Chapter 1
A/N: I started writing this piece after the end of Season 11. This was when Sam was shot by the woman of the British Men of Letters and Mary returned. After watching the following seasons, I learned that the show portrayed Mary quite differently then I do in this story. I hope you enjoy my take on the brothers' Winchester.
Thank you so much for reading!
I do not own Supernatural nor Sherlock Holmes (who Victoria Doyle is lightly based on).
How it Used to Be
Three years ago in a smallish town outside of a larger one in the South.
"I don't completely understand."
"That is to be expected. The first one of you I worked with took much longer to grasp these concepts, you have been extraordinary, Victoria."
Compliments came easy to her, but from him they actually meant something. She smiled slightly and tried to pay more attention to her task.
"So, all I have to do is think it?" She looked down at the cut on the back of her hand. It wasn't deep or wide, or in any way threatening. It was bleeding only enough to be annoying, she could tell it was already beginning to clot.
He took off the knee length white pea coat and hung it on the banister near her front door. His build was slight, but muscular. His stature was such that he could wear anything and look good in it. Then again, it wasn't really his.
"More or less, but you have to want it while thinking it, I think that has been our problem. You do not seem to care enough for yourself. Let us try it a different way."
He went over to the coat and pulled a silver blade from within it.
She knew what he was going to do, not only because she could hear his thoughts when she wanted, but because she knew him.
"Ezekiel, no." Her voice was stern, and held the slightest bit of fear.
He smiled, which for him was a rare occurrence.
"Do not worry, Victoria, you will be able to heal me."
Before she could convince him otherwise, he plunged the blade into his own stomach, causing a bright light to escape. He fell onto the floor, clutching his self-inflicted wound.
With great effort he muttered, "Now, heal me."
She rushed over to him and put her hands on top of his. "I don't know what to do!"
"Yes, you do."
Blood was spilling quickly, soaking his expensive clothes, and her cheap rug. She breathed deeply to calm herself. She closed her eyes to revisit her training in her mind. She could feel his life leaving him underneath her hands. She knew she had to heal him now if he was going to live. She was going to will him to live. Almost as soon as she had that thought she felt her hands warm, she opened her eyes to see a bright light coming from them. She moved his hands gingerly so that hers could touch his wound. She didn't know how she was doing it, or how to explain it, but as she moved her hands over the open flesh, it closed, as if it has been magically stitched. There was no trace of blood or injury when she was done as the light and warmth went out of her hands.
Ezekiel sat up as if nothing had happened.
"I knew that you would be able to do that, Victoria. I have always had faith in you."
She was thrilled that she was able to accomplish healing, but angry with him for teaching her in such a manner.
"You could have died. Holden could have died."
"No, Victoria, for you would not have let that happen."
His hand went to his forehead, as if he were in pain. She knew what that was, he was hearing something. He removed his hand and looked at her.
"You have to go?"
He nodded, "Yes."
They both stood up, she reached behind her for his coat, but as soon as she turned back around he was gone.
"Angels."