Thirteen years earlier.
John Winchester blinked the rain out of his eyes and slammed his fist against the old and ornate door of the church again.
"Jim!" He yelled, though he had serious doubts that he could be heard over the storm.
He cast a glance over his shoulder into his car.
Six small eyes peered out at him from the windows. The familiar green eyes of both of his son's sandwiched a big round pair of brown eyes in between.
His eldest son, Dean, caught his eyes and went into his little protector mode, rubbing the younger, Sam, on the back.
Obediently, Sam leaned back against the car seat, long since used to being put to bed in the bench seat of the Impala.
The big brown eyes of the little girl, however, never wavered from him.
John couldn't take it much longer.
John turned back to the church, slamming his fist against the door again.
"Jim, I swear to God!" called John.
"Well, there's no need for language like that," said the priest calmly, appearing suddenly in the doorway.
"Jesus, man," said John, sagging with relief.
The priest rolled his eyes at John's blasphemy, but stepped aside to allow him in. He waved at Dean in the car, the twelve year old waved back, then returned to his task of supervising the two younger children.
John took a seat in the back of the church, the farthest pew from the display at the front. The great man at the front of it all, ushering him forward into salvation.
John wasn't even sure that there was a God. And if there was, John had some serious doubts about his legitimacy. He seemed more like a demon on a power trip than the loving protector that Father Jim tried to sell him on.
The man had seen everything that John had seen and more, but he still insisted that there was a creator who loved them and took care of them.
But this wasn't the time or place for that kind of conversation.
Father Jim sat next to him.
"I assume this has something to do with the little girl in the backseat of your car."
"Yup."
"She have parents?"
"Nope."
"Did you have anything to do with that?"
John rubbed his face in his hands.
Blood. Pooling on the floor, making the carpet soggy beneath his boots. Tiny handprints against the wall, coated in the blood that had somehow spread and touched everything in the house.
The smell of the decomposing bodies in the sweltering trailer.
Big, round demon eyes, peering up at him.
Father Jim didn't say anything, but sat so that he was facing forward with John, both staring blankly at the statute at the head of the alter that promised salvation at the end of it all.
John knew that it gave Jim strength.
Jim saw the statue, the icons, and he saw a reason to keep fighting.
John saw a hollow lie.
"You'll leave her here." Jim said simply.
"That was the plan."
"Does she have a name?"
"She hasn't said a word since I put her in the car."
"When was that?"
"New Mexico."
Jim nodded again. Sometimes, John didn't think that anything would surprise the religious hunter.
"We'll keep her close. " assured Jim.
"Keep her safe."
"Hook. Jab. Hook. Jab. Duck. Mind your feet. Elbows. Guard your side. Your side. YOUR SIDE."
Father Jim's chanted instruction came a second too late as Caleb landed a sharp blow to Hannah's left side.
"Fucking pig's dick of an asshole," snarled the thirteen year old as she doubled over.
"Language." reminded Father Jim in a tiered voice.
Caleb smirked at her from across the makeshift ring that the priest had thrown together in the church basement. The hunter, less than five years older than the girl herself, stood a solid four inches taller though his spotted acne and lanky frame revealed his youth.
They were a fair sparring match, Father Jim thought. Caleb, tall and ungainly, was still adjusting to his exaggerated limbs that were the result of a recent growth spurt. Hannah, though shorter and younger, had a fiery temper that, when tapped into, made a fearsome opponent.
Caleb was still smirking. The boy was smart, driven, and a good fighter when he wasn't cocky. The girl, however, was best when everyone else thought the chips were down. The second someone counted her out of the race was the second that she leapt up, with more drive than Father Jim had ever thought possible, and mowed down anything that stood in her way.
Caleb was pushing Hannah's buttons. Her nostrils were flaring as he gloated.
"Again?" asked Hannah, recovering and standing straight though her hand was still massaging her side.
"Maybe you should lie down or something," teased Caleb in a whisper, thinking that Father Jim couldn't hear them, "Don't want to start your period, or something."
Father Jim had entertained thoughts of calling it quits before Hannah did tap into her defiant temper and seriously hurt the boy. But, hearing him goad her changed his mind.
Hannah was self-conscious about her blooming womanhood. Try as she might to hide it from them, her voice was finding a more sonous pitch. The baby fat of her youth was melting off her face and waistline as the whispers of hips and breasts began to make their presence known.
She had no female example to guide her. It had been her, Caleb and himself since John had left her five years prior. Her family consisted of a man who had taken a vow of celibacy and a teenage boy who was going through the same changes in his own way. Puberty was not easy for the girl, she was on her own on that front.
"Again," agreed Father Jim, pretending to not hear Caleb's comment. Hannah would get him back for it, Father Jim thought with a sort of satisfaction.
The priest quickly crossed himself and asked forgiveness for his pettiness. If either teen saw, they made no mention as they squared each other up. Just as Caleb was aiming his first strike, Father Jim heard heavy boots above him, in the main room of the church.
The church was in the middle of nowhere. They were lucky if twenty people showed up on Sunday, let alone someone coming in for spiritual guidance on a Thursday afternoon.
Father Jim cast out his hunter skills as he listened to the footsteps. There was only one hunter that Father Jim could think of who would be in that church, sitting as far away from the statue of the savior as was humanly possible.
"Stay here, don't move." Ordered Father Jim as he left the room, yet the thud and muffled curse behind his back told him that Hannah had gotten her revenge.
John Winchester, stiff and out of place in the wooden pew was looking at the stained glass depiction of the woman at the well, rubbing his scruffy chin absently as he did.
Father Jim cleared his throat.
John jumped as if Father Jim had caught him committing a shameful crime. He cast a smile at the priest.
"Where are the boys?" he asked John. He hadn't seen John since Hannah had entered his life that rainy night five years ago. Besides a few general questions over the phone, usually tacked onto questions about exorcisms and demonic possessions, John hadn't shown much more than a passing interest in the girl.
John had his hands full, Father Jim understood that. He had two sons and an all-consuming obsession with revenge on his plate.
"Dean is with Bobby. They're tracking a Wendigo. I thought it would be good for him to practice hunting a bit without his old man breathing down his back. And Sam… Well, he's been a little stubborn lately. I thought it was a phase, at first. I don't know how long something can be called a phase before it is just a personality trait. He's holed up a couple of towns over while I do this hunt."
"Ah, a hunt." Said the priest. "So that is why you came to see me."
"Well, it sure wasn't your legs, padre."
"I thought it might have something to do with the girl."
John scratched the back of his neck.
"A little." He admitted, "I've got two sons, I don't need a daughter. But, I just want to be sure that she's… ok. Last time we talked you said she was a pretty good fighter. "
"Ah, yes, that was when she broke Caleb's nose."
"Poor Caleb."
"He made fun of her for having a little bit of a crush on a boy in his grade. The way the principal told me it, he was talking about it very loudly amongst his friends when she jumped up on his back and slammed his face into a locker."
"She has a bit of a temper." John guessed, raising his eyebrows.
"Yes, and a bit of a reputation as a 'psycho bitch' among her classmates as of late. I'll admit, our living situation does little to remedy her label of 'uncoolness' at school."
"That doesn't matter much, in the grand scheme of things. " John said after he recovered from the shocked choke he emitted as he heard the prim Father mouth the word 'bitch.'
"It matters very much to a young woman," the priest said gently.
John nodded solemnly.
"So, she's normal, then?"
"She spends most of her time reading. She's thirteen years old and she has a blackbelt in Krav Maga, Karate and Judo. She has no friends that I am aware of and a truly impressive memory for Latin exorcisms. No, she is not normal for any child her age, but, she is clever and kind. I would define her as exceptional."
John smiled at that.
"So, since you aren't here for my legs, what do you need?"
"My shotgun got confiscated in Portland. I've got other guns, sure, but nothing slows an angry spirit down quite like a shotgun pellet full of rock salt."
"You need a new one."
"I would appreciate it."
"Come with me." Father Jim said, standing, "And mind you look sharp. We don't get a lot of visitors, so you can bet that Caleb and Hannah will be watching us once we get to the basement."
"Hannah? The girl's name is Hannah?"
"Yes. I've never told you her name before?"
"No." John was silent as they made their way down the hall. "It's pretty."