𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙 𝐵𝑜𝑦 | 𝐽. 𝐾𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑒 |

~ 4 ~

Once I got home, I practically kicked the door down and slammed it behind me.

I ran up the stairs, tripping and scrapping my knee, as well as tearing my fishnet leggings. I felt warm blood start to run down my shin, but I didn't care.

After reaching mom's room and removing the giant framed photo that she had of the two of us from the wall, I checked my phone and punched in the numbers to the safe.

It beeped and the light turned green, the door popping out just a little.

The first thing I saw was an old leather bound journal, a yellow sticky note on it reading "Read the first". Sticking out of the top was a thick envelope with my name on it.

When I grabbed the journal from the safe, I noticed an old revolver, bullets, a machete, a flask with a cross on it, and a few other things. I was to worried about my mom to really question any of them.

I pulled the envelope out of the journal and opened it up, beginning to read.

"Bexley, I know that you're reading this because I'm in a bad situation. My past has caught up to me. But this is something I can't fully describe to you in a letter. I'm going to make this short: Monsters are real. There are things out there that go bump in the night, things that kill innocent people. Before I had you, I hunted these monsters and saved people. We call ourselves hunters. Your father was one as well. You and I both know that you have always thought that the flash of movement you saw out of the corner of your eye wasn't just a flash. And I'm telling you that you were right. But right now, one of the things I used to hunt has got me. Obviously, I don't know what it is as I'm writing this, which is why I'm leave you this number- (xxx)-xxx-xxxx - It's John Winchester's. Your father's. Call him. He knew about you and always said that if anything went wrong that he would be there in a flash. I..."

I quickly finished reading the letter, some weight that I never knew was there lifting off my shoulders.

John Winchester, whoever the man was, is my father. He had helped my mom on a case, and after a night of beers and celebration for completing the case....

Well, here I am.

I grabbed my phone again, dialing the number.

The line rang a few times, then was answered with a "Hello?"

"Are you John Winchester?" I asked.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, the person, who I presumed to be a man, spoke.

"No, this is his son, Dean. John's dead," said the supposed Dean. At this point there was something familiar about the voice, like I had heard it a few times before.

I gasped, literally terrified for my mother's life. The one man who was supposed to help me was dead.

"Who is this?" Asked Dean.

"My name is Bexley King. According to my mother, John was my father," I said. Speaking the words "my father" out loud felt weird.

"Are you sure?"

I sighed, nodding even though he couldn't see it.

"Yes. And there's something else. But you probably have absolutely no idea because you're just an innocent human being," I said, mostly saying the last part to myself.

I noticed a hitch in Dean's breath as soon as I said it.

"By any chance, did it involve.... hunting?" He asked, the voice sounding familiar yet again.

I peeked up. "Well, this wasn't your normal type of hunting."

Out of the blue, I remembered who the voice belonged to.

"Hey, wait! You're that guy from the dinner! You were one of the men there with Jack! Yeah, you're the shorter one who didn't wear a trench coat," I said.

"Wait, you were our waitress? Even more important, you know about the monsters?"

"Yeah! I- look, my mom is in trouble with these... monsters. She told me to call John for help. Please, I need your-"

I was cut of by the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. I froze not moving or speaking.

Dean must have been able to hear them from the his end, because he quickly whispered, "Kid, send me your address now."

There was suddenly a chuckle behind me.

"That won't help her now," said a voice.

I quickly typed and hit send, praying that Dean got it.

Before I could turn around and see who, or what, it was, I was hit over the head with something heavy.

My legs crumpled underneath me, and my eyes rolled back into my head.

My vision went dark, and despite me trying to fight it, I slipped away into unconsciousness.