Authors Notes: So far, this story will be set when Sam and Dean are still quite young, long before the series. Then, later, I will skip to the series and include my OCs in the storyline. Things will change about the series and perhaps I'll add a few extra details in. There will probably be a couple of lemons which I will note up here on the chapters and some sexual references. Favourite, follow and review s'il vous plait. It would be very much appreciated. I do not own any characters used except my OCs.


I looked down at the address in my hands, then up at the motel. This was where Bobby had said they would be. I bit my lip softly. Rick hadn't told me much about these guys, only that he'd worked with the father for a while in the past.

Just thinking of Rick almost made me burst into tears again, as I had so many times before. It was my fault, all my fault. That was why I was here. I owed it to him. The letter in my bag, the one me and Toby had found in Rick's safe, he had left instructions for us to fly to America and find them, find the Winchesters, and deliver another letter to John.

Toby hadn't wanted to. He had built a life back in London. We'd already decided to break up so it wasn't as if our relationship mattered any longer. My life in London hadn't been so good. To be honest, I was hardly around- not because I hadn't wanted to be. There were reasons that I had disappeared for over a month, the ending of which had gotten my mentor killed.

I had met Toby about twelve years ago when we both went to the same high school. He was the new boy and he took an interest in me, for reasons I didn't find out until later.

We had started going out together after about three months of knowing each-other. He had introduced me to Rick, his 'dad', two weeks after that. They had both seemed very interested in my heritage. I'd discovered why a short week after that.

It was odd to think that it had been over a decade ago and yet I still remained to look like a seventeen year old girl. I could grow older, if I wanted to, but both me and Toby had decided that staying young was more enjoyable than growing old. Being young meant that we could continue to go to school, even if we had to move around a lot.

Rick made us do that anyway, no matter if we let ourselves grow older or not. It was annoying, having to start over again and again, having to meet more and more new people, having to find our way around new towns and cities. I knew it was for the best though, I understood why we did it now more than ever. Staying in one place for too long had gotten us in a lot of trouble, then Rick had been killed.

The evening air was cool and crisp as I walked towards the reception of the motel. A small, fat man sat behind the desk. His small eyes on the newspaper in his lap. As I approached, he looked up expectantly.

"Hi, there," I called when I neared him. "I'm looking for a man named Oliver Meek. He booked a room here not too long ago. He probably had two kids with him." I was thankful that Bobby had also given me the name of the alias that John was using here, otherwise I would sound stupid asking for someone who wasn't here.

"What do you need with him?" the man asked suspiciously.

"My dad sent me," I replied calmly. "I was supposed to give him a message but I've forgotten the room number. My dad wouldn't be happy if I called to ask him again." I bit my lip slightly, pretending to look nervous.

The man nodded. "I'll check, just give me a minute." He opened the book on the desk and flicked through it. "Room 46."

I smiled. "Thank you." Then I moved away from the reception and towards the room number I had been given. The door quickly came into view, as did the black impala sitting outside. I assumed that belonged to John.

Standing outside the door for a few moments, I was in disbelief that I was actually here. I'd been on two planes, a train and seven taxis to get here, now I'd finally made it. My hand hovered a few inches from the wooden surface as I thought, then I allowed it to make contact.

Three, sharp knocks sounded out and I took a small step backwards. The door opened and a boy peeked out, probably about fourteen years of age. He looked at me and frowned, giving a small huff.

Flicking his head to look over his shoulder, he called. "Dean! There's a girl at the door!"

Then he moved out of the way as an older boy came into view. He was about the same age as me, maybe a little older. He had dark hair and amazing green eyes but the way he walked told me he had a little more self-confidence than was necessary. Leaning against the doorway, he looked me up and down.

"Hey there, sweetheart. How might I help you?" he asked, his tone flirtatious.

I gave a small roll of my eyes, trying to tell him that I wasn't interested. "I'm looking for your dad, John. I have a letter for him." I told him simply.

Dean frowned at my reply. "Dad said he'd be home later tonight," he told me. "Though that probably means tomorrow morning. You'd better just come back tomorrow. Unless you'd like to stay here?" He gave me a seductive smirk.

"I'll just get another room in this place for the night," I rejected him.

"Right, whatever." His tone was now bitter, dejected.

I nodded and turned away from him as he closed the door, laughing softly to myself. What an arsehole.