I sipped on my lukewarm coffee as I watched John pace up and down the room, deep in thought. He had a stern frown on his face, as though he didn't quite believe what he was hearing
The brothers watched their father pace from their own perches, Dean sitting at the end of one bed with his own coffee, and Sam seated at the table, tapping his foot nervously against the carpeted floor.
John halted, his back to us and a puzzled look on his scruffy features. He spun on his heels and faced Sam. "A vision, huh?"
Sam spoke slowly, through gritted teeth. "Yes. I saw the demon burning a woman on the ceiling," he said flatly, hoping his father wouldn't push any further. I too hoped John would just take his word for it.
We didn't have time to be explaining all of this, and I had a feeling I knew John wouldn't be too happy about this conversation. To my knowledge, his son hadn't told him about Sam's odd visions, and I had no doubt that could potentially push him over the edge. No man as obsessed with authority as John could stomach his underlings hiding multiple secrets from them.
"And you think this is going to happen to this woman you met because..?" John asked, raising a brow in suspicion. I rolled my eyes and took another sip of my coffee, frowning at the bitter flavor and his continuous pacing.
"Because these things happen exactly the way I see them," Sam snapped as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. I glanced up at the analog clock hanging on the wall, its hands signifying that we had been sitting here for almost an hour. John hadn't arrived until about ten minutes ago, and now we were wasting time.
"It started out as nightmares. Then it started happening while he was awake," Dean added. He stood and padded across the carpeted floor towards the coffee machine, swishing the pot's contents and nodding in satisfaction before refilling his cup.
John stopped once more and glared at his sons, arms folded against his chest in the typical 'disappointed-dad' pose. "All right. When were you going to tell me about this?" Everyone turned to look at John with baffled expressions.
"It wasn't relevant, John," I offered. "He hasn't had visions for, what, months? I was beginning to think it had stopped." John glared at me with a vicious look, as though he wanted nothing more than for me to disappear. I shrunk into my seat and took another sip of my coffee, glaring right back at him.
"Something like this starts happening to your brother, you pick up the phone and you call me," John spat, pointing an accusing finger at his sons. I bit back a snarl and bolted upright, fully intending to launch to my feet and give him a piece of my mind.
Dean beat me to it and slammed the coffee pot on the counter, marching towards his father with a truly venomous look in his eyes. "Call you? Are you kidding me?" he spat, standing nose to nose with his father. "Dad, I called you from Lawrence, remember? Sam called you when I was dying. I mean, getting you on the phone? I got a better chance of winning the lottery."
John's nostrils flared and his lips twitched as though he was trying to hold back a scathing remark. After several long moments of heated glares, John finally dropped his scowl and spoke again. "You're right. Although I'm not too crazy about this new tone of yours, you're right. I'm sorry."
I flinched. John, saying someone else was right? I had only known the man for a little over a month and had seen him a handful of times, but I knew he was not the kind of person to readily admit to his wrongness.
Dean took a step back, eyeing his father once more, and then turned and made his way back to the coffee pot. He leaned against the counter and surveyed the room as he took a sip of his refilled cup.
"Look guys, visions or no visions, the fact is, we know the demon is coming tonight. And this family's gonna go through the same hell we went through," Sam grumbled, directing the conversation back to where it needed to go. I nodded in agreement.
"No, they're not," John replied, a determined glint in his eyes. "No one is, ever again."
The room fell silent as everyone pondered the next course of action, waiting for someone to speak up. I jumped as Sam's phone went off, the whining tone of a phone call filling the room. He quickly snatched the phone from his pocket and lifted it to his ear.
"Hello?" he questioned. He furrowed his brow and eyed the flower warily. "Who is this?" Sam bolted upright and glanced furiously around the room. "Meg," he spat, more to us than to her. I grimaced and sat up straight, elbows resting on my knees. How the hell was she still alive?
"Last time I saw you, you fell out a seven-story window," Sam continued and rose slowly to his feet. He paused and cast a nervous glance toward John. "I don't know where my dad is," he said softly, failing to keep the nerves out of his voice.
My eyes widened. How did Meg know John was here? How was she even alive? Falling two stories was enough to kill a person, let alone seven. Sam's eyes narrowed and he handed the phone to John, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
John took the phone from him and held it to his ear, speaking softly to Meg. I wrinkled my nose at the very thought of her and that disgusting perfume she had used. I looked up and met Dean's eyes, his face a mask. It struck me just how much he hid his emotions when his father was around. His eyes left mine and tracked towards his father.
He was as still as a statue, his only movements being his green eyes taking in every tiny action and the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deeply. Suddenly, Dean bolted upright, eyes wide and jaw slack. My head whipped towards John, whose jaw was tightly clenched.
"You listen to me. He's got nothing to do with anything. You let him go," he said, his voice dripping with malice. Whoever Meg had was someone John cared for. His jaw unclenched and his brows furrowed in thought. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Lie, I thought. He was lying through his teeth. His heart rate had sped up so much I could nearly feel it pounding in his chest, my own fluttering to match. If I knew he was lying, then certainly so would Meg.
"Caleb?" John questioned. I heard a faint gurgling from the phone and pressed a hand to my mouth. "Caleb!" John shouted into the phone. He fell silent, gripping the phone tightly in his hand, his knuckles going white. "I'm going to kill you, you know that?" he whispered into the phone, barely loud enough for Sam and Dean to hear.
I sucked in a shaky breath, my heart beating erratically. That was the sound of someone dying- his friend dying. Meg just murdered someone, simply to get John's attention. I clenched my fists and rage- I was beginning to think Meg wasn't human.
"OK," John murmured into the speaker. "I said OK! I'll bring you the Colt..." he trailed off, casting his eyes between Sam and Dean. My brows rose in shock. "It's gonna take me a day's drive to get there," John continued, soft-spoken. His voice rose in anger at what Meg said next. "That's impossible! I can't get there in time and I can't just carry a gun on the plane."
He opened his mouth to retort to what she said in response, but the line went dead. She had hung up. John stormed around the room, pacing up and down in deep thought.
"What is she?" I asked, finally finding the courage to speak, my voice wobbling. The brothers turned to look at me with curiosity. "I mean, she can't possibly be human, right?" I added hurriedly. "She fell off a building and is murdering people for fun. That's not-"
"She's a demon," John spat, cutting me off. I clamped my mouth shut and waited for him to elaborate. "Or she's possessed by one. It doesn't matter which."
"So what do we do?" Dean asked, pushing off the counter and taking a few slow steps towards John. "You aren't actually going to give her the gun, are you?"
John shook his head, though I couldn't be sure if that was a response to Dean's question or an automatic reaction. "I'm going to Lincoln. It doesn't look like I have a choice. If I don't go, a lot of people will die, our friends will die."
"What about the gun?" I asked, referring to Dean's question.
"I'll stop by an antique store on the way out of town," he offered, running a hand through his wiry hair. "Look, besides us and a couple of vampires, no one's really seen the gun, no one knows what it looks like."
Sam scoffed. "You're going to hand Meg a fake gun and hope she doesn't notice?"
"As long as it looks close, she shouldn't be able to tell the difference," his father replied.
"And what happens when she figures it out?" Dean questioned, folding his arms over his chest. "What then?" He had a good point. I had no doubt Meg would figure it out sooner or later - a demon couldn't possibly be that stupid.
A demon. I hung my head in disbelief. It was one thing to plan on killing a demon, but to interact with one was something else entirely. It made everything seem too real and raised too many questions. Where did they come from? How were they created? Every monster had its own version of a creation story, and I doubted demons were any different.
What if they really were created by Lucifer himself? What if all that was real too?
I couldn't stomach that right now.
"I'll think of something," John finally answered. "I just... need to buy a couple of hours."
"You mean for us. You want us to stay here, and kill this demon by ourselves?"
John shook his head and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "No Sam. I want to stop losing people we love. I want you to go to school, I want Dean to have a home. I want... I want Mary alive. It's just... I just want this to be over."
The room fell silent and John hung his head. I leaned back in my seat and frowned in thought. I had never imagined doing this without John - this was his goal, he was the one who always knew what to do. Without him... would we even stand a chance?
I shook my head, clearing my mind of those dark thoughts. The boys and I had tackled plenty of challenges in the past. We could take this one too.
---
My paws pounded on the gravel beneath my feet, digging into the thick skin. Everything felt so much better now that I could run.
I skidded across the gravel and came to a stop beside John's pickup, the Impala not too far behind me. I yipped and pranced as the old car parked, having finally successfully beat Dean in a race. It was an amazing feeling, being able to stay just a few steps ahead of him like that.
Dean scoffed as he stepped out of the car, giving my dark head an affectionate pat. "I went easy on you," he teased and ruffled my fur. I huffed and bumped into him, nearly tripping him.
"Did you get it?" John called from where he stood beside his truck, Sam at his side. Dean nodded and held out an old revolver wrapped in brown paper to his father. John took it and inspected it, turning it over in his hands and inspecting it from all angles.
I shook out my fur and stretched as I shifted, taking a few languid steps towards the Winchesters. "Think it'll fool them?" I questioned, stretching my arms over my head. John nodded, not taking his eyes off the gun.
"Yeah, this'll buy you some time," he grumbled and folded the paper back over the gun, slipping it into his bag.
"You know this is a trap, don't you?" Dean questioned, anxiety seeping into his voice. "That's why Meg wants you to go alone."
"I can handle her," John said with a reassuring smirk. He smacked a hand lightly on the back of his pickup, right over his weapons stash. "I've got a whole arsenal. Holy water, Mandaic, amulets..."
I clasped my hands and looked towards the ground, kicking at the pebbles between my feet. This felt like yet another conversation I had no business being part of. The brothers were saying goodbye to their father yet again. If things went south, it could potentially be a permanent goodbye.
I was worried. I was always worried before a hunt now, always on the edge of my seat thinking something would go wrong. That heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach hadn't gone away; sure, it had lessened, but it felt like every step closer to this demon increased the sinking feeling to the point where it was dragging me under. It was like a freezing lake, up to my stomach, and each time we got closer, the water got closer to submerging us.
I was worried that if we weren't careful, we would drown.
My eyes snapped back up to John as he handed the real Colt to Dean, the bullets with it. This was it. Dean grasped the Colt and took a step back from his father and motioned for Sam to follow.
John's eyes met mine and stared back, my heart fluttering with nerves. I wet my lips and momentarily glanced toward my feet before lifting my gaze with what I hoped was a determined look. I held out a hand to John, like a parley flag.
To my shock, he took it. He clasped my smaller hand in his well-worn, calloused ones, his eyes never leaving my face.
"Stay safe, OK John?" I said, praying my voice didn't sound as meek as I felt.
The corners of his lips twitched up into a grin but quickly fell flat, his gaze stern. "Take care of my boys, Y/N," he ordered. I nodded and retracted my hand, watching him spin on his heels and climb into his truck.
He was gone.
We were alone.
---
I hated waiting.
The sky was just beginning to darken, the beautiful pale blue fading to a steel gray and eventually to black. I was beginning to feel restless like there was an itch under my skin I couldn't quite satiate. I blamed it on the moon. It was nearly full, and the sudden return of my furred form had me longing for my usual wolfish activities.
I wanted to run, to explore the open plains and rolling hills of Iowa as the state gradually dipped into the Great Plains. I rarely had open areas like this to run, and my wolf was itching to take a lap.
I wanted to hunt. There was only so much fast food could do for a monster, and I was beginning to miss the taste of venison and deer hearts. I closed my eyes and imagined chasing after a fat deer, leaping high fences and pounding after it. Hunting was exhilarating.
I hummed and wet my lips. I would rather be anywhere else.
"You alright back there, Fido?" Dean questioned. I opened my eyes and turned to face the rearview mirror where Dean's eyes caught my own. "Hope you're not falling asleep on us."
"Nope," I replied with a soft grin. "Just daydreaming." I sunk back into my seat and laid my arms across my stomach, staring out the window. It was getting darker faster now. Another hour and it would be pitch blackout.
I snuck a glance at my watch, eyes flickering over the tiny hands. Just after 10pm. It felt later, like we had been sitting here for hours, just waiting.
I wondered what the pack was doing. Were they out enjoying the nearly full moon? I wished I knew what they did while I was gone. Was it more or less the same, or did they do new and exciting things? I sighed and ran a stray hand through my tousled hair.
I wished I didn't need to be away so often, but the boys needed me. Maybe after tonight I could finally stay, hang up my gun and quit hunting. Leave it all behind and focus on my family.
I glanced at Dean from the corner of my eye, taking in the back of his head and trailing down his shoulder and arm to his open hand, palm down next to his seat. I huffed. Yeah right, like I could ever leave hunting behind.
Did they really need me? They were plenty capable of hunting without me. If anything, maybe I held them back.
I frowned, eyes flickering to Monica's large windows, watching her and her husband in their living room, enjoying a quiet night together. My abilities weren't always much use on a hunt. A wolf, no matter how big, can't fight a demon. I couldn't shift in front of humans either. It was like hunting was a handicap, and I was a handicap to the boys.
I hoped they didn't worry about them. I know I had scared them when Sam was kidnapped by the Bender family. It surprised me that they were still willing to work with me, despite the scare I gave them. Did they ever wonder if I was going to lose it, maybe attack one of them?
I hoped that never happened.
I drew my coat tighter around me, the Daeva claw marks on the back subjecting me to a slight chill. I'd have to get those patched at some point. As far as I knew, Sasha could sew. Maybe she could teach me - my mother had never bothered.
I scowled at the memory of my mother. I could never decide which was worse at parenting, my mother or my father. In a way, John reminded me of my father; strict, to the point of pushing me over the edge. My father had never given me much freedom, always expecting me to do what he said. If I didn't there was a chance I'd screw something up for the whole family.
He was right. The one time I hadn't listened, I screwed things up royally for the three of us.
My mother was just... a mess. She could never decide what she wanted. One moment, she was incredibly happy with my father and loved him dearly, the next she wanted her old life back and to get as far away from him as possible.
I squeezed my eyes shut at the painful memories of their many fights. Maybe if they had found each other naturally and not felt forced to be together, they could have been happy. Maybe if they had been happy, they would still be here.
Was my father even dead? I couldn't be sure. If he was, I doubted he'd ever be able to find me, aside from perhaps rumors left by former members of Chikaltio's pack. I opened my eyes slowly, thinking about the mutts that had been subservient to their idiotic alpha before I killed him. Had they ever found new packs?
I had so many questions I wished I could have answered. It was unlikely that I would ever get answers.
Sam shifted in his seat, drawing my attention. "Maybe we should just tell them there's a gas leak? That could get them away for a few hours."
Dean scoffed and shook his head. "How many times has that worked for us, Sammy?" Sam didn't answer. I assume that meant it had never worked.
I leaned forward, elbow resting on the back of Dean's seat. "You could always just... tell them the truth?" I offered. Sure, it was an unlikely option, but it was possible they would believe us. Worst case scenario, they don't and I have to shift to prove to them that monsters exist. If they would leave the house for the night, I didn't care what I needed to do.
The brothers glanced at each other and laughed at my suggestion. I pursed my lips and glared at them, highly unamused.
"Listen, we've really only got one option here," Dean spoke with authority and pointed at a second-story window. "We wait for the demon to show up in that window and then we gank the son of a bitch."
I slumped back into my seat and glared up at the cursed window. I had mixed feelings about this; on one hand, I wished that demon would just show up already so we could kill it. On the other hand, I wished it would never show up and we could go about our lives.
I rested my head on the back of my seat, baring my neck. It was an uncomfortable position, but it would do for now. I shut my eyes and did my best to relax, sinking into darkness.
It was dark. So very dark, and oddly warm. I opened my eyes and peered into the darkness. The only indication that I truly had opened my eyes was the feeling of the tips of my lashes leaving my skin.
I blinked, hoping my eyes would somehow adjust to the endless extent of shadows. My feet rested flat against the nonexistent ground as if the void was somehow holding me upright.
Here again, I thought and took a few careful steps into the darkness. I opened my mouth slightly to take a deep breath, only to find my lungs were expanding. There was no oxygen for me to breathe here. How was I still conscious?
I shut my eyes and attempted to take a deep breath. Nothing. And yet, I was fine. I opened my eyes and peered through the darkness, evaluating the inky landscape.
There had to be something here.
I marched forward, through the darkness as the heat lapped at my skin, relishing in the feeling of constant warmth. It wasn't the inconsistent heat and humidity of Alabama- no, this felt like a blanket of absolute warmth, sending tingles down my arms.
What was this place?
I padded through the darkness, my shoes making no noise as they hit whatever invisible floor I stood on top of. I was still in my clothes, the heat reaching through the claw marks of my coat and dipping into my cotton shirt hidden beneath.
I heard a soft growl from somewhere in the distance, a warning rather than a threat. Don't go further, it said. You'll see something you don't want to see.
Whatever I was here for, I knew it wasn't to avoid whatever resided here. The image of those red eyes hit me. Was that what was growling at me... or was it what I didn't want to see?
The thing growled again and it brought a chill down my spine. This time, it was a threat. It sounded vicious and commanding, nearly stopping me in my tracks. I spun on my heel to face the source of the noise. My lungs hitched in fright, choking on nonexistent air.
Red eyes bore into me from a distance, narrowed and piercing. They were like fire, flaming and lapping at whatever they gazed at. I felt like I was burning under the intense gaze and it nearly knocked me off my feet.
I didn't belong here, and it knew that. The eyes tilted, as if whatever it was tilted its head at me.
What are you? I whispered in my mind and my voice echoing through the darkness. And then they were gone, disappearing somewhere into the shadows. Something told me it had turned and walked away from me.
I gave chase, my feet making no noise as I sprinted across the void, chasing the red-eyed, shadowy figure. Whatever it was, it wasn't getting away from me. I ran and ran until I felt my legs were going to give out and my lungs would burst. How did my lungs hurt so much without oxygen?
I skidded to a halt, spotting a shadowy figure in the distance. It was massive, a bit larger than my wolf form. Peering through the shadows, I took a few careful steps closer, walking on the tips of my toes out of habit, despite the lack of noise I was generating.
It was a wolf. My eyes widened in shock, noticing its feral, aggressive stance, it's back to me, and a snarl on its lips. It was a massive white wolf, with paws as big as my hand, fingers splayed wide. It was a solid foot taller than me, and I wouldn't be surprised if it could stand at eye level with Dean or even Sam without having to stretch.
My eyes surveyed its glossy white fur, my mouth hanging open, dumbfounded. It was a wolf and so much taller than me. It made me think just what people thought of me when they saw me in my fur.
The white wolf snarled and took a few slow, stalking steps forward. Its fangs were easily double the size of a normal wolf's, maybe four or even five inches long. I padded ever closer until I stood even with its flank, creeping up behind it. Its ears twitched backward to face me and its tail swished. Clearly, it knew I was here, but it didn't care.
I followed its gaze to a shadowy, humanoid figure in the distance. The figure was walking ever closer with a slow, methodical gait like it had all the time in the world.
The silhouette halted maybe ten feet away and I squinted into the darkness, struggling to make out its features.
Two blazing, yellow eyes.
I gasped and flailed in my seat, panting heavily. I coughed and sputtered, bile rising in my throat and my head pounding to the point that tears were streaming down my face.
"Woah, woah!" Dean shouted, twisting in his seat to face me. "Are you OK?" I shook my head and wheezed, scrabbling for the door handle.
I threw the car door open, the metal grinding and creaking in protest. Someone shouted something, but I didn't know who. I crawled from the car and landed on my hands and knees on the asphalt road, heaving and dribbling spit onto the concrete. I felt like my innards were going to crawl up my throat and escape my body.
"Y/N, calm down!" Dean shouted, throwing his door open. "What's going on!?" he sputtered, moving to stand beside me and linking a hand under my arm to help hoist me to my feet.
I vomited.
Dean rested a hand on my back while another weaved through my hair and pulled it out of my face. I vomited, the acidic bile burning my esophagus, and tears poured down my cheeks. I vomited until I was dry heaving and nothing more could come out.
I felt like my head was going to explode. I panted, eyes squeezed tightly shut as the feeling of nausea slowly faded and the stink of my own vomit wafted back into my face. Sitting back on my heels, I turned my face up to the stars, eyes shut, my chest rising and falling like a storming ocean, the waves cresting and crashing over me.
The radio in the Impala blared with static, unable to find a radio station. I winced and jumped to my feet, leaning against the Impala for support. Dean's hand left my hair while his other stayed on my back, steadying me.
The wind picked up and the street lights flickered and finally went out, bathing the streets in the moon's glow. I brushed my hair from my face and wiped the tears from my cheeks, gazing up at the house with wide eyes and a slack jaw.
"It's here..." I whispered with awe as the Earth seemed to shake from the raw power of the demon. "Dean, Sam! It's here, we need to go!" I shouted, my voice carried away by the howling wind. I lunged for my gun in the back seat and slammed the door shut.
The brothers scrambled for their weapons and together we raced towards the house. Dean kneeled beside the door and slipped a card into the crack easily opening the once-locked door. He pushed the door open and together the three of us crept into the house.
It was a modest home, with simple yet beautiful decoration. It looked well put together, and clearly, the couple had an eye for design. I held my gun at the ready and stood beside Sam, scanning the room as Dean led the way.
A man cried out and leaped from the shadows, a baseball bat in hand, and aimed for Dean's head. Dean easily dodged and the bat smashed into an antique-looking lamp, knocking it to the floor and shattering it.
"Get out of my house!" the man, Monica's husband, screamed and lifted the bat to swing again. Dean gripped the end of the bat and easily tore it from the man's grip. He gripped the man by the shoulder and held him against the wall, bat pressed against his throat.
"Be quiet and listen to me," Dean hissed, glaring at the shorter man. "We are trying to help you." The man's eyes flitted between the three of us, his eyes holding mine for a few seconds, shocked and terrified. They flitted back to Dean with terror.
Monica spoke from somewhere upstairs, a note of curiosity in her voice. "Charlie, is everything OK?"
Charlie panicked, shouting and flailing in Dean's grip. "Monica, get the baby!" he shouted, pushing against Dean to no avail.
"Don't go into the nursery!" Sam shouted, moving towards the stairs. Charlie screamed and thrashed, backhanding Dean across the face. Dean stumbled backward and growled at the man, holding the bat high.
Charlie tackled Sam to the ground with an outraged cry. Dean lunged for him, gripping him by the shirt and receiving an elbow to the jaw, knocking him to the side. He stumbled to his feet, wobbling a bit. "Y/N, get Monica and the baby out," he ordered, voice low and determined.
"What about the demon-" I started.
"Just go!" Dean shouted. "We'll take care of it!" I paused and then nodded, turning and running up the stairs to the nursery, feet pounding against the creaky wooden steps. I skidded across the carpet that ran the length of the hallway and stopped at the end of the hall. This had to be the right room.
A crib sat alone in the darkroom, Rosie burbling happily in her tiny bed, hands raised high in the air, gesturing at something. My eyes followed her careless movements and settled on...
Monica.
I gasped and raced to the wall where she thrashed almost silently, like a puppet on strings, rising ever higher. Wrapping my fingers around her pale ankles, I yanked and started dragging her down the wall. She screamed when I touched her, her back bent as she was halfway onto the ceiling. Her tears fell and hit the plush carpet beneath my boots.
Suddenly, she fell, toppling down from a height of several feet and into my waiting arms. I crumpled under her weight and fell to the floor. The wind was knocked out of me and she clung to me for dear life. After several long seconds, I sat upright and began pushing her to her feet.
I stumbled onto my own feet and steadied her as she cried. I held her tight and she wrapped her arms around my waist, sobbing. "Monica, you need to go," I coaxed, trying not to raise my voice. She shook her head and mumbled something unintelligible through her tears. "Monica, you need to go! Something bad is coming, and you and your husband need to leave," I ordered, pushing her towards the door. "I'll be right behind you with Rosie, just go!"
Monica nodded and choked on her sobs, turning to look over her shoulder at the crib.
She screamed.
I spun to face the crib, arms spread wide to protect Monica. There, bent off the crib with one hand dipped down to lazily stroke Rosie's cheek, stood the demon, cast in shadows.
"Monica, GO!" I shouted, raising my gun and aiming at the figure. I pushed her away and she screamed once more, turning to run towards the stairs.
I growled, lips drawn back in a half snarl. The demon straightened, the collar of its jacket covering the lower half of its face. Somehow, I knew it was smiling.
"Hello, pup," it spoke, its voice almost nasally and arrogant. In a flash, it whipped its head to face mine, yellow eyes boring into my very soul. "Nice eyes," it said.
It was then I realized my eyes had changed to gold, a color not dissimilar to its own. Those eyes... they were the same as my dream.
A series of images crashed into me like a tidal wave, throwing me upside down and backward. I was falling through a world of red, fire, and ash coating the Earth. I screamed and shut my eyes.
Suddenly, my feet were on the ground. I opened my eyes to a world on fire, red cascading over the landscape. It looked like hell, fires raging, white-hot. Bodies dotted the landscape.
I stumbled backward with a loud cry, recognizing the carcasses. Humans. Monsters. All of them, dead. The skull of a vampire sat in the dirt, bleached white. Beside it, the body of a wraith, its wrist spikes giving it away.
Humans, monsters, skinwalkers littered the ground, their flesh decaying and ash coating their bones.
I stared at the ground beneath my feet, red sand, and ash clinging to my boots. There was an odd pattern on the ground, a pattern that couldn't be moved no matter how much sand I kicked around. I stepped back and stared with wide eyes.
Wings.
They were wings, burned into the Earth, leading to a body half-buried in the sand. What kind of monster left that mark?
My eyes trailed up to a structure, not far from the winged monster. It was a throne, made entirely of bones. A lone figure sat atop it, their features disguised by the haze and impossible to see.
Two crimson, broken wings extended from the murk and rose triumphantly into the sky.
Just as quickly as it had come, the vision disintegrated and I was standing exactly where I had been. My boots dug into the plush carpet like I was weighed down by lead weights, golden eyes swimming with tears as I fixated on the shadowed demon.
The demon lifted a finger to its lips in a shushing motion, a wide smirk on its thin lips.
Then it was gone, a shot ringing loudly through the air and a bullet embedding itself in the wall. The ceiling burst into flames, lapping at the pastel wallpaper and singing every crevice. I stood frozen in horror, unable to move.
What atrocities had I just seen?
"Y/N, get the baby, and let's go!" I heard Dean scream from behind me, gripping my arm and shaking me wildly. I lept into motion, finally coming to my senses, and lunged for Rosie, pulling her from her crib as she giggled, blue eyes wide and dancing with flames. Together, Dean and I sprinted from the house, baby in my arms and the Colt in his.
We raced down the stairs and out of the house, cascading onto the lawn. Monica raced towards me, arms extended and waiting for her baby expectantly. I handed Rosie off to her and sagged onto the grass, falling to my knees, then my stomach, and rolled onto my back.
The fire had engulfed the entirety of the second floor, breaking the windows and lapping at the roof. In the broken nursery window stood the silhouette of the demon, smiling down on us.
---
I stood outside the motel room and gazed at the night sky, cloudless and beautiful. The boys argued in the room, their voices muffled by the wall separating us. I picked at my fingernails and winced as I ripped one, drawing blood beneath the edge of the nail.
The motel room door was thrown open and out stepped Dean, his breath fogging in the chilly night air. He was a mess, with a purple bruise gracing his jaw and several cuts and bruises decorating his body.
I watched with curiosity as he stared wordlessly at the night sky, eyes swimming with raw emotions. Finally, he turned to me with a heartbroken look in his eyes and moved to lean beside me.
"Meg has dad," he whispered and toyed with the tips of his own fingers.
My eyes went wide with shock, breath hitching in my throat. "She called?"
Dean nodded and placed his palm on his forehead, swallowing dryly and running his fingers through his hair. "We need to get him back..." he whispered, trailing off. I nodded in agreement. But how? Neither of us knew how to track a demon or John for that matter.
Den rubbed his thumb aggressively over his bruised and scabbed knuckles, shredding the newly formed scabs. I reached forward and gripped his hand tightly in my own. He flinched, his shoulders tensing and then slowly relaxing.
"We'll find him, Dean," I said softly, certainty in my voice. "We'll find him, and then we'll kill this demon. Together."
Dean swallowed and nodded, turning his head towards me. His green eyes were narrowed, and to my surprise, unshed tears threatened to spill over. His face was bruised and his lip split, a thin trail of dried blood leaving a splotch just below his lip.
I reached up and placed the pad of my thumb against his lip, swiping over the cut methodically. I hated seeing him hurt- I hated seeing any of my family hurt. But something about his fractured gaze and split lip had my heart tying itself in knots. He watched me intently and I flushed under his gaze, retracting my hand quickly. I licked my lips and flickered my eyes up to his.
He looked broken, like he had no clue what to do next. I knew that feeling, as it was my own.
I embraced him, throwing my arms over his shoulders and hugging him tightly. He wasted no time in wrapping his own arms around my waist, face buried in the crook of my neck.
"We'll find him, Dean," I whispered. "I promise."
6537 words.
Edited 05/02/22.