(Quick Author's note, I would really appreciate some feedback, because I've never written these characters before so I would love some opinions to know if I'm writing them right or if I need to make some adjustments)

Dean wasted no time in binding the captive Victor in iron chains, dragging him out of the way a safe distance away from the door. Daphne was still unconscious, and he'd done what he could for her leg, but she was going to need a hospital soon.

Deja was sitting down with the other two woman, talking with a comforting arm around the young girl and holding all of their attention. He didn't know what was being said, but she seemed to have calmed their hysterics and had the conversation well in hand.

The door to the barn rattled open and Dean instantly went on alert, gun up and aimed at the door a split second before Sam stepped through. Dean sighed, tucking the gun away and getting up from where he was kneeling beside Daphne to approach him.

"It's about time you showed up," Dean chided his brother while Sam took in the blood and dead witches all over the floor, the unconscious woman Dean had just left behind, the captive, unconscious witch chained to a post in the corner, and Deja with the two survivors. Sam's eyes eventually landed on Dean.

"What the Hell did you two do while I was gone?"

"Fun, Sammy, that's what happened," Dean said with a sly grin.

Sam's annoyed expression quickly returned, and for a few seconds he looked like an exasperated parent resisting the urge to throttle their child. "And she didn't shoot you?"

"Well, he thought I was about to, but it was just a witch trying to obliterate him from behind," Deja piped up cheerfully from her corner with a smirk. "Don't worry, I shut him down a long time ago after he called me pretty."

Sam laughed while Dean scowled, and Deja came over with Giselle and the other woman in tow. "Bethany is going to take Giselle home, and Daphne to the hospital—we've already got a story in place, too."

"We had a book club, the barn guaranteed no one would bother us. We had several meetings and tonight Victor just snapped and started firing. I managed to get the gun but he still had a knife and kept coming, so I shot him four times, grabbed Giselle and Daphne, and we bolted," Bethany stated while Giselle kept walking right past them, most likely to get in the SUV Deja had already swiped the keys for. Dean frowned.

"A book club, really? And why four bullets?"

"What, should I tell them we were a coven of witches meeting in secret? I'm sure that will go over well," Bethany said shakily. "And she told me to say four."

Bethany nodded to Deja, who gave her a sad smile. "Go get the other two out of here, and stay out of trouble."

Bethany returned her smile, though it was strained. "Oh, I don't want anything to do with magic ever again—I wanted out when the first person died."

Deja inclined her head to acknowledge her statement, then gestured for Bethany to follow her, making her way to Daphne. "Come on, I'll help you get her in the car."

Dean was quick to interfere. "Ah, no, you've got a bad leg—I can do that," Dean interrupted, hurrying forward so that he could sweep up the unconscious woman before either of the women could even reach her.

Deja huffed. "It's a stab wound—he didn't take my whole leg off," she complained, though she didn't stop him either, so he kept moving, Bethany falling into step behind him. Once they were out of the barn, Dean spoke.

"So, what did she tell you?" he asked nonchalantly, waiting for Bethany to open the SUV's door before carefully laying Daphne in the back. Bethany waited until he'd closed the door to speak, most likely so Giselle—who was sitting in the passenger seat—didn't hear.

"She said I didn't have to continue with this nightmare, and that I had the choice to jump ship, so that's what I'm doing. Quitting magic entirely and trying to put this whole disaster behind me. And she gave me a number to call if I ever run into any trouble and need help. Hopefully I won't need it."

Dean nodded, glancing back towards the road. "I won't keep you any longer."

Bethany smiled weakly, making her way to the driver's side. She paused just shy of getting in, turning back to Dean. "Victor's not walking out of that barn, is he?"

Dean held her gaze. "Maybe not," he said carefully.

"He better not," Bethany stated with sudden conviction that surprised Dean. "That thing is a special kind of monster that deserves to rot in Hell."

With that, Bethany got in the car and left, leaving Dean to return to the barn. Sam and Deja were lingering near Victor, stopping whatever they were talking about as Dean approached.

"Well, we've got some time before the local authorities get here, so whatever you're planning you might want to get started," Dean told her, nodding towards Victor. Deja sighed, looking at the witch with distaste.

"Right…I'll make it quick," she said, making her way over to the unconscious witch. She appraised him for a few seconds before using her foot to put pressure on one of his shot kneecaps. Victor quickly roused with a scream of agony, but Deja looked unfazed. "Rise and shine, Vicky, we need to talk."

"What's going on?" Sam asked in confusion, staring worriedly at Deja.

"Victor here is a lead for the witch who killed her family," Dean explained softly, folding his arms over his chest as he watched Deja with a furrowed brow.

Once Victor regained full consciousness, he looked at Deja with murder in his eyes, snarling something in Latin. Deja smiled at him, pulling out her gun and crouching down in front of him. She waved the gun at the chains that bound him to the post, her voice casual. "Iron chains—no magic for you."

"Who the Hell are you?" Victor spat, teeth clenched. Deja clucked her tongue at him.

"No, no, no, I'm asking the questions here—who I am doesn't matter. I'm more interested in your boss."

Victor smiled humorlessly, dark eyes fixed intently on Deja. "I don't have a boss—this was all me, sweetie."

"That's funny, cause some of the spells you've been using are Iona Neeley's special recipes—and she doesn't give just anyone that kind of firepower."

Victor cocked his head to the side, sighing as if the entire ordeal bored him. "Sorry, beautiful, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Victor hadn't even blinked yet before Deja's gun went off, and a new bullet embedded itself into the man's shoulder, causing him to shout. "Bitch!"

Deja held up a finger. "One—don't call me beautiful. Two…I'm not in the mood for games, so it's best you start talking. Iona—what do you know?"

"Why would you care?" Victor hissed.

"Iona and I are due for a little chat, but she hasn't been returning my calls," she sassed. "So you're going to tell me where I can find her, or point me to someone who does know. If you're feeling particularly chatty, you can even tell me where Booker is."

"Iona, Booker…you know some pretty big names, darling…and you're obviously a hunter…" Victor stated thoughtfully, glancing down at the chains before turning an intense gaze on Deja once again. Dean had to give her credit for not flinching away from that look when she was so close to the guy, considering it was bothering him. "Blonde…those blue eyes…hunter that knows her witch facts…you wouldn't happen to be that Floy girl?"

Deja didn't answer his question, her expression only hardening. "Iona and Booker," she said evenly, so still she could pass as a statue in silence.

Victor laughed. "Oh, you are! We've heard a lot about you, sweetheart! Tell me, did you like those spells I used in the last house? The irony of me liquefying little Johnny like Iona did your old man, oh, I would have enjoyed it more if I'd known sooner!" Victor leaned in closer, but Deja didn't budge. "Sorry you didn't get a front row seat this time—"

Deja suddenly pressed as hard as she could on Victor's knee, causing him to growl in pain. "Iona, you bastard."

"You won't get anything out of me, sweet thing. You don't just waltz up to Iona—she finds you when you're worth her time. You're not even a flea to her—your just some snot-nosed little shit throwing a temper tantrum about something your family deserved—"

The gun went off a second time, cutting off what Victor was going to say as the bullet went right into his heart. He slumped against the chains, blood trickling out of his mouth while his glassy eyes remained fixed straight ahead, a cruel smile frozen on his face.

Dean wasn't sure how he wanted to react. It was clear Victor was twisted, and the questioning had been going nowhere even when she resulted to some torture to get something out of him, so killing him had been expected…but she'd both tortured—however lightly—and killed him so casually it was chilling.

Deja very slowly tucked her gun away, remaining in place and closing her eyes while taking a few deep breaths. After a few seconds, she rose to her feet and started to undo the chains holding Victor's body to the pole so that she could drag the body into the middle of the room where she'd first shot him. She did so quickly, calmly, as if shooting somebody point blank and then staging how they'd died was something she did regularly. She never looked their way, her expression blank and her body language tense, and once she was finished with her task she simply walked out the door.

"Should we…give her a few minutes?" Sam asked hesitantly, staring at the spot Deja had disappeared.

"Yeah, probably," Dean confirmed, glancing around at the carnage in the barn.

"Would now be a bad time to ask what you think of her?"

Dean shrugged. "She's a good hunter—too guarded for me to get much of a personality read on her other than snippy, but she also said she's in a bad mood and rusty with people skills right now."

"Maybe we just caught her at a bad time. Obviously this job was…personal," Sam said quietly.

"We did catch her at a bad time, and now that it's over, maybe we'll be able to get a better read on her—she offered to buy dinner once we finished."

Sam shook his head. "Free food—of course," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"Hey, she offered, who am I to turn her down?" Dean responded defensively. "Come on, we should go before the cops show up."

They left the barn, Dean expecting to see Deja right outside, but she wasn't in the immediate vicinity. He glanced around the barn before shrugging it off, deciding she was probably back at her car. "Where'd you park her?" Dean asked, referring to Baby.

"Right behind Deja's car."

"Keys." Dean caught the keys, flipping to the key to Baby as he took the lead. As he'd suspected, when they reached where the cars were parked he saw Deja sitting in her car with the door open, staring at the ground. She looked up when they approached, giving them a tight smile.

"Hey. I'm going to take a rain check on dinner tonight—I've got an appointment with a bottle of tequila back at the hotel. But breakfast tomorrow before I skip town, I can do."

"Sounds like a plan," Dean agreed, watching her for a moment as she ran her hand through her hair. "Are you gonna be all right?"

"After the tequila and a good night's rest, I'll be better." Deja's smile remained in place, but it was a weak one, and she looked older and utterly exhausted for a few moments. "So, did I pass?"

Dean blinked. "What?"

"Did I pass your evaluation? I'm not stupid, and honestly, I've been sizing you up as well. Though the whole big brother doesn't let the stranger out of his sights thing and the oh-shit-she's-going-to-shoot-me look earlier were a little obvious," she said, chuckling.

Dean smiled slightly, looking down at the keys in his hands. "Well, you didn't shoot either of us, so there's that."

Deja laughed softly. "Yeah, there's that…I promise I'm usually more fun and laidback, it was just one of those jobs…"

"So I noticed…" Dean looked up, brow furrowed in concern. "You really going to be all right?"

Deja shrugged. "Like I said, a bottle of tequila and a good night's rest, I'll be okay. I'll see you two in the morning, at the diner on the corner of 17th and Selby Street."

"What time should we meet you?" Sam asked, speaking up for the first time.

"Oh, why not sleep in a little? How does ten thirty sound?"

"Sounds good. Come on, Sammy, let's let her get home so she can take care of herself," Dean stated, ushering Sam back to the Impala. Deja started her car, driving away in a matter of moments and given them a little wave as she passed. Dean watched her go, Sam leaning on the roof of the car and following his gaze.

"Do you really think she's going to be all right?" Sam asked quietly.

"No," Dean said with certainty. "But if she's as good of a hunter as she seems, she's not going to let it show."

"Do you really think that's any better?"

Dean glanced his way but didn't answer him, opening the driver's side door. "Let's go before the cops get here."

***************************

Deja didn't turn the light on when she reached the hotel room—she stayed in the dark, fishing out a candle from one of her bags and lighting it so she at least had enough light to see where she was going. She pulled out the tequila bottle she's mentioned to Dean and an old-fashioned whiskey glass, pouring a moderate amount of tequila into the glass. She didn't immediately start drinking, choosing instead to start cleaning up her mess of papers and research at a slow but steady pace, slowly sipping on her drink.

Once her mess was cleaned up and most of her stuff packed, Deja sat at the edge of her bed, staring at the glass in her hand.

The irony of me liquefying little Johnny like Iona did your old man…

She could still feel the heat of the fire as the house burned around her, hear her parents screaming a few feet in front of her, feel the dog's warm blood splatter all over her after it had lunged at her family's attackers trying to defend her…

And that boy in the bed…had looked just like what remained of her father, except smaller cause he'd been young, give or take a few years from how old she'd been when it happened…

Deja shook her head, running a hand down her face before she downed the rest of her first glass, reaching for the bottle to pour another.

It was going to be a rough night—hopefully the tequila would help some of the pain fade.

*****************************

"Why wouldn't you go to your own funeral, how many times do you get that chance?"

Deja, Sam, and Dean all sat in the diner she'd directed them to the night before, digging into a seemingly never ending breakfast and swapping stories before they parted ways. Dean and Sam had just finished telling a story about a shape shifter they had just dealt with in St. Louis, and while she had plenty to comment on, she seemed to only be capable of commenting on Dean's lack of seizing an opportunity.

"I know, missed opportunity, isn't it?" Dean asked with a grin where he sat across from her at the table, taking a bite from his meal.

"You guys have some weird stories, I mean…I don't think I have anything near that level of crazy! Well…I guess there was the haunted toy—and I don't mean a children's toy—but I would rather never speak of that again in my life," Deja said with a laugh.

"Crazy does seem to attach itself to us," Sam commented from his relaxed spot on Deja's left.

"Maybe that's why you two bumped into me," Deja mused playfully. "I never said I was sane."

"What hunter is?" Dean asked. Deja pointed her fork at him.

"Touché."

"So, where are you headed after this?" Sam asked, taking a drink of his orange juice. Deja shrugged.

"Rosanne and I will hit the road and just drive till I find a lead or a case, hustle some people at cards and pool along the way, the usual. Maybe if I get the chance I'll hit the movie theatre a few times—I can't resist a good movie. I'm guessing you two will resume the search for your dad?"

"That's the plan," Dean stated. Deja gave them both a gentle smile.

"Well, I hope you find him." She blinked, reaching for her purse. "Oh! Dean, you wanted a copy of that symbol?"

"Yes—yes, that would be a handy thing to have," Dean told her with a smile, taking the piece of paper that had the angular symbol drawn on it in pen.

"Now it only works once, as you know, maybe twice if they're weak spells that are cast, and it only works against dark magic specifically. It won't do you much good against a witch that's trying to flambé you with standard fire magic, but at least it keeps you safe from the truly nasty stuff."

"Wards against really nasty witch juju, usually only once, got it," Dean said with a nod, about to tuck the paper away when he caught sight of what Deja had written on the back. A half smile quickly slipped on his face, and he flipped the paper around to display the ten-digit number on the back. "And what's this for?"

Deja rolled her eyes. "Not what you're thinking, genius. I figured if you guys ever need an extra pair of hands for a job you can call me. And it doesn't have to be a witch or demon thing, those are just what I deal with the most. Definitely call me if you've got one of those wacky cases, I'd love to get in on one of those—I'm a sucker for the bizarre, especially if it's dangerous."

Sam laughed slightly, studying her with a look she thought was a cross between confused and amused. "You really enjoy the job, don't you?"

"I love the perks of being able to work outside of the law, it's thrilling," she said with a playful wink before she laughed. "Seriously, though, I do. Sure, it's hard, some days more than others, it's lonely, and dangerous as Hell…but I love it. I can't see myself doing anything else."

"Really? Do you think you'd go back to a normal life if you could?" Sam pressed curiously. Dean's jovial mood dropped noticeably, and the expression he shot Sam told her they were headed towards a conversation topic that was the source of some tension between the two. Deja pretended not to notice to avoid drawing attention to Dean's reaction, keeping her eyes level with Sam's.

"No one's life is normal, Sam—everyone's got different levels of crazy in their lives. I know my life sure as Hell wasn't normal before…everything. It had its time periods that felt like what normal should be, but…" Deja shook her head. "It's not the normal life I miss, if you really want to call it that. I miss the people, more. The family. Take it from someone who knows, family means a lot more than having a desired lifestyle. So I guess no, I wouldn't go back to a normal life if I had the choice, because to me it would be empty without the people I cared about to share it with."

She couldn't help it—her gaze slid to Dean's clear green eyes once she finished talking to see how he would react. The elder Winchester smiled, though it still seemed a little sad—maybe because of the reminder of her personal tragedy, maybe because of the tension she was sensing between him and Sam, she didn't know. What she did know was that what she said seemed to land on Dean's side for whatever this issue was, and Sam leaned back to mull over her words, his expression pensive.

Hopefully whatever she said helped.

***************************

After breakfast, the three collectively made their way out to the parking lot where their cars were parked side by side. Dean sighed, standing by the hood of his Impala and holding her gaze while he absently twirled the keys in his hands.

"So Deja…Is there really no hope for a guy like me?" he asked, unable to keep his half smile from slipping into place. Deja pursed her lips, studying his gaze for a moment with a soft hmm before she finally spoke.

"Keep trying. I mean, it's not that you lack the charm and the appeal…I'm just not that easy to land," she said with a wink. Dean's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Really now? Well, I do like a good challenge."

Deja laughed, shaking her head. "I'm sure you do."

Dean chuckled softly under his breath, backing up to the driver's side door. "Well…take care, Deja."

"You too, Dean," she said, then smiled at his brother who was standing patiently at the passenger's side of the car. "Sam. And don't be afraid to call if you need help!"

"Will do!" Dean confirmed, and with that, Deja got in her car, started Rosanne up, put in an Avril Lavigne CD, and pulled out of the parking lot with one last wave goodbye. Dean watched her go for a few seconds before he got in the Impala, pulling out his main phone to enter Deja's contact info.

"You're relentless, you know that?"

Dean glanced over at Sam, who was watching him with a mildly amused smile. Instantly Dean's own amused grin fell into place, and he wagged his finger at his brother to emphasize his point. "She said there's hope, Sammy…there's hope! Besides, she said to call her."

"For cases," Sam stressed.

Dean gave an overly dramatic sigh of exasperation. "Well, yeah, for cases, but just because there's a case doesn't mean there isn't a chance for something to happen during the case," Dean stated with a wink.

Sam rolled his eyes, settling back in his seat. "She's definitely the kind of person to shoot you first."

Dean considered it for a moment, then decided to give Sam that much. "Maybe…but there'll probably still be a chance."

"Now you're just grasping at straws," Sam scoffed, but Dean had already started the Impala and took the chance to turn up the music to a ridiculously loud level.

"What? What did you say? I can't hear you," Dean shouted over the music.

"You're such a child," Sam shouted back, but Dean decided to pretend he didn't hear him, a content grin slipping into place as he pulled the Impala out of the parking lot and put them back on the road for their next case.

Or hopefully a lead on their father.