One year later
"Grace!" gasped Dean indignantly, "No feet on the leather!"
Grace rolled her eyes, and didn't even bother telling Dean to look at the road. The man seemed to have eyes on the side of his head.
She was sitting in the Impala, and yes - shock horror - her feet were resting on the leather seat as she leant back against the window. He book sat in her lap, and an intricate drawing of their recent hunt was unfolding in lead pencil before her.
In her hand was a knife. She was mid-jump, her hair flowed behind her and her knife was raised, poised to begin a masterful arc downwards, ending embedded in the chest of the monster that had stood, ready for the kill.
Grace had been a quick learner, picking up the art of killing from Dean, at what Sam perceived to be an alarming rate for a 16-year-old. Grace didn't care. She was strong. She was powerful. And she most certainly did not need protection.
They had been driving for ten hours, Grace slept through three, the rest she was left staring out the window, watching the world go past.
She was used to long car rides. She had been shipped across the country from foster home to foster home, her life spent sleeping on couches and in guest bedrooms. She had never had a home. Until one year ago. Now you are probably preparing yourself for some cheesy story about how Grace finally found a home with the Winchesters, and they became a big happy family and lived happily ever after, and the truth is, Grace had a home with the Winchesters. And a family. But she found a lot more than that. She found pain and suffering. She discovered loss and grief beyond what any human should have to experience, let alone a 15-year-old girl. What lay in store for her was responsibility far beyond what most could shoulder, and a terrible burden that she must bear.
Already Grace has begun to learn of what pain truly means. The fire that consumed her on that night in her room over a year ago still haunted her nightmares, but was the supporting act for her most painful dream. A memory of a day in the woods still left her shaking and sobbing in her bed, feeling unclean and violated in her own bedroom.
Grace got through it knowing that no-one could ever hurt her again. She was tough, and no-one could touch her and live to tell the tale. She was a fighter
They finally pulled into the road that led to the bunker. They drove past the spot where it happened. Grace stared resolutely forward. Forget.
She was becoming very good at forgetting. Forget that she was a freak, that she could blast crazy beams of light at people, at demons. Forget she had no parents. Forget that she didn't even have a surname, not one of her own. Forget.
The headlights shone upon the ruined exterior of her home, and she clambered out of the car. An exhausted Sam and Dean followed her into the dark bunker as she again though of what she would do if she were again in that spot in the woods, with that man. The pain she could inflict. Sam jolted her from her fantasy as he flipped a switch and the light flickered on, revealing Cas sitting the table, reading a book of some sort. The angel did not look up as they entered the room, but instead spoke.
"I found the prophet" he said matter of factually.
All three of their heads snapped up. "So…. I'm not a prophet?" said Grace, "I mean there can be only one at once right?"
"I knew when I looked at you that you weren't a prophet. It was Sam and Dean who held onto that theory." stated Cas, still flipping through the pages of his book.
"How else do we explain her?" Dean said, gesturing towards Grace. Dean always had such tact.
Cas shrugged. "We must leave now, we must bring the boy here."
"Boy? How old is he?" Asked Grace.
Dean rolled his eyes as Cas answered, "Seventeen, I believe."
Grace groaned, "Great. A teenage boy. Just what I need." As she slumped into a chair.
Now, as a reader, around this point you are probably groaning dramatically. I can't blame you. "Oh no!" you despair, as you anticipate the gripping, stereotypical YA romance about to be shoved down your throats, the usual occurrence when a teenage boy is introduced into the world of a young female protagonist. But haven't you learnt yet? Grace doesn't have that sort of luck.
The boy that returns three hours later stumbles through the doorway, covered and blood and swearing non-stop about how he was magically teleported from his bedroom. Grace rolled his eyes. At least he didn't shoot magic laser beams at his dad. Well, she guessed he didn't. She assumed what had happened that night - a full year ago now - had been a fairly isolated incident.
He stopped at the railing, looking around the bunker, in awe. Grace tried her hardest to appear bored, but she couldn't help but admire his face. And his white Pajama shirt that was almost see-through, if you looked at it hard enough.
He looked at her, noticing her gaze, so she yawned very convincingly and picked up another piece of the pizza she had had delivered while she waited for their return. She saw his body language change, from 'Freaking the fuck out' to a stance that seemed to be an epidemic amongst adolescent boys, the 'Holy fuck it's a female'. She, being the majestic creature she is, proceeded to get pizza sauce on her sleeve, "shit" she whispered under her breath as she wiped it on her pants, him watching her incredulously all the while.
What an idyllic romance.
"Hi," he said, his arrogance reminding her of her ex-boyfriend, Angus. It was not a good sort of remind. "The name's Tom"
She rolled her eyes. "Grace." She said simply, standing to face him. His brown eyes stood quite a bit above hers, making her feel small. A pulse of fear ran through her body as she saw his muscles through his shirt. The spot where arms had gripped her over a year ago throbbed as she balled up her fists instinctively. I am strong she thought, he can't touch me. His hair was stuck up at odd angles, and his pants were fleecy and had pictures of rocket ships on them. Her fear melted away. He was an ordinary teenage boy. An ordinary teenage boy, whose head she could crush between her hands like play dough - if she felt like it. And who knows. One day she might feel like it. Teenage boys could be very annoying.
