All Freya had known, her entire life was pain, in one shape or another. Physical pain, from all the days spent in the foster care system, emotional pain from the death of her parents and older brother... She carried her scars like badges of honor. S...
All Freya had known, her entire life was pain, in one shape or another. Physical pain, from all the days spent in the foster care system, emotional pain from the death of her parents and older brother... She carried her scars like badges of honor. She had known right from the start that she wasn't like the other kids. Sometimes, when she got angry, her fingernails got really sharp, or sometimes, if she clenched a glass just a little too tightly, it would shatter. She could hear the conversations of her neighbors four houses down, she could smell the chocolate bar, still in the wrapper, in the pocket of her jacket downstairs, and she could see in the dark, just as well as she could see during the daylight, but she never knew why. Her parents and older brother had been killed when she was five. The only thing she still had from them was her mother's journal. It didn't give her a lot of information on who or what she was, but she did learn all about everything that goes bump in the night. Ghosts? Easy, salt and burn them, baby! Demons? Holy water and exorcisms. But there was one thing in her journal that didn't make sense. The name John Winchester, a phone number, and the simple phrase that says, "Freya, find him." So when she turned 18 and she was turned out of the foster care system, she decided to start looking for him. She wouldn't find him until five years later, completely by accident, when she was trying to catch a few hours of sleep on a small bridge on the way out of a small town called Jericho, California.
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Laying on this bridge to try and catch some sleep was, admittingly, not one of my best ideas, but maybe if I positioned myself under the railing, just right, I could, maybe, get a little shelter from the cold. However, the bolts from the old wooden planks were digging into my back and the creaking metal was so loud in my ears, it was probably going to be impossible to get any sleep. It was better than my other options though. I wasn't going to sleep down by the river, it was too cold, not to mention the smell of absolute shit that was wafting off of the water that made my eyes sting and I wasn't even down there by it! Couldn't sleep in town, the cops there had already warned me off. Couldn't have 'vagabonds' littering the town square, even if they were 'easy on the eyes' as Officer Jaffe had so nicely put it, so this was my only option. I would get a few hours of sleep, then move on to the next town. I had heard rumors of a Winchester being in the area, and I could only hope it was the one from my mom's journal.
I had just started to nod off when I saw the headlights, blinding me, even with my eyes closed. Sometimes the heightened senses really pissed me off. It took me a couple of seconds for my eyes to adjust after the lights hit my eyes, but I saw a man coming around the front of a black 1983 Sierra. Tall, broad shoulders, salt and pepper hair... overall not bad on the eyes.
"You okay, kid?" he asked me.
"Ummm, yeah. Just trying to lay down for a few minutes." I said wearily. I didn't know this guy, and while I was fairly confident that I could take him in a fight if it came down to it, I was just so tired. I just wanted to sleep and be left alone.
"Where are your parents?"
"Dead." I replied bluntly.
"You got anywhere to sleep tonight out of the cold?"
