Disclaimer: I do NOT own anything at all about Supernatural. That joy belongs to Eric Kripke and the CW peeps. Lucky bastards. I would sooo love to own Dean. le sigh oh well, one can only dream…
Author's Note: Ok, well, this is my first Supernatural fan fic and I'm not sure how well this is going to go. I've had this idea for awhile, but sometimes what I think in my head doesn't always go down on paper the same way, you know what I mean? So, I'll try my best. I love reviews, but they aren't required. Please try to refrain from flames, constructive criticism is really nice. I could always use advice. Thank you for taking time to read this story though, I appreciate it even though it may suck!
NON VENATOR (Not a Hunter)
By: Dean's Leather Jacket
Prologue
I remember my first exorcism. I was seventeen. It had happened to my little cousin. Well, she wasn't possessed, but the house was. She was just a victim like so many others. She, Emily (Emmy for short) had been ten when it happened. She was just walking down the stairs when the poltergeist had pushed her. She fell down twenty-one steps and received a concussion and some broken bones. Emily's fine now, in fact, she's currently in her sophomore year at Harvard. She's a smart girl, gifted with a full ride all four years.
Anyway, that day I had visited her in the hospital and it was the day that my eyes opened to the supernatural. It's hard to not believe that there are things that go bump in the night. I was crying so badly, looking at her frail, broken body. But after the tears stopped, the anger replaced the sadness. I wanted to know what had happened. She told me. No one had been upstairs with her, and she distinctly remembered a force giving her a shove down the stairs. She thought that she sounded crazy, but I believed her. In the days that followed, lights began to flicker in the house and doors would slam and open on their own. There was no question anymore that something was in that house.
My aunt made the call a week later after a particularly scary incident involving my littlest cousin, Brooke (who was six at the time), almost getting hurt by a falling bookcase. The call went into a local priest. My family and I are Catholics and our parish priest was a certified, Diocese sanctioned, exorcist. He was a young guy, around thirty-three with dark hair that was beginning to gray at the temples. He was a full blooded Irishman from County Clare, Ireland. He smoked and drank and cussed like a sailor, but he was an awesome priest. It was funny; he had brought a bottle of whiskey with him to the exorcism, claiming it was a necessary "supply." This was the guy that dealt with my Confirmation! He was so unconventional, and I think that's what made him stick in people's memories.
Father Connor Campbell came on a Sunday; he felt that it was best. I thought it was mildly cliché.
"Come here, lass. You're gonna be my help." He had said to me in his thick Irish brogue, as he stepped into the house, handing me his leather bag. I led him into the dining room to prepare while my aunt, uncle and cousins stood by the front door. Father Connor began to unpack some supplies out of his bag: holy water, crucifixes, and four little velvet pouches full of things that had a pungent odor; I wasn't sure what they were.
"You remember what I always say during mass don't you, lass?" Father Connor asked me.
"Have faith." I replied.
"Right ya are. As ye help me with this, I want ye to remember that. Ye'll need it." He handed me a crucifix and turned to leave the room. He came to a stop in front of my aunt and her family who were still perched by the front door.
"Walsh family," Father Connor had said, "Stay away for a couple o' hours. Go shopping, go to a restaurant, do something. Your niece and I will take care of things here." My aunt had been hesitant to leave me at first, but she eventually relented with Father Connor's insistence. I'm not sure if my mom had really wanted me to be here doing this, but I really wanted to get this son of a bitch back for hurting my family.
The whole process was terrifying. Father Connor had me chant some things in Latin along with him as we placed the velvet pouches in the four cardinal directions of the house: North, South, East and West. The lights flickered and the whole house shook as if hell itself were coming to earth. The wind had picked up in the house; it was something that I had never in my life experienced before. It was remarkable, it was amazing, and I knew then that this was my calling.
For the rest of my senior year I juggled school work and exorcisms with Father Connor. I was his official assistant. I remember the first person exorcism that I went to. Father Connor had warned me about not listening to what it was saying. I had seen The Exorcist one too many times and that was what I was expecting. But that was not it at all; it wasn't as intense as the movie. It was scary as hell, but it felt rewarding.
I went to Assumption College, a Catholic college, and I graduated with a degree in Theology. My college was paid by the Catholic Church in accordance that I would continue with exorcisms.
On my graduation day, Father Connor was there to congratulate me. He also gave me a number of a man, Jay Harris. He told me that this man had a sort of make shift "headquarters" for hunters of the supernatural. "Headquarters" was in Hastings, Nebraska, which was sort of the middle of the country. Father Connor told me to contact this Jay person, and he would introduce me into the world of being a hunter. Except, I definitely was not hunter material. I was pretty short 5'4", and I was… chubby. Put it this way, I wasn't fat and I wasn't skinny. I was a healthy medium but I was out of shape. Exorcisms didn't really require lots of running and shooting of things. I wasn't remarkably beautiful either; I was a plain Jane with my shoulder length light brown hair and clear blue eyes. I was nice, but when provoked I could become a real bitch. And I was sarcastic as hell too.
I packed up my things and drove back to good old Virginia where I had lived all of my life. Once home, I loaded up my '98 Chevy Cavalier with essentials: clothes, toiletries, snacks, etc. I kissed my mom good bye and headed for Nebraska.
Jay Harris, his wife, Sue, and daughter (about my age) Abby, ran the "headquarters." It used to be an old saloon back in the 1800s complete with bar and rooms upstairs. Jay and Sue were some of the coolest people I had ever met, and I soon assimilated into the world of a hunter. Except, yet again, I was not a hunter.
I learned that there was sort of a "Hunter's Council" that met twice a year at "headquarters." There were about five hunters to every region of the United States. I was inducted into the council and assigned a spot in the Northeast. I was hoping for this job mainly because I loved falls in the Northeast. Hell, I went to college there for four years.
For the past three years I've been working the Northeast, exorcising any son of a bitch demon or poltergeist or any other malevolent spirit I could find. I was the best damn exorcist in the country, and I was proud of it. Of course, I don't charge for my services, I could never do that. I'd feel too guilty. I do get paid a small wage from the Catholic Church though. It's enough to get by on.
About a year ago I was invited to the Vatican to have an audience with the Pope. Yeah, the Pope. I was shocked. He gave me his blessing, and told me to continue on with "God's work." My head felt inflated for a few months afterwards, but I've since gotten over myself.
I've been noticing something lately, exorcism rates have started rising. Something big is coming and I was about to meet two brothers who were smack dab in the middle of it all. Yep, you guessed it, the Winchester brothers.
Author's Note #2: Yeah, I'm sorry if this is kind of slow and short. I just wanted to get this introductory chapter out of the way, and sort of test the waters on what you guys think of the plot. Again, reviews are appreciated but definitely not required.
