Chapter One
Of Books, a Purple and Red Impala and Monsters.
They met when he was six and she was four.
They were alike in many ways.
Their mother was dead and they only had a dad. They were little. Their dads hunted the monsters that hid in their closet and under their bed. They knew how a gun worked. The weren't normal kids.
Normal. In other words, what neither of them would ever have.
But there were differences. She never knew her mother. She went from foster home to foster home for the first three years of her life, until she was adopted. He knew his mother for the first four years of his life. He was two years older than her. Her dad was better at hunting, his dad was new to the job. She jumped whenever she heard a gunshot that she didn't cause. He was unfazed.
Very small differences you would agree.
Their dads meet first at a crime scene, each of them were pretending to be feds. Even though they didn't even know each other, they pretended to be partners.
They had gone to his fathers motel room to come up with a plan to kill the creature. But before that, her father went to get her. When they got to the other room she was carrying a pile of books. She hid behind her fathers leg for some time, but later on sat down when she had stood and started to read.
He found the girl a little odd. She was short. She had hair that looked like the trees in autumn. Deep red in some places, orange in others and small flashes of blonde. It was long. Long enough, that when she sat down, it trailed behind her.
Her eyes were gray and they shined like the stars that were starting to come out onto the sky, like did every evening, As they always would.
Her cheeks were bright red, most likely from the harsh wind outside and her skin was pale. Not white as a sheet of paper, but if she never went outside, it would be that pale.
He had her eye. He sat on a messy bed with a very young boy, around the age of two or three. His hair was long for a boy. It almost got to his shoulders.
He had freckles that looked like somebody dragged them across his face. Under his eyes and over his nose and cheeks.
He bent his head back down and focused on his drawing.
Cautiously, the little girl got up, grabbed her book and went over to the boy.
"W- What ya drawin?" She said in voice he could just barely hear.
"I'm drawing my daddy's car." He said without looking up. "See?"
It didn't really resemble a car, it just looked like a bunch of red and purple scribbles.
"It's beautiful." She said with a bright smile.
"Thanks. Dad never really looks at my drawings. He just keeps writing in his journal and says it's nice." He paused for a second. "I'm Dean."
"'m Delia."
"That's a pretty name." Dean smiled. "Why is your hair so long?" Dean asked. Right as he said that, the room was extra bright for a second because of the lightning.
"Papa and I never have time to cut it... Always in his car going to weird places."
Dean grabbed he hand and led her over to the bathroom door. The sinks were right next to the door. It was the perfect size for the two of them. Dean and Delia sat down. She started to read her book of fables.
"You wanna know what our dads do for work?" Dean asked eagerly.
"They kill monsters. I know." She said, not looking up from her book.
"You can read?" Dean asked. "I'm six years old and dad hasn't taught me yet."
"I 'ad lots of different parents for a while. When I was two some of them made me learn to read. Wanted me to be smart."
"How old are you?" Dean asked the ginger.
"Four." She replied. "Do you wanna learn to read?" She asked Dean, her eyes bright.
"Yeah." Dean said. But he wasn't really thinking about the wonders of reading. He was staring at her eyes. Mesmerized by each shade of gray, charcoal, black and silver.
So Delia went on asking if he knew his abc's and he would just nod along, as she said that the letter 'a' was also a word. Or that there are countless words and that there are books that have the meaning of every word since the dinosaurs were killed. Which they later on learned that the language they spoke has always been changing and that words weren't really spoken after the dinosaurs were killed, since humans weren't around yet.
But that doesn't matter. They're little. They don't need to know that. It's null. They'll just forget it anyways.
And ever since October 9th 1985 Delia Singer and Dean Winchester were the best of friends. But of course they had other special days, but this one is the most special.
Hi! So in case you can't tell, Delia is an OC or mine and I've had the story in my head since I started watching supernatural, and now I wanna put up here. If you could review that would be fantastic. The stories will be episodes, with Delia tossed into the mix or stories of my own.
-Marnie
xoxo