Weaved Fates (A Daryl Dixon Fanfiction)

New Protections

St. Sarah's Episcopal Church, Georgia

Waiting wasn't something any Monster Hunter was good at. Waiting in scorching Georgia's sun was even worse. Taylor spent some time first reorganizing her supplies, slowly separating and counting cans, bags of pasta, and rice. She placed in the bed of her Jeep all pieces of rope and wires she had while hiding all batteries in a leakproof plastic box. Boxes of salt were stored separately for easy access.

Her hunting equipment, though, was in a different place. She had her gun, knife, and sword in the passenger's seat, but other weapons she stored in her secret compartment, alongside other things. In the back of the bed of her Jeep, she had a hidden enclosure under the upholstery.

She was still more than surprised that Lottie awaited her when she awoke, fully stocked with what she usually used and kept in the car. Lifting it gently, she pushed the spare blankets aside and checked that everything was in order. Various little bags contained ingredients for certain spells and to help create hex bags. To the side, there were three books, different in size and color.

The first one was small, worn out by time, and bound in red leather. When Taylor was gifted the book, she asked what it was made of, but Maggie told her with her tiny capricious smile that she didn't want to know - probably she didn't, so she stopped asking. It was full of tiny neat handwriting, and it was surprising that Maggie had given it to her in the first place. It was Don who actually explained. Taylor, of course, knew that not all magic could be used for evil, magic was part of nature, and it was up to the user how it was used. And Don said that it was thanks to her that his marriage was repaired, or at least on the right track to do so. As he and Maggie didn't have any children to pass the knowledge to, and he saw Taylor as a good person who wouldn't abuse power, they gave her a small grimoire. She had used it a few times since, and she had read through it three times already.

The other was bigger and thicker, a regular A4 size. Once Winchesters and her discovered the bunker, Sam and her went a bit coo-coo on all the lore that was collected by Men of Letter. With all knowledge about the supernatural, spells, and weapons, it was an actual hunter's heaven. It took them months to catalog most of it, but they managed and scanned through most of the books, at least those about creatures and valuable spells. And then she printed it double-sided, creating a sort of manual to all things crazy that held over 300 pages. It wasn't complete knowledge, not even close, but she managed to combine all the most essential information.

And finally, last but not least was a black diary. Taylor's most precious possession - her dad's journal. Sure, she had the information from Men of Letters, but that's the thing with supernatural, it's an all-changing word, and those guys also tended to be snobby with hunters. So if there was a piece of new information, it wasn't necessarily shared between two fractions.

Taylor reached out, trailing her finger over the cover, tears misting her sight when she thought of her father. She knew this was a hunter's life; none of them would die from old age. And yet it was tough to accept that it happened, that he was shot right in the head by Dick fucking Roman, only to be his usual stubborn self and stay behind as a ghost.

Taylor missed him so much. There was never time to show it or grieve his death properly either, not with everything that happened with Leviathans, and then... well, Purgatory happened.

With a sigh, Taylor dropped her hand. Happy that everything was in order, she closed the compartment and walked around the vehicle. Propping herself on the hood, she took her gun and started cleaning it methodically.