A/N: I have lost my muse for a while now, also I'm writing this while wearing a wrist splint due to spraining my wrist. Anyways, this is a new story and I just wanted to try something new and it came out in a new story. I wanted a character to have this name for a few months but wasn't sure I wanted to start something up yet, but here it is. First chapter of it, I hope you like it. :)

P.S. Character modeled after Kesha.

Another week alone at her house that she had inherited from her deceased father…something about him dying from being mauled by a bear on his hunting trip with his buddy Riker, and a few others whose names she could touch on, but only by first letter. It had happened just after she hit eighteen, the independent age to go and move out, go to college, the life that her dad had wanted her to have. He never told her what he did for a living, but he'd usually come back home banged up and needing to be tended to with the first aid kit by her. Those were times she wished she knew, or maybe that her mom were around.

Sarah McCarthy, high school sweetheart to Henry McCarthy, never officially got married, but once it was found out the pregnancy test was correct, it was in the plans just never fully went through. For some reason, she never knew why Sarah left after giving birth, something about falling out of love or not being able to raise a kid so young. Wanting to experience her dreams in life before actually having a family…some kind of bullshit that she had summed it up as from her dad's explanations as a child.

Hollywood McCarthy, known as Holly to her friends and simply for short considering it was easier to just say it that way. She sat on her sofa in her home and stared around the big place filled with all her dad's old belongings and some of hers. There was a hint that he had a secret stash of personal items somewhere but when she looked in hopes of finding out more about him, she would always turn up with nothing. Her dad was a mystery to her, and even his friends who gave their condolences wouldn't tell her anything about him or themselves in general.

It had been a good eight years since the death, leaving her twenty-six, single, and working for Bobby Singer at the salvage yard next door. Thinking about him now made her question if he was home or not, usually he was, but there were the times where he would go out of town or state to help out some friends and visit. Riker was one of them…including the others that were with Henry when he died. Why none of them died with him, she never knew. Maybe they got away faster…

Sighing, Holly stood, walking over to the front door in her black short shorts, some stray strings from the bottom hanging down to about her mid-thigh, a gray graphic tank, loads of chunky bracelets, rings and necklaces, hair blonde and naturally wavy to the point it looked styled with a black and white feather clipped underneath by her ear. Her appearance was very sketchy, some people usually got the wrong idea or either got the right idea, for instance sometimes the nose ring, makeup and glitter on her face is what did it.

Before actually exiting to the outside, she managed to pull on some black cowboy boots. Holly finally was ready to leave and began over to the house of the one and only Singer. What made her stop was the sight of a black classic car in the driveway, mainly because Bobby didn't have visitors often. The thing looked damn near new in the fading sunlight through the purple, orange and yellow-red sky.

Holly continued towards the porch steps, going up them and to the door, giving a knock before entering, knowing that Bobby would know it was her. Hell, she'd done it enough that he should know. Although there were the first few times where he'd pulled a damn gun on her and scared her near shitless. Stepping through the small hallway from the door, she glanced into the study finding no one there. Curiosity always seemed to kill the cat, but that never bothered Holly as she went to the kitchen only to find yet again not a single soul of the elder or the presumable guests.

Just as she was about to turn around and head towards the stairs to check the second floor, she felt someone grab her by the arm, twisting it behind her back and pressing her body into the fridge nearby.

"Who are you?" the voice asked, coming out gruff and nothing like Bobby.

"Bobby!" The yell for help only suited in the man against her backside to twist harder, making her wince. "My name is Hollywood."

"Bobby didn't say anything about you."

"That's because he doesn't call me by my full name, Holly for short."

"Full name," he ordered.

"God, you are really---Hollywood McCarthy. Let me the hell go or tell me who you are, before I go ape shit so then this meeting isn't just between the two of us."

There was a pause, as if the person was trying to think of a different name besides his own to tell, and when her head turned slightly to the side a bit to catch a peek, she found the guy actually hot. Yeah, she still used that phrasing when ranking men in appearance. What else she saw by looking at him was that he was shocked, stunned, surprised, bewildered…there are so many other words that could describe the expression etched on his features.

"McCarthy, as in Henry McCarthy?" he finally asked.

"How do you know my father?"

With that one simple question she was released, let go from him and able to turn and face the man. Tall, but not overly tall, her best guess 6'0 on the dot, sandy blond hair that was short but had gel in it enough to give it some flare and individuality compared to most. Freckles peppered lightly over his nose and cheeks, unlike her where she had them all over her face, and green eyes that seemed to stare right inside and know what your deepest darkest secrets were, no matter how dirty or scary.

"Old family friend," he replied, blinking fast and removing the expression letting it slide into a grin the size of Texas with an ego to match. "Winchester. Dean Winchester."

Holly immediately realized in that instant he wasn't going to tell her anything more beyond what he just said on her dad, and when he started to flirt with her she grinned in return. He reminded her of a dangerous flame, blue instead of red and orange, beautiful and bright, and she wanted desperately to play with it like most flames she had run into. This one was different than the others, she couldn't quite place it, but she knew that hanging around him she'd travel away from her normal life and maybe find out more about the life she wanted to live. The one her father lived. Why did she always want to or accidentally seek danger in some form? She knew the answer…Bobby didn't call her a Wild Child for nothing.

Author End Note: Thanks for reading and please review, I'd really like to know what you think before I continue on and post the next chapter. Your opinion matters, not to mention help my muse flow. :)