A/N: This is a sequel to my fic Who's Got You?. You should read that one first. Please review. They help me breathe.

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing you recognize, but the originals are all mine, mwahahaha! Also, this fic would not be possible without the help of my partner in crime, DanieWinchester.

Rating: T for language and sexual references and situations

Kryptonite

"Damn it!" I swear vehemently.

I had the presence of mind to snap a picture when a very angry spirit was barreling down on me and now I couldn't get the damn thing to develop clearly. No matter how many times I tried, the picture continued to come out as a light blur, easily picked apart by critics as a camera flare. It was infuriating! And after six tries, I just don't have enough patience left to try it again. In fact, I'm more inclined to go find that damn ghost's grave and give it a piece of my mind for being such a pain in my ass.

Storming out of the make-shift dark room and slamming the door after me, I stomp across the motel room. Brennan glances up from where she's sprawled across a motel bed, munching on Cheerio's from the box and rapidly flipping through the channels on the television. The girl has some serious attention span issues.

"Give up?" she asks without looking away from the TV.

I just growl in response. I should have known that if Brennan, a photographer by trade, couldn't get the picture to come out, I wouldn't be able to either, but I just had to try. Maybe because I'm still not used to having a partner and I still sort of feel like I should do everything myself. Brennan was only assigned as my photographer about a month ago. Before that I'd been on my own, traveling around the country looking for anything supernatural that I could make a story out of. But now that I'm Paranormal Monthly's lead reporter, I've got a photographer, a Jimmy Olsen to travel with me.

"So, does that mean you're ready to go to the bar?" Brennan ventured, setting the Cheerio box on the floor and finally looking away from the television.

Rather than respond, I grab my jacket and start pulling it on. Brennan immediately leaps up from the bed and hurries to grab her own jacket and follow me out. Pretty much everything about Brennan is in contrast to me. Her hair is medium length, spiky, and brown while mine is long and blonde and painfully straight. She's spunky and upbeat as if she's got caffeine in her blood twenty-four/seven. I'm more reserved, pretty much obsessed with my work and much more introverted. Even how we're dressed sets us apart. She's wearing a red pleather jacket to my black, a halter-top that exposes her stomach to my plain T-shirt, a short skirt and tights to my jeans. She likes to dress up when we go to bars, even if they are podunk little places where ghost hunters hang out. She loves being the center of attention and starting fights, while I like to just fade into the crowd and casually talk up the clientele. We've had a few arguments over our differences in approach on that account already. Plus, it doesn't help that she's British and the accent immediately draws attention anyway. Actually, it's really something of a miracle that we've pretty much gotten along so far, although I'm still getting used to her and I'm sure she's still adjusting to me and this lifestyle, as well.

Ever since I ran into Sam and Dean Winchester about seven months ago, my signature style as a reporter has been to tag along with hunters to get their take as well as my own. In addition, going on hunts with hunters almost invariably assures that I'll find something substantial. The only problem is that hunters are inherently distrustful and hard to pin down. Finding another hunter that would let me go with them after Sam and Dean was damn near as difficult as tackling that fear demon. But now it's gotten easier. The hunters have started to trust me, are used to me showing up at their stomping grounds and have even given me a few names and places to find more stories. Plus, tossing out the Winchesters' name seems to work miracles. Just about everyone seems to know about them. And yet, I've still yet to see anything of them or even hear more than the passing comment of "Oh, yeah, I heard those boys were over in Colorado/Ohio/Louisiana last" from anyone. I try not to let it bother me, try to focus even more on the job and not think about how much I want to see Dean again. But Brennan is constantly asking about them and it doesn't help matters. So, every time we start a new story, head into another bar, my chest constricts and I search the room for any sign of a tall man with shaggy brown hair and a laptop or the cocky, smart alec with a popped collar whose been haunting my dreams. And every time I don't see them, my heart sinks and I head straight for the bar.

The one good thing about not seeing the Winchesters all this time is that I've had a chance to hone my own hunting skills. There's just no way for me to tag along on these hunts without becoming involved and I think that I'm starting to get kind of good at it. Even Brennan, who seems generally unphased by anything the world can throw at her, was kind of surprised by my hunting abilities when we went on that first hunt together and discovered a coven of vampires. In fact, I believe her exact words were, "Bloody hell, girl! Those were real freaking vampires and you kicked their arses!" But the point is that hopefully when I do run into the Winchester brothers again, they'll be impressed.

My car decides to behave tonight and start without any issues. Well, beyond the continued presence of the check engine light and my completely unreliable gas gauge telling me that I have no gas when I just filled the tank yesterday. But I've gotten good at ignoring those little quirks by now. As long as it still runs, I consider the situation a win.

Brennan takes charge of the tunes. One thing we actually have in common is enjoyment of a rather wide range of musical genres. Yesterday, we made the drive into town while blasting the soundtrack from the Broadway musical Rent. Tonight, she's apparently in the mood for Pat Benatar, which is perfectly fine with me.

'You're love is like a tidal wave, spilling over my head.' Pat sings and I repress a sigh because the song makes me think about Dean. That boy most certainly is a heartbreaker. I shake my head at myself and focus on the road, taking us the relatively short distance from the motel to the bar.

About three songs later, I pull into the parking lot and get us a spot as close to the building as possible. The two of us climb out of the car and head for the door. Brennan bumps my shoulder with hers and sends me a grin, silently telling me to cheer up, loosen up, have some fun. She thinks I'm too serious. I roll my eyes at her in response and she shrugs and moves on ahead of me, flouncing into the bar first. I enter a few seconds later, but still in time to see every head in the place turn to look at my photographer. I roll my eyes a second time and stick my hands in my pockets. I tell myself not to, but I can't help but let my eyes wander around the room, looking for a familiar face.

"Hey, Lindy..." Brennan has turned to ask me something, but my mouth drops open as my eyes land on a face I really wasn't expecting to actually see.

"Oh my god." I gasp, freezing where I stand.

"Lindy?" Brennan asks.

I don't answer. I can't. I'm not in control of myself. My brain seems to have shut down as my body acts on its own, making me fly across the room. The next thing I know, I'm looking into the startled hazel eyes of Dean Winchester, my legs wrapped around his waist and my lips locked on his.