Monachopsis

Chapter I: Strange Behavior

Growing up, my mother always told me I was special. But growing up in a small town like Fallon, it was hard to believe. Everyone's parents told them they were special, even though everyone's parents were exactly the same. But Mom was different.

Looking back on all of it now, I long for simpler times. Back when I fought my mother because homework was hard and the dishes were too many to do alone. When my biggest worry was if I was going to pass my calculus test. However, now that I think about it, there never were simpler times. As a child, Mom taught me marksmanship instead of hopscotch; we played Find The Coordinate Point instead of Barbie dolls.

Because Mom was a hunter, and I was supposed to be one too.

My father was never around much. He dropped by once every six months, just to make sure we were still alive. I used to idolize him, but once I turned twelve, it got old really fast. I had once asked my mother why he never stayed longer than a weekend. I was young, but I guess Mom didn't want me dealing with anything less than the truth. So she told me.

Your father has other children that he takes care of. You have two brothers, Gray, but they stay with him. Not with us.

It wouldn't be the last time I inquired about my mysterious brothers. Dad never wanted to talk about them, and Mom didn't know much to begin with.But from what I could gather, their names were Dean and Sam Winchester. And that was all I would know for a while.

Mom had been in a frenzy all week. Running through the house, muttering to herself. But when I'd gotten home today, it seemed worse than before. Her normally tidy blond hair was spilling from it's topknot, her dark blue eyes wide and crazed. Outside, thunder crashed, and lightning flashed, illuminating the duffel bags piled in the living room.

"Mom?" I called to her. She was sitting in her chair by the window, staring out with an unreadable expression. She flinched when I spoke, like she was just realizing that I was there.

"Gray," she said, voice oddly calm compared to her appearance. I caught the note of expectation in her tone.

"It was a werewolf," I explained, "in Dallas. Poor bastard didn't even know he'd murdered his own wife. One shot put him down easily enough."

"Did you take your vitamins?" Mom asked, blowing aside my report.

I hadn't, and already my head was feeling fuzzy, like someone had stuffed it full of cotton balls. "No," I said.

Mom scowled disapprovingly. I got the hint. The white plastic bottle was sitting solitary on the granite countertop in the kitchen, stark against the black stone. In the upturned cap was a single vitamin: a jet-black capsule meant to be swallowed.

I went through the motions of taking it, not even bothering to get water when I forced it down.When I returned to the living room, Mom was exactly where I left her. She fingered the crystal pendant that hung from her neck as she watched cars pass down out street. I'd asked her about it before, but she always brushed aside my questions. Now, her paranoid behavior set my teeth on edge. I couldn't sit still, pacing back and forth in the living room while she sat there.

"Who are you waiting for?" I demanded, growing irritated. I had been gone a week. I'd lived only on granola bars, day-old joe, and I longed for a shower with good water pressure. "Can't I at least change my clothes? I'm filthy?"

"There's a few pairs in that bag," Mom replied, not even looking at me. "Change."

I huffed, and made for the maroon duffel bag she'd pointed out. But when I yanked it open, I found not only one pair of clothes, but a dozen. All of them mine.

"Mom," I said, straightening. "What's going on? Really?"

She didn't look away from the window. "Go change, Gray. I'll explain after."

I refused to make the long trek upstairs, so I switched clothes in the downstairs bathroom. I crumpled my week-old hunting garb into a ball and dumped it in the laundry basket before walking out and joining my mother in the living room. She was still curled up in her plush armchair, attention fixated on the front window, her body coiled like a snake ready to strike.

I stole an energy drink from the fridge before I joined her, folding up in the chair across from her. Mom raised her eyebrows at me as she watched me crack open my can and slurp loudly.

"That brew is poison," she stated. "You should go rest."

"This 'poison' has saved my life more times than I'd like to count," I countered. I set down my can and stared at her head-on. "You said you'd explain. So explain."

She heaved an exasperated sigh. I tensed, prepared to put up a fight if she told me to mind my own business. But she said, "Your father is on his way."

It was my turn to raise the eyebrows. "John?"

"Yes," she said. "I've asked him to come and pick you up."

"'Pick me up'?" I demanded, quickly growing angry. "I'm not twelve anymore, Mom. You can't just toss me to John whenever you want. I'm an adult!"

"Gray," she barked. "I have my reasons. All I ask is that you trust me."

"I do trust you," I sighed, leaping to my feet. "I just can't believe you'd just hand me to my father without telling me? What's going on?"

"Something big is in the making, child," said Mom, still curled calmly in her chair. "I cannot give you all the details because I do not know everything. But John does. He'll explain when he gets here."

"And then what? He's taking me on a little field trip? Gonna take his little girl to Disneyland?"

"Mind your tongue!" she snapped. Anger burned in her eyes. "Your father and I have sacrificed much to keep you safe, Gray. Now, I am asking you to go with him. Don't make this any harder than it is."

"So that's it?" My anger was burning too bright to stop now. "No explanation? Nothing?"

"Yes," she hissed, rising slowly to her feet. "And until your father gets here, it will remain so. I suggest you check your temper, young lady, and be patient. He'll be here soon enough."

She sat back down, lounging in her chair like a relaxed wildcat; lithe and fluid, strong muscles active beneath skin. The blond hair draped over her shoulders reminded me of a lion's mane. Outside, thunder crashed.

As if on cue, there was a heavy knock at the door. I jumped, instinctively reaching for the pistol I keep concealed in the chair arm pocket. Mom didn't stop me as I made for the door. When I peeked out the front window, a tall, thick silhouette was standing on the front porch. I felt my heart begin to pick up speed, and I turned to my mother.

"Stay here," I told her. She merely glanced up at me before looking away again.

I flicked on the porch light and pressed the muzzle of the pistol to the back of the front door before I unlocked it. However, when I swung it open, I was startled to find a familiar face looking back at me. His face was rough hewn, with dark scruff and black hair. His dark eyes were soft, but the shadows behind them warned of a past best left alone.

"Grace," said John Winchester, "it's good to see you again."