My brother's had their story, I had mine. I didn't know they existed, until I died...
I was a psychic, I knew that, but I never expected to be stuck in my grave and watch their story unfold as I laid dead and motionless. I knew them well, watched t...
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So, my name is Hazel. That's out of the way...And you're probably wondering where the hell I came from, right? Well, it's a long story and I'll do my best to explain without spoilers.
See, my mom met some army dude, Marines I think, and hooked up. Well...not so much hooked up as, she put a tiny, innocent spell on him and practically dragged him out of the bar a drooling, horny mess. From what I understand, he doesn't remember it. Did I mention she's a witch? No? Well she's a witch, a good one too, mostly...
She never saw him again, and you guessed it! Nine months later I was born, in a cottage in the Ozarks where she raised me. She expected me to inherit her natural gifts with magic, but instead I turned out to be an exceptionally powerful psychic. Now, I couldn't bend reality, and unfortunately I couldn't read or control minds, yet...but the telekinesis? Hell yes I had that. Gave mama quite the handful of a toddler, that's for sure. But most importantly, as I got older, I was having the most accurate and vivid visions and premonitions that she'd ever heard of. Not to mention the fact that I could see or sense all things supernatural that humans couldn't. Imagine my terror at age seven when I saw my first demon... And my mother wasn't just some hermit witch, either. She was in fact, a hunter, in her spare time. Mom wasn't perfect, by any means, but she tried to use her powers for good. Most of the time. Needless to say, when I got old enough, I was raised to do the same. Though for me, ganking all things that go bump in the night was a little more hands on. I had to learn to fight, seeing as how I couldn't just throw fire and lightning or chant Latin at monsters. I had my own power, but it didn't always help, especially not against something that can do the exact same thing.
Anyhow, you know how the life is, it started to get to me. Call me weak, but I started shooting heroin around age sixteen. Yuck right? I know, not my proudest aspect...It caused a lot of tension between mom and me, and eventually I ran from her. She came after me of course, and she died for it. A hunter had been on her tail for some time and she let her guard down before she finally caught up with me. Why was she being hunted? Well I told you, mom wasn't perfect. She was a witch, and witches often do cruel and selfish things. People get hurt. Hunters get justice. I dont care to elaborate further... So I was on my own, only seventeen, hitting the streets and drugs like a bat out of hell. I survived pretty well, drug dealers didnt give me much trouble, all I had to do was slam them into the wall and jack their shit if they tried anything. I slept wherever I could, occasionally in jail. Food was easy, I just used my powers to make it float right off the shelves and meet me in the alley or something. What? Tell me you wouldn't try it if you had telekinesis? I thought so. It was the same for clothes, when I needed them. The only thing that was tricky was getting cleaned up. In the summer I would sneak into swimming pools locker rooms and use their showers, but in the winter I would have to rely on my visions to find houses in which the residents were away, and use theirs. If I needed money, I usually stole it, in one way or another, or offered to help sell the heroin for my biggest dealer. That actually proved the most fruitful, and got me an apartment of my own when I turned nineteen. I know what you're thinking, I must be a terrible person right? Well, sometimes maybe I was... addicts can be selfish. But I never killed a human, I never stole more than what I needed, and believe it or not, I was a virgin. I helped people with their ghosts and monsters from time to time, I saved people. Thay counts for something right? I was still a junky, and a hunter, but I was functioning fairly well. For a few years, anyway...
I still dont know what happened that night, but just a few weeks after I turned twenty four, someone killed me. I remember three people in nice suits, no not people, they were something else...but I didn't get a good look, and I was high. All I knew from my senses were that they weren't human, and they were powerful. I remember one of them telling me it was for the best, and I remember trying to fight them off with a blade. But one of them ran me through with their own blade and it was lights out.
I dont know who buried me, I dont know where I was buried. All I know is I woke up, sort of...unable to move. I was still dead, I figured that much. But for whatever reason, my consciousness, my spirit, lingered. Most of the time it was like sleeping but staring at blackness. But occasionally, I would dream. Not like sleeping or comatose dreams...It was my powers. I would have visions for hours, like watching a tv show. And always the same show was on. I literally watched the lives of two young men, named Sam and Dean Winchester from my grave. I didn't know why I was seeing this, I didn't know how it was relevant to me, but that was all I ever saw. I watched them fight monsters, search desperately for their father only to lose him, I watched them kill the yellow eyed demon, befriend an angel, and slowly but surely start the apocalypse. I knew them very well, but they didn't know me. I knew Bobby, I knew the angel some, I knew all the people they encountered. And by the time Lucifer was erupting from the cage with Sam's help, I finally woke up....
