Maisie Winchester: The Cursed Hunter

.prologue . one.

DISCLAIMER; SUPERNATURAL ISN'T MINE AND THIS WORK IS COMPLETELY FAN-MADE AND HAS NO RELATION TO THE CANON STORY BESIDES THE FOLLOWING OF THE SEASON EVENTS (SEASONS 10-11).

*Please also note, the years here may appear ~2 years out of sync with the show. This is because the show forgets to take into account the year Dean had off with Lisa post-Sam jumping into the pit and the year Sam took off when Dean was in purgatory*

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MAISIE-KATE HOPE WINCHESTER was born the partial solar eclipse of the new moon, October 13th, 1996. Her name may be long, yet Maisie takes solace in the knowledge each name represents someone significant in her life. Maisie - The Scottish dialect of 'Mary'... her father's late mother. Kate - Her mother's name. Hope - Her mother's late mother. Winchester - Her father's surname.
Maisie had never seen or met her father, she didn't even have a photo to reference aside from the detailed sketches she drew from her imagination. But, if her mother's testimony was anything to go by, Maisie was his exact replica. His eyes, his nose, the way the light reflects off his hair. Every single detail Dean Winchester possessed, he unknowingly passed to his daughter. The daughter he did not know existed until years after her birth.
All Maisie's life she had struggled with school and authority. Despite living what Kate hoped was a better life than Dean ever had, Maisie seemed cursed to have the same attitudes and personality as her father. Of the countless fights she had found herself in over the years, she had only ever lost one - the first. After which she vowed never to let it happen again. It was because of this exact reason that Maisie found herself arriving home early from school on October 5th, 2006. She had been suspended from school for the third time that calendar year.
"Mom, I'm home." Maisie sighed, throwing her bag by the door. "It wasn't my fault this time, the teacher-" She stopped short of continuing her sentence when her eyes land on the stained floorboards at her feet. "Mom?"
Maisie rounded the corner, her hands in fists, bracing for her wildest imaginations. Was this blood her mother's? Did someone kill her in the four hours she was gone? Or maybe it was a stranger's blood. Maybe her mother had the same impulsive rage as her. Maybe she killed the intruder. Or perhaps they were seriously injured. Maybe it wasn't a person's blood at all. Maybe her mom had just hit a dog and was desperately trying to save its life. That would at least explain why her car wasn't parked securely in the garage like it always was.
Her question was answered as she followed the blood to the living room. A dead body sprawled across the coffee table, a toxic smell of rotten eggs clouding the unventilated home. Before she could process the identity of the body, however, she was knocked to the ground in a pool of blood. The room was spinning, her ears ringing. After a few seconds, Maisie could just make out the familiar figure looming over her.
"Mom?" Dazed, Maisie tried to sit up. WHACK. She's kicked in the stomach, forced back to the ground. "Mom! It's me!"
BANG. Her head collided with the solid leather boot her mother often wore. The world went silent. It stopped spinning. Everything in her peripherals disappeared. At first, Maisie thought that maybe it was a head collision. But that wasn't it. She felt fine. Determined. Ready to fight. It was just her and the now clear face of her mother. But was it her mother? It looked like her. Her dark curly hair, her brown eyes, the rough patchy skin from years of "rough labour". And yet, there was something about her Maisie couldn't explain. It was almost as if the woman in front of her was not her mother but instead a monster, pretending to be her mother.
But that couldn't be right, Maisie had told herself. Monsters didn't exist! They couldn't exist! Why would people be teaching you Shakespeare if there were real-life monsters that were known to frequent people's houses and kill them?
WHOOSH. The monster-mother attempts to swing a leg at her again but Maisie catches their ankle, pulling them down with as much force as she could. Without stopping to see if that had been at all effective, the young girl gets to her feet. It was difficult with the thick liquid beneath her. Trying to run across the floorboards created a similar feeling to attempting to run on melting ice. And run she did. Sliding around corner after corner until the blood was finally off the soles of her feet, Maisie made her way to the basement, barricading the door to give herself a few precious seconds.
Logically, the basement was probably the most stupid place to go. There was only one way in and out of this room and with someone trying to kill you, the answer is more likely than not going to be 'in a body bag'. But Maisie knew a secret. Maisie knew that beneath the hatch under the rug was a very odd arsenal of weapons. Of course, her mother didn't know she knew. But Maisie was cunning. If she wasn't sneaking to watch her mother meticulously itemise and clean the objects, she was watching her pack a selection of them in the trunk of her car or sneaking down past the babysitter when her mother was away on a work trip weekend.
Maisie pulled the rug away, lifting the hatch as quickly as she could. Her breathing fast, her mind spinning faster she grabbed the first two weapons she could find. If her life was not presently in danger, she would have enjoyed nothing better than to admire the pieces in her hands. She had never seen these before up close - her mother usually had them in the car with her. What for, Maisie didn't know.
The first was a simple handgun. The hilt brandishes decorative amethyst plates on an otherwise completely black metal. The second however was a blade like Maisie had never seen before. At first glance, one may call it a machete. But the blade was much too narrow, the edge seemed to be impossibly sharp. One side of the blade appeared to be silver and yet the other side was gold. The hilt is a dark iron, holding a small intricate coin in the centre. The blade, hilt and coin all had indistinguishable scribbles on them as if written in an ancient dead language.
BANG. The door to the basement flies down the stairs, ripped clean off its hinges. "You're just like your father, Maisie" the monster yells in her mother's voice. "More trouble than you're worth!"
"I don't have a father," Maisie grunts back, aiming the pistol and shooting. Once, twice, ten times. The body drops, rolling limp down the stairs. But to her shock-horror, it stretches its arms, cracks its neck and stands back up. Now with several bullet wounds, a mouth pouring blood... but somehow still alive.
"Who- What are you?" Maisie falters, taking a guarded step back from the undead thing. "'Cause you're not my mom."
"Finally caught on, did you?" The beast laughs. "No, I'm a demon. And for the record, your mamma was still alive until you shot her. I was just possessing her body. But don't worry! You'll see her again soon. Stop trying to run and I'll make it quick."
The demon lunges for her but Maisie is quicker. She drops into a roll, landing a few feet away from her starting position, knees bent and braced, the odd knife poised in her hand ready to slash. "It's a good thing she's dead," Maisie bluffs. "Means I'll have no hesitation killing you. So thanks for that."
"Ha! You think a fancy little stick is gonna kill me?!" The demon seemed overly amused. "You're what, five? You're a baby! You wouldn't have fought a day in your life."
"I'm ten!" She spits back, shifting her grip on the blade. "And a black belt in taekwondo, aikido and hapkido. I've got a lot of... pent-up energy." Maisie lunges at the demon, only to be launched backwards. She stops just short of the wall, quickly landing back on her feet. She simply makes another pursuit, each time being flung back less and less distance, using their force to her advantage to propel herself forward each time.
"Oh, come on Maisie!" The demon laughs. "I'm not even trying here! You gotta fight! Fight so your daddy can be proud when I tell him I was the one that ripped the little Winchester's guts out!" And then it happened. Maisie gets close enough to slash at the monster using her mother's body. Much to both of their surprise, the gash burnt and sparked, emitting the same putrid rotten egg smell as before. Immediately Maisie is launched hard against the concrete wall. The pain from the impact almost causes the girl to release the blade but she doesn't. She actively makes sure she holds it tighter. So tight her knuckles turn ghostly white.
"Ouch," the demon regains its composure, releasing its grip on the girl. "That hurt! And here I was thinking we were having fun... well, so much for that-"
The demon gasps, being cut off by the seemingly enchanted blade now protruding from their sternum. Maisie had launched it across the room.
Still conscious, the demon tries to pull it out, to save their life. Maisie gets there first. She rips it out and plunges it in again and twists. Their insides seemed to spark and glow almost blindingly bright before the body dropped, completely lifeless. Maisie drops to her knees beside it.
The silence settling across the home was deafening. Maisie simply sat staring at the dead body in front of her, the blood pooling growing ever closer to her. The pumping of her heart, the adrenaline-induced shaking, the injuries she has sustained finally creeping up on her and the knowledge she now had nowhere to go was suffocating to her. She wanted nothing more than to crawl up beside her mother and allow the boulder on her chest to crush her.
But she couldn't do that. She knew she couldn't. A demon had just killed her mother, and assumably another person out in the living room. What could she do? Someone would notice the bodies eventually or at the very least the victims' absence from their work and personal lives. Would she, a ten-year-old that can barely push her mother out the door when she's conscious and standing on her feet be capable of hiding two bodies? No. Of course, she couldn't. What she could do, perhaps even the only thing she could do was run.
She couldn't, however, just run out the front door as she was now. That would just be stupid. People would be arriving home from school and work now and Maisie was still covered head-to-toe in blood. So instead, she waited. She prepared. She ran up the stairs of the basement and the stairs to the second storey, being exceptionally careful to avoid looking at the death and destruction in her path. There, she cleaned herself off, standing under the shower head for the best part of an hour until the water ran clear. Despite her mind and body screaming at her to stop, cry, and get uncontrollably angry... she didn't. She went through the motions completely impassive.
The sun had finally set. Her wounds were appropriately cared for and her now empty school bag was completely packed full of clothes (including her blood-soaked garments from earlier which she will dispose of later), food and extra ammunition for the gun she apprehended earlier. With one final glance at the home she was now abandoning, she ran. And ran and ran and ran. She wouldn't stop running, and stop moving locations for almost a full year.