Get It While You Can

Rating: T

Summary: Through Season 1, starts episode 2. Searching for their father, Sam and Dean end up in Colorado hunting a wendigo – where they meet Jayne Gibson, an angry, dirty, bruised up hunter looking for her stepsister, Lynn Juarez. That meeting will change everything.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Supernatural. All I got to my name is Jayne and Lynn.

"In this world, if you read the papers darlin'
You know everybody's fighting on with each other.
You got no one you can count on babe
Not even your own brother.
So if someone comes along
He gonna give you some love and affection
I'd say get it while you can."

"Get It While You Can," Janis Joplin

Prologue: Then

Palo Alto, California. November 2, 2005...

There was an itch at the back of his skull.

There was always an itch at the back of his skull. He should be used to it by now. Even when he put the skins to sleep, it still felt this way: like a buzzing, persistent itch at the back of the skull, inside the skull, that never went away. An itch that could never be scratched.

He'd learned to live with the itch long ago, and he ignored it now, focusing on the road before him. The car purred and growled beneath him, taking the corners seamlessly. It was a well-oiled, glamorous machine that ate up the highway with effortless speed. Truthfully, if he had his way, it wouldn't ride so low and hug the road so tight… he wasn't sure he liked feeling every bump and dip as he steered his way through downtown Palo Alto. It wasn't the most uncomfortable he'd ever been – not by a long shot – but being used to discomfort simply made him less keen to take on more of it.

It should have been dark as pitch out, but dark as pitch didn't exist this close to civilization. The sun had set hours ago, but bright lights lined the streets and sharp headlights cut through the tinted windshield. Cars and pedestrians and storefronts flew past him. Finally, he steered the car into a dark, empty parking lot behind a long row of white townhouses that faced a nearby residential street.

There was a woman waiting in the parking lot, and though he knew her well, this version was still strange to him. She stood in a circle of harsh yellow light, under a tall, ugly streetlamp. Her pretty chestnut hair was long and flouncy like some long forgotten seventies movie star, and her full lips were red like blood. She advanced on the car with a dangerous smile, her body swaying back and forth seductively as she moved.

Her eyes were huge, black and empty.

"Sure took you long enough, sugar," she drawled at him as he climbed out of the car. He grunted in reply. A surprisingly balmy breeze was blowing in from the direction of the ocean, ruffling his hair at the base of the skull. Not that the ocean was anywhere near the abandoned parking lot, of course. Not that it mattered how warm the air was, or how gentle the breeze stirring up the trees and his new skin's hair. He'd long been dead to these sensations, and now so was the young man itching at the back of his skull.

"That skin you wearing giving you some trouble?" she asked.

He grunted again and shook his head in the negative, once.

"Cat got your tongue?" She sidled up next to him and rested her hand on his chest. He leaned against the side of the bright orange car, letting her lean on him and gently scratch her long red nails over the thin white cotton of the vessel's shirt. "Don't be all coy with me, baby. I'll get your tongue later."

She winked at him, and he smiled in spite of himself.

"There's my man," she whispered, and stepped away from him. "They'll be back soon. I got a report about that old black car, and it's headed for their street." She jerked her head towards the row of interconnected townhouses at the back of the parking lot, separated from the pavement by a short expanse of tall grass and a dumpy metal fence, with nothing to see but dark windows and back patio doors. "Our old friend took out that pretty little blonde thing just minutes ago, and her screams were delicious. All that's left is for this one…" Here, she scratched her nails over his chest again. "…to bring the heat."

He rolled his eyes, because he loved her and all - as much as something like him could love anything - but she always sounded like a cheesy Bond villain. She clucked her tongue at him.

"Don't roll those eyes at me, baby. It hurts my feelings."

The itch at the back of his skull was getting stronger. It brought the same old feelings that all the skins brought with them – confusion, fear, panic, anger. He ignored the itch, he ignored the questions being screamed at him from inside the stolen skull, and he ignored the threats and the curse words and the demands. He brushed a strand of chestnut hair out of his girl's pretty, pouting, borrowed face and pressed a kiss to those brand new blood red lips.

"Let's get this over with," he said gruffly.

She grinned wickedly and clapped her hands like an excited little girl. "I can't wait."

They crossed the parking lot, leaving the car behind. She held his hand as they left the pavement and trudged through the long grass, purposely walking a few steps ahead of him so he could enjoy the seductive sway of her hips. The sky overhead was clear and the moon was bright, casting everything in dim blue light, and making his girl's new brown hair shimmer and shine. He could almost pretend they were out for a romantic stroll.

Soon, they weaved their way around the fences, and through a rusty gate into the backyard of one of the little white row houses. His girl grinned at him with her stolen red lips and led him up the back steps. He heard music playing softly behind the patio door. She looked up at the second-floor window above the backyard, glowing softly with lamplight.

"Wait for it," she whispered.

They didn't wait long. Minutes later, the low rumble of an engine sounded out from the street in front of the house. It cut out suddenly. There was a brief pause, and then a car door slammed. Heavy footsteps jogged up the front walk. The engine began to rumble again, and then the car must have pulled away from the curb and drove off, because the rumble faded away. He heard the front door creak open and slam shut.

"Jess?" a man's voice called from inside. "You home?"

Then there was nothing. He looked at the woman beside him, and she grinned, hands balled up under her chin in excitement. "Almost," she mouthed at him. She took his hand and backed down the steps, into the yard, leading him with her. They both looked up at the window, still softly glowing. A shadow crossed in front of the shade.

"Now," she hissed, her mouth spreading in a wicked smile that strangely lit up her solid black eyes.

He closed his eyes and lifted his arm. Heat scorched him from the inside out, burning blazing heat that licked a trail up from his chest through his limbs, and concentrated in his uplifted hand. Horrified screaming echoed from inside his head, panicked shouts and demands bouncing off the skull. He ignored it, he pushed it back, and he focused on the heat, the rising scorching heat. He heard the flare up and the crackle of flames.

"No!" the man shouted from inside the house. "Jess! No!"

He opened his eyes. His borrowed hand was fine, completely intact with no sign of burns. But the town-home before him was ablaze, huge thick columns of black smoke funneling up into the night sky and molten orange and red flames licking through the window and over the roof tiles, spreading quickly all around the second story. The whole place reeked of wood smoke and sulfur, and he could hear the screaming.

An engine rumbled nearby, and his woman grabbed his hand. "Time for us to go."

They moved quickly back to the abandoned parking lot. By the time they reached the bright orange car, sirens were wailing through the night. The glow of the fire was clearly visible from the parking lot as it engulfed the tiny townhouse.

There was still shouting inside his head, and the itch was getting stronger and stronger. He frowned, pushing it back, not used to fighting so hard. The vessel was supposed to get weaker over time, not louder, not more persistent.

Beside him, his girl laughed wildly, throwing her head back and tossing her glossy chestnut hair. "Look at it burn," she whispered, holding his hand again. "Listen to those screams. It's fantastic. So much destruction and all of it wasted on such a weak little boy. Good thing it's all ours now."

He nodded stiffly, squeezing back on her hand. She laughed again.

"I'll call him," she said. "He'll be so pleased. Sam Winchester's pretty perfect life has officially gone up in flames."