Chapter 1: A Reunion

A lot of folks would think a scrapyard ain't ideal as a playground. Great rusty hulks of cars, all sharp edges and leaking oil. Sure, there's lots of ways you can hurt yourself, if you ain't being careful. Maybe we got a nasty scratch a time or two, but that's why you get your tetanus shots, right?

That scrapyard was my kingdom. It was my desert island and my theme park and my Wonderland. I'd take my dolls on wild adventures, climbing mighty peaks of scrap metal like they was Everest. I learned to draw with fat crayons, sitting on the roof of a junked car, trying to capture the way shining chrome became rusted browns.

My daddy used to worry I was a lonely kid. Maybe sometimes I was, but I don't think so. My mama was always just a vague memory, a sweet thought at the back of my mind. I remember she smelled real nice, and I remember the taste of her pies. Maybe they weren't as good as I remember them but I guess I'll never know. I never knew her well enough to miss her. I had my father and he had me and we were a happy little unit. Sometimes, he'd go away and I'd be left in town with some nice lady or other. They'd always feel bad for me, poor little motherless kid. There was cake.

But my dad would come home, with stories about the Hunt. Vampires in Minnesota. A pair of werewolves way down in Texas. He always brought me back something. Sometimes a doll or a wooden truck. Sometimes it was just a shiny rock or some cheap bright bangle. But there was always a present and a story, and the postcards. Every little backwater town he went to, he looked for a postcard to bring home to me.

Sometimes, though, it was us doing the babysitting. John Winchester I remember as a dark stern man in a leather jacket. He was never mean to me or anything, but I always felt he didn't like me. He was a single dad, with two boys. Maybe he just didn't know what to say to a little girl. Either way, I could sense that things between him and my daddy weren't always rosy. All the same, he'd come round maybe twice a year, drop off the boys and head out on a hunt.

They called my dad Uncle Bobby. I never called their dad Uncle John. But the boys were okay. They weren't like the other kids at school. They were hunters kids. Like me. They knew enough to be afraid of the dark.

Dean was three years older than me, and didn't he know it? He wasn't a bully but he liked to tease me. Nothing cruel. Just silly kids jokes like holding things out of my reach or making cracks about my age. "You're too young to understand": that was his favourite. All of twelve years old and he liked to pretend like he was the depository of all worldly knowledge. Of course, he didn't know squat, but I didn't know that. I thought he was keeping deep dark secrets from me.

Sammy was a year younger than me. Scrawny kid, he looked even younger. He was kinda bookish and even during summer holidays he'd be reading. He used to ask what books I read for school, and he'd borrow them. I was a year ahead, so he always wanted to know what I'd been learning. I let him look through my homework. Guess he was trying to get ahead of the game. Can't have been easy, moving from school to school all year. Maybe it would have been better to let him stay with us, go to my school, give him some stability. But I guess John wanted his kids around when he could.

Sam was always up for a game of hide and go seek and sometimes even Dean would play, though he'd pretend to be above it. He'd roll his eyes like it was a drag and he was just playing because Sammy and I wanted to. But he would laugh like he enjoyed it. Then their dad would come back and they'd be different. Same kids but suddenly older.

Dean was my first crush. I was thirteen that year and he was an impressively grown up sixteen. Sam was going to stay with us a little while, but John and Dean were going to go away on a hunt. They stayed the night first. I don't know if it was something about the way he acted, or the way he looked or the way he dressed, or maybe all three. I just remember setting the table for dinner, while he was cleaning his dad's guns. I had butterflies in my stomach. I wanted him to look at me but at the same time I was terrified that he would. I'd never felt like that before. I honestly thought I was sick.

When they'd gone and Sam was in bed, I went to my dad and asked about it. Worst day of his life, maybe. His only child, sweet little girl, crushing on a bad boy hunter kid. He wasn't prepared for The Talk, but he did okay, I reckon.

It was maybe two years later when they stopped coming. I wasn't home when it happened, but John argued with my dad about something. I got home from school when dad said if he ever saw John Winchester on his property again, he'd shoot him in the ass. If you think he didn't mean, you don't know my daddy.

Anyway… I guess all that is by way of explaining how I felt when I saw it. A black '67 Chevy Impala. Beautiful car. Louder than Hell itself, possibly, but what a looker!

I was leaning against an old Buick when I heard it roll into the yard. The car wasn't going anywhere, but the interiors were custom. I'd spent the morning ripping them out, and was taking a break that I thought I'd pretty well earned.

So there I was, hot as hell, down to my tank-top, beer in hand, and I heard the roar of an engine. Oddly familiar, but I couldn't place it. Until that Impala rolle into view and I remembered everything.

Hope dad's got ammo, I thought to myself.

There were two guys in the car, and I couldn't see 'em that well, but neither of them was old enough to be John, which leaft an obvious conclusion. Seeing I was there, the driver pulled the car over and put it in park.

I got up off the Buick, took another sip of my beer and strode over to the car.

Guy driving had to be Dean. He'd changed since I saw him last, but not enough that I didn't recognise him. He wound down the window and gave me the once up and down.

"Well hiya, sweetheart," he said, leaning out his window. "Can you help us out? We're looking for an old friend."

Sweetheart? Clearly, he didn't recognise me. I'd have choked on my own euphoria if he'd called me that when I was fifteen.

"Uh… Dean?" said the other guy.

The guy in the passenger seat seemed kinda nervous. He was a little harder to reconcile with my childhood memories than his big brother. But I gotta give credit where it's due. Gawky Sammy Winchester grew up nice. Aged like a fine wine, and just as tasty, if you know what I mean.

"Dean," he said again. "I… I think this is an old friend."

Dean looked me over again. "Ellie?" he asked. "You're little Ellie Singer?"

I spread my hands out wide on either side of me, to say "Yep. This is me, this right here. What you see is what you get."

While his brother raised two eyebrows, Sam was already getting out of the car. He slammed the door after him and walked over to me, arms wide open. Before I knew it, I was pulled into a hug, trying not to spill my beer.

One thing I couldn't see when I was in the car, but he was huge. He must have been at least six foot two or three. Broad across the shoulders, he was like a plaid and denim mountain. Once he released me, I could see he was grinning.

"Wow, Ellie. I haven't seen you in what, seven years? Eight?"

"Eight," I said, as Dean got out of the car. He had a hug for me too.

"Y'all didn't bring your daddy, then?" I asked. "Cos…"

A dark look passed between the brothers and I realised I'd said something wrong. Perhaps John had died and I was now a super-insensitive asshole.

"That's kinda why we're here, kid," said Dean. "So… is your dad home?"

And that's how it all started, I guess.

Half an hour later, I was frantically trying to clean up the den. I guess I take after my mom in some ways. It's one thing for us to be living in our own mess, but guests shouldn't have to see that. Dean was in the process of passing dad's silver and holy water tests, while Sam was at the desk, reading the Key of Solomon. I tried to work around them, shuffling behind Sam to get at empty plates. To get a book back onto the shelf, I had to get between Dean and my father. I stretched up and over Dean to get the book back, and he gave me a playful wink.

"I saw that, boy," said Dad, handing him a flask.

"What is this?" asked Dean. "Holy Water?"

I ducked back under his arm and back over to the desk to try and clear some papers out of Sam's way. He gave me a half smile.

"You really don't need to do that, Ellie."

"Can't help it," I said. "Don't mind me, you just keep reading."

"But the last time we saw you," Dean was saying, "I mean… you did threaten to blast him full of buckshot. Cocked the shotgun and everything."

My ears pricked up, hoping to maybe hear what the falling out was. No such luck.

"Yeah, well, what can I say?" asked Dad. "John just has that effect on people."

"Yeah, I guess he does," said Dean.

"None of that matters now. All that matters is you get him back."

That's my daddy. Comes on like he's all gruff and no-nonsense, but secretly there ain't no one as sentimental. He believes in family sticking together, and in love and all kinds of hokey crap.

"This book…" said Sam. "I've never seen anything like it."

I perched myself on the corner of the desk, trying not to smile. Sam Winchester. Still a big ol nerd. "Key of Solomon? It's the real deal alright."

"And these, uh, these protective circles. They really work?"

Of course they work, Winchester, I thought. Why else did we just spend twenty minutes teaching you to draw them? There's a demon coming for you boys. And us too, thanks for that, you better believe our protection works.

"Hell yeah!" said Dad, coming over to us. "You get a demon in – they're trapped. Powerless. It's like a Satanic roach motel."

"Man knows his stuff," said Dean.

"Well, I'll tell you what I know," I said. Something made me want to prove to Dean that I knew a thing or two as well. Maybe it was him always lording his age and experience over me as kids. Maybe it was my teenage crush. Maybe I just wanted to feel like four years of college had gone to good use. "This is some serious crap you boys stepped in."

"Oh yeah?" asked Sam, looking up at me. "How's that?"

"Normal year, we hear of say, three demonic possessions. Maybe four, tops."

"Yeah?" asked Dean, looking between me and my father.

"This year we hear of twenty-seven. So far."

Dad had a proud sort of smile, as he stood beside me. "You get what we're saying? More and more demons are walking among us – a lot more."

"Do you know why?" asked Sam.

It's always something, ain't it? Not enough that I know more about demons than those two and their daddy combined. Not enough I been keeping track of omens they paid no never mind to. No, they want me to have every answer.

"No," I said. "But I know it's something big. The storm's coming, and you boys, your daddy… You are smack in the middle of it."

As if he was trying to add an ominous tone to my words, Rumsfeld suddenly started to bark. Dad went over to the window, and looked out. He turned back, his face fairly stony, but I knew him well enough to know when he was scared.

"Something's wrong," he said.

I jumped as his words were followed by a loud bang. The front door came flying inside. The demon who had kicked it in didn't wait barely a moment before she strolled in. The girl it was possessing was an interesting choice. Not tiny, but both shorter and skinnier than me. She had blonde hair in short cut that I didn't think really suited her. Which was an odd thought to have in that moment, but I'm nothing if not unorthodox.

"No more crap, okay?" she said, looking around at the four of us.

I pulled the knife off my belt. Not that I expected it to be any help, but I was hoping she'd walk into the devil's trap before that became a problem. Dean went towards her, straight away, unscrewing the holy water flask Dad had given him. Before he had a chance to do anything, she hit him hard enough to send him flying across the room into a pile of books. I couldn't tell if he was knocked out.

I was the next closest to the demon, but she still hadn't stepped into the trap. I thought about backing away so she'd follow me, but Sam stepped in between us.

"I want the Colt, Sam," she said. "The real Colt. Right now."

Sam started to step back, just as I had planned, and my dad I did the same. He still kept between the two of us and the demon, though. "We don't have it on us," he said. "We buried it."

"Didn't I say "no more crap"?" the annoyed demon asked. "I swear, after everything I heard about you Winchesters, I got to tell you, I'm a little underwhelmed. First Johnny tries to pawn off a fake gun, and then he leaves the real gun with you two chuckleheads. Lackluster." She continued on as Sam kept backing us across the room and under the devil's trap. She followed us, stepping right under it. "I mean, did you really think I wouldn't find you?"

"Actually, we were counting on it."

Dean was conscious, and he was standing behind her, on the other side of the devil's trap. Alarmed, the demon looked up and realised that we had caught her.

Dean smirked. "Gotcha."