Notes: And so here's chapter three. I know nothing much happens and the POV is not from someone we would normally want from in a Sam/Dean fic. But it had to be done to build up uhhh, suspense? I guess. *scratches head* I don't know. Anyway, thank you for being patient with me. Comments are always loved and appreciated. Please be gentle.

Chapter Two

On the drive back to the Roadhouse
May 12, 2006
9:20 PM

Ellen Harvelle, owner of Harvelle's Roadhouse drives down a long stretch of road from a last minute supply run. It's a busy night. Demonic activity has gone up so hunters are congregating in the bar, nursing beers and desserts while going through their journals and blogs. They ran out of cheese sticks of all things. Had to go out and secure food for the grumpy masses. Her daughter, Jo Harvelle's voice is in her ear, asking how close she is to home when a figure suddenly appears and drops down to the ground and out of sight in front of her speeding vehicle.

"Jesus Christ!" Ellen yells in surprise and steps on the brakes, knee jerk reaction more than anything as she tries to avoid collision. The beat up 1982 Ford Fairmont sedan she drives screeches to a stop before hitting anything solid. Ellen braces for an attack, any sudden movement from a ghost or something else supernatural. When nothing happens, she goes for the rock-salt loaded shotgun beneath the car seat, a silver knife and a flask of holy water from the glove compartment. She may be retired but that's no excuse to not be prepared.

"Mom? What happened? Are you okay?" Jo's panicked voice comes through the line.

"Jo, I'm gonna have to call you back." Ellen replies in measured slow tones, a silent shout out to her daughter that she's in a situation that could potentially be dangerous and would need her to focus. She can't afford to get distracted or it could end south.

"Okay." Jo acknowledges her mother's unspoken request; Ellen can almost see her baby girl struggling to keep a calm facade. "Be careful."

"Don't I always?" Ellen answers and hits end.

The seasoned, retired hunter leans against the backrest, releases a deep exhale before pushing the car door open. She steps out gun cocked, wary gaze shifting from side to side as she inches toward the fallen figure half hidden in darkness, the other half visible in direct line of the car's headlights. The down-turned body is smaller than an average person, or specifically a full grown adult.

Ellen catalogs the clothing. Black hiking boots, dark blue jeans, brown coat. Then she sees the hair. It's the same color as Jo's, but straight and tied up in a ponytail. As a mother, worry and fear for the girl's well being settles very fast at the pit of her stomach.

She crouches down, pushes the body forward until the figure ends up lying on its back. Her breath catches, eyes wide as she tries to comprehend what she is seeing. The girl's skin is alight with a strange bluish-white glow that seems to seep into her. Her eyes are half-open and Ellen sees the exact same glow in them, before it gradually disappears, the girl's mouth parting lightly with a soft sigh like relief, head lolling to the side.

"What in the world?" Ellen mouths perplexed. Of all the years she's hunted, she's never seen anything like it.

Ellen's gaze fixates on the girl's face with something akin to disbelief. She's young, way younger than Jo. Fourteen, fifteen, tops. What's she doing in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night? Ellen shoulders the shotgun, examines the dark stains on the powder blue shirt she's wearing. She inspects the soft cotton material, sees a total of three fresh entry marks like bullet holes and curses.

The kid's been shot.

Quickly, she checks for wounds knowing full well stopping the blood flow has to be top priority. But upon closer inspection, Ellen only ends up getting even more perplexed when she finds none. The kid's clean, although she does find three silver bullets coated in blood on the ground.

She pats her down, finds a small binder filled with writings, papers, notes on the breast pocket of her blouse, a wallet on the hidden front pocket of her coat which she intends to get back on later. She turns her over a little and discovers an anti-possession symbol inked on her hip.

Those things usually only come in charms. Bobby's got few of those for protection. Ellen's gotta admit, tattooing the mark on skin is smart. Hard to lose something that's literally attached to the body. Makes one wonder why aren't there more hunters applying the same approach.

Ellen fingers the metallic handcuffs hanging off her belt next and is surprised to make out the carvings of a devil's trap in them. Clever. She reaches across her back and ends up pulling out a .45 from the waistband of her jeans. Also, a hex bag. Ellen's gaze darts down to her boots and sees the handle of what looks like— she yanks out a knife, sees strange markings on the steel.

It's glaringly obvious what she's stumbled upon here but a part of her is having a hard time accepting it as fact.

She goes through the motions. A hunter, retired or otherwise is never complacent. The kind of paranoia that comes with the life. Ellen sprays the girl with holy water. Cristo. Standard procedure. Hunter Basics 101. No hissing, no black eyes. She's didn't think so either. Touches the silver knife to the girl's skin, no burn, no sizzle. Peels back her upper lip to look for fangs to reveal plain healthy teeth and gums.

Ellen rubs a hand over her mouth, sits back dismayed. This girl, this child, no doubt about it, is a hunter.

Of course, the glowing skin, the blood and unmarred flesh still makes a lick of sense to her, but that's a problem for another time.

"Well, I'll be damned." Ellen mutters under her breath, feels anger rise up on the girl's behalf at how young she's been shoved into the life. Forced to grow up too fast no doubt. Ellen looks up, surveys the general area, darkness, trees, and just the road ahead. But there's no telling what could be out there. Where there is a hunter, there's always a monster. They need to haul ass before anything comes growling from the trees.

"Come on. Up and at 'em." She says, lightly tapping the girl's cheeks to wake her up, but getting no response. "Sweetie, you hear me?" She looks to be relatively unharmed, so why wasn't she opening those eyes? She hopes she didn't hit her head. No bumps though. So that was unlikely. Either way, Ellen hoists her up with a grunt and supports her docile form to the passenger side. As soon as she's settled, Ellen covers her with a spare jacket and starts the drive. On the way, she calls Jo and instructs her daughter to prepare the bedroom for a guest to which Jo voices out her concern.

"Found her on the road. Already checked. She's clean." Ellen answers as she makes a turn. "I'll tell you once I'm back. Tell Ash to get his drunken ass ready. I haven't gone through anything yet. But I found stuff on her that he should be able to use to ID her and track her family."

Jo says her affirmative and tells her to be careful. The need for assurance always goes both ways.

The call ends and Ellen glances to the side, promptly feels heart tighten as she sees blood pool at the corners of the kid's mouth and trickle down her nose. Fuck. A hoarse, pained grunt is what she hears next, watches with bated breath as the young hunter slowly lifts her head, eyes half-lidded and squinting into the road in front of her. She turns her head, squints even more at Ellen and coughs, gravelly and wet, blood sliding down her chin.

"Hey. Easy, easy." Ellen says, reaches out before she could fully think on it to rub soothing circles on her shoulder. "Don't strain yourself, kiddo."

"Ellen?" She asks, sounding like her voice box is close to shattering. Ellen can't help but stare, mouth falling open slightly hearing her name leave the child's lips when she knows for a fact she hasn't met her before in her life.

"You're… here." Another groan, followed by a low, wobbly question of, "Am I dead?"

"No, you're not. Not on my watch." Ellen assures. She's thought of bringing her to the Roadhouse, but with the way she's bleeding through her mouth and nose, the hospital is quickly becoming a number one option. Sure it's an hour's worth of drive but, "I'm taking you to the hospital."

"No. No… hospitals. M'okay." She feebly protests, convincing absolutely no one.

"You don't look okay to me, kid."

"M'not a kid. Need to… find… Dee."

"Dee?" She clarifies, then nods to herself, feels like she's getting somewhere. "Is that your dad?"

The kid's going to end up choking if she snorts on top of everything else coming out of her. "M'dad. You're funny… Ellen."

"How do you know my name?" Comes the curious question.

"M'gonna pass out." Her head lolls forward and to the side, falling unconscious yet again before Ellen can get any answers. Her name for starters.

Ellen drives, biting the inside of her cheek and glances every few seconds to the side until she's had enough and pulls the car over. She opens the console box and roots around until she finds a handkerchief, douses it with a bit of the holy water and proceeds to tilt the girl's face to clean her up. Ellen soon realizes that without the blood staining her, she's already stopped bleeding and there's that weird glow again. Christ on a cracker, that can't be normal.

But she checks out.

Ellen doesn't like the confusion. "What am I going to make of you?" she sighs, tucks a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. A few seconds pass, fingernails dancing across the dashboard when she lets out a heavy exhale, makes up her mind. "Alright. So you're no longer in immediate danger. I'm taking you to the Roadhouse then. The sooner we find your family, the better it's going to be for you and my peace of mind. And I need answers."

Decision made, she steps on the pedal and revs up the engine for home.

A short distance away from where Ellen find the young girl is another figure sprawled haphazardly on the damp ground, lying face down on the dirt. Though bleeding and weakened, the young man struggles to pull himself to his feet, the grudge he holds in his heart for one Dean Winchester and very recently for his monster of a younger brother more than enough to fuel him on.

Jo is waiting with two other hunters that she recognizes as the couple Tamara and Isaac in front of the Roadhouse as she drives in and parks the car. Jo quickly approaches the right side of the vehicle, peers through the window and gives her mom a nod before her gaze slides back to the unconscious girl. Like this, Ellen can almost mistake them for sisters. "Mom, she's just a kid. You sure she's a hunter?"

"I sure don't want her to be, but everything seems to be pointing to that direction." She replies, and then tilts her head by way of greeting at the other hunters approaching as soon as her foot's touched ground. "Isaac. Tamara. Good to see you both." She says, and then is enveloped in a hug by Tamara, and a firm handshake from Isaac.

"We were wondering where you were when we came in." Tamara says as Isaac lines up a little ways behind her, protective husband stance. Bill used to do the same around her, a thought she doesn't want to revisit now not only for the ache but she has other matters to address first.

"Had to do a quick supply run. Ran out of cheese sticks. Would you believe it?" Ellen replies with a shrug. She's met with a chuckle, then jogs to the other side of the car, the couple following suit. Jo's looking back at her with worry, which in turn spikes up her own. "What is it?"

"That's blood on her shirt." Jo says, lips pursing, a small frown creasing between her eyebrows. "Hers?"

"Not really sure." Ellen answers honestly, and receives questioning stares. "I checked though. She doesn't seem hurt. Physically at least."

"Looks fresh." Isaac observes as he crowds behind Jo. "God Almighty. She's just a child." There is definite sadness and anger in his voice.

Tamara stands beside him, their hands intertwining as they watch with pained eyes. "Why is she not waking up?" she asks worriedly.

Ellen can understand the concern. Jo's shaking her awake but just like Ellen, there is no reaction. She's either in deep sleep or something's seriously gotten messed up inside her. The hunter's thoughts revisit memories of the drive back home. The few seconds the girl had been awake, the bleeding that didn't really last long, the bluish-white glow and the fact that the kid seems to know her when she has no idea who she is. But she's heard enough. And there is familiarity there. In her voice. Like she knew Ellen on a personal level.

Isaac and Tamara are good people, but for some reason she can't quite place, she feels the need to protect the girl, hide what makes her a little ways off normal even from people that she would trust with her own life. Ellen's honestly fretful what if she starts emitting that light again around the others.

Ellen shakes the troubling thoughts off and motions to the back entrance. The sooner they are in private quarters, the better. "She's fine. I've checked. Not a scratch. Look, we should take this inside. Get her settled. Jo, I'll need a clean pair of clothes." Jo readily nods, goes to the backseat to take the bag of food Ellen went to all the trouble of getting before standing side by side with her mother, gaze darting back to their unconscious guest.

It's Isaac that nods first breaking the standoff, Tamara mirroring the response. "I'll carry her." He volunteers.

Ellen appreciates the offer. She turns to her daughter. "Where's Ash?"

"Setting up his gear, that and he says he needs at least ten minutes to get the alcohol fumes off his brain." Jo says with an eyeroll.

They make quick work of bringing the girl to the bedroom upstairs, settles her on the bed. Isaac excuses himself out of the room leaving the two women to gather around the girl who still remains out like a light. Jo comes back from going through her closet to find anything that could fit their out cold visitor and hands them to her mother. "This should fit her quite nicely."

Ellen says her thanks and starts to peel off the ruined shirt as Jo watches by the edge of the bed.

"Is that?" Tamara starts just as Jo nearly bounces off the bed to take a closer look.

"That's an anti-demon possession symbol." Jo says in awe, but then closes her mouth at the chastising look Ellen sends her way.

"I'm well aware." Ellen says, then nods at Tamara's troubled look. "I know kids this age shouldn't even dare think of getting inked. But it's a practical use of the symbol. Not that I'm allowing you to get yourself a tattoo, Joanna Beth." She snipes at her daughter who looks mutinous.

"Oh right. It's totally okay for others for the sake of protection. But not me? How is that fair? Like you said mom, it's practical."

"I am not having this conversation with you." Ellen holds her ground. "Now go check up on Ash and see if he's ready yet and man the bar."

Jo looks ready to argue, but Ellen knows she knows better than to make a scene in front of others. "Fine."

Ellen watches her stomp off.

"You really shouldn't be too hard on her, Ellen." Tamara finally speaks as soon as Jo's out of hearing range.

"Kid's got a death wish. I already lost my husband Tamara. You lost your daughter. You know how where I'm coming from. I don't care if she wants to be closer to her dad, or be like him, some stupid sense of hero-worship. She's my daughter and she doesn't get to become a hunter as long as I have any say in it." Ellen gripes and already feels closer to the other woman when she simply nods her head and says that yes, she understands. Ellen feels an outright bitch however for having mentioned Tamara's daughter in her outburst.

"Sorry, I didn't mean…" She starts to apologize, but Tamara cuts her off mid-sentence and shakes her head. They let it go.

"You need help?" Tamara asks. Ellen can really use the help, but she doesn't want to hold Tamara up strictly than what is necessary. She should get back to her husband. She's inconvenienced them enough. Surely, they have their own business to attend to.

That, and she's worried if Tamara stays any longer, kid's gonna start bleeding and from the looks of it, healing again.

"No, it's fine. I can do it on my own. Go back to Isaac. Don't want to hold you up in here." Ellen assures with a smile and a nod. Tamara rests one hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze and a pat before pulling herself up to her feet and makes her way towards the door.

Left alone, Ellen begins to carefully, but swiftly change the kid's clothes. She pulls off her boots and places the knife on the nightstand, she then shucks the coat off, followed by the red-black plaid blouse, before fully getting rid of the blood-stained shirt. An eyebrow rises when she sees the bra that she's got on is none of that flowery girly shit. It's a simple black sports bra, front clasped. She debates for approximately twenty seconds whether or not she should get rid of it as well. Kid's going to be itching when she wakes up if she didn't get a full change of clothes.

She goes for the jeans next.

Once she's done with the task, Ellen's impressed the kid slept through all that, she starts patting her clothes and makes inventory. The knife is already on the table. She places the cuffs next then the amulet with the dented face and horn engravings. The blouse's pockets prove to house more papers than what she initially felt earlier in the night. She takes them out, trying to make sense of them, but failing. There are symbols upon symbols. Frantic writing if she ever saw one. She manages to make out some of the words, but not enough to formulate a coherent thought to what the script is about. She fishes for the binder and neatly inserts the creased papers with every intention to get back on them.

She shakes the coat and the wallet falls from a hidden pocket and onto the floor. She picks the leather up, looks well worn out, used, old. She finds bills, five, twenty, fifty— a hundred? Doesn't look like a hundred she's seen before. Also, kid's pretty loaded or she's a pickpocket.

She pulls out a driver's license next, finds a scowling, tired face looking back at her.

Samuel Winchester, it reads.

For a second she wonders if John has a brother out there that he named his youngest son after. But it can't be. John's known in the hunter community as being an only child. No family left. No relatives to speak of. Ellen reads the information again, hopes to get an address when the issued date and expiration date has her blinking a few times as she tries to make sense of what she's seeing.

July 23, 2013 to July 23, 2017.

That can't be right.

She pulls out another ID and gets a driver's license under Dean Winchester's name. Ellen frowns, confused. The face looking back at her is familiar. She knows this boy, this man. Whenever John was around the Roadhouse years ago, he used to get himself wasted and go on and on about Mary and his boys. Sam and Dean. Ellen's lost track of how many times she's seen John weep and apologize to the portrait of him and his sons for his failings since John couldn't do it in real life. She's seen the kid in the picture and that kid looks exactly like a young version of the one shown on the driver's license in her hand. She makes the connection and examines Sam Winchester's license closer, slowly sees the resemblance to the other kid in John's worn photograph who was wearing a light beanie while perched on John's leg, the three of them leaning against the Impala's hood.

But all of them are wrong dates, all of them the wrong ages if their date of births is anything to go by. And why issue a driver's license a good eight years into the future? 2013? She doesn't even believe the world would seriously live past 2010. The Mayans only predicted as far as 2012.

Ellen feels wrong-footed, resumes to pull out what she can from the folds of the leather container. She sees a student license permit to the name of Mary Jane Winchester, same dates, the girl's face, scowling into the camera, very much alike to Sam. But her eyes, her mouth, those are Dean's. She's like a combination of the two of them.

She pulls out a photograph, a bit frayed around the edges, a little worn, indicating that it's well loved, often looked at.

Ellen's eyes widen, hand coming up to her mouth as soon as her gaze lands on the faces all staring back at her. Her very own. Her fingers tremble as crazy thought after crazy thought begins to form in her mind. The shocked hunter slumps against the edge of the bed, feeling faint and at a complete loss of words. She turns the family portrait over, because it can only be what it is, and finds a neat scrawl written across the back.

The message stops her cold.

'November 21, 2009. Tomorrow this ends. We go after Lucifer.'

She needs to call Bobby.

A/N: So, comments? Thanks :D Please be patient with me. Next chapter, things will begin to pick up.

And to anyone wondering what girl!Sam looks like: http colon forward slash forward slash i59 dot tinypic dot com forward slash 2wd3wrb dot png