Capricorn

Dark hair, snow skin, young eyes. Rain drops met her leather jacket with a pattering sound, and she pulled her arms around herself, trying to hold whatever body heat she might have left. She may have pulled her jacket over her head hours ago, or perhaps walked with haste to seek warm refuge. But now she was weary from cold and soaked to the bone and no longer possessed the motivation nor the enthusiasm to do any more than she must. And she must, MUST reach her elusive destination.

It was a cold winter rain in Lebanon, Kansas. The drops came close to freezing wherever they landed, and wispy fog levitated over the thick, unkept grass. The ground was thick with both mud and weeds - a consequence of the gloomy weather and few travelers on this nonexistent path.

Nonetheless, she pushed forward, trampling down the weeds that grew nearly to her waist. Her leathery boots sunk into the slimy mud, making a grotesque squish sound with every step. She did not hear this, as her conscious mind was entirely elsewhere.

It was almost amusing to see her. How sweetly cradled she was in innocence, never having been doused in the blood of the world like most hunters. And yet, this woman, with a child's eyes, venturing through the rain, was about to be tossed into a reality where innocence was nonexistent. She was about to face horrors that few had faced before her. Yes, perhaps she had slain the occasional vampire or seen a monstrous werewolf once or twice. Perhaps she even had skin decorated with scars from past hunts. Still, she had yet to learn what being a part of this world - this life - really means. Now, she was about to flee innocence as though it were a lion, clawing at her heels.

She called herself, Ellie. She hated her real name and took pride in the fact that few knew it. "There is power in a name," she'd tell those who were brave enough to ask. "Don't give yours to just anyone."

She stopped abruptly when she reached an open field just outside of Lebanon, Nowhere. Her pale hands pulled a soggy map from her pocket, and thin fingers unfolded the mess. After 156 seconds of staring at the watered-down page, a heavy sigh escaped her purple lips. Her soft brown eyes searched the clearing hopelessly. Squinting to see the horizon, her eyes met exactly what she had been looking for.

Instantly her body revived and her energy flared, her pulse spiking just enough for her to hear it. She began to jog across the clearing, a blissful smile making its way across her mouth. Her eyes closed, and for a moment she was a child, running through a field in the warmth of summer, a warm breeze tangling her thick mane. By the time the chill of winter returned to her body, she had reached her destination.

Her destination was pretty literally a hole in the ground.

Well, not a bad hole. Not a wet one with worms and other gross things. But not a quaint Hobbit Hole either. No, this hole was a shelter. More specifically, this hole in the ground is where people run when fear strikes their hearts. It's where friends gather when they have no homes to return to. It's where all who are welcome will find rest, security, and the closest thing anyone in that life could call a home. Or at least, this is what she had been told long ago. It was for all purposes, both practical and emotional, a shelter. It was, literally, a bunker.

Ellie approached the large re-enforced door and lifted a shaking hand – shaking with anticipation, that is – and gave all her remaining energy to knock.

And then it rang. All through the bunker like a grim echo. Distinct from the sound of the rain: three knocks on the steel doors. Sam and Dean both lifted their eyes from their books and exchanged equally quizzical glances. Dean grabbed his gun from the table, almost without thinking, as habit had taught him to do. He jogged up the stairs and slowly cracked open the door.