"I'm not a prophet or a stone aged man, just a mortal with potential of a superman. I'm living on."
-David Bowie
Lucinda's relationship with the Fitzpatricks could be seen as. . . .odd. They weren't her biological family, but she viewed them as a kind of family of sorts. They treated her like dirt, but she didn't mind. She'd been physically, psychologically, and emotionally abused her whole life, but she was fine with it. The Fitzpatricks used Lucinda for their own gain, and she was in no way against it. Her powers helped them. She wanted to help them. If it hadn't been for the small, dysfunctional family, Lucinda never would've learned how to control her powers. Sure, it took years of emotional manipulation to get there, but it worked. If it hadn't been for the Fitzpatricks, she never would've learned how to fight. It was painful beyond belief, but it was effective. There were so many things the family did for her, and Lucinda wanted to repay them in some way. It was the least she could do, after they gave her shelter, food, and clothes. Being their weapon, their tool, gave her a purpose. It gave her a place in the world. Lucinda's parents, her biological parents, were in no way involved in her life. Margo ensured the young Nephilim that the mother who birthed her was dead, and the father who sired her chose not to be involved with her. For Lucinda, that made no sense. Her mother was dead and her father didn't want her? What was that supposed to mean? How was she supposed to feel? She had no recollection of either, so maybe she wasn't supposed to feel anything. All Lucinda knew was the Fitzpatricks and their contribution to the Nephilim's upbringing. That was the important thing, right? That there was someone who wanted to take her in?
It was definitely odd, Lucinda's relationship with the Fitzpatricks. She was just an extension of their power in the hunting community, nothing more. They were the family she felt she needed. A need that was never verbally expressed. If Otis or Margo, or even Isaac, discovered she had developed a soft-spot for them, they'd do whatever was necessary to get it out of her. Lucinda was made to not express herself in any way. It didn't matter if it was shown externally or felt internally, she was supposed to be emotionless. Margo deduced the Nephilim's powers were connected to her emotions, which would've made her highly unstable as she grew, but it was because of that severed connection that Lucinda was able to effortlessly use her abilities. No painful human emotions to hold her back. That was how it was supposed to be.
So as she made her way into the Fitzpatrick home, she sighed. She'd be greeted with the same view — either Otis drinking at the kitchen table, or Margo reading a book in the dilapidated library, or no one would be home at all. It was a hit and miss at the Fitzpatrick residence. Once she made it inside, however, she was greeted with both Otis and Margo looking at her. Father and daughter looked as if they were scrutinizing her, as if Lucinda were some kind of science experiment. That was something that happened quite frequently. Lucinda didn't know why she was scrutinized so often by the family, but she was. She wanted to know, she wanted answers, but she wasn't seen as someone worth their time. Lucinda's usefulness was in fighting and killing, in exploiting others to ensure the Fitzpatrick's personal gain. If it didn't involve any of that, then she wasn't seen as important.
"You've been outside for quite some time," Margo said, her voice firm.
"I apologize." Lucinda's response was almost automatic, her tone void of emotions. It was obvious she'd been trained in what to say around the family, as well. She had to be respectful; one wrong word and she'd be subjected to horrendous consequences. "Did you need me for something?"
"Did you want to go out tonight?" Margo's question caught the young Nephilim off guard. She hadn't expected something like that. Lucinda was hoping she'd be presented with some kind of case, a way to keep herself occupied from the steadily growing intrusive thoughts. "It's Halloween after all," Margo continued. "Typically, people your age would go out and have fun."
"Is this a test, Ms. Fitzpatrick?" The eighteen year old's eyes narrowed slightly, her body tensing. What was being said had to be a test. No one in the family ever asked Lucinda whether or not she wanted to "go out". No one in the family ever cared if she had a moment of selfishness. It was always about what they wanted. Aside from Lucinda finding the question odd, even a bit suspicious, she found the look in Margo's eyes to be a bit treacherous. There had to be something the older woman was refusing to say. Why else would a question like that be suggested?
"You're eighteen, Lucinda," Margo responded. "You should gain a little independence. I believe you'll have a safe night, won't you?"
"With all due respect, Ms. Fitzpatrick," Lucinda stated, "I don't think it's a good idea for me to go out tonight. You've stated that I can't expose myself to the populace unless it involves a case."
"Are you deaf, kid?" Otis barked, his patience wearing thin. "My daughter said you can go out tonight. It's not a suggestion, it's an order. Do you understand me?"
A look swept across the young Nephilim's eyes for just a moment before she walked out the front door. When it came to Otis, he always seemed to have such a short temper with her. He wasn't always like that with Margo or Isaac, which made Lucinda wonder why? What had she ever done to him? She'd been nothing but obedient and loyal, doing the older man's dirty work while he sat back fat and happy. Lucinda knew that she had a duty to the family, while she wasn't sure why, she knew that she couldn't get mad at them or hold any ill-feelings when it came to them. The Fitzpatricks were the closest she'd ever get to a family, and she'd do whatever it took to keep that connection going.
O.O.O.O
In the hunting community, legends and storytelling were common. It was a natural thing everyone participated in, whether they truly believed it all or not. Some of the legends were of monsters no one had ever encountered, or maybe creatures no one particularly believed in. The storytelling, well, that was their way of sharing their experiences. Whether it was a normal life before hunting took over, or it was just of monsters and people they'd encountered along the way. For many hunters, their life had been the only thing they'd ever known, they were born into it. For others, they were forced into it. From the loss of a loved one, to a deal they couldn't back out of, the hunting life managed to drag all kinds of people in. It was almost heartbreaking. But, sadly, someone had to keep the supernatural community under wraps. If word got out that all the creatures people knew in horror movies were real, then things would go to shit fast, and it didn't help that a lot of the things that go bump in the night could pose as ordinary humans. Vamps, werewolves — they could get away with looking human, the only downside would be their undying need for blood and hearts. Demons? They could possess a body, pretend to be the vessel for as long as necessary. No one would know unless salt or holy water got involved. Honestly, there were too many ways to take down a demon. Shapeshifters, Vetalas, Djinns — the list could go on. Hunters had to exist so the monsters would stay in line.
But, in regards to stories, plenty of them circled around the hunting community. They seemed to spread rather quickly. While hunters did their best to keep what was truly important to themselves, there were small moments of weakness sometimes, and they just couldn't help spilling the beans. Maybe it was the occasional inexperienced hunter, or maybe it was a more experienced one, both reminiscing on the old times. Of families they wished they could have, a family they either lost or left behind. Sentimental things. But when it came to legends, that was when everyone was really engaged. While not all legends were believed in the hunting community, there were a few they all agreed on. Then there were the legends shrouded in speculation. One of them was about the Scarlet Phantom. It was stated that very few hunters ever encountered her and managed to live. Any who did survive were scared out of their mind, believing she'd return to kill them at any given time. Her description was the same by any who lived to tell — a petite redheaded girl, looking as if she were barely twenty. If they managed to see her face, they described it as emotionless, but her eyes were something that really caught attention. Some claimed she had glowing whitish-blue eyes, other said it was a green-brown color. Some believed she was a vengeful spirit, one who had a vendetta against all kinds of living things. Others believed she was a living, breathing monster, considering her ability to appear and disappear at will. On top of that, she could easily take down multiple creatures and humans at once, not even breaking a sweat while doing so. The one thing that always stood out, though, was the brutality in which she fought. She was savage in how she took down her targets, leaving a bloodied mess wherever she appeared. It was horrific. Because of her savagery and the quickness of her appearance and disappearance, that was how she earned her nickname.
Many hunters believed the legend of the Scarlet Phantom to be fake. So few have ever encountered her, and the ones who managed to survive were practically driven mad with fear. The whole legend was shrouded in so much mystery, so much speculation, that it was a bit of a touchy subject to dive into. Though hunters have agreed, whether they believe in the legend or not, that it does send shivers up their spine.
For John Winchester, however, he believed in the story. In all the time he spent hunting monsters, he believed that, to an extent, anything was possible. The Scarlet Phantom, for John, could help him in his search for the demon who killed his wife. He could only hope it led to something. Dean had managed to go on his own hunts, which was a good thing for the Winchester patriarch. The more time he had to do his own investigating, the better. That meant no distractions, nothing to hold him back. John knew Dean was a capable hunter, but he was headstrong in his own right, and had a sarcastic streak to go along with it. Of course, Dean knew better than to behave that way in front of his father, but it slipped from time to time. But with his son out of the way, John's focus could finally be on what needed to get done. So, he'd head down to Louisiana in hopes of figuring out what was so important about the Scarlet Phantom. What made her so well-known in the hunting community? Just how many people managed to lay eyes on her and live? Those kinds of questions needed answers. Maybe, if John got lucky, he'd encounter that little redhead himself. There had to be a way to get her to show up.
(A/N):
Sorry for the wait on this chapter. It seems a little sloppy, only because I'm kinda running on fumes right now. If you've got constructive criticism on how this, and future updates, can be improved, don't hesitate to PM me and/or leave a review.
Nothing in the SPN fandom belongs to me. All I own are my OCs, my subplots, and the keyboard in my room. If you've got an OC or a subplot you'd like to have added to the story, PM me or leave a review; I'll add it in as soon as possible.
On that note, I'll see you guys on the flip side.
Rudie Fenton
