When I was six months old, my mother died. Obviously, I can't remember it, but I've been told it was messy. There was lots of screaming, lots of blood, and then it was over. At the time, we had no idea what had killed her. Whatever it was, it wasn't human, that's for sure, but after some digging, it clearly wasn't an animal either. My father, who I've been told by many was one of the kindest most carefree people in the world, turned into a complete bastard after my mom died. I didn't blame him for being bitter; he'd lost his wife after all. But I did resent the permanent vendetta he had against the thing that had killed he. His hatred had turned into an obsession, and for the last seventeen years, my father, my brothers and I had been on the road trying to catch the thing that killed her, as well as destroying all manner of evil things along the way. It was a dangerous job, and every time we faced a demon, there was a good chance we could die. Of course, being the only girl as well as the baby of the family, meant I never got put in harm's way. Ever. I want to say I didn't mind; that never facing death was okay with me...but it wasn't. I wanted the rush of adrenaline as my life flashed before my eyes, and the pride I'd get destroying something that caused harm to innocent people. I wanted freedom to do what I pleased, and roaming the country watching others have it wasn't enough to satisfy me.
My eldest brother Dean was like a second father to me. He was determined, strict, and had a very short temper. He was also keen to keep me close to the family business (or as we called it, 'hunting') but at the same time eager to keep me a safe distance from it. I could fight, but never alone. Sometimes I wasn't sure who scared me more, Dean or my father, John. Sure I loved Dean to pieces, and we could have a laugh together, but when he got mad, he was terrifying. And of course, being the eldest, he was always in charge when John was gone. He got to boss me, and my other brother Sam around. Don't get me wrong, he never abused his power, but when he was in charge, it made t hard to argue back.
Sam on the other hand, was a lot calmer than Dean. He was quiet, and thought with his brain not his fists. He hated the family business, and unlike Dean, wanted out of it as soon as possible. I wasn't surprised; Sam had never really been a born killer like John or Dean, but they thought that hunting was the only way of life for us Winchesters. Personally, I didn't mind hunting. It was somewhat exciting, and there was never a dull day. Sam, however, didn't want excitement. He wanted to be doing something he enjoyed, away from the dangers of demons. When he was eighteen he did something John had thought none of his children would do: went to college.
Everything had blown up then. There was screaming and crying (the crying mostly coming from me) and my father told Sam if he walked out on hunting, on us, he didn't wouldn't be his son anymore. But he left anyway.
That night wasn't the first night my dad had gone out and gotten drunk; but it was the first night he had hit me when he stumbled home past one in the morning. I was thirteen at the time, and had no idea what was going on. What child would? He had fallen through the door, knocking everything over as he did so. I awoke with a start, and did the first thing I had been told to do if I thought there was an intruder: grab my gun. I slid my hand under my pillow and wrapped my hand around the handle of my 4mm'. Like most nights, we were staying in a rundown hotel, so there wasn't much space between me and the intruder. I peeked my head out from under the covers, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. I could see the outline of a figure stumbling around in the shadows. I stayed there, in my bed, trying to keep as still as possible. With every grunt the person made, my heart beat faster, and I was worried he'd be able to hear it in the silence of the room. Suddenly, the light was switched on, and like a flash I sat up in bed, and pointed the gun at the mysterious figure.
"Dad?" I said in surprise when I saw who it was standing by the light switch. He looked terrible. His normally sharp eyes were bloodshot, and there were heavy purple bags under them. His clothes were messy and crumpled, and there were numerous stains on the front of his shirt. He had clearly drunk more than normal, so much so that he could barely stand.
"Mary, is that you?" said my dad, his drunken eyes finding me on the bed. That was my mother's name. He always talked about her when he drank, but never before had he mistaken me for her. We did look fairly similar, enough for people to know I was her daughter, but different enough that people didn't stop in their tracks thinking they'd seen a young Mary Campbell.
"No dad, it's me Emmy." I said, shoving my gun back under my pillow. I clambered off of my bed and went over to my delirious father, who was still trying his best to stay upright. I reached out and grabbed his arm, to try my best to steady him, but he pushed me off with a disgusted grunt. "You're not Mary?" he sounded more angry than disappointed.
"No dad, it's Emmy, your daughter." I repeated. I tried to steady him a second time, but once again he shrugged me off.
"Where's Mary?" he whined, stumbling further into the room. "I want Mary."
I hesitated, not sure whether to answer him. I really wished Dean was here right now, and not off wherever he was, doing whatever the hell he was doing. He was normally the one who dealt with dad when he got like this, while I sat worried on the sidelines. This time, however, it was just me, and I was defiantly out of my element.
"Dad...mom's not here right now." I said cautiously. I didn't want to say anything that would make him snap, or make him angry.
"Where is she?" he said, straightening up and getting more serious. He looked back at me, on the other side of the room. "She's cheating on me, isn't she?" he all but screamed.
I shook my head furiously. "No! No of course she's not!" I said, backing up just a little. He marched over to me, as best as a drunk man could, and grabbed me by the scruff of my top, pinning me against the wall.
"Then where is she?" he hissed. His eyes were boring into mine, and I was sure he had no Idea what his own name was, let alone who I was, in that moment. I was so scared. I had seen my father angry before; I had seen him kill; but never, had he ever laid a hand on me or my brothers before.
"Dad-" I began, hoping I could try and calm him down, but he just shoved me further in the wall, his fist pressing harder into my neck.
"Answer me!" he screamed in my face. I kept my mouth shut. I was trembling, and my heart was racing; out of all the demons we had faced in the past, none had frightened me as much as my father was frightening me now.
"Answer me!" he screamed again.
"She's dead!" I yelled back, hoping he would drop me, hoping he would remember everything. But instead of dropping me to the floor, he raised his hand that wasn't holding me against the wall, and slapped me across the face.
"Don't you dare say that!" he screamed, hitting me a second time. "She's not dead!" once more his hand made contact with my face.
"Dad please stop!" I cried, trying to struggle me way out of his iron grip. At my words, he seemed to come to sense, and his angry face softened slightly.
"She's dead." He echoed my words in a voice barely above a whisper. "She's dead." Without warning, he dropped me to the ground. I quickly tried to catch my breath, trying my best to reclaim as much oxygen as I was denied. My father turned around and shakily walked towards Dean's bed, where he fell in a defeated heap on top of the covers.
"She's gone." He cried. "Sam's gone." He let out a less than manly wail.
Having no sympathy for the man I called my father, I quickly ran to the bathroom and locked the door. I stayed in there all night crying until Dean cam home the next morning.
My face was purple and swollen by then, and Dean had been furious, demanding what happened. He failed to notice our father, who was drunken passed out on one of the motel beds. Deciding it was for the best, I lied through my teeth to my brother about what had happened, and made up a story about being mugged when I went out for food. I could tell he was suspicious, but he let it go, having no better explanation for it himself. That was the last me talked about it, apart from the scolding I got from Dean about going out without someone with me. The incident wiped all thoughts of Sammy leaving from his mind...at least, it did for a little while.
My father seemed to have no recollection of the event, and just nodded along with dean while he lectured me about leaving the motel alone.
"You're thirteen Emmy." He had said, his face solemn. "There are things out there that could hurt a little girl like you."
My blood boiled at his words, but I kept my mouth shut. We had already lost enough people in this family.
It took me a while, but I eventually moved past the incident with John. I would never forgive him for what he did, but I had to tolerate him. We were travelling with each other after all. Although the years never got easier, they slowly became more bearable, as my father began to go on more and more solo missions, leaving me and Dean alone most of the time. We argued constantly but I preferred that by far to having John around. Despite the arguing, it felt more relaxed.
As the years passed, my skills as a hunter slowly got better, but my brother only became more protective. He was determined for me not to get hurt, so while he relented and allowed me to hunt with him more, she still like to keep me a safe distance from any extreme action.
Our busy way of life slowly became routine. Sure, it was weird not having Sam around, but we dealt with it. It hurt us both, not having Sammy with us, but our father was adamant that we not have any contact with him. Four years passed without a word to my big brother. I was seventeen, and I had no idea what Sam was even doing. I knew he was at college in Stanford, but that was about it. I didn't have any idea if he was dating anyone, what he aimed to do with his future, or even if he was still the Sam I had known when he left us. The worst part was, I wanted to know, but I couldn't.
Like almost every other morning, I woke up in a dingy motel room. The sun was peeking through the grimy motel curtains, leaving bright like patterns on the dirty floor. It was day break, a time I had become conditioned to wake up at every morning. Normally we would only stay in each place a couple of days, so I had to be up early to pack the few things I owned so we could hit the road again. I rolled over in my bed so I was no longer facing the wall, but staring at the other small bed that occupied the room. To my surprise, it was empty. My brother Dean was normally a heavy sleeper, and would rarely wake up before I did. In fact, it was my job every morning to wake him and encourage him out of his duvet cocoon.
"Rise and shine little sister." Said Dean. I pushed myself up on my elbows to stare at my eldest brother, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. I had excepted to at least see him munching on something or rather, but instead he was sitting at the small table, fully dressed, fully groomed, and seemingly ready to get going. It was very odd.
"Were are we headed?" I asked as I peeled the covers from my body and removed myself from the bed.
"Stanford." Said Dean, a wide smile plastered on his face. "We're off to see Sammy."
I was sure my mouth was hanging open so far in surprise, that it touched the floor. I couldn't have heard him properly.
"Excuse me?" I said after I had recovered from my shock. "Did you say we're off to see Sam?"
"That I did." Dean got up from his seat at the table and began walking towards the door. "We'll leave in five."
"Five minutes!" I shrieked, as if that was the number one issue. "How do you expect me to get ready in five minutes?"
"I've packed all of your stuff already. There are clothes laid out on the bed. Meet me outside in five minutes."
"But what about my makeup and my hair?" I whined. I may be tough, but that didn't mean I wanted to look like a mess.
"Pfft." Dean waved his hand and rolled his eyes. "You don't need that crap. Now hurry up. You've only got four minutes left."