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The Winchesters
March 23, 1972.
San Francisco, California.
John jerked awake, startled out of his fitful sleep by memories of his time in Vietnam. He wiped the back of his hand on his forehead, coming away with a light perspiration. The bus hummed quietly beneath him, and from the way the sounds changed he could tell they were slowing down, probably close to his destination.
Attempting to shake away his demons, he stared out of the window, recognizing the streets of San Francisco. It seemed the same, even though he could already see different buildings and new businesses. John sighed at the unfairness of it all; the city he’d grown up in had changed and grown in better ways and all he felt was a deep, gnawing sadness and pain. He tapped the letter and key in his breast pocket and picked up his things to alight.
The streets were so loud, and no one paid him any mind, which was a wonderful change to all the states by the Vietnamese. He felt a pang in his chest in the last few years of his life.
He wasn’t paying attention when he bumped in a hard someone that immediately went down. John startled at the long brown hair, the only thing he could see of the woman he’d accidentally hurt. She was gathering her things which had spilled from her bag, and John bent down to help her gather them. He handed her a brown waitress uniform that she threw carelessly into the bag and glanced up at him as they both stood up.
Her eyes were a warm honey brown, stunning in a way that you certainly couldn’t miss. She smiled warmly at him.
‘Hey there, soldier.’
He smirked back at her, ‘I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.’
She waved it off. ‘Don’t worry about it. My snacks?’ Her head tilted in the query.
John smiled sheepishly as he realized he was still holding one of her boxes.
‘Licorice drops. Nice choice.’ A strange longing filled him. 'I haven’t seen these in…two years.’
He glanced down at her and her eyes and face had softened in understanding.
‘Keep them. On the house.’ Before he could even thank her she’d walked past him quickly.
John smiled and continued on his way.
___________________________
While his mother had been happy to see him, she’d rightfully chewed him out for running away. She didn’t understand him though, Millie Winchester had grown up with her father in her life even if John had never met the man.
Staring at the letter and key, he stared around at the corner that the address had led him to.
‘Hand over the key, slick.’ A voice threatened him.
John turned around while palming the key in question, to find a short man, pale and bald headed in a brown leather jacket glaring at him.
‘And I’ll kill you quick,’ the stranger finished.
There was no avoiding confrontation and his war honed skills kicked in and John ducked underneath a clumsy punch and spun around to deliver one of his own. It barely phased the stranger whose eyes turned pitch black.
‘What the hell?’ he muttered before one freakishly strong arm reached out and grabbed him by the neck. In an inhuman feat, John felt his feet leave the ground and an astonishing pressure started crushing his windpipe.
It was only a few seconds as far as he could tell but his relief came quickly when he heard a female voice shout something in a language he couldn’t understand and the strange man was suddenly yanked away from him. John fell to the ground and watched in awe as the tables turned on his assailant who was now suspended in mid air, struggling against an invisible attacker.
The same young woman he’d knocked down this morning appeared from behind the floating man, staring at him in a contemplative manner. John stood up quickly and took a step towards them. She crossed the distance faster than he could, pushing him back.
‘Stop.’ Her voice brooked no defiance, and John heeded her sharp words. She stared at him for a moment more before coming to whatever conclusion she had and looking back at the man.
She jerked her left hand down and he was unceremoniously dumped to the ground, landing heavily on his knees, panting in exertion although John couldn’t figure out from what. The girl - no woman John corrected himself because she was certainly a few years older than him - turned her attention back to the man who was now staring defiantly at her, eyes darker than night.
‘Why are you here?’ She demanded forcefully.
The man laughed a little, struggling to get that out. John was starting to suspect that whatever invisible force was holding him down, from the woman too, was making even speaking difficult.
‘Very well,’ She conceded in a tone that sounded very final to him. The man/monster seemed to realize it as well for he started glaring at her even worse than before.
She raised her right arm, palm out facing the creature and John felt the hairs at the nape of his neck dance in anticipation.
‘‘Spiritus aeris, silvae et maris
Ab hoc daemone nos libera;
Ungulae bestiae et bestiae testae;
Hoc malum ad inferos depelle!’’
The wail the man unleashed was piercing and wounded, and John watched as he glowed a deep golden, black eyes overtaken by the color before he suddenly slumped to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut, no longer glowing.
The young woman whirled around to face him and John involuntarily stepped back when he saw that her irises were also glowing golden. Somehow, he found his voice.
‘What was that? His eyes were black…and then you…’
John continued to step forward, watching as her eyes faded back to brown before he jumped back again.
‘Take a deep breath. Just breathe.’ She held out her arms in the universal gesture of ‘I come in peace’ and stepped towards him slowly, like he was a frightened animal that needed coaxing. ‘That was a possessor demon, from hell, and I cast a spell to kill him.’ she explained.
‘D-d-demon? Hell?’ S-spell?’ he stammered as he followed her. She had turned around and proceeded to the same address that John was here for.
‘Yes.’ She nodded, as if what she was saying was entirely normal. John stepped onto the doorway of the house with her, unable to form a coherent response.
‘What?’ he half-yelled at her. She smirked at him and he groaned but she ignored it, turning her attention to the door before them.
‘Devil’s trap,’ she commented idly while pointing to the ground. John nearly jumped back as he looked to the ground and saw some demonic symbol carved into the entrance, surrounded by a circle.
‘Demon wouldn’t have gotten in even if he wanted to,’ she concluded - and John needed to know her name - and turned to continue surveying the house in front of her. Her irises glowed that deep golden color as she looked at something that he couldn’t see.
John didn’t know where he found the courage as he asked her, ‘if that was a demon then what are you?’
‘Witch, obviously,’ she threw back at him as she continued to survey whatever it was she was looking at.
‘Place is warded to the gills. Thankfully, nothing that can stand up to a witch of my caliber.’ She set her shoulders back confidently and held the door handle.
‘ Aperta .’ She intoned, another spell John assumed.
The door swung open. John remembered the key that he hadn’t dropped, holding it up to show her. ‘I had the key.’ A bold assumption but he’d gotten a look at the lock and his key seemed to fit.
‘Oh.’ Another sheepish smile before she looked at him contemplatively. ‘What kind of man of letters doesn’t know what a demon is?’
‘Man of what? Look, I got this key in a letter from my father, telling me that if I received the letter he was gone and he gave me this address to start looking.’ He explained.
‘So your father was a Man of Letters and didn’t initiate you into that.’ It came out as more of a fact than guesswork on her part.
John opened his mouth to answer her but she ignored him again and walked into the house and he was forced to follow her. The door swung shut on its own accord and John shuddered at that.
‘I’m John Winchester. I didn’t get your name.’
She didn’t even pause as she went down the stairs. ‘Patty Halliwell.’