Author's Note: This isn't your typical Supernatural fanfiction. This (particular) story isn't really going to involve much Sam or Dean, and only slight amounts of John, but that is because this series focuses on an entirely new, original character and her encounters with the paranormal. If you would like to continue reading, then please, please do so. If you want to bail out now because there's hardly any brothers Winchester, then I'll see you elsewhere. However, if you do keep on, then I must say one thing aside from thank you: this "episode", as I like to call them, is a platform for a future storyline. It's going to mostly be explanation of what happened while Amy (not the same one from the beginning of season seven, though I realize the tag is for "Amy Pond" and not this character) and John were on the road, with like, zero action. It's probably going to read more like a story geared for Beverly Hills, 90210 or something rather than Supernatural. Thankfully, though, this will most likely be the last "explainer" for awhile. Anyway, carry on!

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just strongly recommend it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

PROLOGUE ONE

North Shore Hotel
Northbrook, Illinois
Friday, May 19, 2006
7:47 PM

Racing down the hallway of the North Shore Hotel, Amy Winchester attempted to pull up the straps of her dress and slip on her shoes as she made her way toward the dining hall of the elaborate building. She was late, really late, in helping her mom designate where to place tables and floral arrangements for the charity gala her parents were throwing tonight, and Amy had a feeling that the excuse of having just landed at Chicago O'Hare less than an hour ago wasn't going to cut it when it came to explaining why she wasn't on time.

Stopping to slide on her other ballet flat, Amy leaned against an open doorway and tried to get her feet to glide into the shoes she hadn't worn for the greater part of the year. It seemed like everything she owned had to be replaced every six months due to the rate she was growing taller, with nothing fitting from the time she left for Yale in the fall and came back at the start of summer. It appeared as though her Amazon gene had finally kicked in, shooting her up from the five-foot-seven girl she had been her senior year of high school to the five-foot-ten giant she had become during her previous three years in college.

Unfortunately, which side of her family she had gotten that from was still unknown, especially since her parents—the ones she lived with, anyway—had picked her out at an adoption clinic twenty years ago, meaning that anything biological that happened to Amy was a complete conundrum when it came to figuring out what was going on. Thankfully, short of growing infinitely taller, it seemed as though the differences between Amy Winchester and the Forester family were few and far between.

Giving up on trying to get her shoes on, Amy clasped them together in her hand and continued down the carpeted hallway leading toward the banquet room. As she passed the stairs, café, and elevator bank that contained marble flooring, Amy couldn't help but notice that the hotel her parents had picked for their semiannual charity event had been just as nice as the others. Over the past two decades, Joel and Jennifer Forester had only chosen the best of the best when it came to throwing parties, having the cash to afford it and friends to fill the spaces. However, this was the first time either of them had considered using the North Shore Hotel, especially since the place had been under construction for the greater part of the year. Blue and gold striped walls met soft royal carpet that ran from end to end of the lobby, while large, white doors with matching gold inlay sat propped open to display other convention spaces. Up the carpeted stairs were the rooms ranging from singles to suites, each of the insides decorated nicely and with a touch of class. Ultimately, though, Amy only knew that thanks to the brochures her parents had left lying around the house while trying to pick a place to hold the gala. Only her brothers, Thomas and Tristan, had been lucky enough to actually get to explore the hotel since she had been away at school in Connecticut at the time of choosing—three months in advance.

Slowing to a stop outside of the banquet hall, Amy stood in the doorway to take in the large room. Marble flooring that matched the white and tan outside of the elevators stretched out in front of her, meeting with the same blue and gold wallpaper that reached the ceiling. In the center of the space was a laminate wood dance floor that had been set down by the decorating company Jennifer Forester had hired, along with plain white tables that were being positions by some of the workers. Near a platform at the head of the room stood Amy's adoptive mom, her arms crossed over her chest as she tapped her feet impatiently at the people she undoubtedly deemed incompetent.

Watching her from across the way, Amy placed her shoes quietly on the ground and attempted to slide them on as she kept her eyes on Jennifer. The woman had always been impatient and snappy at her worst, finding whoever she hired to be slow and abysmal, as well as kind and loving at her best. On Christmas and Thanksgiving, she baked cookies and pies, and around Easter, took volunteers from the theology class she taught at DePaul University in Chicago to the local homeless shelter to serve food for extra credit. Having grown up poor, Jennifer had always said, had taught her to help those who hadn't figured a way out of the lifestyle, especially when they weren't as fortunate as she had been later in life.

Ultimately, though, judging by the glare Amy was receiving from across the room, Jennifer Forester wasn't feeling as loving and kind today as she was on every other. Cramming her foot uncomfortably into her shoe, Amy headed across the floor to stop by her mom, trying to tie her hair back in some sort of elegant bun as she did so. Relenting under the heavy locks as the tie in her hand snapped, Amy let her tangled, wavy hair fall over her shoulders carelessly as she looked down at Jennifer. Seeming to disapprove of her appearance, Jennifer stepped behind Amy and began to tie her hair up, making an effort out of it considering the six inches of height difference between them.

"I told you to get an earlier flight, Amelia," Jennifer scolded, pulling tightly on Amy's thick tresses. "If you had, we could have paid someone to fix this mess for you."

"Sorry," Amy frowned, feeling her mother finish tugging. "I thought I'd make it."

Stepping back to where she had been standing before, Jennifer nodded and shot her daughter a small, reassuring smile. "It's alright, dear. I'm just a little frustrated with this company I hired. Penny Collins told me they were the group to get when it comes to organizing events, but I think the three blind mice would have done a better job." Turning her gaze over to a pair of men setting up the bar, Jennifer's eyes darkened as she started toward them in a hurry. "No, no! What did I tell you? I want the drinks organized by type!"

Grinning to herself as she watched her mother berate the caterers, and secretly feeling bad for everyone working, Amy couldn't help but become amused at the sight of a five-foot-four, red-haired woman with barely any meat on her bones trying to criticize two burly men who could easily take her down with one punch. As the three continued to discuss the proper way to set up a bar, more men carried in tables and chairs, setting them up in pre-marked spots on the floor that had been designated with tape.

While they adjusted and hauled things in, Amy pulled at the hem of her dress, hoping that the knee-length skirt didn't raise any higher as she fidgeted. In all honesty, she felt stupid standing there, watching the men work while she did nothing, and wanted to help just to have something to do. Unfortunately, she knew her mother would be just as strict with Amy assisting the hired hands as she was with the bartenders, giving her an earful if she tried to lift a heavy banquet table while wearing a dress. Instead, she sat down against the stage, crossing her legs and tapping her fingers anxiously against the platform.

Ever since getting off the plane at Chicago O'Hare, since flights from New Haven didn't land at the Northbrook airport, Amy had been feeling a surge of energy that was comparable to the nights she spent downing Red Bulls to maximize her studying time before finals and mid-terms. Her hands felt shaky, as did her knees, and it seemed as though sitting down was a challenging task. In the cab ride back home, she had been drumming her fingers nervously against her thighs, trying to focus on a rhythm that would keep her occupied. After changing and driving to the North Shore Hotel, which had been an effort considering her limbs didn't seem to want to work properly, she had thought the sensation was gone as she raced to the banquet hall, only to feel it again as she sat alone on the stage.

Keeping her hands and feet busy as she fidgeted, Amy attempted to keep her mind focused on watching the workers set up the space around her. As she let her eyes wonder over the various men moving tables to meet the tape on the floor exactly, probably to keep Jennifer Forester off their backs, she noticed that a few of them seemed to be watching her in return. Biting her lip, Amy tore her eyes away and looked at the ground, bouncing her leg against the floor and letting her shoe tap on the marble.

Falling into the sound, Amy stared fixedly at the white and tan cracks beneath her, feeling her thoughts wander away from the hustle and bustle of the hall. For the past six months, she had been experiencing a string of strange sensations, starting with weird energy bursts and continuing on with odd swells of strength that might or might not be attributed to the amount of time Amy had been spending in the gym with ex-roommate, Robin. At first, it had begun happening whenever she felt strangely emotional, usually when a headache was clogging her brain from retaining information she needed for tests and exams, before it started happening more often and keeping her up at night. After awhile, after she had learned to head it off by lying down, shutting her eyes, and turning off all the noise in the room, the feeling had tapered off, disappearing entirely until a few hours ago, though not as extreme as some of the previous returns. Unfortunately, she had no way to relax with the tension her mother was creating across the room, causing a headache to begin to form at her temples.

Letting out a deep breath just as two identical red-haired boys chased one another into the hall, Amy furrowed her brow as she watched them, immediately recognizing the vibrant orange as a color distinctive of her twin brothers, Thomas and Tristan. Though the two didn't have to be at the event until it started at nine—especially since every time they tried to help, something got broken—it seemed as if the two had landed themselves in trouble at home judging by the angry look on Joel Forester's face as he trailed behind his sons. Again more ginger hair glinted off the overhead lights, though thinned compared to the twins' thick masses of hair, framing a square, blue-eyed expression that seemed to hold a glower. As Joel marched to where Jennifer was still discussing liquor with the bartenders, though at a much calmer volume than before, Amy could see that Thomas and Tristan had a look of gleeful excitement on their faces. Rolling her eyes and grinning, Amy got to her feet and crossed the room, carefully side-stepping where a pair of workers were straightening tablecloths.

"Alright, what'd you do?" Amy smirked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"We didn't do anything," Thomas smiled. "Only saw something!"

Raising a dubious eyebrow, Amy scoffed. "Uh-huh."

"We did!" Tristan piped up. "Seriously!"

Biting her lip, Amy grimaced and shot a glance back at Joel and Jennifer as they discussed something angrily. It was clear that whatever Thomas and Tristan had or hadn't done was something disrupting—probably another stink bomb in the hallway outside just like a couple of years ago. Peering back at the twins, Amy smiled. "You guys are worse than Fred and George Weasley."

"Who?" Tristan asked, frowning.

Waving him off, Amy watched as Joel recrossed the room in a huff, passing the trio as they stood off to the side and disappearing out the door. A moment later and Amy started forward to follow, curious as to what the twins could have done now to possibly anger him.

Stepping carefully to keep her shoes from tapping against the floor, she headed quietly toward the hallway, stopping at the threshold to peer out. In the empty corridor stood Joel and another man. Studying him for a moment, Amy could see that the stranger had dark hair and eyes, with an equally dark expression in his features as he stared into Joel's face. His clothes were just as heavy as his glower, with a black wool peacoat weighing him down and torn blue jeans covering most of the thick biker boots poking out beneath. His shoes were muddy and clearly leaving tracks on the plush carpet, earning the man a scowl from one of the maintenance men as they passed by.

As the two spoke in hushed tones, Amy leaned back inside the banquet hall, suddenly interested in what was going on. If Thomas and Tristan had walked in on this, especially when they were supposed to be at home, why was Joel so mad? Usually her father was mild-mannered, unless he had been having a particularly hard day at the law firm in which he worked, and didn't get irritated with the twins except for when they broke things. By the looks of it, either Joel had brought his work home with him—which was likely considering the man was a criminal lawyer and that happened more often than not—or Thomas and Tristan had smashed something that belonged to the angry guy in the hallway.

Listening carefully, Amy kept her eyes on the ground as she tried to focus on what was being said outside. Unfortunately, the conversation was swallowed beneath the clatter and clangor going on inside the space that it was hard to make out more than a few words. Straining her hearing harder, Amy attempted to pick up on the heavy voice coming from the hallway, finally able to make out a chunk of words between the scraping of metal on marble.

"I need her, Joel. You and I both know she's in trouble if I'm here."

Frowning, Amy leaned further forward, hoping that the motion would be enough to help her decipher the exchange as Joel sighed heavily. Biting her lip in tension, Amy balled her fist around the handle of the door and furrowed her brow.

"I don't know about this, John. How do you know you're right?"

"I can't tell you that," the other voice, John, answered, sounding irritated.

Sighing again, Joel scoffed. "I can't let you take my daughter, John."

"She's not yours."

Swallowing hard as silence fell over the two, Amy stepped back, letting out a sharp breath. Who was this guy, and what was his sudden interest in her, of all people? Most of the time, Amy was overlooked for either being too tall, too shy, too studious, or too quiet, putting her at a disadvantage for both friendship or for generating any sort of attention. She liked to stay in the back corner of a room and watch people, which was a strange disposition when it came to her college major of drama, and especially odd now that some guy she had never seen before was trying to talk her father into letting her go somewhere with him.

However, there was something about the man that seemed familiar to her, as though she had seen him before somewhere, just a very long time ago. Chancing a look at him again, Amy saw that the guy, John, had something about him, a commanding presence, that made it hard for her to take her eyes off of him. The more she stared, risking being caught listening like Thomas and Tristan had, the more she couldn't help but try to place a finger on where she had seen the dark-haired man before.

Suddenly, Joel's voice startled Amy, causing her to gasp and slide back behind the door to listen. "John, I don't—"

"You have to trust me on this," John's low voice said, sounding tense and anxious, as though he hadn't expected having to convince anyone of his reasoning. "You have to let me take her. It's the only way. You know I'm right about this. You knew it would happen."

As quiet swelled, Amy let her eyes dart over the room, silently hoping that Joel would disagree with the man. Even though Amy was twenty years old and able to make her own decisions, there were still some things her parents had to sign off on, especially if money was involved. Despite the fact that Amy had a sizable trust in her name, she still needed to ask Joel and Jennifer to pay for trips and school, at least until she hit twenty-five and was able to cash in on the bond they had set up years ago. Unfortunately, it seemed like this, whatever this was, was another one of those things that had to be run by them, probably because going somewhere usually required funding. Ultimately, though, Amy was hoping this would be the one thing in a long line of yeses that Joel Forester would say no to.

"Alright," Joel said after a long moment. "If you need her, then you need her."

Swallowing hard, Amy's breath caught in her chest at the decision, causing her to step further back from the door to collect herself. What was going on? Why was this guy showing up right before her parents charity gala to whisk her away for some unknown reason? And why was her father agreeing to it? Of all the things Joel had been able to say no to—hardened criminals asking him to take their case, Thomas and Tristan when they begged for a new car after crashing the first one they had been given on their sixteenth birthday, and so on—he had managed to cave under a man who was asking to take his daughter to some undisclosed location. Was he nuts? Or was there something she was missing?

Heading across the room to take a seat on the stage she had been trying to unwind her absorbed energy from, Amy stared at the ground as she walked, careful not to step on anything. Before she could get more than halfway, however, a voice called her back, causing her to whip around to see who was speaking. "Amy!"

Joel stood in the doorway, waving her toward him. About-facing, Amy headed back the way she had come, stalling a minute in the threshold as Joel lead the way out. Biting her lip, Amy rounded the corner to see John standing there, his hands shoved in his pockets as he stared at Joel, his hazel eyes hooded and tired. Tilting her head, Amy could see the familiarity again, but once more, couldn't place her finger on why.

Deciding to head off her unasked question, Joel stood between Amy and John, slumping his shoulders as though he now carried an invisible weight on them. "Amelia, I…" Furrowing her brow as he trailed off, Amy glanced between her father and the stranger, her mind trying to process what was going on while her heart hammered nervously in her chest. After a tense minute, Joel cleared his throat and continued. "I don't know how to tell you this, but there's something that needs to be said."

Searching his face, Amy swallowed hard. "What is it?"

"This man needs your help," Joel answered thickly. "He needs you to go somewhere with him for awhile. But he promises you'll be back before summer vacation's over." Sighing, Joel rubbed absently at the back of his neck. "It's kind of like a job. His job."

"What job?" Amy frowned, becoming annoyed with the way the conversation was progressing. "I-I don't understand. What's going on?" Glancing over at John, Amy could see that the man had his eyes on Joel, as though curious as to how he was going to explain the situation. Following his gaze, Amy let out a slow, calming breath in an attempt to keep her nerves from showing. "You can tell me, you know. I can take it."

"Okay," Joel nodded, clearing his throat and sniffling as though suddenly coming down with a cold as his eyes watered. "Amy, this is John… Winchester. He's your father."