Monachopsis

Chapter II: Daddy Dearest

I stared at John Winchester in abrupt shock as I struggled to get my bearings. Hearing my full name sent a wave of nostalgia over me that I struggled to wrestle into submission. When I finally did, anger quickly took place of my surprise.

"Good to see you?" I repeated. "Are you serious? After eight years, thats all you have to say?"

Johns face twisted from expectation to acceptance. "Can I come in?" he asked.

Most of me wanted to slam the door in his face so hard it broke his nose. But I could feel Mom's growing impatience radiating from the living room. Begrudgingly, I stepped aside and allowed John to pass into the foyer. He went straight into the living room, and I could hear his and Mom's lowered voices as I swallowed my frustration.

When I finally joined them, Mom had risen from her seat by the window and was busy fussing with the duffel bags. John was posted by the kitchen doorway, expression unreadable.

"So," I said. My voice sounded loud in the tense silence. "Now will you tell me whats going on?"

My question was directed at Mom, but John answered before she could. "Im taking you with me. Theres a job in Chicago, and I need you there."

"Why?" I demanded. "Don't you have other kids you could go bother?"

"Gray," Mom scolded. But John shook his head calmly.

"Your brothers are already there," he said. "And they're in danger. If not for me, at least come for them."

"I don't see why I should. No offense to either of them, but I don't know them. I've never seen a picture; I don't even know what they look like! What do they need me for? Do they even know I exist? From the way you evade every question I've ever had about them, I'm guessing they don't."

"Grace--" John started.

"We aren't asking," Mom finished, lifting a duffel bag and handing it to me. "This isn't up for discussion, Gray. Youre going."

"I'm a grown woman, Mom," I snapped. "I think I'm capable of making my own choices."

"Any other time, sure," she said. "But not this time. You don't understand whats at stake here."

"Then tell me." I was growing desperate now. The thought of leaving with John made me nauseous. "If you just explain--"

"I can't," she said regretfully. "I wish I could. But the less you know, the better. Now," she pressed the bag into my arms and tried to turn me toward the front door." You must go."

"Colette," said John urgently. He took his head out from behind the curtains. "We have to hurry."

"No," I said stubbornly. "I'm not leaving. Not with him; not until one of you tells me what the hell is going on!"

"Your brothers aren't the only ones in danger, Grace," John said lowly. He fixed me with unreadable black eyes. "You are too."

"John," Mom protested.

"She deserves to know," he countered. He turned back to me, footsteps heavy on the wooden floor as he approached slowly. "There's a demon that I've been hunting for the past twenty-two years: the demon that killed my wife. I'm closing in, and he knows it. He's getting desperate. He's already attacked your brothers. Now he might come after you."

"What do I have anything to do with this?" I asked. "Mary wasn't my mother."

"It doesn't matter," John shook his head. "Not to this demon. You're my daughter, and that's all he cares about. As long as you're separated from us, you're vulnerable. But with your brothers, you'll be safe, at least until I kill the bastard."

"What about Mom?" The subject of Johns wife made me uncomfortable. Mom always said it didn't bother her, but it felt awkward to speak about Mary around her. "Isn't she in danger too?"

'I can take care of myself," Mom assured me. A rare smile curled her lips. "It'll take more than a petty demon to take me down."

"But--"

"Grace!" John said sharply. Outside, bright headlights flashed across the sheer curtains. John's eyes were wide with urgency. "We're out of time. We need to go. Now."

"No, Mom--" I cried. But before I could say any more, my bag was thrust into my chest, a kiss was pressed on my forehead, and John was dragging me out the backdoor. His black truck was waiting for us, silent and dark like an avenging angel.

"We can't leave her!" I protested, trying to turn around. In the front of the house, I could hear car doors opening and slamming shut.

"She'll buy us some time," said John, tossing my bag into the backseat. "But she can only hold them off for so long. We need to leave."

He yanked open the passenger side door, and I scrambled in on instinct. I looked down at him with pleading eyes.

"Please," I begged. "We can't leave. She's my mom . . ."

John met my eyes with surprising tenderness. I could almost imagine pain in his bottomless irises. "I know," he said. And slammed the door.

As he hopped into the drivers seat and started the truck, I caught a glimpse of my mother through the living room window. Intimidating silhouettes crowded around her, but she didn't look afraid. If anything, she looked the exact opposite. I could almost see the excited gleam in her eyes she always got while on a hunt.

As John pressed the gas, lightning illuminated the inside of the house, turning the shadows behind my mother into contorted, twisted figures. The weapon in her hand gleamed white with reflected light. And then we were gone.