"Are you really a Winchester," she asks, dirty blonde hair pulled back into a dirty french braid.
His answer is a nod, short and simple.
"They say the devil himself curses your name; screams to high heaven and cries for all the children he's lost to the Winchester men. They say your mother was an angel; sacrificed on the altar of the crying child so that good men would not sit idly by."
"Who are they," he asks. His eyes never leave her but a second glance shows him a second face, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth. Bloody stumps on her back, gleaming points to her teeth. She smiles and his entire body goes numb.
~ ~ ~ ~
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