Sorry, if you already read this and left a review, I posted it the other day when the site was down and it seems that the story never 'officially' got updated. So I took it down and I'm reposting it. Now, onto my lovely little note. In this chapter you finally find out what Tate really is, and I'll tell everyone now, she's not a witch or a werewolf. What she is, is something that I used a couple things to come up with; a few books I've read, a little hint of Greek Mythology and a movie title with an added letter. So I hope you guys like this and I promise, the creepy is on the way.
Chapter 7- Unraveling Tatum
"You found her and then she did what? She shot you!" A woman's voice shrieked, looking at the man who had appeared in front of Tatum.
"Alana, I tried to speak to her, she didn't want to her me and then yes, she did shoot me!" He yelled, his voice echoing through the abandon cavern the two occupied and bounced off the walls, each syllable colliding with others.
"Nero, the girl only knows half of her true nature; she knows about those feelings she gets and that she can predict things, that part of her gift she using poorly. Helping the older Winchester boy hustle pool games, that is not what we were sent here to do. But she knows nothing more about her gifts. We need to find her before Kris does; the she-wolf has already killed outside the girl's home." Alana said as she stood, her long red hair billowing out as she moved across the cool rock floor toward Nero.
"What do you want me to do? Stalk her?"
"If needs be, yes. Do whatever you can to get her, we need her. If the wolves get her…well you know what will happen." She said with a flick of her hand.
"Yes I know, doom and gloom, all humanity with perish and the Winchesters are destined to fail. I know Alana, I know."
"We lost the boy, we can not afford to loose Tatum too, Nero. I had her once and just as I went to tell her, her father came out to find her. We need her."
"I'll go find her."
xXxXx
Tate sat at her computer with her to back to Fancy in her office, a Zeppelin CD playing off in the background and blocked out the sound of Fancy batting her room service scrambled on her plate. Tate was curled up in the chair, her gauze taped hand wrapped around her mouse and breakfast sat on her desk, getting colder as the seconds passed by. Fancy looked up at her and smiled to herself. It amazed her, there Tate was; battered and bruised, fake putty filling in her tooth and band aids and more gauze hidden under her clothes to cover cuts and nicks in her skin, sitting at her desk doing work.
"What are you working on?" Fancy asked as she took a long sip of her orange juice.
"Nothing really, just something."
"Liar." Fancy sing-songed; getting up off the couch and moving over to Tate's chair, hovering over her shoulder. Fancy's contact free eyes skimmed over the screen, her eyes only taking in the important parts and then took a step back.
"Tate, what exactly is a Wycker?" Tate's eyes danced up to Fancy's, their normally guarded gaze had dropped and she bit on her split lip, worrying the flesh through her teeth. "You're telling me King."
"I know, I know. All right, according to the article, a Wycker is a combination of a guardian angel and a Fate; you know one of those three Fates from Greek and Roman Mythology, three goddesses, Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos, who control human destiny?"
"No, but continue."
"Okay, it says when an angel named Chael and Atropos came together, they formed this other being called a Wycker, a magical Mage like creature with the ability to 'sense' or predict future events and are 'assigned' to protect certain people. Since they're Mages, they have magic of their own; it usually comes from the people they look after."
"Like 'Poof you're a frog' magic?" Fancy asked as she dropped her hand on Tate's shoulder.
"It doesn't say that, but I don't think 'poof you're a frog' is the kind of magic we're looking for. It says the magic was always found when the time was right." Tate read right off the computer, her black painted nail underling the line as she went across the screen.
"So does this explain those damn 'premonitions' you get."
"They're not premonitions; obviously it's something I sense, like a change in something, like something bad is going to happen."
"Everyone gets feelings like that."
"Yeah, but do they know when this 'something bad' is going to happen? I usually do. Like last time I was with Sam and Dean, when I went around that corner and got caught by that ghost, I knew I was walking into a trap but I couldn't change it because that was how things were supposed to play out." Fancy seemed lost for a moment, her lips forming an 'O' when she came back.
"You can't change Fate and obviously since you're part Fate, you really can't fuck that shit up." Tate rolled her eyes and spun her chair back around, reading more about the origins of this Guardian/Fate/Witch thing she was convinced she was. Fancy took her seat back on the couch and grabbed her juice again, the cool surface of it pausing against her lip.
"It explains a lot Kingy."
"Like?" Tate asked, her eyes not leaving the screen.
"The protection thing, look who you're with and if you look at me, I'm throwing my fork at you. You're always with Sam and Dean; you've been with them for nearly two decades. Look at what they do? What you all do. I mean, I think I'd want someone there to protect me too. And from what you've told me, you've gotten both of them out of some pretty tight spots. Seems like Fate to me kiddo." Tate turned her chair to face Fancy and looked at her.
"Maybe you're right, sounds like a good reason. But what about the Mage thing? I mean, I covered the Fate part and you just covered the Guardian and Fate part, where does the magic come in?"
"Don't know yet, but you told me the article told you it comes from the people you look after. Maybe your power is "right place, right time". You know; you're the get away car, the one with the gun, the one who walks blindly into a trap and becomes bait." Fancy said with a smile.
"That's enough Fance." She said as she spun back around and heard the front door open and then close; two new sets of foot falls walking in through the living room.
"The guys are back." She told Tate as she collected her dishes and walked out of the room. Tate smiled and shook her head; she had found out earlier before they ordered room service that Fancy actually did like Sam a whole hell of a lot and while she had taken off the day before, the two spent a lot of time talking. Fancy knew about Jess and Sam knew about the last jackass she had dated who liked to swing; Tate was the only person who knew about that. Tate was about to get up when she felt familiar eyes fall on her and looked up to see Dean. He looked more tired than she did, she knew he had stayed up most of the night and probably watched her, watching every rise and fall of her chest to her eye lids fluttering in a dream.
"Dean, I'm going to be honest here, you look like shit." She told him, trying not to laugh as he crossed the room and stood next to her chair. Sliding off the leather seat, she forced him to sit down and then sat on his lap, her legs draped over his thighs. Running her hand through his hair, she sighed and rested her head on his shoulder.
"Tell me you stayed up all night and watched me?"
"You know I did, why are you asking?"
"I hate when you do that."
"Don't worry about me; you're the one that's hurt."
"And you're exhausted babe. Dean, I love that you take care of me, but you have to take care of yourself too." She muttered as she pressed her lips to his neck, his skin was warm under the pink bruised flesh that made up her lips. Dean tilted his head back, giving Tate access to the skin under his jaw. A knock on the door pulled Tate away from her current 'task' of leaving a good sized hickey on the underside of Dean's jaw. Looking up, she found Sam and Fancy in the doorway and turned as red as Sam's shirt; burying her face into Dean's shoulder.
"Guess we're interrupting." Sam said, trying to hide the smile on his face, Fancy didn't though.
"Yeah you are Sammy, what do you want?" Dean growled, scrubbing his face with his hand.
"I wanted to talk to Tate about what we found out at the library." Tate shifted on Dean's lap and sat on his knee caps, ready to listen to Sam. Fancy stood behind Sam still, her hand resting on his hip.
"What didya find Sam?" Tate asked, grabbing her pen and some paper.
"The cops ruled the deaths in the park as a freak animal attack and they're not that far from the truth."
"Damn, I knew it!" Tate muttered as she pulled back up the internet, leaving the article about the Wycker minimized, and went to her email.
"What are you doing?" Dean asked his chin on her shoulder.
"I'm emailing Jake, Richy and few other guys I know down at the station." She said; plugging email addresses into the address bar.
"Those cops?"
"No need to get jealous again, I'm going to email them and see what else I can find out." After typing up the emails, she looked back to Sam. He was shifting his weight from foot to foot as he looked at the various items lining the shelves in her office. Feeling her eyes on him, he turned around and looked at her.
"Do those cops know about you? About what we do?"
"No, they don't know about the hunting, and they really don't know a damn thing about the werewolf."
"It seemed like there was more than one." Dean said, playing with her hair.
"Yeah, there were more than one set of tracks." Sam said.
"Wait, are you talking about Weston Park?" Fancy asked, walking fully into the office.
"Yeah, it was Weston Park. Speaking of the park, I'm going to develop those rolls of film I took there. Fance wanna help?" The bar tender nodded as Fancy got off of Dean's lap. She was almost out of the door when Sam called her back.
"Tate, can we use the computer?"
"Yeah, just don't screw it up." Tate said as she grabbed the rolls of film off the small end table that sat near the love seat she had moved into the office.
"That means no looking at naked pictures." Fancy told them as she followed Tate out, getting the finger from Dean before laughing at him.
xXxXx
A few hours later; Fancy had gone to the bar for the night, Sam was still doing research, Dean was sleeping and Tate was sitting in the living room with her light board, looking at negatives. She sat on the floor in front of the couch with her long legs curled under the coffee table and carefully looked at each negative; looking at each image and marking down the ones she'd print on a separate piece of paper.
"Tate?" Sam's voice startled her and pulled her away from her negatives.
"Yeah Sammy?" She asked as he walked over to her with several sheets of paper in his hands.
"Can I talk to you?"
"What's up?" She asked, turning the light board off and putting her pen down to look at him. He sat down on the couch behind her and laid the papers on the table, yellow highlighter covered several items on each page.
"Why are you looking into Wyckers? They're not evil and I doubt they killed those people in the park, you said earlier it was werewolves. Dad knows a lot about them, hell, I think he met one once."
"I know he met one, I should've called him."
"Why?"
"Sam, I have to tell you something."
"Tate, what is it?"
"You remember when me, Dean and Garrett were eleven, you were seven, and our dads were hunting werewolves in Minnesota?"
"I think so."
"Dean dared me to go out and find a werewolf, saying I couldn't do it because I'm a girl. And you know me, I don't back down from anything. So I went out into this clearing and heard something, it was a werewolf or what I thought was one. It caught me just before I got to the cabin, but it wasn't a wolf. When it hovered over me, it changed into a woman like a shape shifter. It became this woman who told me I was special and said something about a Wycker. She never got to finish telling me about it because my dad came out, guns loaded and ready to kill something like always; she vanished. Just vanished, right into thin air. And the other night when I took off…"
"You saw her again, right?"
"No, it was a man this time, but I think he's one too."
"What happened?"
"I freaked out and shot him. He just disappeared like she did and nothing happened to my car, not bullet hole, no blood. Nothing, it was like he and the bullet never existed." She said and the two were silent for awhile; Tate playing with her bracelet and Sam tugging at the cords of his hoodie.
"So, you're a Wycker?" Sam asked, a nervous laugh escaping his lips as he wrung his hands together.
"Yeah I guess. I just have to find that guy again."
"And apologize for shooting him."
"Yeah, that too." This time it was Tate who let out that nervous giggle.
"So…umh…how long have you known you were…umh…something?" The way Sam was talking to her reminded her of the time he walked in on her and Dean when they were eighteen; it was horrific trying to explain themselves out of that one without having to involve John and Ben.
"Since I was eleven."
"That's when your eyes changed, I remember that."
"They changed the night after I saw the woman in the clearing." She told him as he reached for the article and looked for something he had highlighted; Tate figured he had started putting the pieces together hours ago and was waiting to get her alone to ask her about it.
"The article says that's how you can tell someone is a Wycker by the; "abnormal and unique coloring of their eyes or the pigment of their skin; some are almost pearly white or literally olive tinted." It explains that shocking violet color. So you really are a Wycker." He said, putting the papers back in a stack.
"Guess so." She mumbled as she twirled her pen through her fingers; a nervous habit she picked up through years of school and not paying attention when her father was demonstrating the proper way to fire a gun.
"Why didn't you tell me Tate?" Hearing Dean's voice, both of them jumped and turned toward the archway that led into the kitchen. There stood Dean; his hair sticking up in different angles and shocking directions and his white under shirt and jeans were rumpled from tossing and turning in bed. But Tate was transfixed on his eyes, in all the time she had been around Dean, she had never seen them filled with so much hurt.
"How much of that did you hear?" She asked, jumping to her feet and took a step toward him.
