"Don't be so nervous," he whispers, a grin climbing onto his face. He sets down the glass, the chalice if you will, stirring up what's inside. Red, with shards of white that looks like some sort of bone. A few bags are scattered across the table, and suddenly the other boy is a little iffy about the whole game. He shows his discomfort by moving uncomfortably in his cushion, but the more muscular male slams his hand on the wood in front of him, making a small whimper escape his lips.
"Justin, calm down. It's not like someone is going to die."
"We don't know that."
"This doesn't even work." The boy, whose last name is Hurden given by his Timberline High School jersey, raised the bag to a shelf when the windows illuminate with headlights. Startled, they herd out of the door, scrambling to the back as a Mercedes pulls up into the sky blue houses drive.
About thirty minutes later, when the Watson's are inside their home, their child in their arms, they smile a little. Mr. Watson is chewing on taffy, as Mrs. Watson excuses herself to go upstairs and tuck in little Robin.
Suddenly, Mr. Watson begins to choke. His mouth starts bleeding, and he coughs, watching as a metal blade throws itself out of his jaws and away from the skin it had come in contact with. He falls in his knees, gagging, slipping on the blood that began to pour out of his mouth, more blades spilling from his teeth.
One.
Two.
Four.
Seven.
Mrs. Watson hears the ruckus, running down the stairs, and screams loud enough to wake their eldest daughter. Shocked, the wife dials 911.
The incident is in the papers the next day : Local Attorney's Candy Lodged With Razor's in Olympia.
"Do you play?" He asked, pressing his hand into the white, glossy wood of the piano. I nod, as his fingers trace the initials on the board. "Kind of a deductive question, Agent Holt. I mean, if I didn't, why would I have it in my room?"
His face flushes with embarrassment, and I take a breath. "I play quite a few different instruments. Acoustic, Electric, Violin and cello. Piano and I played drums for a while. I'm very musical."
"What's your favourite band?" Agent August enters then, a smirk on his face. I smile a little, liking his advance of becoming friendly. "I like a lot. Like Asia, Chris Garneau, Panic! At The Disco. I like Black Sabbath, Metalica, Linkin Park, I like them all. Pantera." I lean back, staring up at the ceiling, puffing a lock of hair from my eyes.
"Alexus, what does A.D.W stand for?" Agent Holt asked suddenly, and I looked up. Why was this important?
"I guess it's time for my life story," I sit, crossing my legs, which only tears up the tights under my shorts even more. Both of the FBI agents look at each other, confused.
"But. Only if you tell me who you really are afterward." I grin; I'd wanted to say that since I realised how fake their badges were. A look of defeat doesn't escape my line of vision, and I raise my head in triumph as they nod an agreement.
"My name isn't Alexus Watson. My name, unfortunately for this family, is Alexus Deanmeul Winchester," both agents were gawking at this point, surprised. "I never knew my mother. She left me and my dad, John Winchester, when I was six months old. She said that she didn't trust what could happen with me, that she was scared of the way I looked at her and Dad, how I looked like I was constantly hearing someone else's voice that wasn't mine. My dad raised me to be seven, and on my sixth birthday he took me to see the Nutcracker. On the day after my seventh birthday, he dropped me off at Child Protection Services which I later realised was because he was being tracked by the police.
"When I turned nine, I began to…" I started laughing nervously, but they urged me to go on, assuring me that I wasn't crazy. "I started.. hearing.. voices. In my head. They were scattered and not really important, with names and actions and visions, and the names Castiel and Gabriel and Balthazar and Sam and Dean, all of it started swirling in my head. I didn't understand, still don't. My foster mom, Carla downstairs, took me to the doctor and now I take medication for Schizophrenia, but I know I'm not sick."
The agents were absolutely baffled at this point, which made my stomach turn. "…You know something. Don't you?" My question was almost a hiss, and they nodded, looking at me.
"My name," agent August announced, "is Dean Winchester. This is my brother, Sam. John is our father. "
I was glad my mother had to work that day. I could sit upstairs, strum the guitar for Dean, listen to him sing Angeles. He had a great voice, and I wished I knew the lyrics as to sing with him. At some point, I decided to ask why they were there, why they were posing as who their said they were, who Dad was.
"Honestly, Alex? I'd love to tell you, but I just can't yet. I don't think you're ready. Okay?"
"Why can't you?" I asked, almost whining. Sam looked at Dean, who seemed to melt. Was I already affecting him as the little sister I was? I took a lot of pride in that.
"Adam knows. She deserves to, as well, Dean." Sam asserted, almost with a cheerful tone. I raised a brow, but Dean gave him a look and began to explain.
"We're not your usual family, all of us. You're special, Sam's special, I guess I am, too."
"And Dad?" I asked, leaning in.
Dean shook his head, giving me a look that said 'you don't even know the half of it, sis'.
"You're right. Those voices in your head isn't Schizophrenia. Those are angels.(at this point I burst out laughing, but he disregarded it with a scowl) We hunt… things. Ghosts, vampires, skinwalkers, all the things that go bump in the night. We try to get rid of them. Of course, we can't go around saying this, so we use false identities. We've been doing this since we were younger than you."
I was smirking with a slight wonder, always being superstitious. I believed in life after death, and demons, but I wasn't a Christian. I never was. I just thought it was some crazy insult to the world to explain why life was so hard for some people and why it was so easy for others.
"You're special because you have the ability to keep in tune with the Angels in their little hypnotic world up there. Sam is special because he has demon blood in him.. he's also the rightful vessel of Lucifer himself. And I'm Michael's, you know, the angel. You should, you've heard our names up there, haven't you?" When he asked, he prodded my forehead, and I laughed a bit.
"Yeah. Quite a bit, actually. Your lives seem so fascinating… why was I left out of this?" I cross my ankles, bumping them up and down on the carpet.
"Well, we didn't know you existed." Sam spoke bluntly, and I glanced at him. He shrugged, chewing the inside of his lip. I leaned into Dean to whisper, "is he always so—"
"Not empathetic? Yeah. He has this medical issue of not having a soul, we'll explain later."
Sam began calling out the name 'Castiel', like they were praying.
At this point, I felt a hand clamp my shoulder, making me jump. Slowly, I turned to catch the eyes of a man with blue orbs shining under shaggy brown hair, and was instantly mesmerized. I stood, just barely taller than him.
"You're Castiel, aren't you?" I asked, and he nodded, not looking at me, but Dean. It was a silent exchange, and the three of them were gone, but I could hear the faint sound of voices from downstairs. Sighing, I sat at the piano, and began to play.
It started as a slow, mystical, sad tune, until I paused for only a moment. The notes were deep, and I curled my fingers before continuing, just letting the music flow through my tips, humming softly to it.
I stop then, hearing the flutter of the wings of an Angel returning, and I look at him. The notes, already a disturbing, beautiful haunted noise drift and swirl in the air until they settle on the ground. He watches me with interest, and I stand when Sam enters.
"Alex, we're going on an adventure. You have a friend named Justin, right?" He asks, and I notice he had removed his suit into something a little more appealing: plaid. I always liked plaid. In fact, now we were matching: that day I had dressed in a tank top with the shortest shorts I could find, black tights torn underneath, combat boots with red laces and a plaid shirt tied under my breasts. I clipped on bobby pins, clipping a beanie to my hair, and nodded.
"Justin and I are together, actually. Why?" I asked, looking a little frightened by this. I walked to my mirror, beginning to apply the makeup I had on before again after my small fit of tears.
"The police found his prints at your house that were about four hours old, after… you know. We want to check him out. Did you give him access to your home?" Dean asked, crossing his arms rather stubbornly, if you asked me. I didn't want to tell the truth, but I didn't want to lie to my brothers, either.
"If I tell you… can you not tell Mom?" I grind my teeth. They were now the closest thing I've ever had to family since Dad died. But, I could tell in the angel's eyes that this wasn't going to be an easy argument to win.
"Yes. I let Justin in. He wanted to play a game with Brennan, and so I agreed for them to use my living room while Mom and Dad were out. Why is this important? Like he would be able to plant razors into some taffy my Dad brought from outside of the house," I sit down, rubbing my thighs, feeling the stare of one of my brothers on my spine, causing pins and needles. I pushed hair before my ear.
"That's a tell-tell sign that you're lying, Alex." Sam grinned, and I chewed the inside of my mouth, flashing him a glare. He looked amused, and I guess that it was a look Dean also reciprocated at times, due to the guffaw he gave from his corner.
"I'm not lying, why would I lie to you?" I gave him a normally heart-melting smile that always got me what I wanted, but didn't seem to affect him. Castiel looked from all three of us.
"Maybe she isn't—"
"Yes she is, don't let her pretty face cloud your judgment, angel." Sam was grinning ear to ear now, and I made a biting motion toward him.
"Fine. Want proof? Let's go to Justin's. He can definitely clear some of this up, hm?" I stand, shoving my thumbs into my front pockets, turning on my heel and strutting out. I can hear their shoes clamber behind me, and the sound of fluttering wings and the angel, Castiel I recall again, from the voices in my head. He's standing, holding the door open for me and the brothers, and I take the keys from the holster.
"Nuh-uh, if you're going to be our sister, you're riding in the Impala." Dean grumbles, demanding, taking my keys away from me. I grind my teeth, but allow him to do so, as he puts them back. "You get to taste the life of Winchester-hood."
The Impala was a beauty. I always had a thing for muscle cars of sorts, and old music. I watched out the window, giving them directions as I reapplied black lipstick. Dean glanced and chuckled, and when I asked why, he didn't answer.
We pulled up in a large house with a garage, tan wood and white lining on the windows. The door was a sort of olive green, and I could hear Justin's corgi, Blu, bark. He was home alone now, which explained the noise of guitars and drums. I checked the watch, frowning. I'd missed half of practice.
"What are they doing in there?" Sam asked, stepping out from the back of the vehicle, smoothing out his jacket. I nodded my head softly to Trees, one of my favourites. We were always getting together, every weekday after school, practicing until we made it big. We used songs that were already around, because the only person that could write was Chantam, and he was in the hospital with chronic bronchitis.
"I'm late for practice, and they're warming up. We've got a band. We call it Juwn. J-U-W-N. I can play you somethin' if you want?" I bit my lip, pulling up the garage door to reveal the boys inside. The walls were decorated with album covers and posters of various artists, from Indie (which we specialized in) to Scream Metal. I introduced Justin to Dean and Sam, and then whispered something in their ears.
Harry began to push the synthesizer to the right chords, and Justin gently tapped the drums, his shaggy hair moving side to side. I plugged in the microphone to the amp, pulled up a few stools.
"We don't usually have listeners besides the neighbors telling us to quiet down, so you'll be our first. Pardon us if we're a bit nervous." I grin, before the music begins to pick up.
I move onto a seat that was higher than the rest, legs crossed, and take a deep breath. I push my hair back.
I'm sorry Mother. I'm sorry I let you down.
Well, these days I'm fine. Well, these days, I tend to lie.
I'll take the West train, just by the side of Amsterdam.
Just by my left brain,
Just by the side of the tin man.
I can't hold back the smile on my face that reciprocates Sam's, and I have this feeling that he knows the song. It makes my stomach turn, and I decide to stand now, walking and taking his hand, winking.
I'm sorry brother. I'm sorry I let you down.
Well, these days you're fine. Well, these days you tend to lie.
You'll take the West train, just by the side of Amsterdam.
Just by your left brain,
Just by the side of the tin man.
I let go, jumping eight times, then begin the chorus. I move the microphone away from so close to my mouth as I use the top of my lungs instead.
Your time will come.
If you wait for it, if you wait for it.
It's hard, believe me, I've tried.
But I keep comin' up short.
I don't plan on singing the entire song, so I move closer to Justin, grinning, taking his chin in my hand as I sing the last part that I plan to and then would let them carry it out to a close.
I'm sorry, Lover. I'm sorry I bring you down.
Well, these times I try, and these days I tend to lie.
'Kinda thought it was a mystery,
Then I thought it wasn't meant to be.
You set yourself fantastically,
Congratulations… you were all alone…
I grin, kissing him for a second, and then let it draw to a close. Dean and Sam just look at each other, seeming to forget why they had come in the first place.
I think I might like my family.