Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters, ideas and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
CHAPTER ONE
A Star's Life:
January 24, 1979
Lawrence, Kansas
Hospital
John was a complete wreck.
He was abruptly jolted from his peaceful slumber by a panicking Mary at 6 AM, exclaiming that her water broke, and judging by the puddle accumulating underneath her on the bed linen, their firstborn was finally ready to be brought into the world. It had the instantaneous effect of snapping John wide awake, batting away the last remnants of sleep. He had immediately donned his leather jacket and jeans, grabbed the pre-packed labor bag Mary prepared a month earlier, snatched the car keys to his 1967 Chevrolet Impala and rapidly whisked away a clammy, nine month pregnant Mary to the passenger seat in the totality of ten minutes. Quickly shoving his feet into his comfortable black boots, John slammed them against the pedal and drove like a deranged lunatic to Lawrence Memorial Hospital, as only a fretful father-to-be could.
Three hours later, Mary's contractions were still fifteen minutes apart, and therefore no closer to giving birth yet.
By 11 AM, the doctor finally exclaimed that the baby's head was crowning, and twenty minutes later, John and Mary were the proud parents of one healthy, bouncing baby boy, eyes impressively active for a newborn – eyes the exact shade of Mary's candy apple green. They had fallen in love with him immediately, and he had already become the center of their universe.
"What should we name him?" John adoringly asked his exhausted wife.
Stroking the newborn's smooth cheek, Mary's eyes lit up as she ran a possible name by her husband, a name she had been mulling over ever since the pregnancy test turned out to be positive. "I always planned… if I ever gave birth to a girl, to name her after my mother… Deanna. But-"
"Dean," John softly interjected, wonder palpable in his tone. Mary snapped her head to meet him squarely in the eye, green orbs brightening with potent love, "What?"
John grinned, cupping her cheek and stroking her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, "I don't see why you can't name him after your mother. Just shorten it from Deanna, to Dean."
"Dean…" Mary repeated, trying the name out, her tongue caressing the letters fondly, "Yeah, Dean." The ecstatic new parents stared at their sleeping son, identical smiles on their faces, "Welcome to the world, Dean Winchester."
John and Mary did not have a slight inkling of the special little life they had brought into the world. A boy that would grow up to be a phenomenal man, one that everyone would come to look up to, the Righteous Man. And up in Heaven, its Host rejoiced the birth of Michael's Sword.
January 24, 1979
Chicago, Illinois
Hospital
A different couple, also expecting their first child and on their ninth month of pregnancy, had just finished having lunch at a bustling bistro, and no sooner had Cameron paid the check, did a shriek emanate from Beatrice, prompting the attention to be solely fixated on the heavily pregnant woman whose sparkling electric blue eyes were sharply assessing the puddle of water that just sloshed by her feet.
"Cam! Cameron, my water broke!" the blonde frantically hissed, her dainty hand squeezing her husband's wrist in a surprisingly painful grip. Cacophonies of exclamations permeated the interior of the bistro and Cameron agilely escorted the hyperventilating mother-to-be toward his powder blue 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air.
They made it to the hospital in record time, but unfortunately, like most women in labor, Beatrice's contractions were too far apart. However, unlike most mothers-to-be, Beatrice was no ordinary woman, and therefore, had a low threshold for pain and kept a calm and collected head. In fact, both husband and wife shared those certain qualities, for they were descendants of a long line of hunters.
Beatrice's maiden name was Salvatore, and the Salvatores were well-known around a few communities for being one of the Founding Families of a special, quaint little town, with prodigious knowledge of supernatural entities. Her mother, on the other hand, had secret roots, confidential information conveyed to her only daughter, but nevertheless, her madre was a proficient hunter who had become a runaway at the age of eighteen. Ava encountered her future husband after slaying a nest of vampires near Virginia after living the life of a solo hunter for five years, and a year later, she ultimately agreed to marry Anthony Salvatore. Therefore, Beatrice grew up in a hunter's household and was raised a hunter's life from the moment she took her first steps.
Cameron on the other hand, he had large shoes to fill, him being a descendant of the greatest hunter of all time, Samuel Colt. The mere whisper of his name was spoken in awe and reverence, and due to his ancestor, was known as a legendary idol to hunters today. The hunter life was his bread and butter, and had been trained from an early age, prompting demons and monsters to quake at the mere mention of his name, knowing that if they were in the same vicinity as him, they wouldn't live to see another day. Cameron Colt was an unstoppable adversary, and a force to be reckoned with.
The moment the clock struck 8 PM, the next generation, and the latest member, of the Colt Family was welcomed into the world, a new individual that would later come to strike fear in the hearts of every encountered foe: A little girl with twinkling sapphires and tufts of caramel-blonde hair christened Désirée Stella Colt.
December 17, 1983
Lawrence, Kansas
Missouri's House
The outspoken psychic gave the inconsolable widower a long, hard look, her gaze piercing and soul-penetrating. They had just returned from the ruins of his former house, and although Missouri knew what had to be done, she was tentative about awakening that certain path for the Winchesters. But then, she recalled the real evil that had left an imprint in that house, and Missouri Moseley knew that she should not, under any circumstances, defy fate.
"Demons exist? Please tell me you're joking," John gruffly exclaimed. Returning to Lawrence was the last thing he wanted to do, but John desperately needed answers, and through the rumor mill, heard that Missouri was the one who held them all; however, changing his entire belief system, his entire perspective on life and the world he lived in, that wasn't on the menu, it was not even close to what he had been expecting when he woke up that morning and came knocking on her front door.
She let out a sigh of exasperation in response, having expected the widower's cynicism. "John, come now. Deep down, you knew Mary's death was no mere accident. You know it was something… unnatural," Missouri chastised him, though her tone remained soft and understanding, lacking any vitriol. Studying the man further, Missouri nodded in acceptance and reluctantly, commenced with opening his eyes to what was in the dark.
By the time John departed her inviting home, he was a changed man with a new purpose in life: avenge Mary and kill the son of a bitch that tore her away from her family. Before he clambered into the Impala, John neatly folded and gingerly pocketed the piece of paper Missouri had given him that contained a hunter's name and address. According to Missouri, Bobby Singer was the go-to-guy for an induction into a hunter's life and the world of the supernatural, and who was John to argue with a psychic.
April 10, 1985
Central Nebraska
Harvelle's Roadhouse
"AUNTIE ELLEN!" a petite girl with glossy caramel-blonde hair, an olive complexion and sparkling blue eyes, barged into the Roadhouse and scampered toward the bar, her cheeks flushed with excitement. However, no soon had she paused by the bar, did her plump, rosy lips transform into an adorable pout upon realizing that her aunt was nowhere to be found. Beatrice rolled her eyes fondly as she sprinted after her sprightly daughter, who, for a seven-year-old, was a vivacious little thing and already had quite the rebellious streak, which, Cameron adamantly complained, was the sole reason behind the two strands of gray that had recently appeared on his head.
Désirée, her being the daughter of hunters, was no stranger to Harvelle's Roadhouse, and remarkably knew the names of half the hunters that were regulars of the bar. Also, since her Aunt and Uncle owned the joint, Désirée never shied away, which she normally never did from anything; it just wasn't in her nature.
"Désirée! How many times do I have to tell you not to run into places without me or your mother by your side?"
The seven-year-old cheekily grinned up at her father, showing off her lone dimple, "At least one more time, Daddy." Half the regulars at the Roadhouse burst into laughter, too used to the little girl's presence and already fond of her boisterous personality. Beatrice chuckled into her hand, and even Cameron's stern expression melted, unable to remain mad with his savvy little girl for too long. "Don't do it again!" was all he said before noticing his brother-in-law smiling affectionately at the family of three, his eyes crinkled into a smile.
"Dezzy, how's my favorite niece?" Bill Harvelle jovially boomed out, opening his arms wide just in time for the little sprite to jump into them, giggling melodiously over her being his only niece as she wrapped her tiny arms around his neck. "Beatrice, looking lovely as ever," he chastely kissed her on the cheek before pivoting around to confront Cameron, a mock-stern expression on his jolly face. "Cam. Ellen expected you two days ago."
Cameron winced and sheepishly rubbed the nape of his neck; his little sister was notorious for her temper. "On a scale of 1 to 10, how bad is it?"
"It started off as ten," Ellen's no-nonsense tone interjected, resonating from the backdoor, a tiny bundle in pink closely clutched to her chest. "But this little one managed to bump it down a notch or two. Dezzy sweetheart, come say hello to your cousin. This is Joanna Beth, and it's going to be your job to protect her and take care of her. She will be looking up to you a lot, hmm." Her hazel eyes shone with mirth and affection.
Désirée's tiny lips were agape as she skipped over to her aunt and peeked into the little bundle for a better view of the newest member of her family. Wide brown eyes stared back at her in wonder, and Désirée was lost in thought about the certain responsibilities that fell onto her lap in regards to her three-day-old cousin while the adults spoke in the background.
"Sorry, Elle. We really did hit the road early," Cameron apologetically prefaced. "That was until we located a nest of vampires by the borders of Nebraska."
Ellen softly bumped shoulders with her brother, soundlessly notifying he was forgiven before nattering on with Beatrice while the men instigated conversation over a few beers. They were a family of hunters, and exceptions must always be made. Sometimes, the job was of the utmost priority, and innocent lives were always at stake, therefore Ellen couldn't fault her brother, after all, she would have done the exact same thing if the situation was reversed.
Meanwhile, as the adults chattered in the background, Joanna Beth Harvelle tightly gripped Désirée's pinky finger, and the seven-year-old vowed to herself, that come hell or high water, she would always, always protect her baby cousin, no matter what, she would always be her protector and catch her whenever she falls.
March 12, 1986
Chicago, Illinois
Colt Manor
When eight-year-old Désirée descended the flight of stairs that morning, she found herself standing before a complete stranger. Almond-shaped eyes widened at the big muscular man with a scruffy beard, and her first reaction was to feel intimidated by the stranger and cower away, but upon craning her neck back and meeting a pair of kind hazel eyes, her confidence returned tenfold.
"Hello, Mister. I'm Désirée Stella Colt, age eight!" she childishly introduced herself, eight fingers displayed in emphasis, eliciting a soft smile from the stranger. Noticing movement from behind the man's muscular frame, sparkling blues met a unique shade of greens, a few shades darker than her Daddy's. They belonged to a boy who looked her age with dirty blonde hair and a light spattering of freckles, his hand tightly gripping a younger boy's with shaggy chocolate curls and wide, matching eyes.
The man knelt down so that he could be on the same eye level as her, "It's nice to meet you, Désirée. I'm John Winchester, and these are my boys, Dean who is also eight, and Sam, who's only four."
"Are you here to see my Daddy or my Mommy?" she childishly inquired, cocking her head to the side in an adorable manner. John struggled slightly, unsure of what he should tell the legendary Cameron Colt's daughter, but before he could come up with some feeble excuse, Cameron himself appeared in the living room, Beatrice dragging Sam into the kitchen for breakfast. "Pumpkin, John is a fellow hunter as well. According to the signs, there's a Shtriga in Wisconsin, so you're going to have to be a good girl for Mommy and treat our guests kindly, yes?"
Désirée rolled her eyes and allowed her father to embrace her, "You say that as though I'm mean to people." Cameron chuckled, fondly ruffling her hair, "No, but you're a right little terror. Never know when to keep that mouth of yours shut, hmm?" The eight-year-old stuck her tongue out in response before turning to beam at John and Dean, both of whom sported gobsmacked expressions at the potent display of affection.
Not wanting to overstep his boundaries, John cleared his throat and hesitantly spoke up, "I didn't know your daughter was well-informed about…"
"Hunting?" Cameron smirked, examining John with a mixture of amusement and solemnity, "She's a Colt, John, she was bound to find out one day. Better sooner than later, aye? Besides, Beatrice comes from a family of hunters as well, so we both came to a mutual agreement that we should raise Dez early on. Don't want her running into any nasty surprises one day, am I right?"
For two days, Beatrice kept a watchful eye on the two children in her care and her handful daughter, the telephone line ringing off the hook, bringing updates from Cameron, and a few fellow hunters in need of advice, and her brother even called her once just to check in. In the meantime, Désirée made sure to keep Dean and Sam company, and despite Sam's young age, Désirée was already forming a strong bond with the Winchester brothers, Dean most of all, since he knew about the world of the supernatural, and for the first time in his life found that he could actually talk to someone about it, producing a genuine friendship without any need of lies.
On the third night however, things went horribly awry.
In Désirée's room, Dean and Désirée sat cross-legged, huddling under the thick comforter, trading stories about the many cities they visited and the monsters they rarely encountered whilst on the road. The jubilant atmosphere however, came to a halt when Désirée turned rigid all of a sudden, a bad feeling vibrating through her very being as her instincts screamed that something was wrong, and at that moment, she heard light shuffling from the corridor.
Noticing the stark change in his new friend's demeanor, Dean opened his mouth to state his concerns when Désirée abruptly clapped a hand over his mouth, gesturing for him to remain silent with a finger against her lips. Slowly, Désirée crawled underneath her bed and lifted a loose floorboard filled with litanies of arsenal hoarded for her protection, and instinctively reached out for an iron throwing knife.
Barefoot, the two eight-year-olds stealthily tiptoed out of her room and into the hallway, their first stop being the room assigned to the brothers. Dread consumed Désirée upon finding the door slightly ajar, and throwing caution to the wind, ran into the room, eyes widening in alarm at the hunchbacked, hooded figure looming over Sam. Dean let out a yell, grabbing the Shtriga's attention and simultaneously, Désirée cried out, "MAMA!" just before she threw the dagger and impaled the Shtriga's back.
A wounded shriek emanated from the hag-like creature as Beatrice barged into the room, alert and armed with a gun; the second she shot an iron round at it, the Shtriga fled through the open window and Sam began to wail loudly. Breathing out a sigh of relief, Beatrice rushed over to Sam and clutched him protectively in her arms while Dean fretted over him.
Five minutes later, a frantic Cameron and an enraged John arrived. Thanking Beatrice and Désirée, he dragged Dean and Sam into the Impala and once the latter had finally drifted off to sleep, berated Dean for taking his eyes off Sam and for not following his orders.
That was the time Dean had made his first true friend, however, ever since that night, he remained haunted by his failure to protect his brother, and from that moment on, Dean's priorities vastly changed, and he made a promise to himself, to do whatever it takes to keep his little brother safe.
December 4, 1991
Sioux Falls, South Dakota
Singer Salvage Yard, Bobby's House
"Uncle Bobs!" twelve-year-old Désirée rushed forward to envelope her honorary uncle in a tight embrace, beaming brightly up at him, "What's cookin'?"
Shaking his head in fond exasperation, Bobby ruffled her caramel-blonde locks and grunted, "Every time you come for a visit, you've got these new slangs in your vocabulary. Where you learnin' 'em from ya idjit? Definitely not from your parents."
With a cheeky grin, coupled with a mischievous wink, Désirée matter-of-factly exclaimed, "School! Duh! You've really got to get with the times, Uncle B." Before Bobby could grunt back a disgruntled remark, a childish, "DEZ!" was bellowed from behind and Désirée found herself knocked onto the ground, an armful of Sam Winchester holding her down. "Ugh, Sammy, you gotta work on your landing. How're you doing, squirt?"
Sam pouted at her, and Désirée instantly averted eye contact, not about to allow herself to become a victim of Sam's infamous puppy-dog-pout that could melt even the sternest of individuals. "Why didn't you tell me, Dez?!" he indignantly blurted out. Frowning at the shorter boy in confusion, Désirée shrugged, "I didn't know I was coming. Mom went to help my Uncle Zach out with some rogue vam- ugh… with something near her hometown, and Dad's off meeting some clients in Indiana."
"No! Not that," Sam grumbled as he dragged Désirée toward the living room where a moody Dean currently sat, brooding. "About the monsters! You don't have to hide what your parents do anymore! I know you know, so don't bother lying to me," he quickly interjected when Désirée parted her lips, a retort on her tongue. Giving the younger boy the stink-eye, she plumped down beside Dean on the couch. "Actually, I was about to ask 'who finally squealed' but judging from Dean's cheerful mood," she sarcastically quipped, prompting the green-eyed boy to aggressively roll his eyes. "Imma wager a guess and say Dean finally fessed up."
Elbowing her, Dean glared pointedly at his little brother, "Sammy wouldn't shut up. I had no choice, and Dad's going to be real mad at me now!"
Patting Dean on the forearm in what she hoped was a comforting motion, Désirée shrugged, "Nah. If you ask me, John'll probably be relieved he didn't have to." Eyes flickering to meet Sam's excited face, she deadpanned, "Wipe that look off your face, Sammy. Hunting's not an easy job. It isn't some cool hobby that'll look good on a résumé. It's a hardcore job and it doesn't exactly come with a lot of benefits. It's fulltime and it's dangerous, and there's no room to mess up. It isn't trial and error. You fail a job, either you end up dead, or an innocent will. So now that you're not being kept in the dark anymore, you have to train really hard, Sammy."
"Don't scare him!" Dean growled, quite violently shoving Désirée away and rubbing a frightened Sam's back in what he hoped was a calming gesture.
Désirée stonily glared back, furious at Dean's sudden hostility towards her, "I'm being honest, Dean! You can't sugarcoat these things, especially not to Sammy. He isn't some wandering witness or an unlucky victim, he's family! And whether you like it or not, John's gonna induct him into the hunting life sooner or later! What were you gonna tell him, huh, Dean?! That we hunt Tinkerbell and Cinderella's evil stepmother?!"
"SHUT UP!" Dean shouted, his expression contorting into hate, his face all red and blotchy from anger, "You don't have the right to explain anything to Sammy! I'll do it my own way! You're not family!"
Désirée let out a sharp intake of breath, and the back of her eyelids pricked with the beginning formation of tears. The atmosphere was filled with a suffocating tension and even Dean adopted an expression of unmitigated shock and a twinge of horror regarding his blatant exclamation. Not wanting to breakdown in front of Dean or show how much his words truly hurt her, Désirée whipped around and stormed up the stairs, slamming the door to her room shut with a force that shook the foundations.
Bobby chose that precise moment to walk in, his face twisted in consternation, "What'n the blazes is goin' on in here?!" Dean and Sam shuffled guiltily in response, unable to meet their surrogate father squarely in the eye.
Following that incident, Désirée and Dean remained estranged for two years.
January 5, 1993
Raleigh, North Carolina
Hymettus Woods Park
She didn't want to do this.
Désirée really did not want to do this.
A mother-daughter bonding trip to visit her grandparents at Raleigh ended up – like most trips almost always did for the Colts – becoming a hunt. Over dinner, Nana Ava had matter-of-factly informed them of the teenagers that were disappearing at Hymettus Woods Park for the past week, culminating to one of the missing hikers being found with a half-eaten heart along with sixty percent of his flesh. Believing the perpetrator to be a werewolf, mother and daughter set off with their fully-equipped hunting gear and a tent.
Hours of waiting later, and they discovered that they had it all wrong. Despite there being a full moon looming overhead, they weren't hunting werewolves… They were hunting a Wendigo, which didn't fit the criteria as they're rarely seen out of Minnesota or the North of Michigan.
Cameron and Beatrice ensured that the rules of hunting were drilled into her head, and therefore, if Désirée wanted to make herself useful and begin hunting at a young age, rule number one must always be followed otherwise there would be nasty repercussions: obey orders during a hunt from her elders. For that particular reason, when Beatrice straightforwardly stated the plan of attack, Désirée paled dramatically, wanting to argue with her mother but instead, dutifully prepared herself for her part in the hunt.
Once she had completed drawing Anasazi symbols around them, Désirée reluctantly nodded at her mother, and steeling herself, Beatrice walked out of the protective circle, making herself the Wendigo's bait, much to her daughter's misgivings. Just as they had expected, the monster used its most notorious ability from its arsenal; imitating Cameron's voice, the Wendigo beckoned Beatrice forward. In an effort to deceive the Wendigo, Beatrice stepped forward, her pace agonizingly slow.
Désirée grimaced, her face contorting into palpable disgust at the emaciated, humanoid creature swiftly approaching her mother, its bones visible under pallid skin. Bracing herself, Désirée nimbly aimed the flare gun at the creature, ensuring the weapon was at a respective distance from her face; in accordance to the plan, Beatrice retreated, running as fast as possible toward the protective circle, and, positioning her finger over the trigger, Désirée patiently waited for the perfect opportunity as there was no room for mistakes, lest she ended up short a parent.
Glowing, owl-like eyes and crooked, sharp, teeth infiltrated her vision,razor-like claws glinting ferociously in the moonlight, a hairsbreadth away from her mother. With precision, Désirée pulled the trigger, the hammer hitting the detonating cap, and hit her mark. The flare impacted with the Wendigo, instantly killing it… Désirée's first kill; her first successful hunt!
Stunned by her accomplishment, Désirée was snapped out of her trance when her mother tightly wrapped her in a crushing embrace, pride vivid in her expression. While Beatrice shamelessly gushed over the phone to Cameron about their daughter's success, Désirée packed up their tent and neatly organized their belongings, ready to search for the Wendigo's hideout, hoping that the missing teenagers were still alive.
Roughly two hours of searching high and low, mother and daughter located four of the six missing teenagers, the latter two gruesomely ripped apart, whatever remained of their corpses unceremoniously scattered on the ground. However, the surprises didn't end there; as it turned out, the Winchesters heard of the anomaly and were scouring the woods with the full intention of killing the monster. When John and Dean ambled by, Beatrice and Désirée had already finished convincing the four survivors the importance of keeping their 'adventure' a secret.
Still furious with Dean, undeniably hurt by the comments he made two years ago, Désirée ignored her ex-best friend, entranced with Dave, a handsome boy two years older than her who was profusely thanking her while subtly flirting with the blonde thirteen-year-old. Beatrice and John however, ignored the tension between their children, confident that they would patch things up in time and conversed over the strange pattern of the hunt as even the Winchesters believed the monster had been a werewolf.
While Désirée and Dave traded phone numbers and emails, unbeknownst to them, candy green eyes intently observed them with utmost jealousy.
May 2, 1993
Sioux Falls, South Dakota
Singer Salvage Yard, Bobby's House
"This is ridiculous!" Désirée snapped, banging her fists against the door of the bedroom Bobby had assigned to her since her birth if there ever came a time she needed a place to stay while her parents were off on a hunt. "SAMUEL WINCHESTER!" she bellowed, his full name emanating from her mouth, an indication of her potent rage, "You unlock this door RIGHT NOW you little rugrat!"
Massaging his temples in the hopes of subduing the migraine Désirée was giving him, Dean jumped to his feet, unable to handle the racket for another minute and firmly curled his hand around Désirée's wrist, halting her futile administrations, her fist a few inches away from the door. "Just stop! Stop! Sam's not going to open the door just because you told him to!" he sneered. On cue, Sam piped up from the other side of the door, "Dean's right, Dez-"
"MOM! DAD! UNCLE BOBBY! SOMEONE OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW!" she shrieked, alternating to furiously kicking the door since Dean had yet to release her wrist from his vice grip. Before Dean could yell at her to shut up, Sam's voice permeated the air from the other side. "Dez! Stop yelling! Look, you asked me what I wanted for my birthday. I want you two to make up and stop fighting! You've been giving each other the silent treatment for over two years now! So… I'm only letting you out once you're friends again," he adamantly revealed, and this time, Dean looked as furious as Désirée.
Stubbornly, Désirée folded her arms together and turned her back on Dean, unwilling to argue any further with the ten-year-old, especially after he used the birthday card which was incredibly unfair! Mimicking her actions, Dean returned to his spot on the ground by the corner of the room, and the two fourteen-year-olds obstinately averted eye contact, focusing on anything but each other for the better half of three hours. In fact, it was only until Dean's stomach growled loudly, did he finally move from his spot to kick the door, "I'm starving! Sammy unlock the damn door already!"
He was met with complete silence on the other side, which prompted Désirée to snort in disdain. Pushing herself off her bed, Désirée rolled her eyes and started rooting through her drawers, a triumphant noise escaping her upon finding her stash of bobby pins and, without bothering to explain anything to the other teen, Désirée shoved him away from the door and furiously got to work. She worked in silence, trying to ignore the pair of green eyes burning a hole through her back and after a few minutes, the door clicked open.
"Finally! God. I should've thought of that sooner," Désirée muttered to herself, shaking her head in shame. However, just as she moved to make her sweet, sweet escape, she froze in her tracks, consumed by sudden guilt, and with a groan of irritation, she shoved Dean back into the room and softly shut the door. Dean aimed a heavy scowl her way, "What the hell? Let me out!"
Electric blue eyes flashed with venom, an impressive sneer on Désirée's face. "As much as I'd love to stay as far away from you as possible… Sam really wants us to make up, and unfortunately, I have a weakness for his puppy-dog-pout, so… let's just get this over and done with!" she huffed, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her back resting against the door. Dean sighed in acquiescence and copied her movements, ensuring there was an acceptable distance between them.
Once the silence became unbearable, Désirée rolled her eyes and decided to be the bigger person, "Fine, I'll get the ball rolling then… I'm sorry." Whipping around to face Désirée with wide eyes, Dean gaped at her in surprise, and she stubbornly shouldered on, "…I guess I was out of line. Sam's your brother, and I had absolutely no right to scare him off or give him the pep talk on Hunter 101. I guess… I was scared. Terrified actually, that something might happen to him. Unlike you, I've spent my entire life surrounded by hunters… and from a young age I learned to accept death as a part of life. You know how many times I'd ask my parents what happened to Marla, or where's Chris, or Mommy why are you crying? And they'd tell me they died… I just couldn't bear the thought of losing you guys and I overstepped my boundaries. So…I'm sorry."
Dean nervously cleared his throat and looked away. Tracing random patterns on the carpet, he finally spoke up, "Yeah, you were a bit harsh, but… I guess Sam needed to hear it. When I told Sammy at first, he took hunting as though it's a cool hobby, just like you said, and I didn't have the heart to set him straight. I guess I coddle him too much and when you took over my job I got mad and overprotective and I took it all out on you. The moment I yelled at you, I regretted it… you're my best friend." Candy greens connected with electric blues, "My only friend actually. How lame is that? I mean, you're an outgoing person, confident and free-spirited, you make friends so easily and me? I'm too burdened by the hunting life I decided having friends wasn't worth it. I'm sorry, Ray. I didn't mean what I said. You are family."
Warmth infiltrated Désirée upon hearing Dean call her 'Ray'. Nobody but Dean Winchester ever called her that, and she didn't realize until now, how much she missed hearing it, how much she missed having Dean in her life. "You're a punk. You know that right?" Désirée chuckled fondly, getting up from the floor and offering Dean a hand, "You're my best friend, Day. Through thick and thin."
Accepting her hand, Dean allowed her to pull him up and after a brief hug, Dean rushed to the door, "Enough with the chick-flick moment. Let's eat!"
Désirée's melodious laughter permeated the air as she followed Dean to the kitchen and after childishly sticking her tongue out at a giddy Sam, who was practically vibrating with happiness, started helping her mother bake a cake for the little rugrat's birthday.
May 17, 1995
Central Nebraska
Harvelle's Roadhouse
Upon receiving notice of the devastating news, the Colts didn't waste precious time in getting to the Roadhouse so that they could send Bill off through a funeral pyre, as per the tradition for fallen hunters.
Ellen informed them that John and Bill were on a hunt, and it went terribly wrong. Her jubilant uncle had zero chance at survival and was in immense agony that John Winchester had no choice, and was forced to kill Bill to put him out of his misery. None of them blamed John – not even Ellen. In fact, Désirée pitied him for being put in such a tough position. Unable to confront anyone and beating himself up for Bill's fate, John dropped off his body, explained the situation and ran off into the night.
They had waited until Jo had drifted off to sleep, unwilling to let the ten-year-old watch her father's cremation. Désirée had rocked her violently sobbing cousin to sleep, suppressing her own tears as she choked out a half-hearted lullaby. And no sooner had she tucked Jo into bed, did Cameron set up the wooden platform for the funeral pyre.
Wrapping Bill up in a shroud, Ellen, Cameron, Beatrice and Désirée each parted him with a few heartfelt words, concluding with a tearful Ellen salting and burning her husband's corpse, done by hunters as insurance that the deceased wouldn't return as a vengeful spirit or a similar entity.
Once William Anthony Harvelle's corpse was reduced to ashes, Désirée finally opened the dam and allowed herself to cry over her uncle's death, unable to keep her composure and show a strong front any longer. Désirée may have gotten used to hunters dying from a young age, but this was the first time she experienced the death of a beloved family member, and Désirée was inconsolable, especially when her thoughts revolved around the adorable blonde in pigtails who would have to adjust to growing up without a father.
That night, before Désirée fell into a troubled slumber, she solemnly prayed to God that, if her Dad were ever to die, she wouldn't be alive to see it.
January 24, 1996
Chicago, Illinois
Colt Manor
Ever since Mary Winchester's death and meeting the Colts, Beatrice was considered a surrogate mother to Dean and Sam Winchester. Two boys, deprived of a mother at a young, fragile age and losing the place they called home in one fell swoop, only to live a life on the road with an absentee father who would drop them off at some dingy motel, disappear for days, and occasionally return bloodied and battered; Dean took on the role of not only a big brother to Sam, but a mother and father too, learning by the age of four to take care of himself and forced to grow up quickly.
For four years, Dean gave up hope of ever having a semblance of normalcy and be taken care of for once… that was at least, until the Shtriga hunt, when John went to the legendary Cameron Colt for aid and they were introduced to a happy family of three that managed to live a hunter's life in an honest to god domestic setting. And since then, Dean and Sam's life changed for the better. Cameron Colt adopted the role of a quasi-father-uncle figure and Beatrice wholeheartedly adopted them as her sons, nurturing them and caring for them and relinquishing Dean from his profession as Sam's only protector, allowing Dean reprieve every once in a while.
Every odd year, the Colts would bulldoze John into bringing Dean and Sam over for Christmas celebrations and birthdays, and if not at Colt Manor, then at Bobby's. Beatrice would shamelessly spoil the Winchester brothers rotten with presents and home-made birthday cakes, and since Dean and Désirée shared the same birthday, the best friends would celebrate them together eighty percent of the time.
This year, it was their seventeenth birthday, and in a change of routine, Cameron and Beatrice allowed Désirée to invite her closest friends to the celebration, and that was how Dean found out that Désirée had a boyfriend, and had in fact been dating for six months. Dean had been kept in the dark because he had been in reform school during that time for shoplifting.
The entire night, Dean kept glaring daggers at Désirée and pretty boy as they stealthily locked lips whenever Cameron's back was turned, and had their fingers interlaced for the duration of the party. Rolling his eyes at his thick-headed brother, Sam ditched the fuming Dean and ran over to Désirée's side. But contrary to popular belief, Dean wasn't thick… his short dalliance with Robin had the effect of opening his eyes to truth: Dean Winchester had an enormous crush on Désirée Colt; he had been ever since he witnessed one of the Wendigo's survivors flirting with her over three years ago. In fact, Dean truly believed he was falling in love with her, and the sight of her with a boyfriend, consumed him with an overwhelming sense of envy and palpable fury.
"Désirée?!" Sam called out. Pirouetting around on her heels, the caramel-blonde beamed brightly at the sight of Sam. "Jeremiah, can you get me a refill, please?" she smiled coquettishly at her hunky boyfriend. Winking in salute, the buff blonde took the hint and joined the rest of their friends to give them some privacy. "So, shorty, whatchu got for me?" she grinned, ruffling his shaggy hair in affection.
Batting her hand away, Sam frowned up at her as he tried smoothing his hair again to its previous state. "You remember when you visited Bobby's and had that huge row with Dean?"
Désirée frowned, wondering why Sam was bringing up her and Dean's first spat, "What about it, Sammy?"
"It was nearly Christmas and… Bobby gave me these necklaces. I gave one to Dean, and I was… I was sorta saving the other one for you but-, after the fight you two had, we only spoke over the phone and you stopped visiting and once you two made up, I kinda forgot about it… until now," the thirteen-year-old rambled on, his face flushed in slight embarrassment, prompting an endearing smile out of Désirée. Wordlessly Sam shoved his hand into his pocket, fishing out an amulet. Electric blue eyes widened in awe, watering slightly at the gesture; the amulet was a metallic golden color depicting the head of a humanoid being with horns and tribal adornments.
Reverently, Désirée fastened the black cord of the amulet around her neck, her finger brushing against the Brass amulet in awe, "Sammy, thank you so much. This means a lot to me. Thank you." She gathered the younger boy into a tight embrace. Blushing profusely, Sam grinned up at her, "Supposedly it gives the wearer protection. Dean's is identical to yours… I guess, I've always looked up to you as a sister and I wanted you to have it."
"I'll never take it off, Sammy," Désirée vowed.
February 16, 1996
Provincetown, Massachusetts
Beech Forest
Désirée was furious. No, scratch that! She was frothing with apoplectic rage.
Ever since her first kill at the age of thirteen, and a Wendigo – one of the toughest and most lethal monsters to encounter, her parents started giving her more leeway in regards to hunting. Last month, Désirée turned seventeen and her parents finally, finally gave her verbal permission to spread her wings and fly, allowing her to go off on hunts by herself. Since then, Désirée exuberantly put all her efforts into searching for a case and after following a pattern of strange occurrences at Provincetown, Massachusetts, Désirée discovered that a coven of witches resided there, sacrificing tourists left and right.
The library at Colt Manor was extensive, with no shortage of books from all genres, especially the supernatural section, hoarded over centuries and stacked on the shelves. Not wanting to storm into a hunt unprepared, Désirée studied and compared notes until she, at long last, hit jackpot. The coven was concocting a black magic potion, using body parts and cavities from tourists of different ages and origins, and according to one of the most gruesome books about potions tucked away in the Colt Library, the last ingredient was the heart of a Pine Warbler, and after more research, Désirée narrowed the bird down to Beech Forest.
Désirée immediately informed her parents of the case and packed a duffle bag before double-checking her stockpile of weapons hidden in a secret compartment in her trunk and clambered into her royal blue Audi Cabriolet Convertible – a sweet sixteenth birthday present from her parents. The rush of adrenaline incited by her pending hunt urged her to stick to the road, covering ten hours from Chicago to Massachusetts, and it wasn't until she stopped by a quaint diner did Désirée finally realize that she hadn't in fact been alone.
Sam Winchester had snuck into her car while she had her back turned as she was inspecting her weaponry in the trunk!
Apparently, John and Dean heading off to hunt a werewolf aroused a petulant rebellious streak in Sam, and not wanting to remain at Colt Manor until they picked him up, decided to sneak off with her and join the witch-hunt. Naturally, Désirée immediately called her parents and informed them of the situation, but it didn't do any good, Désirée was forced to babysit the thirteen-year-old during her first solo hunt and the blonde was seething!
"Okay," Désirée whispered as they stealthily trudged through the forest, keeping their eyes peeled for any witches and heavily equipped with ammo. "I've got two rules, memorize them! You do what I say, when I say it, no arguments, no questions asked, got it?!" she hissed in a deadly serious tone. Gulping, Sam quickly bobbed his head in compliance. "Two, if I tell you to run and leave me behind, you run!" Not hearing an affirmative, Désirée whipped her head around to harshly glare at the indecisive thirteen-year-old. "Do you understand?!" she demanded.
"Dési-"
"Sam. Do. You. Understand?!"
Reluctantly, Sam nodded, allowing Désirée to tuck her phone into his pocket in the worst case scenario that she didn't make it out; he would call her parents to pick him up. However, no sooner had Désirée turned her back on Sam, did an ugly stereotypical-looking witch jump him from behind, cackling loudly as she pinned him to a tree with her hand curled around his delicate neck.
"Fucking witch bitch!" Désirée snarled upon realizing they were led into a trap; they were surrounded by three witches. "Fuck it!" she mumbled to herself, and without further ado, blindly tossed an iron knife at one of the redheads, embedding itself into her forehead. The other redhead, who must've been her sister, lunged at her just as she shot a round of iron at the blonde. The moment the second redhead began choking her, Désirée automatically clutched her hands, trying to pry away the bony fingers.
The redhead shrieked in a mixture of agony and pure shock, prompting the leader of the coven to loosen her hold on a struggling Sam, her fingerprints emblazoned on his neck. The redhead's already pale complexion whitened even more, milky green eyes widening in confusion. Gaping at the red glow encompassing her hands, Désirée released the redhead out of shock; the witch staggered backwards, before falling to the ground, alive but barely. All eyes were on Désirée and as the leader went to lunge, she was blasted backward by some kind of alien energy Désirée emitted from her own hands.
"What are you?" the leader of the coven mused out loud, a contemplative expression on her face. Sam quickly threw his iron dagger at her, snapping Désirée out of her daze and prompting her to finish off the witches.
Unable to handle the surmounting tension, Désirée pocketed her weapons and mumbled, "Come on, Sam. Let's leave this place."
"Désirée-"
"Now!" she barked. The moment she snapped at Sam, she was consumed with guilt and paused in her tracks, and for the first time since meeting the feisty, confident girl, Sam witnessed insecurity and doubt coloring her features. A beat of silence later, Sam slowly grabbed the suddenly timid girl's hand, making her look at him squarely in the face, "Look, whatever just happened, you shouldn't tell anyone, not even Dean. I love Dean, but… he takes after my Dad. They see everything in black and white. These powers or… whatever you just did… they'll look at you differently, they'll see you as a threat."
Tears cascaded down her face, "What about you?"
A genuine smile materialized on Sam's face, "I don't see you any differently. But I guess that's mostly because I'm the rebel of my family. I see different shades of gray and… I know you. I've practically known you my whole life. I refuse to believe you're evil just because you have some ability we don't understand."
"I love you Sammy," Désirée hysterically choked out through tears, embracing the younger boy. An intense feeling of relief bubbled inside her when Sam eagerly returned the hug, "I love you too, Dez!"
March 30, 1996
Chicago, Illinois
Colt Manor
Désirée quietly entered the lounge, loitering by the entrance as she started having second thoughts about the upcoming confrontation. Snapping her electric blue eyes shut, Désirée inhaled and exhaled, trying to calm her bundling nerves. Head shaking vigorously, she snapped open her eyelids and turned to run to the comforts of her room—
"Désirée?" identical electric blues had been gazing at her the entire time in concern. Interleaving a bookmark, Beatrice softly closed the book she had been deeply engrossed in and gently set it aside, eyes unwilling to detach from her daughter's nervous form. "Why are you lingering? Come, come. You obviously have a matter of importance to discuss with me. Sit."
Steeling herself, Désirée thought of Dean Winchester, giving her the courage to finally confide in her mother. After the witch-hunt Sam had crashed, Dean started calling her every single day, culminating with him asking her to be his girlfriend, at long last.
Désirée had never been in denial; at the age of eight, Dean had quickly taken up the mantle as her best friend and while she had always related Sam as a brother, she could never bequeath such a title to Dean, and she discovered the reason before her thirteenth birthday after Dean's unspeakable words. That fight tore Désirée apart, and after two years of absence, it became glaringly clear to the blonde that she had a huge crush on the elder Winchester brother. Believing Dean would never see her as anything more than a friend, she tried moving on, dated Jeremiah for a while until their mutual break up before Valentine's Day.
But now… now her wish had finally come true; now she was ultimately happy with Dean Winchester. Unfortunately, she was wrestling with a guilty conscience, and her mind didn't feel as whole as her heart. Désirée had been foraging for any information about the weird ability she had showcased over a month ago, tearing through the Colt Library like a deranged person, to no avail – it was an absolutely fruitless search. How could Désirée be happy, knowing that Dean would be disgusted if he ever found out? Désirée needed to know if her abilities came from an evil source, otherwise she wouldn't be able to move onwards with Dean and with her life.
"Mom," Désirée breathed out, scrutinizing her mother warily. "Last month, when I hunted the witch coven at Provincetown, something happened… something, something weird…with me." And maybe Désirée was imagining it, but she could have sworn a stab of fear and comprehension crossed her mother's face for a split-second before it vanished. In a manner of forced calm, Beatrice inquired, "Oh? Define weird, Désirée."
It was such an alien sentiment, Désirée actually nervous or terrified, stuttering with her words; those words never applied to her, and could never define Désirée Colt… until now. "A witch was throttling me," while she spoke, Désirée unconsciously mimicked her previous actions, her hand ghosting over her neck in an effort to extract invisible bony hands from her throat. "And, and I struggled. I could barely breathe and I was starting to lose consciousness, but-but I couldn't leave Sam, I was terrified because the leader of the coven got ahold of him, and… someth-something happened." Désirée started to pace frantically, trying to find the correct term, "Like I-I was sucking the witch's life out of her or something, and then." Her eyes squinted slightly, "I-I don't know how, but I blasted the leader away."
"Siphon," Beatrice shakily whispered, prompting Désirée to turn around so fast, she nearly had whiplash. "Mom?" the seventeen-year-old felt fear grip her heart at the almost haunted look she was on the receiving end of. Beatrice indicated a hand over the empty armchair beside her, and Désirée obeyed. "I am about to tell you a story, and I would appreciate it if you didn't interrupt. When I was sixteen, my madre shared with me confidential information about her heritage, of the utmost secrecy; I just never imagined a day would ever come where I would be sharing it with you."
Beatrice elegantly walked over to one of the chest of drawers in the drawing room, and disregarding the look of utter befuddlement on her daughter's face, burned sage, ensuring their conversation remained unheard. "You've been told that Mama Ava became a runaway at eighteen; the public were made to believe that she simply felt oppressed in her childhood home and preferred a life of hunting instead of the life of a housewife. But that wasn't the truth," Beatrice sadly uttered, rejoining her speechless daughter on the futon. "My mother, your grandmother, came from a family of witches; a powerful, authoritarian coven with harsh rules: the Gemini Coven." Noting the palpable disgust marring her daughter's gorgeous features, Beatrice quickly clarified, "Not all witches are evil, Désirée. Most Hunters believe that witches obtain their powers through demonic deals and are therefore a product of evil. But that's far from the truth. There are many classifications: Borrowers, the most widely-known type that trade their souls for power; Naturals, they are very rare and obtain their powers through biological development; and Students, normal every day humans that practice spell work, an example being when your father cast a tracking spell to find you when you wandered off twelve years ago in New York. However, there are different witches called Servants of Nature, witches born with magic due to their heritage and tasked with balancing nature, powered by the spirits of their ancestors and by Nature itself."
Inhaling deeply, Beatrice took a small sip of water and continued with her riveting tale, "Now, for some reason unknown, the Gemini Coven would occasionally give birth to Siphoners. Siphoners are witches born without the ability to generate magic, but a rare power allowing them to siphon off from other magical sources, and they areconsidered abominations by many witch communities. They are treated harshly by their own coven and unfortunately, your Mama Ava was a Hildegard and like one of her ancestors, was a Siphoner as well. Considered an abomination and treated cruelly by her own parents and coven, your grandmother ran away and adopted the life of a hunter. Siphoning sometimes skips a few generations, your Uncle Zach and I never inherited it, and I was under the impression you skipped it… until now."
Silence permeated the air as Beatrice allowed Désirée a moment to process her thoughts, mulling over the new and intricate family history. "Does Dad know?"
"I never had the courage to tell him," Beatrice sadly informed her. "Your father is a good man, but… he's too set in his ways, my star. The Salvatores are more accepting; your grandfather found out shortly after my birth and he took it quite well. I however, I decided to keep my roots a secret."
"So you're a witch then… is that what you're saying?"
Beatrice nodded, "Yes. I am. Your Uncle preferred to abandon his heritage and to this day, never tapped into his magic. Me on the other hand, only during desperate times when I'm hunting without your father. Listen, my star-" Beatrice adopted an urgent tone, eyes Désirée inherited staring at her solemnly, "Your abilities had been dormant for too long. However, they are operating at full force now, and until you learn to control them and keep them a secret, you cannot remain here, surrounded by hunters around the clock."
"Mom… what exactly are you saying?" Désirée gasped, her heart beating thunderously against her ribcage. A tear cascaded down Beatrice's cheek, landing on their interlocked hands, "I'm saying you should reconsider your plans for the future, my star."
April 2, 2001
California
Stanford University
When Beatrice Colt remarked five years ago that Désirée should reconsider her future, what she really meant was, Désirée should abandon the decision of becoming a fulltime Hunter and seek solace in University until she finally gained full control over her abilities. Shockingly, Cameron was proud of Désirée's decision to attend Stanford University, especially after vowing to continue hunting whenever a case reached her desk. Three years had passed, and Désirée couldn't be any happier; she had a loving boyfriend that had recently celebrated their five-year-anniversary, she had a wonderful support system comprising of her family, she made a ton of friends, and she still managed to save innocents and gank monsters every once in a while.
Also, Désirée was well on her way of becoming a Criminal Lawyer, inspired by the fact that most hunters inevitably got into trouble with the law, and had a nasty habit of being pursued by the police for crimes such as grave desecration, breaking and entry, and even murder, despite their innocence – they couldn't claim the perpetrators to be a monster or a vengeful spirit after all.
However, on this particular day, Désirée's perfect life reached to an abrupt end, setting a dark future into motion.
"What do you mean 'it's not working out', Dean!?" Désirée yelled, eyes widening in palpable disbelief.
All the love and affection vanished from Dean's face the moment he stepped foot in her dorm room, replaced by an ugly sneer and cold, calculating eyes. "Exactly what it means, Désirée!" he snapped, "This, us! It's been going on long enough, and I can't pretend anymore. I'm tired of pretending. What we had was amazing, but we were young; teenagers in love with the idea of love."
Initially, Dean was proud of Désirée upon informing him she would be going to Stanford, gaining a future career while balancing her life as a hunter. Dean had been her main supporter, and would occasionally argue with John whenever he brought up his disbelief regarding the legendary Cameron Colt allowing his daughter to pursue a career other than hunting; driven by vengeance, a life outside of hunting was nonexistent for John Winchester. But then…Sam started idolizing Désirée; he had always looked up to both Dean and Désirée, but this time was different. Sam never followed orders, and had a somewhat reserved relationship with their father, and the moment Désirée got accepted into Stanford, demonstrating a hunter could still hunt and have a future outside of hunting, Sam grew even more rebellious, nattering nonstop about following Désirée's footsteps, aggravating John and consuming Dean with jealousy.
As soon as Sam's acceptance letter from Stanford arrived, Dean's jealousy turned to hatred – hatred in regards to Désirée.
"Dean… you're not-you're not making any sense," Désirée whimpered, unwilling to believe what the love of her life was saying. Dean let out a guttural yell of frustration, terrifying the caramel-blonde and prompting her to jump in her spot, eyes welling with tears. "Then let me spell it out for you, Désirée! I. Don't. Love you. Anymore! In fact-" he harshly spat through gritted teeth, "-I never did!"
Furious that Dean had the audacity to lie to her face, Désirée shoved him backwards and screamed, her face flushed with rage, "Don't you dare, Dean Winchester! Don't you fucking dare lie to me! You don't love me anymore, fine! But don't you dare taint what we had! Don't you dare make a mockery of the happy memories we had together, five fucking years of memories, don't you dare brutalize them just for the sake of hurting me even more, Dean!"
In response, Dean punched the wall, breaking it in, and when he met Désirée's eyes, he looked like a ferocious beast. "I never loved you, Désirée," he sneered, the sound of her name was spat out like toxic, as though she were dirt attached to the soles of his boots, and Désirée desperately missed hearing the personal name only Dean ever called her. "You're a Colt, goddammit. Dad wanted me to play nice with the family of legendary hunters, I found an opportunity to get close to you, and I took it. Sex with you was just a benefit." Striding toward the door and keeping his back turned to her, Dean added, "I never want to see you again. Don't call me, don't ask about me, don't even bother looking for me. I'm not, nor will I ever be, interested in you, Colt. This is goodbye!"
The sound of the door slamming shut meshed with the sound of Désirée's heart breaking into a hundred pieces, and she collapsed onto the ground, her body wracking with violent sobs as she cried her heart and soul out.
April 16, 2001
California
Stanford University
Sticks littered the floor of the bathroom, a hyperventilating Désirée skimming through the variety of results in unadulterated disbelief. She bought nearly every single brand at the drugstore, praying that one would scream 'NO' at her. But that was merely wishful thinking…
A sickeningly disgusting happy face stared back at her, when Désirée felt anything but happy!
Then there was two lines blinking back at her.
Another had a plus sign, screaming positive at her.
Désirée was late, and Désirée had never been late, never ever, ever!
Staring at the last test tightly gripped in her hand, an illustration flashed, processing her results, and after three painstakingly long minutes, even an ignoramus moron would spell out the apparent answer as the letters morphed slowly in the tiny rectangular screen of the stick: "PREGNANT"
July 20, 2001
California
Stanford University
He had been frantically asking around for Désirée, concerned with his best friend and adopted sister's eerie silence. The moment Dean returned from Stanford over four months ago, completely intoxicated to the extent that he couldn't remember his own name, Sam knew something had gone horribly wrong, and after escorting a hammered Dean to bed, he wasted no time in getting in touch with Désirée – except it had gone straight to voicemail. Désirée never screened his calls. Never.
The next day, Dean nonchalantly informed him about their break up and demanded he never speak to Désirée again so it could remain a clean break. Sam, a rebel by nature, ignored Dean's orders and for the next four months incessantly tried getting in touch with her – to no avail.
Leaving John and Dean behind wasn't easy, until John barked out an ultimatum, simplifying his decision, and Sam left without a backward glance.
Taking the bus to California, Sam didn't bother settling into his assigned dorm room, adamant in confronting the caramel-blonde and getting to the bottom of why the two lovestruck idiots broke up in the first place. No sooner had the administration disclosed the number of Désirée's room, did Sam rush over, knocking frantically on the door.
A redhead appeared in his line of vision, a gentle smile on her face, "Can I help you with something?"
"Yeah, uh… I'm here to see Désirée. Désirée Colt. Is she in?" Sam's heart skipped a beat upon noticing the grim expression on the redhead's face and she apologetically shook her head, "I'm sorry, but… Dez isn't here. She-, she just packed her things and vanished. Didn't leave a note or anything. It's been three months now, and her parents are a mess, they haven't heard from her either. I'm sorry."
Asking around, all Désirée's friends shared the same information. On the first week of May, Désirée vanished without a trace, leaving no note or location behind, and even went as far as changing her contact number and email address. Getting in touch with Cameron and Beatrice Colt ended with the same results and they pleaded with him to notify them if he heard of her whereabouts.
As tears streamed down Sam's face, desolately staring at his phone, a mantra reverberated in his head: Désirée where are you?!
August 18, 2001
Athens, Ohio
Sells Park
Cassie Robinson. That was her name; Dean's latest love interest and currently, serious girlfriend.
She couldn't help herself; after nearly four months of living on the run, not daring to use her credit cards in fear of her parents locating her, Désirée was forced to live out in decrepit motels and feast upon cheap food in order to save the cash she had taken with her from Stanford to last nine months. Désirée wasn't planning on running forever; once the baby was born, Désirée planned on giving it up for adoption, and only then would she return to her parents.
The truth was, Désirée felt ashamed at herself for her major screw-up… she should have been more careful with protection; both of them should've. But the real reason, deep down inside of her, Désirée didn't want Dean to be forced to stick around, and knowing Cameron Colt, he would vehemently refuse to give the child up for adoption, aghast at the mere idea of a Colt being raised by strangers and non-hunters to boot, and then he would threaten Dean to own up to his responsibilities and raise the child alongside Désirée, and Désirée couldn't have that. If they were to reconcile and get back together, Désirée wanted it to be of Dean's own volition.
But in a moment of weakness, a severely depressed Désirée abandoned her inhibitions, and using her baby as a connection to Dean, cast a tracking spell, pinpointing his location to Athens, Ohio. However, the last thing she ever expected to witness, was her Dean seriously considering a future with a gorgeous woman that wasn't her, and Désirée's heart ached in agony.
Shaking off the sensation of being watched, Désirée caressed her six month bump and turned away from the excruciating scene of Dean and Cassie locked in a passionate kiss as they took a romantic stroll through the park. Roughly wiping away her tears, Désirée clambered into her car and drove off, vowing to never seek Dean Winchester ever again for as long as she lived.
It was time to close the chapter of Dean Winchester from her life.
September 1, 2001
Central Nebraska
An Abandoned Warehouse
"I hate meeting up here," sixteen-year-old Jo Harvelle grumbled, a slight whine palpable in her tone.
Désirée smiled sadly and shrugged, "It's the only place your mom wouldn't come looking for you, Joey, stop whining, you're just lucky I kept in touch with you."
Jo warily eyed her cousin and role model's six-month belly, "Yeah, about that, Dez. I mean, not to sound ungrateful or anything, 'cause I'm totally psyched you kept in touch with me, but… you need help. Screw Dean fucking Winchester finding out! At least let my mom take care of you-"
"No!" Désirée abruptly interjected, electric blues glinting furiously at the mere sound of Dean's name, "I can't risk it, Joey. Aunt Ellen may be more lenient than my Dad, but family means everything to us Colts, and… like my Dad, she won't accept my baby being raised by non-hunters."
Despite the radiant pregnancy glow Désirée seemed to be emitting, she looked gaunt for a woman halfway through her sixth month of pregnancy and her complexion lost its previous luster, worrying Jo who felt out of depth. "About that… did you find out the sex of the baby yet?" Jo inquired; she would never verbally admit it, but Jo desperately hoped Désirée would change her mind about keeping the Colt Jr. Family meant everything to Jo Harvelle, especially after losing her father at such a young age, and she hoped that as the months passed, that Désirée would get attached the latest member of their family – unfortunately as the months went by, Désirée's decision had become more profound, unwavering.
Désirée sadly shook her head in negative, "I can't get attached, Joey. If I find out, then the baby won't be an 'it' anymore, it'll be a 'he' or a 'she', and I'll start imagining whether he or she will inherit Dean's eyes and my hair, or-" sucking in a sharp intake of breath, Désirée harshly pulled on her locks, "See! I c-can't, I just… my thoughts cannot go there!"
"Okay, okay, relax. Calm down, Dez," Jo held her hands up in a placating motion in an effort to alleviate the tension. "Stress can't be good for the baby. We won't talk about it anymore, alright?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm good. I'm good," Désirée breathed out, checking the time on her watch before smiling bitterly at her cousin. "You gotta go back, cuz. You mom will start wondering where you are and send out the rescue team," she chuckled, prompting Jo to roll her eyes in irritation; it was no secret that Ellen Harvelle had created a new definition for the term 'overprotective'. Ever since Bill's death, the woman coddled Jo to the point of insanity. "Before you leave, Joey, promise me, no matter what, never tell anyone about my pregnancy. Promise me. Not a single soul."
Grudgingly, Jo obediently nodded, "I don't like it, but… ugh, I promise! Your secret's in the vault."
Exchanging one last tender embrace, the cousins split up.
October 27, 2001
Nashville, Tennessee
Downtown
Heart beating thunderously, elbows and knees scraped against the asphalt, perspiration accumulating on her face and she had a stitch on her side from frantically running away from her pursuer.
Désirée had become complacent during her pregnancy. Carrying the necessary ammo on her person, the twenty-two-year-old well over her seventh month of pregnancy never expected to be chased by a werewolf throughout the bustling downtown. It wasn't even a full moon for crying out loud, meaning Désirée had the misfortune of encountering a Pure-blood werewolf, who could transform at will and had benefits of enhanced speed and strength whilst in human form, which didn't bode well for the hysterical pregnant woman.
Coarse breathing fanned the nape of her neck, and Désirée desperately reached for the weapon concealed in her boot, only for the werewolf to impale her with his claws, tearing through her womb as though it were made out of butter. Désirée screamed in agony, the feel of his claws scraping against her insides making her feel faint from the rapid loss of blood, and she battled fiercely to remain conscious, at least for the sake of her baby. But the werewolf quickly moved on, and began tearing apart the flesh from her arms and legs, and in a shocking display of monstrosity, the werewolf ruthlessly tore her fetus from her womb.
The silence was so intense; there were no telltale signs of the baby being alive: no shuffling against the asphalt, no deafening wails… absolutely nothing.
"MY BABY!" Désirée bellowed, her voice gurgling as blood amassed in her throat, spilling out of her mouth. "YOU EVIL, SICK SON OF A BITCH! MY BABY!"
The werewolf growled, ready to deliver a fatal bite on the crook between her neck and shoulder, when all of a sudden, the heavy weight disappeared and the werewolf choked out his last breath from a close distance. Groggily, electric blue eyes distinguished an extracted heart nearby, and she extended all her remaining strength on reaching out for her baby.
"Shh, shhh, it's okay. You're safe, you're safe," a smooth, husky voice breathily reassured her. The stranger cautiously carried the eerily still baby in his hand and allowed a few drops of crimson liquid into its mouth.
"Wha-" Désirée was cut off by the heavenly sound of her baby's hysterical wails, and she let out one last breath of relief before allowing herself to succumb to the welcoming darkness. The devastatingly handsome stranger with chocolate wavy hair and entrancing forest green eyes let out a shocked yell and quickly fed her his blood. Unconsciously swallowing the liquid, Désirée's savior could only hear the weak heartbeat of the preemie, his enhanced hearing unable to distinguish the caramel-blonde's heartbeat.
Désirée Stella Colt was dead.
October 28, 2001
Nashville, Tennessee
Crooked Inn
Electric blue eyes snapped open, a harsh gasp emanating from her. Almost instantaneously, her hand went to stroke her womb, only to freak out upon finding her baby bump that she had grown accustomed to was completely gone, her toned, hourglass figure mysteriously restored.
"She's okay. She's alive," a husky voice sharply intruded her meltdown. Electric blues and forest greens connected, "You! You're the one who saved me-, wait, did you say she…" Désirée trailed off as her eyes settled onto the unhealthy but alive preemie in her savior's hand, and she immediately looked away, not wanting to form any attachments to her daughter and distinguish which features she inherited. "What happened?" she whispered instead, eyes welling with tears as they burned a hole into the opposite wall.
"I'll tell you, I-I just need you to hear me out without freaking out," the stranger slowly imparted. "My name, is Stefan Salvatore-" Désirée sucked in a sharp intake of breath and pivoted around, finally meeting his eyes, "-every once in a while, I visit my hometown to check in on my family and I recently found out about your mother. You see, I've only known about Zach, and I discovered he had an older sister, Beatrice, so I decided to check on her, see how she's doing. Five months ago, I watched your mother from afar; she was in tears, agitated about your disappearance, which is how I found out about you. So I decided to check on you, check on whether you're alive and hopefully talk you into going home. I finally found you at Athens-"
"That was you," Désirée marveled to herself, eyes widening on the strange relative of hers in wonderment. "I felt as though I was being watched. It was you."
Stefan smiled sadly, "I decided to follow you and protect you from a distance, until last night. I was too late. I'm sorry. I thought you'd be safe in the crowd while I went to feed, but… apparently I was wrong. I'm so sorry."
Désirée frowned, a few things not adding up, "Why would you be sorry and-, why didn't you just come up to me? I would've liked to know I had more family from my mother's side."
A bitter smile materialized on Stefan's handsome face, "Désirée, I'm not human. …I've been seventeen years old since 1864…"And that was how Désirée discovered there was a different species of vampire out there, and that the reason why her grandfather was so accepting of Mama Ava's witch roots, was because vampires existed in the Salvatore family tree; two in particular: Damon and Stefan Salvatore. And then… Stefan delivered the harsh truth… Désirée was in transition. Either she fed on blood and became what she hunted, or chose not to and wither away into the afterlife in twenty-four hours.
"I managed to give your daughter a few drops of my blood, it's how she's managing to survive, but-, I was too late to help you. By the time I fed you my blood, your heart stopped, activating your transition into a vampire. I truly am sorry," Stefan's face genuinely portrayed remorse, but Désirée felt nothing but gratitude toward him.
Ten hours later, Stefan relinquished the preemie to the nearest hospital.
Seven hours afterwards, Désirée completed her transition.
October 30, 2001
Chicago, Illinois
Gloria's Bar
"My, my, look what the wind blew in. Stefan Salvatore in my bar," Gloria cackled happily, glittering onyx eyes scrutinizing the bemused expression on the vampire's face. Stefan frowned, "I'm sorry, do I know you?"
Gloria huffed in a mixture of fond amusement and irritation, "Depends what day you ask-" Her face melted into grief when her eyes flickered to the figure beside him, and she bustled over to the daughter of one her dearest friends, "Oh, Star. What happened to you?" Gloria embraced Désirée.
"I was attacked by a werewolf. As you can see… I didn't make it." Just like Harvelle's Roadhouse, Désirée was no stranger to Gloria's Bar. It was only after Beatrice ultimately divulged the family secret and explained the different classification of witches, did Désirée understand that Gloria was a powerful witch, and since then, the quasi-immortal witch inducted her into witchcraft, adopting the mantle of her mentor.
However, Gloria failed to enlighten her about the different classification of vampires for some unknown reason.
One hour of tears and schemes later, the three supernatural entities looked at each other grimly.
"Are you sure, Star?" Gloria probed, her tone conflicted, yet understanding.
Désirée nodded instantaneously in affirmative, "Yes. What other choice do I have!?"
"Once you do this, there's no going back," Stefan grimaced, not wanting his descendant to regret her decision someday in the murky future.
"I know," Désirée acknowledged in a firm, but mournful voice.
October 31, 2001
Chicago Illinois
Cemetery
A hunter's pyre was produced for the recently fallen hunter who had been wholeheartedly loved by all.
However, an inconsolable Beatrice Colt née Salvatore was adamant that her daughter deserved a headstone and a proper funeral, before her body was to be cremated.
Nearly all Désirée's high school and university friends were in attendance, along with her family from both her Colt and Salvatore side, and a plethora of hunters, all of them showing up to pay their respects to one of the growing legends in the Hunter Community. Désirée had a closed casket as her body was brutally mauled, her intestines and most of her organs vividly displayed for all to see, and only her face remained untouched, frozen in perpetual beauty and the picture of peace.
Once Désirée's friends departed, Cameron and Beatrice stepped forward and opened the casket, and together, they salted and burned her corpse, ensuring their daughter a peaceful afterlife in the Heavens. Slowly, the casket was lowered into the grave, prompting tears all around, though none as devastating as Cameron and Beatrice.
"It's not right!" Beatrice hysterically screamed. "It's-it's, it's NOT RIGHT! A mother and father shouldn't have to bury their child. It's supposed to be the-the other way around," she bawled in hysterics, provoking the witnessing hunters to lower their heads in grief, a few having tears streaming down their faces. Cameron however, had different thoughts revolving in his head, "My daughter was a phenomenal hunter. She made her first kill at thirteen, and a Wendigo at that! She could easily destroy a pack of werewolves in her sleep! How did one manage to-, no! Something doesn't add up. I can't…" he trailed off, finally succumbing to tears by his daughter's headstone.
One by one, the miserable hunters departed the morbid scene.
Sam, who had traveled like a maniac to make it to Désirée's funeral on time, whispered a choked out farewell, face heavily stained with tears, and left, wanting to avoid a possible confrontation with John and Dean.
Dean on the other hand, stood rooted to his spot with his eyes clenched shut. He only stepped forward once the cemetery was nearly vacant to softly lay a hand on the headstone and utter in a grief-stricken, heartbreaking whisper, "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean what I said… none of it was true. I love you, Ray. Always have, always will."
October 31, 2001
Chicago, Illinois
Cemetery
From ash to bone, from bone to flesh, from flesh to life…
Without warning, a hand shot out of the ground.
A hand with a chunky silver ring adorned on its middle finger, reached down and grasped the hand, pulling the person out with natural ease.
Restoring the grave to its previous, untouched state, the two individuals turned their backs and side by side, they walked away from the headstone:
DÉSIRÉE STELLA COLT
JAN. 24, 1979
OCT. 31, 2001
STARRING:
Désirée Colt – Rosie Huntington-Whiteley
Dean Winchester – Jensen Ackles
Sam Winchester – Jared Padalecki
Cameron Colt – Josh Holloway
Beatrice Colt – Zooey Deschanel
John Winchester – Jeffrey Dean Morgan
Stefan Salvatore – Paul Wesley
A/N: This is my latest story! I hope you enjoyed it… took me three days to complete and I'm exhausted!
(1) As you can see, there are a lot of changes from canon… done on purpose (duh!). I will be deviating a lot from canon. (2) This idea pretty much stuck in my head and wouldn't leave until I wrote it down… so I hope it's to your liking…? XD
I will try and have the story updated by next week… reviews are much appreciated to see if I should continue onwards with this story or not…
Happy Reading!
R&R.