1. "Move Away."

There's got to be some place to hunker down in for the night. There has to be. I'm not going back. What is there left for me there, anyway, besides painful reminders of what I failed to do?

Though there's no wind blowing, the temperature is a little too cool for my liking. Though I've endured many cool nights, my body isn't immune to them. I wish it was.

I keep to myself and avoid any eye contact with any passersby. Not that there are many at this time of night. Most are driving, not even taking a chance of walking by themselves. Those are the smart people. They know better than to be by themselves when they don't know what goes on at night.

A car strolls on by. Fortunately for me, there are no puddles they can hit to splash me. I'd probably welcome it anyway. It would maybe help my appearance some.

I've looked at myself in some store windows. First judgement by anyone would be that I'm someone to not cross. Well, they wouldn't be wrong. I'm not someone to be around.

I keep my tired legs moving by focusing on a new shelter. There has to be some place, I repeat. Some place. A streetlight flickers above me.

After hours of passing by people in places with much better lives than mine, I come across a promising sight: a motel parking lot. To many, it wouldn't be that big of a deal. But to me, it's one hell of a big deal. It's a better place than where I've been lately.

The desolate parking lot gives off a creepy air. Of course, I'm no stranger to creepy atmosphere. It doesn't bother me that much, not compared to an atmosphere that I can smell the danger in. So far, I don't see anything that would lead me to feel threatened. Still, I feel for the homemade shank in my jacket pocket. It's my only means of protection. If anyone tries to get me, I'll make them think twice about it.

The motel's sign gives me some lighting on top of the streetlights. I don't really bother to read the sign, as I really don't care that much about it. There are few cars as I walk deeper into the lot. I'm stuck in a debate. I could just pick a lock on one of the doors and bunk in an empty room for a few days for free as long as I kept suspicion away. Though the chances of that were pretty high, for some reason, my mind tells me to pick a different direction. You're already low, why not go lower? I eye up some of the cars around me. I purse my lips.

There's not a hell of a big selection.

I take my time to car shop. Rest in one, and then hotwire it and drive away in the morning. I would easily do it right now, but I'm physically wiped out. I don't want to drive off only to crash the stolen car later.

Though I'm not a big car fanatic, one in particular catches my eye. Though it's probably older than me, the car looks in mint condition. The lights don't give me much to go on, other than it's a dark navy color-or black, four doors. To me, it's a bed. A bed that I have to break into to sleep in.

I quickly decide to pick the back door instead of smash one of the windows-I want to be smart about this. A few times, I look around to make sure nobody is looking my way. I begin to wonder who would own this kind of car. Probably an older person, possibly a guy. Someone who's going through a midlife crisis maybe? No, that'd involve a newer, expensive car. This car is probably neither of those things.

Once I hear the victorious click, I mutely pull the door open and clamber inside, shutting the door a bit louder than I want to. I freeze for a long minute then relax when nobody comes to investigate. I let out a breath and fall back against the backseat. Hmm, comfortable. This'll do. Tomorrow, I get to work.

For some reason, I can't get comfortable. Lying on my back doesn't work out, and neither does my sides. I purse my lips and try sleeping sitting up, leaning against the door. Still not comfortable enough. I grit my teeth.

This'll be a long night.

So while I constantly twist and turn and try to calm my mind, I think back to what I'm leaving behind. I'm not leaving behind much. I never had much there, really, except those two. They would have loved this. It's some form of shelter even if it's not topnotch. I know one would love it more since he was fascinated with cars. He'd never owned one, but he loved to watch them go down the streets. The other one would be crawling all around this car, checking through everything out of curiosity. I could always do that, I muse. See what they've got in here.

In the end, I decide to curl into a ball and keep my shaking in control.

* * *

I wake up in a jolt. I don't know what I dreamt about. Whatever it was caused water to be on my cheeks this morning. I hastily wipe them away. My mind thinks up a rough hunch. It's in the past now. I can't live in the past. I have to worry about my future if I want to have one, no matter how shitty it is. I've got work to do.

With still-waking limbs, I not-so-smoothly climb into the front seat. Wait, I'm an idiot. I'm not small enough to hotwire sitting in the seat. I exhale loudly before I open the driver's side door and put my knees on the ground as I look for the wiring. If this doesn't work out, I'll have to do it the not-so-nice way.

I push my ratty blonde hair away from my face so I can have clear vision. I bite down lightly on my tongue as I realize I'm jumping the gun on this. How can I hotwire a car if I've never done it before? Maybe it's just like how they do it in the movies. Right now, it's not as simple as they make it seem. Just finding the wiring is a big pain in the ass. This is when I really wish I had Internet access for guidance.

I'm so focused on my search that I ignore my hair rising on my arms and on the back of my neck until it's too late. Until I feel something press on the back of my neck. I freeze, breathing irritably through my nose. Damn it. Did someone call the police? But I wasn't that concentrated to not hear tires rolling into the lot or the police siren.

"Hands off the car," a very threatening growls tells me. I obey and put my hands up to show him that I'm not touching it. "On your feet."

Slowly, I rise. I'm not as tall as the top of the car, reminding me just how short I really am. I've got to get out of here. I guess I'll be back to the drawing board. I just hope I don't have to kill this guy.

"Move away."

I sidestep and flinch as the door gets slammed shut on my left. I'm waiting for my arms to be put behind my back and in handcuffs. But I still remain standing, hands up, not facing my captor. My mind is thinking up escape plans as I wait for what's to come. I remember my shank. It's a long shot. That wasn't a knife point I felt.

So I've brought a shank to a gun fight. So far this plan is going down to Hell.

"You a cop?" I speak for the first time.

"You probably wish I was."

My lips twitch into a smile. "Mm, that's where I think you're wrong."

I take my chances; what have I got to lose anyway?

Swiftly, my one hand reaches down and pulls out my shank. I spin around only to face the barrel of the gun. My eyes are practically cross-eyed as I stare it down, not really focusing on the man holding the weapon. I sigh through my nose, feel my body stiffen.

"Put it down." This man's voice holds no gentleness.

"You do this to all people who try to steal your car?"

"Nobody's tried."

"I should feel so special to be the first," I spit. With a split-second reaction, I kick the man hard. He goes down, hard, onto the pavement. I knock the gun out of his hand, and we roll around, my grip on my shank pretty tight. I keep kneeing him in the gut, he swings at air as I dodge his punches. This guy doesn't hold back.

Despite being the weaker of us both, I have him straddled, my shank right against his throat. I see his one arm reach for the gun. I put my foot on his wrist and stretch out until I have it pinned down. He curses under his breath.

I'm panting and take in his features. He looks like a man who's seen some shit. Probably served in a war or something, went through something life-altering. His chiseled features make me wonder if he's in the modeling business. But the worst thing about this man is his eyes, the green pits that actually look amused by me. His lips quirk into a lopsided smirk, which only makes mine turn into a snarl.

"Hand them over, buddy," I snap.

"Oh, you're cute," he retorts. "You better let me up before things get ugly."

"If you haven't noticed, I'm the one holding the knife. You have no authority to tell me what to do." I press the shank a little deeper into his skin. Any deeper, and I'll start drawing red. "Keys. Now. If not, I'll search you myself."

"I guess that's not such a bad thing," he murmurs. My blue eyes widen a bit. "Been a while since I got any action."

I make a gagging noise.

I squeak as something, out of nowhere, decides to spray me. I spit it out and close my eyes. I screech wildly as I'm thrown off and onto the pavement. I try and head-butt the guy as he tries to go for my shank. I make high noises of irritation as he traps me the same way I just had him trapped.

My lips quiver in anger as he's above me, my own weapon light on my throat.

"Give it back," I hiss.

"Not a chance, sweetheart."

"Don't. Call. Me. That."

"Hasn't anyone ever told you to not steal from others?"

I try to move my legs, but he's got them trapped. I wriggle in hopes to loosen his hold, but nothing works. I whine low in my throat.

"Not so high and mighty now, are you?" he tells me, raising a victorious eyebrow.

"Get off me."

"What the hell is going on?"

My head goes to the side to see another person on the scene. He's not a cop, judging by his outfit. He doesn't look scared, more like concerned.

"This guy is trying to kill me," I state.

"Don't listen to her, Sam," says the guy, "she was trying to make a getaway with Baby."

I turn my head back to my captor. "Get away with what?" I look at him strangely. "You're one whacked-out dude, aren't you?"

"Says the chick who thought it was smart to attempt Grand Theft Auto."

I snort. "Let me up. I-I'll run off. You won't have to hear from me ever again. And you give me my weapon back."

"Yeah, because I was born yesterday," he snaps bitingly.

"We need to take this somewhere else," says the other man on the scene-Sam. "Someone could have called the cops on us by now."

"Hey, hey, easy!" I snap as the man gets off me, nearly tearing my arm out of its socket as I get to my feet.

He doesn't say a word. In the process of leading me, he goes to the gun we had just wrestled for. I watch with a steely gaze and look back at Sam. I don't think I can reason with him, he's in league with the guy I just wrestled with.

I give my arm one jerk in the grip the guy has on me. His fingers only dig deeper into my arm as he drags me back to the motel room, with Sam in tow.

**What can I say about this beginning?

She's one tough chick, isn't she? These two...I loved writing their dynamic. I hope you see that as the story goes on.

Anyway, if anyone has any confusion about why Part 1 is named 'Natasha,' it'll make sense soon. Originally I wasn't going to do any parts like I did with You Found Me, my Sam Winchester love story. But something won me over, and I found a way to do it.

So, this, aside from Part 1 itself, is the official start of Part 1. I might do a week hellatus between parts, like I did with You Found Me, just to let me breathe a little bit in between. And once Season 11 starts, I don't think that'll affect the update schedule much at all. When they go on hellatus, if the book is still going, the book will not be. You guys will need something to have to survive the lack of new episodes :)

P.S., any fanart is encouraged. I know it's too soon to say it, but you never know.**