Two weeks later I sat inside the empty main room of our makeshift town hall. The round tables were deserted, save for mine. To my left sat Jeremiah, and to my right, Booth. In front of us sat an unfamiliar skinwalker.
Her hair was long and fell like a thick black curtain across her shoulders. Her skin was olive-toned, and her cheeks were dimpled and creased with smile lines. But, instead of a smile, her mouth was turned down in a scowl.
"I just need a week," Julia said, tapping her fingers rhythmically on the wooden table. "One week until this all blows over, and then we'll be out of your hair."
I looked pointedly at Jeremiah, who met my gaze with a side-eye glance. His lips were pursed into a thin line that hid what he was thinking. "Marcus believes her," he finally answered with a slight nod her way.
"He said you had space," Julia piped up, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table. Her knee bounced anxiously out of sight. "I swear, we won't cause any trouble. We're vegetarian too – I don't think any of us could stomach eating... humans." Her voice softened and her gaze dropped to the table.
Booth shifted in his seat and her eyes flicked toward him with a nervous glance. "How long ago were you turned?" he questioned. Julia chewed on the inside of her lip.
"Almost three years," she murmured and hung her head. "Our newest was less than six months ago."
"Why?" I spoke up and her head snapped up to meet my eyes. "Who was it?"
"I don't know," she replied and folded her hands neatly in front of her. "It was different for all of us, I think. We all just sort of... found each other."
"... Found each other?" Jeremiah asked, raising a brow to promote clarification.
"Like a... gut feeling? Marcus said you would know."
The men on either side of me both glanced my way with furrowed brows.
I ignored their looks as my lips drew together in a line. A gut feeling... the same thing I had when I first encountered each of my early pack members. "How many are we talking?" I asked.
"Seven."
"We have room for seven," I answered and Julia's eyes lit up with relief. "Stay as long as you need. But, while you're here, you follow my rules." She paled. "It's nothing bad. Just carry your weight and don't cause trouble."
Julia breathed out a sigh of relief and the corners of her mouth pulled up in a tired smile. A soft thank you escaped her as she extended her open hand across the table to seal the deal.
—
A month later I stood under the black sky, the new moon staring back at me. Julia was long gone, but word traveled fast. From atop my hill, on my front porch, I could still hear the sounds of music and cheering from the town hall. The bar had become more lively in the last few weeks, monsters passing through for a drink, somewhere safe to stay the night, or just to see if the rumors were true.
"It's impressive, you know," a now familiar voice spoke from behind me. My brows furrowed and I turned to face Dante. With a scowl, I leaned against one of the posts that held up the overhanging roof of my porch. "How much progress you've made, I mean. Word travels like wildfire. And a bar – it's clever."
"I had a good role model," I answered, drifting to thoughts of the Roadhouse. It wasn't the same, not even close. But it was a waypoint. Hopefully, it provided some sense of permanence to monsters who were always on the move.
"Are you sure it's safe?"
"No. But I'll handle it if it's not." Dante hummed in response and clasped his hands behind his back. I watched him with a curious gaze and he stared into the distance, his eyes focused on something in his reality and not mine. "Do you know anything about rising bite rates?" I questioned, folding my arms over my chest in what I hoped looked like a confident posture. Dante's eyes immediately flicked to mine and his lips twitched up into a slight smile.
"What do you mean?"
"Don't play dumb, Alvarez. I know you've heard about it too."
Dante hummed and his smile fell. "All I know is that hunters are starting to notice."
"They think it's werewolves," I answered with a frown, referencing my most recent call with Bobby. His network had expanded in his search for Sam, and his attempt to wrangle the rising demonic situation.
"They thought it was werewolves." I stiffened in surprise at that. "You didn't think we'd stay hidden forever, did you? Vampires are on the rise too, you know. Hell, some of my scouts ran into a siren not too long ago. I didn't think they could survive this far North, but clearly, I was wrong."
"Why are they-"
"Why? You know why," he snapped. "I know you've heard about all the demonic omens." I hesitated before nodding my head. "Everyone is gearing up for war."
"The apocalypse?"
"Eventually," he replied. His gaze dropped and his brows furrowed subtly. "What is it?" he asked.
"What?"
"The necklace," he said, pointing. I looked down and found my hand clutching Dean's amulet, not realizing I had grabbed it.
"I don't know. It belonged to someone special," I answered, my breath hitching subtly. His eyes softened as he picked up on the sound.
"I'm sorry," he spoke quietly. "I've lost people too." His gaze left the amulet and met my curious eyes once more. "My wife. Hunters."
I hesitated and gripped the amulet tighter. "... My boyfriend. Demons."
"So you see why we need to stop them?"
I paused before answering, fixing him with a cold gaze. "I want demons gone just as much as the next person. But I don't see how turning innocent people is going to accomplish that. If anything... doesn't it create more targets?"
"Maybe. Or it creates safety in numbers." We both fell silent for a moment, eyes locked as we both awaited the other's next move. "Have you ever bitten anyone?" he asked.
"Twice. It was an accident," I answered.
"Dead?"
I nodded.
Dante hummed and buried his hands in his pockets, once more gazing into a distant horizon that I couldn't see. "To be honest, I don't know why the bite rates are going up," he replied with a shrug. "It could be fear – maybe they think inflating our numbers will make us harder to kill."
"Death comes for everyone eventually."
"And his pale horse," Dante murmured, lost in thought. "Doesn't mean we can't delay the inevitable. I don't know about you, but I don't want the future you saw." I grimaced at the thought of the barren wasteland, littered with monster corpses. "I wonder why the demon chose to show it to you."
"He didn't think we could do anything to stop it."
"What do you think?"
I hesitated. "I think... I don't know what we're trying to stop. The apocalypse, end of days, death of our species, sure. But I just... can't comprehend that."
"But he can, somehow," he said, in reference to the white wolf. "But I think he's been preparing for the end of our species for a thousand years."
I dropped my gaze to my hand, still clenched in a tight fist around the amulet. My heart hammered in my chest at the thought. A thousand years of preparation, we still didn't know what we were up against. How much of it was real?
—
It was noon. It was noon and I still felt like I couldn't move. My skin felt tight from where tears had marred my skin and since dried. My eyes stung, my head hurt, and my throat was raw. Every moment I was certain I couldn't cry anymore, I proved myself wrong.
What would everyone think of me? Sitting here, quivering and crying and wrapped in a tight bundle, as if that could solve anyone's problems. I pulled his coat tighter around me, the scent long since faded. My fingers fumbled with the worn brown leather, rolling the fabric between my fingertips. It never got easier. The hole never got any smaller, just easier to ignore.
I wanted to be angry. This was one of the few times I would have preferred blind rage over any other emotion. To not be able to feel it every day, to not have to suffer through the constant ache felt like bliss.
The worst part was knowing that I had been right all along. I knew I would never be able to move on with my life without him, and I knew Sam was the same.
I squeezed my eyes shut and thought back to... God, two years ago now. A simpler time, on my old front porch at three in the morning. Utter stillness outside, quiet murmurings between us. A soft moment between friends who had no concept of the depth of the real world.
'I still want all that for you,' he had said. 'For you to have a happy life away from all of this, both you and Sam.'
A happy life away from hunting. Without Dean.
I scoffed as tears began rolling down my cheeks again.
—
I breathed in the familiar scent of rust and scrap that filled Bobby's junkyard as I stepped out of my truck, boots crunching against the gravel in his front yard. My upper lip quivered as my eyes settled on the front porch and the repair shop standing solitary behind it. Memories of Dean fixing the Impala after the car crash almost two years ago flooded back. Memories of sharing a beer with everyone on the front porch, as a family. I dragged my hand down my face and slammed the truck door as the screen door cracked open.
"'Bout time you stopped by," Bobby's familiar rough voice echoed. I whipped to face him with an excited smile, one of the first in a very long time. I dashed towards the porch, taking the steps two at a time, and skidded into a tackle-like hug. Bobby sputtered for just a second as the wind was almost knocked out of him.
"Missed you," I breathed out as I squeezed tightly, conveying a messy several weeks of emotions. Too long. Pulling back with an exhausted but giddy smile, I pressed a quick kiss to his bearded cheek. "It's good to see you, Bobby. I brought lunch."
"I'll take care of it," he answered with a warm grin that creased the skin around his tired eyes. Firm hands found the plastic grocery bag that I didn't realize I was gripping so tight. I allowed it to slip from my hand to his as his other hand found my shoulder, guiding me into the house.
Bobby's home was the same as it had been months ago. I felt cold as I wandered into the kitchen, expecting everything to have changed. No – despite the fact that my whole life was cast upside down in a matter of minutes, the rest of the world stayed exactly as it was. Like nothing had happened.
And then my eyes settled on two framed photos on the fireplace mantle in the living room. One, or a much younger Sam and Dean, probably closer to high school age. The second, a more recent photograph of the brothers leaning against the hood of the Impala and...
"When did you take this?" I questioned as I approached the photo, pointing to my framed self with a broad smile and longer hair beside the boys.
"Few months after John passed away." His answer was nonchalant as he placed the bag on the counter and opened the fridge. "You want a drink? I've got beer."
"Please," I answered. My shaky hands found the photograph and lifted it from the mantle, thumb hovering over the glass that protected the joyful expressions.
A hand patted my shoulder and I turned to accept the beer. Bobby nodded and gestured towards the couch, where I quickly sat without complaint.
"Those books you asked for are on the coffee table," he said as he plopped down into a plush chair across from me. He took a quick swig as his gaze hardened and then placed the bottle down on the table beside him with a harsh clink. "Mind tellin' me why you're researching demonic omens?"
I blinked owlishly. "What?"
He relaxed back into his chair, seemingly slightly relieved. "All those monster happenings you called about? Those are omens. Cattle deaths, more frequent turnings, werewolves turning when it's not a full moon – all of it, it all comes back to omens. You know anything about that?"
You are wasting your time here, a familiar voice whispered, nearly in my mind. I could almost feel the brush of pale fur against my skin.
"No," I answered, struggling to hide my alarm. "No, I just- I didn't know that was demonic. I just thought-"
We already know what they are planning, the white wolf cut me off. You know what they want.
"Thought what?" Bobby asked. I remained silent and his lips drew together in a thin line. "I'm starting to worry about you, y'know. You're flighty, quiet, you look like you've barely slept-" I flinched at the sound of a soft growl in my ear, "- and now you've got me looking into demonic symbols for you?"
"I'm not..." I hesitated and clasped my hands together firmly in my lap. "I'm not like Sam, OK? I'm not going to try to undo anything."
"I know you're not, darling. But I can see you're trying to do something."
You already know what the cause of this is, the white wolf whispered in an almost soothing tone. You do not need him to prove it to you. You can see it as clearly as I can. My word is enough.
"I, um- Bobby, I think they're planning something. Something big."
"How big-"
"Apocalyptic big."
Bobby gripped his armrests tighter for a moment, his jaw muscles twitching as he ground his teeth together. Finally, he stood with a sigh, body creaking with age and wear. "I'm gonna need another drink for this talk."
—
The hair on the nape of my neck bristled as I twisted to face the front door. The wooden door rocketed open under the force of the howling winds outside. It didn't rain, it rarely did. But the winds were evil, screeching outside like an unhinged banshee. The electricity was out and everyone was hunkered down, either in houses or in the main hall.
The moment I stood from my dining room table, thunder rattled the entire house. A bolt of lightning cut through the sky, and for a single second, I could feel the sudden startled emotions of everyone in the pack. My palm hit the side of the door, ready to close it until a sudden burst of emotion stuck out.
Fear.
Y/N, Booth's panicked voice rang out in my mind, clearer than if he were standing next to me. It's happening.
I swore under my breath. We knew it was coming sooner rather than later. He was past due anyway. I replied quickly and slammed the door shut behind me as I stepped out into the howling winds.
I pulled my coat tighter around myself and sprinted down the hill towards the town. Lightning crackled once more and I flinched as I ran down the road, ducking between firepits and makeshift structures beside vehicles, the items of those who loved staying outdoors packed tightly away. After what seemed like an eternity my palms found the large oak doors of the main hall, and I pushed the weighted wood open against the howling wind.
A scream of pain met my ears the moment I stepped inside. Candles flickered in the room as startled faces huddled in all corners of the room. In the center of it all, tables shoved to the side to make space, sat Booth, Gina, and her two children Aniyah and Isaiah.
"We need to get him outside, before he triggers anyone else," I order, pushing against the door once more to make space. Booth didn't hesitate, snatching Isaiah from his mother's arms despite the howl of agony he released. He writhed, nails sharpening to small claws that tugged at Booth's shirt. It was infectious – I could feel the surge of emotion in the room, could see the glow of eyes from those young and more recently bitten. Gina followed as she pushed Aniyah into the arms of another pack member, cooing sweet words to her before slamming the door shut behind her.
Booth shuffled past with the boy, no more than six years old, fangs sprouting for the first time.
As soon as my boots hit thin grass and brush I whirled on the pair and gestured for Booth to set the child down. He followed and his mother immediately dove to encase him.
No! The white wolf snarled from beside me, eyes a blazing red. It will only hurt him.
"Let go of him," I ordered and she turned to me with wide, questioning eyes. "It's going to be messy, I don't want to see one of you get hurt."
"What are we supposed to do then?" Booth argued. I cocked my head to the side, pausing for the wolf to answer.
Wait.
"We wait. It's still too early to coach him." I breathed out a sigh and reached for Gina's hand. "This isn't like a bite. He was born this way, it comes naturally. Less painful, but still..." she bit her bottom lip and nodded, knowing the pain of the first time. Bones breaking and rearranging, nerves realigning, hair sprouting, skin thickening, and the smells-
"What did you do?" Booth asked nervously, blue eyes flicking between Gina and Isaiah. "The first time you went through it?"
"I..." I stammered out, fingertips pulling at the plants beneath my palms. "I don't remember much. I was younger than him, but it- it hurts. It's all you can really think about, same as being bit."
Isaiah screamed again and curled in on himself. It looked as if his skin was writhing as he flailed, his arms twisting at strange angles before settling again. Gina understood this part. She placed her hand on his calf, certainly just as she had done with Aniyah not long after her daughter was bitten.
He needs comfort, the wolf uttered beside my ear.
No shit, dumbass, I snapped back earning a snarl from the beast.
He needs to see her.
My eyes flicked to the boy's mother, her bottom lip caught between her teeth with worry. "You need to shift. Match him, talk him through it." Her eyes met mine in a panicked state.
An unbidden memory flashed in my mind. Warm golden eyes, softer than mine. Gray fur, more natural than most skinwalkers. But an expression so human and unmistakably full of love. I remembered squirming in the dirt, my spine arching from pain, fur erupting along my arms, only to squirm into soft, familiar fur.
I shook away the unwanted image of my father and instead replaced it with something warmer. Familiar green eyes, freckled skin, furrowed brows, and a comforting smile that told me everything was just fine. A hand under my dark-furred chin, forcing me to look away from John, who had just intended to kill me. Pride within those green eyes that I had finally been able to shift, after the agonizing inability to do so for so long.
Not a monster.
"He needs to know that everything's OK, that he's safe and- and-"
"Do it, Gina," Booth ordered with a stern gaze. She hesitated for a second before nodding.
And then her bones started to break.
She curled up next to her son as fur pushed out of his skin, tan fur similar to her own basenji form. It was brindled, unlike hers, and it disappeared into his dark skin as quickly as it had arrived. His back arched and he howled out in pain, fangs sharpening and pearly white against his pink gums.
The screaming and writhing and twitching continued for what seemed like hours. It was pitch black and the wind had died down when his body seemed to have finally stopped resisting. He shook with each breath, splayed out in the dirt with his mother beside him. Even at his age, he was nearing his mother's size in her basenji form.
Booth and I gazed upon the boy in shock, tucked against his mother as she attempted to lull him to sleep, or at minimum relaxation, with her presence. He was different from his mother, as expected from a first-generation monster. Like Marcus and Jeremiah, he was not bitten.
But what we didn't expect was to see a clear coyote coat.
"Have you... ever seen something like that?" Booth whispered so as to not disturb the pair.
"Never. I've only ever seen them... seen them like Marcus. Dogs. Wolves."
The air grew tense between us as we watched with keen interest, comparing the boy's tan coat to his mother's slightly redder and white coat.
The Navajo believed skinwalkers could control the shapes of other animals, the white wolf's voice spoke beside me. They were not wrong, but not entirely correct. There was a time when we were more than just wolves.
Were you ever... not just a wolf? I questioned.
The wolf shook his furred head beside him, ears tipped back. No. The spell I used... did not allow for interpretation. But others, as we grew and aged, became like others. Animals that closely resembled their personalities. Physique. Heritage. But when the hunters came, and we were brought to near extinction, our uniqueness died with it.
Until now.
Until now, he agreed. I have seen bears, wolves, foxes, cats, coyotes, and, in rare cases, birds.
A bird. There were some of us that could fly once? To feel the wind in my fur when I ran was incredible enough, but to be able to fly?
Why is it happening again now?
You know why.
I scowled and turned to look at the beast from the corner of my eye. Diversity. Strength in numbers through bites, strength in individuals by diversity. There were finally enough of us to start developing as the species we once were.
—
"You're not going to sleep tonight, are you?"
I turned to face Andrew with a quizzical expression. His brows were furrowed, his eyes partially obscured by ginger hair that had become messy over the years. He held a glass cup in one hand and a rag in the other as he hand-dried the piece.
"You always find something to work on when you can't sleep," he explained with a shrug and dropped his gaze back down to the glass. "Bars closing soon, and you're still here. Working."
I looked around the room in the main hall from where I was perched upon my barstool. The room was nearly empty, aside from a few stragglers who would likely move on again within the next few days. It had been a quiet few weeks. Not many visitors.
"Probably not," I uttered softly and reached for another recently washed glass in need of drying. "Can't stop thinking."
Andrew hummed in response and set the glass down on the counter. His gaze followed the last stragglers as they were ushered out of the bar by the last of his staff. He waved as the doors clattered shut behind him and silence fell in the room.
"Do you remember when I had my first kill? With Caeden and Marcus, before everything went to hell and we lost the old place?" he asked. I furrowed my brows and nodded. "I still think about it. How excited they were, and how sick I felt." He shook his head as if to clear his mind. "I know it doesn't really compare, but I want you to know we've all done shit we're not proud of. Everyone's messed up."
I fell silent and dropped my gaze to the countertop. Several long seconds passed before he placed his hand gently on my shoulder in a comforting manner before quickly removing it.
"I'm going to turn in. You don't have to finish all of this, but-" he reached below the counter for a moment and then returned with a whiskey bottle in hand, which he promptly set down on the bar. "Here's company, if you think you need it."
I offered him a soft smile as he strolled around the bar and padded across the creaky floorboards. In a matter of seconds, the oak doors creaked open and shut behind him, once again filling the empty room with silence.
The tall, arched windows on either side of the building allowed moonlight to filter into the room while the chandelier offered a golden glow. Some of the tables, abandoned earlier in the evening, had already been scrubbed and covered in white clothes until they would be reset in the morning. Others boasted empty glasses or beers atop their surfaces.
With a sigh, I stepped off my barstool and began gathering loose glasses. A few at a time, I placed them beside the sink behind the bar and returned for more. Minutes passed rhythmically, and my mind was racing the whole time. I gripped the edge of the sink tightly in hand, staring down at the soap left from the most recent rinse, lost in thought.
My mind danced around everything learned over the past four months. A coming apocalypse, spearheaded by demons that wanted to see not only the end of my species but every other species on earth – and it was somehow... my job to fix it? Mine, and Dante's, and the white wolf, and every other beast of the night, monster under the bed, bump in the night. Against the forces of Hell.
And then there was the wolf. As cryptic as ever, but now his answers made sense. I felt like, for the first time since everything kicked off, I was finally getting answers. But every time something was answered, new questions rose. Questions about my species, my purpose, the white wolf's fascination.
Everything was different now, and not just because of loss. It was rare that more than half the pack was present in the same place at the same time. Some of them were with Caeden and Marcus, and sometimes a group left with Booth. Others traveled and came back to share stories and relax with friends in a safe place. My home was open to all now, not just my friends. Skinwalkers, and occasionally other monsters, found themselves wandering into my bar of all things, having heard stories about the 'Black Dog.'
I scoffed.
Unwillingly, my mind turned to my family before the Winchesters, before Bobby, before my pack. What would my parents think if they could see me now? I remembered the horror on my mother's face when I returned home, barely fifteen, covered in the blood of my first human kill. I remembered her thinking I was... weak, and cruel. A third generation should have more control, and more power, not descend into chaos like everything she had tried to avoid.
I remembered it driving her mad.
I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the thoughts I had spent years burying. A decade later and I still found myself grieving, and hating myself. Hating them.
But had my father not left, I never would have lived with Dennis. I never would have hunted, never would have inherited the house, never would have made a home for myself there. And without that...
I thought of all the stories I had heard of skinwalkers traveling on their own. Not once, not a single time, beyond Calliope who forced herself to be alone, had I met a skinwalker who traveled alone. It was a miracle I made it for as long as I did.
Was it worth it?
Part of me mourned the quiet life I lost. My own home, with no responsibilities beyond paying for groceries with a stolen credit card. A small town where no one knew my name, no family to speak of.
And once again I was reminded of my old front porch, early in the morning. Crutches pushed under my arms after the daeva attack, Dean by my side as we watched the stars and just talked. 'If I could get out and have a life, then I would,' was what he told me then. Would I get out now, given the chance? Surrender the pack, give up hunting, ignore the apocalypse, and find myself a white picket fence? An apple pie life...
I clutched the rag in one hand, squeezing it until water dribbled out. No, an apple pie life wasn't possible anymore. As much as I had tried to fight for it so long ago, after John's death, I couldn't stomach the idea anymore.
The sound of the heavy oak doors creaking open rattled me from my trancelike thoughts. I tipped my head slightly, angling my unmangled ear towards it. "Bar's closed," I said sternly and returned to the glass in hand. The door shut seconds later and the sound of multiple pairs of footsteps crossed the floor.
I let out a quiet, irritated groan and tossed the rag on the counter, prepared to set the glass down harshly beside it, but-
I froze as a familiar scent wafted through the room.
Dirt. Leather. Cheap beer.
Cherries.
The glass slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor as my hands flew to my mouth, a ragged gasp escaping me. I turned slowly, tears springing up in the corners of my eyes. It wasn't possible, not after months of praying and wishing and begging. There was no way-
I choked out a sob as my eyes met his green ones.
"Hey, Sparky-"
I didn't give him a chance to finish before I was dashing around the bar and tackling him in a tight hug. Dean stumbled backward, his arms fumbling to catch hold of me as I buried my face in his shirt, fingertips clutching at anything I could grasp. My hands found their way beneath his shirt and pressed against the warm skin of his back. Warm. Living.
"It's me," he spoke softly as his hand wound its way into my hair, gently tugging at the shorter strands. His cheek against my temple, his jaw scruffy, his hands calloused and rough against my skin. "I promise, it's me."
"I know," I answered as I pulled him impossibly tighter. Reluctantly, I pulled away from him and my palms found his cheeks, taking him in. His skin was covered in a layer of grime, his hair dirty, clothes filthy. But his skin, it was warm, and pink, and the bags under his eyes were gone. He looked refreshed.
"I don't know how, but, uh..." he chuckled and shrugged as his hands slid down to my hips. "Here I am."
I paused for a beat before I tossed my arms around his shoulders and pulled him into another bone-crushing hug. His lungs deflated for a second and then his grip on my waist tightened once more, his hug as demanding as mine.
"Love you," I murmured out between choked sobs against his neck.
"Love you too, sweetheart," he answered with a broad smile before planting a kiss against my temple. "So glad you didn't try to kill me, too."
"What?" I snapped and pulled away immediately, holding him at arm's length. He gestured over his shoulder to the two hunters beside him that I hadn't realized were there. My eyes widened as I settled on the taller, sheepish-looking of the two. "Sam?"
"Hey," he said with an awkward wave.
"They both thought I was a demon or something," Dean answered, turning to face Bobby and Sam with a grin as he wrapped an arm around my waist and leaned into me. "You'd think they'd cut a guy who just crawled out of his own grave some slack," he teased, punching Sam lightly in the shoulder.
"What-" I sputtered out, realization finally hitting me. "How... how are you here?"
"That's the kicker," Bobby spoke up as he lifted his hat and smoothed his hair beneath it. "Got no fucking clue. Kids just up and kicking, like- like-"
"Doesn't matter right now," Dean answered, fingertips digging into my hip momentarily. "I'm alive, alright? That's what matters. But, I uh..." he paused and gestured to his body. "I could really use a shower."
5485 words.
And now everything changes :)