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Erin
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Horror movie protocol initiated. I think as I stand in the dark of my kitchen, looking out into the midnight shadows of my backyard.

It was an old joke between Jack and I. On the rare nights he was home from a Hunt we would watch old horror movies together. He would sit in his ancient recliner while I cuddled under a blanket on the couch and we would make fun of all the stupid mistakes the characters were making that would get them killed. We would laugh for hours over the 'horror movie protocols' that would have saved so many of their lives.

The pang of grief that follows thoughts of the old Hunter nearly overcomes the eerie tingle along my spine that has me peering out the dark windows. I shiver as a cool breeze blows through the screen door and think that this feels exactly like the start of a horror movie. Complete with scantily clad heroine losing her dog.

"Bonnie!" I call into the night, but there's now answering movement. I curse the stubborn dog up and down and then myself for deciding to let her out one last time when I'm in nothing but my underwear and the old concert t-shirt I wear to bed. 

Rookie move Erin, I think to myself. I call once more but there's nothing. The only movement I can make out in the shadows is the billowing grass thats a week past needing a trim. I close the door and walk back through the dark house. The dim light of the kitchen clock sends my reflection onto the dark glass. I catch the movement out of the corner of my eye and I flinch.

"Shit Erin," I mutter to myself. There was nothing here, I just managed to get myself thoroughly freaked out. It was a hazard of living with a Hunter for eight years. I had always known I was different but at seventeen I found out monsters were real, and at twenty five it wasn't something I had forgotten.

I sink my teeth into my bottom lip and force myself to walk calmly through the dark house. There is no reason for me to be this worked up. I should have skipped the serial killer documentary on Netflix. I know better than to watch something like that alone. But that's all I was these days, alone. Ever since Jack died. 

I shake myself free of those thoughts and lift my chin as I march past the closed door of Jack's old room and into mine. I snatch up the jeans I had worn that day off my floor and jerk them up my legs. I walk back through the house forcing myself to leave the lights off rather than admit I was freaked out. I don't know why I bothered, there wasn't anyone here to witness my cowardice.

I was halfway across the living room when I caught movement outside out of the corner of my eye. I flinched and spun towards the window but it was just the tree branches being tossed by the wind. I exhaled and allowed myself just one little peak, just to be sure.

I closed my eyes and dropped the walls I envisioned around my mind that protected me from my 'Gift'. Although to be honest I had never found it to be much of a gift. I stood in the middle of my living room feeling like my skin was crawling but there was nothing to feel. I stretched, pushing to the edges of what I could do. If there was someone within a mile of the house I would have been able to feel them.

There was nothing here.

I blew out an aggravated sigh and drew the walls back around me, shutting the power out. Now I was even more mad at myself for allowing myself to get so worked up by a stupid tv show that I used my power. Jack had always been adamant about not using it. We used to keep track of how long I could contain it. I hadn't touched it since the morning I heard the news of his death.

I pressed my lips together as tears burned the backs of my eyes. Even ten months later it was still hard being alone. I turned the corner to face the open backdoor and stepped up the screen door calling. "Bonnie get in here, I swear to-"

I dragged off as I looked at the open door to my left. I had closed it before going to my room to get my clothes. I was sure of it. I would never have left it open. There was a flicker in the corner of my eye and I turned to see the microwave clock flicker on and off followed by a guttural buzz.

Shit.

It took me exactly two seconds to slip on my sneakers and get out the door. I grabbed my purse, snatched up the first set of keys my hands touched and ran out the backdoor slamming it behind me. I left the gate open hoping whatever was here hadn't hurt Bonnie and she had a chance to get to the neighbors.

I ran to the driveway and looked down at the keys in my hand. In my rush I hadn't grabbed mine, I had Jack's. I skidded through the gravel to his old pickup and climbed into the cab with my heart hammering in my ears. It had been too long since I started it and the engine complained before finally rumbling to life. My hands were trembling as I gripped the wheel and slammed it into drive. Outside the wind picked up and the flood light over the barn began to flicker. The radio in the truck turned to static and I slammed my foot down on the accelerator and spun the tires as I drove away.

I drove for over an hour before I finally stopped. I pulled into the parking lot of an all night diner. I was still shaking, but the tears had dried on my cheeks a long ways back. There were only two things I knew of that could have both opened the door and affected the electronics the way they had; either a ghost or a demon. Jack's house was warded against both.

I flicked on the overhead light and reached over into Jack's glove box pulling out a small black book. I used to make so much fun of him for being old and using an address book instead of his phone to store numbers. Now I was glad he didn't.

I started leafing through the pages, looking for one I recognized. I didn't know what to do, I couldn't go back. There were only so many things powerful enough to remain undetected to my power. It wasn't human, I knew that for certain and I was smart enough to know when I needed help, but I had to be careful reaching out to one of Jack's friends. He had made it pretty clear how dangerous it could be for a Hunter to find out what I could do.

I worried my lip with my teeth as I reached the end of the little book without finding one I was comfortable calling. Jack had mentioned a lot of these Names, but none of them were friends per say. Jack hadn't really had many friends who were Hunters that were still alive. Those that he had contact with now, he always referred to as colleagues instead of friends. He said it took a certain sort of man to be a Hunter and he had never trusted a single one of them enough to meet me.

I didn't have any other option, I needed a Hunter and might as well choose one at random. I looked down at the page open on my lap, there were two entries on the page, but the same last name. I recognized the first name John Winchester, but it had been crossed out. I remembered hearing he had been killed not too long ago. He and Jack had been buddies in the marines and Jack had gone on a three day bender when the news came. The other contact number written in Jack's neat handwriting had two names but only one number, and had 'owe you a favor' scrawled beside it.

I reached into my purse and dug out my phone. I tapped the numbers onto the screen and stared down at them for a few long minutes, wishing for not the first time that I was some kind of useful psychic. A clairvoyant might be able to simply touch the number and know something about the men listed, but that was way beyond my abilities. I had met a clairvoyant once, I shuddered at the memory of what her life had been like.

I finally pressed my lips together and hit the green call button, it started ringing. No way to back out now. I had exactly three rings to wonder if it was going to be Sam or Dean Winchester answering and if one was preferable to the other.

"Yeah," a man's voice answered. It was low and raspy with sleep.

I opened my mouth to say something, but then freeze as every warning Jack gave me about Hunters enters my mind. Maybe this wasn't such a good Idea. I had no idea how I was going to explain what happened without revealing what I could do and Hunters were not the most understanding of people.

"Look I can hear you breathing. It's one in the morning and I'm going back to bed unless you're about to make this worth my while..." the voice rasps sharply.

I swallowed down the nerves. "Is this Sam or Dean Winchester?" I asked tentatively.

There was a beat. "Who's asking?" the voice asks suspiciously. I don't want to admit who I am until I know it's the right person, but I recognize I'm the one who called in the middle of the night.

"M-my name is Erin Beckett," I force out. "I ah, I know Jack Holland." I manage to admit to that with more conviction. I swallowed "You ah, you owe him a favor?"

There was a hard silence. "Then you know Jack Holland died last year," the voice snaps, angry now. "Where did you get this number?"

"Yes," I snarl back, my temper rising to match his, "I'm aware of that, which is why I can't call him for help." I say sardonically,

There's no reply at first, just a long beat as though the man is considering my words. "What's happened?"

"There's-" I start to say but my throat constricts as tears threaten to come and frustration burns through me. What had happened? Was there really something in the house? I hadn't waited around long enough to find out and I hadn't sensed anything. Maybe I was wrong, maybe I had just left the door open and I had woken whoever this was up in the middle of the night because I had watched something scary on Netflix.

"Where are you?" the voice demanded, "are you safe?"

Just like before he asked too many questions for my tired brain to follow. I leaned my head against the cool glass and it helps me focus.

"I'm safe," I tell him. "I'm..." I lean forward and peer up at the neon sign advertising the twenty four hour diner. "I'm at RJ's cafe in Bozeman." I told him, gripping the phone so hard my hand started to ache.

I hear shuffling on the other end and a rattle of metal that sounds like a belt. "Well you're in luck Erin, we're in Fort Collins, we can get there in..." he dragged off and I could hear some discussion going on. "Less than nine hours," he promised. "Sit tight."

"Wait," I said, feeling breathless as he took charge as effortlessly as breathing. "Who is this?"

There was a snort. "Hey sweetheart, you called me," he said wryly. "Name's Dean Winchester."

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