Warnings: Violence
Shasta College
Redding, California
November 18, 1983
A lone woman walks down a poorly lit street.
She wears dark leggings and a bright sweater. A large, worn bag is slung over her shoulder. A brief gust of wind ruffles her hair. She doesn't bother to tuck it back into place.
To most, she's unnoticeable. But tonight, as the full moon hangs heavy in the sky, she has caught the attention of something sinister.
The woman pauses as a 1967 Chevrolet Impala drives down the road slowly. She watches it pass.
A low growl rips through the air behind her. She turns, her eyes widening and her mouth opening in shock as a man with long claws, large fangs, and the gaze of a wolf moves swiftly toward her.
She darts to the side and into the street. The Impala screeches to a stop and a man leaps out. "Get down!" he yells. The woman obeys immediately, diving behind the car. The man pumps his shotgun and the subsequent blast as he shoots hurts her ears.
He hits the creature in the center of the chest. It howls and flinches, but just keeps coming. By now, the woman is next to him. She tugs on his pant leg as he fumbles while trying to reload and he looks down at her. "What?!" His voice is panicked.
"Werewolf!" she shouts. "Werewolf, werewolf! It's a werewolf! Those won't work! You need something silver!"
"I don't have anything silver!" A baby begins to cry in the Impala and the man's face twists in anguish. The woman peers through the window and sees a terrified young boy wrapped around a car seat.
"You have kids," she breathes, looking around for something, anything they can use to fight. Suddenly, she tugs on the man's pant leg again. "Pawn shop! Shoot the window of the pawn shop!"
He glances behind him, seeing what she sees. Without hesitation, he blasts the artfully arranged display. The glass shatters, flying in every direction.
The woman crawls forward, grabbing a bright silver candelabra. It's the first thing she can reach.
The werewolf is at the back of the car now, its nails scratching shrilly across the trunk. It prepares to leap at the woman. She stands, waiting, willing her hands to stop shaking.
When it jumps, she's ready. She hits it as hard as she can with the candelabra. The werewolf hisses in agony as the silver meets its skin and stumbles backwards. When it regains its bearings, it looks at her with malice and shrieks, enraged.
But the man is already behind it, driving a silver fork into its neck as hard as he can. The werewolf whimpers weakly and falls in a heap at the man's feet.
The man and woman look at each other in disbelief, then the woman gingerly reaches out and pokes the werewolf's body with her foot. "Is it really dead?" she wonders.
The man shrugs. "I don't know. It looks dead."
The woman is inclined to agree. The baby is still crying. The man's face twists again, so the woman goes to the car door. "May I?" She looks at the man, waiting for him to nod. When he does, she unbuckles the seat belt and lifts the baby out of the car seat.
She rocks the baby gently in her arms, cooing soothingly. The little boy peeks around the edge of the car seat, looking up at her with big green eyes. "His name is Sammy," he informs her carefully. The man looks shocked, but doesn't say anything.
"Well, hello, Sammy," the woman continues softly. "Aren't you a cute little guy? Yes, you are! Yes, you are!" She kisses his forehead and he smiles up at her, laughing and grabbing the finger she waves playfully in front of his face. The man's shock deepens, but he still doesn't speak.
The little boy scoots to the edge of the backseat and dangles his legs over the side of the car. "I'm Dean. Who are you?"
"I'm Robin," the woman replies, giving Dean a big smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dean."
"You're nice," he blurts out. Robin laughs prettily.
"Well, thank you very much, Dean. You're nice too." She glances at the man, who's watching the exchange intently. "Thank you for saving me," she tells him.
Suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, the man bursts into tears. Sammy starts to cry again too, and Robin looks at Dean worriedly.
"Is that a monster?" Dean asks quietly, gesturing to the werewolf's body.
Robin nods carefully. "I think it was, Dean."
"So you believe in monsters?" Strangely, he looks almost hopeful.
"I suppose I do," Robin answers.
"A monster killed my mom," Dean reveals. "Our house caught on fire."
Understanding dawns in Robin's eyes, and she shifts Sammy in her arms, bending down in front of Dean. "Can you take your brother for a minute, sweetie? Please?" Dean holds out his arms, bundling Sammy close to his chest as Robin hands him over.
She stands, walking back over to the man. He's still crying. Robin doesn't try to comfort him. She knows that nothing she could say would matter.
Instead, she puts her arms around him and holds him close. His own arms tighten around her immediately and he buries his face in her neck, trembling with gut-wrenching sobs.
She doesn't rush him. She lets him get it all out. When he finally stops crying, he raises his head, wiping his tears away with his sleeve and holding Robin by the shoulders. "Are you all right?"
"Thanks to you, yes." She studies his face. There are cuts scattered all over it from when the glass shattered. A particularly bad one on his right cheekbone is bleeding profusely. "You're hurt," she observes.
He raises a hand to his face reflexively and his fingers come away wet with blood, but he doesn't seem concerned. "I'm John. John Winchester. These are my boys, Dean and Sam."
"Well, John Winchester, we should probably get out of here before the police show up," Robin suggests. "My apartment is nearby. Why don't you let me clean you up and make you and your boys some dinner?"
"You don't have to do that." He's clearly embarrassed.
"You're right, John. I don't have to. I want to. Dean, do you know how to get your brother back into that car seat?" Robin spots her bag lying on the pavement behind the car and picks it up, pulling out a tissue and pressing it to John's face. He holds it there without being told.
"Yes, ma'am." Dean busies himself strapping Sammy in. John picks up the shotgun, watching curiously as Robin works the fork out of the werewolf's neck and tosses it into her bag before rolling the body over to the pawn shop's entrance.
She carefully positions the creature so that it looks like it crashed into the window and shattered it. Then she crawls inside the pawn shop, coming out with a bottle of nail polish remover and a lighter that she found under the counter.
"Are you ready to go? This is going to be fast." John nods, making sure Dean and Sam are secured in the back of the car before slipping into the driver's seat and starting it.
Robin pours the acetone all over the werewolf's body, being careful not to get any on herself. She steps back and flicks the lighter, throwing it through the window. John is gripping the wheel of the Impala tightly, his knuckles turning white. Robin doesn't comment.
The fire grows quickly. Once she's sure that it's going to keep burning, Robin scoops the candelabra off of the street and gets into the passenger side of the Impala. John looks at the candelabra curiously and she winks at him.
"Can't leave any evidence behind," she shrugs. "Besides, I figure this must be my lucky charm or something."
John just stares. "Who are you?"
Robin shakes her head. "I'm nobody, John. Come on, let's get out of here before this fire really gets going." As if to emphasize her point, a large tongue of flame explodes in the pawn shop window, igniting the wooden front of the building. John quickly puts the car into drive as Robin gives him her apartment's address.
The Impala slides smoothly into the darkness. It is not the last time that this infamous vehicle will leave the scene of a strange circumstance.
Something is beginning, and it will be a long, winding journey to the end of the road.