Chapter One

"Millicent Winchester."

I didn't even turn to see who it was before groaning in annoyance. 'It's just Millie,' I mumbled under my breath. Every time.

I put the book back on the shelf and turned to see who was calling me.

Someone important apparently. With the suit, the tie and the little man bag – sorry, briefcase.

"Yes?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow in obvious annoyance when he didn't continue.

"Some gentlemen are here to see you," he turned and walked back through the tight aisle and down the narrow staircase.

I dropped my shoulders. I'm actually in the library doing research – whoop dee fucking doo – and they interrupt. Now how rude is that?

I put a bookmark next to the very relevant book I found, picked up my bag and followed the stranger back into the 'normal' part of the library.

Two men in suit and ties are waiting at the entrance, hands clasped together in front of them. The random dude who found me, reached them first and said something I didn't quite catch. But if I had to, I'd say he just said; 'Crowley will be pleased. She's a Winchester, all right.'

But I had to have heard wrong, didn't I? There aren't many Winchester's left in our family. And I don't know a Crowley. Maybe my long lost brothers did. But they probably weren't talking about Dad, since he passed a couple of years ago.

Dad used to send me postcards or something on my birthday and Christmas. They wouldn't say much. Just Happy Birthday Baby Girl, or Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year Millie. When they stopped, I didn't notice until Christmas. I thought he may have just forgotten, but my birthday soon followed, no card either.

That was when I started worrying. He never missed my birthday. Christmas, yeah a couple of times, but never my birthday. I was living on my own by then, I called all of my friends and aunties, people who had raised me over the years, and they all gave me the bad news. My father had passed. There wasn't even a funeral, no one said a word to tell me. It was almost a year since he passed that I actually found out. I was twenty-seven. And I hadn't seen my father or my brothers since I was five.

I have no idea what either of my brothers look like. I'm now thirty-two. I have a husband and a daughter of my own. Mary. Named after my loving mother.

Since Jason wanted to continue the Winchester name, since I didn't know what my brothers were up to, and he has four brothers to continue their family name so, we decided that he'd change his name for me to my family's name to continue it.

We married in 2004, when I was 25, Mary was born the following year. She'll be seven in May. Jason and I were thinking of having another child, but so far, nothing has come by. It's getting late in life to have another. We'll have to have it soon, or not at all. And I didn't want to leave Mary all by herself.

I wished I could see my brothers again. I missed them. Dean especially.

"Miss Winchester?" One suit asked, barely moving.

"Yeah?" I asked, on the edge of irritation.

"Come with us," they both turned to the door, walking to a fancy car without waiting for an answer.

"What –?" Shocked, I could barely understand why they wanted to talk to me. I'm nobody. "I have a husband and daughter to go home to, this won't take long will it?" I recovered, following them outside, phone in hand.

They didn't answer me, just opened the car door of a heavily tinted window.

"A daughter? Well I simply must meet this child," a heavy accent – British or Scottish? A bit of both? – came from within. This must be the boss. "Please, take a seat."

Cautiously, I made my way gingerly into the car, perched on the edge of the seat, like a bird waiting to catch flight.

"Miss Millie Winchester. What a delight is it to finally meet you," he wore a dark blue suit, black hair and a little beard at the edges of his chin and upper lip, an aura of demanding authority surrounded him.

"You have me at a disadvantage. You know who I am, yet I have no clue who you are."

"Please, call me Crowley," so this is Crowley. He actually exists.

"I suppose I'd have to go ahead and say it's a pleasure to meet you too, but I don't usually say that to people I haven't heard about before, let's have a bit more of an introduction before pleasantries are made, shall we?"

"Oh, I like you, a bit on the feisty side are you, sweetheart?" he smiled a smile that is more likely described as; smug smirk.

"You have no idea," I replied cryptically. I don't trust him. "Now, down to business. Why do you wish to speak to me in this manner?"

"Oh, sweetheart, I don't really want to talk to you, this was more of a pleasantry then necessity. Put simply, sweetheart, I'm kidnapping you."

That was all that I remembered.

My head pounded with a raging headache. I groaned in pain. My muscles were uncomfortable, meaning I was out for a while. Stretching them out, I heard a familiar voice.

"About time, sweetheart. I was beginning to think this was all one-sided," he smirked.

The events of what happened came rushing back to me. "YOU KIDNAPPED ME?!"

He looked surprised at my sudden outburst of anger. But he quickly got over it, waving an off hand gesture. "Oh, no need for this overreaction."

"What –? How can you say that?! You kidnapped me! My husband's going to be worried sick!"

"This is a simple ransom, sweetheart. When I get what I want, I'll let you go."

"How can I trust you?"

"You can't. But I'm telling you how it is. Not that I'll tell them that, in fact, I'll threaten your life."

"What? How can you say that and except me to trust you?" I asked, shocked.

"I don't except you too, just trust that you'll see your dearest daughter again."

"Ha, ha, hilarious," I was done being that damsel in distress. I'll take this, and hopefully walk out again.

"Sweetheart, I am serious."

I groaned, annoyed. "Can I just go home? My family's going to be worried about me."

"Of course you may go home, when I get what I want. You had to be awake to make this phone call much simpler."

I went to speak, but he cut my off with the wave of a hand, pulling out a black phone.

After a minute of holding it up to his ear, someone must of answered as he began what I heard one side of the conversation.

"Ah, Moose, so glad to hear your voice again," Crowley began into the phone.

"You know what I want, Moose. This time, I'm not asking nicely this time. Put me on speaker with Squirrel, would ya?

"Squirrel, can you hear me?

"Oh, I'm not asking. This time, I have something you want.

"This innocent girl, who doesn't know the truth, with a daughter, a husband, a little house to call home, a family. She'll die if you won't give it to me.

"Because, Squirrel. She isn't just anyone.

"No.

"Millie."

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