Hey, chickadees! This is my first fanfic, ever. I was just sitting around one day, watching Supernatural when I thought of how much funnier some of the hilarious moments could be if Sam was a girl, and that sparked my desire to write this. I hope you all can enjoy this is much as I am! Please leave me reviews with your thoughts on what you like/didn't like, but be courteous about it. Constructive criticism works so much better than just putting someone on blast.

This piece of writing is based off of the original pilot episode of Supernatural, a few creative tweaks. Some dialogue from the episode and another version pilot episode's script were taken, but not 100% of it.

Anyhoo, read on, chickadees!

Your friendly neighbor, Moondrop162.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any part of Supernatural, despite my most fervent prayers. I don't take any credit for the show or characters that show up in this piece of fiction. I am merely writing for my own enjoyment, as well as that of my muse. Let's get started, shall we?

There weren't many things that scared Samantha Winchester anymore. After she knew first-hand what went bump in the night, spiders, bad hair days, her college midterms, awkward confrontations, and not getting a boy she wanted stopped making her stomach churn. Hell, they just plain made her bored. And tired. She didn't see why so much energy had to be spent on worrying about pointless things when she'd almost died countless times at the hands of an angry poltergeist or werewolf.

So, when she heard the sound of someone sneaking around in her home, she started awake more with annoyance and a feeling of calculating coldness than fear. Her brother and father had taught her how to fight hand-to-hand combat, and though she didn't get the everyday rigorous practice she'd had with her older brother Dean, she kept up as best she could with her busy schedule by stopping by a dojo every now and then. So, that being said, she wasn't worried that she was in danger of being hurt. No, Sam could handle herself. She was pissed because tonight she finally hadn't had any nightmares and had been getting some much-needed sleep, and this… asshole had the gall to come into her home and wake her up. Of all people, this dipshit had to choose a

Winchester. Any pain following was totally justified in Sam's mind.

Without making a sound she slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her partner, and didn't even spare him a glance as she slipped out the bedroom door. Sam hugged the walls, staying in the shadows, waiting for a sign of the intruder's presence. She peered into the bathroom from her hiding place and noticed the window was open, the shade blowing slightly in the breeze. She scowled. At least he hadn't broken her window; she would have reamed his ass if there was damage to her home. She didn't have the money for this shit.

A shadow moved across a doorway and Sam hushed her thoughts, slinking from her place by the wall to behind the door the shadow had been heading for, the floorboards creaking beyond. She pressed herself as close to the wall as she could and waited. She knew her home, knew which boards to skip over so as to stay completely silent. This stranger did not, and she heard more than saw him walk through the doorway and out into the living room. He was about six feet tall, and Sam felt a little wary being only five-nine herself, but her confidence never wavered.

Once the man was in open space she lunged, balling her fist and throwing it for the back of his head. Catching her totally off-guard, the guy turned around and caught her arm, twisting it behind her back. She bit her lip as she started to yelp at the unexpected pain, but she couldn't help the small squeak, and as soon as it filled the silence like a foghorn, the intruder lessened the pressure on her arm. Sam took the opportunity and yanked herself out from his grasp and spun around, going for another punch, this time in his stomach. The guy smoothly caught her fist in his hand and pulled her around until the positions had switched and shoved her harshly on the shoulders, sending her reeling back into the next room. Damn, this wasn't supposed to be what was happening. She never counted on the guy actually knowing how to fight back. And not only could he fight, he was good at it… maybe better than she was. Fuck.

The stranger stalked towards her into the room, but she was already balanced on her feet again. She backed up and turned so that she had the wall to her back a few feet behind her instead of the couch and windows, and crouched defensively. The guy stopped two feet away from her, and Sam just stood there, watching him. Pale light from the windows gave her little help in actually seeing the man, but it didn't matter. This would be over soon, one way or another.

She aimed for his face, which he easily blocked, knocking her arm away and leaving her completely exposed to the punch he sent that connected with her cheek. She took a few steps back from the impact. The light from the outside was shit for seeing his face, but Sam had noticed how the fist coming towards her slowed before it hit her cheek to lessen the blow. Damn prick was going soft on her. Now this was personal, and Sam was out for blood. She righted herself and sent him a glare that he couldn't see but, admittedly, made her feel a bit better.

She quickly kicked up with her right foot, hoping to hit his chin, and she almost did, but the guy ducked out of the way at the last moment. She felt a sliver of dismay and the first shred of concern when her kick didn't land with skin, but instead fell back to the floor. She had always been fast. Very fast. She'd been hoping to catch him off-guard with her speed, but he had dodged her nonetheless. The only person she had ever met who could dodge her speed was… no… it couldn't be.

Sam didn't have time to think as another punch was headed for her face. Instinctively she brought up her arm to stop the blow but the guy got her gut instead. She 'oofed' and bent forward out of reflex, giving the man the opportunity to wrap his arm around her neck and whirl her around and to the ground like a ragdoll. His knee pressed gently but firmly on her hips, pinning her legs, and a hand gripped her neck. His other hand held her right fist to his chest, and Sam's left hand clung to the arm gripping her neck. She panted, fatigued from the unexpected workout, and closed her eyes in defeat. Her cheek and stomach ached and her brain felt slow, like it had been left behind where she'd been standing before she'd been flung to the floor.

'So much for keeping up with practice…' she thought ruefully. Her eyes snapped open when she heard a voice she would know anywhere. A voice that was low and husky, and reminded her of cheap motels, cheaper alcohol, and even cheaper food. A voice that was both comforting and frightening. She had heard it both soft and gentle, to ease away the nightmares, and barking out orders, leaving her no room for any argument.

"Whoa, easy sunshine!" Sam's eye's turned incredulous as she strained to use the barely-there lighting to try and make out the face. All she could get were the twinkles in his eyes.

"Dean?" Sam's voice sounded strange to her own ears. Angry, hopeful, confused, sad, and overjoyed… she couldn't tell which. Her older brother chuckled. The grip on her neck loosened and the leg on her hips disappeared. Any doubts she'd had left flew out the window at that chuckle. "You scared the crap outta me!"

"That's 'cause you're outta practice." His voice sounded smug and arrogant, and sparked Sam's anger. She used the hand against his chest and the grip on his arm to roll him over her and hooked her leg under his and brought his knee up to his chest, using his own weight to keep him anchored to the floor. Dean released her hand and brought his up to his leg as he laughed.

"Or not," he said with a laugh, "get off me." She felt better, having proven herself and released him, scrambling up to her feet and using her grip on his arm to pull him up. He brushed imaginary dirt off his jacket as annoyance and confusion settled over Sam. Two years, two long years she had gone without any contact from either her dad or her brother, and here he shows up out of the blue? She had a life here, what the hell was he expecting from her, just barging in like this? She was done with that life, she'd gotten herself out before she died either at the hands of a monster or her own personal demons, and she was happy here. Him being here after two years of silence could mean nothing good for her.

Sam scowled and put her fists on her hips. "Dean, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Well, I was looking for a beer." His hand came up and ruffled her hair in that too-familiar way that he'd done so often before when she had needed consolation and John had never been around. It made her uncomfortable for Dean to do that after their falling out, like nothing had happened. She slapped his hand away and huffed in frustration.

"What the hell are you doing here?" She repeated her question. She heard Dean exhale slightly before answering.

"Okay, alright. We gotta talk." Sam rolled her eyes; she didn't have the patience for Dean to beat around the bush, not tonight.

"Uh, the phone?" She knew her tone was brusque and rude, and she felt a little bad. It wasn't as if Dean has been the one to kick her out of the family, and honestly, she understood why he never came after her. He always listened to their father, no matter what the order, and always protected his little sister in whatever way was best for her. If she felt leaving had been the best thing for her to do, and he believed that being a Hunter was really killing her, then he would have done all he could to stick to her wishes and keep her from being involved with him and his… "job".

"If I'd'a called, would you've picked up?" His voice wasn't laughing anymore. No, it was quiet and carefully lacking emotion. She knew this tone. This was the tone he used with strangers and girls he picked up at bars. The tone he even had used for their dad a few times… but never on her. It was his guarded tone he fell back on when he wasn't comfortable showing his pain or concern or any other emotion he felt made him seem weak. Her shame increased. She had hurt Dean by leaving, and it didn't sound like these past two years had done much to help. Dean had always been her best friend before she left, and it hurt to know that she had caused him pain like that. The memory of his heartbroken face as her bus for California pulled away would haunt her forever.

She answered his question with silence. No, she wouldn't have picked up the phone if Dean had called her, but she didn't want to say that out loud. It felt dirty and wrong.

Before anything else could be said, the light in the room clicked on as her boyfriend Roger stood blearily in the doorway.

"Sam?" He slurred. Both her and Dean turned their attention to the brunette man that was slightly taller than her brother. Sam bit her lip worriedly and glanced over at Dean, groaning internally. She'd forgotten all about Roger in the heat of the moment, and if the glare on Dean's face was anything to go by, Roger was now on Dean's blacklist.

"Roger, hey. Uh…" Sam turned her attention to Dean (who was still glaring at a sleepy Roger) and shifted her feet awkwardly. "Dean, this is my boyfriend, Roger."

It took Roger a moment before his eyes opened wider, incredulous.

"Wait, your brother Dean?" Ah yes, Sam's past estrangement from her family was common knowledge among her friends. Roger had tried, in the beginning, to get answers from her, but after three months of less than nothing he got the message: leave it alone. He hadn't brought up Dean or her dad much for a while now, but Sam knew that he worried about her connection to them often. Roger smiled slightly and Sam had to draw on her impressive reserves of self-control not to flinch and look away from Roger. Only moments before she had been attacking Dean with the intent to cause him pain, and had spent the last two years pretending like him and her dad didn't exist. And Roger, having always wanted to meet her family, was happy Dean was here. He probably thought that Sam's brother was here to mend bridges. Fat chance of that happening anytime soon. Dean would never ask her to come back; he wouldn't want to admit he missed her, and he most likely felt he was protecting her by keeping her out, which brought her back to the thought that it couldn't be a good reason Dean was here.

"Nice boxers." Dean smiled at Roger in what anyone else would see as charming, but Sam could still read her brother like a book it seemed; he was mocking Roger. She glanced at her boyfriend's choice of sleep attire and closed her eyes. Oh boy. "I love the Smurfs."

It was apparent to Sam that her brother didn't like Roger; probably had something to do with him being so freakishly over-protective, but Roger didn't seem to notice. If he did, then he didn't seem to mind. No, Roger just smiled at Dean, possibly at Dean, obviously thinking he was making polite conversation. Sam knew better. The subtle sarcasm in Dean's voice had told her loud and clear that he was mocking her boyfriend for his childish and ridiculous choice of pajamas. Plus, Sam had a very distinct memory of Dean throwing a TV clicker at her face and screaming at her to, "turn that shit off" when she had turned the Smurfs on some nameless day in some nameless motel of her childhood. Her dad, of course, had been gone.

"Thanks, Dean." Dean smirked and nodded, turning back to Sam. He hadn't changed one bit since Sam had seen him last. His dirty blonde hair was still short and spikey, and his light green eyes were still deep and full of emotion, hidden behind the masks and shells of arrogance, sarcasm and stubbornness he had built for himself. But they had always spoken more to Sam of her brother's emotions and thoughts than words ever could have, and she was kind of glad that he was so open to her. With the things said at that last fight between Sam and her dad… she wouldn't have been surprised if Dean hadn't opened up to her ever again.

"Sure. Well, anyway, I gotta borrow your… girlfriend, here, and talk about some private family business but uh… nice meeting you." Sam frowned. Dean has almost choked on the word "girlfriend" and she knew he thought it was anything but nice to meet Roger. Poor Roger didn't even know he was being made fun of. This thought made her angry, and rightfully so. Her brother broke into her home, beat her up, and decided he gets to make fun of her boyfriend? No.

"No." Sam muttered softly. Dean's smirk fell from his face as Sam walked over to stand next to Roger, who placed his arm around her shoulders. "No, whatever you wanna say, you can say it in front of him."

Dean stared at Sam and the hand on her shoulder for a moment before turning to face the couple and answering. "Okay. Umm…" he hesitated for a moment before looking Sam dead in the eyes, "Dad hasn't been home in a few days." Sam scoffed. This was nothing new, and frankly was a piss-poor excuse for Dean to use to come see her. At God-only-knows-what-hour-in-the-morning, the least he could do is fucking admit that he missed her.

"So he's working overtime on a Miller Time shift, he'll stumble back in sooner or later." Sam let the bitterness seep into her voice, meeting Dean's glare. Dean lowered his eyes and shook his head, catching the reference she made to a brand of beer and how much their father drank himself unconscious. He brought his eyes up and a new steely glint shone out from them.

"Dad's on a hunting trip… and he hasn't been home in a few days." Silence. Sam's mind went blank. She could feel Roger's eyes on her, curious and worried, as she struggled to process what that meant. It meant that her dad had missed the promised return date by enough time to make Dean worried, and that meant that something was keeping her dad from coming back. Something supernatural. Her dad was a legend of a Hunter, and the paranormal had done something to him. Sam gulped.

"Roger, excuse us. We have to go outside." Roger nodded silently but stared at her and Dean for a moment longer before heading back to bed. Sam walked into the living room and grabbed some clothes out from the basket of clean laundry she'd just folded that morning and walked to the bathroom. "Give me two minutes." She tried not to notice that her hands shook when she pulled her pants on.

She glanced in the mirror out of reflex before she left the bathroom. Her straight brown hair was pulled in a messy ponytail, and many wisps had escaped in the excitement of attacking her brother. Her hazel blue eyes were wide with concern and what she could only name as fear. Yes, she was pissed at her dad and there was some shit her had put both her and Dean through that she wasn't ready to forgive just yet, but she still loved the bastard. Her was her father, after all. The only one on this earth she could point out as her parent. By all rights, Dean was as much her dad as he was her brother for all that he had raised her while their dad was away, but John Winchester would always be her father. No amount of anger was going to change that. Samantha had never gotten to know her mother; she'd died on the day Sam turned six months old, and trying to remember anything from that young was pointlessly stupid. No, all she had of her mother was the picture on her nightstand where her parents cradled little baby Sammy in their arms, smiling. Well, that and the stories Dean and had told her, but those too were limited as Dean had only been four when she'd died.

Her small and slender eyebrows furrowed in a frown, and she was biting her bottom lip again. It was a nervous habit of hers that apparently she'd inherited from her mom. Something else she had of her mom, Sam supposed grimly. Her cheeks were dusted with a light natural blush, and for the most part, her skin was unblemished on her face. She'd been lucky and puberty had never given her problems with acne. Sam huffed a breath, puffing out her cheeks and opened the door, pulling the tie out of her hair and letting it fall down past her shoulders.

Sam used her hands as a makeshift brushed and pulled all the unruly wisps back into another secure ponytail, and walked over to where Dean stood. He was in the exact same spot where he'd been talking to her earlier, and his eyes were looking down at the floor. He seemed to be lost in thought.

Sam grinned mischievously as an idea popped into her head, and she silently moved toward him, slowing her pace to keep from drawing his attention. She didn't stop until she had crept behind Dean and a little to the side of him. He still hadn't looked up, and she took the chance to stand up on her toes and get her mouth next to his ear. She drew in a slow, silent breath and waited a heartbeat before blowing it all out in a rush into his ear.

Dean jumped and simultaneously ducked his head and brought his hands up to swat at his ear. Sam snorted and tried to cover it up as a cough, but Dean knew better and spun around, glaring at her.

"Samantha… What. The. Hell." She rolled her eyes. Dean could be such a drama queen sometimes.

"Don't call me Samantha. And it was payback for you breaking and entering into my home, so I was entirely justified." Dean scowled at her, and she waited for the retort that he would need to throw at her; he always had to have the last word. Instead, and much to her surprise, he merely shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets and walked toward the front door. His voice drifted back to her, stiff and annoyed, as he stalked away, not looking back to see if she'd follow.

"C'mon Sam."

And there you have it. Chapter one. I had to watch that actual fight scene in the episode upwards of ten times to get it right. They just HAD to fight in the dark, didn't they?

Please R&R, but courteously!

Loves!

MoonDrop162