Prequel: Carry On My Wayward Son.

Ch 1: Asylum

I'd been tossed around from foster home to foster home all my life after I lost my parents. My mom died in a house fire, or at least that was what the police called it. My dad thought otherwise though. He swore that somebody— something— killed her. He began hunting things. Demons, monsters, the supernatural. Until one got him about ten years after my mom was killed. Vampires are rare and awful creatures.

The only thing I ever got to keep was his journal. The last thing he ever scribbled down into it was "CALL JOHN WINCHESTER ON YOUR TWENTY FIRST BIRTHDAY" and underneath it was a number. Today was the day.

I pulled out the phone I had bought from Walmart the night before and sat criss-cross on the motel bed. I punched in the number and waited eagerly for someone to pick up, but it just seemed like endless ringing. Finally, I heard a husky voice chuckle, "Happy birthday, Salem."

"Mr. Winchester?" I squeaked out, finally hearing him after all these years of waiting to make this call.

"I can't talk for long, it's dangerous, but I'm sure you assumed that. I have some information for you, for your future. Do you have a pen and pencil?"

Of course I did, I wasn't new at this. My dad used to make me write things down for him all the time. When I saw something weird, I'd write things down on my own, which got me kicked out of numerous foster homes. Apparently hunting shapeshifters wasn't a normal activity for 14 year old girls. "Yes," I told him.

"Okay, you're going to meet my sons, Sam and Dean, at the abandoned Roosevelt Asylum in Illinios. Write that down." I already had, but I let him continue. "Now, tear open the front cover of your dad's journal. You should find an envelope inside. It'll explain everything for them so that you don't have to."

I did as he said, cramming the small envelope into my pocket. "Thank you, Mr. Winchester."

"No, thank you, Salem. And good luck," Then he added with a laugh, "Talk care of my boys."

"I sure will."

Then we hung up.

I pulled out my suitcase from under the cheap, lumpy bed and grabbed what I needed. My hair and tooth brush, a t-shirts, a pair of jeans shorts and a pair of plaid pajama pants, some deodorant and perfume, and eyeliner and mascara. Who says you can't fight demons and look hot while doing so?

I pulled on my boots over my jeans, slipped into my leather jacket, and threw the cellphone on the ground. after stomping on it a few times, I flushed it down the toilet. Just in case. That was it, I left everything

I walked out to my car. It was just a little civic, but it had everything I needed for hunting, hidden in a compartment in the trunk. I tossed my bag in the backseat and stepped on the gas, knowing I needed to make it to Illinois before the next morning.

-------

18 and Life by Skid Row blared through my speakers as I sped down the last street I had to go down, yelling dramatically along to it. As I pulled up to the old, rundown Asylum, I turned the music off. I parked next to an Impala, which I assumed belonged to the boys.

My stomach flipped in both fear and excitement. I didn't know what they were like or what they'd think of me, and we were supposed to be a team now. But then again, I had been waiting my whole life for this moment.

I got out of the car, grabbed a Rock Salt Shotgun, and climbed over the fence to get into the Asylum. The door was already pried open, so I knew they were in there somewhere. First I checked the North Wing, and found no sign of anyone living, or dead, so then I headed back and made my way to the South Wing.