I'm so glad to be finally posting this!
To new readers: This is the sequel to "Sam's Guardian" so if you haven't read that, you probably should, it'll make this Fic easier to understand.
To my other readers: I'm sorry it took me so long to get this posted!
8:59 pm, San Francisco, California, Muir Woods National Monument.
She ran as fast as she could, lungs burning with each inhalation of the cool air. As she ran, she didn't bother moving the low hanging branches from her path, there was no time. She didn't even flinch when a branch cut her face. The damn thing was getting away from her and if she lost it now, she wouldn't have a chance of getting it for another month. She ran and stopped, realizing it wasn't in front of her anymore. She looked around and took a cautious step forward. She was tackled to the ground by the damn thing, and although she kept it from biting her, it managed to claw through her shirt, bra and jeans and dig its claws into her skin. Mostly her stomach. She groaned and grabbed the silver plated hairstick she had stuck through her bun and stabbed it in the arm.
It howled in pain and got off of her, running in the opposite direction. She jumped up and followed it through the trees. As she jumped over a log, the damn thing grabbed her ankle and pulled it. She landed hard on the ground, hearing the crack of her shoulder as she landed on it awkwardly. She panicked only momentarily when she tried to inhale, but the breath wouldn't come. After a few seconds, her breath was returned to her, but she remained on the cool forest floor. She focused on slowing her breathing and keeping completely still. It had an advantage over her. It could see in the dark, so it was useless trying to find it. Why not let the thing come to her? Before closing her eyes, she could see that the only light was that of the stars.
She smiled at the irony.
A twig snapped, maybe six- no, seven yards away. She held completely still. Her arm started to throb. She wondered if she had any ibuprofen in the backpack she left on her bike. She closed her brown eyes and shut off her brain. It wasn't time to think. It was time to hunt.
Another twig snapped, this time closer. Maybe five feet, definitely no more than six. She could smell its putrescent breath. it was coming closer, smelling her, being careful to see if she was actually unconscious or not. It was waiting for her to show the smallest of signs; a hitch in her breathing, her eye opening, anything. She kept quiet as it came closer.
Three feet. Two. Now it was crouching next to her. She could feel its face next to her chest- her heart more specifically. She waited. Right as the werewolf rose its clawed hand to rip out her heart; she pulled the silver knife from her armguard and, grabbing its shoulder, shoved the knife into its heart until it couldn't go any further. It howled and grunted in pain, writhing on the forest floor as it died. It stopped shaking and it morphed back into the 14 year old boy it once was. He looked up at her with tears in his eyes.
"H-Help…" He swallowed and tried again. "Help me? Please, something for the pain?" She looked down at him with no emotion in her eyes. She pulled out her gun from her leg holster and aimed, shooting him once in the head. This kid had been bitten by a werewolf about a year ago, according to her research, and had killed almost forty people around his hometown.
She took the boy's hands and folded them over his chest. Then she knelt down next to him and reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a necklace. On it, only an eye, the evil eye. Her sign. She laid it on his forehead before standing up and making her way through the forest and back to the parking lot.
She made it back to her bike and opened up her backpack, pulling out a bottle of ibuprofen and swallowing three dry. After securing the backpack on her back, she threw a leg over the bike and started it up. She sped back to her motel room and stumbled to the door. She fumbled with the lock for a moment; her eyelids were growing heavier each second. She'd been up for three nights straight trying to find the werewolf, and since she had— and it was dead— she could rest.
She finally opened the door and threw her bag on the floor before closing the door behind her. She took a step towards the bed and tripped over something. She managed to crawl to the bed and pull herself up onto it. As soon as she was lying down, she figured she'd fall into a yet another night of dreamless sleep.
But for once in three years, Starr dreamed. She dreamed of someone she hadn't thought of in damn near eleven years.
Seattle, Washington, Clover Inn Motel, 2001
An 18 year old Starr sat on the bed, flipping through a book about changelings; her uncle had left an hour ago to find some vampire's nest, her aunt left to go to the coroner's office to take a second look at the dead bodies that had been drained of blood. They told her to wait there for them, that is was gonna be an easy hunt. She reluctantly agreed.
Her head snapped up as headlights shone through the hotel room window. She got up and looked through the window and saw her Uncle Steven, stumbling out of his car, clutching his stomach. Starr flung open the door and ran out to meet him.
Steven was a tall man, damn near six foot seven, with a short head of dark hair and dark eyes that seemed even darker against his mocha colored skin. He usually carried himself with confidence, the very essence of power. But seeing her uncle, her only family left since her parents died five years ago, looking nearly torn apart, scared Starr more than she'd ever be willing to admit.
"What happened!?" Starr asked, helping Steven into the room. Starr laid her uncle on the bed and gasped at his stomach. "Steve, what happened?" When she received no answer, Starr looked up at her uncle. He was unconscious. She shook him and called his name but he wouldn't wake up. Blood was spilling out of his mouth. She looked down and found that he'd been stabbed with his own silver knife. She reached into her pocket and dialed 911. Within five minutes, an ambulance came, along with several police cars.
As the ambulance carrying Steve disappeared, her aunt Ivy drove up. Ivy was quite the opposite of her husband. She was a petite, blue-eyed, ivory skinned woman who was barely 5"5". She had long mahogany red hair that fell to the middle of her back in soft curls. She had always had a graceful air about her, whether she was dancing ballet in her studio, or wrestling a zombie to the ground, she always did it gracefully. Starr jumped in the car and explained everything to her aunt as they followed the ambulance.
They'd been waiting for an hour in the waiting room; Starr was wearing clothes soaked in her uncle's blood. She sat with her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her knees. Anyone who saw or walked past her stared at the teenage girl in bloody clothes. She didn't care. All she cared about was finding out if her uncle was okay.
At some point, Starr must've fallen asleep because she was woken up by Ivy's voice. "Starr, honey?" The girl sat up. "I called an old friend of mine, a hunter. I'm going to stay here with Steve. I need you to work the case with him when he comes."
"No, I'm staying here with you-" Starr was interrupted by her aunt.
"I need you to do this." She said. "There isn't enough time for him to acquire all the information and find the nest in time. You need to help him. Be strong." Starr nodded, and soon fell asleep in the waiting room again for about five minutes when she was awakened by someone calling her name.
"Starr?" There was silence for a while before someone sat down next to her. "Starr." She reluctantly moved her eyes from the ground to the man sitting next to her. He had dark brown hair and the faintest hint of stubble along his jaw. His dark brown eyes watched her with concern and understanding. That's what caught her interest; he understood what she was going through.
"Who're you?" She mumbled.
"My name is John Winchester. I'm a hunter, Ivy Fremont called me." He held his hand out for her to shake; she ignored it, staring into his dark eyes. He retracted his hand and motioned to the guy standing behind him. "This is my son, Dean." She looked over his shoulder at the guy, maybe in his early twenties with light brown hair and hazel eyes.
"Well," She took a breath. "Let's get to work. Those vampires aren't gonna kill themselves." She noticed John look down at her clothes. She'd forgotten she'd been wearing bloody clothes. "First we'll need to stop at my hotel room."
Sam, Dean and Mist will be in the next chapter! R&R!