A/N: For those of you who are familiar with my story The Green Eyed Monster (and those of you who aren't), this is Part 1 of Kaitlyn's backstory.

I'm going to write at least this chapter in first person just for something a little different. It makes me nervous and a little giddy to do it this way because I find first person scary. For those interested in stats, I think it'll end up shaking out at 5-10 chapters given what I hope to do with it.

Many thanks to stephaniew for encouraging me to chase all of the butterflies my muse flutters in front of me. I would be nothing without her support and she's been asking for more Kait, so this one's for her...

Any mistakes in the final version are mine because I wanted it to be at least a little bit of a surprise and Steph is my beta.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural...I do, however, for better or for worse own Kait.

Chapter One: Whiskey Girl

This kinda bar really isn't my scene. My taste in music is eclectic, but I'm more sawdust and line dancin' than hair bands and pool halls. Some might say I'm lookin' for trouble or spoilin' for a fight. But I'm really not out for either.

I am lookin' for something though. Someone anyway. Someone very specific. Dean Winchester. On second thought, I'm wrong. I hear Dean's a handful...and I'm definitely lookin' for that kinda trouble.

Hunters are a relatively tight knit bunch. Everybody knows somebody who knows somebody else, but most know the name Winchester better than their own. It didn't take long to find out he was in Reno. I drove straight through the night from Tulsa to get here.

Throwing back a shot of Jack Daniels, I wait on a bar stool thinking about how much my life has changed. Ya see, seventy-two hours ago I learned the hard way I was never gonna be Daddy's Kaity Bear again. When you salt and burn your folks, you bury parts of yourself. You leave them behind. Scattered in the wind like your parents' ashes.

Someday I'll get that thing. Whatever the hell it was. My gut says it won't be any time soon and it may be the last thing I do, but I'll do it.

Before you go assuming I'm lookin' to get Dean's help or that I wanna team up with him, lemme stop you. That isn't what I want. I've been hunting since I was 15. I'd caught Mama and Daddy with shotguns full of rock salt and a bloody machete. Life wasn't the same after that. I can handle myself.

I've tried almost everything to chase the chill of losing my parents away, but nothin's helped. Closest I've come was booze, but there wasn't enough burn to warm me in Daddy's liquor cabinet. I finally decided maybe alcohol wasn't the answer. Somehow I reasoned flesh was. That what I needed was to lose myself in lust with one of my own kind. Someone who could understand the loss I'm going through because he's lived it. A hunter.

Why Dean and not some random schmuck? Simple. I have to make a choice. I've gotta decide if I'm gonna go back to school and act like nothing's happened. If I'm gonna say to hell with this life or if I'm gonna keep doing what I was born to do - hunt and kill things people don't want to admit exist.

What does any of this have to do with Dean? Come on. John Winchester's boy is a player and everybody knows it. He uses women like toilet paper. I'm not lookin' to fall in love or get attached. That's nothin' but trouble. Which is why Dean's perfect. We can use each other. He serves a purpose.

I watch him walk in like he owns the place. His stride is confident and easy. This is the point where I'd usually snicker and say no man deserved to be that sure of himself. That somebody needed to teach the joker a lesson.

But the way his worn jeans hang from his hips. The soft smile on his lips and the fall of his hair. You wouldn't normally call a man pretty, but damn. He's easily one of the best looking men I've ever met. Another reason he's a good pick.

He slides onto the stool next to mine and my breath catches at the vibrant green of his eyes as he looks me over.

"Haven't seen you around before," he says casually, his long fingers curling around the tumbler the bartender places in front of him. "New in town?"

Let me be clear: I am so not that kind of girl. The one that falls for the charms of a man who's easy on the eyes. Certainly not one who bites at such cheesy lines. It's all in his delivery.

For the record, all the rumors you've heard about Dean's smile making you wanna willingly give up your panties are completely true. I feel naked, but not vulnerable. Snapping back into focus, I laugh. It feels good to laugh. For the first time in days I feel alive. I consider my choice of words carefully before answering, "Passin' through."

He nods and I find myself struggling to focus as his tongue scrapes across his lips. His mouth looks edible. The tiny freckle drawing your eyes to it like a homing beacon. I'm far from being a nun. I've never considered leaning over and helping myself to a kiss with a perfect stranger. Not until now. He's practically asking for it.

"Me, too," he says, sipping his drink.

"Oh, yeah?" I ask. Resting an elbow on the bar and slipping my fingers into my hair, I lean closer. Good Lord. He smells like warm leather and spicy aftershave. I can tell by the way his eyes slide over my body that he's on the prowl. This'll be easier than I'd thought.

"Yep," he says, popping the 'p'. "Business or pleasure?"

I shrug. "Maybe both?"

His eyes sparkle as he sticks out his hand. "I'm Dean, by the way."

"Kait," I answer shaking it.

"Well, Kait," he says, leaning closer. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"It's 2005, Dean," I tease. Closing the distance, I pluck his mouth with mine. My tongue flickers against the bud at the center of his upper lip as I pull away. I signal the barkeep and order two more shots. "I think you should let me buy you one."

He smiles before stroking his thumb over his lips. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," I tell him. Oh, boy, kissing this man was definitely a pleasure. Warm and firm, the tang of his chapstick making my head swim more than the bourbon in my glass. "How long you in town for?"

"Couple more days," he answers, knocking back half his drink. "You?"

"Not sure yet," I say with grin, trailing my fingers over the buttons on his shirt. "Why? You offering to show me around?"

He shakes his head. "Afraid this is the only place I've been other than workin' with my dad."

Raising an eyebrow, I nibble my lower lip. He watches intently. I can feel his eyes on me. So I reel him in, timing it just right. "Guess the only thing you could give me a tour of would be your motel room then."

Dean chokes on his whiskey, probably because he isn't expecting my bold remark. His glass hitting the bar with unintentional roughness, he sputters. His eyes wide as they shoot to mine.

"What's the matter, Dean?" I taunt, "Cat got your tongue?"

A big palm lands on my hip, sipping beneath the edge of my blouse and brushing along the waist of my jeans. I'm suddenly aware I've lost the upper hand. His eyes are dark and clouded with lust as he stares down at me. It's a struggle to stay still as I await his next move.

His mouth slides to my ear. "No," he breathes hotly, "but I have a feeling a Kait is about to."

My lips find his quickly. The kiss he gives me is soul searing. My tongue ghosting against his, I silently accept everything he offers me. Lust. Heat. Passion. Intense pleasure. The sweetest sins imaginable. But most of all, a way escape the pain that eats at my heart.

I pull back, I admire how the shade of my gloss now stains his lips. My hand finds his as I slide off my seat, our bodies aligning and pressing together. I almost don't recognize my own voice, need dripping from it as I pant, "Let's get outta here..."