Chapter 7

Winter’s Awakening

A Supernatural Fanfiction 

***

They had their orders. Raid the nest and get out.

“But what do you mean she said that they wouldn’t hurt her?” Sam asked for the millionth time.

“Dammit, Sammy, I don’t know! But she was sure of it. She’ll be back at the nest.”

“What I don’t understand is how she got Lila to let her go.” The jaguar was in the back of the Impala, and as far as the boys could tell, pissed as hell. Her fur was sticking straight up and she would snarl for no good reason on occasion. She’d gone missing the same time that Winter had, finally showing up around midday.

“Oh, you’ve started to call it by its name. That’s not creepy.” Dean joked.

“And you wonder why she doesn’t like you.”

“She’s Winter’s pet! Winter hates everybody, ergo, so should her creepy little monster.” Lila hissed at him from the back, snapping her teeth together. Dean growled back at her, but both of them were silent on the rest of the ride to the old barn.

Sam crept inside, skirting around the edges of the room while Dean made quick work of the vampire standing guard.

“Dean, check the cage,” Sam said, going to look in the other rooms for himself.

“Dammit!” Dean swore. “She’s not here. Those bloodsucking sons of bitches must’ve known that we were going to come looking for her.”

“Come on. We’ve got to go warn Dad.”

***

Winter woke quickly this time and tried to sit up, but strong hands held her down.

“Luther she’s awake.” One of the vampires Winter didn’t know said.

“Good. Get her out of the car.” The vampire gathered Winter into his arms, tossing her around as if she weighed less than a rag doll. She didn’t bother struggling. She was too weak right now, and they were just too damn strong period. Winter quickly analyzed her surroundings, trying to figure a way out. Luther had the Colt in his back pocket – this had to be some kind of exchange. Kate was missing – ah. The Colt for the girlfriend. But Winter knew that John had no love for her – he just met her and would put his sons and the hunt for the demon above her life in a heartbeat, she knew that without a doubt.

“Hey, Mr. Winchester,” Winter said, her lips turned up into a smile, as limp in the vampire’s arms as Kate was in Papa Winchester’s.

“Shut up,” Luther snapped at her, backhanding Winter across the face. Clearly his anger over Kate’s capture overpowered his fear of whatever figure was in his dreams. He carefully put the Colt on the ground as John ordered and backed away.

“What, you don’t want your girl back?”

“She doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Cold-blooded. That was a nice move. It almost worked, too.” Luther said, smiling.

“He’s right, you know,” Winter chimed in. “John!” she shouted, seeing Kate work her hands free of their bonds. But it was too late. Kate smashed her fists against John’s mouth and then there was chaos. The vampire holding Winter held back, keeping her in a choke-hold so she couldn’t escape and try to help John.

He didn’t need her help. Out of the darkness of the forest flew an arrow, straight into the heart of the vampire who was holding her. Another followed, then another, each finding their mark. Winter grinned eagerly, untangling herself from the vampire’s arms and looking for her rescuers. Sam and Dean leaped into the fray, Dean staying back to fire some more arrows while Sam charged in blindly.

“Sam!” Winter shouted, but Luther already knocked him to the ground. Dean grabbed for the machete Sam had dropped, but Luther already had his forearm against Sam’s throat, choking him.

“I’ll break his neck.” Luther promised. Winter snarled, the sound echoed by something in the woods.

Lila.

Winter knew that Dean wouldn’t risk his brother. That didn’t mean that she wouldn’t. In an instant, a plan formed. She met John’s eye and he nodded.

“Feeling a little slow, Luther?” Winter taunted. “You’re not on point. Granted,” she said, waving an airy hand. “You could still probably kill him no problem.” Winter ignored Sam’s soft, choked noises, and Dean’s growl in protest, continuing. “But you don’t look so good. What? Someone slip you dead man’s blood recently?”

“You bitch…” Luther said darkly. “Now he’s going to die.”

“Yeah, or not. Lila!” Winter yelled and the jaguar pounced, knocking Luther to the ground so fast and so hard that Sam had a second – just a split-second – to scramble out of reach.

“Why can’t you people just leave us alone?” Luther snarled. “And you!” he said, looking at Winter. “He said you’d kill me. But don’t you want to know who he is to you? I can see the resemblance. He’s your – ” The word died on Luther’s lips as a single shot rang out and he stopped dead.

Literally. The bullet left a spiderweb of a bullet-hole and he said no more, blood running out of his mouth.

“No!” Winter hissed. No. Who was the man in the vampire’s dreams and what was he to her? She had to find out. “Why did you do that?”

“He had to die.” John said simply.

“He was going to tell me something!” Winter said quietly, her voice ringing with fury.

“Never trust what they say. They’re animals, monsters.”

“It was important!” Winter insisted, crying out when the pain lanced up her back again, tearing through skin and bone and playing havoc with her nerves. She gritted her teeth angrily. She was getting damn tired of this.

“Winter.” Sam said, catching her before she could fall. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Fine, fine, don’t worry about me.”

“Is this…” he gaped when he saw the burn. “Is this a brand?”

“Yes,” Winter said, rolling with it. “They branded me. A power-play thing, after they bit me.” Sam’s face contorted with rage and Winter knew that had been the wrong thing to say. Whatever. Once she gave a damn about social graces, she’d hold a press conference. “And I swear to God, Sam, if you ask if I’m okay again, I’m going to break that perfect little nose of yours. Now, move.”

“Winter – ” She didn’t hesitate; she didn’t blink. She just whipped her gun out of the waistband of her pants and stuck it between his eyes.

“I said: move.” Winter said, deadly quiet. Sam stiffened, backing away slowly, his hands raised. “Don’t follow me.” Winter kept her gun targeting Sam as she mounted her bike – the vampires had brought to their little showdown – and kicked up the kickstand, roaring down the road, her wintry hair streaming out behind her like silver ribbons.

Ashiha. Winter shook her head, eyes going wide. That was impossible. She couldn’t be hearing tings. She’d left the Winchesters and their obsessed demon-hunting behind miles back. Winter loved a challenge, but ever since she’d run in with them, things had begun to tailspin. She couldn’t handle the sudden rush of just plain weird. She’d always been a freak, but there was logic. There was fact. She could explain it. She couldn’t explain the sudden rushes of knowledge, or the burn that seemed to be growing every time her mind assimilated something new.

And now hearing things? Winter shuddered. She’d hit her limit. Ashiha. Winter winced, hearing the Arabic-sounding word again. Lila, keeping pace beside the racing motorcycle, hissed, sensing her mistress’s distress. Which was impressive in itself, Winter noted, her thoughts detached, considering that she was going ninety.

“Shut up!” she shouted, her words snatched away by the wind. Acting on a wild impulse, she turned the bike sharply, screaming down the exit ramp and speeding into the nearest town. With the engine growling in protest, Winter turned into the parking lot of the first bar she saw.

“Stay here, baby,” she cooed to Lila. The jaguar yawned lazily, shrinking back into a kitten and nestling herself beside the Harley. Winter looked determinedly forward, heading into the bar.

Time to forget.

Time to get smashed.

“Uh, little lady, are you sure you’re old enough to be here?” the bartender asked, wiping out a glass with a rag. Winter eyed him coolly, her icy gaze sharp and intense.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said coldly. “And here I thought you wanted my business. Fine. I’ll just go spend my money at the next sleazy bar down the road.”

“Hey, hold on. You got an ID?” Winter scowled, but passed over a motorcycle license that said that she was twenty-two. The bartender grunted. “What’ll you have?”

“Vodka on the rocks, on me.” A man said, coming up behind her. The bartender shrugged and went to make the drink. Winter didn’t even bother looking at the man who was going to pay for her illegal alcohol. “Hey, don’t be like that.”

“I would apologize,” Winter said, examining her fingernails. “But that’s not my style.” Her eyes cut to the man. “Still want to buy me that drink?”

He grinned, revealing gleaming white teeth. “Absolutely. Never apologize for who you are, I always say.” The man passed over her drink and Winter accepted it, nodding her approval.

“Cheers,” she said, downing the vodka without reservation. Her lips twitched upwards as the liquid burned through her veins before her eyes snapped open, feeling something sting in the side of her arm. “What the hell do you think that you’re doing?” Winter snarled.

“Showing you who you are,” the man said with a wink, his pupils expanding until they swallowed the iris whole. Winter jerked to her feet, sending the bar-stool she’d been sitting on flying.

“You.” Winter said sharply, standing and pulling her gun.

“Not the one you’re thinking of, although she says hi,” the demon said, not bothered at all by staring down the barrel of a gun.

“My demon was a man.” Winter snapped.

“Ah, yes, but the gender of the demon has nothing to do with the meat containing it,” the demon said. “Do me a favor, love,” he said, leaning in. “Try not to leave everything in one piece.” The demon winked again and then he was gone. Vanished, into thin air.

“Dammit!” Winter snarled, slapping her fist against the bar, blinking when it cracked cleanly into two pieces. She cocked her head, looking at the broken marble like it had sprung from nowhere, before glancing down at her own hands. They didn’t look any different. Same unmarked pale skin, same long fingers and oval-shaped nails. But she’d just cracked a marble counter-top by hitting it – and not even that hard. “Hm. Interesting.” Winter’s head snapped up, hearing the familiar sound of a shotgun pumping.

“Get out of my bar, freak,” the bartender said, pointing the gun at her.

“Now.” Winter said coolly, looking up at her from under silver lashes. “That’s not very nice at all.” Then she shot him. Three times in the head.

Smiling.