The Girl of Nonexistence

Summary:

She isn't a Hunter, but an Informant, or researcher. She doesn't go looking for things that go bump in the night, she studies and learns all she can about them. She doesn't kill, for she is a pacifist, if at all by nature. She doesn't fight, but will hoist a weapon to defend those weaker than she, or for the sake of self-preservation. She is calm in the face of an adversary, but is filled with a torrent of emotional distress around those close to her heart.

Her name is Quinn. Just Quinn. No last name, because even she doesn't know of one. She is a rather ordinary girl, that has an extraordinary secret that only two people know of.

The death of her best, and only, friend sends her back to the only place she's ever called home. Her friend's sudden resurrection sends her on a quest to stop the pending Apocalypse. Getting mixed up in a pissing contest between Heaven and Hell, Quinn is finding it difficult to keep her secret.

Especially with the openly curious Angel of Thursday hanging around her friend.

Author's Note:

This story is a Cas/OC romance, with a dash of an extremely close Dean/OC friendship. Quinn's relationship with Sam will be slow building, and in the beginning only tolerant due to him being Dean's younger brother, but it will slowly grow as the story progresses. I plan on making her secret a secret even to you readers out there. I want to see if people can figure her out while reading the story. Kind of like how Supernatural does in the series...keeping things hidden, but small key factors that eventually pull together. This story obviously starts off in Season Four and will continue through Season Five...maybe progress even further.

I would appreciate it greatly if you readers take the time to review, or favorite the story. I like to know what the readers are thinking, and generally I take the time to individually thank and respond to everyone's review. I do take constructive criticism, but flames will not be tolerated. If you don't like the story at all, keep it to yourself and don't read it. If you feel as though something needs pointed out, I welcome it greatly, as I enjoy improving my writing skills. Most of the stories I do are in First Person, but for the sake of future chapters (references to episodes like 'The End' and such others), this story will be in Third Person.

Thank you for taking the time to read! Enjoy!

Disclaimer:

I do not own Supernatural. If I did, we'd see more 'humanized' Cas ('Hippie' Cas is probably one of my more favorable moments because I couldn't stop laughing).

Prologue
The Pact

If anyone ever asked how Quinn and Dean Winchester became such close friends, they wouldn't believe the story. In fact, their meeting had been quite anti-climatic at best. He didn't swoop in and save her from the terrible monsters that go bump in the night. She didn't bury her way past his pseudo-bad boy masquerade with one glance. In fact, it all started like most friendships.

Sitting in an old, well-used leather chair, a young ebony-haired woman flips through the pages of a brand new book, the script and text an old Celtic language lost to most people nowadays. Her steel-grey eyes move through the words as leather-clad fingers grip a pen, the tip of the pen scratching quick, small-font translations to the paper. Ear-bud headphones from her MP3 player plugged her ears, softly blaring Guns N' Roses' 'November Rain' as she gets lost in the book.

The only thing that breaks her of her focus, is the sight of boot-clad feet pausing next to her seated form, and a mug of freshly brewed coffee is placed on the desk next to her. Completing the last line of translations, her gloved hand moves to grab the mug when she notices a second set of boot-clad feet just behind the other pair. Her concentration is broken and she pulls her gaze up to find her guardian, Bobby Singer, standing just a foot away. Upon seeing the younger man standing behind Bobby, she gently pulls her headphones from her ears.

"Hey, what's up?" she greets, her grey eyes taking in the younger man's appearance though she directs her question to Bobby.

His dark-brown hair is cropped short and left unkempt, as if he didn't take time out of his day to run a brush through it. His entire posture reads off intimidating waves, and if it wasn't for the slightest hint of curiosity flickering in his brilliantly green eyes, she would have felt nervous. His face is round, though a strong jaw line and slightly pronounced cheekbones seems to shape it in an attractive flare. A heavy leather jacket is pulled over two other layers of shirts, one a button-down shirt left open and displaying an all-black AC/DC shirt underneath. His blue denim jeans carried small rips and tears and were obviously well-worn, the bottom hem of his pant legs covering the tops of old, sturdy work boots.

"This is Dean, John Winchester's oldest," Bobby states, motioning toward the younger man, "Dean, this is Quinn."

A small, short silence falls over the room and Quinn realizes this Dean guy is assessing her as well, so in order to break the awkward tension, her pale-pink lips tug into a small, delicate smile, "It's nice to meet you, Dean."

She receives a stiff nod in return and is mildly amused when she realizes he can't figure her out yet, so she turns to Bobby, "Well, I have over half of the book translated. It seems to surround Celtic rituals performed on the night of All Hollow's Eve by the Scottish colonies during the mid-evil days."

"I gave you that book six hours ago, girl," Bobby retorts in his usual gruff display of masculinity.

Quinn's smile brightens slightly, despite Dean being in the room, "It's not like I was going to get any sleep. I figured I'd get a head start on it. I should have it finished by tonight."

Bobby shakes his head as Quinn finally takes a sip of her coffee, her taste buds registering the familiar flavor of the light amber substance of Jameson, "Spiking my drink so early in the morning?"

A snort sounds from Bobby, who mutters an inaudible response to her teasing before he returns to the kitchen. Unsure of what to say to the guy, most likely around her own age, she turns her attention back to the text.

"So, are you a Hunter too?" the husky tone of his voice pulls her attention after she manages to make it half way down the page.

Glancing up at Dean, she offers him a small smile at the slight awkwardness in his stance, "Nope. I work as a researcher and informant for Bobby."

His green eyes flashes with surprise, "You can't be any older than me. How is that possible?"

"I tested out of schooling when I was thirteen," His eyes widen slightly at her response, "My IQ is at a genius level of 154 and I have a photographic memory."

"So...you're like a super genius?" he quips curiously.

Quinn giggles at his wording, "I'm not Einstein, but generally speaking, yes."

"So, how did you get roped into the Hunting business? Family?" he asks, wondering how a girl like her would get pulled into the same world he was in.

Shrugging, Quinn tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, "Sort of. Bobby is the only person I can consider family," She isn't sure why, but the blatant curiosity in his green eyes causes her to explain further, "My mother was passing through, not sure where she was heading, but from what Bobby tells me, there had been an awful storm. Tornado warnings and everything. My mother's car broke down a mile from here. Bobby offered her sanctuary and four hours later, I was born," Again, surprise sparks his gaze, "Something must have gone wrong, because she died twenty minutes later."

Dean's eyes soften with sympathy. Quinn feels slightly better at his given sympathy, thankful that it wasn't a look of pity. Quinn shrugs briefly, shaking her head of the torrent of thoughts of a mother she can't remember, "Bobby tried to find any relatives. The only information he could get was on my mother's side of the family. My grandfather died a few years prior, and my grandmother had reached the second stage of Dementia. He just...kind of kept me."

"I've never met you before," Dean comments, a slight tilt of his head reminding her of a curious kitten and she bites the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing at the reference, "I've known Bobby practically my entire life. I'm sure I would have met you before now."

"After I tested out of school, I attended a boarding school in Europe as a ruse for collecting information and texts for Bobby," she says as she motions to the various leather-bound books.

Dean snorts good-naturedly, "I had always wondered how he got these things. He rarely leaves his own house, let alone the country."

Quinn can't help but giggle at his words and a genuine grin appears on his face. She returns the smile with one of her own, finding the humor in his features to be infectious. Standing from his seat, Dean mentions going to talk with Bobby, and Quinn shakes her head before turning her attention back to the text.

Later that day, the sun began its descent beneath the horizon, the trio find themselves sitting at the table in the kitchen. Quinn had offered to make dinner since Dean had traveled all the way there, and Dean instantly requested double bacon cheeseburgers; double on the bacon. Quinn giggles as she watches Dean polish off his second burger and take the time to sip from her beer.

"That's was delicious," Dean praises, flashing Quinn a wide grin as he pats his stomach jokingly.

"Quinn, I wanted to talk to you about joining Dean on his travels," Bobby's suggestion causes Quinn's gaze to snap in his direction, "We both know you are going to end up get restless hanging around here, and Dean could use some help with research."

Quinn looks down at her gloved hands, curious thoughts causing a whirlwind in her head as they turn inward, "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"He'll do all the Hunting, and you can sit back and do research."

Thinking over the idea, Quinn nods reluctantly, "If you think it's for the best. I wouldn't mind a road trip."

For the next two and a half years, Quinn and Dean spend their time taking our paranormal entities and witches. The awkwardness in the beginning faded as the two grew close and learned more about each other. They shared common factors; their taste in music, their restlessness of staying in one area for an extensive amount of time, and their celebratory shots at a bar after each successful hunt.

"Hey."

The husky voice pulls the steel-grey eyes from the starlit sky, Quinn turning to look at her companion. Dean, now twenty-four years old, slides up on the hood of the Impala, giving her a small, saddened smile. She knew this isn't any easier on him than it is on her and she manages a weak smile of her own.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asks, his green eyes somber, but understanding.

Quinn nods, swallowing thickly, "I need to find a way to fix this. I need to learn how to control this curse before I lose myself."

The silence that falls over them is broken shortly after, Dean turning his gaze up at the stars, "You will come back, right?"

Quinn flashes him a watery smile, "Like I can stay away. Hey, Dean?" Dean glances over at her curiously, "Can you promise me something?" Seeing the nod, she inhales deeply, "If there's ever a time, where I can't recognize reality from fantasy, can you do me a favor and put a bullet in my head?"

Dean chokes on the air in his lungs, "You can't make me promise something like that!"

Her eyes tear up, but she blinks them back, trying not to break down, "Please, Dean. I don't want to end up in a psych ward, or worse. Please."

Dean muses over the idea, before sighing, "Okay. If I agree to this, you have to agree to my end of this bargain," She nods tentatively, "No Hunting," Her eyes widen at his words, and he smiles sadly at her response, "We both know what it does to you, and I can't stand seeing you in pain."

"What if I'm protecting someone, or myself?"

"As long as you don't go looking for it," he compromises.

Both of them slide off of the hood as a bus begins to draw near. As it is in the life they live, deals are sealed with a kiss, and Quinn places a gloved hand on his cheek. Pulling herself up to the tips of her toes, she places a small, friendly kiss on his lips. The sorrow swirling within her core becomes too much and the tears she fought so hard to keep back escape. Embracing her dear friend, she feels him place a kiss on the top her head. Pulling back, she gives him a watery grin as he lifts the hood to her duster jacket and pulls it up and over the top of her head, casting a shadow over her face.

"Until we meet again, Bright-Eyes."

"Until then, Tiger."

A saddened chuckle leaves his lips, "You're never going to let that nickname go, are you?"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Lifting her bag over her shoulder, she gives him a weak smile before climbing onto the bus.

Neither of them know it won't be another two, almost three, years until Quinn receives a phone call from Bobby telling her, her friend is dead, effectively bringing her home.

No one is ready for what follows.

Thanks for reading. For those who might ask, the nickname Tiger is in referenced from Dean rocking out to 'Eye of the Tiger' (I figure he's the type to do it more than once). Please leave a review and let me know what you think so far. The next chapter will probably be up tomorrow night.