Disclaimer; I do not own Supernatural. All rights reserved to Eric Kripke and the writers.

btw, if i get one more comment about teen wolf on any of these chapters, i'm deleting it. I get that there are lots of fans, but this book has nothing to do with teen wolf. thank you.

also, i got to add this. please don't spoil the show in the comments. sure, you may be caught up, but a lot of people are either just starting/watching/catching up on the show. i mean, it's fifteen seasons. would you want any of them spoiled for you?

another thing, i wrote this book when i was fourteen-fifteen, and i have advanced as a writer. still, a lot of these plot lines are meh, but they're mine and i'm proud of them. also, some of the decisions are the oc's character, so can't change them if i wanted to.
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"Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy." - F. Scott Fitzgerald

EMERY HAD ALWAYS THOUGHT OF HERSELF as the hero. Ever since she was twelve. Well, the day that her parents died more like it.

It was an ordinary Sunday. As ordinary as it ever was around the Wilson household. Emery's dad was making blueberry pancakes, the young girl's favourite.

The day seemed to carry on like any other Sunday. The family had gone to the church ceremony, and then went over to the Parker's household. Emery played with Alex, the ten year old Parker boy. The family had a swing set in their backyard, and Emery remembered swinging on it for two hours before her parents had came and told her it was time to go.

She'd jump off of the swing and run up to her dad, smiling a wide smile, brunette hair flying behind her. She would ride in the backseat of their mini-van, staring out the window.

It was that Sunday night when it happened. Of course, it was the full moon, and Emery was just getting tucked in when she heard her dad's grunt of agony. Her mom told her to stay where she was, before the older woman ran out of the room. Emery remembered not listening to her mother, and getting out of her bed.

She crept along the hallway and down the stairs, looking through the banister. What Emery saw made her scream. Her parents were both lying on the floor, their own blood pooled around them. Her father's torso was ripped open, intestines spilled everywhere, and her heart obviously missing. And her mother was a whole different story.

That thing was still feasting on him. All over her body, there was bite marks and limbs tore off and thrown all over the room.

When Emery's scream pierced through the air, the intensity of it making her vocal chords feel like they're getting ripped to shreds, the thing snapped its head towards her. Blood was dripping down its mouth, its lips curl back in a growl, canine's showing.

Emery ran up the stairs, away from the thing, her vocal chords still ripping themselves apart. She ran into the first room she saw, which was the bathroom, and threw herself against the door, locking it. She heard the thing scratching at the door, trying to claw its way inside.

It was there, trying to do that for what felt like hours. Emery was sobbing, tears staining her cheeks, her hand covering her mouth to try to quiet herself down. She heard footsteps, then suddenly, there was five loud bangs.

Ear-shattering bangs.

Someone knocking on the bathroom door is what snapped Emery out of her little fit.

"Who are you?!" She shouted, voice hoarse from crying for so long.

"I'm human, if that's what you mean," a gruff voice came through the door.

Emery hurridly unlocked the door and opened it a crack. Standing in the hallway was a man that had a scraggly beard on an aged face, soft, brown eyes, and dark hair. He tried to give her a reassuring smile, and she looked at him tears still in her eyes.

"What was that thing?" Emery voice cracked, staring at him.

"A werewolf," the guy answered, looking down at the dead body.

"And who are you?" her voice came out small, timid.

"The name's John Winchester," the man said. "What's your's?"

"Emery Wilson."

☪✡

Emery sat in the passenger seat of a '67 Chevrolet Impala, curled up in John's jacket. She had her seatbelt on, her knees curled up into her body, arms wrapping around her knees.

John had the car silent, except for the hum of the engine. It sounded soothing to Emery's ears, to hear the rumble of the Impala, and she almost fell asleep. Everytime she closed her eyes, however, Emery saw the face of the werewolf, looking at her with those crazy eyes, blood splattered on it's face.

She'd jolt back awake, a soft gasp leaving her mouth. Emery looked around, and noticed that they were pulling into the parking lot of a run-down motel. They pulled into a spot outside a room labelled 263.

John turned off the engine, and turned towards the brunette girl in the seat beside him.

"Do you have any living relatives?" John asked.

Emery shook her head. "All of my relatives died or aren't talking to my parents."

John nodded, before opening up the door of the Impala. He stepped out, and Emery got out of the door, and followed John to the room. Suddenly, Emery yelped in pain, and looked down.

Emery's calf had five bloody scratches on it. They were still pumping blood furiously out of them, and Emery only now just started feeling the pain of them. The adrenaline that had been pumping through her veins had faded, making the scratches known.

"John!" Tears were streaming down Emery's face, her voice straining to call for the older man.

John rushed out of the motel room he had entered, and scooped the girl into his arms. He rushed into the motel room, the door slamming against the wall.

"Dean! Grab me the first aid kit and the whiskey!" John's voice was demanding.

A boy that was a little older than Emery ran towards the bathroom, and a boy a little younger than Emery shot out of bed. The older one ran back into the room as John set the girl down on the motel room's frayed and dirty couch.

The pain started feeling white hot, and the agony got worse as John poured the alcohol on it. Emery screamed, tears still steadily pouring out of her eyes. The kid that John had called Dean sat beside Emery, and she grabbed ahold of his hand, squeezing it tightly.

When the needle went through Emery's leg, the girl totally lost it. The pain was too excruciating for a twelve year old, and Emery blacked out.

Emery awoke to the sight of a young boy's face. And upon seeing it, she screamed. Before the memories of the night before hit her like a train. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she was determined to keep them from falling.

"John?" Emery's voice cracked again, and she turned to look for the older man.

"John's out getting breakfast," Dean said, looking at the brunette girl. Emery moved to get up, when Dean shook his head. "I wouldn't do that, not until dad gets back, just in case you rip open the stitches."

Emery rolled her eyes, before getting up anyway. There was a dull, pounding pain in her calf, and she looked at the stitches. Dental floss was woven through her skin in a surgical matter, and she applauded the fact that she didn't have to go to the hospital.

Probably.

"Hi, I'm Sam," the younger brother said, holding his hand out for the girl to shake.

"I'm Emery," Emery took Sam's hand, giving it a firm shake.

She looked over at the other boy, Dean, and gasped internally. There was something about him, something that intrigued Emery all the more.

She felt something about him. It felt as if there was something special. That there was something heavenly about it.

But, it wasn't until later did she realize, Dean was actually the hero.

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edited. sucky editing, but it kinda is now.

so, i've sorta fallen in love with spn and decided to write this.

i hope you enjoy, even though my writings no the best.

also, i am canadian, so if I use slang that you don't know, comment, and i'll try to explain as best i can.

thanks for reading, and please vote, and comment, and stuff.

Marie Avgeropoulos as Emery Wilson