A Glimpse Of My Father I See
Chapter Text
Title Credits: Lyric from Iron Maiden's song: Blood Brothers (Album: Remaster 2015)
11 November 1987
The raven-haired woman walked briskly towards an old storehouse. With every step she took, she felt the powerful wards, set to keep angels and demons away. The closer she got , a woman's screams became louder and louder. As she walked into the old, abandoned space her eyes immediately landed on the laying female body, reclined against some pillows on a blanket laid on the floor. Her knees drawn near her torso, sweat drenching her forehead, red blotches from the effort covering her cheeks and shoulders heaving with each shallow breath she took. Despite all of her celestial glory, the angel looked as broken and exhausted as any mortal woman would, while going through a tough labor.
A dark haired man stood by her side, holding her hand tightly, but his eyes held no joy, only sadness, pain, and despair. Knowing his past -and guessing his future- the witch didn't wonder as to why. Not for a second.
Her forest-green, velvet dress swaying with every movement, the witch took a few steps closer and kneeled in front of the woman, gaze traveling between the female angel's legs. Looking up, she locked eyes first with her and then with the man as to confirm their minds were still made. At the intense gazes and nods she nodded as well. Placing palms against the woman's bent knees to offer further support and resistance, she instructed with a heavy foreign accent, "Push!"
The ear-splitting scream that followed made the man cringe, but the witch remained expressionless. "Again, harder! You knew what you were getting yourself into! Push!"
As the panting angel groaned and channeled all of her energy to follow the direction, the witch's hands moved between the bloody thighs.
"The head is out. One more time. Another strong one," came her next instruction. Her tone still cold and expressionless. Almost procedural.
The man glanced over the woman's raised knee and towards the blood-drenched blanket. He did not manage to keep his eyes there for a long time but the small head had indeed made its appearance and it made his heart race. His third one. One he would never get to know.
With a last curdling scream the woman managed to push the tiny infant out of her. The witch caught the baby and worked fast to smack her back a couple of times until the expected low crying started.
"It's a girl," the witch informed the distraught parents.
The man quickly offered a sharp pair of scissors, which he had sterilized with fire and alcohol just as the baby left her mother's womb. He watched the witch cut the umbilical cord and then turned to the panting woman. "Hold on, just a little longer," he said, his voice broken.
With the baby cleaned and wrapped in a clean and warm piece of cloth, the witch gently placed it in the angel's exhausted but waiting arms.
"Amber, Mary Winchester," the celestial woman whispered.
John managed to tear his eyes from the baby to turn them to her. "Mary?" he whispered.
The angel smiled faintly, "The mother of your boys. I know how much you loved her. How much you still do."
Tears glistening in his eyes John kissed her sweat soaked forehead lightly. He knew what would come next but he doubted he could survive it. How much more pain?
The Norwegian witch's voice sounded next, holding a hint of sadness but also resolve. "Your grace is rapidly weakening, if we want to make the spell work I'll need it now."
Tears escaping her eyes the woman glanced at the small bundle in her arms and kissed it lightly before turning her eyes to John. "The locket? You have it? You put the grace vial in?"
"Yes, everything is ready," came the man's hoarse answer.
Whispering a soft "I love you" to the baby, she handed her to him and turned to the witch. "Go on then."
The witch knelt close to the woman's side. With a quick precise motion, she cut her neck with a long and slender silver blade and collected the swirling light substance that emerged from the cut in a black marble bowl.
John locked eyes with Amalthea as the life slowly faded in her own.
When every ounce of substance was secured, the witch turned to a large old table where the rest of the hex's objects were gathered. "Bring her," she requested.
John left the lifeless body of the former angel as the shadow of her wings started forming on the floor below her.
He placed the softly moving child on the table and watched stiffly as the witch chanted in her native language and mixed the grace with the rest of the ingredients, in the marble bowl in front of her. Chanting never seizing she dipped the same knife that had taken the baby's mother's life into the bowl. She unwrapped the precious bundle and using the tip of the knife she delicately cut intricate symbols on her forehead, chest, wrists, ankles, and neck.
John was watching breathless and felt sick at the baby's screams. He knew no harm would come to her, but he couldn't control his reaction. After a few seconds he let out a long breath as the symbols glowed brightly before the light died down leaving behind it only a few faint but healed scars that resembled unusual birthmarks.
The witch continued with the last part of the complicated spell and secured a golden hourglass shaped locket around the infant's neck. As the chain and locket glowed in a similar fashion that the symbols had a few seconds ago, John watched it return to its original state.
The dark-haired woman turned her pale blue eyes to him. "It's done. Her powers are bound and hidden."
"You're sure?"
"I am. But we need to proceed. The blood-spell is ready for the time jump and it won't last much longer."
Nodding the man took the baby in his arms for one last time and held it close. Kissing her forehead and whispering his words of love, sorrow, and regret he offered the bundle back to the woman.
"I will take her to 2000 and deliver her at a hospital, as requested," she said. "She'll be safe there. Nobody will know her name or will be able to connect her with you or her mother. None will go after her."
John was unable to grasp why this witch risked so much to be their savior. Amalthea was the one that had found and approached her. He never trusted witches, but the angel was adamant that she was their only hope and that she trusted the woman with the life of their baby.
"Why are you doing this, Britha?" He finally asked.
"Because my mother was to bring a child like this in the world too," the woman said in an even tone. "I was there when the angels came. When they ripped her open, tore the minuscule creature from her belly, killed it in front of her, and then proceeded to kill her too." The words were spoken with no emotion and that shook John deeply. Even more so than the gruesome story, which he had spent the most part of the last eight months fearing would happen to them too.
"Thank you," he whispered.
Before he had the chance to utter another word, the woman, with the baby in her arms, spoke foreign words and a strong flash of light engulfed her.
John would never lay eyes on either of them again.
10 November 2013
The small, old house looked similar if not in a slightly better condition than most of the houses of this part of Reno. The rundown yard held nothing but wilted plants and dead grass, a half-broken chair, that was thrown in the far left corner near the fence, and several old truck tires, which laid on the right side.
The small for her age dark-haired girl made herself as comfortable as possible inside one of those large tires. It provided enough space for her to prop her legs up on one side and recline her back and head on the other. She glanced at the sky and felt relief that the clouds were white and flat. Chances were they would remain the same for the rest of the afternoon. She longed to read the book that currently rested on her thighs and she would never get the chance to do so if she entered the house.
It was not home. Just the house. Her eighth foster-home placement up to now. Her current foster parents, the Graysons, had already five more foster kids under their roof. Things were always noisy, busy and dirty. Amber felt she could never catch her breath, not even at nights, when the older kids would constantly make noise attempting to leave or enter the house, or the Graysons would scream at each other over every little thing.
At least nobody was hitting her here. Not that she had been in terrible homes or experienced serious abusive situations. No. Judging from the stories of other children she had met over the years, she was one of the lucky ones. But the occasional slap on the face from an angry adult or the roughing up by an older kid were things that she had experienced in more than half of the houses she had lived in up to now.
Opening the cover of the book she glanced at the first white page. The stamp from the library was there and the date the book should be returned was written in a small sticker right above the stamp. Wishing with all her might that the book could be hers and that she could write her name on it, indicating it was her possession made her eyes almost water. If only she could keep this one book, just this one. If only this could be her present for her thirteenth birthday tomorrow.
She rubbed the tears angrily. She hated how such small, mundane things made her sad and emotional. Crying was a sign of weakness and experience had taught her that very early on.
Her hand traveled to her locket. She often wondered how it had not been stolen up to now through all of the moves between foster-homes and considering how many people had access to her stuff even before she could defend them or herself.
As usually, her fingers fumbled with the locket, but it refused to open. Sighing the girl returned her attention to the book and turned to the first page, allowing the printed story slowly take her mind and focus far away.
It wasn't until it was dark and much colder that Amber decided to leave her tire and head for the house. She opened the front door and almost flinched at the sudden noise that seemingly came from everywhere. Mr. Grayson was watching some tv-show with two of the little kids in the living room. As always when he watched TV the sound was ridiculously high. Loud music could be heard as well by one of the bedrooms. Probably one of the older kids was already home, or just didn't bother turning the CD-player off before leaving -it wouldn't be the first time. Amber took off the light jacket she had on and walked slowly to the kitchen. She was expected to help Mrs. Grayson with dinner every night.
"Mrs. Grayson? What can I do?" She asked politely from the kitchen's door.
The tall, stocky woman turned dull, brown eyes to her and nodded wordlessly towards the table, where a pile of potatoes was placed along with a peeler.
Not waiting for further instructions, Amber worked quickly to peel the potatoes, and place them in a large enough bowl. She set it aside on the counter, threw the peels in the trash can, and taking advantage of the fact that the woman did not directly ask her to do anything else, she quickly and quietly exited the uncomfortably small kitchen space and moved towards her room.
The room was rather small as well. It consisted of two bunker-beds against two of the walls There was little space for anything else, despite a small desk, which was somehow supposed to accommodate all three children currently sharing the room, and a chest of drawers, again shared among all three of them.
Moving to her bed she lied down and stared at the digital clock on top of the desk. A quarter to seven. Too early to sleep, too late to do anything else in this blasted place. She wished she owned a guitar that she could play to pass the time. In the only decent foster-home she had ever lived, one of the older children had taught her how to play on his own guitar and was actually impressed by her talent and quick progress. The two years she spent there were undoubtedly the best of her life. Unfortunately, a violent incident against her by one of the older foster-kids led to her removal. Being younger than the kid that had attacked her, and with no record of aggressive or violent behaviors, she stood better chances in being quickly relocated to another family. Shaking her head to chase away her own thoughts she decided that the noise was not insufferable in this room after all. She took her book back out and continued reading it.
About an hour later she heard Mrs. Grayson's call for dinner. Snapping the book shut she joined the rest of the household at the table. The dinner did not surprise her, it rarely did. Potatoes and chicken. Pork and beef would occasionally replace the chicken but only a couple of times each month. She ate her food silently blocking out the occasional short-lived chatter between the rest of the table's occupants.
Being her turn to do the dishes and clean up the kitchen, it was close to ten when she returned to her room. With her two roommates already in bed, having a light on to read was out of the question. It always led to a fight and usually the confiscation of whatever book she was reading. She changed in her night clothes and got under the covers, reminding herself that tomorrow morning she'd wake up as a 13-year-old girl. One year closer to freedom.
When she woke up with a start it was not from the usual morning alarm. The clock read 00:01. What woke her was a heat that was rapidly blooming in her chest. The girl resisted the urge to scream. Putting her hand below her blouse she grasped her locket and felt it warm to the touch. As soon as her fist clasped around it she felt it click open for the first time in her life.
Her heartbeat accelerating, she kept her fist over it, in fear it would snap closed again if she dared moving it. Rising to her feet, she rushed to the bathroom, not bothering to wear her slippers. She locked the door behind her and shivered as the soles of her feet pressed against the cold floor tiles. With her free hand, she released the clasp of the locket's chain and slowly retrieved it from under her shirt with her other. Bringing it close to her she nervously and slowly peeled back her fingers, to reveal the golden hourglass for inspection. The locket had opened in half, much like a book would have, revealing a small vial with a glistening silverish substance swirling inside. Folded beneath it, a tiny piece of paper. Unfolding it with the greatest delicacy her trembling hands could master, the paper developed to a small note, written in a beautiful handwriting, with blue ink.
Her mind screamed at her to read it but it felt like she had forgotten how to.
Taking another breath she lowered herself on the edge of the bathtub and looked at the piece of paper again.
'My beloved Amber, drink this. I love you more than any word could ever describe. Your mom'
Present, 11 November 2016
"Dude..."
"Shut up! That's impossible!"
"Are you serious right now?" Sam asked incredulously. "Dude, look at her!"
"We'd know, Sam!"
"Yeah!" Sam scoffed, "Just like we knew about Adam, right?"
Dean gulped down a large sip of his beer and remained silent. He couldn't wrap his head around the mere possibility of this.
"Dean," the dark-haired angel's quiet voice sounded next, "I can check if the angels know anything."
Dean turned questioning eyes at Sam before turning them to the young singer on the pub's stage. He couldn't even consider the possibility that their father could have hidden yet another child, yet another sibling, yet another relationship with some woman they never met.
As the stage lights showered the small-framed brunette, he couldn't deny how uncanny her resemblance was to John Winchester; and to him and Sam if one looked closely. She had the whole package of dark hair and olive skin but her eyes seemed lighter, definitely not the warm chestnut brown of John. Her nose was similar to Dean's and was pierced. Her chin carried the characteristic dimple that all three male Winchesters sported, and her lips were full like Dean's and John's. Chocolate brown, rich locks just like Sam's cascaded to her slender shoulders. The only thing un-Winchester on her was a small dark mole right below her nose, that could be seen only when she tilted her head a certain way.
'I'm not here for your entertainment
You don't really wanna mess with me tonight…'
Listening to the song and faintly smiling over the fact that someone so small had such a powerful voice, or sang threatening lyrics for that matter, he only took another sip of his beer before breaking his silence, refraining from answering to Cas' suggestion, "Who the fuck sings that song? You think it's hers?"
Sam looked at him incredulously but Castiel beat him to an answer.
"It's Pink's."
Dean's loud laughter broke the tension instantly and soon Sam joined in, while Cas glanced between them perplexed.
Not waiting any longer for an explanation on what amused the brothers to such extent, the angel stood and walked out of the bar, as he tuned in with all the other angels' whispers into his mind.
As the song came to an end the brothers watched the girl unbuckling her guitar's strap and placing the instrument on a stand, that rested next to the stool she was sitting on, while performing. Her rich voice informed the audience that she'd take a ten-minute break. Sam glanced at Dean unsure of how they should proceed.
Dean's brow creased in thought for a couple of seconds. Sending a defeated glance at Sam and unable to resist his own curiosity, he grabbed his half-empty beer and headed to the bar, where the young singer had just sat at. Before he could reach her some other guy beat him to it, sitting directly on her right and immediately starting talking with her. Dean took a seat on the left of her stool and not bothering with acknowledging her company, he clinked his bottle to her glass of water, effectively gaining her attention. When she turned smiling eyes on him he told her "You're really great, you, know..."
Smile widening and forming beautiful, familiar creases around her mouth, she answered him in a pleasant tone, "Thanks! First time here?"
Dean regarded her for a few seconds, noticing how young she looked from up-close. "Yeah," he finally answered, "First time in town, really. You're playing here often?"
"Three times a week a year now..." she answered.
The barman's voice who deposited a tall glass in front of the young singer interrupted them with, "Vodka tonic for Amber… And, can I get you anything man?"
Dean shook his head and indicated his still half-full beer bottle. When the other man walked away, Dean eyed the glass in the girl's grip and considered her previous words before smiling knowingly, "You manage three nights a week of work, alcohol, and school on top of that? Wow!"
Taken aback for only a second Amber chuckled. "It's kinda flattering that you think I am still in school, but I've been legal for a year now," she informed him her green eyes, that were darker in tone compared to his own, easily maintaining eye contact with him.
His turn to scoff now, Dean answered, "C'mon kid. If you were twenty-two I could tell, trust me. I know that age in ladies. Too well, really."
A tight smile forming and rolling her eyes Amber answered an annoyed "Believe what you want, pal," before turning her back to him.
The man on her right promptly took the chance to continue talking to her. Dean watched for a few seconds, willing himself not to knock the guy out, when he started leaning too close or when his hand touched her shoulder twice, despite the fact that she kindly asked him to not touch her.
"Hey, Amber, look…." Dean attempted again not at all sure on how he could possibly proceed or what he actually expected. He never had the chance to gather his thoughts or utter another word, though, as the other man stood from his stool and took purposeful steps towards the older Winchester.
"How about you go grab your own chick, dude? She's talking to me, in case you didn't notice," the man spat angrily.
Before Dean had the chance to answer, Amber grabbed hold of the man's still full glass of bourbon and stepping between him and Dean, promptly threw its contents on his face. "I'm not a fucking object! Fuck off, you dick!" She yelled at him angrily.
"You fucking bitch!" came the guy's growled answer, but before he made it to continue, Dean's fist connected forcefully with his jaw and then his stomach. When the man doubled over with the force of the blow, Dean took hold of his shirt's collar and promptly dragged him to the door of the pub, roughly throwing him on the pavement. Leaning close to the curled up figure he spat "Stay away from my sister you fucking piece of shit!"
As Dean walked back inside his glance met Sam's worried eyes. Winking at him to let him no everything was ok he returned to his spot on the bar, next to Amber.
"That was rather chivalrous of you," she told him, her eyes carrying intrigue as she glanced at him. "Thank you," she added.
Dean waved her thanks off smiling. "What can I say, teens, bring out the older brother in me. "
"You got a sister?" Amber promptly asked.
Not missing how she didn't react to the teen mention this time, Dean let off a small snort, licked his lips, and shook his head before answering with a hint of humor in his tone, "Not that I know of, no. But I have a younger brother, Sammy over there," he continued and pointed with his beer to where Sam was sitting.
"Sam?" She asked not managing to completely cover her taken aback tone. Glancing to where he had indicated she spotted the tall man with longish brown hair. Turning back to Dean she asked, "And what's your name?
Dean eyed her Intently, catching something at her tone. "Dean. Dean Winchester," he said, before gulping down the remainder of his drink.
Her smile did not fade, but Dean did not miss that she started clicking her glass with a semi-long burgundy fingernail nervously. "Funny coincidence huh?" she commented casually.
"Yeah… We saw the poster of tonight's live on some window down at the central square. Amber Winchester Live… That's how we decided to come tonight. You never know where you'll find a relative, right ?" Dean smiled while signaling the barman for another beer.
When she remained silent and only sipped from her drink, Dean continued in a more serious tone, "So, no jokes, we might actually be related. Where's your dad from?"
Her smile fading she stood from her seat and took her glass, "You start creeping me out, pal, and I gotta get back on stage." Without waiting for an answer, the young woman turned her back to Dean and walked back to her stool and guitar.
Dean banged his fist frustrated on the bar before getting up and walking back to where Sam was anxiously waiting.
"Cas?" Dean asked his brother gruffly.
"Ain't back yet," Sam said and his jaw tightened as he waited for his brother to share information.
Seeing the hopeful glint in his younger brother's eyes, Dean shook his head. "Didn't get much, Sammy. She is obviously underage but pretends to be an adult, that's how she works here probably. She got real tense when I shared our names though and left when I asked her where her dad is from."
"She got tense? I'd expect surprise..." Sam said, his eyebrows knitting together.
"Me too. I think that whoever she is, she probably knows more about us than we do about her," Dean answered.
"Did you ask her?" Sam prompted his brother.
"If she's our sister? No, Sam, I didn't get to that point as you might've noticed," Dean answered sarcastically.
The brothers turned as the figure of Castiel slowly approached the table after reentering the bar.
When the boys looked at him silently, Castiel returned their gaze and waited patiently for their usual bombarding questions.
After a few silent seconds Dean's growl of "Cas..." made the angel proceed with his dry announcement.
"Nobody knows anything about another Winchester child. There were some rumors back in 1987, of some unholy pregnancy, but they were never confirmed."
"Unholy pregnancy? What's that supposed to mean?" Dean immediately asked.
"When an angel conceives a child with a human. The result would be a hybrid of the two species. Considered an abomination. Whenever such a pregnancy occurs, angels are sent to kill both mother and child," Sam explained thoughtfully.
"But as I said. It must be a rumor. Nothing was ever confirmed, and no Nephilim is currently active on earth," Cas explained.
"And 1987 wouldn't make sense anyway. She'd be 3 years younger than you," Dean said looking at his brother before adding, "That kid is no way older than 17".
"Well, angels not knowing doesn't say much. Nobody knew about Adam either. Maybe, dad was not so much on their radar back then..." Sam tried.
Dean remained silent before adding, "She does look a lot like him though. A lot like us, too."
Both boys' gaze traveled back to her as if to reconfirm Dean's words.
When her eyes caught their own, she gripped the microphone tighter and hastened to avert her gaze towards the other side of the store.
After another hour, the only people remaining besides the Winchester brothers and Cas was another company of three, who were close to finishing their drinks.
"So, what now?", Dean asked tensely. "What the hell do we do, Sam?"
"We get to meet her?" Sam replied, uncertain of what his brother meant with that question.
Dean rolled his eyes before curtly answering, "Yeah, sorry to break it to ya Sam, but she sure as hell doesn't seem very eager to meet us."
Sam shook his head his expression remaining baffled. "Well, tough luck. She might be family and we at the very least deserve to get to know the truth."
"Try telling her, that..." The older brother said in an annoyed tone. A moment of silence passed before he mumbled mainly to his beer, "Man, this is surreal. This is almost too much."
"I know..." Sam whispered back.
As the last notes of a slow jazz song and the accompanying clapping died out, the warm melodic voice of the girl interrupted their thoughts and made them jerk.
"Thank you all! Have a great night!"
The brothers watched her unlatching the strap of her guitar and squatting to carefully place it back in a case that laid on the stage. Not thinking it twice Sam stood and walked towards her slowly.
When he closed up enough she spoke without raising her eyes, "Look, dude, I don't know what kind of issues plague you, but not everyone sharing your surname is a blood relative and certainly not a sibling."
Sam smiled beside himself and cleared his throat, "Um, different dude here..."
When her eyes rose to meet his he caught a barely there gasp escaping her.
"Plus, I don't think my brother ever mentioned us being siblings, did he?" Sam added, thinking that her spontaneous phrasing was rather unusual since Dean hadn't mentioned or implied the possibility of them being related in such a way. He also noticed her jaw tightening at his words. Deciding it was time to lay their cards more openly he continued, "Look, I know this must seem weird and out of the blue to you. Trust me, the same goes for us. It's just that you look exactly like our father! Scratch that, you even look a lot like us!"
Not able to suppress her short laugh she quipped "Gee, thanks, different dude!"
Sam chuckled too and rubbed the back of his neck with an awkward hand. "That sounded so wrong. No, I mean in a good way. Eyes, hair, dimple…" At her eyes traveling to meet his momentarily, he added, "We're not here to cause you trouble, we just want to know if we're family."
Taking the guitar case in her hand and rising she informed him, "Family is so much more than blood, Sam."
Smiling the brown-haired man quipped, "It's nice hearing you calling me by my name."
Taking in a deep breath she spoke again, her words slow and emphatic. "I am not your sister, I'm not your cousin, I'm not your family. I am sorry," with that, she turned away and walked briskly towards the store's exit.
"What if we can prove it to you?" Sam yelled behind her.
Turning incredulous eyes at him she answered, "Leave me alone, creepheads!"
Dean approached Sam and rested a palm on his shoulder. "C'mon. I asked Cas to keep an eye out for her. Let's get to the motel and we'll think this over tomorrow."
Yo, Amb!" Came the pleasant greeting of Tyler, as Amber walked through her house's door.
"Hey, Ty. Still here?" Amber asked as she quickly worked on securing the lock on the door and placing the guitar on an old chair that stood against the wall right next to it.
"My folks are off to some dinner party, they won't be home for a while, so I thought I'd wait on you, keep you some company," the young man said as he looked at his friend from where he was lying on the old, faded blue couch.
"Your girlfriend will skin me one of these days, if you keep spending most of your evenings here, you know…" Amber quipped.
"It's not my fault, she's always busy…" Tyler answered defensively.
Leaving an amused snort she shot back, "Please take a video if you ever explain our spending so much time together using that particular justification!"
When her friend only shrugged, she shook her head and made quick moves of removing her numerous leather, beaded and silver bracelets from both of her wrists. She then threw herself on the closest armchair and kicked off her black leather combat boots. Tying her hair in a loose bun on the top of the head she stretched her stiff hands and cracked her fingers. When she gathered them back in her lap, she absentmindedly traced with her right pointer finger the intricate faint shape on her inner left wrist.
Noticing her thoughtful expression, Tyler sat up on the couch as he asked, "Everything ok?"
Amber glanced at him once before shaking her head reassuringly and offering a small smile, "Yeah, just some ghosts from the past, I guess."
11 November 2013
'My beloved Amber, drink this. I love you more than any word could ever describe. Your mom'
The young girl felt her heart race even faster. She felt lightheaded and slowly eased herself on the floor, afraid she'd fall back in the tub if she kept sitting on its edge.
She glanced at the blue letters that formed the words. Ran her fingers over them. Her mom, the one who gave birth to her, who left her as a newborn of a few hours in a hospital's entrance and disappeared. No name left behind, not the slightest breadcrumb she could possibly follow.
Could this really be from her? And what was in the small glass container? The substance was moving in a soothing slow elegant dance. Glistening, mesmerizing…
It made her think of the Harry Potter stories. The memories were described as something like this. Yet they were plain silver, this had a faint blue hue and a slight glow. She shook her head. This was not Harry Potter. This was reality. There was no such thing as magic or extracted memories.
And yet the more she looked at it, the more she felt drawn to the swirling substance. Against her better judgment and feeling herself moving without her mind's consent she carefully opened the golden cap of the delicate container and brought it close to her mouth. Her eyes enlarged and her mouth gaped as the substance slowly rose on its own accord and all but flew through her parted lips.
A powerful sensation overtook her. Amber felt light as a feather and serene, her insides ignited with a cool, breezy sensation that made her feel more alive than she ever had before. Her surroundings started fading and she was suddenly standing in what looked like a motel room, watching two people talking. She somehow knew they could not see her. She knew her body was not really there. But she also somehow knew, what she was witnessing was something that had really happened.
Walking closely she took in the scene before her. A man standing, rubbing his face with both of his hands. He had dark hair and olive skin, a strong jawline with a dimple at the center of his jaw. He was tall and muscular. His face was vaguely familiar but she couldn't tell from when or where.
The woman was curled up in an armchair. Her energy was different. More powerful, yet she seemed more tense and scared. But not of the man. She had her hands wrapped around her and she looked like she hadn't slept in days. Long blond hair, dark green eyes and fair skin, full lips and light freckles on her nose, she looked beautiful despite her fatigue. For some reason, Amber had no doubt that that woman was her mother. She felt it in every fiber of her body, and the sensation the substance had ignited in her, felt like it was drawing Amber closer to the woman, intensifying more and more with every step that led her closer to her.
"How could this possibly happen? It's not like we weren't careful!" The man asked in an elevated almost desperate tone.
"Accidents happen, I guess. Trust me, the last thing that I am thinking of right now is the how. It happened, it's here. We need to figure this out," the woman said in a trembling voice.
"How could we possibly figure this out? Amalthea, they're gonna kill you! They're gonna kill you both!" the man all but yelled.
Amalthea… Amber's heart skipped a beat. Her mother's name. Nothing else made sense. Who would kill them? Why?
"Maybe, if we pleaded, if we explained… I am going to teach her to manage her power. I am a lower class angel, she won't even be that different from an angel. She won't be powerful or dangerous," Amalthea reasoned, but her voice held mainly despair and little trust in her own sayings.
A lower class angel? Amber felt more perplexed by the second. What was she talking about? Could she be crazy?
"Are you listening to yourself? A Nephilim? Half-angel, half human… You won't have the time to plead or reason… They'll kill you and they'll kill our child before it's even born!"
A Nephilim… The baby… Her… Our child… So this was her father. She felt tears filling her eyes but did not attempt to stop them.
"John, please… Help us!" Amalthea whispered, looking at him pleadingly.
Everything swirled together again and the next thing she knew, she was standing on what looked like a living room, filled with dark furniture. She shivered when her eyes landed on the shelves on one wall, filled with bones, skulls, candles and thick leather bind books.
Her mother was standing in the center of the room. A tall woman with black hair and fair skin was staring back at her.
"I can help you. I will create a talisman that will keep you under the radar. You're still early on, that's why they haven't felt the power yet and come for you. If the father was the angel and the mother the human, you'd be giving birth any day now. Your grace gives the vessel the needed power and healing to keep the baby in and thus it grows at a normal pace."
Powers… And that word again... Nephilim. Her mind didn't even try to process anymore. She just paid close attention to registering everything, so that she could, later on, try to understand...
Amalthea nodded and slowly sat on the couch behind her, tears filling her eyes. "Thank you!"
"Don't thank me yet. Nobody has ever managed to hide such a child up to now. No known Nephilim has ever walked on earth. The talisman, won't be enough, you need to secure a place, somewhere quiet and away from humans, somewhere, where angels won't have reason to linger or watch. We'll need to lock your presence inside that space and lock any angel from entering. It will take time, but it can happen," the woman said.
"What about the baby?" Once she's out, once her powers manifest…." Amalthea trailed.
"I'll bind the child's powers immediately after birth. You're a lower class angel, as you said. She won't be powerful enough to break free from the bounds. But I'll need your life to do that," she said in the same even, monotone voice she had used to say everything up to that point.
"What do you mean?" Amalthea asked, her eyes filling with tears yet again as a hand rubbed at her stomach.
"For such a strong binding to work, I'll need all of your angel's grace. But as soon as that is removed, you won't be strong enough to heal yourself from the Nephilim birth. No mother of Nephilim can survive the process. Chances are, even if we didn't bind her, you'd still die within a few hours. Your core, your essence, angelic or human, it doesn't matter. It can't take birthing such a creature."
Shaking her head and drying her eyes, Amalthea smiled, "I don't care if I have to die. As long as the baby is safe and gets to live and grow up."
"Good. The angels will know at some point and they will try to find you. They will be able to sense something in the balance is changing. To remain safe, the kid cannot be linked to you or the father."
"How are we going to manage that?"
"We'll send her somewhere none will ever think to look."
"Where?"
"Forth in time," the woman said tilting her head slightly.
The whirlwind of colors enveloped her again and Amber landed in an old warehouse. Her mother was laying on a bloody blanket holding a bundled baby in her arms, while her father knelt next to her.
Amber watched with tears in her eyes.
"Amber, Mary Winchester," Amalthea whispered.
Amber Mary Winchester…. Her name. Her real name.
John looked at her shocked. "Mary?" he whispered.
Amalthea smiled faintly, "The mother of your boys. I know how much you loved her. How much you still do."
John kissed her hand lightly.
The woman from before appeared. "Your grace is rapidly weakening, if we want to make the spell work I'll need it now."
Tears escaping her eyes the woman glanced at the small bundle in her arms and kissed it lightly before turning her eyes to John. "The locket? You have it? You put the grace vial in?"
"Yes, everything is ready," John's hoarse answer.
Whispering a soft "I love you" to the baby, Amalthea handed her to him and turned to the witch. "Go on then."
The witch kneeled close to the woman's side. With a quick precise motion, she cut her neck with a slender knife and collected the swirling light substance that emerged from the cut in a black marble bowl.
Amber couldn't hold in her scream of "No!" as she watched.
She saw her father looking at the woman brokenly. As a shadow of what looked like wings started appearing beneath her now still body everything around Amber faded.
Next thing she knew, she was back on the bathroom floor. As her eyes traveled to the clutched locket in her hands, they enlarged and she gasped audibly at what she saw. Her birthmark on the inner side of her wrist had reddened, making its intricate shape much more visible and clear. Glancing to her other hand she spotted the same thing happening there. She quickly checked her ankles and chest. All of the marks were reddened around the edges. Raising on trembling feet she looked at the mirror over the sink. As she feared, the smaller mark on her forehead was in the exact same state.
She felt panic rising in her chest. What was going on? What was happening to her? The feeling inside her was still there, though weaker than before. She remained looking at her reflection, almost motionless, tears slipping down her cheeks. Lowering her gaze to the sink she opened the faucet and let the cool water run over her fingers, her palms, her marked wrists. She lowered her face to the sink and splashed a generous amount to her face in a desperate effort to gain some clarity.
When she looked at the mirror again, she saw her forehead mark slowly fading back to normal. Glancing on her wrists she saw the exact same process. The feeling inside her also felt slowly dissipating, leaving behind an unusual fatigue and heaviness.
Amber clasped her locket closed, after securing the now empty vial and note back inside, and before tiptoeing out of the bathroom and back into her room. Getting into bed she managed to lay there for only a minute. There was no way she could sleep and she feared that if she did she'd forget everything she had just experienced.
Getting back to her feet, she grabbed her school-bag and quietly walked, still barefoot, towards the empty silent living room. She turned on a lamp that rested on a side table next to one of the armchairs and retrieved a notebook and a pen from her bag.
Not missing a moment she sat on the armchair and started writing frantically in as much detail as she could all that had played out before her eyes that night.
If she stood any chance of finding out if what she had witnessed was real, if her father was somewhere, possibly alive, his boys, her brothers... She had to have every detail available.
Present, 15 November 2016
"Amb!" Tyler all but yelled.
Snapping out of her reminiscing, the girl turned to stare at him annoyed. "Gee, Ty! Keep it down! My head's gonna explode!"
"Sorry, dude, but you didn't seem to listen the first two times…" Tyler trailed. When she never answered but kept staring thoughtfully at the ceiling, he went on, "You're sure everything's ok? You know you can tell me anything. You know I can help with anything!"
Turning to look at him again she smiled appreciatively to her best friend. "I know that, Ty."
Opening his hands grandly, the black haired boy declared, "Take advantage of my genius then!"
Chuckling, Amber grabbed a pillow and threw it at his chest. Thinking it over for a minute she asked, "Remember when I told you that I had no biological family left?"
The boy nodded.
"Well, I lied," Amber told him plainly, regarding his face intently. When his eyes reflected solely surprise and not anger she went on, "Sorry, but, my mother, she… Uh… Kinda advised me against finding them," she informed him. The witch's voice telling her mother Amber wouldn't be safe if anyone linked her with the Winchesters still haunting her ears.
"Them?" Tyler asked, his kind brown eyes squinting slightly.
"Yeah. My brothers. My father has been dead for some years now," Amber supplied.
"Why though? She feared they'd abuse you or whatever?" Tyler asked then.
Amber shook her head. "No. Look, I can't tell you much about what was going on with all of them back then, but long story short, she feared there were people after me that would hurt me. And my getting in touch with the boys could be dangerous."
Tyler squinted his eyes even more. "Are you some sort of mafia's princess or whatever?
Unable to suppress her erupting short laughter Amber only shook her head, "I wish it was that simple, Ty. Anyways. Forget the details. If I give you two names, can you find pictures of them?"
Tyler's signature smug smile appeared on his lips. "You know I do. Who hacked your access to internet and electricity in this abandoned pit-hole after all? Hm? Who got you your fake ID?"
Smiling cutely she hopped on her feet and threw herself next to him on the couch. "Get your laptop out then!"
Reaching over the side of the couch into his backpack, Tyler took the device out and turned it on, "Names?"
"Sam and Dean Winchester, with a 'ch'," Amber supplied as her foot started tapping impatiently.
She didn't know why she was asking Tyler to confirm if the two guys were indeed who they claimed they were. A part of her always wanted to be found by one of them. That's why, after her thirteenth birthday and her running away from that last foster-home, she started using her real name and not the one she was registered with. She knew that even if the Sam and Dean she met were indeed her brothers, it would still be too risky for her to admit her existence. But she couldn't suppress her desire to know.
She had come to terms with the fact that what she had seen that day was probably real. Some sort of transferred memory. She had spotted John Winchester's name and soon enough learned about hunters, their work and their circles. She confirmed the fact that the conception of a Nephilim was possible, but supposedly had never happened. She had also learned that most hunters would not risk killing one if they ever crossed paths with it. They would most likely contact an angel to take care of it. It. That's what she was for hunters. An it. Still, her father, the most famous hunter of them all, had saved her mother and her. So she had some hopes that her brothers might, just might, be the same.
Tyler's frowning brow and annoyed expression took her out of her thoughts. "What's up?"
"They're trying hard not to be found, these two," Tyler mumbled. After a few more minutes his triumphant "Caught ya!" made Amber's heart skip a beat. Although she had learned their names, she had never seen their faces before. With slightly trembling hands she took the laptop on her lap and looked at the screen.
The two guys from the pub were staring right back at her. Frowning she asked, "Are these mug shots?"
Tyler nodded. "They were listed as most wanted by the FBI. That's how I found them. I don't want to be the bearer of bad news or whatever but they're supposed to be dead according to this," Tyler added hesitantly looking at his friend with sincere concern.
Amber shook her head reassuringly. "They're both very much alive."
"Um, Amb, if they are wanted by the feds, maybe it really isn't safe to get in touch," Tyler said carefully.
Turning her gaze to the boy she only asked, "Do you trust me?"
"With my life, dude," he immediately answered.
Smiling at the use of the kind-of-affectionate nickname he used for her she told him, "Then forget this FBI shit. They're not killers."
'Not human killers at least', she added silently to herself.
"But how are you gonna find them? There's no record of them in more than a year…"
Amber didn't answer immediately. "I'm not sure I'll find them. I just wanted to see their faces. I'll see what I'll do." With that, the girl stood up and stretched her body causing several cracking sounds to sound from her back.
Tyler shot up at the sound, and cringed, "Dude! You know I can't stand that sound!"
Smiling impishly she offered a "sorry," before yawning deeply. "You can stay as late as you want, Ty, but I need to get some sleep. I'm beat."
Tyler shook his head as he closed the laptop and placed it in his backpack. "Nuh, I'd best be home before the folks anyway or they'll pitch a fit."
Exchanging a brief hug, Amber followed him to the door, unlocked and opened it for him, and then promptly closed it and double locked it when he exited.
She moved to the wooden staircase that creaked deeply with each of her steps and across the corridor to the room she had claimed as her own. Thanking her lucky stars for whoever had left this house to rot she threw herself on the bed and reached with her hand to the adjacent nightstand. She fumbled a bit until she managed to open the drawer and take out her notebook.
Tyler had gifted it to her for her fifteenth birthday a year back. It was the first birthday present she had ever received and she cherished it deeply. It was thick and leather bound with a raven engraved on its front cover. She had meticulously transferred there all of the information she had gathered over the years regarding her family, the supernatural and of course the detailed description of what she had seen the night that she turned thirteen.
Turning to a new page she quickly scribbled down Sam and Dean's name as well as the date, time and place that she met them, for possible future use or reference. Sighing she closed it again and left it on top of the nightstand before getting under the covers and curling up to sleep. Their faces invaded her mind. The possible answers she could gain, about herself, her past, her nature. But at what cost? Rolling to her left side she closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep.
