Hi all! I've decided to put this story up while continuing my other story as well. This one is a series of one-shots between Dean and my own OC. I'm thinking there will be ten chapters, give or take one or two. Please feel free to review/comment, they all mean a lot! Hope you like it!

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural

Song: Travelin' Soldier-Dixie Chicks

Chapter One: Outcasts

Stillwater, Montana.

A small town set on a big piece of land. Mostly home to trees, elk, and bison. The population of the town numbers out to around nine hundred people. All the homes spread out of long stretches of roads, most of which are in need of repair. There's the main part of town, which is where the plaza is located, different shops of all kinds set up around an open wood-board floored area to attract the tourists who wander over from Yellowstone National Park. Most everyone lives between ten to twenty minutes from there, although some families live even further.

It's simple to tell apart those who are residents to those who are just passing through. There isn't anything glaringly different about the residents of the town, per say, just an air about them. They're proud of their small town, and everybody knows everybody.

That doesn't mean that everybody gets along with everybody though. It's not the perfect 'American small town'. Some families hold grudges against others, the women have their natural gossip, and kids get bullied at school.

It's easy to gossip in a town in which there is only one main supermarket. Only one main church too. Seemingly cut off from the rest of the country due to their geographical location, the women spread news (both true and false) like the wildfires that threaten their homes in the summer months.

The Bradshaws call this small town home though. Have been for the last thirty years.

Leroy Jepson Bradshaw, the head of the family and married to Abigail Donner for the past twenty-three years. He's a well known, well respected face around town; always offering a helping hand or a kind word. He raises his children under a tight belt, making sure they know right from wrong.

His six-foot broad frame makes his presence known in a room. Black hair, graying on the ends, is kept cut short. A humble and easy going man, he runs the General Store in town, selling miscellaneous objects, ranging from simple groceries, to diapers, to batteries, to gun powder.

Abigail runs the books for the store, keeping on top of finances and taxes. Calculating product and revenue, managing sales and helping decide which items are no longer in demand.

Together they've spent their lives providing for their three children.

Derek is the eldest of the three. Twenty-two years old, he gets his looks from his father. Tall, dark haired, and as charismatic as John F. Kennedy, Derek Bradshaw has had a fascination with planes since before he could even walk. He was a popular kid in school, playing safety on the high school football team, as well as being elected his class's vice principal. When it was time for college, the Air Force Academy was the only place he wanted to go. Three years later, and he's as happy as can be. His one downside; his short temper and overly colorful language.

The middle child, Jackie, is only three years younger than Derek. The pretty child in the family, she stands only five foot six. Long wavy blonde hair genetically inherited from her mother, green eyes from her father. Jackie focuses more on her studies than she does the boys asking her out on dates. Not that she needs to put in so much focus; she gets straight A's without much effort. At nineteen years old and a senior in high school, she was committed to attend Montana State University next fall.

Finally, Marah, the baby of the family, the child who wasn't planned for. Her parents love her still, just as much as they do Derek and Jackie, she was just a surprise. A mix of both her siblings before her, though completely different in almost every way. Long auburn hair falls in waves, light hazel eyes always calculating what's around her. From the outside, she looks like a shy, quiet, polite girl at only seventeen years old. Manners drilled into her from day one, she's just starting to become her own person, questioning what her parents tell her, she never swears at them, or disrespected them. However, once she's with just her friends, she let's herself, her true self, be seen. She has a temper, a mouth like a sailor (her language even rivaling Derek's), and a 'take-no-shit' attitude. She has friends at school, though only a select few are close to her, those who don't talk to her regularly just think she's quiet and shy. They don't hear the opinion she has on everything.

Right now, the youngest of the Bradshaws stands behind the counter of Stillwater's local café. Unlike most businesses in town, Angela's Café is open Sunday mornings, albeit empty right now, given the ten o'clock Church service is in session. Marah tugs once at the apron she's required to have on, hating the white piece of fabric with a passion, while she wipes down countertop at the front bar.

The café is mostly empty for now, the only employees inside besides Marah herself being Betsy, a single mother who's lived in town for only the past few years, Marah thinks she must be in her mid-thirties, and Evelyn, a red-head who's a year older than Marah. They see each other often, go to the same high school, but never really talk outside of the café. The café's cook, Danny, sits atop the counter in the kitchen, his legs swinging back and forth, waiting for the orders to start coming in.

There are only a few patrons already present.

Old man Prichett sits in his usual booth by the window, watching the tourists walk down the sidewalk as he sips at his coffee (always ordered black, then he later asks for two sugar packets). He's laid out the newspaper in front of himself on the table, though his eyesight has been fading, and Marah knows he can't read a single word on the thing.

Hally Burns, or Hal as she tells everyone to call her by, sits in her usual seat as well, her weathered hands struggling to hold the menu steady. The seventy-year-old woman has lived in Stillwater all her life, meeting her husband here, who is now buried in the town cemetery after a heart attack two summers ago struck him suddenly.

Finally, the Ingrid twins. One of the few families in Stillwater who doesn't attend Sunday service, so the boys always show up in the mornings to grab some breakfast and study for whatever assignments they've put off completing all weekend. Jake and Nate Ingrid are only sophomores at the high school, but with their older sister having gone off to Princeton last fall; they've got a lot of pressure on them.

Everyone else in town is in Church, including the rest of Marah's family. She knew she'd be working this morning, so she had been told to attend Saturday night service. She'd protested for a good fifteen minutes, but had listened to her parents in the end, dragging her feet out the front door.

She looks up as the front door of the café opens, the bell jingling, sounding the entrance of the newest customer. Marah glances around, seeing both Betsy and Evelyn in the back talking to Danny about something or other. She lets a breath out through her nose, turning and tossing the rag into the sink before wiping her hands on the apron she wears.

She walks towards the café's newest visitor, who's listened to the sign at the front of the building and helped himself to an open booth. She can tell he's younger just by his side profile as she makes her way over, his blonde hair standing out in the sunlight that filters in through the windows. His hands are clasped together on top of the linoleum table, his jaw set. He wears a leather jacket and dark jeans, she doesn't recognize him, so he's not from around town.

"Good morning." Her voice is quiet, though polite, and it catches his attention. He looks up at her, and she immediately thinks of how pretty he is. Not pretty in the delicate sense of the word, but rough.

He has defined features, a strong jaw line, tan skin, blonde hair that's styled up in the front, and piercing green eyes. She also thinks, he looks as though something's bothering him, she can tell by the way he looks at her, but doesn't fully look at her. "Can I get you anything?" she offers, and he's struck with how sincere her words are, not sounding like she's saying them just because she's his waitress.

"Uh, coffee, black." His voice is gruff, more so than she expected, but she just smiles back at him.

"Sure thing." He nods his thanks, watching her turn and walk back to the kitchen area, before taking a deep breath and glancing out the window.

He closes his eyes briefly, taking another deep breathe, and can hear his father and younger brother shouting at each other again. He wonders, fleetingly, if Sammy had stormed out yet.

It had started over that damn college crap Sam was so obsessed with lately. Bringing it up once again, telling his dad now that he had applied to Stanford, of all places. Of course, John had gone off on how Sam couldn't go, John wouldn't let him go.

Dean understood where Sam was coming from. The kid wanted a normal life; they had grown up in motel rooms, eating greasy diner food and gas station hot dogs all their lives. Sam wasn't like Dean, wasn't as loyal to their father. That part, Dean couldn't wrap his head around. He didn't-

His thoughts are stopped when a cup of black coffee appears in front of him, he looks up again, seeing the same young girl standing there, a soft smile on her face. "Thank you." Dean tells her.

"Do you need anything else?" She asks, and Dean thinks for a moment. He almost says no, that he's all set. His lips purse together, and her gaze darts down to them for a moment before going back to his face.

"Do you mind sitting down for awhile?" Dean asks her, "I just'd like to talk to someone." Her eyebrows come together, lips pursing together, and it's then that Dean notices just how young she is. She can't be older than seventeen. "If, if you can't, then," He realizes how it's weird for a twenty-two year old to ask a seventeen year old if he can just talk to her.

"No!" she cuts him off quickly, then stammers as his blonde eyebrows rise at her, "T-that'd be fine, it's just, give me a moment, I know somewhere else we could go." Her brown eyes are shining, and Dean smiles at her. "I'll be right back." She promises him, before turning and walking quickly back to where he assumes the kitchen to be.

"I'm taking my break!" Marah calls out to the other three as she unties her apron, tossing it on a nearby chair.

"What!" Betsy barks at her, "The rush will be here in twenty minutes Marah!"

"I'm sure you can handle it, I'll be back, promise!" She's out of the kitchen before they can say anything more.

She sees the man waiting for her, and smiles when his eyes find hers. "Okay," she tells him, he stands up, pulling his leather jacket on closer to his body. It isn't until she's right next to him that Marah notices how tall he is. She only comes up to his shoulders.

She leads them out, the bell ringing and Hal's eyes watching. Dean's footfalls are heavy and loud against the concrete sidewalk, due to the military boots that dawn his feet. Marah's footfalls are light, and she takes almost two steps for each of his one. "So," She starts, and his green eyes look down at her, "What's your name again?" she phrases it as if he's told her already.

"Dean," he says, his voice gruff, and he stops when she puts a hand on his arm.

"We're crossing here," She tells him, nodding towards the street, "and I'm Marah." Dean just nods, and then proceeds to follow her across the street, and down the side of another road. Five minutes later, they come to an open area overlooking one of the rivers. "I like coming here sometimes," she tells Dean, feeling as though she should say something as she sits down in front of the bench, leaning back against it, Dean follows suit.

"It's nice." He agrees, looking out over the water. He's silent for a moment, and she doesn't say anything either. After another beat of silence, she speaks up.

"What's bothering you?" she asks him, and when Dean looks down at her, she looks away, heat rushing up her neck.

"It's my dad, and brother. They uh, don't get along too well." He's awkward with sharing, but it feels better talking about it.

She nods for him to continue.

"Yeah. Ya see, Sam, he's my brother, he wants to go to college real bad. Our Dad keeps telling him no."

"Why?"

"He'd be safer if he stayed with us. Our dad's real protective over us both, me over Sam too. We grew up, travelin' on the road a lot due to our dad's job. I get Sam wants to settle down somewhere, be a normal kid. It's just…" he trails off.

"You're dad wants him close so he can watch out for him." Marah says, and Dean makes a noise of agreement. "Well, it sounds like something that your dad and brother should figure out themselves." Dean looks at her eyes narrowed, "But I get why your in it too, though, I think you should trust Sam."

"I already trust'em."

"Then you should know he can look out for himself." For the next twenty minutes, Dean tells Marah (sparing the exact, gruesome, bloody details) most of what's going on between his dad and Sam. She listens intently, nodding along and offering her own opinion once and a while. She learns how they grew up on the road, motel to motel, and when she asks what they do for a living, he simply tells her:

"We save people."

And she accepts that. The more they talk, the more comfortable they grow with one another. She grows less awkward, he relaxes more.

"You know Dean," she tells him, "When I was eight, my teacher asked all of us what we wanted for Christmas. And I said my Pop-Pop, my grandfather, because he had died that year, and I missed him. I didn't get him back for Christmas, since you can't bring the dead back to life. But I learned that you should enjoy every moment you have with a person, since you don't know when they'll be gone. You should try to make them happy. If going to college will make Sam happy, then I'd let him go." Dean nods thoughtfully, and then pulls out his cell phone as it starts ringing.

"It's my Dad," he tells her, "I have to get back."

"Okay." Marah pushes herself off the ground, brushing the dirt off her jeans before offering a hand to Dean to help him up.

"I think I'm supposed to help you up." He tells her, as she helps him get off the ground.

"You were slow." She smirks up at him as he shakes his head, running a hand through his blonde hair.

"I bet you have a boyfriend or something, and I know I'm a bit older than you and I don't really give a rat's ass. So, could I call you sometimes? Or text, just to have someone to talk to besides my dad and Sam." In response, she holds out her hand for his phone, Dean gives it to her, watching as she programs her number into the device; after she gives it back, she hesitates. She's not one for hugs, always being the one who stands stock still if a random person gives her one, but if any situation ever called for one, Marah thinks this would be it. She wraps her arms around Dean, not successfully, only managing around his sides, and her ear rests against his sternum for a few moments.

He stands still for a moment, not really comfortable, before wrapping his arms around her as well. "You could write a letter." She jokes to him.

"You just watch for pigeons flying to your window."

That night, while Marah sits across from Jackie at the dinner table, she sends glances to her phone all throughout the meal. It sits a few feet away, on the coffee table in front of the couch. No cell phones allowed at the dinner table. Ever.

"You waiting to hear from someone?" Her mother asks. Abigail's hair is still pulled back since she put it that morning for church.

"Taylor's supposed to tell me what the algebra homework was." Marah lies, feeling like telling her parents that she's waiting to hear from a twenty-two year old guy she had an hour conversation with this morning.

"You didn't write it down in class?" her father asks from his spot on her left.

"I forgot." Marah says, looking down at the peas on her plate.

"You should've written it down." Her mom stresses.

"Can't I forgot some things?!" her voice rises, and a look from her father makes her shut her mouth. "Sorry."

A second later, she hears the sound of her phone vibrate on the table. "May I be excused?" she asks in a hurry, eyes pleading.

"Yes." Her father tells her, and Marah is out of her seat in a second, rinsing off her plate and placing it in the sink before rushing over. She grabs her phone and takes the stairs two at a time up to her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Please tell me what you think! I love reviews and all feedback is greatly appreciated. This chapter is based in 1999, about a year before Sam goes to Stanford.

Thanks for reading! Until next time!