are going into hunts unprepared,” the things he pulled out of his ass, he was definitely one of the best lier's that she had ever come across which was saying something considering the circles she ran in. “You need to start talking or people are going to die-”

“Shut up.”

“- I mean it Parker, you think that demon is just going to leave you alone now?”

“Shut up.”

“You think it's not gonna hit us as hard as it can? And trust me Lizzie, it'll hit you so hard you won't get back up.”

“Stop.”

“What do you think our chances of survival are, huh? We won't make it through this unless you start talking-”

“SHUT UP, just shut up Dean,” but he didn't. He wouldn't. At some point she had slipped off the bed, so that she was on the floor, her knees drawn up, her hand pressed tightly to her head. Why wouldn't he stop?

Too close. There was the edge just a step away. Then boom, it'd all be gone.

“- right now. This isn't a game. I need to know what's going on.”

“You want to know Dean, do you really? Cause I could tell you. I could rock the foundations of everything you ever thought you knew. Fuck up this pretty little world of yours,” her eyes blazed at him. Her breathing was heavy as she struggled to get her powers in hand.

It hurt so much.

“Tell me what happened.”

“Well that's easy,” she struggled to her feet and leaned over him where he was still seated in the chair. Had she kept him there? “You sold your soul, Sam has demons gunning for his head, and I...”

The information stilled in her throat. Too close. Much too close. His hand sat on her hip lightly. It was too delicate of a touch. She hadn't been touched like that in a long time.

“You what?” her eyes were burning. Chest heaving. He was pushing. Why did he have to push? She must have started crying (she could still do that?) because Dean had her in his lap, strong arms around her. “Hey, it's ok. It'll be ok.”

All she wanted to do was forget. All he wanted to do was have her remember. That's what it was all about, forgetting the past in anyway possible.

“No,” her voice sounded weak and she rebelled against it, pushing off of him, hitting him for good measure. “No it's not ok. It'll never be ok.”

“Whatever it is, we can work it out,” his hands were on her again, trying to placate her. Didn't he understand that that couldn't happen. She wouldn't let it.

“Stop. Just stop. This isn't something to work out. It's not safe. I'm not safe. I'm poison. The people I care about die. They always die. Don't you get that.”

“That's not your fault,” silence. He took her face in his hands forcing her to see him, “look at me Lizzie, it's not your fault.”

He didn't know and all she wanted to do was yell at him for it: you fucking hypocrite. It couldn't be her fault because it always had to be his right. No matter what happened it, even if he didn't know what had happened, it was his fault.

Demons going after Sam. Sam almost dying. His dad running off. His dad dying. Sam's pain at knowing he was going to lose his brother. Always had to be his fault.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to lash out, it was what she did best, but he didn't let her. Dean's soft lips came down on hers, slowly, patiently working on her. It was a delicate message of affection, not a passionate or purely sexual expression but one that told tales of the elusive happily-ever-after.

His callused hands ran up her back, under the sweatshirt she was wearing, she let him have the grin at finding nothing but a bra underneath. His lips found the sensitive spot that she'd always loved at the base of her neck and nipped.

All she could do was hold on. There was no stopping it.

So close.

-----

“There's nothing left for me to give” - You're Gone, Something Corporate

Elizabeth was laying on top of him, limbs tangled together, chest rising and falling in unison. The sheet raised to cover her but still showing a fair amount of flesh. Dean ran his hand down her back, her skin was humming. So was his.

It was a whole knew level of awareness.

He could feel it, he wasn't sure how but everything she was feeling he was feeling too. Relaxation, trust, and the anxiety that was playing at the end of her mind. She shifted, awareness seeping into her sleep clouded mind.

Not wanting her to get up and end what he knew he didn't have the energy to fight, he pulled her closer whispering in her ear hoping the words would sink into her subconscious, “stay.”

She stopped fighting. He smiled.

A few minutes later, satisfied that she wouldn't be getting up anytime soon he allowed himself to drift off to sleep. Without checking if the door was secure. Without making sure that Sam was safe in their room. Without the knife he usually kept under his pillow.

Dean let his mind create the illusion that he didn't need it.

It was a good sleep.

So he didn't hear his Lizzie as she got out of bed a half hour later and gathered her clothing, pausing only to look back at him. And he didn't hear her murmured words meant for him but mostly for herself.

To remind herself that there had once been someone worth what people had wanted to give.

“I wasn't always like this.”