Hey guys! This is my first Supernatural story! Yay! I got the plot bunny and it would not go away, so here we are. While my OUAT muse is gone for the moment, this is here and roaring for me to write it. Supernatural does not belong to me, but Amara does. :)

October 2, 1983

The house was dark, quiet. Mary Winchester lay in bed, sleeping, for the first time in months her twins were sleeping peacefully, and she hoped for a good night's sleep. After several hours, she heard a cry come from the baby monitor, her boy's. She sighed, and turned to walk into the nursery. Entering, she saw her husband John, standing over her son's crib. Satisfied, and for once not hearing her daughter's cries along with her son's, she walked downstairs to go check the locks in the house. Reaching the living room, Mary looked around, and saw John asleep on the chair, little Sammy nowhere in sight. With a gasp, Mary ran up to the nursery, reaching it in record time.

"You." Mary was shocked to see him there, holding her son. With a feeling of dread and horror in the deepest parts of her being, she watched as that man, that demon, raised his hand, pinning her to the wall. She felt every movement as she slid slowly up the wall, knowing that no matter how hard she struggled, she wouldn't stop what was going to happen, and she screamed. The man smiled and set her body on fire, and left. Mary knew more than felt that her mouth was set in a scream, as her blood dripped through her nightgown, onto her precious Sammy's head. She saw, helpless, as her husband came into the room, looking around for some enemy before going to his son. She watched him look up into her eyes, and the house began to burn, starting with the ceiling that she was pinned to. She watched him grab Sammy and run, yelling for Dean and getting her boys to safety.

Mary looked to the other crib under the window, then. Her beautiful little girl, was barely visible in the corner of her eye. She felt her Spirit move out of her body, and wait for Amara, her daughter to surely join her in the afterlife. In the blink of an eye, however, both Amara and her baby blanket were taken from her crib, leaving no trace behind in the crib. Crying silent tears, Mary watched as John came up to the nursery for their daughter, and found nothing. She watched as he nearly tore the room apart until the firemen came, looking for her. She watched as he sat outside and broke it to Dean that his Mom and little sister were gone, and that he was going to have to be an amazing big brother to little Sammy.

She almost didn't notice the human form in the distance, watching with saddened eyes. He held in his arms a small bundle covered in blankets, including one ever familiar blue blanket. Seeing that her boys would be fine for a while, Mary turned and followed the man. He had blonde hair, and was murmuring comfort to the child, her child, her Amara, as he turned to walk away. He stopped after a while and faced Mary. "I know you're there Mary Winchester." He stated.

Mary was stunned, as she found herself and the man in an unfamiliar yard. Singer's Junkyard, the sign read. "I am letting you see where she is, Mary. Just this once, so you know she is safe." The man left Amara, wrapped in blankets, with a letter on her, on the doorstep of the house. She watched as the door opened a minute later, and a man with dark brown hair and kind, haunted eyes stepped out and saw her little girl. She watched as he skimmed the letter, and took a look at her daughter, at Amara. He seemingly stared through the man, not recognizing his presence. As he picked Amara up, she saw the tears fall from his eyes.

"Hi Amara. I guess I'm your daddy now. Don't worry. I'll take good care of you." Moved at his gesture, she watched as he walked back in the house, closing the door behind him. Mary tried to enter, but found she couldn't and sniffed at the doorframe. Salt. Brilliant. She couldn't get past the salt line, which meant this man was a hunter. Great. Just what she wanted her daughter to grow up in. Hunting. On the other hand, Mary realized, it wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing. She would grow up protected, and, it seemed, loved. The best of both worlds. She only hoped that he was better than her father had been, raising her.

Mary looked through the window as Amara's caretaker shushed her when she cried, before going and finding things to make a make-shift diaper for her, since there obviously weren't any there. She turned, and saw her daughter's rescuer staring at her. "Mary, she will be fine here, safe. It is for the best. You cannot stay here." With that word, Mary was banished to her house, still smoldering from the fire, and her boys still crying in the yard, John with tears streaming down his face. His eyes were hard, and Mary could tell, this would change him. With a sigh, she turned and walked into her house, content to protect her house and her family from all those that enter.

August 18, 2003

Amara Karen Singer sat in her room, getting dressed for another interview. She was twenty, and was interviewing for a job as a writer in an archaeology magazine. The interview was a request from her comparative mythology professor, who insisted that it was perfect for her. With an IQ of 133, apparently above average, her teachers gave her advanced classes, and she graduated high school less than a month after her sixteenth birthday. She left the family business to pursue a degree in Journalism, not expecting to be roped into a double major with Anthropology. She had to take a different class, and she liked Mythology, so she took one class, and decided that it was fun and interesting and kept taking classes and wrote a dissertation on monster comparisons with a little help from Dr. Anderson, her Comparative Mythology Professor, who kept her interest in the subject.

Amara's dad was a hunter, and naturally, Amara was raised in the life. During the summer, Amara learned that salt lines kept out ghosts, and devil's traps stopped demons in their tracks long enough for an exorcism. She learned that you cut off heads to kill a vampire, while dead man's blood buys you time. She learned that silver bullets to the heart kill both werewolves and skin walkers. She learned how to shoot and pack salt-rounds. She learned how to fight with knives and her fists, self-defense and whatever other lessons her dad could think of.

But school always came first. Her dad asked when she was ten whether she would want to do it full-time and Amara instantly answered no. She loved the time with her dad along with helping people. However, she felt like sometimes the creatures they hunted were more human than monster. She didn't like killing something that sometimes, wasn't hurting anyone, simply existing.

During one hunt, there were two vampire nests in the same town, which was strange. One was killing people and draining them dry, while the others were drinking from animals in the woods and living normally otherwise. A brutal existence. Her dad came with her, and they ended the fighting together. By killing both nests. Amara only knew about the one nest, but when her dad came back with blood all over him, and a bloodied knife, Amara didn't know what to think.

The annual summer hunting continued until a particularly bad hunt with fellow hunter John Winchester ended with Amara's boyfriend being shot with a silver bullet. She turned her back on hunting after that, at nineteen. She went on two hunts a year, one with her father at Thanksgiving or Christmas and one with her best friend Ash, who she met her freshman year at college.

Her phone rang on the table, and Amara looked over, glancing at the screen. An unknown number flashed, but Amara sighed, figuring it was her dad's new phone or maybe a contact from her Aunt Ellen at the Roadhouse. "Hello, this is Amara Singer. How can I help you?"

"Hey, Amara, it's John Winchester. Can we talk?" Amara nearly choked on her coffee that she was gulping down, nearly late for her interview. Of all people in the world, John Winchester wanted to talk to her.

"Be fast. I have an interview soon, and this better be good."

"An interview? You aren't hunting?" John legitimately sounded confused. Amara only sighed and shook her head, knowing that to him, giving up hunting was like committing suicide, unthinkable and unforgiveable.

"No, I haven't hunted during the summer since you shot my boyfriend in cold blood, John. What do you want?" Yeah, she did not like John Winchester. But to be fair, she didn't expect to hear from him. Ever again.

"He was a werewolf! You know what, never mind. You're in Lawrence, right? There's a hunt there. Have you seen anything?" To give him a little credit, he was trying. Normally John would have gone onto a tangent about how it was her own fault that she didn't recognize that he was a werewolf, and that she should have shot him herself. Amara just didn't care. Not really. John didn't even listen to him, and Amara couldn't bring herself to look at him. Even talking to him like this was risky, she was on the verge of throwing her phone somewhere, which would be bad.

"I have it taken of. Simple salt and burn. Don't worry about it. There are other hunters other than you, you know. Leave Lawrence alone." Now, Amara was telling a little lie. There weren't any other hunters nearby, but John Winchester was not coming anywhere within a hundred mile radius of Lawrence, hadn't ever since that unfortunate house fire took his wife and daughter and left John a hunter.

"Ok. If you're sure. And Amara, I am sorry I had to do that to you." With that, he hung up, and left Amara still fuming. She ran to her motorcycle outside of her apartment, and drove off to another interview.

By the time she reached the building, she was only three minutes early, which was not as good as she had wanted. Stupid John. She barely made it to the receptionist in time and went back to a conference room that was being used for the interview. She was interviewed by a nerdy little man who took one look at her and squealed, nearly falling out of his chair in eagerness to shake her hand, and Amara was wary.

However, once he started talking, she quickly realized that he was just another weird mortal. Who wanted her to write pieces on mythical creatures, monsters, gods and stories, depending on the theme of the month? She was oddly interested in the job, and after agreeing to the job offer, asked for a copy of the magazine to look over. Just Dig It. The corniest magazine title that Amara had ever heard, but had a great following in academia, and was actually a very fascinating magazine. She had to report the following Monday for her first day on the job.

Going home, Amara called Dr. Anderson and thanked him for the interview recommendation and reference. She walked into her apartment and flicked on the light, instinctively grabbing the knife in her jacket when there was an unexpected visitor in the living room chair. She relaxed as she saw the man inhabiting it. With bright red hair and deep brown eyes, Taylor was the prettiest werewolf that Amara had ever met. Including Aaron, her deceased boyfriend. However, their relationship was purely platonic. Also in the corner of the kitchen rummaging through her fridge was Ian, their friendly neighborhood vamp nest leader.

"Glad to see you two. We should talk." Amara went to the fridge and grabbed blood substitute for Ian, and a beer for both her and Taylor. Handing them to the boys, Amara waited for them to explain.

"What do you mean? What about? Oh, are we talking about the hunter? Because that's what we want to talk about. I thought you said they wouldn't come to Lawrence." That was Ian, sarcastic and honest. He led a nest of vegetarian vampires that Amara had come across one night in Lawrence. Together, the both of them created a society where the "good monsters" could live in peace without hunters. For a year, the system had worked perfectly, all who knew about the supernatural in Lawrence helping police others nearby. A safe haven. Which was now jeopardized by one hunter. Amara saw red.

"What hunter? I was told of John Winchester thinking of coming down here, but I talked him out of it, or I thought I did. I wanted to know what you knew of it." Amara could not believe it. The stupid, self-righteous hunter would sabotage her entire operation because of his prejudice.

"Not big Winchester, the young pretty one with your eyes." Mocking was Taylor's way of communication. But the information was fascinating.

"What? Daddy let baby bird Dean out of the nest? Well, he is twenty four it's about time. I can handle Dean. He's not a problem." To tell the truth, Dean was easier. Take him out, feed him pie, and give him a cute girl and a grave to burn. Simple.

"Great. It's Darrin. He's gone rogue." With those words, Taylor had Amara's complete attention. When she moved to Lawrence to start over, she had investigated a lot of haunted houses in town, and found the ghosts haunting each, separating the benevolent from the malevolent. The malevolent were salted and burned while the benevolent stayed. Darrin was both. Benevolent if he liked you, malevolent if you hurt anyone. A wildcard. He was only still around because some of the "good" ghosts kept writing pleas of forgiveness for him, and Amara had a kind heart. She really was too forgiving.

"I'll take Dean and salt and burn him. Keep the pack and nest inside for the next few nights okay? No funny business." That was the last thing she needed, a suspicious Winchester. She grabbed her keys off the table and headed to The Haunt, a bar, to look for Dean. She found him at the bar and sat herself next to him.

"Next rounds on me, Winchester." Amara spoke and found herself intentionally staring anywhere but his eyes, still shaken from seeing the Impala outside.

"Amara." Dean nodded to her, and took a drink. He looked horrible. He had seemed bad last time she saw him, but it looked even worse now. "So, what's going on here?"

"His name is Darrin, I can take you to his grave and you'll be gone by morning." Dean looked at her and nodded again before swallowing and turning to her.

"I'm sorry about what my dad did. It was out of line." Dean looked physically ill.

"Don't worry about it. You didn't pull the trigger. You didn't explode, you tried to stop him. Thank you. Come on, tell me what you've been up to." Dean was one of the few hunters that Amara considered a friend. After his brother, Sam, skipped out on the life for college, Dean and Amara met on a hunt in Tennessee when she was eighteen on a weekend off from school. They became fast friends and often met up when he was in the area.

They spent several hours there just catching up, and exchanged numbers again, since Dean kept switching his. Amara and Dean went to the graveyard and salted what little remained of Darrin's remains. As hunters went, Dean wasn't half-bad. Amara looked at Dean as they leaned against the Impala, and asked him what was up.

"My dad told me that my sister's alive." The infamous missing Winchester. Amara couldn't say that she was surprised. It's not like John was the most attentive parent. And Missouri, the psychic in town, used to know him. She told Amara a while before that "Ara" Winchester was alive. Apparently John had finally come to the same conclusion.

"Really? How are you guys dealing with that?"

"Dad's not. He says he knows who she is, but he doesn't want to mess her up. Me, well, I want to know my sister. Who knows what she's like? I've got to go Amara. I'll drop you off." True to word, Amara was dropped off by Dean, and went to bed after shooting a text to Ian and Taylor saying that the situation was taken care of. She went to sleep and dreamed of stars and voices unknown.

Amara woke up the next morning to her phone playing a peppy tune. Groaning, Amara picked up the phone before it went to voicemail. "Hello."

"Well aren't you a big ball of sunshine." That voice never meant good things.

"Missouri. What's going on?" Missouri never called. It had to be something really important for her to call, something urgent.

"Amara, listen sweetie. You are Ara." Amara rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, not connecting the dots.

"What? I guess I could be Ara, that's a cool nickname. Why'd you call? Let me get some coffee." Amara mumbled and put coffee on to brew.

"No. You are Ara. Ara Winchester. Also known as Amara Winchester. Taken from the house fire. You. Are. Her." Now having at least some caffeine in her, Amara started to realize the magnitude of Missouri's revelation. Her dad had never kept it a secret that Amara was adopted, it wasn't a big deal and didn't change anything. This, though, was life changing. Her biological father killed her werewolf boyfriend, and she didn't want anything to do with him. But trouble followed him like animals to water, and, from looking at Dean, it was genetic.

"Give me a sec. I'll call you back." Amara looked and saw that Dean was on the other line. "Hey, Dean."

"It's not Dean, Ara." Amara swore under her breath, taking several deep breaths.

"John." She would not call him dad.

"I'm your dad Ara." His voice was really getting on his nerves.

"No you are not. Robert Singer is my dad. He raised me, he helped me, he taught me, he loved me, he changed my diapers, he heard my first words, he taught me how to shoot, he taught me about love and friendship, he supported me in everything. You will never be my dad." Saying everything out loud like that was amazing and therapeutic.

"Fine. Should I tell Dean, or do you want to? You and I both know that he wants to get to know you." Amara's eyes widened slightly.

"I forgot about Dean. I'll tell him, okay. Bye." With that, Amara hung up, and called Ash. This called for a hunt.

Author's Note: Hey, thanks for reading. I would love it if you reviewed, it really gives me motivation to write if I know that other people want to read it. I hope you liked it, more about Amara next chapter. PM me or review if you have any questions.

P.S. I am looking for a beta for this story. If you are interested please PM me:)