The house looks normal apart from the front door that has clearly been torn open with such a force the hinges barely hold onto the frame, squeaking as the night wind pushes them back and forth. As for the door, the thick, painted wood lay a distance away on the front lawn in front of me, having been not only torn off the frame but also tossed effortlessly away. Following my eyes to the gold letters 74 across the red door at my feet is the barrel of my Colt, just as it follows my eyes back to the open front doorway. I approach the house, now more aware than ever that the wind has been nipping at my exposed shoulder beneath the tear in my jacket. I've killed more werewolves than I can count, but something about these two girls is different than any wolf, or monster, I've ever seen. They are stealthy, so stealthy in fact that they were able to hide in the back seat of my car and attack me after a first date just hours ago. Danny was nice, but after watching him fumble through some cheesy pickup lines and explain his strained relationship with his older brother for forty-five minutes, I was just about ready to run a bath, fill a glass, and call it a night. Unfortunately for me, these puppies had other plans.
I jump over the porch steps onto the cement landing to avoid any potential noise announcing my arrival and creep through the doorway into the house. Keeping my gun at the ready, I scope out the first floor entirely, listening for any sign of life in the house. I hear nothing, see nothing. Still, that doesn't mean nothing. Before I reach the stairs leading to the second floor, I notice a door propped open slightly and make my way toward it, weary of what might be on the other side. With the end of the gun, I slowly push the door open to reveal a set of stairs leading down to the basement. At the foot of the stairs glows a single light bulb and in the middle of the room sits a chair deadbolted to the floor. I lower a foot to the first step as lightly as I can, trying not to make a single sound. My toes touch, then the ball of my foot, then the sole, then the heel. Silence. I let out a breathe, also silent. But the sound of a breathe still fills my ears. I only have a chance to widen my eyes before a force shoves me from behind, sending me flying down the steps. I lunge forward once, my cheek slamming first onto the flat of a step before my body follows and lunges my temple into the edge. My body continues, being the heavier force, and pulls its weight over my head before whipping me back so that the top of my head reaches the cement flooring one last time. Lights out.
I feel weightless, almost like when I was a child and my mother would rock me to sleep after I'd had a nightmare and came into her room, crying hot tears about monsters that weren't there. To be truthful, they weren't there. Luckily for me, my monsters had always been in dreams. That's not always the case for every little girl or boy in the world. Still, it's soothing, whatever this feeling is. Before I know it, though, the feeling is over. Short lived was the rocking, and now I feel my body slump over, another racking of my brain as I fall to the floor again without so much as a shift to stop myself from doing so. I can't move.
When all my limbs fail, I use what energy I can muster and pry open an eye. As soon as I do I know something isn't quite right, the vision in my eye is blurred by spots of red which I can only assume means I've popped a blood vessel in my eye… again. Still, I try to make do and figure out what is going on in front of me. First, I find the glazed gaze of one of the two werewolves, her blue eyes bright and lifeless as she stares not at me, but beyond me, seeing whatever death or god shows a monster when they die. I don't see the other girl, but I hear the sound of flesh being torn as someone removes an object from a body. I know that sound like I know my favorite song. Soon enough, a hand grabs my shoulder and I feel my body contract with an involuntary wince at the touch. The hand ignores the reaction, though, and turns me onto my back.
Above me, a concerned face peers over and asks me a question, although the strange man's voice sounds a bit distant while still audible enough to hear. His brown hair falls around his face as he looks down at me and his brows are furrowed so tightly they almost touch. It takes so much to look at him and take him all in that I don't even hear the question the first time, so he asks again.
"Are you alright? Can you tell me your name?" when he's asked again, he looks to the side of the room that had previously been out of view. I follow his gaze with my eyes only, trying my best not to move my head as my brain throbs within my skull. When my eyes do get there, much more slowly than I expected them to, I see another man standing by the body of the other girl. He's pointing at me with one hand, a bloodied spear in his other, as he says something I can't hear to his buddy. I can't quite see his face from so far away though as my eyes strain. As I let my eyes return to their position of looking straight ahead, I notice a slight ringing that has steadily gotten louder in my right ear. At first it wasn't even noticeable but now it has reached a piercing pitch in my head. I close my eyes and try to collect my thoughts to give this guy some sort of answer, but as soon as I attempt to form the words I can barely expel the energy.
I try to tell him I am okay, but instead all that comes out is some sort of mumbled, "Mmk."
Through the ringing and the pounding, I realize I'm not going to get words out right now. Instead, I use all the strength I've got to lift a hand up to his arm, grabbing hold of it with all my might. I don't know who these guys are, but they look too worried to have anything to do with monsters. I think they might be hunters, or at least some really good samaritans. I can only hope as I squeeze his arm as tight as I can, and realizing I am slowly giving into the thumping in my head, try to tell him I might need his help. He suddenly looks down at me with a ferocious protectiveness, leaning over me as if he would stop anything from getting close. I don't know why, but in this moment, I believe he would.
I suck in a breath, what feels like the first breath I've drawn in ages. My lungs expand almost mechanically, like they're so used to the rhythmic way a sleeping person breathes that they now have to adapt to my control again. I breathe out, and they contract almost too much, constricted to an uncomfortable point before expanding again. I turn my head carefully, and while the thump is still there it is incredibly muffled in comparison to the little I remember.
I remember. The man with brown hair, the other guy with the bloody knife. The werewolves, the stairs. Even Danny.
I lift my head off the pillow and am blinded by a rush of blood. I have to put my hands on each side of me to steady myself as I close my eyes and wait for it to pass. When it does, I throw my legs over the side of the bed and lift off, this time a little slower than before. Now vertical, a miracle in itself, I step toward the small sink and mirror and hold onto the edge of the basin.
Just as I suspected, I look like shit. A popped blood vessel in the left eye, dried blood on the lobe of my right ear, a sickening bruise on my right temple with a decent cut above the right brow, and a slash on my left cheek with stitches woven through it. They're not bad, pretty even actually, although the fourth stitch dips slightly and I would not have made such a mistake on my face of all places, but I'm not really in a position to complain.
As I continue to absorb the state of my face, the knob on the door turns and the door swings open allowing the man with the brown hair to walk in with a tray in hand.
"Oh, Jesus!" He exclaims upon seeing me, taking a step back for a moment before continuing into the room and placing the tray on the bedside table.
"I remember you." I tell him, and as soon as I say it I realize its probably quite the obvious observation. "Did you kill those werewolves?" I ask.
"Well, yes, my brother and I." He says, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck.
"And you brought me here and fixed me up?"
"Yes, my brother drove. I cleaned your face and stitched that huge gash on your cheek, there. How are you feeling?" He asks, suddenly remembering that he'd brought the tray in with him and he begins to fumble for a cotton pad. He picks up the small fabric and as he does, it looks so dainty within his large hand that I feel he might tear it just by touching it. But he doesn't, his fingers grasp it tenderly and he takes a step toward me before reaching it out to me. I take it from him and turn back to the mirror to dab the wound.
"I've been better. I've also been worse, I guess." I tell him, turning back to him and leaning onto the sink. "Well, thank you, mystery man, for everything. Don't think I caught your name…" I lead.
"Sam."
"Sam." I say, testing it out."You're my hero, Sam. I'm Winnie." I tell him, reaching out a hand for him to shake. He hesitates for a moment, looking at my outstretched hand to me and back to my hand before ultimately shaking it.
"Don't thank me, I'm just doing my job." He says, pausing for a moment before continuing, "Do you remember what, uh, what attacked you?" He asks, and I realize what he's trying to get at.
"If you mean do I remember being attacked in my car by two werewolves, driven to a house in the mountains, and pushed down a flight of stairs - yes, I remember quite clearly." I answer. I realize a grin has curled on my face and I drop it as quickly as I formed it.
"Glad I don't have to do the whole 'monsters are real' speech on you, then." Sam chuckles, and for the first time I can see the small dimples that form on his cheek when he smiles. When he stops, I already yearn to see them again. Yearn? What has gotten into me? But, before either of us can say anything else, the door is pushed open again.
"Sammy, do you want grape jelly or strawberry jelly on your-" the new stranger stops in his tracks once his eyes find me, the two jars of sweet jam in each hand look ridiculous coupled with the stern look that crosses his face. A stern look the elicits fear and… familiarity?
"I remember you." The words slip past me before I have the time to decide if I want to say them.
"That's my brother, Dean. He helped rescue you, too." Sam explains, smiling warmly. I look back to Dean, and now I know I've met him before. But where?
"Listen, I've never seen you a day in my life. Trust me, I'd remember." He lifts his brow jokingly, looking me up and down playfully, but there is something about him that makes me uneasy. My grip on the edge of the sink tightens.
"I know you, Dean." I say, and as I look at him, really look at him, a word comes to me. A word that sounds foreign until I say it aloud. "Winchester."